The BLTS Archive - This Strange Relationship
by Ainzfern (ainzfern@hotmail.com)

---

Disclaimer: Paramount owns STAR TREK ...etc and so on and so forth!

Set nearly six months after the events in The Change In Me.

Archiving: Cool- if you want to- please let me know.

Feedback: Yes please! All comments welcome!

Author's Note: WARNING: ANGST/ADULT THEMES. Lots. I'm not kidding.
These are two people forced to deal with some pretty confronting
moments.

---
Do you love me?
Or am I just another trip in this strange relationship?
You push and pull me, yeah '
Til I'm about to lose my mind
Is this just a waste of time?

Give me that strange relationship
Never felt pleasure and pain like this
Something so right but it feels so terribly wrong
I keep holding on
Give me that strange relationship
One of us gotta let go of this
I keep pushing and you keep holding on I'm already gone

Do you love me?
Or am I just another trip in this strange relationship?

(Darren Hayes, C/- AllSavageGardenŠ - all right reserved) 
---

Rising warmth. Comfort. Desire and pleasure. These things surround me,
sustain me. Here in this place, at this time, I have all that I need.
I could call myself a fortunate man and honestly believe in the
sentiment.

Damp skin under my hands, the sound of his ragged breathing, the smell
of his sweat...

I lean down over him, my chest against his back, my groin resting
snugly against the sweet curve of his rump, my legs lying between his.
I have his hands in mine, his slender, clever pilot's hands, holding
them to the mattress on either side of his head.

Not trapped. I don't need to hold him down. He stays because he knows
I want him to.

I run my lips along the graceful curve of his neck. Smooth there. So
incredibly soft. I can't help but taste him, taste his salt, his
sweat. I bite before I can stop myself, but it's not hard. Just sharp.
Another kiss takes away the tiny pain.

He moans, soft and deep. He needs this, needs me.

Shifting on him, slightly, I press my lips to his perfect pink ear.
"Keep still," I whisper slowly.

A shudder. A sigh. Then...

"Yes."

It's so silent in our bedroom now. I can hear my own heart, slow and
steady, beating against the smooth skin of his back. I can feel his
rising heat pressed along the front of me, hear his soft intake of
breath as slowly... slowly, I push into him, into his warmth, into his
body.

No resistance. He's ready for me. Wants me. And great Spirits, I want
him too. Always. Always will.

Another gasp, soft but sharp. The need to move, to take him, surging
in me. My hands tighten, fingers twining through his. He grips back,
turns his head to the side and I look at the long lashes lying closed
in a face so calm and near to repose that he might as well be
sleeping. My heart jolts under my ribs, my sweat drips into my eyes.

Still I wait.

Muscles tremble, clench and release. He pulls in a deep breath and
lets it out slowly.

His eyes open, shimmering silver blue in the soft light of the stars
through the viewport.

"Now," he tells me.

I begin to move, gratitude and pleasure filling me in equal portions.
I have missed him in this last week while he ran ferry duty for Torres
and her team of fuel foragers.

He was so tired when he finally got off shift last night. Just an
exhausted lump slumped on our sofa. I took him to bed and just held
him. It was nice. Not, of course, as nice as this but I felt it was
better to wait.

He would have given himself to me last night if I'd asked him. He
understands me better than I understand myself. I have come to believe
that. He knows my need for him, for *this*.

One look into his tired eyes as he lay in my arms, and I just couldn't
ask. I wouldn't.

Things have changed so much this last half-year.

Since we began afresh.

There is tenderness where once there was only lust. There is affection
where once there was only the shield of aggression.

Is it love?

If it isn't, then it is the closet thing to it that I have ever felt.

He's moving under me now, arching his back, raising his hips to meet
my strokes, to get me deeper into him. I nip his damp shoulders gently
as I thrust a little harder, a little faster. It's been too long and I
need release. Not the driving, frantic release of my dark anger, but
the sweet release of real lovemaking.

When I am with him like this and all the walls are down, I feel so
clean, so renewed.

Such peace.

"Tommy..." My own whisper, ragged with pleasure and deep with feeling.
"I'm coming, Tommy."

"Yes." A low moan, trembling underneath with the strength of his own
rising need.

I hear the note, understand it. Reaching under him, I slide one hand
down his body and grip his cock, hard and hot in my hand. Satin skin
sheathing solid flesh. It's beautiful, that part him.

*He's* beautiful.

I squeeze him, pumping gently, keeping it steady; matching my own
drives into the heat of his ass. I feel him quicken under me, feel his
body shudder and clench, spilling heat and slickness into my hand. I
hear his hitching breath, his low cries.

There... Oh, Oh *now*... YESSS. My own climax takes me hard, my body
arching into him one final time, my cock pulsing deep inside him,
emptying in wrenching bursts. White light behind my eyes, white fire
in my groin, my stomach. A perfect moment of bliss and connection.
Hard fought for and won fairly.

I relax over him for a moment, softening inside him. I slide my hand
out from under his body and he grips it in his own, his long fingers
twining once more into mine.

We shift again, me pulling out and rolling off onto my back, him
turning in one smooth flowing movement and draping his long limbs over
my body, settling into the familiar position of sleep.

He's heavy. Well loved and sated, wanting nothing more than to drift
away. I sigh regretfully and tense myself to rise in order to fetch a
warm cloth and clean him. He stiffens and grabs my hand, stopping me
cold.

"No. Leave it tonight." His tired eyes are strangely vulnerable as he
looks at me. "Just stay with me now. Stay and hold me."

Of course, I do. I have to.

I have to do anything that he asks of me. Even if he doesn't know it.

Pulling him back into my arms, I kiss his face gently and relax again.
He's asleep before I even pull the covers over us, trusting and safe
in my embrace.

I spend only a few moments in thought before letting my own weariness
claim me.

There's not really that much to ponder at this moment in time. Things
are better between us now. We grow closer as time goes on, as we learn
more.

He understands me.

I never thought that I would ever be fortunate enough to say that
about another living being, but it's true.

Tom understands me.

It's enough for us both to be happy.

---

Forty-two... Jesus... forty-*three*...

Huffing and grunting like a fuckin' pig, I shake the sweat off my
forehead and glare at Harry.

Again.

"Tell me," I pant at him. "What the *hell* possessed me to suggest
this morning workout thing with you?"

Harry grins, even as he smoothly lifts and lowers his weights from
waist to shoulder in a series of slow curls. "You wanted to be 'more
buff' - at least that what you *told* me."

"Shit," I laugh suddenly, nearly loosing count of my own reps. "I did
not."

"Actually, I believe the exact words were - 'I'm getting a gut, Har.
How about *we* start hitting the gym program on the holodeck?'" He
finishes his curls and carefully sets the weights back in their rack,
reaching for a towel and mopping sweat from his face and neck.

Forty-nine... thank *fuck*... Fifty!

"Yeah, well..." I set my own weights down next to his. "I *was*
getting a gut. Chakotay cooks too well."

Harry snorts, hanging his towel around his neck and heading to the
showers at the rear of the room. "You mean you *eat* too well."

"That too." I follow him and strip off my shorts, dropping them on the
low bench in the middle to the stalls and stepping in under the spray.

I see Harry shoot me a quick look, sort of a brief once over. I know
what he's looking for and I know that he checks me out every single
time we hit the showers. He's not even aware that he's doing it, and I
reckon if I were to call him on it he'd be completely baffled.

Don't get me wrong; he's not coming on to me.

Oh man, God forbid. Just the *thought* of it gives me a soft-on.

He's looking for bruises. He's got this morbid fuckin' fascination
with it.

Oh shit, the first time he saw bruises on me, I thought he was gonna
have a fuckin' heart attack. He *instantly* jumped to the wrong
conclusion, of course, and it took quite a bit of fast talking on my
part to stop him from screaming down to Tuvok's office and demanding
that Chakotay be taken into custody.

It was about four weeks back, just after we'd started meeting to work
out three mornings a week. We'd done our usual set and headed to the
showers and...

"God, *Tom*!"

"What?" I'd turned around to see Harry, looking down at my body with
something close to horror on his face. I followed his gaze. "Oh."

"Oh?" Harry had shaken his head. "That's all you have to say? Just
Oh?"

"It doesn't hurt, Har," I told him, shrugging and stepping under the
spray.

He'd followed me, standing at the door of my cubical, his face filled
with brotherly anguish. "That's *got* to be hurting you, Tom. Why
didn't you ever say anything?"

I gotta admit, I was getting a little pissed off there. I knew
*exactly* what he was leading up to. I washed off real quick, wrapped
a towel around my waist *and* the bruises and led Harry to the bench
in the middle of the stalls.

"Sit down, Harry." I'd told him then. "And just listen for a minute,
OK? What this looks like is *not* what you think it is."

"I don't understand," Harry had replied. He'd been real upset, I could
see it in his face and that softened my anger a little bit.

"Look," I'd said to him them, keeping my voice as kind as I could.
"How much do you know about guy to guy sex?"

He'd blushed. He'd actually fuckin' blushed. Too cute.

"I know the mechanics, Tom, if that's what you're asking," he'd told
me.

"OK, then you know about anal fucking, right?"

God, you should have seen him, trying to look all cool and
professional, with his face the color of a fuckin' tomato. "Yes."

"Good. Ten points for doing your homework." I had smiled at him then
and paused a moment, trying to get the right words together. "All
right... now, I hope this doesn't ruin your exalted opinion of me or
anything..." I stopped to allow the inevitable rolling of Harry's eyes
to pass, "but I like getting it. In fact, I like it a lot. Now, when
Chak *gives* it to me, he has to hold on to me or I'm liable to end up
with a face full of rug burn."

Harry had choked out a little laugh at that point. "Oh, Jeeze, Tom."

"Hey." I'd shot him a look. "You wanted to know, I'm telling ya'."

"Sorry, Tom."

"OK, now here's the really important part." I'd leant forward, staring
right into Harry's face. "It.. doesn't.. hurt. Chakotay.. *doesn't*..
hurt.. me."

"But... the bruises." Harry's eyes flicked back down to my towel
covered hips. Hips that were bearing the rather unmistakable imprint
of hands.

Big hands.

"It's the curse of fair skin, Harry," I'd told him. "Remember when we
went through that turbulent nebula in the shuttle a few weeks back? We
got a little shook up and both hit the floor?"

Harry had nodded, his face still worried.

"Well, I bet you hardly had a mark on you, right?"

He'd nodded again.

I'd grinned at him then. "I was black from hip to shoulder, Harry, and
I didn't fall any harder than you."

"So... so it really doesn't hurt?"

"Nah. Not a bit." I'd gotten serious then, meeting his eyes once more.
"Harry, believe me. Chakotay is *not* mistreating me. He was as
shocked by the bruises as you are."

"He was?" Harry had suddenly looked a whole lot more relaxed.

"Oh yeah."

And he was. Trust me here. The man nearly cried. He's so fuckin'
obsessed with not hurting me, even by accident.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

Now, four weeks later, I have to laugh a little as I step into the
shower and wash up.

Harry's still looking for them. He can't help himself. The difference
is, he no longer freaks out when he sees them.

Still, I got Chakotay to requisition a personal regenerator for us. I
mean it makes no sense to leave them to fade on their own, right?
Besides, I think it makes Chak feel better if he can heal them off for
me.

God. Surrounded by good fuckin' intentions. It's enough to make a man
scream.

I step out of the shower and dry off quickly, noting that Harry's
already getting into his uniform.

I feel myself grinning as we walk back out through the gym program,
calling for the arch. We've made good time this morning, so I'll have
enough time to meet Chak for breakfast in his office before we head up
to the morning debrief. For some reason, I have this urge to see him
before we start the usual mundane shit.

