The BLTS Archive- The Jump
by Mandragora (mandragora@blueyonder.co.uk)

---

May be archived at the ASC archive and R'rain's Slash Archive.

Many thanks to my betas, arachne, Jane and Smara for their help and
insight, lus (and you know who you are) blackmail threats!

Paramount owns everything, but this story is mine.

This story was written for the CPSG first anniversary celebration -
Happy Birthday CPSG.

---

Chakotay stood in line waiting to board the funnel up to the summit.
He was surrounded by Diakans, light skinned, short, stocky, people,
who moved with an odd grace none the less.  Voyager had stopped off at
Diaka for supplies.  This part of the Delta Quadrant was sparsely
populated by life forms compatible with the Voyager crew, after which
Voyager would be traversing an area of space that, according to the
reports from the Astrometrics lab was almost devoid of Class M
planets.  Thus, although the planet was not really an ideal vacation
spot, Janeway had allowed those of the crew who wished to take
advantage of the local facilities to do so.

Diaka itself was almost, at this time of its long year, wholly
snowbound, the planet's position away from the binary suns around
which it circled ensured that temperatures were, by Earth standards,
distinctly on the chilly side.  The Diakan's culture was inextricably
bound up with their weather conditions, but they had, nonetheless,
managed to develop the warp drive in less than ideal conditions,
suggesting that they were a people of some ingenuity.  In addition,
they had a tradition of great hospitality, essential on a planet where
to be left without shelter at the wrong time of the year meant certain
death. They had welcomed Voyager with open arms, delighted by a rare
visit by other species, fascinated by Voyager's story.

Chakotay shifted his skis in his arms, flexing his feet in the ski
boots he had hired from a local operator.  The boots were a miracle of
technology, providing the necessary support, but also remarkably
flexible, and warm.  They were the best ski boots he had ever worn and
he was seriously considering purchasing them on his return.  He
shuffled forward as the funnel car returned from the summit.  This
time he made it on to the carriage.  The Diakan people surrounding him
moved aside politely, making room for the tall alien in their midst.
He tried not to wince as his eyes were assaulted by a myriad of garish
colours; the Diakans seemed to have a thing for colour, coupled with
an instinct to put together colours which, to Human eyes at least,
clashed.  He was grateful for the light refracting glasses he wore, to
protect his eyes against snow glare, which also served to dim the
bright clothing of the people surrounding him.  He grabbed hold of a
strap as the car started to move upwards smoothly, whooshing its
passengers through a tunnel to the 3,000 plus metres to the summit. In
seconds they arrived.  He adjusted his glasses, picked up his skis and
stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunlight, even with the
protective lenses covering his eyes.

He scanned the people milling around at the top of the funnel.  He
appeared to be the only member of the Voyager crew there.  He had
hoped that Janeway would meet him here.  They had arranged a tentative
rendezvous, but she had made no promises, claiming that although
skiing was all well and good, she was more likely to try her hand at
the 'dog' sled racing, the dogs in this case being six legged furry
creatures, looking like a cross between a wolf and a bear.

He bent down to place his skis on the snow, was in the process of
putting his feet into the bindings, when he heard a familiar light
tenor voice beside him speaking.  He stiffened slightly, groaning
inwardly. Shit!  Paris.

"I thought maybe trying out this run here," Paris was saying to a
Diakan who was wearing the colours of a local guide, in this case a
rather virulent green and orange mixture.  The woman nodded.

"That should be possible, conditions are good over on that side.  Plus
the view is spectacular."

"So I'm told."

"But you know about the..."

"Jump?"  Paris interrupted.  "Why d'you think I want to try it!" There
was a note of enthusiasm in his voice that Chakotay hadn't heard for a
while.  Of course, he should have remembered that Paris was a skiing
aficionado; the Doctor had complained often enough of the injuries
suffered by those crew members who accompanied him on one of the
holodeck skiing programmes, although the Commander hadn't heard about
any injuries incurred by the young lieutenant.  And that was
surprising, given how accident-prone he was.

Chakotay straightened up, looking into the dismayed blue gaze of Tom
Paris, who had removed his glasses in order to clean them.

"Um, Chakotay," he said.  "I didn't see you there."

"Nice to see you too, Tom," Chakotay said dryly.

He thought that Paris might have blushed a little, but couldn't be
sure. The crystalline gaze opposite his slid away, then returned as he
introduced Chakotay to his guide, Renaqu.

She smiled at Chakotay with genuine warmth, crossing her arms across
her chest and bowing slightly, in accordance with local custom.  He
returned the gesture.  Then she frowned, the striations on her
forehead wrinkling in a charming manner.

"Where is your guide?" she asked.

"I don't have one," Chakotay replied, puzzled by her question.  "Why?"

She muttered something under her breath; something that he suspected
was uncomplimentary.  "They didn't tell you," she sighed.  "Of course
they didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That you need a guide to ski up here," Paris replied for her. "Didn't
you check out the information below?  It's unlike you not to be
thorough."

Chakotay gritted his teeth.  Paris' tone of voice had been almost
neutral, but there was a faint note of amusement he had been unable to
suppress.  Chakotay had, of course, investigated local requirements,
but the man he'd spoken to at the tourist office hadn't mentioned
anything about a guide.  However, he could picture Paris' glee at the
thought that his Commander had slipped up.

The old animosity between them had died down, as familiarity had
dulled its edge, but it was still there, ready to erupt at inopportune
moments. This was despite the fact that, of necessity, given their
respective positions on Voyager, they were thrown into one another's
company frequently.  It was not unknown for them to play a game of
pool together at Sandrines, for example, but there was always an
element of competition to their socialising.   Even now, somehow,
Chakotay always knew when Paris was in the room, even when he couldn't
see him.  His skin prickled, arousing the almost instinctive sense
of... whatever it was between him and Paris, hostility maybe?  This
feeling still persisted, even after more than four years together on
Voyager.

Renaqu sighed.  "We have so few visitors here that the tourist bureau
isn't used to dealing with the basics, they forget that you're off-
worlders.  I'm sorry, but you really can't venture out up here without
a guide, it's too dangerous."

"But I don't see that everyone up here has a guide," Chakotay
commented, looking at the profusion of Diakans, dressed in various
multi-coloured outfits.  Restraint, at least when it came to colour,
didn't seem to be a feature of the Diakan makeup, Chakotay couldn't
help thinking wryly. 'Then again, if I lived in a world almost
completely covered in snow, maybe I'd be into colour like they are as
well,' he mused. His mind shot off at a tangent as he wondered how
they'd discovered all these colours, when the overriding shades of
their world were white and blue.

"It's mandatory for off-worlders only," Renaqu explained.  "All
natives have enough snow-craft to judge changing snow and weather
conditions, but off-worlders can't be expected to have the same level
of expertise. Plus," and she grinned at him as she spoke, "we hate
losing tourists, it's really bad for business, and we get few enough
visitors as is."

Chakotay returned her smile.  It was hard not to; she evidenced such
warmth.  "So, there's no way I can go forward then?  Not even if I
stick to the paths?"

She shook her head.  "Uh huh.  Natives don't need a guide if they
stick to the paths, but even they will normally hire a guide if they
go off- path, would be stupid not to."

He sighed, looking at the queue for the funnel back down with
distaste. "There's no guide I can hire up here then?"

"No, all hirings are made down at base level.  And besides which I
know that we're all busy today, there's no one left to hire."  She
hesitated. "Maybe, if Tom doesn't mind, you could join us?"

Chakotay's gaze flicked over to Paris, whose face was wiped clean of
expression.  "No, no, it's fine, I'll just..."

"After all, we're up here anyway and..." Renaqu cut in.

"But we don't know what level Chakotay skies at," Tom said hastily.
"For all we know, he could be much better than me, I could be holding
him back." His mouth quirked into what was almost, but not quite, a
smirk, which Chakotay saw.  'Damn him,' he thought, irritated by
Paris, as was so often the case, no matter how often he tried to
subdue that feeling.  'He's positive he's that much better than me.'
Chakotay grinned inwardly, Paris just might have to revise that
opinion, he knew that he was a pretty good skier, had learned to ski
at the Academy and had been told by his instructors that he had a
definite talent for it. And his coming along wouldn't please Paris. He
felt a sudden imp of perversity raise its head.

"If that's the case," Chakotay said smoothly, "then I'll drop out, go
back down to base.  After all, as Mr. Paris hired you, not me, it's
only fair."

"Very reasonable," Paris said sardonically.  Chakotay gritted his
teeth and ignored him.

"So, what d'you suggest?" Tom asked Renaqu.

"Take a run down here and see how we do," she said, indicating a sign
posted run to her left.  "Oh," and she turned to Chakotay, yellow eyes
wide, as a sudden thought struck her.  "Um, you can ski I assume."

