The BLTS Archive- Legacy
by Jaye (reader8901@fastmail.fm)

---

Copyright March 2002)

Note: Originally written for ChakotayFest.

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Voyager, Deep Space Nine and all related
characters and concepts are the property of Paramount. No
infringement is intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for m/m sex.
If you aren't interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a line first so I know where it's going. Please keep
the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure, but this is only my second attempt at fanfic so be
kind, or at least constructive. If I've mangled DS9 canon, my
apologies. I'm using episode guides for my info.

Backstory: On Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Michael Eddington was a
Starfleet officer turned Maquis spy. After he finally broke cover, he
became a Maquis leader and a serious threat to the status quo. He was
eventually captured and imprisoned by Starfleet. He later deceived
his captors into taking him to a planet they thought held weapons
they needed to destroy, but actually was the last sanctuary for the
few remaining Maquis. Eddington died making sure the last of his
people were saved from the Cardassian-Jem'Hadar slaughter. Among
those rescued was his wife, Rebecca.

Weyoun was a Vorta clone who served the Dominion as liaison to the
Cardassian Empire. His people believed the shape-shifting Founders
(like DS9's Odo) were gods because they had genetically transformed
his people from the ape-like creatures they used to be. There were
several clones of Weyoun during DS9's run, one of whom tried to
defect and turn over military secrets to Odo. There's an interesting
loophole in Weyoun's history: In one episode, it's made clear that
Weyoun's genetic material is secure, but in the final episode, Garak
kills the Vorta and someone says that he was the last clone. Therein
lies this tale.

Time: Set a few months after the final Voyager episode, "Endgame."

---

Chakotay finished loading the last container into the storage bay and
exited, leaving the hatch open behind him. He stepped back to once
more admire the graceful lines of the DreamCatcher. The small
freighter had started out as a wealthy Ferengi's pleasure yacht, but
gambling debts had brought the ship into Chakotay's hands.

The ex-officer pondered the vagaries of fate. The life he was about
to embark upon was very different than what he had envisioned during
those last days in the Delta Quadrant. Then, he had planned on
staying with Starfleet. The only family he had left were his friends
on Voyager, and Seven had been on her way to becoming much more than
a friend. He had tolde former Borg he always wanted to be within a
transporter hop of her.

Chakotay chuckled and shook his head at his naivet=E9. He had
forgotten to make sure that she wanted him there. Once Seven became
the darling of so many scientists and engineers, she abandoned her
"irrelevant attempts to upgrade her interpersonal skills." The
adoration of dozens of technical consultants won hands down over the
company of a single man, especially one that so inconsiderately
forced her to express emotions. He sighed. He wasn't sure yet if he
regretted never taking her to bed.

Seven's change of heart had left him at loose ends as the rest of
Voyager's crew scattered to the four winds. Then he'd had a most
interesting visitor. Starfleet's less-than-perfect security had
allowed a padd of Chakotay's logs to fall into the hands of a savvy
publisher. She'd been impressed enough to offer him a three-book deal
that included profits from several associated holoprograms. His
natural gift for storytelling soon landed him on the top of the best-
seller lists. And on Starfleet's black list. Halfway through the
unofficial dressing-down Chakotay had pulled off his newly replicated
pips and walked out.

He'd just crammed all his worldly possessions into a couple of
lockers at the spaceport when he'd encountered the soon-to-be-
creditless Ferengi. A bit of Chakotay's accumulated back pay and his
first book advance had easily covered the cost of the ship. After
stripping and selling off all of the gaudy (and queasily
pornographic) interior fittings, he was ready to go. But where?
Chakotay stepped back aboard his new home and secured
the hatch.

The solitary traveler swiftly strode through the nearly empty cargo
bay, past the engine room and climbed the aft stairs to the upper
deck. Without all the gold and lurid paintings, the DreamCatcher's
gently curving bulkheads and sense of light and space were more
Bajoran than Ferengi. He passed the galley, Sickbay, a lounge and
four other cabins to reach his own suite near the compact bridge.

Entering the well-furnished space, Chakotay glanced at the unopened
duffel bags laying in the corner of the living room. He continued
through to the bedroom, kicked off his shoes and flung himself on the
king-sized mattress. He lay back and soon succumbed to a restless
sleep.

---

Fog flowed around Chakotay as he strolled through the dreamscape.
Vague shapes cast silhouettes against the mist as they drifted toward
him. As they approached Chakotay recognized the former Maquis he'd
been contacting since his return to Federation space. They ambled
past, completely oblivious to their old comrade.

The last figure was Rebecca Eddington. Chakotay's chest tightened
with remembered pain as he recalled his visit with the widow of his
good friend. Though she seemed to have moved on with her life, they'd
both shed tears as she recounted her husband's last hours.

A barely familiar voice broke through the twilight, calling
Chakotay's name. He moved toward the sound until he found himself in
a tunnel. He saw a figure in the dimness, beckoning. "Come to me,
Chakotay."

Chakotay's brow furrowed in confusion. "Michael, where are you?"

"Come to me, Chakotay. You're the only one who can help."

"I don't understand."

"Please, Chakotay, hurry. I'm running out of time."

Chakotay sat up, shaking with a sense of urgency. He rubbed his hands
down his face, trying to shake off the disturbing dream. He stumbled
to the computer terminal on the desk and began punching up data. He
scrolled through reports, stopping when his eyes alighted on a name.
Altos IV. The last Maquis battlefield.

He rose from his chair, grabbed his shoes and headed for the bridge
to begin pre-flight checks. He now had a destination.

---

The silence of the deserted planet brushed at Chakotay's senses like
a living thing. He was glad the corpses had somehow been cleared, but
he could still sense death and despair clinging like lichen to the
rough-hewn walls. When he reached a cavern that seemed vaguely
familiar, he dropped to sit on the uneven ground and laid out his
medicine bundle.

As he entered the trance state, he found himself still in the cavern,
but this time he was joined by another presence. "Hello, Old Man."

Chakotay jumped and whirled, seeking the owner of the soft tenor
voice. Dimples bloomed at the sight of a tall man with elfin
features. Chakotay closed the distance between them in a few strides
and threw his arms around the slighter form. "Michael!"

Michael Eddington embraced his old friend, closing his eyes and
laying his head on the broad shoulder for long moments. He sighed and
moved back to see Chakotay's face. "You look good for someone given
up for dead."

Chakotay gave a sad smile. "I wish the reports had been as wrong
about you." He gently squeezed the thin shoulders. "Michael, why am I
here?"

Michael abruptly broke the embrace and paced, running a hand through
his thinning hair. "I'm not at peace, Chakotay. Too many deaths weigh
upon me." He stopped. "You don't know how bad things got at the end.
The levels the Maquis sank to just trying to survive. We became like
*them*." He sighed and gave Chakotay a rueful look. "You wouldn't
have let it happen, I know. But you weren't here."

"I'm sorry, Michael, I---"

"No, no, that's not what I mean." Michael laid a reassuring hand on
Chakotay's arm. "I need you to do something for me, Chakotay. You're
my last chance to set things right." He grabbed a bronze hand. "Come
with me."

Michael began leading Chakotay deep into the maze of tunnels,
pointing out symbols barely visible against the dark rocks. At a
seemingly solid-looking wall, he tapped four spots precisely and
stepped back. Light spilled out as a piece of the wall retreated,
exposing a narrow passageway. The two men soon reached the light
source, a tiny cavern throbbing with the hum of machinery. A stasis
chamber dominated the room.

They halted before the clear-topped coffin. All Chakotay could see
inside was a swirling mist. Michael turned to meet his friend's
puzzled eyes with pleading ones. "Promise me, Chakotay, that you'll
take care of him. That you'll see him safe."

"Who, Michael?"

"An innocent. A pawn the Maquis never got to play. The game is over,
but he was never set free." Michael's eyes seemed to penetrate the
fog still roiling under the transparent canopy. "We did what was
right for us at the time. But I can't let him die alone and
forgotten." His eyes burned into Chakotay's. "This is the Maquis'
responsibility. And you, my friend, are truly the last of the
Maquis."

Chakotay looked again at the stasis chamber, then turned to meet
Michael's desperate eyes. "You have my word, Michael, I'll take care
of...our legacy." Relieved, Michael urged him over to a control panel
where most of the lights glared red with urgent warning. "Watch and
remember, Chakotay. One key out of place and the whole system will
crash."

Chakotay memorized the complex sequence of commands and heard the
hiss of a broken seal as the canopy began to slide back. Michael drew
him toward the chamber door and they embraced one last time. He laid
a cool hand against Chakotay's cheek. "Thank you, Chakotay."

---

Chakotay's eyes opened to again see the shadowed cavern. He gathered
his things and switched on a wristlight, diligently searching for the
tiny carvings that would guide him through the tunnels. His steps
grew more confident as he retraced the trail to the hidden chamber.
Four sharp taps and he heard the groaning of long-neglected gears.
The wall opened just enough for him to squeeze through.

A swift jog through the passageway and he was again standing before a
mist-filled stasis tube. In reality the lights were dim as power was
nearly exhausted. Chakotay moved to the control panel and began
typing. He heard a pause in the faint background hum as the failing
systems struggled to complete their programming. After several
anxious minutes Chakotay was rewarded with the "all clear" sign. He
slowly slid back the canopy and watched the wisps of vapor begin to
dissipate, revealing a still figure on the narrow surface.

The slim body was as pale as chalk. Was Chakotay already too late? He
reached in to check for a pulse when the eyelids snapped open. "Don't
touch me!"

Chakotay reared back at the panic-stricken cry. He held his arms out,
palms up, and soothed, "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." His
eyes widened as the alien sat up and made to stand.

It was like watching Michaelangelo's David come to life. Muscles
bunched and released under bright white skin. The only hair on the
slender frame formed springy black locks almost bisected by two
delicate ridges that ran from the top of the man's head to the
corners of his strong jaw. His ears were simply slightly larger
hollows than the others that decorated the ridges framing a
classically beautiful face.

Chakotay hastily brought his eyes up from an exploration of the
hairless body to meet stunning aqua eyes. They searched his own with
a combination of confusion and command. "Who are you?" the alien
demanded.

"Chakotay. Who and *what* are you?" Chakotay snapped back, riled by
the peremptory tone.

"Why are you still in human form? Where are my attendants?" The
unidentified man started to stand, but his legs immediately
collapsed. Chakotay barely managed to catch the naked form before it
sprawled upon the dusty floor. The moment his hands made contact with
pale skin the alien started weakly thrashing, trying to break free of
Chakotay's hold. "You're not one of us! Let me go! What's going on!
Where am I? Where are my masters! Help! Help me! Let go! Let go!" The
alien suddenly slumped in Chakotay's arms, unconscious. Chakotay
hoped that the newly awakened man had simply exhausted himself; he
wasn't sure his medical skills were up to stasis-induced health
complications.

Chakotay laid the man back on the bed, quickly stripped to the waist
and dressed the alien in his own tunic. After a quick fruitless
search of the chamber for some clue to the situation, he hefted the
unconscious man into his arms and began the long walk back to the
DreamCatcher. As he made his way through the dim tunnels to his ship,
Chakotay looked at the peaceful face resting against his shoulder and
wondered what tomorrow would bring.

---

The Ferengi who had commissioned the DreamCatcher was many things:
self-styled entrepreneur, connoisseur of unusual decorative arts,
incredibly unlucky at cards---and a paranoid hypochondriac. His fears
had caused the starship to be equipped with some unusual features,
including a state-of-the-art Sickbay.

Chakotay thanked the spirits for the Ferengi's forethought as he
anxiously paced before a large comm screen set in the wall. At the
other end of the open channel Voyager's former EMH pored over the
transmitted diagnostic readings.

"A clone? Are you sure, Doc?" Chakotay sent a dubious glance the
hologram's way.

Distance did not diminish the EMH's aura of smug self-satisfaction
one bit. "I am positive that your...guest...is a Vorta clone, native
to the Gamma Quadrant. He's named Weyoun, or I should say, his other
incarnations were." He settled back. "More to the point, the
patient's vital signs are within acceptable levels. He is
experiencing a normal recovery from sustained stasis."

Chakotay moved to hover near the alien's---Weyoun's---still form. "Is
there anything I can do?" His hands sketched a vague gesture over the
biobed. "Either to wake him up, or make him more comfortable, or
something?"

The EMH's eyes rolled. "I don't have that kind of information. It's
not as though anyone has written a manual on this species..." The
Doc's put-upon tone continued as he muttered under his breath, "What
do you expect---'The Care and Feeding of Your Brand New Vorta'?
'Clone Contentment'?"

Chakotay briefly flirted with the idea of replacing every reference
to "holographic doctor" with "self-aggrandizing pain in the ass" in
his next book. He dismissed the fantasy with a shake of his head. "Is
there *anything* you can tell me?"

The photonic man settled into lecture mode. "Well, from my scans, the
Vorta are very similar to humans in almost all of their biological
systems. There should not be any particular physical or dietary
requirements."

The Doctor glanced at the screens one last time and began typing.
"I'm updating your computer with all of the information we have." He
looked up at Chakotay. "This will be no different than any other
convalescence. Give him a hydration and vitamin shot. Start out with
liquids, soft foods, then progress to a regular diet. Provide
assistance for bodily functions as needed, and wait at least a week
before any of your typical life-threatening adventures."

Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Not that any of the crew ever bothered
to follow *that* recommendation, right?" He swiftly loaded a
hypospray and pressed it into the Vorta's neck.

He heard a muffled snort from the comm in reply. The Doctor's voice
became suspiciously casual. "By the way, just how did you come by a
stasis-held Vorta?"

"Um, I can't really go into that right now." Chakotay rubbed the back
of his neck nervously. "And I'd appreciate it if this stayed out of
your official logs."

The EMH heaved a frustrated sigh, then shrugged, "How can there be a
record of a consultation when I never actually *saw* a patient?"

The two exchanged farewells, then the screen went dark as Chakotay
turned to contemplate his "guest".

The temporary nurse sighed and briskly gathered supplies for a sponge
bath. As he removed the coverlet and began to clean the snowy skin,
Chakotay tried to maintain an appropriate air of clinical detachment.
He washed the face and graceful neck, then laved the sleek muscled
limbs, taking extra care with the delicate hands. He started on the
smooth torso with long strokes, absently noting the slightly mauve
tint to the nipples and completely hairless cock and balls.