Maybe it was last night. I can't put my finger on it, but something
felt different, y'know?

Deeper? Is that the right word? Maybe more connected. I'm not sure.
All I know is that I felt fuckin' wonderful, whatever the reason.

He'd missed me and I could tell. Maybe that's what it is.

Anyway, all that self-analysis crap aside, I'd like to see *my*
Chakotay's face for a few minutes this morning before I have to hit
the bridge and spend the rest of the day with the 'Commander'.

All going well, assuming it's an easy day, I should be able to lure
him away for lunch too.

I'll drop a few 'Gee, he's looking tired' hints on the Captain. She's
a sucker for that. She'll *force* him to go.

I know, I know... it's a low blow, but hey... I haven't changed *that*
fuckin' much.

---

"Commander?" Ensign Kim's voice draws my attention away from the
systems check I'm currently looking over. "I'm picking up a distress
signal."

I set the padd on the side of the command chair and turn to face him.
"Origin?"

"The forth moon beyond the last planetoid, Sir." Kim checks his
sensors again. "I'm reading a downed ship. Small. Probably a shuttle
or planet skipper of some kind. There's no audio, Commander, just a
rolling beacon." He looks back up at me. "I can't get any life signs,
but there is some small amount of magnetic interference in the
atmosphere that could be obstructing our scans."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Tom already keying the course
change, anticipating my orders.

It's something that I have become pleasantly used to over the last few
months, the way that he always seems to be one step ahead of me in
knowing what I want.

"Lieutenant, adjust course to investigate."

"Aye, Sir." With a deft flick of his long fingers, he confirms the
coordinates and the ship veers smoothly towards the cluster of small
planetoids slightly out of our current course.

"Scan the atmosphere, Ensign," I give Kim the order. "See if we can
safely beam down a team."

"Already on it, Sir." Kim's serious face rises to meet me again. "It's
breathable, Commander."

I can feel Tom's eyes on me and I smother a smile. He's not the only
one who's becoming adept at reading stray thoughts. I know what he
wants.

Spirits, you would think that after a five-day stretch away from his
precious pilot's chair it would take a crowbar to get him out of it.
But I also know that he's an insatiable wanderlust. If it's new, Tom
wants to see it.

"Very well, Ensign." I smile slightly. "Seeing as it's your signal,
*you* can join the rescue mission." I turn to Tom, noting that his
expression is perfectly professional, but there's a slightly
victorious glint to his eyes. "Lieutenant? Bring him and anyone else
you find down there back in once piece, OK?"

"Yes, *Sir*!" Tom grins and rises out of his seat, Harry joining him
as they head to the turbo lift.

Actually sending Tom is not such a stretch. He *is* training to be a
medic, after all, albeit unwillingly. In this instance, it might be
good for him to put those skills to work. If nothing else, it might
give him a better appreciation for what I was trying to do in making
him learn them.

I hear Kathryn's ready room door open and I turn and nod to her as she
takes her own central chair. I fill her in briefly, noting that
particular expression she gets when her interest has been piqued.

"We're ready for beam down, Commander," Tom's voice comes over the
comm line.

I glance at Kathryn, but she simply nods, smiling slightly.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Comm lines open and good luck," I tell them,
settling myself in for the wait.

A few moments later, Kim's signal come in loud and clear. "We're on
the surface, Commander. It's a pretty hostile looking territory, lots
of loose rock scree underfoot and there's no visible signs of water."

"A desert planet?" Kathryn asks, sitting forward slightly.

"No ma'am," Tom's reply comes back. "No sand, just rock. Lots of
canyons and jutting rock formations. The crashed vessel is about
twenty feet forward of our current position, towards the shoulder of a
fairly large canyon incline. We not getting any life signs at all."

"Can you approach safely?" I ask him immediately.

"Should do, Sir. We'll be moving in from the rear, so if the shoulder
gives, it'll be the ship that goes, not us."

"Take it very carefully, Lieutenant," Kathryn tells him.

"Agreed," Tom's somewhat wry reply brings a small smile to my face and
an arched brow from Kathryn.

There are a few moments of silence, then Kim's voice comes back to us.
"We've opened the rear bay doors, Commander, there's no survivors."

"Understood." I sigh softly, feeling a certain sorrow for those on the
planet. Lost and likely to remain that way. "There's nothing more you
can do there. Get back to the beam out point and we'll..."

"Oh, my God!" Kim's shout, shockingly loud and touched with panic,
cuts me off suddenly. "Tom, it's going! Get *back* from there!" Over
the link, we can hear a sullen rumbling, the sound of shifting earth.

"Harry! *NO*! No do--" Tom's sharp cry is horribly, suddenly cut off.
Drowned in Harry's scream.

"TOOOMMM!!"

Silence...

Unaware that I'm even moving, I launch myself out of my chair,
stalking over to the OPS console and peering over crewman Biddle's
shoulder. "Ensign Kim, please report!"

I share a tense glance with Kathryn, giving the away team less than
ten seconds to reply.

"Lieutenant Paris, please come in."

Nothing.

Looking down at Biddle, I nod grimly. "Pull them out, *now*!"

He nods and initiates a sequence for remote transport on his console.
Just before he enters the final code, Kim's voice comes over the link.

"Kim to Voyager. Please come in." He coughs a few times, sounding as
if he's choking on something. Then I realize. He's not choking, he's
crying. I hear tears in that voice. My gut clenches painfully. I can
feel the blood draining from my face.

Tom.

"This is Voyager, Ensign," Kathryn barks out. "Please report."

Spirits help me... I'm not sure that I can bear to hear this.

---

What the fuck? What the suffering *fuck*..?

I can't move. That's my first thought. And I'm dizzy. My eyes hurt.
Stinging. Dust.

Os something.

"Tom? Oh God, Tom?! Can you hear me..? Oh Jesus..."

Harry? Har? You OK, Pal? You don't sound so good.

"Kim to Voyager. Please come in."

Har? I got some troubles here, I think. I got pain now. Oh yeah. Big
pain.

"This is Voyager, Ensign. Please report." The Captain's voice. She
sounds pissed about something. Jesus, my guts are *killing* me - what
the hell just happened?

"Harry..?"

God, is that *my* voice? Sounds like I just swallowed a mouthful of
gravel.

"Rock slide, Captain. Tom's hurt... it's bad." Harry's voice shakes a
bit there. "I... I tried to grab him, Captain. I tried... He just...
the shoulder just dropped out from under him."

OK. That's explains it I guess. "Harry?" I choke a little at this
point and get a sudden taste of copper in my mouth.

Blood. Oh shit.

"Stand by, Ensign. We'll beam you out."

"*NO*!.. wait, I... don't think that's a good idea, I..." Harry
falters again. Sounds like he's crying. "Can you send the EMH down
instead? I think he should see Tom first before you beam him
anywhere."

"Understood. Voyager out."

"Harry?" I try one more time. Try to get it a little louder. I sorta
puke a little bit because of the pain and more foul slickness fills my
mouth. Oh man. This can't be good.

"Oh no... Oh God, you're awake." Harry whispers it.

I've got a very bad feeling here.

I force my eyes to open and I see him, keeling beside me, his face
white as a sheet and streaked with tears. He's staring at me, his eyes
wide and full of horror.

"Wha' happened?" I wince at the thump of fuckin' agony that wracks my
stomach as I speak.

"Shh. Don't talk, Tom." Harry presses one hand to my forehead. "You
got caught in the slide. You got hurt, but you're going to be fine,
OK? The Doc's beaming down."

I try to sit. Can't. Hurts too much.

"*NO*! No, Tom, you've gotta stay still, OK? You... you can't move
right now, OK?"

What the fuck's wrong with me? I want to scream it. Why the hell is he
so fucking scared?

I reach out to grab him arm and my hand... my hand is bloody. Covered
with it.

I stare at it in sick amazement.

Just fuckin' covered...

It's an effort to look down at myself, especially with Harry
apparently trying to do everything he can to stop me. But I manage.

I manage.

Oh God, it's...

Oh God.

It's like a chant in my head, chaos and suffering. Agony. I'm dying. I
can't be like this and live.

//Oh God, Oh God, Oh God...//

There's a soft light beside me for a moment and the EMH appears.

"Doc!" Harry again, his voice on the edge of fuckin' hysteria.

Which is fine. It matches my own.

//Oh God, Oh God, Oh God...//

"He's convulsing," the Doc raps out the words as he hunkers down over
me, hypo in hand.

Convulsing? Holy fuck, Doc... If *you* looked like this you'd be
fuckin' convulsing too!

I'm... I'm all broken down there. All crushed. Everything below the
fuckin' waist it's... it's just a bloodied mess of pulped flesh and
shattered bones. It's all smashed. Oh, Oh Jesus Christ, I can see my
own guts. It's all torn up and... Help me... OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!!

There's a hiss, and it goes dark.

Maybe I'm dead.

Maybe that's best.

---

He's so still. So damned pale.

Kathryn's on the other side of the bio bed, silent and concerned, her
face filled with pain as she looks first at me, then at Tom. Beyond
her, Ensign Kim lies sedated on the far bio bed, Kes at his shoulder.

I hardly see them. There is nothing but Tom.

I reach out and take his hand, staring at it in a kind of amazed haze.

It's so slender.

Turning it gently into my own dark skinned hands, I press one palm to
his, measuring the long fingers against my own, noting how much
slighter they are when compared to mine.

Fragile.

That's what he is right now. Perhaps in a way, he always has been.

When he's awake, he shines so brightly. Life fills him from end to
end. He seems larger, stronger.

But like this... like this he looks as if a single careless touch
could shatter him.

I nearly laugh aloud for a moment, thinking about how much that
analogy would irritate him, were he awake to hear it. I can almost
*see* the wry disdain in those beautiful eyes.

"Tell me," I murmur softly.

The EMH steps a little closer, his face grim, his compassionate
bedside algorithms operating at full speed.

"The extent of Lieutenant Paris' injuries were severe, I won't lie to
you,' he tells me softly. "Most of his lower intestines were damaged
beyond repair, however, the synthetic replacements will begin to
function normally within a few days."

"What about attending to his bodily functions? Will he be able to do
that?" I know it's not exactly the nicest question, especially in
front of the Captain, but I need to know what we're up against here.

I still can't quite believe that the EMH got him back together again.
When I first saw him as he was being prepped for surgery, I...

Dear Spirits... If you love me at all, *never* let me see anything
like that again.

"Yes," the EMH replies to my question. "He may have some initial
problems with incontinence as the synthetic bladder merges with his
own particular physiology, but it *will* be only temporary."

I nod, expelling a slow breath.

"I was able to preserve most of his colon and part of his lower
bowel," The EMH continues. "He should have little difficulty with
bowel movements, although of course, there may be one or two accidents
there as well until he is better recovered."

"I see. What about his legs? His spine?" I run my fingers over the
back of his hand, smoothing down his forearm and back up again.

"Remarkably, his lumbar and sacral vertebrae were *not* broken,
although I must say they were about the only bones in his lower body
that weren't."

I hear Kathryn make a low hurt sound in her throat.

"I have reconstructed his pelvis and replaced both hip joints. His
legs were shattered, as I'm sure you have already surmised."

I nod shortly. My hand stroking, stroking, willing him to wake, to be
better, free of pain.

Useless prayers.

"There was extensive injury to his muscles and ligaments, but I have
regenerated the damage. The reconstruction of the splintered femur,
tibia and fibula structures was successful, but he *will* require a
considerable period of convalescence and physiotherapy before he
regains full mobility."

