The BLTS Archive - Time's Orphans
#3: A Time to Heal
by Kiff

---

Disclaimer: They belong to Paramount. I'm taking them out for some 
fresh air.

Archiving: Permission granted to Sileya to archive this at my TSU 
website. All others, please ask first.

Feedback: Constructive comments happily accepted.

This is the third installment in my "Time's Orphans" series and 
follows "A Time to Mourn" and "A Time to Gather Stones Together."

Warning: This story contains sexually explicit scenes between two 
adult men. If you are underage or if this kind of content squicks 
you, run along.

This story is dedicated to my beta-reader, Britta, and to the CPSG.

---

I wake up and remember.

But I don't tell Tom right away. I go about my morning routine and 
pretend that I am still in the dark.

It is a crisp start to the day. I pull my furs around me as I visit 
the latrine. I sense, though, that the temperature will go up 
considerably. There are no clouds in the sky.

I take my time, as Tom has instructed me. I wish he wouldn't hover so 
much. I haven't fallen yet, bad foot or no. My body has adapted.

There he is, waiting at the top of the stairs as I return to the 
house. He's ready to catch me, just in case. I wave him off, and 
silently he stands aside, then follows me in to breakfast.

We eat our dried fruit and flatbread, washing it down with fresh 
water from the spring.

Tom finishes before I do, so he gets to start. "Damn, what I wouldn't 
do for a..."

"...stack of blueberry pancakes," I finish.

"I bet you could come up with a close substitute." He grins. "I've 
come across some berries that we haven't tried before."

I lean back in my chair and shake my head. "Probably poisonous. And 
we have no way of testing them."

"Don't be so pessimistic, Chakotay. I'll bring some home when they're 
ripe. I'll eat one. Just one. If I start turning green, I'll chew 
some of that vomit root you found. Then I'll throw up and I'll be 
okay."

I'm not really in a position to stop him. "All right."

"Good. I was thinking I'd take off most of the day and hunt cats. 
I'll get some fish, too. Will you be all right by yourself?"

"I'm a big boy."

A quick smirk crosses Tom's face, but then he's serious again. "At 
least use the walking stick if you go farther than the river, okay?"

"Okay." I'm not humoring him. I mean it. He's the medical expert 
here. He saved my foot in the first place. I won't take any foolish 
chances.

He finishes his drink. I look at him. His hair is thinning on top. 
Days in the sun have turned his skin nearly as brown as mine. And 
then there's the beard. His own family would have a hard time 
recognizing Tom Paris as he is now.

Every day for the last three years, I have woken up in the same house 
as this man. I have shared food with him, worked with him, laughed 
with him, and even fought with him at times. We have been together on 
this planet longer than we were on Voyager.

Sometimes it's hard to remember what life was like on a starship.

Tom stands up. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, I'll be fine."

"Don't forget your medication."

"I won't, *Mom.*"

This gets me another little smile. He puts his jacket on, picks up 
his bow and arrows, and shuts the door behind him.

I sit a little longer, allowing the silence to embrace me. After it 
warms up some more outside, I'll go check on the garden.

But first I have to keep my promise to Tom. I get up from my seat and 
shuffle over to the kitchen counter. I pick up a jar half-filled with 
a dusty green powder. It's an herb that Tom discovered. When ground 
up, it kills pain, reduces swelling, and assists with circulation. 
Without it, Tom would probably have had to cut off my foot.

I take a spoonful of the stuff, mix it with water, and drain it all 
in one gulp. Then I sit down again. My foot throbs slightly. Wincing, 
I take off my left shoe and unwrap the support bandage.

My foot is crooked. There's no other way to describe it. It turns 
inward. It still looks purple in places, but the normal color is 
prevailing at last.

The pain is manageable. Tom is hopeful that, with time, it won't hurt 
much at all. But he doesn't think I'll ever walk normally again. Not 
unless someone rescues us -- some species with advanced medical 
technology.

I prop the foot up on Tom's chair and lean back, closing my eyes and 
waiting for the powder to do its trick. As usual, I replay the 
accident in my mind.