Chakotay rolled the unconscious body and quickly sponged the graceful
back and legs, hurrying over the firm buttocks. A gentle rubbing with
a soft towel brought no response from the patient, so Chakotay
checked the monitors once more. Now that he knew what was normal for
a Vorta, he reassured himself that this was, indeed, just a deep
sleep. Chakotay debated with himself for a few more minutes, then
wrapped Weyoun in his own robe and carried him down the hall to lay
him on the large bed in the captain's cabin.

He sat for a moment and gently ran his hand through Weyoun's black
hair. The springy texture sent him back to his childhood and the soft-
fleeced sheep on his uncle's farm. He sighed, "How in the world did
you end up with the Maquis, my sleeping friend?"

After making sure Weyoun was securely tucked in, Chakotay quietly
left the room to check up on the ship's systems.

---

The Time Before was always like a dream, indistinct. Who he'd met,
what he'd done, all he had learned only coalesced at the moment of
Becoming. When the voices of the Ever-Changing sounded without and
within, reaffirming his purpose and his place. He served, as all his
people did. As he had done all of his lives, merely an instrument of
the Founders, his gods.

Until now.

Something had interfered with the transference and awakening.
Information had come, as always, but the memories brought confusion.
And the only voice he had heard in his head in the first moment of
consciousness was his own.

Weyoun opened his eyes to a ceiling decorated with delicate moldings.
He let his gaze roam about the spacious room. The stars streaking
past the viewports confirmed that he was on a ship moving at low
warp. The comfortable furnishings and lack of personal effects
offered no hints to his location or situation.

He turned attention to himself. He felt weaker than usual. In the
past he had roused and immediately thrown himself into whatever task
the Founders demanded of him. At the moment, Weyoun doubted his
ability to even make it across the room.

The Vorta dropped his head back into the pillow and noticed an
unfamiliar scent. The subtle combination of spice and sweetness
seemed to emanate from the soft robe covering him, but he also
detected a faint echo from the bedding.

The luxuriant fabrics teased his skin. The unusually rich textures
and scent made him uneasy; the Dominion was not known for coddling
its servants. And despite the power he wielded for the Founders,
Weyoun knew he was nothing more.

Strange images suddenly flashed before his mind's eye. A small room,
a dark man coming towards him. Hands touching him. Touching him!
Weyoun clutched the strange garment tighter to his frame and
shuddered. It was forbidden. Even his attendants were careful never
to make contact.

Someone had dared lay hands on him. And yet, the touch had not been
unpleasant, but gentle and warm. So warm. Weyoun wished he could
recall more, but the memories stayed hazy.

He scrambled to sit up at the whoosh of an opening door, but his
sudden breathlessness was not the result of his exertions.

A tall, bronze, casually-dressed man strolled into the bedroom with
an air of easy confidence. He moved with a fluid grace that seemed at
odds with his powerful frame. The face had a rugged handsomeness
heightened by deep brown eyes and an odd tracing set on one side of a
wide brow. Weyoun continued to study his visitor, whose gaze was
focused on a tray carried carefully in strong capable hands. Familiar
hands.

Chakotay paused in his mental inventory of medical supplies to check
the unconscious man on the bed. He felt a jolt as he met the blue-
green gaze he'd only glimpsed on Altos IV. He broke into a relieved
smile. "Welcometo the land of the living."

Weyoun's breath caught again as delight brightened the intriguing
face. There was no way this man was a reconfigured Founder. The
reminder of his people's gods---and his responsibilities to them---
shocked him out of his daze. He mentally berated himself for his
foolish distraction and felt his own features settle into the
arrogant mask of command. "Who are you and where are my usual
attendants?"

Chakotay felt himself bristle in reaction to the Vorta's sneer, but
the sight of pale fingers nervously twisting the sheets gave him
pause. He consciously relaxed and offered a friendly grin. "I think
we've already had this conversation." He set the tray on a bedside
table and held out a hand. "I am Chakotay, owner of the light
freighter DreamCatcher, and your current host."

Weyoun dismissed the welcoming gesture with a quick pang of regret.
"Why am I on your ship, human? Has the Dominion finally brought your
Federation to heel?"

Chakotay dropped his hand and allowed his voice to cool. "On the
contrary, the Dominion has been sent back where it came from. The
Cardassians turned on their temporary masters, and Starfleet and its
allies finished the job." He paused. "Years ago," he added more
gently.

Aqua eyes blazed with desperate denial. "You lie! The Dominion is
invincible. I command thousands of Jem'Hadar warriors. Cardassia is a
conquered planet and---" He pressed his temples under the assault of
conflicting memories. "---and I have to keep the rest of the worlds
from falling. It has to stop. I told Odo...I tried to tell him...
I---"

Chakotay sprang forward at the younger man's distress. "Easy," he
soothed, "I know it's a shock." He laid a comforting hand on a
slender shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" In a surge of panic, Weyoun flung himself away from
the touch that seemed to race along his nerves. He stumbled then
swayed, gripping the back of a nearby chair to stay upright. His
chest heaved as he struggled with confusion. His mind seized on a new
suspicion even as he knew it clashed with the sympathy he could see
in the dark eyes watching him.

"This is some sort of trap. You're holding me for ransom, or you want
me to help you destroy the Founders." Weyoun gave a bitter laugh.
"You'll be disappointed. The Dominion considers hostages dead the
moment they are taken. And I will tell you *nothing*!" he snarled.

"I haven't done anything except try to help you." Chakotay retorted.
"Look around you; this is hardly a prison. And I can easily prove
everything I've said is true." He was surprised how urgently he
wanted to ease the upset soul. "I don't know what happened to you or
why, but there's nothing to gain from holding you captive because
there is nothing left of the Dominion. At least, not here." He
gestured toward the bed. "Please, Weyoun, lie back down before you
fall down."

Weyoun's trembling was due more to fear than fatigue. Somehow he
believed this dark stranger, but what a terrible truth: He was alone
in the hands of an enemy. Worse, Weyoun had failed, utterly and
irredeemably. He would never again be welcomed among his people, or
into the presence of the Ever-Changing. He served; he obeyed. He had
no other life. There *was* no other life.

Chakotay felt a sick twist of fear in his gut as he watched Weyoun
attempt to sort truth from suspicion. The sea-spun gaze turned
inward, then seemed to settle into an eerie calm. The hair on
Chakotay's nape began to prickle in premonition.

Weyoun looked at the beautiful bronze man before him and again felt
the keen slice of regret. He let the mask of arrogance drop with an
exhausted sigh. Strangely enough, at this last moment he thought not
of the Founders he'd served for years, but of a brief encounter with
a stranger. With...Chakotay.

"It would seem my time is over," Weyoun said quietly. "Whether I am a
hostage or a refugee, my orders are clear: Self-Terminate. A single
thought and my implant will release a neurotoxin for which there is
no antidote. Good-bye, Chakotay." He closed his eyes, frowning in
concentration.

Chakotay opened his mouth to protest, then recognized the futility of
the gesture. He felt the sting of tears for the loss of life as he
waited helplessly for the end.

Weyoun's eyes flew open in shock. He didn't feel the burn of poison
or even the mental click of the implant's presence. This last shock
opened a yawning chasm of confusion and despair and he helplessly
fell into it. Screeching "What have you done to me!" he leapt at the
older man, slim hands curled into claws.

Maquis reflexes shifted Chakotay to the side, then behind Weyoun as
he grabbed the wildly swinging arms. Tightly hugging the struggling
figure, he tried once more to soothe. "Nothing, I swear. Just calm
down, we'll figure it out. You'll be fine. I promise, I promise."
When the body in his arms continued thrashing, Chakotay dragged them
both toward the bedside table and risked one hand in a search for a
hypospray. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he injected a sedative.

When Weyoun slumped in his arms, Chakotay returned him to the bed and
gently settled the curly head back on the pillows. He stroked one
finger along each of the delicate ridges framing the beautiful face,
once more relaxed in sleep.

Chakotay's own features radiated grim determination as he decisively
stood up and headed for the bridge. He needed answers and he needed
help. And he knew exactly where to get both.

---

"This is the life." Gregor Ayala stretched his long frame towards the
ceiling in an arc of satisfaction. He lowered his arms and grinned at
Geron Tem's appreciative perusal.

"No argument here, lover." The slim Bajoran lazed in the chair at the
DreamCatcher's Conn and watched Ayala saunter across the bridge,
pausing at each empty station to check readouts. He leaned forward
for a better view of the older man's snug derriere. "This ship
practically flies itself."

Ayala ran an eye over the Engineering stats, turning slightly to see
if Geron would follow. He was rewarded with a startled "Oof" and the
sight of his beloved deliciously sprawled across the carpet. "I could
have told you you'd fall over if you kept gawking like that."

Geron grinned and performed his own stretch, watching Ayala's brown
eyes darken further in response. "What makes you think I was really
surprised?"

Ayala shook his head and offered Geron a hand up. "No way, querido.
We're being paid here, quite handsomely I might add. And Chakotay's
counting on us."

Geron ran delicate fingers along the edge of Ayala's shirt. "I know,
but how much is there to do, really. We're on autopilot, the sensors
will signal any oncoming obstacles, the engines are in great shape
and Chakotay's asleep."

Ayala slid one hand down the Bajoran's slender back to firmly cup his
ass. He delivered a quick pinch. "*And* we have to keep an ear open
for anyone answering the messages Chakotay sent about our mysterious
shipmate. I think he contacted every Maquis in comm range."

"Every non-Voyager Maquis, you mean." Geron's scrunching face
emphasized his nose ridges. "I can't help feeling we've all been kept
in the dark. They fought a war---and lost---but nobody will talk
about it."

"I don't know, Tem. Maybe it hurts too much to remember. We lost so
many people..." Ayala sighed. "We'll probably never know what
happened. Anyway, no sex on the bridge." He ended his message with a
small smack to the Bajoran's butt as he pushed Geron back to his
station.

Geron gave a quick wiggle and settled back at the Conn. "The Cap
should be up soon, anyway, and I for one would hate to be
interrupted." He looked at the viewscreen a moment, then sent a
sidelong glance Ayala's way. "He seemed awfully eager to get back
aboard."

"I'm not surprised. This Weyoun guy was ready to kill himself from
what Chakotay said. He probably didn't want to leave him alone too
long." This time Ayala delivered a speculative glance. "You think
there's more to it?"

"Well, he practically begged us to join him." Geron shook his head
with a laugh, "Like it's a chore to take a jaunt across the quadrant
in a luxury cabin on a top-rate ship---complete with gourmet chef."

"You said it." Ayala gazed a moment at the passing stars. "He hasn't
looked at another man in years---since Kurt Bendera died."

"I know, but I'd like to see him happy after all he's done for us."
Geron heaved a dramatic sigh. "Besides, I hate to think of such a
gorgeous hunk of man just going to waste."

Ayala snapped to attention. His eyes narrowed. "You just keep your
mind on your *own* man, Mister."

Geron just chuckled.

---

Warmth. Safety. Peace. And that tantalizing scent, stronger this
time. As strong as the arm firmly wrapped around his waist.

Weyoun bolted upright, freeing himself from the unfamiliar hold. He'd
barely had time to turn and look at his erstwhile captor when a
barked "Computer, lights!" left him blinking in the sudden
brightness.

Chakotay regarded his bedmate with a level stare. He was glad the
Vorta had slipped into a normal sleep after the sedative wore off,
since Chakotay himself had sorely needed some rest.

He had sent dozens of secure queries about Altos IV to his Maquis
contacts, then sped to the resort where Geron and Ayala were
vacationing after finally leaving Starfleet. He'd been surprised to
learn that his own resignation had a domino effect. Former crew who
were dissatisfied in Starfleet saw his departure as permission to
admit they too preferred their independence.

Chakotay couldn't read the Vorta's aqua eyes, but he knew his own
expression needed to be deadly serious. There was a life at stake.
"Let me make this perfectly clear. You will *not* be committing
suicide aboard my ship."

Automatic defiance set Weyoun's shoulders as he glared. "Do not think
you can dictate to me, *Chakotay*. I do not take orders from anyone,
especially an arrogant human who does not know his place."

Chakotay felt the stirrings of desire as the comely alien crossed his
arms in emphasis. Damn, but he was attractive when he got fired up.
Those bright eyes sparked and temper warmed the pale cheeks.

Weyoun felt more alive than he could ever remember. His whole body
tingled, but he wasn't sure whether it was reaction to the older
man's demands or his proximity. Weyoun was sorely tempted to lean in
ever so slightly so he could once more bask in that beckoning heat.

Chakotay forced his mind back to the task at hand. "I know my place
very well indeed, Weyoun. At your side. Practically in your pocket.
Until I'm convinced you're not a threat to yourself or anyone else on
this ship, we're going to be joined at the hip." He leaned back with
a studied casualness. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer the
alternative."

The Vorta didn't trust this "option" one iota. "What?"

Chakotay was in the younger man's face before he could draw breath.
"I'll keep you chained to this bed. You'll be fed your meals and
subjected to a rigorous regimen of physical therapy." He played his
trump card. "Be warned, I'm a very 'hands on' type of guy in that
situation."

He couldn't respond. Not with such a dry throat, caused by either
trepidation or anticipation. Weyoun was shocked by his body's excited
reaction to the images described by that husky voice. This was
supposed to be a threat?

Deciding not to beard the lion in his bed, Weyoun gave in with hidden
relief and obvious annoyance. "Very well. I'm sure your vigilance
will slip and I'll be free soon enough."

Chakotay leaned close to the hollowed ear ridge. His breath caressed
it as he whispered silkily, "Oh, I wouldn't count on that."

Weyoun shivered as the hot blast of air touched him. He cleared his
throat nervously, only relaxing when Chakotay moved away to stand up
on the other side of the bed. He absently noted how well the silky
black pajamas set off the bronze skin. He jerked his eyes up to meet
Chakotay's when the older man stopped in front of him. He too had
relaxed and now offered a small smile.

"Another choice for you. Do you think you can walk to the bathroom
with my help, or should I carry you?"