At his nod, she apologised.  "I'm sorry, it's just that we all can,
you know.  So we forget that off-worlders sometimes can't."  Her tone
was incredulous, as though such a thing was beyond belief, which, for
her, it probably was, Chakotay mused.  "Very well," she continued.
"This way I can gauge what level you ski at. I already know Tom's,
he's a competent skier, so..." She indicated the run once more.  "Do
you want to lead, Tom, then you Chakotay, and I'll bring up the rear."

Paris nodded wordlessly, and pushed himself forward with his poles,
Chakotay doing the same a few seconds later.

---

A couple of hours later, the two men sat on the balcony of a mountain
top restaurant.  The view was spectacular, vast vistas of snow covered
mountains, their tips edged in brown, formed a jagged skyline in front
of them.  Over to the left there was a small lake, nestled in amongst
a ring of small mountains.  It gleamed bright blue, reflecting off the
sky, which was completely clear, save for a small cloud that was
nestling atop the highest peak, shrouding the top in wreaths of smoke.
The double suns threw odd shadows, highlighting the alien nature of
the landscape, but where the shadows did not touch, the suns reflected
brightly off the crystalline snow, which sparkled like a myriad of
individual jewels.  Down below them, dotted about like small insects
were those Diakans who were able to enjoy the ski resort's delights.

However, Chakotay wasn't concentrating on the view.  Rather, he was
conscious of a vast annoyance, partly at himself, for not realising in
advance that, *of course*, Paris was an expert skier, obviously better
than Chakotay, but the greater part of his annoyance was reserved for
the man sitting by him.  Paris had not given away his amusement by any
hint in his demeanour, but Chakotay just knew that it was there none
the less.  He himself was a good skier, but Paris, he was better than
good, almost as good as Renaqu, who was of sufficient ability to be a
guide on a world where the natives learned to ski almost as soon as
they learned to walk.  When they had set off he couldn't help but
admire the smooth grace of the man in front of him, a grace which
never faltered, not even when traversing the most difficult of slopes.
Chakotay knew that his own style was one of power, rather than grace,
which was sufficient to cope with most conditions, but no competition
for Paris.  At no time had Paris ever seemed to falter, no matter how
difficult the slope, how icy the conditions.

Then there had been that truly spectacular fall he, Chakotay, had
taken. He'd slid several hundred metres, past Renaqu, who was in
front, down a steep slope, having caught an edge in a turn.  When he'd
finally slid to a halt, he'd lain there for a moment, winded, trying
to collect himself, reassuring himself that he wasn't hurt, as Paris
slid to a halt by him, followed moments later by Renaqu.  Paris must
have gone down the slope hell for leather to overtake Renaqu, probably
so he could gloat. Chakotay felt a momentary pang of conscience, OK,
Paris had shown no signs of gloating, but he was sure he must have
been.

Dammit, why was it, in matters where they both could claim some skill,
Paris was better than he, at piloting, skiing and... No, he wasn't
going to go there, he thought to himself, firmly suppressing the
memory of something else Paris had once told him he was good at.  Hah,
for all he knew, Paris was an expert tracker as well.  His mouth
formed a reluctant grin at the thought of Tom Paris, Indian scout! The
man was so obviously a city boy, that, in this, he didn't think that
Paris could possibly be competition. Chakotay knew just why Paris
still annoyed him so, their disastrous first meeting had set the tone
of their relationship ever since.  But, surely, after all this time,
when they'd worked together well for years, his feelings of hostility
should have finally died away.  He tried, once more, to exorcise his
feelings of annoyance, of antagonism towards Paris, his smile fading
into a look of intense concentration as he did so.

By Chakotay's side, Tom stretched out his long legs in front of him,
sighing in contentment.  He removed his protective glasses for a
second, then winced as the light refracting off the snow smote his
eyes and hastily replaced them.  He stole a glance to the man to his
right, noting that Chakotay did not seem to have the same trouble with
his dark brown eyes as Tom's blue; Chakotay's glasses lay abandoned on
the table to the side of him.  The Commander wore a pensive
expression.  Tom sighed inwardly, if it had been anyone else than
Chakotay he would have said that the man was sulking.  But the
Commander was known for maintaining a usually equable temper, except
when it came to him, Tom Paris.  But it really wasn't his fault, was
it, that he was clearly a superior skier to Chakotay?

Tom brightened momentarily as he noticed that Chakotay was smiling.
Maybe Chakotay was coming out of his funk at last.  He'd been brooding
ever since that tumble he'd taken, but Tom really didn't know why. The
slope had been particularly difficult, both steep and narrow, with a
plate of sheer ice on its steepest part about a hundred metres long.
He'd been, not exactly worried, but cautious about safely traversing
it himself, aware that the slightest misstep would most likely lead to
a fall.  He guessed if it had been anyone but Chakotay he'd have told
them so, but he wasn't going to give the Commander that satisfaction.
When he'd seen Chakotay start to fall, he'd been conscious of only one
thing, that he had to get to him as soon as possible.  He couldn't
remember getting down the slope, just arriving by Chakotay's side, who
was huddled in an ungainly sprawl in the snow, not moving.  He'd
experienced raw fear at that moment, that the Commander wouldn't be
moving again, ever.  He hadn't realised that he'd forgotten to
breathe, until Chakotay moved slightly, then his breath let out with a
whoosh, as he knelt by Chakotay to check his injuries.  Thank God that
he'd turned out only to be winded.  Tom'd exchanged looks of relief
with Renaqu, who he'd managed to overtake in his rush to get to
Chakotay.

It was all credit to the Commander that he'd picked himself up quickly
and skied the rest of the slope.  Tom was impressed, not just with
Chakotay's skiing ability, which was excellent for someone who had
grown up primarily in a jungle area, but also with his determination
in picking himself up and carrying on.  But then, he reflected to
himself, that was the man all over, not one to give up when the going
got tough was Chakotay, unlike himself.  The man might have a sense of
humour bypass, at least when it came to Tom Paris, but he couldn't
think of anyone he'd rather have by him in a crisis.  Except possibly
Janeway, that woman had more determination than anyone he'd ever
known.   There again, Chakotay was probably prettier.  He shook his
head in annoyance. Where had *that* thought come from?  It wasn't as
if he even liked the man, after all.

He stole another glance at the Commander and saw that the grin had
gone. He sighed.  This was meant to be *fun*, forgodssake, why
couldn't Chakotay simply accept that.  OK, he probably, no, make that
definitely, hadn't planned on spending his time with Tom Paris, but as
it had happened, why not try and make the best of it?  That's what Tom
planned to do.  Never look back was his motto.  All right, so maybe
that didn't really work, maybe there were some things he couldn't
forget, ever, but at least he was trying to get on with his life, not
waste his time in stupid, useless brooding.  Then again, maybe there
was something in this meditation crap which Chakotay indulged in, it
sure seemed to help the Commander cope with life's exigencies,
something which Tom Paris so dismally, signally, failed to do.
However, forget the meditation, and whether it worked or not, the
Commander did have a tendency to brood, of that he was positive.  It
was just that he seemed to brood more around him than any other
crewmember.

Shit, the guy had never lightened up around him, ever since their
first meeting, which was, he thought hard, trying to place the date...
five years ago.  In fact it was five years ago to.... Tom snickered to
himself.  OK, here was a sure-fire way to annoy Chakotay and hell,
this was his shoreleave as well.  If Chakotay refused to lighten up,
make an effort to at least attempt to enjoy himself, persisted in
spoiling Tom's enjoyment, he might as well have some fun, even if it
was at the Commander's expense. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Chakotay.  Know what day this is?"

The Commander looked at him in puzzlement.  "No," he said, shortly.

Tom placed a hand over his heart, in mock anguish.  "You wound me," he
said dramatically, playing the moment for all it was worth. Chakotay's
expression darkened.  What was Paris up to now?

"It's our anniversary, of course."

"What anniversary?" Chakotay snapped.

"Of our first meeting, surely you haven't forgotten."

Chakotay scowled at him, blackly.  He *would* have to bring that up
wouldn't he.  Damn the man!  His mind unwillingly went back five years
to that sleazy bar on Traqus IV, while by his side Paris was replaying
the same memories...

---

Chakotay had walked into the bar in a depressed state.  He still
wasn't over his pain at leaving Starfleet, at the prospect of at the
very least having to outwit, elude, people who had been his friends,
his colleagues.  He tried not to think about the prospect of actually
fighting or killing members of Starfleet, told himself that that would
never happen, that the Maquis had no intention of hurting Federation
citizens, just the Cardassians.  However, he was realistic enough to
know that what he feared most could happen, although he prayed to the
spirits that it never would.