My jaw works for a moment, as if digesting the details. "Pain?"

"Moderate to intense," The EMH responds quietly. "But we can control
that with a balanced drug therapy."

I release another breath. "What about his sexual organs? How bad was
the damage?"

"Significant, but once again, reparable. There was some injury to the
urethra and epididymis caused by the impacting pubic bone. However, I
have repaired the damage. There was little to no injury to his testes
other than bruising, which I have also attended to. Once he is
recovered, there should be no reason why he cannot achieve erection
and orgasm just as before."

The news relieves me a little. Tom's sexuality is an integral part of
his make-up, as it is for all of us, I suppose. The idea of him losing
it...

I look up, noticing that at some point during the lecture, Kathryn has
moved to stand beside Harry. I feel a surge of respect and affection
for her sense of propriety.

She's right after all. She didn't really need to hear all of this.

"Have you got a time frame, Doctor?" I look back down at Tom's pale
face, reaching out to touch the long lashes, the finely formed
cheekbones, the sweet arch of his nose.

"I would expect to see noticeable improvement within four weeks," he
tells me, checking his post operative scans again. "I will be
implementing a regime of continuing regenerative treatments, coupled
with exercise and physical therapy..."

"I want to be included." It is not a request.

The EMH balks a little, but rallies quickly. "Commander, I must advise
that the procedure will not be enjoyable. You will see Mr. Paris in
considerable discomfort at times and it's very likely that he will
vent his frustration on you in the process."

"I'm aware of that, Doctor," I tell him shortly. "Nevertheless, I want
to be included in helping him to recover."

"Very well," The EMH nods slowly. "I will have Kes take you through
the requirements. I am assuming that you will be wanting to act as his
home nurse too?"

"When I'm not on shift. Yes."

"Fine. As long as you understand that you will be following *my*
instructions to the letter, Commander."

I nod again and he leaves me to it.

Sighing, I pull a chair across to Tom's bedside and sit by his
shoulder, my hand resting across his brow, my fingers stroking that
soft hair back from his face.

It's amusing to me, how most people on board perceive us. They see me
as the stronger of the two of us. They assume that it is Tom that
leans on me, borrows my strength, gains comfort from my very presence.

They would be wrong.

It is the opposite. It always has been.

Tom is the one who supports me in my dark hours. He is the one who
lends me his strength, giving me his body and his passivity when he
senses that the demons are closing in on me again. He is the one I
lean on when I can't fight it anymore.

He is the one who comforts me when I feel the inevitable guilt over my
loss of control.

Now, he needs *me*.

He is battered and broken. He will wake in pain that will not fade
quickly. He will not be able to accept my attentions, in *any* form,
for the foreseeable future.

I know that this will be a difficult test of us both. I have become
used to having him with me, used to him giving me what I needed when I
needed it.

For a moment, I berate myself for taking him for granted so many times
and I promise to myself that I will never do so again.

He *needs* me now.

I close my eyes and pray, softly, fervently.

I hope I am strong enough.

---

Ohhhh'mannn...

"Commander, it looks like he's coming out of it."

"Thank you, Kes."

Coming out of it? You think? Maybe you ought to mention that to *me*.

Still dark. But I can hear sounds, stuff... voices. Soft ones. Ones
that I know.

"It's all right, Tommy. Just take your own time about it."

I know *that* voice. That's a good voice. That voice could lead me
through fire.

Soft hands on my face, my shoulders. Warm hands.

I know that touch, too.

I'm not dead.

Seems like it's the hardest thing ever I've done, just opening my
eyes. I can't remember when I put this much fuckin' effort into
something. But I need to... need to see him.

It's fuzzy at first, but it clears as I blink. A face enters my line
of sight. A beautiful face. A face I never really thought I would see
again.

"Hey." He smiles at me.

"Chak..." It's a rusty kind of sound that leaves my lips, and I feel
myself grimace and swallow hard against the tickle in my throat.
Chakotay sees it and the next instant there's a straw in front of my
face. A big hand slides under my neck and lifts my head so that I can
drink.

Water. Cool. Nice.

I nod when I've had enough. He takes the glass away but keeps his hand
around the back of my neck. That's OK by me. The touch is so good,
y'know? Soothing.

Reality is coming back in fits and starts. Bit and pieces of memory
flowing into my head like a liquid jigsaw.

So, let's review what I know, OK?

I'm not dead. I guess I'm in sickbay. I hurt like hell and it appears
to be getting worse and I fell into a fuckin' ravine...

Oh great. Now I have fear.

"Chak?" My voice sounds a little better. The water helped.

"Yes, Tom?" He leans down towards me, coming near so that I don't have
to speak too loud.

"Can you sit me up?" I swallow again, hard. There's this pathetic
little quail in my voice that I don't much like the sound of. Can't
really help it though. I'm not sure that I *want* to see.

He nods, his eyes telling me clearly enough that he understands.
Carefully, he slides his arm under my shoulders and raises my upper
body. I grunt a little, biting down on my lower lip as hot streaks of
pain sear through my lower body. Sweat pops up on my face, I can feel
myself shake a little but I ride it out.

"It's OK, Tom," Chakotay tells me. "You're all right."

Yeah? Well you know that I trust you, big man, but right now I have to
see it to believe it.

I gasp in a few short, panting breaths, leaning against Chakotay's
chest as the pain recedes back to a dull roar.

I look down.

I... wow. It's all still there. At least I *think* it is.

"Commander," the EMH's prissy tones cut the silence.

Now I know I'm alive. Even the gates of hell wouldn't shield something
as fuckin' nasty as *that*.

"Might I ask exactly what you are doing? You should not be moving the
patient without my express..."

"Tom wants to see." Chakotay's reply is flat, deadly. The EMH might
not realize this, but he's just one word away from a real bad case of
photonic mutilation.

"Ah." The EMH's face becomes carefully polite. "Of course he does. My
apologies."

"Tommy?" Chakotay looks back at me again.

"Can you pull the blanket down, Chak?"

The EMH steps forward and does it so that Chakotay doesn't have to
move.

OK... Two legs. The right shape. Pretty bruised, I'll give 'em that,
but not as bad as I would have thought. The old Doc must have had the
regenerating console running overtime. One limp dick, lying where it
should be. It looks OK, aside from a catheter. Shit. That's a fuckin'
relief... Hey, I've got hipbones again and just as an extra bonus, all
my guts are back in where they belong.

I look at Chakotay and see the smile rising into his face.

"See?" he says gently. "You're going to be fine, Tom."

"Yeah," I whisper.

I try to fight it. God knows, I try. But I can't. Can't help doing
this any more than I could stop from falling down the ravine.

I burst into tears. I guess it's OK, really. I'm not too embarrassed
about this one. I've had the scare of my fuckin' life and it's gotta
come out somewhere, right?

Chakotay just holds me, rubs my back, talks to me. Everything washes
out.

I'm gonna be all right.

Just... just gotta cry for a little longer, that's all.

---

"Nnuughh, Jesus... Chakotay, I *can't*..."

"Yes you can, Tom." I speak softly but firmly, looking down into his
sweat drenched face, seeing the sudden stubborn set to his jaw, the
hurt and frustration in his eyes. "I need more five more and then you
can stop."

He shakes his head, his eyes closing for a moment, his breath rasping
in and out of his throat.

We're in Sickbay, where I've been spending most of my off duty hours
over the past five days. This morning it's legwork; massage and
stretches, followed by specific exercises. Tom's on his back, with a
modified leg extension press rigged up over his bio bed. There are no
weights on the pulley. We're just looking to work the muscles, not to
build them. He needs to complete a set of twenty full lifts with his
legs before he can rest for the day.

We've stalled at fifteen.

It's hurting him. I know that. I hate the fact, but I also know that
he has to keep going. The EMH can only do so much. The rest of it is
down to Tom.

"Five more, Tom," I say sternly, keeping my tone close to that of an
order. I have to. He's proven to be very cunning in this condition. If
he senses any wavering on my part, he'll pounce on it. "Five more and
you can stop."

His eyes snap open, filled with agony and shimmering wetly under the
harsh lights of the sickbay. "Please, Chak," he begs me, his face
twisting with pain and exhaustion. "Please... I can't. Please, it
hurts..."

I falter. I can't help it. I can take it when he's vicious, but I
can't take it when he cries out with the pain.

I never could.

I glance desperately at Kes, standing quietly to one side. I feel my
mask slipping, my own anguish showing on my face.

With compassion in her eyes and grim determination on her lovely face,
Kes presses her lips together and slowly shakes her head at me.

I get the message.

- Make him finish, Commander -

I give myself a sharp mental shake and lean down over him again, my
face set once more in unyielding stone. "I'm not here to waste my
time, Tom," I snarl at him. "Now, *finish* the damned reps!"

Fury blazes in his eyes, his face grows outraged.

"Fuck *you*!" he spits out...

And then he gives me five more lifts.

He pushes the last extension out with a low wail of sheer effort, his
breath expelling in a tortured rush as I lock the machine back and
release his feet from the brace. He lies, trembling and flushed, his
chest heaving.

Kes passes me a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, then quietly
leaves me to it, pulling a privacy screen around us.

I wash Tom's face first then, pulling the soaked sweatshirt off his
unresisting form, I do his chest and back as well. With the utmost
care, I strip his sweatpants off and gently sponge his lower body.

The bruising is mostly gone, confined now to a few mottled patches
over his hips and thighs. But the pain, the inner agony, remains. As
the incredible number of pins and skeletal grafts continue to mend
him, as nerves heal and muscles strengthen, his body responds to the
process by torturing him.

I was right about the careless touch.

So far, in spite of the EMH's dire warnings and my own morbid fears, I
have managed to retain my focus. The routine is relentless and, for
me, this works in my favor.

The more demands on my time, the easier it is to push back my own
demons.

My on duty hours are spent as per normal, although Kathryn has
lightened my load considerably by dispersing the ship's copious
systems reports between herself and the other senior officers.

My off duty hours are spent here.

My nights? On a cot in the EMH's office. I tried to sleep in our
quarters at first, but I simply couldn't. Too many dark thoughts, too
many fears came to me. There was no warm presence beside me to reach
out to. No comfort there.

By the time Tom is cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing, his
respiration is just about back to normal. I set the bowl aside and
look at him somberly for a moment.

He stares back, and then suddenly grins at me. "Asshole," he says
without rancor.

I huff a short laugh. "Needs must, Tommy. You weren't cooperating."

"I'm an invalid," he protests with an artful pout on his face. "You're
not supposed to insult an invalid."

I help him sit up. "It worked though."

He winces at the movement, then sniffs haughtily at me. "You still
cheated."

I pass him his usual electrolyte-rich post workout drink and he takes
it without complaint, wrinkling his nose at the brackish taste of it.
Handing me his drained cup, his face grows serious. "It's not so bad
today," he tells me softly. "I think the pain's fading faster."

I smile at him and touch his face. He sighs and leans into it, rubbing
his cheek against my palm.

Spirits... what wouldn't I give just to be able to haul him up and
hold him tightly?

"I hate being here," he tells me.

"I know."

"I want to come home, Chak."

"I'll talk to the EMH," I promise him. "If you check out OK, we'll
give it a try, all right?"

He nods, content enough with the answer.

"Hungry?" I ask him as I pull back the privacy screen.

"Yeah, actually I am."

That's a good sign. It shows that the synthetic intestines now
residing in his body are starting to work.

I know he'll be relieved about that on more than one level. Being able
to evacuate his own waste rather than having the EMH catheter it out
of him will make a great difference to his state of mind. And it puts
him one more step closer to getting what he wants.

To go home to his own quarters.