Those strong arms looked like they could easily handle his weight,
but Weyoun didn't know how he'd react to such close contact. "I can
walk," he said stiffly and swung his legs to the floor. He made sure
the robe was secure before levering himself up. He was grateful for
Chakotay's hand as the room spun dizzily for a moment. When he tried
to pull away, his companion just slung an arm around his waist and
they began to walk. Joined at the hip indeed.

Chakotay was in full medical mode as he carefully watched for any
sign of weakness in the younger man. After that first moment he
seemed strong enough, but Chakotay was reluctant to relinquish his
hold.

They reached the spacious bathing chamber and Weyoun was stunned by
its trappings. A huge tub graced one side of the green-tiled space,
while the sonic/water shower stall looked like it could easily
accommodate three or four. One double-basin sink took up more wall
space, while a single model could be seen through a doorway to the
other facilities. Chakotay sat him on the stool in front of a
mirrored vanity.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Chakotay said with a grin. "Now, there
aren't any sharp objects laying around, so don't get any ideas. I'll
be right back." He then disappeared into the "water closet" and shut
the door.

Weyoun studied his reflection as he ran a hand along the mirror's
gilded edge, but he wasn't seriously contemplating a way of breaking
it. He surprised himself with how quickly he had chosen to live---and
how much his beguiling "guardian" had to do with the decision.

Chakotay was soon at his side and helping him to the same facilities.
Weyoun too quickly finished and returned to the bathing chamber.
Where he stopped in shock.

The large tub was more than half-filled with steaming water, and
Chakotay was half-undressed. The muscles in the wide back flexed as
the older man laid out supplies on a tray bridging the water.

He looked over his shoulder to see Weyoun. He quickly returned to the
Vorta's side and began leading him forward. "Your bath awaits."

Weyoun pulled away. "I don't think so." His chin tilted. "We do not
indulge in such frivolous luxuries." He gestured to the shower stall.
"A sonic cleansing will do."

"Not until you're more steady on your feet and I've got some solid
food in you. There's too much of a chance you'll experience
dizziness." Chakotay crossed his arms with a casual air. "Unless, of
course, you're willing to share."

"No, no, the bath will be fine." Weyoun hoped he didn't sound as
flustered as he felt. As Chakotay reached for the belt of the Vorta's
robe, Weyoun stepped back and clutched the garment to his throat.
"You first."

"I'm not getting in with you, Weyoun. I just thought I'd wash your
hair."

"Agreed. But a wise man never makes himself more vulnerable than his
opponent. So strip."

Chakotay swallowed and sent a quick prayer to the Spirits that he
could control his body's responses. He quickly undid the tie and let
his pajama bottoms drop. Casually kicking them in a corner, he
offered Weyoun a hand into the deep tub.

Weyoun reminded himself to breathe as a new
sensation---desire?---uncurled in his belly. His eyes traced the
planes and curves of the powerful body in front of him. He noted the
small brown nipples setting off the muscular chest, and the curious
dark patch of hair at the human's groin. He felt an absurd desire to
run his fingers through it and discover if the texture was wiry or
soft. He then thought that while he was down there he should do a
little more exploring.

Weyoun turned his back to Chakotay, dropped the robe and quickly
settled into the steaming water. He hoped that the older man wouldn't
see his unprecedented erection, or would just assume the heat of the
bath was its cause.

Chakotay hastily dropped to his knees on the thick rug beside the tub
and reached for the shampoo and a bowl for water. As he began wetting
and cleansing the dark locks he debated pressing against the side of
the tub in hopes the shock of cold marble would dampen his arousal.
Now that Weyoun was awake, Chakotay was having a hard time reminding
himself that he was only the Vorta's temporary protector. The sight
of the smooth, lightly muscled form had wreaked havoc with his
intentions to stay detached. Even the fact that the man was only a
few days old didn't seem to be a deterrent, for Weyoun's mind was
sharp and clear and his body equally mature. And mouth-wateringly
beautiful.

Weyoun luxuriated in the warmth and the gentle massage of talented
fingers. He sighed and relaxed into the new sensations.

Chakotay hoped conversation would take his mind off the body gleaming
under the rippling water. "So, what would you like for your first
full meal? I don't have any Gamma Quadrant recipes, but I'm pretty
good at all the Alpha cuisines---except Klingon."

Weyoun tensed. "Vorta do not eat. We consume liquid and capsule
supplements designed to deliver optimal nutrition."

"You sound like a friend of mine." Chakotay was pleased to feel
nothing but amusement at the memories of Seven. "She learned to enjoy
food---eventually. You will too. But I don't understand why you
wouldn't eat; our digestive systems are nearly identical."

Weyoun hesitated, then admitted, "It was forbidden."

"What?" Chakotay moved to see Weyoun's expression, and felt a surge
of sympathy at the mixture of bravado and uncertainty he saw there.
"Why would anyone forbid you to eat?"

Weyoun dropped his eyes. "Vorta are forbidden all forms of
'stimulation' by our creators---the Founders." His monotone echoed
the reciting of a lesson. "All mental energies are to be devoted to
duty. To the survival and success of the Dominion. The senses are
mere distraction." He took a breath. "I hated visiting Terek Nor," he
blurted.

Chakotay's voice was soothing, as was his renewed touch on Weyoun's
scalp as he returned to his original position. "Deep Space Nine,
why?"

Weyoun shrugged. "Because it was all possible temptations in a single
place. The sights, sounds, smells, flavors---so overwhelming." His
voice turned bitter. "Until the Dominion changed it. Until *I*
changed it. Into someplace dark and dull and cold."

Chakotay chose that moment to thoroughly dunk Weyoun to rinse off the
soap and shampoo. As the sputtering Vorta came up dripping and
indignant, Chakotay grabbed the pale shoulders. "Listen to me. *You*
didn't do those things. And your people were victims as well. Don't
you see what your beloved creators did to you? They turned you into
ghosts. No joy or color or texture to your life. No feeling."

He squeezed the wet skin. "They tried to make you into shells that
lived only to serve them." He shook the Vorta in a blast of anguished
fury. "And you want to *die* for them?" He flung the man away and
began to stand, desperate to escape his own roiling emotions. He
whirled at the sound of a sob.

"No!" Denial, despair, recognition of all the wasted years flooded
Weyoun. Overwhelming everything was the fear of losing something he
wanted and needed but didn't understand. "Please," Weyoun said,
reaching for the solid body as Chakotay once more knelt. The shock of
their naked chests meeting was swamped by the feeling of comfort in
the embrace. He leaned over the edge of the tub and pushed his face
into the older man's neck, burrowing into the warmth and now-familiar
scent.

Chakotay rocked the trembling man, hugging him tightly and whispering
reassurances until the storm passed. After several long minutes he
pushed the younger man back and searched his face. "Are you okay?"

Weyoun felt drained, but strangely light and free. "I---I think so."

Chakotay lightly gripped the back of the pale neck. "I'm glad you've
decided to stick around, Weyoun." His grin of relief was dazzling.
"Again, welcome to the land of the living. Let's eat."

---

"Mmmmm...Chakotay, it's criminal you let Neelix be Voyager's cook."
Ayala sopped up the remains of his sauce with the last bit of his
freshly-baked roll. "You're lucky he didn't find his way out an
airlock just to force you in front of a stove."

Chakotay chuckled. "I had better things to do than figure out a
hundred different ways to serve leola root. Besides, once Neelix
toned down the spices, his food wasn't half bad."

Geron stacked his plates, then leaned toward Weyoun with a
conspiratorial air. "You really should try some Bajoran dishes. The
Maquis still talk about the time Chakotay made pali nabotash. It has
to be tasted to be believed."

"Thanks, Geron, but if you want some just use the replicators."
Chakotay stood and gathered the dishes, leaning down on Weyoun's
other side. "He neglected to mention that it has to be made by hand.
And that it takes a solid day to do it." He walked behind the galley
counter to place his burden inside the sonic cleanser. He moved to
the stasis unit. "Dessert's coming up."

Geron lowered his voice and sidled closer to the silent Vorta. "He'd
do it, you know. If you asked him."

Weyoun had spent the last few days developing a tentative friendship
with his new companions, but was still uncomfortable enough with
casual contact to shy away a little. While his previous incarnations
would have snapped a cutting response to the Bajoran's impertinence,
he offered an uncertain smile. "I don't think that's a good idea.
Chakotay's working on some difficult chapters right now."

"Exactly. He could use a break." Geron seemed struck by a sudden
idea. "And you could keep him company---take dictation so he could
work and cook at the same time." The Bajoran was all wide-eyed
innocence as he made the suggestion.

The former commander sent Ayala a look from where he was pouring
melted chocolate over fruit-filled dessert bowls. Greg simply
shrugged and raised his eyebrows with an expression that clearly
asked, "What do you want from me?"

Chakotay made his way to the table and set down the tray with a
decisive click. "Geron, we'll be meeting Ro Laren on Bajor in two
days. Surely you can wait that long for pali nabotash. By the time I
finished slaving over the ingredients, you could buy some ready-made
in dozens of shops in the capital city."

Weyoun's blue-green gaze sought the older man's. "She was a Starfleet
officer, right? You think she'll know what happened to me?"

Chakotay sank back into his seat and handed out bowls and spoons.
"I'm not sure, but she's the only one who was even willing to talk to
me." He shook his head sadly as he snagged his own dessert. "I don't
understand it. They all were so happy to see us when we got back, now
I can't get a hold of anyone."

Weyoun laid a sympathetic hand on Chakotay's arm, and felt the
familiar tingle of attraction as the older man accepted the gesture
with a smile of thanks. The two men had begun a delicate dance of
courtship, and neither had even broached the idea of Weyoun moving to
his own cabin.

The Vorta had gotten comfortable waking up in Chakotay's arms, and
sitting together either talking or working on their projects.
Chakotay was starting his second volume of Voyager stories, while
Weyoun was catching up on events of the last few years.

The younger man felt a near-overwhelming surge of anticipation
whenever the two of them touched. And while he enjoyed getting to
know Ayala and Geron, he very much wanted to spend more time alone
with Chakotay. He also wanted more from Chakotay, but wasn't sure
exactly what or how to ask for it. He sometimes thought he saw desire
in the dark gaze, but nothing ever came of it. Weyoun sighed and
turned to his dessert, savoring his first taste of chocolate. He
thought it appropriate that the rich confection matched the deep warm
color of Chakotay's eyes.

Chakotay tried not to watch the way that cupid's-bow mouth opened to
accept each new bite of coated fruit. A smear of chocolate made a
sharp contrast beside that tempting portal, and Chakotay was fighting
a desire to clean the cloud-white skin. With his tongue, which would
then make its way between those tantalizing lips to finally discover
the sweetness within.

He'd been dreaming about it. Passion and tenderness and concern and
caring all wrapped around each other in his mind and heart. He didn't
know how much longer his control would last. Each day he woke and
stared at Weyoun's sleeping face, grateful for whatever kind fates
had set their paths to cross. He hoped that soon they could settle
the mysteries in the Vorta's past. Chakotay was hoping more and more
for a place in the enticing alien's future.

The lights in the snug galley suddenly flickered and turned amber as
a sexy female voice purred, "Warning. Cloaked vessel on intercept
course detected within sensor range. Speed Warp 7, ETA five minutes."

"Damn it!" Chakotay snapped as the four men leapt from their chairs
and ran for the bridge. "I hoped the enhanced sensors would give us
more warning than that."

Ayala looked at his grim-faced friend as the bridge doors opened.
"You should be grateful, Chakotay. Most Federation vessels can't
detect a cloak until a ship starts firing on them." He turned right
to reach the tactical station and began tapping keys. "Weapons
charged and ready."

Geron slid into the centered pilot's seat and glanced back over his
shoulder. "Evasive maneuvers?"

Chakotay made a sharp left to the Ops board and waved Weyoun toward
the Engineering station at the back of the bridge. "No, we'll just
increase shields. We don't know if they mean us any harm---yet. And
if they do, I want to know who's after me and why." He started
buckling his seat's emergency restraints. "And strap in, everybody.
This could be a bumpy ride."

"Maximum power output available, all readouts showing green." Weyoun
double-checked the reports, grateful that the other men had taken the
time to introduce him to the DreamCatcher's systems.

Chakotay scanned the sensor readings. "It looks like they're
practically on a collision course. Drop out of warp, Geron. I don't
want to take the chance of plowing right into them."

Geron's voice was filled with frustration. "I can't see anything out
there." He was keeping a careful eye on the sensor schematic taking
up one corner of the large viewscreen. At least it *showed* the
oncoming ship, even if it was just a blip on a grid.

Chakotay punched in a few commands, trying to pierce the other
vessel's camouflage. "Damn cloaks make everything so vague. I can't
tell if we're dealing with Cardassians, Ferengi, Romulan---"

"Unknown ship dropping out of warp---incoming phaser fire!" shouted
Ayala.

The lights didn't even flicker as the shots were absorbed by the
DreamCatcher's shields. The three ex-Voyager officers also
appreciated the absence of sparks and smoke, courtesy of the surge
suppressors Chakotay had installed.

"Whoever they are, they don't have to drop the cloak to use their
weapons." Chakotay grimaced in frustration. "Weyoun, send them a
'cease and desist' message." Chakotay swiftly adjusted the viewscreen
to give more space to the sensor schematic. The blip became a large
ball marked with a few glowing points. "Okay, I've extrapolated from
the phaser trajectories to inside the cloak. Hopefully those points
are the weapons ports. Greg, Tem, let's see what this baby can do."

The lovers worked in tandem to turn the DreamCatcher from passive
prey to sleek hunter. Since coming aboard Geron had reveled in the
chance to fly again after being stuck in Voyager's science division
for so long. He was glad he'd taken the opportunity to occasionally
turn off the autopilot and put the DreamCatcher through its paces.
Under his hands the supple freighter moved like a fighter, darting in
to strike at their unseen enemy.

Ayala wielded the vessel's impressive armaments with all the skill he
had honed in the Maquis and at Voyager's weapons console. He
constantly adjusted the phaser harmonics, seeking the frequencies
that would best cut through their opponent's cloak and shields.

The DreamCatcher shuddered slightly as a new bombardment began.
"They're firing photon torpedoes. Shields 80 percent." Ayala snapped,
while Weyoun's light voice reported, "Power levels stable, but I'm
reading a temperature rise in the starboard phaser banks. I'll bring
some of the secondary conduits online."