That day he'd run into an old friend, they'd served together six years
previously.  The man, a Trill called Renin Boc, had at first been
welcoming, but he'd quickly realised just what Chakotay was doing in
this backwater in civilian clothing.  Chakotay had expected him to
attempt to turn him in, but the man, with the wisdom of his symbiont's
550 odd years, had merely sighed and then spoken earnestly to Chakotay
about fighting for one's convictions, but making certain one chose the
right battleground.  Chakotay had listened to the lecture with outward
patience, but inwardly he couldn't wait to get away; he'd made up his
mind, and he was going to stick to it.  In any case, it was too late
now; he'd not only resigned his commission, but was also the leader of
his own cell in the Maquis.  No, he'd chosen his course, no matter
what. Renin had given Chakotay his word that he wouldn't turn him in,
and Chakotay knew that he would keep it.  So, he wasn't concerned
about having to flee, lest the Federation authorities came after him.
But he wanted to forget that he'd ever met Renin again, lose himself,
in drink maybe.  He could have gone to Seska, she'd made it plain that
she would like a relationship with him, but he liked her, and wasn't
sure whether, the mood he was in, that he was fit company right now.
Plus, it would be selfish of him to use her as a means to forget.  If
only he could lighten his mood.  Maybe a few drinks would lift his
spirits, then he could go back and...talk to her.

He entered the bar, which he knew was a Maquis hang-out, albeit not
one he himself frequented often, squinting slightly as he encountered
the smoky atmosphere, which, rightly, suggested that drugs were taken
here which were not available in reputable bars.  Once his eyes had
adjusted to the shadowed darkness within, he automatically scanned the
bar, looking for anyone he might know, anyone who might be a danger to
him. He looked towards several booths by the wall, which provided some
privacy to their occupants, but as the barkeeper was known to him, he
trusted that he would have tipped him off if there were anyone who
might be a threat.  The occupants of the bar were a diverse lot,
Humans, Bajorans, Klingons, Bolians, Mzin, Orions and many other
species, some of which he didn't recognise.  But, for once, no Maquis,
or at least none he knew.  As his gaze rolled round the interior, it
was caught and held by one of the prettiest sights he'd seen in a long
time, a tall, fair, slender young man holding court towards one end of
the room.  He was... beautiful; there was no other word for it.   He
approached the barkeeper, Yrsprch, and asked who the man was.  The
Delian waved a tentacle in the direction of the blond boy:

"Him?  Pilot.  Good too, so I'm told.  Looking for work, I
understand."

"Uh huh.  He OK?"

"Yes.  Not Fleet, if that's what you're wondering."

Chakotay's interest increased at this statement.  The Maquis was
always on the lookout for pilots and this gave him the perfect excuse
to check the young man out, not that he needed an excuse, he admitted
to himself with an inward grin.  He heard the young man say something
to a Bajoran woman standing by his side, who appeared to be hanging
onto his every word, then, both laughed.  As he did so, the man looked
around, and his gaze met Chakotay's.

---

That bar on Traqus IV, Tom really couldn't remember the details of it
well, but then he'd spent so much time in bars back in those days,
they tended to blur into one another.  But he clearly remembered
meeting Chakotay's gaze.  He'd been advertising his availability as a
pilot to the Maquis, not too discreetly in retrospect, but he'd been
desperate to fly, not to mention having debts to pay.  Any regular
work had dried up, as his reputation was not of the best.  His flying
ability was undiminished, even though he was drinking regularly, but
he seemed to attract trouble, even when he really wasn't looking for
it.  He had "an attitude problem"; he'd been told that more than once.
Attitude, hah! He'd like to see how most of then would cope with being
in his shoes. So, his only real pleasures in life were drink, and sex.
But the latter had palled somewhat, he'd had one too many meaningless
encounters in one too many tatty rooms.  It had been a while since
he'd seen someone he'd really like to get to know, rather than a quick
fuck in a vain attempt to assuage the blackness he carried inside.
He'd tried drugs for a while, but had soon realised how stupid he was
being, knew that he couldn't afford them, not unless he sold them,
which he really didn't want to do.   Somehow, he'd managed to stop
doing those.

That night, as he had no money, he'd been hustling, which was
something he'd done on and off, whenever he had to, soon after he'd
first been thrown out of Starfleet and fled as far away from Earth as
he could get. He'd been selling himself for a while now, always made
good on delivery too, kept the customers happy.   It wasn't something
he was proud of, but he didn't have a choice.  It was that, or starve,
at least until... if... the Maquis came through.  There was a woman, a
Bajoran, he was setting her up nicely, knew that she was going to be
prepared to pay. She seemed pleasant enough and at least he was still
able to use some discrimination in his choice of customer, hadn't sunk
to the depths where he'd take anyone, as he'd noted with some drug
addicts.  But then he saw Chakotay.  He remembered feeling a spark of
real arousal, of want.   His eyes admiringly traced his strong
physique, handsome features, and that tattoo!  It was compelling.
Nice, very nice.  He noted with satisfaction the change in the man's
expression, as their eyes met.  Yes... He gave the guy his best
hotshot grin, coupled with a hint of definite interest.  It was a look
that seldom, if ever, failed him.  He decided in that instant that
although the Bajoran woman was all well and good, this man was
definitely more attractive, and, hey, if he had to hustle, then
someone like this was a more appealing prospect...

---

Chakotay saw the blond's expression change as their eyes met.  His
grin spoke volumes, of arrogance, coupled with the knowledge of his
own attractiveness.  That grin was a deliberate challenge.  In that
instant, Chakotay decided that he'd meet the challenge.    He had not
intended to pick someone up when he'd entered the bar, but, almost
without volition, he found himself walking over to the young man, who
had turned his attention back to the Bajoran, feigning disinterest.
But Chakotay had known that the man was fully aware of his every move
nonetheless. Normally, for Chakotay, part of the intangible attraction
he felt for a person sexually manifested itself only after he got to
know them, the soul, the spirit encased within its cradle of flesh.
This time, he didn't care about that, aware only of the stirrings of
arousal he felt heating his blood, desire beating its insistent tattoo
inside him.  As he drew nearer, he noticed, even in the dim light of
the bar, that the man's eyes were a compelling shade of blue.  He also
noticed that the guy was even prettier close up.  He stood close to
him, noting absently the annoyed expression on the face of the Bajoran
woman, who had drawn closer to the young man, protecting her
territory.  The man looked round slowly, one eyebrow raised haughtily.

"Yes?" he drawled.  Oh, the arrogance of him!  That attitude. Chakotay
decided that he would look forward to wiping that expression off his
face, replacing it with...desire, because surely, he couldn't be the
only one who felt this pull, this attraction, between them?  As he
looked closely at the young man, he noticed that his breathing was not
quite steady and he smiled to himself.  Not as dispassionate as he'd
seemed then.  "You want something?" the boy said, when Chakotay did
not immediately answer him.  Chakotay fought to keep an impassive
expression, and succeeded.  Definitely not as calm as he seemed.

"Could be," was all he said, dryly.

"And that would be...?"

"How about I buy you a drink and we talk about it?" Chakotay asked
huskily, not removing his gaze from the young man opposite.

"Ah," was the reply.  "I'm a little busy just now, but..."

"Too bad," Chakotay said, feigning disinterest in his turn, turning to
go.  The blond hesitated, then made a swift decision.

"Wait."

Chakotay turned back to him, his face a mask of polite enquiry.  "I've
been waiting for someone, a possible business contact.  You wouldn't
be him, by any chance would you?"

Chakotay shook his head.  "I don't think so, but on the other hand, I
understand you're a pilot.  I'm always on the lookout for good
pilots."

The Bajoran woman started to object, but the young man bent down and
said to her:  "Sorry, Nemin, this is business."  The woman pouted,
only slightly mollified.  "Hey, sweetheart," he said, "Tomorrow
maybe?"  And he smiled at her, a smile that lit up his whole face,
although if one observed closely, it didn't reach his eyes.  However,
the woman was obviously bedazzled, because she murmured an accord and
left quietly. Chakotay too was not unaffected by that smile, even as
he was impressed with the smooth way the blond had handled the
potentially tricky situation.  The young man turned back to Chakotay.

"Mine's a scotch," he said.

"Oh, yes.  Of course," Chakotay turned towards the bar to order
drinks. He remembered feeling the heat of the young man's gaze, as he
swiftly ordered and returned bearing a scotch and a beer for himself.
The blond silently indicated an empty booth, slid into one of the
seats, Chakotay sat opposite, resting his arms on the table between
them.

---

Tom remembered how he'd locked eyes with Chakotay, as the older man
moved towards him.  There was something almost predatory in Chakotay's
movement, and Tom felt a frisson of delicious excitement, almost
apprehension, run down his spine.  He caught his breath at the husky
tone of the man's voice, asking to buy him a drink.  He said
something, he didn't know what, to the Bajoran woman he'd been
hustling, vaguely noticed her departure, but most of his attention was
focussed on the dark, handsome man in front of him.  He distinctly
recalled watching the sway of the guy's ass, as he went to the bar,
noting the firm, tight globes move enticingly.  They ended up in a
booth together, sitting opposite one another.  The guy was even more
gorgeous close up, and that tattoo...  Sexy, very, very sexy.

"Sooo," he remembered drawling.  "Name's Tom.  You?"

"Chakotay."

"Uh huh.  Here long?"

"Couple of days.  You?"