As I move across to the replicator to dial up his soup, I see Harry
and B'Elanna hovering by the main entrance. I smile, motioning them
in.

"You've got visitors, baby." I grin at Tom and his answering smile
lights the whole room.

It's the first day that the EMH has allowed Tom to see anyone besides
the Captain and myself, and I know his sociable nature has suffered
for missing his friends.

As we gather about Tom's bed, I find myself only listening with half
an ear to the animated chatter that goes back and forth between Tom
and his visitors.

I suppose I have to face the fact that I am concerned about Tom's
request.

I want him to come home too. But I... I'm worried about how *I* will
adapt once we're both back in our quarters.

I am ashamed of this. Deeply. Ashamed of this aspect of my own nature.
But I know that the temptation of having him so near yet virtually
untouchable will be a kind of endless torment to me.

I would never harm him. Never. I know that to be an undeniable fact. I
am not troubled about that at all.

What I *am* anxious about is how much I will be able to take before I
end up harming myself.

So far, I have been fine. Keeping a hold of it, keeping control. I
know that obsessing over it and borrowing trouble ahead of time serves
no purpose. So I won't.

As I turn my full attention back to Tom, I tell myself that all is
well.

I have contingencies in place, should I need them.

And Tom need never know. 

---

"All right, Mr. Paris." The EMH gives me one of his patented, 'me
deity, you pond scum' looks, and swoops in on me like some big ol'
badly dressed bipedal vulture. "You wish for me to release you
forthwith from Sickbay?"

I smirk up at him. "How'd ya guess?"

He smirks back. "Please get out of bed, Mr. Paris."

I blink. "Wha?"

Unbelievably, that fuckin' smug expression on his face actually
deepens a little. "Forgive me, Lieutenant. I must have failed to
realize that your hearing had been affected by your unfortunate
accident."

Jesus, that's a sharp one, even for him. Not sure what game he's
playing today, I risk more fuckin' sarcasm by trying to clarify things
a little. "You want me to get up?"

"Your grasp of the obvious appears uninjured, however," he sniffs at
me.

The guy actually *sniffs* his sentences. How anal is that?

"You want me the *stand* up?" I ask again.

"Yes, Mr. Paris."

"By myself?"

"By yourself, Mr. Paris," he confirms happily.

I cast a quick look around Sickbay, hoping to see the cavalry - a.k.a,
Chakotay, coming to rescue me.

"He's on the bridge, Lieutenant," the Doc gleefully informs me. "He
is, however, extremely keen to take you home with him this evening.
Although *why* completely escapes me."

Real hope surges through me.

Anything Doc, I think wildly. *Anything* to get out of here. Just say
the word...

"*If*... and I *mean* if... you can get yourself out of bed and stand
unaided for a least a few moments, I will be satisfied enough to
release you into the Commander's care."

"Doc?" I fling back the covers on my bed. "Did I ever tell you that I
love you?"

He moves back to give me some room and pulls a face at me. "No. You
haven't. And if there is a stroke of consideration in you, you never
will."

Slowly, first onto elbows and then onto hands, I sit myself up,
breathing through the sharp stabbing in my lower body the way Kes
taught me to. Getting my legs out of bed and onto the floor is a lot
harder than I thought it would be. I've got movement, that's not the
issue. It's just that everything feels so tight and inflexible... so
fuckin' painful.

I stop for a moment, wiping sweat and impersonating an asthmatic Targ,
my ass on the edge of the bed and my toes touching the floor. I pull
in a deep breath and flick a glance at the EMH, seeing his face filled
with sympathy right up until he catches me looking.

I grin at his sudden snap back to smug asshole.

I'll give him this much. He knows what works on me.

OK. Deep breath. Moment of truth.

Sure, I've been on my feet over the last week, but Chakotay held most
of my weight for me. This time, it's *my* legs that will carry it.

Bracing myself against the bed, I push forward and...

"All *right*..." I grin at the EMH, passing him a return serving of
smuggery. Yeah, I'm a little - OK, a *lot*, shaky and the pain lancing
up my legs is nearly fuckin' killing me, but... "Check it out, Doc. No
hands."

The EMH nods, not quite hiding his pleasure.

Hah! Old softy.

"Very good, Mr. Paris. You may sit back down."

Thank fuck for that. I breathe out a huge sigh and lower myself
backwards, using my arms and shoulders to scoot backwards onto the
bed.

I knew all those workout sessions with Harry would come in handy one
day.

I rest for a while as the EMH scans me carefully, making sure that I
didn't burst anything. "Hey Doc?" I ask after a moment. "Can I ask you
about a couple of things? Y'know... while it's just you and me."

He nods again and sets his tricorder aside. "Of course." He graces me
with a benevolent smile.

"It's about sex."

"Of course." The benevolent smile morphs into a long-suffering look.

"Aw lighten up, will ya?" I mutter. "This is important." I pause for a
moment, getting the words right in my head. "What I want to know is -
what are my limits going to be? I mean, how much will I be able to
do?"

He quirks his brow at me. "Post recovery? Business as usual, Mr
Paris."

I grimace slightly and shake my head. "No, Doc. Not post recovery.
*During* recovery."

Jesus, he's looking at me like I'm some kind of sex-crazed idiot.

Which is probably true.

"Lieutenant." He gets his 'tolerant lecture' tone revved up and
running. "I'll be honest with you..."

"I'd appreciate that." I bat my eyelashes at him for a moment.

He ignores it. "The hard facts are, as I'm sure you're aware, that the
full gamut of sexual activity will simply be too painful for you to
engage in right now." His face gets very grim all of a sudden. "Your
pelvis was shattered, Mr. Paris. Your lower abdomen was completely
eviscerated..."

I wince at the vivid picture that flashes in my head.

Yeah, I was there. I remember. "Jesus, Doc..."

"You wished to know, Mr. Paris. I am attempting to give you the
understanding you need in order to accept the restrictions."

"Fine. You've made it fairly clear." My eyes narrow. "Now... *what*
restrictions?"

"No penetration."

Fuck.

"For me or Chakotay?" I ask quickly.

"Both."

Double fuck.

"No vigorous or strenuous sexual interaction of *any* kind, Mr.
Paris."

Oh shit. "What... so no fucking at all?"

"No."

"What about, y'know... just humping?"

"Clothes on of off?"

"Either."

"No."

"Shit." Glare at the floor for a moment. "Can I do *anything*?"

The EMH considers it for a moment. "Mutual masturbation," he tells me
finally.

I feel my eyes bug slightly. "That's *it*?! Wait... what about
blow-jobs?"

"I will concede on fellatio, Mr Paris, but *only* if due care is
taken." His expression softens slightly. "Please understand... I am
trying to save both you *and* the Commander from potential distress.
You were very nearly killed. You *need* to allow your body to
recover."

It's true. I *know* he's right. And I know that Chak would rather cut
off his own dick than hurt me, but that doesn't make this any easier
and it doesn't stop me from feeling shitty about it.

It's not so much me that's the problem.

It's Chakotay. I'm worried about *him*. Part of what keeps him calm,
keeps him healthy, if you like, is *knowing* that he can have me if he
needs me.

Now he can't, and I gotta tell ya'... I don't feel too good about
that.

Yeah sure. Not my fault. Not his fault. Shit happens and blah fuckin'
blah.

I've been watching him. I'm pretty certain that he has no idea that
I've been thinking along these lines, but I have. Sure, I'm the one in
Sickbay, but I'm still his partner and keeping an eye on him is part
of the job.

Old habits. You know the drill.

He seems OK so far. Tired. Hell, who wouldn't be? But no shadows are
in his eyes.

Yet.

I just... shit, I can't shake the feeling that *he's* gonna end up
hurting through this just as much as I am. Just because it can't be
picked up with a tricorder doesn't mean it's not there.

It's just a different kind of pain.



---

I wake in the warm darkness of our bedroom, unsure exactly of why
consciousness has suddenly come to me. I listen for a moment, hearing
nothing but slow steady breathing beside me and, satisfied that
nothing is too far amiss; I close my eyes again and wait for sleep to
take me.

He's home.

The EMH gave us both some fairly stern instructions, not the least of
which was to have him in Sickbay for daily therapy on time, and then
finally let us leave.

Tom walked here.

Admittedly, it was with a great deal of assistance from myself, but he
still did it. He had refused point blank to be pushed in the chair.

"It all still works, Chakotay," he'd told me flatly when I'd attempted
to talk him out of it, "I'm not gonna be dragged about like that if I
can do it myself."

"Tom, there's nothing immoral in using the chair," I'd tried to tell
him.

Stubborn creature that he is, he wouldn't listen. Arms folded and eyes
flashing, he'd glared at the offending equipment like it was a viper.
"Just let me try, OK? If I can't make it, we can beam the rest of the
way and I'll start using your precious fuckin' chair."

I had a feeling that if I had held out he would have eventually given
in, his desire for his own bed winning out over his pride. But I
couldn't do it to him. I understood. He wasn't trying to prove
anything to anyone but himself. His independence is important to him
and he'd already lost so much of it.

Tom was drawing the line, telling me that he was nobody's burden.

It exhausted him. Completely. He had barely enough energy to eat a
light meal.

He let me help him into bed without complaint. A sure sign of how much
his efforts had cost him.

It was amazing to me, the feeling of falling asleep next to him. For a
moment there, on the cusp of wakefulness and dreaming, I felt tears
come to my eyes. The depth of how much I had missed this finally sank
in.

A small noise breaks both the silence and my musing and I instantly
come fully awake again.

It's Tom. Just a quiet whimper. A muffled moan that shoots a surge of
worry through me. Beside me, he starts to shift slowly, as if he is
restless or perhaps even trying to get out of bed.

I can hear a low litany of fervent cursing, his own particular method
of venting his distress.

"Oh no," his whisper is tight with dull horror. "God *dammit*."

"Tom?" I speak quietly, not wanting to startle him.

There's a frozen silence, then...

"Aw fuck... oh man, just fuckin' *great*."

Calling on the lights, I sit up and lean over him, touching his
trembling shoulder. "Tommy? What's the matter? Do you have pain?"

He grimaces and barks a short laugh, a brittle even slightly
hysterical sound. "No, Chakotay," he tells me. "Not exactly."

Looking at his mortified expression, the dull flush burning his
cheeks, it's suddenly clear. There is also the fact the olfactory
evidence is now unmistakable.

I scoot out of bed and move around to help him sit up. "C'mon," I keep
my voice soft and business-like, "let's get you cleaned up."

He stares at me and I can't help but smile at his expression.

"The EMH warned us that this could happen, Tom," I tell him gently, my
hands closing over his tense shoulders. "What did you expect... that
I'd run out into the corridor screaming?"

He pulls a disgusted face. "To tell you the truth, Chak, I actually
believed that it wouldn't." He shakes his head ruefully. "Jesus..."
His eyes flick up to mine. "Chakotay? Can you do me a favor here?"

"Sure."

"Just..." he sighs sharply. "Can you just help me into the head and
leave me to it?"

"Tommy, I don't mind helping here. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me," he insists, his eyes beseeching me. "Please? Please,
Chakotay? This is humiliating enough."

"All right." I nod and wait while he locks his arms around my
shoulders, then I stand and pull him up with me, helping him make his
slow and painful way to the head.

Once in the shower, I set him on the shelf seat in the cubicle then,
true to my word, I turn and leave him alone.

The water shower is running full steam before I've even crossed
through the doorway.

While Tom washes up, I strip the bed and put down fresh sheets,
shoving the soiled ones into the fresher. Then, accepting that I'm
liable to have a reasonable wait, I lower the lights slightly and lie
back on top of the bed covers.

