The BLTS Archive - Touch Comfort First in the Touch series by Azpou (azpou@aol.com) --- Chakotay stood silently on the balcony of his quarters. It was a peaceful night. The stars shone and sparkled above the Earth like water droplets glimmering in sunlight, while the moon hung white against the darkness of the sky. He turned his face into the warm, gentle breeze that rustled the treetops with a sigh, but there was no comfort to be found in the touch of Mother Nature. Not tonight. He doubted there was comfort to be found anywhere ever again. The search for Voyager had been called off that day. Only six years after he and Harry had returned to the Alpha quadrant. // Six years isn't enough . . . . // But his thought was half-hearted. Deep down, he knew it was time to move on with life. Chakotay stared up at the black void of space, feeling only a sense of despairing anger. Anger at whatever gods, whatever fates, had brought them to this moment. He and Harry both. He despaired at the futility of his anger. Anger served no purpose. It was too easy for anger to mutate into hate, and he'd had his fill of that emotion. He no longer had the strength to sustain it, for it does take tremendous strength to maintain hate for any length of time when forgiveness and acceptance come more easily. He was too tired to hate. He tried to imagine what Harry was feeling. Certainly, Chakotay had his own demons, but Harry . . . Harry had monsters. Tendrils of pain corrupting his mind. Harry had guilt. Harry even had hate. Chakotay had seen it in his face when Admiral McIntyre had broken the news that morning. "Chakotay, Harry. Please, sit down." Harry had been anxious. "What have you decided? Did the review committee take note of my . . . our suggestions?" McIntyre had nodded slowly, a flop of stunningly white hair moving comically over his forehead. "The committee have placed your recommendations on record. However." The Admiral had paused, and Chakotay watched as Harry's hope disappeared forever. "However, it was decided that it is no longer feasible to continue the search for Voyager. I'm sorry." Chakotay had held his peace, reluctant to vocalise his thoughts, and had instead listened to Harry as he demanded whys and wherefores. "The Federation has other priorities. We can no longer afford to waste our resources on a search of this magnitude. Better to let them rest in peace." "Rest in peace?" Harry had burst out. The Admiral looked at him sadly. "Mr. Kim, I think we all know that the Voyager project is no longer a search and rescue mission." Chakotay sat silently as Harry plucked angry objections from thin air, perversely amused at his creativity. He ranted and raved, paced and gestured for almost five minutes before McIntyre called a halt. "That's enough, Mr. Kim. Your objections are noted." His voice softened as he repeated the apology. "I truly am sorry. For both of you. Dismissed." Chakotay watched Harry carefully for his reaction. Harry's face remained expressionless, but the look of pure hatred he'd directed towards the Admiral had left Chakotay reeling. He'd seen that look many times before in his lifetime, knew it intimately, but had never thought to see it in Harry. Innocent Ensign Kim. Chakotay had seen that innocence die in the Delta Flyer all those years ago, realising the scope of his failure as the Flyer, a permanent memorial to the ingenuity of Voyager's crew, had swept on towards Earth, leaving Voyager to buck and rumble out of the slipstream. Hope had carried Harry through six years of searching, but now that was gone as well. And in its place . . . . Dark, dull, unremitting hatred, made worse by its scattered nature. The hatred Harry suffered had no fixed target; he hated himself, Chakotay, McIntyre, Starfleet, the galaxy. Anyone and anything that had anything to do with the death of Voyager. At that moment, Chakotay had no doubt that Harry had wanted to kill McIntyre for making him face his own failure. And Chakotay -- Voyager's caring, sensitive, virtual counsellor First Officer, friend of the crew -- had known all of this, and run away. Too crushed with his own grief, he'd needed distance, needed to be selfish and just this once consider himself before anybody else. Chakotay stared morosely at the sky, and decided, shamefully reluctant, that he really should pay Harry a visit. --- The Harry that opened the door to him was not the Harry he'd seen outside the Admiral's office before the announcement that morning. This Harry no longer wore a uniform. The regulation pointed sideburns, which Chakotay had always considered a rather draconian stipulation, were unkempt. His eyes were sunken, hollow, and burning with tired, driving guilt. Guilt had become Harry's life force. They were both tired. Chakotay found himself unable to resist the vision of pain before him as he was ushered quickly, silently inside. He heard the door close calmly as he was pushed gently through to the living area. He noted the neatness, wondering if keeping his surroundings clean and uncluttered somehow soothed Harry's senses. Once inside, Chakotay allowed himself to be grasped firmly by the shoulders. He forced himself to look into Harry's eyes. "Where were you this afternoon?" "Harry --" "Where were you?" Harry repeated, his voice insistent. Chakotay closed his eyes momentarily. "At home. Outside. Walking." "Why?" Harry demanded. "I needed time." "Oh," Harry said sceptically. He glanced down, and when he looked up his eyes were bright. "I needed you." Chakotay felt his throat constrict. "I'm sorry." "You're sorry? What have you got to be sorry about, Chakotay?" He didn't