All the while they were engaged in inconsequential conversation, they
were sizing one another up, gazes flickering up and down, before
coming back to meet the other's eyes.  Tom remembered that by this
time he'd been really aroused, knew that he wanted this guy.  He
abandoned his earlier thoughts of hustling the man; this was someone
who he'd give it away to for free.  And if he could get work out of
him as well, real work, a piloting job, so much the better.  Screw the
Maquis anyway, he'd been waiting for them to contact him for days!

It had been a while since he'd felt a shock of raw sexual hunger,
wondered in his more depressed moments whether he ever would again
experience the pure joy of simple, uncomplicated desire.  Recently,
all sex had been to him was a transaction, he delivered, the customer
paid. Tonight though, just maybe it wouldn't be a transaction, but an
exchange, of desire, of completion.

"Not been long here myself," he answered.  "I'm passing through, on my
way elsewhere."  He took a gulp of the scotch, feeling it burn on the
way down.  The warmth he felt inside matched, he suspected, the warmth
visible on his skin.  The flush could be put down to the scotch, he
supposed, but that would be wrong.

"To where?"

"Don't know yet, just not here.  You?"

"The same."  Chakotay drained his drink.  "You want another?" he asked
Tom.  He must have said yes, because the older man got him another
scotch, but this time he slid into the booth next to Tom.  Tom felt
the warmth of Chakotay's body near him; their thighs were almost
touching, millimetres apart.  "So, I understand you're a pilot, Tom
who's passing through," Chakotay said, teasingly.

He shrugged.  "That's right."

"Yeah?  Me too.  Where'd you train?"

Tom reckoned that his expression must have changed, because Chakotay
held up a hand placatingly.  "It doesn't matter, you know.  I'm just
making conversation here."

"No, no." He inhaled deeply.  "Starfleet Academy."

The other man's gaze sharpened.  "But you're not Fleet now?"

"No."  He really didn't want to say anything more, not get into the
whole why'd you leave shit, so he gave the man his best cocky grin,
and said something along the lines of: "Nope, left to find a real
piloting challenge, I mean piloting starships in system gets kind of
boring after a while, you know."

Thankfully the other man seemed to have realised he didn't want to
talk about it, accepted that piece of crap he'd spouted without
probing for more, because he said no more about why he left, but
asked:  "So, how well do you know this system?"

He shrugged.  "Pretty well."  It was no less than the truth; he'd
spent quite a bit of time in this back of beyond location.

"Oh, because I was wondering if you could maybe offer me a tour?"

Tom's gaze swung to meet Chakotay's, and he grinned, as amused by the
cheesy chat up line as Chakotay was.  He snickered, then muttered,
"That's the best you can do?" with a note of incredulity in his voice.
The older man shook his head.

"Not by a long shot, but it seemed to fit, you know?"

"Oh ho, so you think I'm... easy, do you?" he asked, a definite note
of innuendo in his voice.

Chakotay shook his head.  "No," he said, quite seriously.  "Somehow I
get the feeling that you're very, very difficult."

Tom acknowledged the truth of that with a dip of his eyelashes.  It
was true, he'd been told that he was difficult more than once, usually
by his father, he thought sourly.  Then he banished that unwelcome
thought; it was definitely spoiling the mood, just when things were
going so promisingly, too.

"Never know till you try," he said.  At that, Chakotay, who'd been
leaning closer to him anyway, pressing his thigh all the way down the
length of Tom's, leaned in still further, and kissed him.

---

Chakotay remembered sitting opposite Tom in the booth, making small
talk, until the right moment arose to discuss what he'd felt sure was
on both their minds.  He felt uncharacteristically reckless, perhaps
the unaccustomed drink was going to his head.  But, even not knowing
anything about this boy, this young man, he'd already determined that
tonight he was going have him.  And, in the back of his mind, he was
thinking that maybe, just maybe, this would turn out to be more than a
one-time thing.  Then he pulled himself up short, after all the guy
hadn't yet agreed to anything, he couldn't really be certain if he was
even interested, even as another part of his brain whispered
definitively: 'He's interested'.  Then, he asked Tom where he'd
trained.

He briefly saw an indecipherable look pass across the young man's
face, a look of... desolation?  He felt the strangest impulse to take
this man in his arms, tell him it didn't matter.  Which was
surprising, given that he'd met the boy only minutes earlier and was
trying to pick him up, here in this dingy bar on a desolate, backwater
planet.  OK, he wanted to fuck him.  So, why did he also want to
protect him?  When he said Starfleet Academy, Chakotay was surprised,
because, assuming he'd made it all the way through, the boy was very
young to have left it all behind.  He wasn't Maquis, that Chakotay
knew, so he hadn't left Starfleet to fight for his home.  Tom said
something about being bored, which was so obviously untrue that he
didn't pull him up on it, didn't want just now to get into the depth
of pain he glimpsed behind the confident exterior.  Maybe his first
guess was the correct one, and Tom had not made it all the way through
the Academy, hardly an uncommon tale.  But he vowed to himself that
one day he'd find out what was the real reason, intrigued by this
young man, fascinated already, despite himself.

He changed the subject quickly, said something about touring the
system, laughing at himself as he said it.  He knew that the young man
next to him was also amused from his response, had said something
about Tom being difficult, and who'd known then just how true that
was.  All the time he felt his attraction to Tom increase and, from
the delicate flush high on Tom's cheekbones, thought that the boy felt
the same.  When Tom signalled quite clearly that he wanted to pursue
matters further, he was unable to hold off any longer, did what he'd
wanted to do since he'd first laid eyes on him, and kissed him.

Chakotay had never been able to forget what happened next, no matter
how much he'd tried to, but every second of it was imprinted on his
memory. He remembered that the kiss had started off slowly, gently. He
ran his tongue along Tom's lower lip, wordlessly encouraging his lips
to part. When they did, he slid his tongue inside, tasting the
sweetness within, mingled with the scent of scotch.  Their tongues met
and tangled together, both duelling for control of the kiss.  He slid
his arms round the slighter man, feeling the muscles in the long back
tense with arousal, even as Tom's hand moved along his thigh, to reach
his groin, resting lightly on the bulge of his arousal.  His arms
tightened possessively at Tom's touch, reaching down to touch his ass.
Oh spirits, he thought dizzily, he wanted this man so badly, and could
he ever *kiss*!

By unspoken accord, they broke apart, neither having declared victory,
nor conceded defeat.  Both were panting.  Chakotay remembered staring
into the huge dark eyes, centimetres away from his.

Tom caught his breath and treated Chakotay to another glimpse of the
classic Paris smirk.   "Not bad, Cochise," he said.  "Maybe a little
hesitant but..."

Chakotay didn't let him finish, responded to Tom's goading
immediately. Hesitant indeed!  Huh!  He grabbed Tom again, but this
time there had been nothing gentle about the kiss, he seized the other
man's lips bruisingly hard, the kiss was both passionate and brutal.
He explored the younger man's mouth thoroughly, taking control
forcefully.  Tom groaned low in the back of his throat, choosing, at
least for now, to surrender.  He felt Tom's acquiescence and rejoiced
in it, prolonging the kiss, the delicious anticipation.  He remembered
thinking that he was going to fuck this man so hard he'd feel it for a
week.

Finally, he ended the kiss, but didn't release his hold on Tom,
pressing kisses along his jaw, inhaling his scent, a mixture of
cologne and male arousal, even as his hand slid into the low neckline
of Tom's shirt, caressing his chest, feeling the soft chest hair,
tweaking a nipple.  He sucked hard at the young man's throat, marking
him as his, feeling a rising sense of possession.  Dimly, he was aware
that he should be alarmed at such intense feelings, that this was
happening so fast, maybe too soon, but most of his brain had shut down
in sheer sensory overload. And they weren't even naked yet.  What
would it be like to properly caress this man, make him scream, feel
that strong body wrapped round his, possess him?  He remembered that
he couldn't wait to find out.  He lifted his mouth away from the
younger man's neck at last, looking at his dazed expression, noting
with satisfaction that his lips were already swollen from the force of
his kisses, but leaving his hand possessively resting on the other
man's erection.

---

Tom, too, had never been able to forget those moments in the bar.  He
remembered teasing Chakotay about the first kiss, more as a
self-defence mechanism than anything else, unwilling to admit how much
the kiss had affected him.  And as for that second kiss, even now,
five years later, it still had the power to send shivers down his
spine, send a jolt of arousal to his groin.  He supposed that he must
have been kissed like that before, as passionately, as forcefully, but
he really couldn't remember when.  He'd been unwilling to kiss those
people he hustled, and as for his lovers, none had been able to match
Chakotay.  He was unable to do anything but surrender to the sheer
force the other man had exerted, although at that moment he really
didn't want to fight for control.  He was as much aroused at that
moment as he'd ever been in his life, and when Chakotay's mouth slid
to his neck, he welcomed the dull pain as he sucked at the tender
skin, the pain irretrievably mixed with his arousal, increasing it.
God, he thought, if it was this good now, what would it be like when
they were alone, how would it be to feel Chakotay taking him, taking
him hard, possessing him, then possessing the older man in his turn?
He felt a flutter low in his stomach at the thought, even as his groin
tightened further.