I know he's embarrassed by this, but I meant what I said. I wouldn't
have minded helping him. It was an accident. Blameless. A normal side
effect to the massive trauma his body had suffered.

He's fastidious in his habits and I know that has a lot to do with his
personal outrage at this moment, and being warned that an accident
could happen is a far different cry to actually having one.

I hear the water taper off and a few moments later, Tom calls out for
me. The door to the head slides back at my approach and I see him,
naked and dripping wet, rising from the shelf seat, his hands bracing
against the trembling of his limbs.

"Might need a hand here, Chak," he murmurs, his voice low with effort.
"I don't want to slip."

I go to him, my hands gently touching warm wet skin. "C'mon," I grunt,
lifting him to his feet properly and supporting him across the few
torturous steps out of the cubicle. As I do, I look over his shoulder
at the sodden sweat pants in the corner of the shower stall. "You want
me to grab those?" I ask him casually as I wrap a towel around him.

He nods, looking far more composed now that he's clean again. "Yeah.
Just throw them into the fresher. I washed them under the shower
anyway."

I smile and grab up the water logged pants, heading out into the
bedroom and sticking them into the fresher before grabbing up a new
pair for Tom. As I return to the head, I find myself stopping in the
doorway, just staring at him, caught by the sight of him.

He's leaning against the edge of the hand sink, slowly and carefully
toweling the water from his stomach and thighs. His eyes are closed,
his movements slow... he's beautiful.

I suppose I haven't really faced up to it so far. About the fact that
I nearly lost him. About what life would have been like for me without
him.

My eyes fill, my throat tightens. What I feel inside of me is complex
and overwhelming. Possessiveness and desire, protectiveness and
yearning. I know in this moment that I love him.

Now would probably not be the best time to mention it.

Ironic.

He looks up at that moment and stops, concern crossing his face. "Hey.
Are *you* OK?"

I swallow hard, dredge up a smile, and move towards him. "Sure. I just
had a moment, that's all." I take the towel from him and hunker down
to finish drying his legs off before helping him into his sweats.

"Chak?" His voice is both tentative and thoughtful as I help him back
into bed. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Anything. You know that." I lower him down and then scoot in beside
him, carefully sliding my arms around him.

He sighs and nestles into me a little. "That's nice," he tells me
softly. "S'been a while since you were able to hold me."

"I know." I rest my cheek against his damp hair, enjoying the
softness, his sweet clean scent. "I've missed you."

He turns slightly to face me, his eyes somber. "You'll tell me if
things start to get bad for you, won't you?"

I hesitate before answering. I know what he's asking me. I'm just not
entirely sure what to say to him.

"Chak?" There's a note of worry there now.

"I'm OK, Tommy,' I tell him. "I've got a handle on it."

"For now."

"Tom." I cup his jaw firmly. "It can't always be about me. That isn't
fair. This is my turn to take care of *you* for a while. I'll handle
things my own way until you're better."

He frowns at that. "Your own way? Exactly what does that mean?"

"It means that I'll be fine with this." I hold him a little closer to
me, a sudden and terrible thought occurring to me. "Baby... you don't
believe that's all I want you for, do you?"

"No!" He looks hurt and I'm instantly sorry. "I know we're more than
that. But I also know that you need a deeper connection sometimes and,
I gotta tell you, Chak, so do I."

"Tom," I tell him seriously. "There is *no* way in hell you can take
that right now."

"I know that!" he snaps irritably at me. He closes his eyes for a
moment and sighs, composing himself. "I *know* that," he repeats
softly. "But there are things that I *can* do for you. Just... just
promise me that you'll talk to me. We can work something out."

I stare down at him, seeing his honesty, his commitment to this. To
me.

Oh, to hell with it...

"I love you, Tom," I tell him. The words feel good. Right.

True.

For a moment, he simply stares back at me. Then, slowly, he smiles.
"Yeah? Well that's good news, Chak, because I love you too."

Suddenly everything feels better again. The tension in my body fades
back, replaced by a warmth and contentment. It's a perfect moment. One
I know I will always remember.

"You want to try to sleep again?" I ask him.

He nods, yawns before he can help it and gives me rueful grin. He
relaxes at last and is silent for a moment before suddenly chuckling.

"What?" I ask as I call down the light.

"Just the timing, Chak," he tells me. "I think I can safely say that
I'll *never* forget the night you first said you loved me."

I smile into the dark and kiss his hair gently. "Me either, Tom. You
sleep now, OK?"

Thankfully he does, slipping away without another word.

Time enough tomorrow to consider what we spoke about. For now, I feel
peaceful.

I'd prefer just to enjoy it while it lasts.

---

"How are you feeling today, Lieutenant?"

I grin up into the Captain's smiling face and, much to the EMH's
disgust, flip her a quick wink.

"Better every day, Ma'am."

Her smile widens a little as the Doc completes his usual post-workout
scan on me.

It was good today. Well, y'know... as good as a morning full of
grunting and sweating while still fully fuckin' clothed can be. I'll
admit, I swore a lot less than I usually do.

The fact that the Captain was watching *might* have had something to
do with that.

The EMH finishes his once-over and steps back with an expectant look
on his face.

"Well?" Chakotay asks him.

The Doc nods. "He's making good progress, all things considered. I
will allow you to proceed."

Proceed with what? I glance back and forth between Chak and the
Captain, noticing that both of them are looking like they just picked
up the Risian lottery.

"Uh... What's going on?" I don't like it when people smile at me for
no reason. I keep wanting to look for concealed weapons.

"Sims, Lieutenant Paris," the Captain says happily as Chakotay helps
me up off the bio bed.

"Sims?" I dart a quick look into Chakotay's smiling eyes. "Like... as
in, Bridge Sims?"

"Yes, Tom." She pats my arm gently. "I need you back on the Bridge as
soon as possible."

Whoa... she used my name. She *must* be missing me.

The Doc strokes his chin thoughtfully. "At your current recovery
rate," he tells me, "I am estimating that you will be fit for light
duties in, at most, another month."

OK. Slight problem here... I can't decide whether to kiss him, Chak or
the Captain.

Chak slips his arm around my waist, looking pretty tickled by what I'm
sure is a huge soppy grin plastered all over my damn face. "It makes
sense to get you into the Sims as soon as possible," he tells me.

You got it, big man. No fuckin' argument from *this* direction.

"This is great." God, my cheeks are starting to ache. Better pull the
grin back or I'll break my face open.

Part of my joy here is undeniably relief. One of the worst things
about being injured like this is that I can't be useful. I can't fly.
Jesus, I hate that. Hate the feeling that I'm sitting around on my ass
just sucking up replicator credits while everybody else does my work
for me.

Unreasonable? Yeah, maybe. But that's me, right? Always hardest on
myself.

"When can I start? Today?" I make big hopeful eyes at the EMH which,
as fuckin' usual, turns out to be wasted effort.

Huh. Should've turned *that* one on Chakotay.

Chakotay chuckles and shakes his head at me. "Tomorrow afternoon, Tom.
After therapy. We've got a two hour daily timeslot held for you from
now until you get back to duty."

My throat tightens a little as I look at the woman who is ultimately
responsible for approving the whole thing. "Thank you, Captain.
Really."

"Just keep on getting better, Tom." She gives me another pat, then
excuses herself to get back to the Bridge.

"So," Chakotay steers me slowly out of Sickbay, as always, measuring
his steps in time to my sluggish limp, "where to for lunch? The mess
or back to quarters."

"The mess, I guess," I answer as we work our way to the turbolift.
"I'm pretty sure the crew's all been dying to get a proper look at me.
Y'know, to see if I still have all the bits that matter. There's gotta
be a book *somewhere* that bet my legs were taken off. "

Chak calls the deck number, keeping his arms around me as the lift
takes off. "Actually, Tom, the universal feeling has been one of
concern for you."

I think about that as we exit the lift and move slowly into the mess
hall. If I'm honest about it, I'll admit that it's been a little
difficult for me to accept the crew's change of attitude.

For a long time, most of them viewed me with either pity or straight
out fuckin' contempt, and I'll tell you now, I preferred the latter to
the former because pity was *way* to hard to take.

Now? Shit, *I* don't know.

They seem to like me. Apparently.

I mean, it's good, right? A good feeling. At the same time, it's kind
of nerve wracking because I keep expecting it to be taken away.

Chak makes sure that I'm sitting comfortably before heading over to
the servery to grab our meals and I take the opportunity to look at
him for a moment. He looks good. Hard and strong. His face wipes me
out, y'know? So fuckin' beautiful.

I snort a short laugh and shake my head.

Jesus, if I could actually *get* a hard-on right now I'd be in danger
of flipping the fuckin' table over.

I was worried about that for a while there. Y'know, the uhm... shall
we say 'lack of attention' being shown by the goods down there? The
EMH just told me it's normal. While my body is spending all it's
energy healing, my dick is having a little quality hibernation time.

Shit, huh?

"Hey."

A soft voice at my shoulder pulls my eyes away from Chakotay's ass for
a moment and I look up into Greg Ayala's face.

"Hey, Ayala." I smile and relax a bit.

Ayala's OK. He was one of the few people on Voyager, Fleet or Maquis,
who treated me if not with warmth then at least with decency since the
very beginning.

"Good to see you on the mend, Paris." He clasps my shoulder. "You hang
in there, OK?"

"Thanks," I tell him softly. "I'll be back to speed before you know
it."

He grins, pats my shoulder, and heads out of the mess.

He's done me a good turn here today. The Maquis still think of him as
Chakotay's second and the way he treats me has a big impact on the
others.

Chakotay returns to the table at that point and sets my plate down
with a slightly apologetic look on his face before settling into his
chair.

I look down and inspect the offering.

"Oh man. Tell me it ain't so."

He laughs softly. "Sorry, Tommy."

I give him a loaded look. "Leola root casserole, Chak?"

He shrugs lightly. "Believe me, it was the best that was on offer."

"Shit." I pick up my fork and poke around the plate with it. "Things
really *are* getting back to normal, then."

He gives me a smile. "Soon, Tom," he says softly. "Very soon." 

---

Need.

Undeniable. Rising slowly through my flesh, hardening my body. I
swallow loudly in the silent darkness of the bedroom, feeling the
tension mounting in my gut.

My sex, my lower belly, feels heavy and hot, touched by a deep and
irritating sullen ache that intensifies as each moment passes. This is
not sexual arousal as I would prefer to know it. This is sharp...
unpleasant.

Oh Spirits... not *now*.

Tom's deep and rhythmic breathing tells me that he sleeps soundly
enough, blessedly unaware of the dark anxiety forming within me.

It's been so long. So long, and Tom can't help me. Not this time.

Moving carefully to avoid disturbing him, I slide out of bed and moved
through the dark room towards the head. Although it is hardly ideal,
and certainly not what I know my body would prefer, I resolve to take
care of the problem quickly and above all, quietly.

If Tom were awake, he would insist on trying to help me.

Under no circumstances will I allow him to take that kind of risk. For
now, although the urge is regrettably here, it is not yet
overwhelming. In my mind, there is no point in worrying him about it.
Here and now, I can do what must be done to make it tolerable.

If Tom stays asleep in the other room, he need not know, nor need he
feel guilty.

And he would feel guilty. I have no doubt about that.

It humbles me at times, the incredible depth of the man. I know that
many of the crew wonder how on earth we have managed to not only stay
together, but also stay happy.

The answer in simple. Tom Paris - the one they saw as a flirt, the
shallow Fleet Brat, the self-serving lothario, is utterly dedicated to
putting my needs before his. In all things. He was a boundless gift
just waiting to be opened. To him, having someone in his life that
cares for him, loves him, is everything he needs.