Chakotay began swearing as the schematic showed a stream of small
stars trailing from the unidentified vessel. "Tem, watch out! Those
look like multi-phasic mines. We get caught in the middle of them
we'll be trapped in a firestorm."

The inertial dampers struggled to keep up with Geron's course changes
as he avoided the new obstacles. Occasionally the system lagged and
the men were tossed against the chairs' restraints or pressed into to
the padded backrests.

Ayala never lifted his eyes from his screen. "I think we've knocked
out the phaser banks, but those torpedoes could overload our
shields."

"I'll transfer power from the cargo bays and cabins," Weyoun said,
typing frantically, "That should give us a little more time."

"Chakotay, I can avoid the torpedoes or the mines, but not both."
Geron slammed the ship hard to port, his legs swinging in reaction.
"They're peppering the whole area with the damn things!"

A pattern suddenly leaped out at Chakotay from the viewscreen
schematic. "Greg, I need you to fire three of our torpedoes, here,
here and here." He sketched a triangle in the midst of the mines.
"Weyoun, as soon as they're released, reverse the polarity on the
shields. Geron, take us away from the mines, full impulse. Don't
worry about the torpedoes. We should be able to handle a few more
hits."

The three men's movements synchronized like a fine ballet as they
followed orders. Explosions blossomed from the points hit by the
DreamCatcher's missiles, expanding to catch the cloaked ship in the
edges of the destructive field.

All four men stared in stupefaction at the viewscreen as the badly
damaged vessel was finally revealed. They all recognized the squat
shape of a Defiant-class vessel. An unmistakably Federation vessel.

Chakotay dropped his gaze from the viewscreen back to the sensors.
His face was grim. "Status report."

"All systems have returned to optimal levels. No damage sustained."
Weyoun surreptitiously gave the Engineering console a little pat in
gratitude.

"Confirming Defiant-Class vessel with shields, weapons and cloak
down. Life support and hull integrity OK." Ayala popped his
restraints with a satisfied sigh.

"Their propulsion systems are damaged. They're venting plasma, but
the warp core looks secure." Chakotay looked up at the ship hanging
dead in space, then turned toward the back of the bridge. "Weyoun,
open a channel, audio only."

When Weyoun had nodded, Chakotay said, "Unidentified vessel, this is
Chakotay of the independent freighter DreamCatcher. Do you require
assistance, and why the *hell* did you fire on my ship?"

Silence reigned as the men waited in vain for a response.

"It looks like they did receive the message, they're just not
responding." Weyoun accessed a database. "I'm not reading any
registry for this particular ship." He looked at his companions.
"It's clearly not new, so why doesn't it show up in these files?"

"Section 31." Ayala surmised, his features hardening along with his
voice.

"I thought all that 'secret agent, government assassins, cloak and
dagger' stuff was just a 'Fleet myth." Geron turned a questioning
gaze on his lover.

"No, not a myth, just a dirty little Federation secret," he replied.
Ayala looked at Chakotay. "If it is 31, we don't have much time."

Weyoun had moved forward to hover near Chakotay, and the older man
reached out for the Vorta's hand, stilling the pale fidgeting fingers
with a comforting squeeze. When the Vorta had relaxed beside him, he
turned back toward the sensor readout and pulled up the transporter
controls. "Let's find someone who'll give us some answers."

He looked at the lifesigns. "I'm going to bet the person at the
center of the bridge is the captain, or close enough." He typed in a
command. "Transport complete." He stood and began walking with Weyoun
to the exit. "We're going to have a little chat with our new guest."

Ayala called after them, "Any orders, Cap?"

Chakotay paused by the door. "I don't think they'll be contacting us
to lodge a complaint. Make sure none of the lifesigns suddenly
disappear. Keep a sharp eye on their power levels. If it looks like
they've been able to bring anything on-line, let me know. We'll be in
Sickbay."

"Sickbay?" Geron asked.

"Yes," Chakotay said with a wicked glint in his eye, "the
DreamCatcher's former owner had a very interesting way of making sure
people coming aboard weren't hiding anything."

---

A gray mouse of a man stood stark naked in a small, bare alcove
behind a forcefield in Sickbay. The DreamCatcher's special
transporter (another innovation courtesy of the Ferengi) had scanned
him while he was in the pattern buffer, and withheld everything that
did not match his DNA. It also performed a check for any harmful
germs or viral agents. The process was the equivalent of a *very*
thorough strip, cavity and X-ray search, combined with a complete
decontamination.

The prisoner did not seem to appreciate the system's efficiency as he
clasped his hands in front of him and glared at the opening door.

Chakotay glided to a stop a few steps away from the energy barrier
and regarded the man trapped within. He could sense a cunning mind
and calm determination behind the bland fa=E7ade. "Who are you?" he
demanded.

"Does it matter? Return my clothes or at least toss me a robe or
something, damn it." The tone suggested irritation rather than anger,
surprising Chakotay. He walked to a panel nearby and tapped a few
keys, causing a shift to shimmer into existence at the man's feet.

The prisoner pulled on the shapeless garment and seemed to relax,
walking over to lean against a wall and run his eye over his captors.
"I must congratulate you, Commander. It seems your tactical expertise
was not exaggerated."

"If you've read my record you know I haven't held that title for
months," Chakotay replied. "What exactly is going on here? Why is
Section 31 firing on my ship?"

The mention of the secret Federation organization didn't faze the
man. "It's not you we're after, exactly. This ship just happens to be
carrying something we want." His calm gaze shifted to the silent
Vorta. "Or should I say, someone."

"Me?" Weyoun's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "The Dominion is
gone. What would the Federation want with me now?"

"And more importantly, how did you find out about him?" Chakotay
moved closer to the forcefield, instinctively shielding his
companion.

The barefoot man shrugged. "The Vorta was the Dominion's Ambassador,
then their Enforcer once the gloves came off. Quite a few people are
still unhappy about that."

"Bullshit." Chakotay's profanity startled both Weyoun and the agent.
"If that were true we would have had clear sailing to Bajor, probably
right into the Enterprise's tractor beam. There would have been a
warrant and plenty of media present for the capture. Followed of
course by 'The Trial of the Century'."

Chakotay's eyes were starting to harden with anger even as his voice
grew soft with menace. "You wanted him out of the way. Permanently.
Why?" In the blink of an eye the threat to Weyoun had transformed
Chakotay into a very dangerous man.

Weyoun could feel the tension radiating off his companion. He laid a
hand on a muscled shoulder in reassurance, then addressed the agent.
"I was trying to *help* the Federation. I mean, my previous self
was...it's all still kind of hazy, but I know I was with the
Federation's Founder, Odo. I was on board a ship, but I was also on
the viewscreen."

He moved away to roam through Sickbay. "I...I was ordered to activate
my termination implant or the other Weyoun would have hurt Odo."
Confusion swam in the sea-colored eyes as they sought Chakotay's
face. "I remember dying in Odo's arms, but I *don't* remember giving
the suicide order. That can't be right." He walked back to the older
man. "The cloning process is set up to transfer all memory engrams
with the genetic material. I should remember more if the other clone
survived past that point in time."

Chakotay felt his heart lurch at the lost look in Weyoun's eyes. His
expression softened as he laid reassuring hands on the Vorta's
shoulders. "We'll figure it out." Out of the corner of his eye he
caught a speculative expression crossing his prisoner's face as the
man moved away from the cell wall. Keeping one hand on Weyoun,
Chakotay turned back to the forcefield. "You have something to
contribute?"

"Maybe." The man was staring intently at Weyoun, trying to gauge the
alien's sincerity. He nodded to himself, satisfied. "You really don't
recognize me, do you?"

Weyoun frowned, then shook his head. "No, we've never met."

"And you don't remember the Cardassian revolution, or dying at
Garak's hand?"

The Vorta was bewildered. "I was killed by Terek Nor's---Deep Space
Nine's *tailor*?"

"He's rather more than that," the prisoner said dryly as he returned
to his spot against the wall. "Weyoun---what we thought was the last
Weyoun---was also quite a fine tactician. There was a real chance the
Federation could have fallen. We...happened to learn that part of his
plans involved acquiring some very special computer codes, ones that
unfortunately would give their owner command access to any vessel
built at the Utopia Planitia shipyards."

"All of the big 'Fleet ships come from there, including the
Enterprise-E," Chakotay mused.

"Yes, as well as many of our experimental craft." The agent's slow
steps measured his limited floor space. "I was one of the people sent
to neutralize the threat after we realized security had been
compromised. I failed." He approached the forcefield. "We couldn't
let those codes be used. Most of the computers are clean now, but not
all. So when we heard Weyoun was still alive, the termination order
was reissued."

He paused and looked at Weyoun. "You didn't flinch when you first saw
me. I got close enough to killing you that there should have been
some reaction."

Chakotay was lost in thought a moment, then turned to Weyoun. "You
were in stasis when I found you. Would that have affected the memory
transfer?"

Weyoun considered. "Maybe. Each new clone is created partly using
their predecessor's DNA. If I was already---" he made a vague gesture
"---finished and in stasis when Garak killed the other Weyoun, there
would have been no way for me to incorporate his memories."

Chakotay turned to the agent. "If you believe he doesn't know
anything, there's no reason to kill him, right?"

The gray-haired man shrugged. "I've been given discretion in this
matter." He moved to stand in the center of the alcove. "If you send
me back to my ship, we won't be bothering you again."

Chakotay's eyes narrowed. "You've been awfully free with your
information. And I didn't think Section 31 was known for being so
accommodating. Why should we trust you?"

The man returned to the barrier and met both sets of eyes with a
level stare. "No matter what you think, even *my* stomach turns at
the murder of an innocent. I don't think your friend is here to
resurrect the Dominion. And I know your reputation, Chakotay. You
were an enemy of the Cardassians, not the Federation. I can trust you
to keep us safe." He gave a small smile. "Besides, the few remaining
at-risk ships are being sent on deep-space missions as a precaution.
In a week or so, the threat will no longer exist."

Chakotay sighed and looked at Weyoun. "I think we have to take him at
his word."

The Vorta nodded. "We certainly can't keep him prisoner." He
approached the forcefield. His eyes were serious as they bore into
the agent's. "Promise me that if you do consider me a threat that no
one else will be hurt. No more firing on ships just because I'm a
passenger."

The Section 31 officer gave the Vorta a surprisingly warm smile. "I
promise that no Federation force---even the unofficial ones---will be
going after you or anyone with you. I'll even arrange for Federation
citizenship by the time you reach Bajor."

Weyoun offered a shy smile in return and a soft, "Thank you."

The agent blinked, surprised again by the differences between the
clones. He cleared his throat and briskly moved to the center of the
alcove. "Yes...Well, now, if you'd be so kind as to send me back to
my ship. I'd like to see how they're doing with repairs."

Chakotay walked over to the console and began typing. "If you take
off the shift I'll send all of your 'equipment' back with you,
including your uniform." He looked up, struck by a thought. "But
first, how *did* you find out about us? Was it my comm traffic or,"
he swallowed, "were we betrayed?"

The agent snorted. "We may have managed to reconstruct your comm
signals, but we still haven't gotten past the *first* level of
encryption." His eyes softened with regret as he regarded the two
men. "We received some anonymous transmissions. I don't know who
turned on you, but they told us exactly where you'd be and got my
bosses to order me to shoot first---and not bother asking questions
at all." He offered a final warning. "You'd better watch your step."

Chakotay nodded in farewell. "Thank you," he said, and then the naked
agent was gone in the swirl of the transporter.

Weyoun looked at Chakotay. "What now?" he asked quietly.

Chakotay spread his hands. "The only thing I can think of is to meet
Ro Laren as planned. Maybe she can help us figure out who tipped off
Section 31." His expression turned grim. "And why they betrayed us."

"They betrayed you because of *me,* Chakotay." Weyoun's worry was
clear. He knew he wouldn't be able to say the next words if he was
looking into those intense dark eyes, so he dropped his own and
continued, "Maybe you should just drop me off somewhere. It would be
safer for you and your friends."

"No!" Chakotay stilled his panic with a deep calming breath and
swiftly strode over to lift the Vorta's chin. He held the sea-spun
gaze. "They're your friends as well, Weyoun, and I don't think
they're going to agree to abandon you." He tightened his grip on the
pale face. "Any more than I will."

"But---" Weyoun found his protest stopped by a single blunt finger
against his mouth. He wondered what would happen if he kissed it.

"No." Chakotay repeated. He felt the warmth of Weyoun's lips under
his hand and fought down a fierce desire to taste them with his own.
To claim the younger man completely and keep him safe by his side
forever. He released Weyoun and stepped back. "Let's go ask Greg and
Geron what they want to do."

---

Weyoun paced the length of the captain's living room, his thoughts
racing faster than his steps. He was torn by conflicting desires: to
run away from Chakotay, and to grab hold of him and never let go.

The former Maquis had been right about his crewmates. Geron and Greg
were adamant that they all stay together, no matter what risks they
faced or what they'd learn. The two men were taking the first watch.
Chakotay wanted someone on the bridge at all times, so the two pairs
would alternate every eight hours until they reached Bajor.

The Vorta was glad for some time alone while Chakotay whipped up and
stored a few quick meals, some comfort food for a stressful time. He
wanted to get his thoughts and feelings straightened out before he
set eyes on his roommate again.

Weyoun wanted to keep Chakotay safe, but couldn't bear the thought of
leaving him. The Vorta was filled with joy each time he woke in the
beautiful man's arms, and now he wasn't sure he could sleep without
those strong bronze limbs wrapped around him.

Was this love? No one among his people could remember what it was
like, so long had the Founders denied them even the most elemental of
emotional connections. He felt drawn to the older man's strength and
grace, enchanted by his easy, open smile, hopelessly caught in the
warm chocolate pools of his eyes.

But it was more than physical. It was as though somehow in their time
together his own well-being had become linked to Chakotay's. The
older man's happiness lightened his own spirits, and his pain filled
Weyoun with a confusing need to comfort and protect.

The Vorta stopped and closed his eyes as he acknowledged a
fundamental truth: with Chakotay he felt complete. More fulfilled
than on any day of any life he'd ever had. Yes, he loved Chakotay. A
sense of wonder filled him as he said the words out loud to the empty
cabin, savoring every syllable.