He recalled that Chakotay had finally ceased his attentions, looking
at him with an expression on his face that could be best described as
a mixture of passion, possession, and satisfaction.  Tom felt dazed,
but struggled valiantly to pull himself together, at least a little
bit. He'd had numerous lovers, God knows, not to mention all the
clients he'd hustled.  And he'd pretty much always been in control, no
matter what he'd allowed them to do to him.  So, why should some guy
he'd picked up in a bar, whom he hadn't even got naked with yet,
affect him so badly? This vulnerability had frightened him, even as he
found the loss of control to be...exhilarating.  But this urge he had,
to trust the other man, to let him do what he wanted with him, that
was *dangerous* and he really should end this now, but he couldn't, he
really couldn't.  Not without knowing what it was like to be had by,
and have, this man, at least once.

"OK," he remembered saying, when he'd finally caught his breath. "That
was better."

The other man grinned at him, obviously knowing how much he'd affected
him.  "Better, hmm.  I didn't know that I was going to be the subject
of a critical dissertation."

"Oh, I have very high standards," he responded airily, although he
rather thought that his insouciance might have been spoiled by his
rampant erection, on which Chakotay's hand was still resting and the
obvious signs of his arousal, indicated by his dilated eyes and
flushed cheeks.

"So, did I pass?" Chakotay whispered, reaching forward to touch his
lips to those of the fair man by him, lightly this time.

"With...flying colours," Tom said, with some difficulty, as Chakotay
deepened the kiss.

When the older man ended it, this time he was the first to speak.
"D'you want to go somewhere and..."

"Fuck?  Oh yeah.  How about right now?"

---

Chakotay recalled his reaction to Paris' blunt statement.  He felt his
arousal, already intense, jump to new heights, making him so hard it
hurt.  His hand tightened involuntarily round Tom's erection,
producing a groan in the young man.  He ran through a ritual mantra
chant in his mind, calming himself down, getting himself under
control.

"Where do you suggest?" he asked.

Tom shrugged.  "Either my place or yours," he said.

"That depends on which one is closer," was his response.  The younger
man grinned at him, a delighted smile that reached his eyes, lit up
his whole face.  'Oh spirits,' Chakotay thought, dazed.  'He's so
beautiful!'

As he was about to answer, ask Tom where his lodgings were, he heard a
throat being cleared meaningfully beside him.  He turned towards the
source of the sound, protectively shielding Tom with his body, not
even aware he was doing it, to encounter, shit! Seska, and Profolig
Teim, a Maquis member who was also a merchant.  As Teim could travel
freely about without arousing suspicion, he was primarily involved in
obtaining supplies, but also recruited new members for the Maquis,
checking out potential recruits by utilising his many contacts.
Seska's expression was a picture in studied neutrality, whilst Teim's
showed a hint of surprise.

"Chakotay, Paris," Teim said, inclining his head towards the young man
sitting beside Chakotay, who was too concerned with Seska's reaction
to pay much attention to the merchant's words.  He was cursing
himself; not sure why he should care that Seska had found him necking
with a stranger in a bar.  After all, it was not as though he and
Seska were an item. But on the other hand, he considered her to be a
friend, didn't wanted to hurt her, knew that she was interested in
pursuing a relationship with him.

"Can we have a word with you Chakotay, alone," Seska said, pointedly.
He opened his mouth to object, when she'd added, "Business."

He turned to Tom, noting the young man's dishevelled appearance, the
tousled hair, flushed cheeks and the mark on his neck he himself had
put there.  It was only too apparent what he and Tom had been doing;
there was no chance of concealing that from Seska and Teim.  He sighed
inwardly and said, "Excuse me a moment."

"Sure," the young man said graciously, his expression giving nothing
away.  Chakotay had to admire his poise; he showed no hint of
embarrassment in what could only be described as difficult
circumstances.

Chakotay took a moment to compose himself, willing his erection to
subside.  He rose and the three Maquis moved away, to a booth on the
other side of the bar, where they sat down.

"I didn't know you knew our latest potential recruit," Teim said,
somewhat sarcastically.

"What recruit?" Chakotay asked, left a little bewildered by the abrupt
transition from rampant lust, to Maquis business.

"Him," Teim said, jerking his head in the direction of Tom.  "Paris.
He's the reason I'm here, came to meet him"

"Oh, I didn't know he was a potential recruit," Chakotay said
absently, thinking to himself that there was something about that
name... "Wait a minute," he said, his gaze hardening.  "Did you say
Paris?"  At Teim's nod, he continued, "Of Starfleet?"  Another nod.
"Hell," he said.  "The kid's practically Starfleet royalty.  What's he
doing in a dump like this?"

Teim snorted.  "You don't remember?" he asked.  "The scandal, I mean?"

It took Chakotay a moment longer to piece the memory together; adding
up what he'd learned about Tom that evening with what Teim had just
told him.  Then it hit him.  Tom Paris, scion of one of the most
respected, revered Starfleet families, born to every advantage. Golden
boy gone bad, who'd thrown it all away.  Chakotay had still been in
Starfleet when the news had broken about Paris, that he'd caused the
deaths of three fellow officers, then lied about it.  But he'd been
found out anyway, Chakotay hadn't been sure how, then been cashiered
out of the Fleet.  And deservedly so.  Still, Chakotay's innate sense
of fairness struggled not to let his feeling of contempt overwhelm
him, not to judge Paris too quickly, too harshly.  He remembered that
look which had crossed the kid's face when he'd talked about having
trained in Starfleet.  He'd made a mistake, but it certainly looked as
if he was paying for it, reduced from the life of luxury he must have
known, to this.

"Yes, I do," he said, slowly.  "But I don't know the whole story, so I
think that we oughtn't to make too many assumptions here and...."

"Oh, Chakotay, wake up!" Seska interrupted, impatiently.  "He's
nothing but scum.  You must see that.  Don't let your... interest in
him blind you to that."

Chakotay glared at her.  "You don't know that, Seska," he said.

"Don't I?" she responded, sceptically.  "Face facts.  He's indicated
he's willing to fly for us, *if* we meet his price.  Isn't that right,
Profolig?"

The merchant cleared his throat.  "Seska's right," he agreed.  "He's a
damn fine pilot, accident notwithstanding.  He'll be the best we've
got. But he won't work for free; he's made that plain.  He's not, um,
committed to the cause, but will join us as a mercenary.  I've
recommended that we agree to meet his price, because, frankly, we can
use him, this upcoming mission especially.  He'll be working closely
with you on this."

"I...see," Chakotay said, slowly, his initial warm feelings towards
the young man fading, as they were overtaken by a feeling of
ambivalence, but not dislike.  It didn't seem as if this man was what
he'd thought he was, but maybe he had his reasons for needing the
credits, give him the benefit of that doubt, at least until he heard
the young man's explanation.  He sighed.  "Well, I guess that he's not
ideal Maquis material, but at least let's try and not judge him before
we get to know him..."

But Seska interrupted once more.  "No thanks," she said.  "I really
don't want to get to know him.  I know what he is already.  A liar, a
screw-up, a mercenary and a whore!"

Chakotay's gaze swung to meet hers, shocked by her latter comment. She
laughed, unpleasantly.  "Oh yes," she said.  "He's been hustling for
clients, here from this bar for at least several days now.  Other
places as well, Teim discovered this when he checked him out."

Chakotay looked at Teim inquiringly, who nodded in affirmation.

"Face it, Chakotay, that's what he was doing with you tonight."

At Chakotay's instinctive headshake, she said: "He just hadn't got
round to naming his price yet.  But if he's willing to fight for
money, why not fuck for it too?"

Chakotay's lips thinned, as he pressed them together in a grim line.
"Wait here," he ordered the other two.  "I'll go and talk to him, then
bring him here to talk to you Teim, about the terms of his
engagement." He spat the latter words out, turning on his heels
abruptly and stalking off towards Paris.

The young man looked up at his approach, a welcoming smile on his
face, which faded when he saw Chakotay's expression.

The older man slid into the booth opposite Paris, his face like a
thundercloud.  "You're Tom Paris," he said.

The last vestiges of Paris' welcoming expression vanished, to be
replaced by a blank mask.  "That's right," he said, warily.

"I know about you," Chakotay said.  "I was in Starfleet when you were
discharged."

The blank look didn't waver.  "Ah," Paris said, rising as he spoke.
"In that case I think I'll be going..."

Chakotay grabbed hold of one slender wrist, hard enough to hurt.  "Sit
down," he hissed.  "We're not done yet."

"Oh, I think we are," the other man drawled, still standing, although
he made no attempt to release his wrist from Chakotay's grip.

"Not if you want to join the Maquis, we're not," Chakotay said.

Paris sat down, abruptly.  "What did you want to say," he said.

"I'm told by my Maquis colleagues over there that you're willing to
join us, but only if we meet your price," Chakotay said, still
gripping Paris' wrist.