Looking back, I understand now. His almost aggressively casual
attitude to intimacy was merely his way of marking time until he found
someone who would give a damn about him.

I thank the Spirits every day that I was that person. It was a very
near thing, even so. I nearly lost him.

I treated him badly. He not only forgave me, he forged a new life for
me. One where my own needs could finally be satisfied without fear.
One where I could be true to my own nature without feeling shame.

As the door to the head slides soundlessly shut behind me, I call up
the lights to ten percent. Enough to see by, but not enough to remove
my night vision. Leaning back against the door, I expel a deep slow
breath and push off my sleep pants. I grasp my erection firmly, nearly
gasping aloud at the heat of the flesh under my fingers, the searing
pleasure/pain that shoots though my abdomen as I work myself to
completion.

In the frenzied moments before orgasm, images of Tom come to me.
Memories. Not of the passionate and gentle loving that we regularly
enjoy, but of the forceful and frantic coupling we share when my need
for such becomes too strong to deny.

His voice, tight with sexual concentration, ragged with both pain and
gratification, coarsely urging me to take him. Seducing me with curses
and snarls, digging deep into the darkest recesses of my own soul and
pulling it out into the light. Taking it into himself. Freeing me from
the agony yet again.

My climax, when it comes, is powerful enough to drive me to my knees.
A strangled cry is torn from my unwilling throat as I slump back
against the door, thrusting into my own hand, riding out the last of
the spasms that wrack my body as silently as I can.

For a few moments I remain there, breathing deeply, feeling the flow
of endorphins filling my limbs with lethargy. Then I haul myself up,
clean off quickly and press the door release.

I freeze as my own gaze meets knowing and entirely alert blue eyes.

Tom is sitting up in bed staring at me, looking for all the universe
like he's been awake the whole time.

Which is probably true.

Damn. This is *not* going to be good.

Tom sighs heavily. "Y'know you didn't have to do that, Chakotay," he
tells me softly.

I present a halfhearted attempt at denial, knowing even as I say the
words that there's no use. "Do what?"

He shakes his head and pulls a face that is half wry smile, half
frustrated grimace. "Lock yourself in the fuckin' head to jerk off."
He sighs again and shakes his head at me. "You could have done it
right here. In fact, *I* would have liked doing it for you. Jesus,
Chak, just because *my* equipment is out of order for the moment
doesn't mean I wouldn't have enjoyed the chance to play with yours."

His turn of phrase makes me smile for a moment before I realize that
he really is hurt by this. There's a tension around those beautiful
eyes, faint lines of unhappiness at the corners of his mouth.

I wasn't intending to tell him... and I think about sticking with that
plan. But I know that to do so would be to wound his heart and I made
a promise a long time ago that I would *never* do that again.

I release a long sigh, feeling my shoulders drop. "I wasn't just
jerking off, Tom. I was... I needed to take the edge off."

Instant understanding washes over his perfect face. "Oh God, Chak." He
holds out a hand to me and I take it, allowing him to pull me down
onto the bed with him. "How long?" He asks me seriously. "How long has
it been like this?"

"Not long," I assure him, touching his smooth neck with my fingertips.
"It's not so bad. Really."

"You should have let me help you."

"Tom," I grip his shoulders with both hands. "Listen to me. I *have*
to handle this on my own."

"But..."

"*Listen*, Tom. Yes. Of *course* it's better - easier for me - if you
are part of it too. But right now, you can't be."

He sets his jaw stubbornly. "Chakotay, I can still help you here."

"No you can't, baby." I close my eyes briefly, pulling in a breath. "I
don't think I could stop myself. I... I'm pretty sure that I would end
up hurting you."

He stares at me in silence for a long time. "I see."

"Do you?"

He nods. In his eyes I can see his acceptance warring with his
reluctance. "I don't like it very much, but I can understand what
you're saying."

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"Don't!" He snaps at me. "Don't *ever* be sorry about it." He touches
my face, slides his arms around my shoulders and, Spirits help me,
pulls me close and comforts me. "Do what you gotta do, Chak," he
whispers against my neck. "Just promise me that you'll stay at home."

I frown a little, feeling baffled by the comment until it sinks in
with sudden clarity. I pull back and cup his face, looking into his
pained eyes.

"Tom... You don't think I could go to anyone else, d--"

"Call it leftover conditioning, Chak." He cuts me off with a sad
smile. "Whatever. Just promise me, OK?"

I kiss his soft mouth, pain in my chest, my heart.

"I promise, Tom." 

---

"Mr. Paris?... Mr. *Paris*? Are you intending to roll over voluntarily
or would you prefer to have me flip you like a pancake?"

I jump a little and blink, craning my head around so that I can stare
up into the EMH's nostrils.

Man, that's not a sight for a full stomach.

"Did you say something, Doc?" I ask him.

He makes some pretense of hiding his irritation and pointedly holds up
his oiled hands. "I need you to roll over, Lieutenant. You still have
half a massage to get through."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Carefully, with Kes' gentle assistance, I roll
onto my back, relaxing again as the EMH begins the slow process of
deep muscle massage down the front of my legs. Once I'm settled, Kes
gives me a sweet smile, a soft pat and heads back into the Doc's
office to finish up whatever the hell it is she's doing in there.

"I realize that I am not the masseur of choice, Lieutenant," The Doc
tells me as he works. "But while the Commander is needed on the
Bridge, I'm afraid you'll just have to make due."

I chew on my lower lip for a while, my mind literally fuckin' miles
away.

"Of course," Peripherally, I hear him continue. "You could simply
ignore me."

He works on in silence for a moment, while I take the opportunity to
give the Sickbay ceiling a *real* good look-over.

"Which would be rude," he adds. "But not entirely unexpected."

I look at him for a moment before sighing and giving him a rueful kind
of half-grin. "Sorry, Doc. I've got a few things on my mind, that's
all."

He nods slowly, lifting one of my legs up to brace and stretch the
muscles out. "I see. You *are* aware that I do have a comprehensive
counseling sub-matrix. If you wish to discuss anything at all..."

"Nah." Really Doc, trust me here. "It's just personal stuff."

"Ah. You and the Commander are not experiencing difficulties, are
you?"

"No." I answer with a grin.

Yes. Fuck it.

"Everything's fine," I tag on for good measure. "I'm just having one
of those days."

Or weeks.

Shit.

"Well. If you are sure, Lieutenant." The Doc lowers my leg and helps
me sit up.

"Absolutely. Thanks anyway."

He replicates a warm cloth and gives my legs a once over, taking away
any residual massage oil before helping me get back into my sweat
pants.

"Chakotay to Sickbay," Chak's voice comes over the comm system.

The EMH smiles at me. "Yes, Commander, he's all finished for the day.
You may take him at your convenience."

Oh fuck, I nearly fall off the bio bed at his choice of words.

That's just the fuckin' problem, Doc. He *can't*.

Can't. Won't. Whatever.

Shit.

This has not been a good week.

Big troubles on the upper deck. We're running a flight path through a
section of space that's completely filled up with plasma storm
activity. They pop up all over the damn place, apparently without
warning. Rollins is close to losing his fuckin' marbles, and to top it
off, we took some damage from a plasma flare that caused a feed-back
loop which blew out a pretty significant portion of the ship's bio-gel
packs. Torres had been going off her fuckin' tits at anyone who's
unlucky enough to stand near her. There was a couple of fights break
out in the mess yesterday because the tension on board the ship has
been growing the longer we're stuck in this fuckin' shithole region of
space, and the man responsible for pulling it all together so that we
don't all give up and *die* is Chakotay.

I close my eyes for a moment as the EMH goes off to check in with Kes.

Chak's been leaving at night.

When he thinks I'm asleep. He gets up and takes off. Hours at a time.
When I checked his location, he was always in his office.

Working, working, fuckin' working...

At least I thought so.

Don't know now. Don't know fuckin' *anything*.

I got worried, y'know? Worried that he was overdoing it, using the
extra workload as some kind of stopgap solution to the *real* problem.

Not wanting to be indelicate about it, but he needed to fuck.

He needed to fuck long and hard until he couldn't fuck anymore and
then maybe, just *maybe*, the pain in his eyes would go away.

So I went to his office. Yeah. Got up and made my stupid slow way
there in the middle of the damn night. I was lucky none of the Beta
shift saw me. I would've been hard pressed to explain what the hell I
was doing.

He wasn't there.

Jesus.

His comm badge was. That was the worst part. Sitting there all shiny
and pretty in the middle of his fuckin' desk.

So... I went back home again.

I went back home and I went into the head and I opened the fuckin'
cabinet and surprise, sur-fuckin'-prise, our personal regenerator was
gone.

I thought my heart was gonna burst. I just stood there in the head
staring at this *empty* spot with tears burning in my eyes and
thoughts of God knows fuckin' *what* racing through my head.

I know that he promised and I *should* believe it, because if there's
one thing I've learned about Chakotay it's that he's not capable of
lying to me.

But, oh man, I've been there before, y'know?

Memories of promises made to me that were never intended to be kept. A
fuckin' lifetime ago, but suddenly back again. Way before Voyager.
Before Chakotay. And I know I shouldn't judge him against *my* past.
That's not only unfair; it's also pretty self-indulgent.

But...

Once the question got into my head, I just couldn't get it out.

Is he using the regenerator to heal his own bruises... Or somebody
else's?

"Hey, Tommy."

His soft voice from the Sickbay entrance snaps me out of my morbid
thoughts. I look up at him, at his face, his eyes.

It's still there. Whatever he's doing... it's only doing half the job.
He's got it under control, but he's still hurting. I can tell.

Of course I can tell. I love the man.

Somehow I find the will power I need to bring up a
nothing's-wrong-everything's-dandy grin for him. "Are you all clear
for the day?" I ask him.

He nods and helps me down from the bio bed. "Yes. Tuvok's got the
Bridge for the night. So... what do you feel like doing?"

Good question, Chak. How about we hash this thing out, huh? How about
you tell me where you go or what or *who* you're fuckin' doing of a
nighttime and I'll tell you how crazy this has been making me?

Or how about we do what we've done for the last few nights? How about
we go get a meal, maybe share a drink or two at Sandrine's with Harry
or Sam or Greg and then go home. And I'll pretend to fall asleep
again, and you can go do what you do?

Cool?

"Actually, Chak, I'm a little wrecked tonight." I smile apologetically
at him. "Do you mind if we eat in our quarters?"

He takes my arm gently, as always, on hand to catch me if I fall.

Catch me, Chakotay. Don't go out tonight.

"Sure, Tom," he says softly, lovingly. "To tell you the truth I could
use an early night myself."

Oh yeah, I can't help thinking as we hit the turbolift, I just bet you 
could.

---

In silence I rise from our bed.

A painful, undignified and furious silence.

Painful because I must. Undignified because I am a grown man; a
descendant of an evolved and civilized species, who is now apparently
a slave to his own primal urges.

Furious because I am hiding it from him.

It is a constant misery to me now, the full body equivalent of a
toothache. During my day, there are duties, tasks, things that *must*
be done, and I can manage in that hectic time to keep my anxiety at
bay.

But it is a struggle to hide it from Tom. He knows me so well.

Too well.

The measures I have taken, the outlet I have chosen, it will keep me
sane, allow me to release just a little of the tension and turmoil
that thrums constantly through my blood. It will serve to divert the
sexual irritation that is the ultimate manifestation of my baser
nature.

Just a little. Just enough.

Tom. I am sorry. But I *have* to do this.