---

It happened about three months ago. Tom had gone off to get some 
fish. I had taken it upon myself to rebuild our fire circle, using 
some large stones that I had found. I was carrying a twenty kilogram 
stone to the circle when I slipped in a patch of mud. Reflexively, I 
dropped the rock in order to catch myself, and it landed squarely on 
my left foot, crushing and pinning it to the ground.

I fell backwards, and then I screamed. It hurt like nothing had ever 
hurt me before. Fortunately, Tom was less than half a kilometer away. 
He followed the sound of my voice, freed my foot from the rock, and 
practically carried me back into the cabin. I didn't leave it for two 
months.

He never panicked, at least not in front of me. He put me in bed, 
wrapped the foot up with a cold compress, and fought desperately with 
our balky Krenim replicator before it finally coughed up something 
resembling a painkiller. I floated in and out of consciousness, the 
nerves in my foot and leg screaming for release, until Tom finally 
knocked me out with a hypospray.

When I came out of it several hours later, he was sleeping in a chair 
next to me. He had bound my foot in a tight cast and had pushed my 
bed against the opposite wall to keep me from falling out.

"T-Tom," I croaked.

He was awake instantly. "How are you?"

"Thirsty."

He held a glass of water for me. I drank about half of it and managed 
not to spill too much on myself.

"How's the pain?"

"Not too bad."

"I think you broke just about every bone in that foot, Chakotay. 
Without having the proper equipment here, I can't do much more than 
this. You obviously won't be able to get around for awhile. I'd say 
six to eight weeks."

"The planting..."

"I'll have to take care of it," he said. "You tell me what to do, and 
I'll do it. We'll manage. Right now I'm just worried about your foot. 
I won't kid you. It's a mess."

I thought of something else. "The latrine..."

"Will come to you." He reached down and held up an old jar. "Your own 
personal honey bucket."

"What about...?"

"I'll cut up the old pail we used to wash dishes in. I think it's 
back in the old shelter."

I winced at this. Tom shook his head. "Sorry. That's the best I can 
do right now. And you'll have to put up with bed baths for awhile."

I felt stupid. I never should have tried to rebuild the fire pit by 
myself, and now Tom was going to have to pull double duty because of 
my foolishness.

I swallowed. "Tom, I'm sorry this happened."

He was quiet for a moment, then reached over and took my hand. "We'll 
be all right, Chakotay. You just concentrate on getting well. Say 
some Indian healing prayers if you know any." He paused again. "I 
hope to hell your foot doesn't become infected. The replicator's 
about had it. I can't count on it any more to give me what you're 
going to need. I'll have to experiment on some of the plants we found 
to see if any of them can help you."

"Give it to me straight. Am I going to keep my foot?"

"If I have anything to say about it, yes."

I put my other hand over his. "That's all I need to know."

---

Two weeks later, he found the gray-green herb. Five weeks after that, 
I started walking again.

Once more, I am in Tom Paris's debt.

---

I wonder if he keeps track of the days like he used to. He gave no 
indication this morning that he remembered it was our third 
anniversary.

I want to do something special for him, to thank him for taking care 
of me all those weeks, and to show him how much I value his 
friendship. He has been strong, resourceful, and resilient. The son 
of Starfleet privilege is now a man of the forest. Oh, he's still Tom 
Paris, ready with a smart remark at any time, but he has met every 
challenge head-on since we've been here. He has depth and a quiet 
magnetism that draws me to him.

And part of me wants to sleep with him.

Now, I've been attracted to men from time to time in my life, but 
I've never gone to bed with one. And back on Voyager, if anyone had 
suggested Tom Paris as a potential sex partner for me, I'd have 
laughed in their face.

A lot can change in three years. And I'll be honest; I miss feeling 
another body next to mine in bed at night.

I've made up my mind. Soon, I'll have to approach him about it. Maybe 
he'll laugh. Maybe he'll get mad. Or he might like the idea. I can't 
decide which possibility scares me most.

---

The pain has subsided. I wrap my foot back up and put my shoe back 
on. Slowly I stand, testing my weight. I'm ready. I go to the door, 
pick up my walking stick, and head outside.