answer. Couldn't. Couldn't tell Harry how he'd allowed himself to be seduced by Kathryn into agreeing to the use of the slipstream drive, over replicated vegetable biryani, soft light and synthehol. He knew, intellectually, that even if he had objected more strenuously Kathryn would have carried on regardless, and he and Harry would still be where they were now. But knowing that didn't make it any easier. Better to survive with your principles intact than to die with them in tatters. Harry shook his head, laughing bitterly at his silence before pulling Chakotay closer. "I needed you," he whispered forcefully. "And you weren't here." "I'm sorry, Harry," Chakotay said quietly, apologising for a multitude of sins. "Stop apologising! I don't want you to apologise, I don't want you to pity me." "Then what do you want from me?" "I want you to help! I want you to fix things, back to the way they were six years ago. You're Chakotay, Indian Warrior. You can do anything, mind over matter." Chakotay lowered his head under the weight of responsibility and the cruel jibes at his ancestry, his beliefs. He listened as Harry continued his tirade. "I want you to feel guilty. Do you ever feel guilty, Chakotay? I sometimes wonder. Do you *care* about anything? I want you to hurt the way I do. Why are you always so damn calm?" Chakotay glared at him, feeling his own intense anger rise up. "You think I don't feel it too? You think that I don't feel guilty? That I don't hurt, that I don't care? I was *First Officer* on board that ship, *I* should have seen what would happen. I should have questioned. I shouldn't have allowed it to happen. You think that I don't think about that every single day when I look up at the sun, every single night when I look up at the stars?" "Do you?" Harry's question was razor sharp. Chakotay glared for a moment longer, then felt himself wilt in Harry's grasp. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. "I'm so tired, Harry." Harry looked startled, taken aback. He paused, then gentled his bruising fingers on the other man's arms in empathy, taking in the flickering eyelashes over lethal, golden skin. Desire stirring, he cupped Chakotay's head carefully, raising his face. "I need you." Chakotay gazed bleakly at Harry, his own guilt searing him as he murmured, "Do whatever you have to do, Harry." Harry didn't hesitate. He took Chakotay's mouth in a burning, heated kiss, stripping him with an urgency born of hate and hurt. He pulled Chakotay through to the bedroom, pushing him harshly onto the bed. He kissed and licked his way down the darker body beneath him, loving the silk and corded steel with a passion of which he'd no longer thought himself capable. The memories of six years of silent encounters flew from his mind as he swallowed Chakotay's cock. Chakotay gasped and moaned, feeling the satin of Harry's hair as he made no attempt to direct. He let Harry dictate the pace, needing to surrender to someone stronger, and at that moment, Harry was stronger. Chakotay knew that Harry's hate was driving him to do this. He let out a gasp as he felt a finger coated with saliva probe the entrance to his body. He shook with need as his legs were lifted onto Harry's still-clothed shoulders, the thrill of Harry's desperation an aphrodisiac to his already loaded senses. Harry pressed home quickly, with a wanting more complex than lust, or love. He barely gave Chakotay's body time to adjust before he began moving. His only thought was to possess and control this man, Chakotay, the friend he'd trusted and respected for so long. He leaned forward to capture lips in a rough kiss, reaching down to grasp Chakotay's cock tightly. He kissed, and stroked, and fucked, watching Chakotay's face as he grimaced, aroused to the point of pain. Chakotay tore his mouth away from Harry's as he came, his hands clutching at Harry's shoulders, trying to bury himself in the man who still rode his body. Harry kept moving, six years of pain driving him onwards and upwards, higher and higher, until at last he could go no further. He collapsed onto Chakotay, exhausted, his forehead resting in the crook of Chakotay's shoulder. Chakotay turned his face away from Harry as he recovered, unwilling to share anything more. He made an attempt to shrug off the possessive arm that snaked across his body, but was held tightly, against Harry's chest and against his will. "Chakotay?" He didn't answer the soft inquiry, too tired to lie. He shifted once more, then gave up, securely trapped in Harry's arms. "I resigned my commission today." Chakotay sighed. "So I noticed." Harry raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at Chakotay. "I need to find Voyager," he said, lightly tracing the dark lines on the other's forehead. "I know." Harry nodded, and leaned closer, gazing into Chakotay's eyes. "Will you help me?" Chakotay stared into the pain-filled brown orbs above him. Guilt at his own actions rose up once again. He swallowed, knowing he'd never be able to deny Harry anything, not any more. He nodded. "Yes." Harry smiled. "You'll have to resign." Chakotay sighed and turned his face away again, feeling a flicker of hate towards the man forcing him to give up that which he'd never hoped to regain. "Yes." Harry stroked his cheek. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine. You'll see. I'll make sure of it." He touched his lips to Chakotay's softly, pulling him closer into a protective circle before falling asleep. Chakotay shivered in the warmth of the arms that chained him as he listened to the night. There was no comfort to be found in the touch of Harry Kim. --- The End