Then a frown tightened the pale face as Weyoun resumed pacing. Should
he tell Chakotay of his feelings? The older man really hadn't offered
any clue to his own, despite how comfortable they'd become with each
other. Weyoun wasn't sure he could offer his heart not knowing if it
was wanted.

No, it wouldn't be fair. Especially if Weyoun's newly awakened
protective instincts won out and he disappeared into the night. He
would save his avowals of love until the danger was past.

The light eyes filled with a new determination. He may not speak of
love, but he *would* experience it. Until they were in orbit around
Bajor, he would treasure each and every moment with Chakotay. And not
just the comfort of his embrace.

Decisions made, he turned on his heel and strode into the bedroom.

---

Geron idly ran his fingers along the strong face resting in his lap.
"Now, isn't this better than me sitting at the Conn and you at the
sensors *way* over there?"

Ayala turned his head slightly, silently encouraging the wandering
digits to explore his neck. He was comfortably sprawled on his side
on the blanket-covered deck, with his head laying across Geron's
crossed legs and his eyes on the quartered viewscreen. One section
displayed the ship's stats, another the sensor readings, a third the
special schematic that had revealed the cloaked ship, and the last
the stars streaking past as the DreamCatcher sped toward Bajor. He
gave a contented sigh and claimed one of Geron's stroking hands. He
kissed the back, then the palm. "I freely admit it, you're a genius,
querido."

Geron blushed as he always did at his lover's praise. His left hand
moved to card through curly dark locks. "I'm going to miss the guys
during these split shifts, but I'm always glad to get some time alone
with you. Besides, maybe some privacy is all the other two need."

"Need to what?" Ayala asked.

"To get together, of course. I've never seen Chakotay look at anyone
the way he does our pale friend, and it's clear that Weyoun adores
him." He shrugged. "What could be easier? They're already sharing a
bed."

Ayala shook his head, temporarily dislodging his lover's fingers.
"You forgot what's sharing that mattress with them. Chakotay's sense
of honor. He'll never make the first move, no matter how much he
wants, or even loves Weyoun."

"But that doesn't make any sense. What does honor have to do with
anything?"

"Probably he thinks it wouldn't be right, Tem. Chakotay would never
take advantage of an innocent, and that's exactly what Weyoun is. The
reason they're as close as they are now is probably because
Chakotay's feeling so much he can't help himself. But he won't take
that next step so soon. He may not even do anything after this is all
over." Ayala frowned, thinking aloud. "Yeah, he'll probably let
Weyoun go so he can experience life on his own, even date other
people. Keeping a careful eye on him of course, but just as a
friend."

He shifted to meet the dark eyes above him. "And then, when he's
*finally* sure that Weyoun would be with him by choice and not out of
gratitude, he'll let himself admit he's in love." Ayala gave a
wistful, reminiscent smile. "I can understand how Chakotay feels. It
was the same with you and me." He reached up to stroke his lover's
soft cheek. His voice was husky. "You meant way too much for me to
take the risk of screwing it up. I had to be sure that you really
wanted me, you didn't just think you owed us something because we'd
gotten you out of that camp."

"I remember." Geron fondly tweaked his lover's nose. "Silly man. If
it was just gratitude I'd have gone after Chakotay. He *is* the one
who rescued me." His eyes roamed tenderly over the face below him.
"It was always you, Greg. No matter who else was around, my world was
empty until you walked into the room."

Ayala whispered, "I love you, Tem." They kissed, long and slow and
deep.

When they broke for air, Ayala lifted himself up and knelt on the
blanket as Geron mirrored his position with a puzzled expression. He
waited as Ayala claimed both of his hands.

The older man cleared his throat nervously. "When we get to Bajor,
what's say we round up a Vedek and make this official?"

The Bajoran's eyes lit with love and a gentle teasing. "You're
proposing? Hmm...I'm not sure," he drawled, "I'm quite a catch, you
know."

Ayala seized the younger man in a tight embrace. "Well *I've* caught
you," he growled, "and I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

Geron laughed and turned to face the viewscreen again, settling back
against the taller man's chest. "I'm sure you'll manage to persuade
me to say yes soon enough." He rested his hands on the strong arms
enfolding him. "I just hope Weyoun can do the same." The two men fell
silent as they contemplated the ship and the stars.

---

Chakotay noted the empty living area as he walked into his cabin. He
quietly moved toward the bedroom, figuring that Weyoun was already
asleep.

He'd spent his time in the kitchen sternly reminding himself of the
reasons for not becoming intimate with Weyoun. They were very good
reasons, but for the first time in his life Chakotay was really
struggling to do the right thing. His attraction to the younger man
was as impossible to fight as the tide. The instant Chakotay would
lay eyes on the Vorta he wanted to be beside him. Honestly, to touch
him, kiss him, enfold him and never release him from the embrace. To
love and cherish him. For the most part, Chakotay had managed to keep
his hands to himself. But it was a very near thing. Perhaps they
*should* have separate rooms.

Chakotay paused in the bedroom doorway, fighting to keep his distance
as he spied Weyoun curled up in Chakotay's robe on top of the covers.
The younger man's skin was still dewy from a just-finished shower or
bath.

Weyoun looked up as he heard the door and locked eyes with Chakotay.
He felt himself sinking into those dark pools that he hoped held the
heat of desire as well as the warmth of affection. Never breaking the
stare he slowly stood and walked over to the frozen man.

Chakotay was caught in the pull of those sea-spun eyes, drowning in
the emotions he saw glimmering in their depths. The litany of
anti-relationship warnings he'd been chanting just moments before
were becoming murky and indistinct as he was flooded by a sudden rush
of tenderness and desire. He opened his mouth to speak, to try and
break the spell, but was stopped by a single pale finger against his
lips.

Weyoun dropped his eyes to focus on that lush mouth. He desperately
wanted to know its texture, taste, the heat of its breath against his
skin. He gathered his courage and again met Chakotay's eyes. His
voice was quiet, but absolutely sure. "You think I can't know what I
want." His lips gave a wry twist. "That I'm too young and innocent to
possibly be sure of how I feel. But I have been alive far longer than
you, and I have met thousands of people in the course of those
lifetimes."

The Vorta slowly ran his fingertip along that carved portal,
following the delicate curves of the upper lip and the fullness of
the lower. His expression turned serious and his voice trembled with
intensity. "No one has affected me the way you do. When I'm with you,
I'm not the Founders' slave or the Dominion's butcher. I'm the man
you found in that stasis chamber, the one you've opened your home and
your life to." His hand stilled as he pleaded, "You make me believe
that right here, right now, is all that matters. Please, Chakotay.
Touch me. Make me real, so I'll never doubt who I am again."

Chakotay helplessly surrendered to the siren call of those tear-
filled aqua eyes, the words that struck to his soul. He yielded with
a quiet groan and pressed a kiss to the fingertip still resting on
his mouth. Then he gently removed the restraining hand and brought
both of his own up to lightly grip the back of the pale neck, his
thumbs delicately brushing the place where Weyoun's ridges flowed
into the smooth line of his jaw.

His voice was fierce as he held the younger man's eyes. "Know this:
your life is your own. It doesn't matter if the others shared your
face and name, you're no more responsible for them than you would be
for the actions of a brother." His eyes closed as he pressed
butterfly kisses along the snow-white forehead and cheeks and down
the regal nose.

He drew back far enough to meet the Vorta's eyes. "No matter what the
future holds, Weyoun, you are a treasure I will always be grateful to
have found." Then Chakotay's expression filled with the desire that
he'd kept in check since Altos IV. The men were the same height, so
he leaned in to set his lips against the soft mouth that had never
known another's touch.

Weyoun was stunned by the sudden heat in Chakotay's gaze. He felt
frozen with anticipation and uncertainty as he watched the older
man's mouth approach to cover his own. His eyes drifted shut,
heightening the feelings: the warm hands gently cradling his head and
that soft, soft mouth brushing, then pressing against him.

Chakotay lightly traced his tongue along the seam of Weyoun's lips,
giving a soft sigh as they parted to welcome him. He ventured
cautiously into the wet heat, slowly stroking the younger man's
palate, entwining their tongues in a lazy dance, tasting the
sweetness of his lover's essence.

Weyoun moaned and dropped his head back, unconsciously offering
himself to those tantalizing lips. He felt Chakotay's hands twine
themselves in his hair, holding him still while the older man's mouth
traveled over his skin. He felt kisses pressed along his jawline,
then the tip of Chakotay's tongue exploring each hollow in the ridges
that framed his face. The sensations were indescribable, sending
electric pulses sparking along his nerves and blood pooling in his
groin. He moaned again.

Chakotay moved his hands to trace the path along the ridges he'd just
tasted as his mouth moved to the snowy throat, kissing, licking, then
lightly biting the sweet flesh. He felt Weyoun's hands clenching
against his chest, fingers twisting fabric as the Vorta shuddered in
reaction. The younger man's responses were fueling Chakotay's desire,
and he felt himself at the edge of his control. He drew back and
waited until a dazed blue-green gaze met his own. "Are you sure?" he
asked in a husky whisper.

Weyoun smiled tenderly at the anxious expression on Chakotay's face.
He laid a hand against the bronze cheek, then pressed a firm kiss on
the older man's lips. "Very sure," he said as he reached for the knot
in the belt of his robe.

"Wait." Chakotay stilled the delicate fingers, then took a step back
and began to unbutton his shirt. He smiled at the sudden interest in
the Vorta's expression as he stripped, then stepped from the pile of
clothes soon puddled at his feet.

Weyoun swallowed and nervously fiddled with the cloth still covering
him. As his vision filled with Chakotay's powerful bronze body once
more, he felt a sudden frisson of fear. Though he'd never known
anything but gentleness at this man's hands, could he be trusted not
to use that obvious strength to overwhelm Weyoun in the heat of
passion?

Chakotay saw the uncertainty reflected in the vulnerable face before
him. He reclaimed Weyoun's hand and laid it against his own heart. "I
swear to you, my treasure, I will never hurt you. Please, trust me."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Touch me."

Weyoun was filled with a sense of wonder as he ran both hands along
Chakotay's body. The warm skin gleamed darkly against his own, and
was softer than any material he'd ever felt. The younger man traced
the muscles of the broad chest and sharply defined abdomen, then slid
around to stroke up to Chakotay's nape and back down to cover the
rounded buttocks. Weyoun's fingers explored the muscled thighs, then
moved to their juncture. He brushed through the dark strands
surrounding the rose-tipped cock, enchanted by the softness of the
hair and the silky hardness of the shaft. And through it all Chakotay
remained absolutely still, the darkening of his eyes and the faint
shivering of his limbs the only hints of his struggle to stay quiet
under his lover's explorations.

Weyoun looked into Chakotay's face and recognized affection as well
as desire. He felt the tension in his gut unknot even as he untied
his belt and slid the robe off his shoulders. He grabbed Chakotay's
hands, bringing them to rest against his own chest in invitation. He
caught his breath as Chakotay gave the Vorta a dazzling, tender
smile, leaned over and swung him up into those powerful arms. After
three steps nestled against Chakotay's body Weyoun felt the coverlet
at his back.

Chakotay straightened, drinking in the work of art below him.
Weyoun's white skin stood out in bold relief against the dark green
cover. After taking a deep breath to regain some measure of calm,
Chakotay knelt on the mattress at the foot of the bed. To Weyoun's
startlement, the older man began stroking his feet and ankles,
running his fingers lightly over the bones. As his hands moved to
follow the curve of the pale calves and  tickle behind Weyoun's
knees, his lips descended to follow the trail his fingers had blazed.

Weyoun was panting and making small noises even he couldn't define as
Chakotay moved up to encase his thighs with those capable hands. He
felt them shift to grip his hips as lips---and now a silky, maddening
tongue---played over his flesh. He held his breath as Chakotay's head
moved higher.

Chakotay was trying to decide what to call the sounds the younger man
was making, something between a sob and a sigh. Chakotay gave a
wicked, two-dimple grin as he recognized an unmistakable grunt of
frustration as he bypassed the mauve-tinged cock and instead levered
up to lap at the white shoulders. He traced the muscles of each arm
with his hands, then continued to catalog Weyoun's different flavors
as he moved down the slender limbs to the delicate fingers. He sucked
each one, admiring their graceful length.

Weyoun felt gentle hands spread his arms and legs, then the heat of
Chakotay's body as the bronze man moved to hover above his pale
lover. He lifted his arms to run his hands over the bronze shoulders
and scratch lightly down the muscled back, feeling Chakotay quiver
against him in reaction.

Chakotay thought Weyoun's smile was just a bit too self-satisfied, so
he captured the Vorta's lower lip between his own, giving the
impudent curve a light tug and nip. Pleased when the passionate haze
returned to the aqua eyes as the younger man gave a startled gasp,
Chakotay returned his focus to the expanse of snowy torso he had yet
to explore. The mauve nipples were already hard points, so he lowered
his own chest to feel them brush against his skin, releasing his own
moan of pleasure.

Weyoun felt that powerful chest reverberate against his own and
lifted himself slightly, hoping closer contact would relieve the
tension he could feel building. He made a sound of disappointment
when Chakotay slid away slightly, then a louder one of approval when
that talented mouth began exploring the muscles of his chest.

Weyoun wove his fingers into his lover's silky hair and felt himself
tense as the head beneath his hands moved to one of the burning
points on his chest. His nipples felt tight, unfamiliar, and his
whole body seemed to be anticipating the next sensation. When it came-
--a gentle nuzzling followed by a thorough lick and then a shocking,
decisive bite---Weyounalmost screamed at the pleasure. A cool breath
on the tingling, pebbled skin sent uncontrollable shudders down his
frame as his groin tightened even further.

Chakotay had never had such a responsive lover. Even as he made his
way to the other side of Weyoun's chest, he knew he couldn't linger
much longer or the slow build of pleasure would cross the line into
frustrated pain. After ministering to the neglected nipple, Chakotay
left his hands to tweak and play with both nubs as his mouth moved
south. He briefly but thoroughly covered the expanse of white skin
leading to Weyoun's throbbing, leaking cock. He sampled the balls
beneath first, marveling at the unusual texture of their completely
hairless, smooth sac. Then he licked his lips in anticipation and
eyed his final destination.