The young man nodded.  "That's right."

"Why?" Chakotay asked, simply.

"Why what?  What do I need the money for?"  Chakotay nodded.  "Well,
that's really none of your business," Paris drawled, affecting his
most haughty, arrogant expression.  "But if you must know, I need it
to pay my bar bills."

Chakotay looked at him disbelievingly.  "That's it?" he asked.

"Sad, but true," the young man opposite him said in insouciant tones.
"I happen to like drinking, I have bills to pay, the Maquis need
pilots, I'm a pilot.  There you have it."

"And you don't care about the reasons why we, the Maquis, are
fighting?"

Paris shrugged.  "Not especially.  Tell you the truth, I'd fly for
anyone who'd meet my price."  He smirked at Chakotay, the mocking
expression, coming on top of what Paris had just admitted, incensing
the older man.

"And would you fuck anyone who'd meet your price as well?" he asked in
a very soft, very deadly voice.  The perfect mask wavered slightly.

"Not quite," Paris responded, in a very level toned voice.  "I do
insist on a certain level of physical attractiveness first.  Have my
standards, you know."

Chakotay felt sick.  "So, tonight... what you were doing... with
me..." he began, haltingingly.

"Was hustling you?" the young man said, brightly.  "'Fraid so,
sweetheart.  But don't worry, I assure you that you come up to my...
minimum... attractiveness standards."  He raised one aristocratic
eyebrow, looking Chakotay up and down, insultingly, as he spoke.

"You..." Chakotay started to say, beyond furious now.

"But rest assured, you'll receive *full* value for money," the soft
voice continued on, inexorably.  "Provided you can meet my price that
is." He batted his eyelashes at Chakotay, shamelessly.  "Oh, don't
tell me you're not interested any more?  But you seemed so... keen
earlier."

"Not with a...a whore like you," Chakotay managed to choke out,
sickened, all his earlier feelings, of lust yes, but mixed with
tenderness, with the urge to care for, to protect, this young man,
turned to ashes by what Paris had said.  While he'd been mooning over
this...this person, actually wondering whether maybe this would turn
out to be something special, all he'd been to Paris was a potential
source of income.  He wasn't able to believe how gullible he'd been,
how badly he'd been taken in, by the good looks, the surface charm,
all of which just served to conceal what he really was, someone with
the soul of a mercenary, a whore.

Paris' expression never changed, not even when Chakotay spit out his
last comment with venom in his voice.  "Pity," he said.  "Now you'll
never know that you just missed the best fuck of your life, darling."
He drawled that last word in his most provocative manner, caressing
every syllable with his tongue.

Chakotay's fury, if possible, increased.  He felt an almost
irresistible urge to wipe the mocking expression off that... that...
bastard's face. "Shut up!" he hissed, trying to stay calm, not give in
to the urge to hit Paris.

His fingers tightened round Paris' wrist, wringing a cry of pain from
the young man.  Chakotay released Paris' wrist at last, observing with
vindictive satisfaction the finger marks showing clear in white on the
fine, delicate skin.  There would be bruises there tomorrow.

"Understand this," he grated.  "You and I will be working together in
the Maquis, on an upcoming mission we need you for.  That's the way it
is.  But outside business, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want
to hear from you, and if you cause any trouble, any trouble at all,
I'll beat the shit out of you.  And don't think I can't do it.  We
both know who'd win in a fight," he said, eyes contemptuously raking
the younger man's more slender physique compared to his own, broader,
sturdiness. Paris might be a few inches taller than him, but Chakotay
had no real doubt that he was the stronger.  "Clear?" he asked,
rhetorically.

Paris had been busy rubbing his wrist, eyes downcast, but at
Chakotay's last comment, he looked up through golden eyelashes.
"Clear," was all he said, quietly, but then he spoiled the effect by
smirking impudently. "As crystal," he added.

Chakotay controlled once more his impulse to hit Paris.  "Then follow
me," was all he said, rising from the booth, preparatory to walking
over to join Teim and Seska.  As he watched Paris unfurl his long body
from the booth, he was conscious of a vast feeling of dismay that,
despite all he'd learned about the young man's character, despite the
admissions Paris himself had made to him, in spite of the fact that he
despised the man, he still wanted him.

---

Tom remembered how much he'd wanted Chakotay; he felt like the man's
kisses were a drug, one that he was already addicted to, after just
one taste.  He wanted more.  He said something about going somewhere
else, was enjoying the banter between them, when he saw two people,
whom he later learned were called Teim and Seska, standing there.
Neither of them looked particularly friendly, and he was surprised
when Teim addressed him by name.  He wasn't pleased at the
interruption, not when things had been going so well, but, as Chakotay
obviously knew these people, sat back to wait Chakotay's return as
patiently as he could, which meant not very.  He was indulging in a
little harmless anticipatory fantasising about what the two of them
would, please God, shortly be doing together, when, at last, Chakotay
returned.  He was pleased to see him, but then his heart sank at
Chakotay's expression.

A few minutes ago, the man had been looking at him as if... as if he
mattered, maybe even as if Chakotay cared about him, even if only a
little bit.  It had been so long since Tom had met someone who looked
as if they might give a damn about him, the real Tom, not just an
attractive face and body, that he'd forgotten what it felt like.  And
he'd so liked that feeling.  But now, Chakotay looked furious, at him?
Then Chakotay sat down, called him by his full name.  At that moment
he knew that Chakotay realised just who he was.  He cursed at himself
for a fool.  Of course, he should have known that Chakotay was
ex-Fleet as well, and it was really too much to ask that the news of
his disgrace wouldn't have reached even this backwater.  How stupid
could he be, to hope he could have something real, even if only for a
little while, with someone who, as soon as he found out who he was,
would inevitably despise him, for being a coward and a liar.  In
retrospect he couldn't believe that even he'd been that big a fool,
trying to achieve a fleeting moment of happiness.  Not when he'd
sacrificed that right a long time ago, when he'd caused the deaths of
three people and then lied about it.

So, he did what he'd always done, tried to run away.  It was what he
did best after all, avoid unpleasantness, take the easy way out.  But
Chakotay stopped him, grabbed hold of him, challenged him.  And
because he really did need any work the Maquis were prepared to send
his way, because he'd been desperate to fly again, no matter what type
of craft he was given and because, deep down, perhaps part of him
thought that he deserved what was coming next, the opprobrium, the
scorn, he stayed to hear what Chakotay had to say.

Looking back, maybe he'd have been better off telling Chakotay the
truth, he did need the money to pay off his bar bills, but not just
those.  There were people who'd actually been kind to him, when he'd
really been at rock bottom, shared their meagre possessions with him,
when they didn't have to.  The last vestiges of his battered sense of
honour, self worth, had dictated that he pay his debts.  It was all
he'd had left.  But instead, old habits had kicked in, he resorted to
the Paris attitude, which he'd so carefully perfected over the years,
to protect himself from harm, from his father's expectations, and
those of his class mates.  Later, after he had left Starfleet, he
tried to project that attitude even harder, because it was something
people expected from him.  If that's all they thought he was, they
wouldn't be tempted to try and probe deeper, reach the real him that
he kept buried inside, the person who was and had always been, too
easily hurt.

He saw how much he was pissing Chakotay off and that had been like a
goad, daring him to go farther, incense Chakotay more.  He was wholly
unable to prevent himself from completely ruining any chance of even
an amicable working relationship with Chakotay, some part of him even
rejoicing in it, because while he could concentrate on that, it helped
assuage the pain he'd felt inside.  Because Chakotay called him a
whore and the hell of it was that he was right, he was a whore.  He'd
known that, of course, but hadn't been prepared for the intense hurt
that ripped through him at Chakotay's comment, at the obvious contempt
the other man felt for him.  Ah, that pain, it still hurt him, even
now, so many years later, when he recalled how the tenderness he'd
glimpsed in Chakotay's eyes had gone forever, never to be seen again.
So, he said some pretty vicious things, struck out in sheer
self-defence, set out to annoy Chakotay.  And in that he succeeded,
because by the time he'd finished the other man hated him.  Probably
still did.

He remembered that he'd been seriously worried that Chakotay would
break his wrist at one point, his grip had been so intense.  But the
physical pain was as nothing compared to the emotional whirlwind
within.  One part of his mind, that which was not concentrating on not
showing the pain he was feeling, wondered at the amount of passion
bottled up within Chakotay's outwardly calm exterior, that he would
get so angry over such a brief encounter with someone who had been
then, when all was said and done, just a whore, a worthless whore.

But at the end of it all, when Chakotay turned away from him to walk
over to where Teim and Seska were sitting, it was all he could do to
hold back an impulse to cry, for what could have been if... If he
hadn't been who he was.  Which, let's face it, was pretty unrealistic
of him. Because he and Chakotay could never have had a chance
together, even if he hadn't done his best to ensure that Chakotay
would despise him.  But the worse of it was, notwithstanding that he
knew the guy felt nothing but contempt for him, he wanted him still.
He could feel the mark Chakotay had branded him with, claiming him as
his own, throbbing on his neck, as his hand involuntarily came up to
trace the bruise.  The mark would fade, in time, but would his
feelings?