I make my way to the garden, inhaling the fresh air, enjoying the 
warmth of the sunshine. I inspect the rows of plants and admire Tom's 
work. He has done a beautiful job. Everything looks healthy.

The corn is shoulder high. I pull on one of the stalks. It'll be 
another couple of weeks or so before it is ripe enough to eat.

I think about that for a moment. What does a "month" mean anyway? 
This planet has no moons. The days are roughly the same length as 
Earth's, although the year is longer. Which is why as the years go 
by, our "anniversaries" will fall earlier and earlier in the growing 
season, until we're observing them in the dead of winter.

So why do we keep counting 365 days as a year?

Because it reminds us of who we are and where we came from. We are 
still children of Earth, even though the odds are that we will never 
see it again.

I'm forty-one years old. Tom is thirty.

We could be here a very long time.

---

I go back into the cabin. In my room is a wooden carving that I have 
been working on for the past two weeks. It's a rough approximation of 
an eagle in flight. I want to finish it today and present it to Tom 
tonight. The bird reminds me of him -- strong and free.

I take the statue out to the porch, along with my knife and a buffing 
cloth. I sit down in my favorite chair and prop my foot up on a 
stool. The suns warm me, and the midsummer breeze brushes my cheeks 
in a lover's caress.

I start to work on polishing my creation, shaving a piece here, 
smoothing out a wing there. Time passes until I am satisfied with the 
result. I have no idea how long this has taken, and it does not 
matter.

I wrap the carving up and take it back inside. I am not particularly 
hungry, but I do nibble on some nuts and take a drink of fruit juice. 
I follow up with another dose of the herb.

There's movement outside the door. It's Fred, our friendly 
neighborhood lizard, looking for a handout. I wouldn't call him a 
pet, exactly. He visits us for the food and nothing else.

But he's out of luck today. There's no fresh fish. I open the door. 
Fred backs away a little, but his orange eyes look at me expectantly.

"Sorry," I say. "Kitchen's closed. Human holiday."

He just stares at me. He's about the size of a cat, with scaly brown 
skin and a spiked tail. I've seen a few others of his species, but 
he's the only one who's been brave enough to approach me and Tom 
(who, by the way, gave him his name). I've tried offering him plants 
and nuts, but he's a carnivore all the way. I suspect Tom feeds him 
cat guts from time to time. We've spoiled him.

Feeling just a little guilty, I go back in the house and close the 
door. Within a few minutes, he slinks off into the bushes.

I take some time to straighten up the cabin, sweeping out some dust, 
shaking out the rugs, washing down the windows. By the time I'm 
finished, my foot is throbbing. If Tom were here, he'd fuss at me for 
spending too much time standing up. And he'd be right.

I decide to lie down, just for a little while.

---

When I wake up, the sun is shining through my window. It's late 
afternoon. Time to start cooking.

I make a fresh batch of flatbread, then set a pot boiling over the 
fire. I get some vegetables from our storage shed and chop them up, 
then put them into the pot for soup. Then I make a fruit salad for 
our dessert. And finally, I go back into the house and bring out the 
carving, along with something that I've kept hidden under my bed. 
It's a bottle of white wine that I seized from the replicator six 
months ago. And, from the look of things, it will be our last, unless 
we find some way to ferment the new berries Tom found. *If* they're 
safe.

The first sun is not far above the horizon when Tom returns with a 
huge string of fish and a couple of cat carcasses. He will skin the 
beasts for their fur, save the bones for tools, and preserve the 
flesh for himself. I still prefer not to eat red meat.

He approaches the fire. "You've been busy."

"It's been a good day." I smile up at him.

"How's the foot?"

"Sore at times. I can handle it."

He looks at me for a long moment, then nods and smiles. "I'll go 
clean the fish for you. Then I'm going to take a bath. How long until 
the soup's done?"

"Fifteen or twenty minutes. But take your time, Tom. I can wait."

"Okay." He goes off into the house. I sit near the fire, watching the 
first sun go down. The sky is beautiful tonight -- almost turquoise. 
The clouds are shot through with orange and pink. My artistry can 
never match nature's, on any world.