Weyoun felt like a wire stretched taut between two poles: desire and
anxiety. His whole body thrummed as he watched Chakotay's lips open
as they neared the Vorta's weeping shaft. Weyoun had dropped his
hands to take a desperate grip on the coverlet; he knew otherwise
he'd be digging furrows into Chakotay's smooth flesh. The hands
tormenting his nipples left as Chakotay braced his elbows on the
mattress and narrowed his concentration to his lover's center of
desire.

Weyoun's head fell back and he closed his eyes, wanting to focus on
his sense of touch. Chakotay's tongue lapped at the precum beading
the head of Weyoun's cock, digging strongly into the slit. He groaned
and instinctively thrust up, seeking greater contact. Lips wrapped
around the base, slowly sucking up one side then nibbling down the
other.

When Chakotay finally took Weyoun fully into his mouth, the younger
man imagined he was somehow sinking into a pool of melted chocolate:
being submerged and surrounded by the confection's warm, clinging,
sliding silk. He was desperate to finish and grabbed Chakotay's head
to hold it in place above him, thrusting into the wet warmth that
welcomed him.

Chakotay recognized a man on the edge, so he relaxed and let Weyoun
fuck his mouth with abandon. Each time Weyoun started his withdrawal
Chakotay sucked, increasing his grip on the retreating organ, then
loosening to let the younger man go as deep as he wanted. His hands
slid to cup the flexing buttocks, not to control his lover but to
increase the feeling of connection. He was hard put not to push into
the mattress himself to relieve the pressure of his own erection as
he watched the gleaming form beneath him writhe as he climbed toward
his first orgasm.

Weyoun knew *something* had to happen as the tension became
overwhelming. He felt his balls draw up tight to his body as he
thrust once more, then screamed at the sudden explosion of feeling.
His vision sparkled with stars as blood pounded in his veins and
fluid gushed in a heated stream out of his cock and down Chakotay's
throat. He seemed to hang forever in that exquisite moment of
release, then sank back onto the bed, sweaty and boneless and utterly
replete.

Chakotay swallowed Weyoun's release, liking the sweet, alien flavor.
He licked the spent organ clean, then pressed a quick trail of kisses
up the supine body until the men were again face to face. He tenderly
stroked the younger man's curly locks, now slightly less springy as
if they too needed a bit of a break. He smiled, content for the
moment to forget his own needs and bask in the contentment he felt at
bringing his lover---no, he admitted to himself, his beloved---his
first taste of pleasure.

Weyoun floated in the aftermath of bliss as his heartbeat gradually
slowed and his breathing calmed. He came back to his senses filled
with contentment; he was cradled in Chakotay's arms as the big man's
powerful hands stroked his hair and face. He was blanketed in the
warmth of the body curled against him, lightly pressing him into the
bed.

As he arched slightly in a satisfied stretch he became aware of
Chakotay's erection as his thigh brushed against its heat. He felt
the bronze body shudder in response as Chakotay moaned, then clenched
his lower lip between his teeth.

Weyoun lifted a hand to stroke a thumb against the passion-swollen
mouth. The other traveled to Chakotay's shoulder, lazily tracing the
muscles curving under silk-soft skin. He felt faint tremors run
through the flesh beneath his palms. "What do you want, Chakotay?" he
breathed.

Chakotay felt his desire awaken with a vengeance. He wanted to claim
Weyoun completely, to connect with him in the most primal of ways.
But he couldn't bear to pressure the younger man into doing something
he may not be ready for. He gave a small smile and turned his head to
kiss the hand resting against his face. "Anything that feels right to
you."

Weyoun sensed the older man was holding back. He suddenly pushed
Chakotay flat on his back and loomed over him, nose to nose. "There's
more, isn't there. I want all of it, Chakotay. All of you." He sat up
and crossed his arms, eyes blazing. "Show me," he demanded. "Now."

Strangely enough, Weyoun's abrupt command reassured Chakotay. It
reminded him that though this body was new, the Vorta was a mature
adult who made his own decisions. As much as Weyoun had trusted him,
Chakotay had to trust Weyoun to know his own mind. As he sat up his
eyes rekindled, raking the snowy, flawless skin. "Are you sure?" he
rasped.

Weyoun felt his heart melt at Chakotay's willingness to stop, even
when his body was shaking with unfulfilled desire. His eyes glowed as
he sank his hands into the straight dark hair. "Make love to me,
Chakotay," he said and kissed him.

Chakotay moaned as Weyoun's tongue clumsily but enthusiastically
plundered his mouth. His own arms reached to enfold the younger man
as he rolled to lay down and fully cover the slender form. The two
men mingled breaths as they spent long minutes exploring each other's
mouths. The older man suddenly pulled away to fumble in a bedside
drawer. Pulling out a bottle of massage oil, he returned to kneel
between Weyoun's spread legs. Serious brown eyes met newly aroused
blue-green. "I'm going to go as slowly as I can. Let me know if you
need me to stop."

Weyoun nodded and lay back, resting on his elbows as he watched
Chakotay arrange his legs atop his own muscled thighs. He saw the
bronze hands carefully open the bottle and smooth some oil on the
dark cock. Weyoun was amazed at the older man's control; it seemed
like he must have been  erect forever.

Chakotay liberally coated his fingers with oil and careful stroked
the cleft in the pale cheeks. He spread them gently, seeking the
puckered orifice. He traced a finger around it, watching Weyoun's
face for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pushed in. He saw the
aqua eyes unfocus as the Vorta concentrated on the internal
sensations. Chakotay withdrew and coated two fingers, returning to
scissor them within the tight, hot passage. At three fingers he
burrowed in a little deeper, hoping that Vortas were not too
dissimilar to humans. He didn't think he could go through with their
joining if Weyoun was incapable of sharing in the pleasure.

The younger man gave a sudden yelp as a bolt of lightning shot up his
spine. He felt like his hair stood on end, so powerful was the
feeling. "What was that?" he panted and felt his cock stir once more.

Chakotay's wide smile radiated passion, tenderness and profound
relief. "In humans, it's called a prostate gland." Lubricant was
pushed in with four fingers as he stroked that special spot again,
delighted to feel Weyoun rising to meet his hand. He pulled out to
the younger man's groan and cradled the slim hips a moment. Then he
took the pale legs and lifted them over his shoulders. He placed his
cock at the stretched opening. "Look at me, Weyoun."

Weyoun locked his eyes on the tense face as he felt Chakotay's cock
begin to enter him. A faint burning accompanied the breach, but that
soon faded in the rise of desire. He felt his lover push forward
slightly, then pull back, moving further in on each stroke. The
younger man reveled in the fullness and sense of connection.

Chakotay slid deeper into the tight heat, stopping when his pelvis
rested against Weyoun's ass. He took a few deep breaths, trying to
give the younger man a moment to get used to being filled. "You
okay?"

That stretched-wire feeling was starting again. Weyoun knew he needed
more than words to answer his still-hesitant lover. He lay down and
used his arms for leverage in a thrust that sent the shaft inside him
bumping against that special spot. "More!" he shouted as lightning
struck again.

That push seemed to drop a final barrier in Chakotay. Tightly
gripping Weyoun's hips, he thrust into the heated channel clenching
around his cock. As his lover continued to meet each stroke, he
plunged faster and harder, listening to his lover's choked screams
each time his gland was hit. One hand desperately grabbed the leaking
cock bobbing in front of him, fisting it in time with his movements.

Weyoun felt touched to his soul. He was merging with Chakotay: seared
by his heat, surrounded by his scent, filled with his passion. He
craved the flood of Chakotay's cum, to have his lover's essence
absorbed deep into his own body. He felt as wild as the dark eyes
that glittered above. The tension inside him built and built until
finally the wire snapped. He threw back his head with a howl as his
orgasm rocketed through him.

Chakotay felt the cock in his hand erupt as the channel sheathing him
clamped down, drawing him into his own roar of release. He
frantically plunged forward, emptying himself into that taut pale
body. He barely had the presence of mind to release Weyoun's legs and
brace himself as he fell forward. He pressed his sweat-beaded
forehead into the pale neck, feeling the frantic pulse beating in
time with his own. Both men were still shaking in the aftermath,
barely conscious.

After a few minutes, Chakotay raised his head and looked into hazy
pools of satiation. In that moment he wanted to offer his heart, his
home, his hand in marriage. Instead, he reminded himself that making
love was very different than being in love. He couldn't force his
feelings on Weyoun; the man needed time and freedom to find his own
way, hopefully to Chakotay's side. And questions of the past had to
be settled before tackling the future. He searched the Vorta's face.
"You okay?" he asked again.

Weyoun had a not-so-surprising sense of d=E9j=E0 vu. He stayed silent
as he debated answering "Yes, if you're giving me your heart as well
as your body." or "No, not until you promise to be mine forever." He
finally decided on an impudent grin and his answer from earlier.
"More."

Chakotay looked stunned, then his eyes narrowed as he watched those
quirking lips stretch into a sudden yawn. "Yeah right," he replied.
When the mouth finally closed, he pressed a kiss against it, then
rubbed noses. "Don't go anywhere," he said as he lifted himself from
the bed.

"Yeah right," Weyoun echoed as he turned to watch Chakotay stride
toward the bathroom. He was equally impressed with his lover's rear
view, especially the rounded buttocks that shifted slightly with each
step.

He lay back down as the bronze body passed out of his line of sight.
He stared at the molded ceiling, feeling as though he had truly been
reborn. He was unique among his people: a clone who had experienced
sex, whose soul had been touched by love. Weyoun was still in awe.

When Chakotay approached the bed with a warm wet towel he realized
Weyoun had fallen asleep. The Vorta's only response to his lover's
ministrations was a contented sigh. Chakotay was relieved that
Weyoun's body didn't show any damage from their passionate encounter.
He couldn't bear to hurt this treasure entrusted to him.

Chakotay threw the used towel back toward the bathroom, then gently
lifted the slender form to toss back the bedcovers. He laid Weyoun
back down, then walked around the bed to settle beside him. He threw
an arm around the younger man's waist and let himself drift off to
the land of dreams.

---

Caring. Tenderness. Love. Weyoun's nostrils filled with the sweet-
spice scent of his bedmate as his eyes opened to the dimly lit room.
He felt the arm snug around his torso, and Chakotay's soft breaths
against the back of his neck.

He smiled as he thought of yesterday. The men had awakened barely in
time for quick sonic showers and a hasty meal before relieving Ayala
and Geron. Weyoun blushed at the memory of the speculative
expressions in both sets of dark eyes. The quartet had spent a
pleasant hour on the bridge together before Chakotay and he were left
alone to monitor the DreamCatcher's systems.

They'd taken advantage of the blanket and Geron's ingenuity to spend
their time sitting together, sharing stories of the past. Weyoun had
been hesitant to talk about his work for the Dominion, but Chakotay's
understanding expression had given him the courage to be honest about
what he---or, as the older man insisted---what his other clones had
done. In truth, he had come to accept that distinction in his own
mind, since he felt no real ambitions for power or conquest. He also
never thought of the Ever-Changing---his gods, the Founders---
anymore. Now, the only image he got when he thought of "serving" or
"worshipping" was that of Chakotay spread out like a banquet,
garnished with chocolate and a bit of whipped cream.

He felt his cock stir slightly at the image, and decided to help it
along by remembering their encounter in the bathroom before bed.
Though they'd been warned by their friends, both Chakotay and Weyoun
were surprised at how tired they were after the quiet shift on the
bridge. The tension and constant checks for more unseen enemies had
been draining.

When Geron and Ayala relieved them (sporting matching secretive, yet
satisfied smiles), Weyoun and Chakotay had quickly devoured bowls of
soup and stumbled off to bed. They'd just finished brushing their
teeth side by side at the double sink when Chakotay pulled Weyoun
into a deep, hot kiss. It had awakened both their libidos as
erections ground against each other through layers of cloth. Without
breaking the kiss, the two men had quickly undressed each other. When
the final garments dropped free, Chakotay dragged them both into the
shower stall. They were soon surrounded by a rush of warm water.

When Weyoun opened his mouth to ask what they were doing Chakotay
silenced him with another soul-searing kiss. He thrust against his
slender lover, who gasped at the slick friction as their cocks
finally met. Weyoun soon caught Chakotay's rhythm and the two men
moved together, mouths still locked and hands roaming over wet skin.
They climaxed as one and let the water wash away the evidence.

Weyoun's eyes grew dreamy as he remembered a gentle rubdown at
Chakotay's hands before they settled into bed in their usual
position: Weyoun on his side and Chakotay spooned behind him, a
protective arm about his middle.

The position they were in now, in fact. Weyoun slowly turned to face
his companion, trying not to jar the other man from his sleep. The
Vorta looked at the strong face, then ever so lightly ran a finger
down the aquiline nose, grazing the lips on its way to the slight
cleft in the chin. The same gentle brush brought him up over a
cheekbone to that fascinating tattoo. Weyoun couldn't resist; he
began tracing the blue lines, occasionally brushing aside strands of
mussed raven hair.

Chakotay woke halfway through the pattern but lay quiet, staring at
the beloved face shining moon-white in the dimness. In a few hours
they would be on Bajor. If Ro Laren could clear up the mystery of
Weyoun's existence, there would be nothing left to hold the Vorta at
Chakotay's side. The older man knew that Weyoun needed to establish
his own life, become aware of all his potential, all of his options.
Even for love. A stab of grief shot through Chakotay, but he breathed
through it and vowed he would not be so greedy as to lock this
treasure away, no matter how much he wanted to.

Weyoun reached the end of the indigo lines and was a little startled
to see Chakotay's eyes open beneath them. He promptly dove into those
deep brown pools, letting the feelings of love and desire flood him
as they always did at the sight of Chakotay. In his own mind, at
least, his future husband. But even if---when---he found his unknown
enemy, Weyoun didn't want to come to their relationship with nothing.
His lover had shared so much so freely, the Vorta was desperate to
show he could contribute something as well. As soon as all the
questions were settled he would begin a job search, then look for a
home base. When he could prove himself an equal partner, he would
marry Chakotay. Claim him. That thought made his eyes grow smoky with
desire as he leaned forward to kiss the full lips beneath him.