Throwing on my sweatshirt, I pad out through the darkened living area,
heading for the exit to our quarters. An hour or two - maybe three at
the most, and I will be back again. Showered and regenerated, all
evidence of my nightly journey gone. Ready for sleep, secure in the
knowledge that for one more night, the trusting man sleeping at my
side will be safe from harm.

My hand is nearly on the door release panel when a soft voice sounds
from the bedroom doorway.

"Where you goin', Chak?"

I turn, my shoulders dropping, hopeless regret rising in me.

I meet his eyes in the dim light, seeing sorrow and betrayal. There is
also a knowing expression there. This is not a surprise to him.

Spirits... he has known all along and *I* should have known better.

"Where are you going?" he asks again, his tone soft, almost casual.

"Tommy, I..." I pause a moment, struggling with it.

"You going to see someone, Chak? Is that what you're doing?"

"No!" My voice comes out flat and harsh. Angry. My nerves are
stretched to the limit right now. I need to get *out*...

I pull in a deep breath, calming myself a touch. "No," I tell him
again.

"Then tell me where you've been going." The injury in his eyes
deepens. "Tell me why."

"I can't, Tom. I... you don't understand--"

"Then *make* me understand," he pleads with me, taking a trembling
step towards me. "Stay here with me. Talk to me."

Oh no... Great Spirits, if he reaches me, if he touches me, it will
all be over. He is asking me to talk to him. Does he have any *idea*
what I want to do with him, to him? If not for the rapidly dissipating
remnants of my tattered self-control I would be on him already,
sinking myself and my soul deep into his flesh, driving towards the
release of this dark lust as if nothing else in the universe existed.

I hold up my hand, silently ordering both him and the twisting images
in my head to stop.

Stunned, his face filling with distress, he does.

I keep my tone measured and cold as I speak to him, knowing that to
retain some distance is the only way. "I'll be back soon. I promise."
I turn my back on him and hit the door release with a sharp slap.

"Don't leave," he says then. His voice rips at my soul. It's quivering
with emotion, suddenly thick with tears. "Don't walk out on me,
Chakotay. Don't you dare."

I pause just long enough to look over my shoulder at him.

I look into his pale and haggard face, into his shimmering eyes, and
feel something inside me just crumple and die.

I've done this. Hurt him. Broken my promise.

But, as my mother always said, in for a penny, in for a pound. I have
made my choice. All I can do now is hope that he will understand.

*If* and when I can find a way to explain it to him.

"I'll be back soon, Tom," I tell him again.

Then, cursing my own weakness, I step out into the corridor and let
the door close behind me. 

---

He left.

He actually fuckin' *left*...

For a moment I just stand there, halfway across the living area floor,
my eyes staring at the door and my mouth dangling open.

"Asshole!" I say the room in general.

OK, I can go two ways now. I can stay here like a good little broken
up pilot and sit in the dark feeling sorry for myself, or I can track
that stubborn bastard to the fuckin' wall and end this shit tonight.

Pretty forgone conclusion if you know anything at all about me and my
twisted little psyche.

"Computer. Advise current location of Commander Chakotay."

"Commander Chakotay is in the First Officer's designated duty office."
The monotone answer comes back immediately.

"Bullshit." Scrubbing the wetness from my face, I limp over to the
desk console in the corner of the living area and key in a few codes,
accessing the ship's medical records.

I've always been good at this...

I don't have much trouble breaking into the main system either; a few
encrypted entries get me in and preserve my anonymity.

I hope.

Jesus, I'll have some pretty fast talking to do if Tuvok finds out
about this. For some reason he gets really pissed when people break
into his security systems.

Vulcans. Go figure.

I spend about thirty minutes entering codes and overriding lockouts,
finally getting the access to the security scanning network that I
need.

I push back from the console and let out a breath. OK, here goes
nothing...

"Computer, access medical file C-Alpha-Four and run a ship wide scan
for a matching physical profile."

"Scanning. Target located." The computer's answer comes back quickly.

All right. Good. "Computer, ID current target."

"Commander Chakotay of Dorvan Five. Current crew designation: First
Officer."

Bulls-eye... now just one more little question.

"Computer, advise current location of target."

"Target is currently in Holodeck Two."

Gotcha, Chak.

Pulling in a deep breath I haul myself up and head out of our
quarters. I take a little look around before I travel the short
distance to the turbo lift. It looks clear so far. Lucky. I don't want
any good intentioned help trying to steer me back into my quarters.

About halfway along I get a cramp in my lower leg, my body's own
special way of telling me that it hasn't had nearly enough sleep this
past week. I lean heavily against the corridor bulkhead, moaning
softly and waiting until the pain dies down a little.

Fuck, this *bites*... as soon as I get full use my legs, I'm gonna
kick Chakotay's ass.

I rest again when I get into the lift, bracing myself against the
handrail and pulling in slow breaths.

Maybe this isn't the wisest course of action I've ever taken, but
shit... wise and Tom Paris aren't exactly synonymous now, are they?
I've got no idea what I'm going to find when I get to the holodeck -
that's even assuming I can break in. And once I *am* in, I have no
idea how he's going to react to my presence.

Jesus, his face. His eyes. I'm pretty sure he thought the old 'ice
man' routine hid the truth but it was clearer to me than ever before.

I just... Oh man, I hope he's not in there doing something stupid,
y'know? He's got the authority to take off the safety's and I gotta
tell ya, right now that's not something that inspires confidence.

The lift reaches the holodeck level and I limp onwards, once more
checking that the coast is clear.

So it fuckin' should be. What is it? Like, one o-clock in the ship's
morning? Anybody off shift with any sense would be in bed.

Yeah, I know.

I'm breathing pretty hard by the time I reach the arched entrance to
holodeck two. Jesus, I really ought to be back in bed too.

Problem is, Chak should be in there with me.

OK... breaking into the holodeck present no problems. Like I said, I'm
pretty good at this. As the door slides back, I brace myself and
stagger on into the running program.

My first thought is that I've been here before. The surroundings are
familiar. Chakotay's shown me this.

It's his old gym program, the one where he sometimes comes to spar in
the boxing ring for a while. This time, however, there are a few
differences. There's no grizzled, cigar honkin' coach cursing over by
the side of the room, no other holo-characters working out or mixing
it in the ring.

Just Chakotay.

He's doesn't even see me, he's so totally lost in what he's doing over
there.

I just stand here, silently... watching him.

Oh God. The pain in my legs is nothing compared to what's filling my
guts right now.

He's working the punching bag.

Not just working it. He looks like he trying to kill the fucker.

He's in his sweat pants only; I can see the dropped sweatshirt sitting
behind his feet. Sweat is running freely down his face and torso. He's
got his feet planted firmly apart and he's slamming at the bag with
massive force, with the repeated and patient rhythm of a man cutting
down a hardwood tree.

God, his face... it's just a furious tortured mask of anguish, his
lips drawn back in snarl, his eyes glaring... burning. He's making a
soft sound as he works at it. It fuckin' horrible, a low grunt of
rage, overlain with agony.

That's when I notice his hands.

They're strapped with white linen, the way they should be, but... Oh
Jesus... The linen is bloodstained. Fuckin' crimson with it. I can
only imagine the mess his knuckles must be in. I can't help wincing as
I watch him slam his fists against the heavy chain secured bag over
and over, never loosing his rhythm, never letting off on the power of
each blow.

So now I know.

He's been coming in here and doing this until his hands are pulped and
broken, and when he can't do it anymore, he stops, fixes himself up
and comes home.

And then he comes back here and does it all again, because while it
obviously helps, it's simply not enough.

But it's all he has.

It's all he'll *let* himself have.

There's a moment, I think, in everybody's life when they feel a regret
so fuckin' profound that they'll never find the words to express it.

I've got that now.

No matter how good we've gotten together. No matter how much he means
to me or how much I love him, I will *always* regret that I turned
this loose on him again.

He spent fuckin' *years* erecting careful barriers of self control and
I came in with my desires and my fuckin' demands and I wouldn't stop
until I had broken through them all.

I hear him make a final harsh cry, a sort of mindless end to his
efforts. Then he stops, dropping his hands to his sides.

And he looks at me.

His face is frozen like stone. His eyes are black pool of misery.

Fuck.

He looks beaten.

Well, Tom... looks like all your chickens have just come home to
roost. So quit standing here crying like a baby and fix it.

Fix it.

You know how.

---

Tom's here.

Spirits, I didn't even hear him come in.

Break in. Dammit. The stubborn, irritating, inquisitive little...

I sigh heavily, wiping the sweat off my face with my forearm. My hands
are throbbing. Incredibly painful. But... it is a welcome feeling just
the same. It distracts me for the moment from the baser pain inside of
me.

Would meditation have helped me?

Perhaps. After a fashion. But the fact is, what I had achieved there
in regards to asserting my own control had been built up over a long
period of time. Layer upon layer, carefully set into place.

Then there was Tom... and I have to confess, I reveled in his
understanding. Being able to hand over my entire self like that. It
was something akin to the freedom of a bird's flight.

But, I should have considered that there would be times that would
test me. Us. Times like now.

In the face of his tears, his sorrow for me, his guilt... I am lost
for words. It is clear to me that he feels responsible.

Is he?

Again... perhaps. Partly. But I was there too. *I* made choices too
and *this* life, *our* life, dark demons and all, was what I chose.

He needs to remember that in spite of the power of this need inside
me, I still have free will. I *chose* this path. I can bear whatever
cross I have to in order to walk it.

He wipes his tears away and lifts his chin, his face assuming a
business-like expression. "Where's the regenerator?"

I nod over to the racks by the side of the boxing ring and he limps
across and retrieves it. He turns to me and points to a fold up chair
by the side of the racks. "Come on over here, Chak. I'll fix those up
for you."

I remain silent as he attends to my hands, carefully unwrapping them
and then patiently regenerating the bruised and bloody flesh. The
touch of his cool fingers absorbs all of my attention and I find
myself focusing on them, watching the smooth flex and play of the
muscles in his long and elegant hands.

He doesn't try to engage me in conversation. He seems to understand
that right now, it's beyond me.

He leads me towards the shower stalls at the back of the gym and nods
me through, waiting at the door while I wash up and dress. My body
aches as I move towards him. Every step feels like my legs are chained
to iron weights.

Spirits help me... I'm so damned tired. Tired of the gnawing lust
lurking at the edges of everything I do. Tired of coming here. Tired
of the pain.

Tired of being so tired.

In silence we return to our quarters and Tom steers me directly to the
bedroom. I walk in without a word and stand at the viewport, my gaze
lost in the stars.

After a moment, he joins me, setting something down beside the bed
with one hand and handing me a glass of water with the other. "Drink,"
he tells me.

I do, my body accepting the gift gratefully.

He takes the glass away and sets it down. Then, with grave eyes and a
solemn expression, he touches my face, my shoulders, his fingers
gentle, questing.

I feel it building in me again. Incredible considering the exertion I
have just put myself through, but oh... being here with him right now,
with his soft touch and the warm scent of him wafting over me.

He reaches for the waistband of my sweat pants.

"Tom," I groan at him and clasp his hands tightly, my own hands
shaking. "Don't do this."

"Chakotay," he whispers, calm and soothing. "I know that you don't
trust yourself. I know that."

I release a shattered breath, nodding at him, my eyes pleading with
him.

He smiles sadly, his entire heart in his eyes. "But... can you trust
me?"

I close my eyes for a moment, my heart racing, my jaw clenching and
unclenching. The silence stretches out, the tension inside me mounts.

He waits. Patient and sure.

With a tiny sound of pain from low in my throat, I nod.

Yes. I trust you, Tom. With everything. With my life.