Tom returns with two large fish and puts them on to cook. He glances 
up at the horizon. "Wow."

"Gorgeous."

"Fred's on the porch, taking care of the scraps. I'll be right back."

"Okay." I look after him as he goes to bathe. He, too, is gorgeous in 
my eyes. Tall, lean, with strong muscles but gentle hands.

It was his healing touch that comforted me in those long days before 
he discovered the herb. When the pain in my foot was too much, he 
would massage my leg to quiet the screaming nerves. And he would talk 
to me the whole time, his voice as soothing as a cool drink of water 
on a hot day. It worked. I focused on him instead of my foot, and the 
pain subsided.

Perhaps Tom was a healer in an earlier life. Maybe even an ancient 
medicine man.

What I do know is that I want to feel his hands on me again, to have 
him touch every part of my body, join with me in every way. But only 
if he wants it.

I stir the soup again and turn the fish over. The smell is 
overwhelming, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

Tom comes back, dressed in fresh clothing, his hair wet and combed 
back against his head. "This looks great."

I grin at him as I serve him a bowl of soup. "Happy anniversary."

"You remembered." He takes the bowl from me, sets it down to cool, 
and picks up a slice of bread.

"I knew it was important to you," I say.

He takes a bite of bread and closes his eyes. "Delicious." He chews 
for a moment. "Thanks for all this."

"I have a debt to repay."

He looks startled. "Not *that* again, Chakotay. That was years ago..."

"I'm not talking about Ocampa. I'm talking about *here*. You've done 
so much for me lately. I wanted to do something for you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"The hell I don't. You saved my foot. You probably saved my life." I 
realize we're sparring here. Two men, competing over obligations. I 
saw an old vid like that once. ("I'll pay for dinner." "No, *I'll* 
pay.")

I stop myself, reach for Tom's shoulder, and squeeze. "All I want to 
say is thanks."

He puts his hand over mine, and finally he smiles. "You're welcome."

---

We stuff ourselves, as two men in the wild are wont to do. Tom leans 
back and burps contentedly. "That's a tribute to your cooking, old 
man."

I laugh at him. Then I reach into the hollow log I'm sitting on and 
pull out the wine. "Speaking of tributes, we can even drink a toast 
tonight."

He looks at the bottle in wonder. "How long have you had that?"

"Long enough."

"And you saved it for..."

"Yes." I pop open the bottle.

He looks at me with a soft expression and holds out his cup. I fill 
it up and do the same for myself.

We raise our drinks. "You go first, Tom."

He thinks for a moment. "To friends, lost and found."

I think of Voyager, of Kathryn, B'Elanna, Harry, and all the rest of 
her gallant crew, gone but not forgotten. "Cheers," I say. We tap our 
cups together and raise them to our lips. The wine is sharp and sweet.

Tom exhales with a sigh. "Good vintage."

I tip my cup in his direction. "And to you, Tom."

He only smiles. We drink again and look at the second sun as it 
disappears behind the distant hills.

It's quiet. The fire sizzles and sparks, and the insects chirp in the 
woods, but Tom and I only sit, inches apart from each other, enjoying 
our wine. I want to say something, but I don't want to spoil the 
moment. I'm still afraid of what I'm feeling for him.

There is something else, though. Once more I reach into the hollow 
log and pull out Tom's gift. "This is for you."

He takes it from me, staring at me as if he can't quite believe what 
I'm doing. Then he unwraps it slowly, holding the carving up into the 
firelight. He's quiet for a long time.

I shift nervously, fearing that I've gone too far this time, that he 
will laugh, or even worse, say nothing.

"Chakotay," he says finally, "this is beautiful. I knew you were a 
good woodcarver, but this is great work. The detail on the wings must 
have taken you hours."

I shrug. "Probably. But I enjoyed doing it. I'm glad you like it."

He looks at me. "Thank you."

"Happy anniversary."

"I'll drink to that." And we both do so. Another long silence falls 
between us as we watch the fire start to go down. I'm getting a 
definite buzz from the wine. There is so much more I want to say to 
Tom, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Instead, I get to my feet to start cleaning up the meal. But as I try 
to put weight on my left foot, I feel a sudden cramp in my calf 
muscle. I gasp and fall to the ground.