Chakotay opened his mouth immediately, inviting Weyoun to take what
he wanted. The older man didn't know how he would cope if his lover
abandoned him on the way to a new life. His soul ached at the thought
of an empty ship, empty cabin, empty bed, empty arms, empty heart. He
reached up to wrap his arms around the slender figure half on top of
him. He needed to be filled, to have a memory at least to hold on to.
He broke off their kiss to look into that desire-flushed face. "I
want you to take me, Weyoun," he said softly.

Weyoun reared back, surprised at the parallel tracks of their
thoughts. He stammered a little nervously. "I-I've made love *one*
time, Chakotay. You know that; you were there. I can't---"

"Of course you can." Chakotay's voice was firm. "You do what I did,
and let instinct do the rest." His expression turned shy. "The only
question is if you want to."

"Oh, I want to," Weyoun breathed, descending again on those soft
lips. He sucked and nipped at them briefly, then sent his mouth and
hands exploring Chakotay's powerful form. He covered every inch of
the bronze throat and collarbone with kisses, then small bites, all
the while breathing in that scent that was uniquely Chakotay. His
hands shaped the muscles of the smooth shoulders, and eventually he
descended to experiment on the small dark nipples, warmed by
Chakotay's sounds of pleasure and encouragement.

He threw back the sheets to see all of that smooth satiny skin. His
hands ran over the meaty thighs and calves while his tongue dipped
into an adorable little belly button and drew wet circles around the
navel. Weyoun felt blood pooling in his own groin as he moved to the
rosy aroused cock that seemed to beg for his attention. His tongue
lapped a  little bit of moisture from the flared head, and he paused
to savor the salty taste. Before he could explore further, he felt
Chakotay's hands grip his shoulders to haul him back up to the older
man's level.

Chakotay sensed Weyoun's readiness to go down on him, but he was
yearning to connect in a different way. He wasn't sure how much time
they had. He reached over to the bedside table, then handed Weyoun
the bottle of oil.

"Ready?" He delighted in Weyoun's quick nod. "Then just take your
time." He disentangled their limbs, then flipped over onto his
stomach, tucking a pillow beneath his pelvis and spreading his legs
around Weyoun's unmoving form. He glanced over his shoulder. "This
should be a bit easier---for both of us."

Weyoun swallowed as he slowly ran his eyes down the wide back, over
those extravagant globes and along the strong legs. He leaned up to
place a kiss on Chakotay's nape, pleased to feel the body beneath him
quiver.

He set aside the oil and placed his hands on each shoulder blade,
then ran them down the smooth expanse of skin, thumbs brushing
against the spine and nails lightly scraping. When he reached that
magnificent ass he felt his erection twitch, as if yearning toward
its destination. He squeezed two handfuls of the rounded muscles,
then traced the crease at the beginning of each thigh. Chakotay
moaned and shuddered under his  ministrations. Weyoun let his hands
wander underneath to gently comb through soft pubic hair and brush
the prone man's perineum.

"Do it Weyoun," Chakotay breathed, no power behind the words. He was
tantalized and tormented by those stroking digits. He definitely
wanted to feel them inside his body. He lifted and moved his hips
slightly, reminding the younger man where his focus should be.

Weyoun opened the oil, and with trembling hands lubricated his almost
painfully erect shaft. He hissed at the touch of the thick fluid
against its heated length. He coated his fingers, then slowly
breached Chakotay's anus. The feeling of muscle clamping around him
caused his cock to twitch in anticipation once more.

Chakotay was awash in the pleasure. One delicate hand stroked two,
then three fingers in and out of his body, rhythmically grazing his
prostate. The other roamed at will over his skin, walking up and down
his spine, tracing the flair of his hip, caressing his ass. Chakotay
couldn't figure out when he was inhaling, but he knew he must be
because he was sending out one long continuous moan.

Weyoun edged forward on his knees, carefully lining up his erection
with the gleaming entrance to his lover's body. He remembered
Chakotay's careful, gradual claiming, but he wasn't sure his control
would be that good. He gripped the bronze ass with both hands, using
his thumbs to pull the twin orbs apart to expose the loosened portal
even more. He wanted to watch his cock disappear into his lover's
depths. He felt resistance as the head of his penis made its way past
the ring of muscle. He pushed forward only a little, unwilling to
cause the man beneath him any pain.

Chakotay felt Weyoun's uncertainty and knew he had to act. He raised
himself onto elbows and knees and moved back in one long smooth
motion, taking Weyoun's full length inside his body. He gave a
satisfied sigh, then paused, waiting for the younger man to take
control once more.

Weyoun was lost in the moment. He'd been a little shocked when
Chakotay impaled himself, but also relieved. Now he was in heaven,
feeling the small contractions of Chakotay's channel as it tried to
close around him.
As though the bronze body wanted to keep Weyoun bound to it, their
flesh forever joined. He broke the moment with a full-body shudder of
pleasure, then began to slowly thrust.

Chakotay began moaning again as Weyoun gained confidence with every
stroke, moving harder and deeper each time. Their flesh slapped
together in an erotic drumbeat each time Weyoun's forward motion met
Chakotay's counterthrust as they drove in tandem. Weyoun let one hand
grip hard at Chakotay's hip. He leaned forward to cover the body
surging back to meet him, licking at the salty sweat on the strong
shoulders and back. His other hand moved underneath to tweak
Chakotay's nipples, then slowly drift down to grasp his dripping
cock.

Chakotay almost lost the rhythm when he felt a hand close around his
straining shaft. His moans turned to incoherent pleas that Weyoun
immediately answered. Weyoun pistoned even faster into Chakotay's
ass, the force driving the bronze man's erection into the blessed
friction of Weyoun's fist.

Chakotay felt himself reaching the edge, then sailing over it in a
screaming, writhing climax. Even in the haze of release he felt the
splash of Weyoun's cum coating his bowels as the younger man emptied
himself in a flurry of frantic thrusts. Chakotay clenched his
internal muscles, keeping Weyoun's shaft buried as he let his body
collapse, bringing both men down to the mattress with a last sigh.

Weyoun still heard the blood pounding through his ear hollows as he
limply lay, arms and legs encasing the sated form beneath him. He was
still shaking from those last moments, as Chakotay climaxed into his
hand and then all around him. His penis was squeezed in its muscular
sheath, driving Weyoun to shoot his semen as deeply as possible into
his lover's body. He pressed kisses into the damp skin under his
lips, then languidly lapped more of the sweat glistening on the broad
shoulders.

Chakotay lifted himself slightly, then twisted his torso and sank a
hand into Weyoun's hair, touching the pale forehead to his own.
"Thank you," he said, then drew back and lost himself in the depths
of those sea-bright eyes. Anything else either man might have
revealed at that moment was forgotten as the comm system beeped.
Chakotay felt Weyoun's cock slip from his body as the men slowly
disengaged and struggled to control their breathing. "Chakotay here."

Ayala responded, "Sorry to wake you early, Chakotay, but the
DreamCatcher made better time than expected. We'll be in orbit around
Bajor in a little more than half an hour. Ayala out."

Both men sighed into the renewed stillness. There was no more time.
For words, or decisions, or anything except preparations for the
meeting that could forever change their lives.

---

Ro Laren had lost none of her whipcord strength or sharp-edged
beauty. Her no-nonsense verbal style had also remained intact through
the years. The chains of the Bajoran's earring jangled with its
owner's agitation as she paced. "I can't believe they kept this from
me," she growled once more as she turned the corner of the dining-
room table.

Chakotay watched Ro gracefully weaving around furniture as anger
drove her through the arch to the living room. A fire burned there in
a simple stone hearth, adding to the welcoming atmosphere the ex-
Maquis had created in her first real home. He smiled to himself as he
contrasted all the warm colors and throw pillows with the steely aura
his old friend still tried to project. He sobered as his wandering
eyes fell upon the padd on the table in front of him. He pulled it
forward, even as he tried to soothe Ro's fury. "You've been raging
about this off and on for an hour. It's in the past, Ro. They
probably didn't tell you because they knew you wouldn't approve."

"I would have done more than disapprove, Chakotay. What they did was
like abducting a child. By the Prophets, they stole him while he was
still being *grown.* They planned to brainwash Weyoun, and dozens
like him, to make him think that Michael was that, that---what they
called the Founders---Ever-Changing? A god. He would have worshipped
Michael Eddington like he was a god. Done anything for him. Died for
him. That's worse than slavery, Chakotay."

Ro's path brought her back to Chakotay's side, her rage finally
spent. She sounded bitter and defeated as she sank into the chair
next to him. "I couldn't believe it when Rebecca told me. It's no
different than the Cardassians with their twisted mind games. Or the
Dominion, breeding servants with no will of their own." He could see
the sheen of tears in her dark eyes. "The Maquis were better than
this. *We* were better than this."

Chakotay covered her clenched fists with one hand. He swallowed his
own grief and disappointment to offer what comfort he could. "Ro---
*Laren*, it's all right. Michael never got to carry out his plan.
They used so many resources stealing Weyoun and the technology they
didn't have enough left to maintain more than the one chamber." He
looked down a moment, then made a decision and met Ro's eyes. "I
think he changed his mind at the end, Ro. He kept the activation
sequence to himself, even after he was captured. He didn't even tell
Rebecca. And he stayed behind at Altos IV. Maybe he wanted to try and
free Weyoun, but died before he got the chance."

He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. "Rebecca looked at me
like I was crazy when I told her this, but here goes." He took a deep
breath. "Michael...contacted me. In a dream. That's how I knew to go
to the planet. And *he* gave me the activation code---in a vision."
He spread his hands. "No one imprinted Weyoun during the process, so
he awakened without any outside influence. Michael wanted to set
things right, Ro. He made me promise to take care of Weyoun."

Ro's eyes revived with a faint twinkle. "And you decided to care for
him, all on your own?" She gave her former comrade a knowing grin.

Chakotay felt his whole face heat with a blush. "Am I that obvious?"

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder as her face softened. "I
remember how you were with Kurt. So, yeah, it's pretty obvious to
me." She dipped her head a little to catch his embarrassed brown
eyes. "Why haven't you told Weyoun?"

"I can't, Ro. You're right, I do love him, but he has to make his own
decisions. And to do that he needs time, and space." Chakotay sighed.
"And no 'outside influence'. If he wants to go his own way, I'll let
him."

Ro gave her friend a squeeze and a small smile. "No matter how much
it hurts. No wonder Michael chose you. You're too damn noble for your
own good."

Chakotay shrugged. "I think it's more likely I'm the only one who
wouldn't automatically freak out, seeing a ghost."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think Weyoun couldn't be in better
hands. And if he's smart, he'll stay in them." She grinned again. "Of
course, if you're lucky, Rebecca's figured it out as well and is
grilling Weyoun along with the vegetables." She took the padd from
Chakotay, filled with new determination. "But with or without you, he
needs to be safe. Let's look at Rebecca's data again. Maybe this time
we'll figure out who set Federation assassins on your tail."

Chakotay nodded grimly. "And why."

---

Weyoun angrily shoved clothing into the large duffel bag he'd found
in the other room, fiercely blinking back tears. He had originally
decided not to come back at all, to just walk away from Ro Laren's
house and find a hole to crawl into. But with his mind locked in an
endless loop of betrayal and despair, his feet had chosen their own
course. The echo from the metal floor had jolted him from his mental
fog to discover he had arrived in the DreamCatcher's cargo bay.

The day had started out so promisingly. After splitting from Ayala
and Geron, who were off on some mysterious errand of their own,
Chakotay and he had walked to Ro Laren's charming cottage on the
outskirts of town. He'd been introduced to the blunt ex-Maquis and
her more subdued guest, Rebecca Eddington.

The widow had apparently received but not answered Chakotay's
original message. The sad-eyed woman said she had thought it would be
better to speak face-to-face and made her way secretly to Bajor. The
dark-haired traveler figured that even if Chakotay and Ro didn't know
any of the secrets surrounding Altos IV, they'd start digging with
characteristic tenacity until they exposed everything. Rebecca had
decided to simply hand over the information and save everyone from
interrogation at the ex-Maquis' hands.

Rebecca had outlined a crazy, ambitious plan by a group of desperate
people. Weyoun hadn't known how to react to the knowledge that the
supposedly noble freedom fighters had kidnapped him, and had planned
to create a whole army of Maquis-worshipping Vorta clones. He'd been
grateful to feel the comforting squeeze of Chakotay's hand on his own
under the table, and the ready sympathy in the dark eyes.

The trouble had started when Ro jumped up to rave and pace, going
ballistic as the realization of what her comrades had done suddenly
sunk in. Weyoun and Rebecca decided to escape to the kitchen to
prepare lunch, leaving Chakotay to calm down Ro. Weyoun had gone
ahead while the older man grabbed a quick word with Rebecca, but she
soon arrived to join in chopping a pile of produce.

The conversation began innocently enough on the topic of food.
Apparently people really did remember Chakotay's pali nabotash with
great fondness. After a discussion of the complex Bajoran dish,
they'd shared a comfortable silence until Rebecca broke the quiet
with, "Don't worry."

"About what?" Weyoun asked, confused.

"About anything, really. I'm sure we'll figure out who's after you,
and even if we don't, Chakotay will make sure nothing happens to
you." She confided, "He takes his promises very seriously."

"He hasn't promised me anything," Weyoun said a little wistfully,
thinking about his own hopes and plans.

"Well, I'm sure he will soon enough. After all, he's already made the
commitment." She slowly shook her head. "That man really is much too
noble for his own good."

"*What* are you talking about?" Weyoun spun to face Rebecca, feeling
the sick swirl of tension in his stomach.

"Chakotay considers his word his bond. He'll do everything and
*anything* he must to keep it, even if he made the promise to a dead
man."

"Huh? Who?"

"Michael, of course. Chakotay had a 'vision' that told him where to
find you. In it he swore to my husband he would take care of you."
She turned back to the vegetables, unaware of Weyoun's hitching
breath and clenched hands. "My advice is to just relax and let
Chakotay handle things. He's probably got everything planned, even a
way to keep you safe under his wing. I'm told he can be...very
persuasive. Like I said, you have nothing to worry about."