---

Tom opened his eyes, staring blankly out at the alien, snow covered
landscape before him.  Fuck!  He cursed inwardly, he shouldn't have
started this, it brought up memories he'd really rather not recall.
God, he could so stupid at times.  It really hadn't been worth it, not
even for the pleasure of annoying Chakotay, who he still, damn it,
wanted, even now, five years later, even though he knew that the guy
still despised him, probably always would, in spite of all his efforts
to change, to try to fit in.  At times he felt that he could still
feel that damned mark on his neck, the one that Chakotay had placed on
him and *that* was just stupid.  He looked quickly at the older man,
who was openly scowling.  'OK, Tom,' he thought.  'Bad move, now
what?'  Then he smiled; at least he now knew that Chakotay hadn't been
able to forget their first meeting, any more than he had.  He felt an
odd sense of triumph, remembering how rattled, how angry, Chakotay had
been.  He'd only seen him like that a few times since.  Jeez, the guy
maintained that air of calm at almost all times; he'd even taken the
news about Seska's baby with an almost impassive expression, even
though Tom knew how much he'd been hurting inside.  But he, Thomas
Eugene Paris, had always managed to get under the Commander's skin and
how many people could say that?

By his side Chakotay noted the smile, which he was sure at his
expense, he thought sourly.  Well, two could play at this game, time
for Tom to experience a taste of his own medicine.

"I haven't forgotten," he said, mildly.  "I think you could say that
that evening's imprinted on my brain."

Tom drew his eyebrows together in an involuntary frown.  Chakotay
wasn't reacting as he'd expected.  Shit!  Don't say the guy was
learning to be unpredictable at last.  He said nothing.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" Chakotay said.  Tom slanted a wary,
sideways look towards him.  Chakotay's expression gave nothing away.

"Um, OK.  Why?" Tom asked, dreading the answer, knowing that he'd left
himself wide open for whatever derogatory comment Chakotay cared to
make.

"Because..." as Chakotay spoke he leaned towards Tom.  He deliberately
kept his voice low, so that Tom had to move closer to him to hear what
he was saying.  "You looked absolutely gorgeous, stunning, that
night."

Tom's jaw dropped open, whatever he'd expected Chakotay to say, it
wasn't this.  "I did?" he asked, incredulously.

"You did," Chakotay affirmed.  "You still do.  I wanted to fuck you so
badly that night."  He smiled sensuously at Paris.  "Still do."

Tom gulped.  Oh God.

"But, I guess you don't reciprocate my feelings," the older man was
saying, regretfully.  "Pity.  You've missed the best fuck of your
life." With that parting volley he got up from his seat, disappearing
inside the lodge, while Tom sat outside in frozen astonishment.  He
shook his head in disbelief, which gave way to a reluctant smile, as
he realised that Chakotay had echoed his words of five years ago.
Maybe the guy wasn't quite as uptight as he'd thought.

He wasn't naive enough to believe for one second that Chakotay still
wanted him.  Maybe he still felt some sort of physical attraction, but
he knew that, for Chakotay, it was nothing more than that.  After all,
the guy couldn't stand him.  And he knew that mere physical attraction
would never be enough for Chakotay; that he would never give in to
something as insubstantial as that.  'I mean,' he thought, 'me and
*Chakotay*, what a joke!'  They'd drive each other nuts within a
matter of days.  Wouldn't they?  He'd finally grown up enough to
realise that pure, unadulterated physical attraction wasn't enough to
base a relationship on. No matter how strong that attraction was.  But
he couldn't help wondering wistfully what it'd be like, even if only
for a short time, to have the passion, the warmth, the caring he knew
Chakotay was capable of, turned towards him, instead of thinly veiled
hostility. Then he snorted.  Yeah, like *that* was going to happen.

Inside the lodge, Chakotay was still grinning from ear to ear at the
dumbfounded look on Paris' face.  It had been worth it to see that
particular young man reduced almost to speechlessness.  That was
something that happened so seldom, how could he not enjoy it?  Even if
he'd had to admit that he still wanted Paris, but then, Tom wasn't
stupid, he'd probably realised that anyway.  He smiled at Renaqu, who
was talking to a couple of other guides at a table near the bar, and
sat down on a convenient seat by the window.  Like all the furniture
on Diaka, it was slightly too small for his height, but by pushing
himself away from the table, he could achieve a reasonable level of
comfort.

He pondered his troubled relationship with Tom Paris, something that,
in retrospect he'd spent an inordinately long time doing over the past
few years, even taking into account his duty towards all the Voyager
crewmembers in his position as First Officer.  He knew that Paris
wasn't completely the spoiled brat of an Admiral's son that he'd
thought initially.  Nor was he the mercenary and whore that he'd tried
so hard to make himself out to be.  Really, he was an extremely
complicated individual, capable of surprising acts of compassion,
followed by behaviour which was designed to make the recipients think
that he was nothing more than a selfish dilettante.  On the other
hand, some people he respected, among them Janeway, B'Elanna, Harry
Kim, Neelix, thought there was a lot more to Paris than his
lightweight image.  Which tended to make Chakotay believe that there
must be, even if he couldn't, quite, see it.

What he did know was that, on a professional level at least, Tom had
earned his respect, and if he was honest, he had to admit that he
admired his efforts to turn his life around.  If only he and Paris
could get past the hostility.  But again, if he was honest, he
suspected that a great deal of his hostility was rooted in the fact
that he still wanted Paris, when he had no reason to suspect that
Paris reciprocated that feeling.  After all, by his own admission,
that night in the bar on Traqus IV all Paris had been doing was
hustling him, hadn't he?  Not for the first time, Chakotay wondered
whether the instinctive attraction he felt for Tom was actually
returned.  When he'd kissed Paris he could have sworn that the younger
man's response was genuine.  That night, when he'd thought that Paris
had been trying to hustle him, all he'd been able to feel was fury.
But now, years later, he wondered.  Paris wasn't *that* good an actor,
he knew that now, Tom's attempts to dissemble about himself, his
feelings, once you got to know him, were possible to interpret, to see
beneath.  Then he shook his head.  So what if Paris had been genuine
back then, it really made no difference to their present relationship.
No doubt any feelings he might once have entertained towards Chakotay
had long since disappeared, destroyed by the unspoken hostility
between them.  No, what he needed to do was to figure out a way for
the two of them to get along.  It was part of his duty as First
Officer, after all, to maintain cordial relations with all the crew.

He felt a presence near him and looked up to see Renaqu standing by
him. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Whenever you are," he answered, relieved to be on the move again,
away from his somewhat uncomfortable introspection.

They stopped outside to pick up Paris, who was sitting sprawled
comfortably in a folding chair, the very picture of relaxation.  His
expression didn't change when he saw Renaqu and Chakotay, giving no
clue to his state of mind, but then his eyes, which tended to reflect
his moods, were hidden by the protective glasses he wore.

"So, are you ready for the Tse'ra?" Renaqu asked.

Paris grinned at her.  "Been ready all day!"

"Then let's go," she said, striding over to where she'd left her skis
sticking up in the snow, followed closely by the two men.

---

A short while later  the three of them stood looking down the
dizzyingly steep descent below.  They were atop a cornice, protruding
over the narrow, steep couloir.  The view was breathtaking.  As they
were on a glacier, to the side of them were deep crevasses, down which
ice had dripped, frozen into stalagtites, hanging in tormented beauty
from the top of the crevasses.  The light provided by the twin suns
sparked from the icicles on their right, refracting into multi
coloured prisms.  The drop below must have been over 2,500 metres, a
very long run to the bottom, where they would finally join the marked
runs down to the resort.  At this altitude, for the Humans it was a
little harder to breathe, the lack of oxygen making them a little
light headed.  Renaqu, brought up in the mountains, had no such
problem.

Chakotay shifted a little, deeply uneasy about the forthcoming run. It
wasn't only that the chute they would be traversing was phenomenally
steep, so much so that he doubted he'd ever skied steeper, but also to
reach the couloir at all, it was necessary to jump the approximately
4.5 metres drop to the start of the chute.  And the top of the couloir
was both smooth and very, very steep.  A single misstep and he'd fall
for probably at least two hundred metres, far enough to incur serious
damage.  Also, he noted that after about four hundred metres, the side
of the crevasse, as was typical of glaciers, ended abruptly, leaving a
sheer drop off the side off the side. A fall there could well be
fatal. He'd conquered some jumps in his time, but not even the
notorious Corbet's Couloir in Jackson Hole on Earth, or Fillian's Leap
on Ixcan Prime could compare with this.   After all, what he was
preparing to do was, in effect, jump the size of a house, landing on
what was practically a precipice.  Simple!  He worried at his lower
lip, as he contemplated his fate.  When he'd agreed to try this run,
he'd really had no idea just what it was he was letting himself in
for.  But, unless he was prepared to undertake a steep walk back up,
which he couldn't possibly finish before it got dark, and *that* was
actively dangerous, there was little choice.  Plus, and part of him
couldn't believe that he was *this* stupid, he really didn't want to
back down in front of Paris!