"Then c'mere," he tells me softly, gently, taking my hands and leading
me to the bed. "Lie back for me."

Oh, dear Spirits... I can't do this, I can't... hurt him. Even in my
preoccupied state, I can see how pronounced his limp has become, his
ravaged body pushed to it's limits from traipsing all over this damned
ship looking for me.

I try one more time to pull away from him, but he tightens his grip on
me, refusing to let go.

"Shhhh." He touches my shoulders again, pushing me to sit, pulling the
sweatshirt off me. "Trust me."

Helpless, caught between his faith and my own screaming need, I can do
nothing but obey.

He's right. I need this.

Spirits forgive me for what I am about to do.

---

*Finally*.

OK... not a lot of time to waste here. He's down, but not for long. I
can see the fuckin' tension literally quaking through his body. If I
take too long about this, he's either gonna bolt or jump on me.

Right now, I'm not so sure which would be worse.

Right. So. He doesn't trust himself to exercise any control? Fine. I
got that part covered.

Sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, I pick up the medical
restraints that I replicated when we came back here and hold them on
my lap.

"Chak? Can you put your hands above your head for me?" I keep my voice
soft and gentle, as far away from the tone that I would usually use
when he's like this as I can get it. He's only just hanging on here. I
can see it. His muscles are twitching like there's some kind of
electrical current running through him. His breath is fast and harsh,
his face and chest covered with sweat.

If I was fully fit and recovered, I'd have no problems dealing with
this. I'd just offer up my willing ass and let myself get taken on one
hell of a ride. And I mean that.

But, fuck it, I can't do that right now.

So I play it calm. I don't want to provoke him.

At least not yet.

"Chak? Baby?" I touch his heaving chest lightly.

Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he swallows. Hard. Then he does as I
ask.

Good. Great. That's probably the last chance I'll get so I better make
it count. I set the restraints quickly, securing them to the bed head
and then fastening the straps around Chakotay's wrists.

When I pull back, he's staring at me, his eyes dark and intense with
arousal, alive with that familiar fire that I both love and hate to
see.

God, he's beautiful like this. That's part of what compels me so much
about these moments, I guess. The man was *meant* to be wild.

I scoot down the bed a little, easing his pants down and off before
moving over and getting myself settled as comfortably as possible
between his thighs. I'm not interested in foreplay here. I'm going
straight for the money.

I hear a soft growl from above me, low and continuous, and I revel in
it.

That's it, baby. You can't hurt me. Just let it go now.

I take a firm hold of his twitching cock. The sheer fuckin' heat of it
in my hand, the pulsing hardness of it, it just floors me.

Christ, he must've been going out of his mind.

I take a deep breath and swallow him whole, taking as much of him into
my mouth as I can, sucking hard and slow, following the rise of my
mouth with my hand, keeping the pressure firm.

He cries out, low and sharp. A sudden curse cuts the air. A desperate
plea follows. He twists against the restraints, the bed head creaking
under the onslaught. His hips jerk back, pressing down into the
mattress while his big body trembles uncontrollably. I can tell that
he's still trying to hold back, trying not to let go.

Nuh-uh, Chak. No *way*...

I slide my hands down under his ass, lifting him up to me like a
feast. I squeeze his butt, hard, deliberately digging my nails into
the taut flesh as I continue to pull up the length of his cock,
tasting him, Jesus, *loving* it... trying to get him in as far as I
can without fuckin' choking myself.

He jerks hard at the sudden shock of it, the pain of my fingers biting
into him. I give him another solid squeeze just for good measure
and...

Oh yeah... *now* we're rockin'.

He's roaring, cursing, going fuckin' feral up there. I brace myself
with one arm, lock my jaw and relax my throat as much as I can, just
going with it, letting him fuck upwards into my mouth as hard and as
fast he wants to.

He's close, very close. Shit, how could he not be? He's been waiting a
long time for this one.

I curl my free hand around his shaft once more, pumping hard, stroking
him off in time to the thrusts he's making into my mouth. I feel his
cock jolt in my grip, feel the deep shudder slam through his body. He
gives a wrenching shout, a primal howl of sheer fuckin' relief as,
with one final heave of his big frame, he shoots his load right down
my throat.

I take it, all of it, and gratefully too. Jesus, at last, at fuckin'
*last*, we have a solution here.

When he's finally finished, I straighten up slowly, ignoring the
twinges in my lower back, and wriggle my way up to lie beside him. I
release the restraints and then wait, watching him carefully.

He's breathing a little easier now, gradually slowing to normal as the
minutes pass.

Eventually, he opens his eyes and slowly turns his head to look at me.

That gaze tells me everything that I need to know.

I smile at him, feeling better in this moment that I can ever
remember.

"Hey." I lean forward and kiss him, softly, tenderly.

He responds in kind, one hand curling around the back of my neck. I'm
not worried anymore. We've made it through the danger zone and hey,
miracle of miracles, we *both* came out the other side alive.

I pull back and look down at him.

"Thank you," he murmurs, sleep already starting to take him.

I lay my head down on his chest, listening to his heart, loving the
sound of it.

"You're welcome," I whisper and close my eyes. 

---

"Commander? The new course coordinates are laid in." Ensign Rollins,
Tom's regular relief helmsman, looks over his shoulder at me.

I set aside the ship repairs report I'm scanning and nod at him. "Very
good, Ensign. Break orbit and get us out of here. Warp four if you
would."

He grins and nods, as outwardly pleased to be leaving this sector of
space as everybody else on the ship.

Spirits, if I never see another plasma storm field again in my life,
it will be too soon. Still, when all was said and done, we handled the
constant threat and the inevitable tensions it brought well enough.

At least with no permanent injuries.

As for myself? I am regaining my equilibrium with every day that
passes. It's amazing to think that less than a week ago, a mere five
days, I was in a state of internal divergence deeper than any I had
ever experienced.

It is equally ironic to me that the role of caregiver seems to have
passed wholly from me to my injured soul mate.

Tom. Obstinate, pushy, insistent...

Miraculous.

He recovered well enough from his midnight mission of mercy across the
ship, although the EMH gave him a rather pointed lecture about the
folly of not getting adequate rest. He even went so far as to threaten
to report Tom's evident disobedience to me - as it was obvious to him
that Tom was 'getting up and overdoing things' when I was not around.

Tom told me all about it in depth after I'd collected him from his
afternoon therapy session.

We had sat together on our sofa while he'd told me about how he'd had
to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from daring the EMH to call
me, just so that he could see the look on my face.

Evil little bastard. Damn, did we laugh...

Afterwards, I started to apologize again. I have to admit, although
the EMH's assumptions were amusing, they also served to remind me of
just how much I rely on Tom, and of how close I came to abusing his
dedication to me.

The instant the words began to leave my mouth, Tom pinned me with a
flat stare.

"Chakotay," he'd told me seriously. "This guilt trip thing is getting
*real* old. How many times do I have to tell you? I wouldn't do it if
I didn't want to."

I'd pulled him close to me, stroking his face, his hair, just touching
him until the irritated crease on his brow had smoothed out again.

He's adapted to that too. How my emotions are often displayed
physically rather than verbally. He's become used to the way I'll just
pull him down and start petting him for no apparent reason. He
understands what it means.

We talked on till late that evening, discussing the plan to get him
back into the pilot's seat within the next ten days. We also began to
touch on plans further into the future. Plans for the two of us.

It was the first time we had spoken about such things and, I have to
confess, I found it a remarkably satisfying experience.

"So, you and me? We're in it for the long haul?" He'd been resting
back against the side of the sofa, his head cushioned on one arm, his
beautiful eyes, tired but contented, gazing up me while I carefully
rubbed his feet and legs.

"I think so, Tom," I'd told him. "I'd like to be."

"Nobody else will put up with you, huh?"

I'd smiled at him. "Something like that. Perhaps the fact that nobody
ever wanted me as much as you did might have something to do with it."

He'd grown serious again then, slowly pulling himself up my shoulder
so that he could wrap his arms around me.

"I did, Chak," he'd whispered against my neck. "It was all about you
from the first moment you touched me."

I'd pulled back then, looking into his weary, wonderful eyes. "How's
the pain tonight?"

"Almost a non-event," he'd grinned at me. "Why? You wanna go dancing?"

"Actually, I was thinking about making love. If you're up to it."

His smile had turned tender and just a touch relieved. "You know I'm
*always* up for that."

It was good. Very good. A necessary reaffirmation of the more
conventional sexual connection between us. The one that expresses our
pleasure and affection. The one where gentle touches and tender words
bind us closer.

And it was a welcome occasion for me. To convince myself that it was
still possible.

Foolish, I know. But then self-doubts so often are.

My own concerns had dissipated the moment I started undressing him.
Just looking at him, at the serenity of his smile, the assurance in
his eyes, it was all that I needed in order to know that I could trust
myself with him. I handed over the lead to him completely and, even as
I did, I was struck by the irony of it.

Ever since we began our true relationship, *this* relationship, that
has been the case. From an outsider's point of view, it would be easy,
I suppose, to assume that I am the dominant partner, both emotionally
and physically but, as I may have mentioned before, it is Tom who
lends me the support I need. It is his choice. Always. It must be.

All that aside, it was a wonderful feeling to lay down with him again
like that. Sprawled over my chest, the warmth of him draped across me
like a human blanket. One of his clever hands had tangled through my
hair, gripping me firmly while the other, slicked with lubricant and
my own pre-ejaculate, worked my sex confidently, stroking me towards
release. He used a firm touch, picking up my rhythm with ease. He had
smiled when my hips had begun to rock into it and he had leaned down
and kissed me like there was no tomorrow, his soft lips and hot tongue
working in tandem with his touches.

I was personally surprised that he didn't need to report to the EMH
for repairs to his eardrums. I've always been somewhat vocal in my
expression of my joy of orgasm, but even *I* had no idea I could make
that much damn noise.

He held me through it, his voice low, his murmurs endearingly
encouraging, and when I was finished he moved back and lay beside me,
his smile asking me to touch him in return.

I did. With great joy and no small amount of awe, I did. His face, his
soft hair, the lines of his jaw. My hands and fingers traced his
entire outline. I kissed the smooth warm skin of his neck and
shoulders, tasting him, softly marking him with a tiny trail of
sucking kisses along his graceful collarbones.

I counted ribs and trailed my fingers down the lean elegance of his
spine, learning his body all over again and finding the journey an
unmitigated joy. He was honest in his guidance of my touches, telling
me immediately if I was hurting him, leading me to place where it
didn't.

From a purely selfish standpoint? I will confess to being greatly
pleased that he wanted me to touch his cock. I had missed holding that
part of him a great deal.

Although he didn't reach orgasm in the ordinary sense, he did arrive
at a certain peak of sensation when I started stroking him in all
those favorite little places. He also achieved an erection and
maintained it for several minutes. I think that, more than anything
else, satisfied him immensely.

He'd been *very* worried about that part.

Now, as I sit in the command chair, overlooking the bridge crew at
work, I find Tom's words of that night coming back to me.

The long haul.

In many ways, that is what our relationship has resembled.

We have struggled at times, that much is true. But we have also made
it through some dark places together and have managed to retain our
unity, finding it stronger than ever for the journey across our own
personal ordeals.

Tom's persistence is a great part of it. But my own burgeoning ability
to acknowledge that will serve us well into the future.

I have no doubt of the depth of his love for me, nor do I doubt my
own. Somehow, somewhere between our fundamental differences, we have
found in each other the missing parts of ourselves.

Common ground.

Together we seem to make sense and perhaps, when everything is said
and done, this is all that really matters.

It is certainly all that matters to me.

---

The End