Weyoun's world crashed as he substituted "under his wing" with "in
his bed". He staggered under the weight of knowing all that *loving*
concern and tender care had just been part of some grand scheme to
keep him at Chakotay's side. Weyoun's lips twisted as he realized the
lengths the older man had felt driven to just to keep his word. The
walls started closing in. He had to get out of there---now. He
mumbled some excuse to Rebecca and fled.

Now, Weyoun was barely in control as he hurriedly packed in the cabin
where he thought he'd found happiness, fulfillment, love. He felt a
jolt as his hands unconsciously closed on the robe laying under the
edge of the bag. He lifted it, fingering the soft cloth. He brought
it to his nose, inhaling, but the older man's scent had long been
superseded by his own.

It hit Weyoun then: he'd never wake again surrounded by those strong
arms, that wonderfully warm body or sweet-spice scent. Burying his
face in the robe, Weyoun sank down on the bed and succumbed to his
tears.

---

Ro and Chakotay wandered into the kitchen, taking a break from their
fruitless speculations. He stopped in shock at the sight of the lone
figure brushing oil over vegetables. "Where's Weyoun?"

Rebecca looked up from her task. "He said something about hearing so
many people mention pali nabotash he wanted to try the dish himself.
He went to the market, um, fifteen minutes ago."

"You let him leave *alone*?" Chakotay whirled to face a startled Ro.
"Where would he go to get it?"

The Bajoran's brow furrowed in concentration. "There are three
farmers' markets around here. Not to mention more than half a dozen
shops that carry it. We'd better split up."

Rebecca piped up, "You really think he's in danger?"

Chakotay answered, "We haven't been able to figure out what anyone
would gain from hurting Weyoun. Whoever it is could be stalking him
right now." He fought down his fear and started issuing orders. "Ro,
you know the territory better than us. I know of three shops and a
market west of here. I'll cover them. You handle the others.
Rebecca---"

"I think I should stay here, in case Weyoun comes back. And I can try
contacting Greg and Tem, maybe get them to help with the search."

Ro ducked into the living room and returned to hand Chakotay a
phaser. "Sounds like a plan. Let's get moving."

Chakotay nodded worriedly and followed her out the back door, leaving
Rebecca in the now silent kitchen.

---

Weyoun hadn't cried long but his throat and eyes were sore. He got up
and stumbled to the bathroom, washing his face and taking a long
drink of water. He stared at his reflection a moment, then gathered
some toiletries and headed back toward the bed. The items dropped
from suddenly nerveless fingers as he saw who awaited him.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?" Chakotay growled, his
relief quickly overwhelmed by anger and hidden panic. He still hadn't
shaken the sense of impending doom that stopped him in his tracks
halfway to the first shop. Obeying his instincts, he'd headed for the
DreamCatcher at a run. Only to find Weyoun safe and sound and
apparently preparing to leave him. He pulled the phaser from his belt
and tossed it on the bed. "Well?" he demanded, hands on hips.

Weyoun swallowed. He'd hoped to never see Chakotay again. He could
feel a self-defensive sneer form. "What does it look like? Getting
out." He swooped down to pick up his things and dumped them in the
bag. "You don't have to pretend any more. I release you from all
promises." His voice was deliberately cutting. "You really should
consider switching from writing to acting, Chakotay. Your performance
was absolutely flawless." He fell silent as hurt closed his throat.

"What?" Chakotay was bewildered. "Pretending? Promises? What are you
babbling about?" Getting nothing in reply, he moved to the younger
man and grabbed him in frustration. "Talk to me!"

The touch of those powerful hands broke Weyoun's silence. He pulled
free, moving away with a snarl. "Rebecca explained it to me,
Chakotay. How you consider yourself responsible for me because of
some crazy dream. That you would do *anything* to make sure I was
safe---that I stayed with you."

He stalked back, practically spitting in Chakotay's stunned face.
"What a pity you thought you had to stoop to sleeping with me. It was
so totally unnecessary. Fool that I am, I would have been happy just
to share your bed for as long as you'd have me. No pity fucks
required!"

Chakotay felt something snap at Weyoun's statement. His fingers again
bit into the Vorta's biceps as he punctuated each shout with a shake.
"I have *never* pretended with you. You think all our time together
was some plan to become your bodyguard?" His anger ratcheted higher.
"Is that really why you think I made love with you? *Gave myself to
you?* It was just part of the service?" He flung the slender form
away.

He didn't see the shock in Weyoun's eyes as he dejectedly slumped on
the bed, anger spent. "In a way you're right; I did feel responsible
at first. Until you showed me you didn't need a guardian. Then I
realized I had to let you go to find your own path." His voice faded
to a whisper as he stared into space. "Even after I fell in love with
you."

Chakotay took a deep breath and faced the dumbstruck Vorta. "It's
obvious you no longer trust me. And I did make a promise that you
would be safe. Please, stay aboard the DreamCatcher." He stood. "I'll
give you the ship. Greg and Tem can help you until you find your own
crew. Head through the wormhole, make a home in the Federation, or
just keep traveling." He looked away. "Whatever you want to do."

Weyoun felt queasy from the rollercoaster of emotions he'd been
riding since waking up that morning. He stared at Chakotay, pained by
his lover's defeated air. He shook his head, trying to make sense of
things.

He'd been so hurt when he thought Chakotay was just pretending. All
of his hopes and dreams were wrapped up in the bronze man now
avoiding his gaze. Weyoun frowned. Maybe he *did* need to go it
alone. He could prove he was able to protect himself, make his own
friends, decide his own future.

But...Chakotay loved him. Apparently enough to let him go. And, in
the strictest sense, enough to break the promise he'd made. Knowing
how important the former Maquis' word was to him, Weyoun almost
didn't believe it.

The younger man looked again at the grief etched on the beloved face.
He moved forward and watched as Chakotay braced himself, then turned
to meet Weyoun's eyes. The pain dulling the deep brown was too great
not to be real. The Vorta felt his spirits lift, soaring higher than
he'd ever dreamed. He smiled. "What if what I want to do...is spend
my life with you?"

There had been no tension as Chakotay awaited Weyoun's decision.
Grief numbed the anxiety as he realized his treasure was lost. He
stoically watched the younger man approach him, then felt confusion
rise when he met aqua eyes as dazzling as a sunlit sea. He couldn't
believe what Weyoun had said. "What?"

Weyoun took Chakotay's hand, laying it over his own heart. "I said,
'What if I want to spend my life with you'. You are more important to
me than anyone I've ever known. Even the Founders. I trust you,
Chakotay. I love you." He clutched the hand laying on his chest. "Can
we forget this and start again?"

"No." Weyoun felt his heart seize. Then Chakotay's smile beamed
forth. "I want to remember every moment with you."

Both men turned as the bedroom door opened, startled by the sight of
Rebecca Eddington pointing an old-fashioned phaser. She stopped,
frowning. "You're not supposed to be here, Chakotay. Now step away
from the clone."

Chakotay eyed the hopeless distance to his own weapon. He didn't
move. "How did you get aboard?" he asked quietly.

The dark-haired woman snorted. "I contacted Ayala and suggested he
give me a passcode." Her voice turned mocking. "To check if our
little lost lamb had found his way home."

Weyoun watched the weapon steadily pointed at them. "No wonder Ro and
Chakotay couldn't figure out who betrayed us. You would hardly give
them incriminating data." He met Rebecca's eyes and flinched at the
hint of madness in them. "You contacted Section 31. They fired on
your friends because I was aboard. *Why*?"

Rebecca paced around the two men, irritated when Chakotay kept
blocking her shots. Her voice was reflective. "I always knew I came
second with Michael. That our cause was first in his mind." She
faltered. "In his heart." She continued, "I could accept being second
best, but then *it* came into the picture." She stopped.

Her eyes sliced through Weyoun. "The clone became his obsession.
Michael talked about his plans all the time. How it would be our
salvation." She gestured. "I wasn't even second anymore. Maybe
fourth. After you, and the plot to get you."

She shifted her grip as the phaser wavered, then firmed. "And when we
finally sacrificed so much to get it, what did Michael do? Nothing!"
Her face twisted with anger. "He couldn't 'take advantage of an
innocent'. Wouldn't let anyone else imprint it. Sealed it away in a
stasis chamber. And never mentioned it again."

Chakotay made sure Weyoun was fully hidden behind him. He'd been
watching for an opening, but it seemed Rebecca had also retained her
Maquis training. He tried to distract the distraught woman. "It's
been a long time, Rebecca. Why now? You could have gone back to Altos
IV any day since you left prison."

Her eyes unfocused. "Because being locked away was as good as dead. I
wouldn't have to do anything, and when the power finally failed it
would just...fade away. I was moving on with my life. Then I hear
from you, and it all came back. I knew you'd manage to master the
activation sequence, Chakotay. So now this *thing* is alive and
Michael's dead. Because he stayed behind---to save it."

She breathed and relaxed into a smug pose. "I had it all planned.
Untraceable hints dropped to Section 31. They'd do the job for me.
I'll admit I was surprised to learn you'd survived when Ro commed me
with word of your meeting. But it gave me the time to come up with a
backup plan."  Her lip curled. "I could see the puppy dog already
panting after you, Chakotay. *So* devoted. And then you shared your
comforting story. That made things easy. Drop a hint here and a
suggestion there, and the betrayed little thing turned tail and ran."
Her eyes turned cold. "I didn't think you'd be smart enough to
follow, though. Pity. I always liked you, Chakotay." She raised the
phaser and aimed. "But since you refuse to get out of my way, I'll
have to go through you."

Weyoun screamed "No!" and pushed Chakotay hard. Their legs entangled.
He could hear phaser fire as both men fell. Then silence.

---

Chill. Loneliness. Fear. Chakotay bolted upright, wildly searching.
"Weyoun!" he shouted.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Chakotay turned slightly to meet
relieved blue-green eyes, then felt himself gathered into a desperate
embrace. "You're all right," he breathed as he reached up to caress
springy black curls.

Weyoun pressed closer, burying his face in the older man's neck. "I
was so afraid I'd lost you, Chakotay." He shuddered.

After some time quietly absorbing each other, Chakotay pushed back
and framed the pale face, stroking Weyoun's ridges as he searched for
any sign of distress. "Were you hurt? What happened?"

"I think we'd better answer that." Both men jumped slightly at the
brisk voice. Ro Laren strode into the room, followed closely by Ayala
and Geron. They smiled at the sight of a robed Weyoun half-sprawled
on Chakotay's naked chest.

"You should make up your mind, Weyoun, on or off," Geron teased.

"On," the Vorta retorted, lifting Chakotay's blanket and nudging the
older man aside. He then graced his audience with an exaggerated
stretch and satisfied sigh. They all noticed how serious his eyes
were, however, as he gently ran his hands over the bronze skin,
reassuring himself that
it was whole again.

"Now if you're settled, *children*, I'll start your bedtime story."
Ro sobered, approached the pair and laid a gentle hand on Chakotay's
shoulder. "Rebecca's dead."

Chakotay stared at her. "How? She was the only one with a phaser."

Geron spoke up, his eyes serious. "Greg and I came back. We thought
we'd take the ship up and use the sensors to track down Weyoun. When
we realized security and communications were down, we secured the
bridge, then started searching cabins. Yours was first in line."

Ayala picked up the story. "I walked in just as she fired. I saw the
two of you go down and tackled Rebecca. She was still pushing the
fire button when she landed on the phaser." He looked down. "She
didn't make it." The tall man leaned into his lover's comforting hug.

Chakotay swallowed and reached for Weyoun's hand. "How badly were we
hurt?"

Ro shrugged. "Thanks to this Sickbay, we got to you pretty quickly.
Weyoun had a few burns, and you took a serious hit to the chest and
shoulder. We kept you under until now to let everything heal."

The older man offered a grateful smile, then sobered. "The
authorities?"

"Been and gone. Apparently someone in the Federation had filed a
report on your troubles even before you arrived." Ro paused. "They
took the body. If no one claims it, we'll have the funeral on Bajor."

Everyone nodded and spent a moment remembering a woman whose life
ended so tragically. Then Weyoun perked up a little and looked at the
standing men. "Maybe it's time for some good news."

"Oh, yeah, now I remember." Ayala snapped his fingers. "Tem and I got
married."

"*What*?" Chakotay was stunned. "Just like that?"

Geron smiled. "Yep, just like that. The old man finally came up with
a convincing argument." He shared a sizzling look with his new
husband. "Very convincing."

"I *don't* want to know." Chakotay said. He looked at Weyoun. "So
what do you say, should we offer them the DreamCatcher shuttle
service for their honeymoon?" His expression grew uncertain. "Unless
you have other plans?"

"Why are you even bothering to ask? It's not like he has any say in
the matter." Geron grinned at four pairs of puzzled eyes. "Now that
I've heard the whole story, I'm afraid Weyoun simply *has* to stay
with Chakotay. 'Finders, Keepers' after all."

"What do you mean?" Weyoun demanded.

Chakotay gazed at his love. "It's an old saying. It means you don't
get a choice. I found you, so I keep you. Forever."

Weyoun pondered that a moment, then gasped in mock horror. "Doesn't
that make me a kept man?" His laughing eyes narrowed as he
threatened, "You'd better be planning to make me an honest one,
Mister."

"We're going to wait a year. Yes, a year," Chakotay held off the
younger man's protest. Then his face softened. "Please, Weyoun. This
is so important. Let's take our time."

Weyoun smiled and stroked a bronze cheek. "As long as it's an
engagement, not an estrangement, I think I'll be okay." He laid back
with a casual air, "Besides, we can spend that time looking for a
planetside home base. We'll have to do a lot of research: population,
technology, climate, culture, taxes, medical facilities, schools,
playgrounds..."

"Whoa, wait a minute. Playgrounds? What are you talking about?"

Weyoun leaned in to whisper in Chakotay's ear, "Though we haven't
used the equipment in centuries, the Vorta are just a little bit
different from humans." He settled back with a grin. "I checked. When
we're both ready, it'll take just a quick trip to the doctor's. But I
insist, *after* the wedding."

Chakotay laughed and hugged the slender body. "Are you always going
to be so full of surprises, my treasure? I'm not sure I'm going to be
able to hold out for the full 12 months."

Weyoun sighed. "It's going to be a wonderful year."

"A wonderful life," Chakotay answered.

They sealed the promise with a kiss.

---

The End