Tom is right beside me. "Charley horse?"

"Yeah." I'm grabbing at my leg, but he sets my hands aside and starts 
a massage. The pain goes away almost instantly.

"I knew you had pushed yourself too much today." He's chiding me, but 
in a gentle way.

I try to control my breathing, relax, and let him take care of me. 
His hands are warm on my body. Gods, I want him. I want...I'm 
reaching out, taking his chin in my right hand, stroking his beard. 
Startled, he looks up, and my hand slides up his face to his cheek. 
Even in this low light, his eyes shine at me like two blue marbles.

"Chakotay...?"

I lick my lips, but I can't answer him. I can hardly breathe.

He turns his head and kisses the inside of my hand. I feel his breath 
on my fingers.

"Tom, I..."

"Shh...it's all right." He takes my hand in his. "I'm here. I'll be 
with you. If you want."

I let him pull me up until our faces are inches apart. He touches my 
tattoo. I close my eyes. Then his lips are on mine. I open my mouth 
and let him explore. His hands reach for the fastenings on my braids. 
I turn my head, still kissing him, and let him undo first the left, 
then the right braid. My hair falls down my back, and he strokes it, 
caressing my scalp, running his fingers along my neck. My skin 
tingles everywhere he touches me.

Finally we come up for air. "Chakotay," gasps Tom, "tell me to stop."

"No."

He kisses me again, harder, driving his tongue inside. He reaches up 
under my shirt and digs his fingers into my bare skin. I feel a groan 
beginning in my throat. My need for him is becoming all too obvious.

Again he breaks the contact. "Take your shirt off and lie down."

I do so, and sink back onto the grass. He leans over me. "Beautiful, 
big man." His hands wander over my chest, finding and pinching my 
nipples. Another moan escapes me. His mouth follows his hands.

"Please, Tom...please..."

He unties the drawstring of my pants. I lift my hips up, and he 
slides them down to my knees. He looks at my cock and smiles. Then he 
bends down and swallows me whole. I almost shriek, it feels so good. 
But I don't want to come too soon. My fingers pull at the grass. I 
arch my back and rock my hips.

He releases me for a moment. "Let go of it, big man. Give it to me." 
Then he takes me in his mouth again, sucking, licking, and kissing me 
until I can't take it anymore.

"Oh, *FUCK*!!" I scream, and it all comes out -- the pain, the fear, 
and the hope. My cock is a conduit; my seed is a message. Tom 
receives it, he accepts it, he accepts *me* with all my neediness, my 
clumsiness. He will not abandon me, the only one like him in this 
entire quadrant of the galaxy.

As one wave goes out, I feel another approach. A sob wracks my chest, 
and tears fill my eyes. Tom rides the tide with me, holding on tight, 
his hands supporting my hips.

At last the world stops shaking. Tom lets me slide out of his mouth 
and wipes his chin with his hand. I stare at the stars in the sky, 
feeling my heart pound in my chest. I shiver as the sweat on my body 
cools in the night air. Tom throws my shirt over me, lies down, and 
puts his arms around me. "You all right?"

"I...I think so."

"That was pretty intense, old man. I thought you might pass out."

"Yeah." I'm not feeling particularly coherent at the moment.

"I'm thinking we should have done this a long time ago. I've wanted 
to get my hands on your ass for months."

I smile in spite of myself. "Just give me a couple of minutes, and 
you can have it."

But he surprises me. "No, Chakotay. Not now. I just want to hold you."

I'm puzzled. I've wanted Tom, but I *don't* want to be just a mercy 
fuck, or a mercy blowjob for that matter.

As usual, he reads my thoughts. "I want to jump your bones. Soon. But 
not right this minute. Just be with me. Talk to me. I'm not going 
anywhere."

I reach up and kiss him. He squeezes me even closer. I relax, 
allowing him once more to heal me. I am all alone with a remarkable 
man. A patient man. A good man.

As he settles me into his arms, it occurs to me that tomorrow I 
should start building a new bed. A bed large enough to hold us both.

---

The End