Standing a little behind Chakotay, Tom was also contemplating the run
in awed silence.  He was conscious of the pumping of the adrenaline
through his body at the thought of leaping from the cornice and
traversing that truly magnificent slope.  He doubted that he'd ever
faced a more challenging run.  He exchanged grins with Renaqu, feeling
a sweet, fierce sense of anticipation.  He moved forward a little and
caught a glimpse of Chakotay's worried expression.  Oh, shit!  He'd
been so caught up in the thrill, the expectation of what was to come,
that he'd really not been thinking of anything else, but suddenly he
realised that if he was, if truth be told, both excited and more than
a little apprehensive about the run, for Chakotay, who was that much
less an experienced skier than him, it must be nothing less than
terrifying.

"Are you OK with this?" he asked Chakotay quietly.  "Because if
not..."

"I don't have to do it.  Right!" Chakotay said, sarcastically.  "The
only way from here, Paris, is down, might I remind you."

"We could go back up," Tom suggested.

Chakotay threw him a surprised glance.  "You'd do that?" he asked.
"But I know you've been looking forward to this all day."

Tom shook his head.  "It doesn't matter," he said, simply.

"So, if I don't want to do this, you're prepared to give up, just like
that?" Chakotay asked, sceptically.  "Doesn't sound too likely, does
it."

Abruptly, Tom was angry.  Why did Chakotay always have to think the
worse of him?  "Fuck you, Chakotay!" he yelled.  "Contrary to what you
might think of me, I'm not prepared to risk your neck on some ski
run."

Chakotay was taken aback by Tom's anger.  "I'm sorry," he said
quietly. "It's just that you give the impression that..."

"I'm some selfish bastard who doesn't care about anyone other than
myself?  Is that it?" Tom asked, bitterly.

"No!" Chakotay answered, vehemently.  "No," he repeated again, more
quietly.  "It's just that you can be a bit reckless at times."

"With my own safety, maybe, but *never* that of others.  Not ever!"

"No, no, of course not."  Chakotay was kicking himself.  He should
have realised long before this that Tom would not risk anyone else,
not after Caldik Prime.  If he'd ever been that reckless prior to the
accident, Chakotay didn't know, but he knew, if he'd bothered to stop
and think about it, that he wasn't now.  He was ashamed that he hadn't
done so.

Tom sighed.  "Look," he said quietly.  "You know as well as I that
maybe as much as 90% of skiing is confidence.  If you don't think you
can make it, then we won't attempt it."

"I think it's a bit late to turn back now," Chakotay said.  "We won't
reach the resort, probably not the top, even, before night."

"But, we can always call Voyager and have them transport us up." Tom
pointed out.

Chakotay shook his head, wryly.  "Now, why didn't I think of that!" he
said, dryly.  He'd realised, of course, that he could simply transport
up to the ship, but had already decided that he'd really rather get
out of this one by himself, without assistance.  He stood still,
looking over the drop.  Even though he didn't have to do the jump, he
couldn't help wondering how it would feel, to conquer that slope, to
be able to look back and say to himself, 'I did it!'  He was being
reckless, perhaps, but... Plus, he *really* didn't want to back down
in front of Tom.

"So, you really don't have to do it you know," Tom said.

Chakotay turned his head to look at Paris.  "And if I don't do this
now, you'll come back with me?"

Tom nodded.

"And then come back down and try it anyway?" he asked.

Paris had the grace to look abashed.  "Well, yes," he admitted.

"And then gloat about it, no doubt."

Tom glared at him.  "God, what a shit you must think me to be!"

"Tom, no, I..."

"How old were you when you learned to ski?" Tom interrupted.

"Huh?  Oh, seventeen, eighteen, I guess.  Why?"

"I was four," Tom said flatly.  "At the age you were learning to ski,
I was on the Academy ski team, racing.  So, yeah, I'm a better skier
than you.  So what?  Who's to say that if we'd both learned at the
same age, you wouldn't have been better than me?"

"Like piloting?"

"I started young there too," Tom said.  "Look, Chakotay, for the
record, I think you're an excellent skier and so does Renaqu, because
she wouldn't have brought you here if she didn't think you could do
it. Right, Renaqu?"

The Diakan woman, who'd been maintaining a discreet silence while the
two of them argued, cleared her throat slightly.  "Yes, that's right,"
she confirmed.  "Please believe me when I say that I think you are
technically capable of doing the Tse'ra, but I agree with Tom that if
you don't feel comfortable, don't attempt it."

Chakotay snorted.  "I doubt that I'll ever feel comfortable," he said,
gesturing at the spectacular slope below.  "But, I'm willing to give
it a go, if you think I can do it, I mean."  Then he shook his head in
disbelief.  "I must be insane," he muttered.  Then he grinned.  "But
yes, I reckon I can do it!"

Renaqu beamed at him.  "Good.  Very well, I'll go first to show you
the best route, then you Chakotay, then Tom."  Both men nodded their
agreement.  She adjusted her goggles, positioned her skis and went!
The Humans silently watched her near flawless landing, noting how she
immediately traversed down the slope for a good two hundred metres,
before finally sliding to a halt, turning to look up at them
expectantly.

"OK," said Chakotay, inhaling deeply.  "Here goes."  He tried to
subdue the nervous trembling within his stomach.  He felt slightly
sick, wondered what he was doing, possibly risking his life on a whim.
But, he had to do it, now, quickly, before he lost his nerve.  He
remembered other jumps he'd successfully undertaken in the past. Maybe
this was the most daunting yet, but he had never forgotten the immense
feeling of satisfaction he'd felt back then and was keen to experience
it again.

"Good luck," Tom said, smiling warmly at him, animosity forgotten in
this moment.

"You too," he said, returning the smile nervously.

Chakotay pushed himself to the edge of the cornice, pushed himself off
and jumped.  His feelings were a strange mixture of exhilaration
coupled with outright fear, as he flew through the air, leaning back
slightly, to avoid jumping too far.  Before he knew it, the ground was
rushing to meet him, he bent his knees, landing hard, almost, but not
quite falling, slipping, scrabbling to find his balance, conscious of
a moment of stark terror when he thought he'd fall, glove touching the
snow as he fought for balance, finally standing squarely on his skis
as they flew vertically down the slope.  His speed was terrifyingly
fast; he must be skiing at over 110 kmph already!  He edged into a
turn, grateful that the snow quality was good, firm, but not icy, then
another, and another. He shot past Renaqu, but was slowing himself
down all the time until finally he was able to bring himself to a
halt.  He collapsed onto the snow, panting, every leg muscle
trembling.  He'd done it!!

Renaqu slid to a halt beside him, crying: "Well done!"  She then
turned to see Tom standing on the edge of the cornice.  Chakotay too
turned to look.  Tom launched himself off the edge, landing perfectly,
sliding smoothly into a turn.

"Ooh, nice!" Renaqu exclaimed.

Tom skied to Chakotay and Renaqu, sliding to a precise halt beside
them. He was grinning maniacally; an expression Chakotay thought was
likely mirrored on his own face.

"That was beautiful," Renaqu said, admiringly.

Tom shook his head modestly.  "Little ragged on the landing there," he
said, self deprecatingly.

"Tom, shut up!" Chakotay ordered.  "That was perfect, and you know
it."

Tom shook his head again and then grinned at Chakotay.  "Yours wasn't
so bad either."

"Not as in I'm still in one piece, no."  He stood up.  "Come on, let's
go!"  And with no further words, he launched himself down the slope,
the adrenaline still pumping, making one smooth turn after another. He
was skiing well, and he knew it, experiencing that all too rare moment
in a skier's life of almost perfection, when skiers reach their
nirvana, turning in perfect parallels on a fiendishly difficult
off-piste slope, wishing that this moment, this feeling, could last
forever.  He knew that those moments when all the struggling, the
practice, the tuition work together in serendipitous harmony are few
and far between, but, once experienced, are never forgotten.  For
Chakotay, this was sheer bliss.  He knew that he would always retain
these memories, encased like a fly caught in amber in his mind.

When they were almost halfway down, he heard Paris yelling at him to
stop, take a rest.  Even as Tom spoke, Chakotay became aware that his
thigh and knee muscles were screaming at him.  He slid smoothly to a
halt, panting.  Renaqu and Paris joined him shortly, Tom collapsing to
sit on the slope.

"Wow, Chakotay.  You're really going for it there," he said.  "Skiing
wonderfully, too."  There was a note of admiration in Paris' voice,
which Chakotay noticed, surprised.  He couldn't recall hearing Paris
sound like that before, not about him at least, not that that was
surprising, all things considered.

"Thanks," was all he said, turning his head to smile at the younger
man.

Tom stripped off his gloves and fumbled in his backpack, bringing out
some water.  He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank, Adam's apple
bobbing as he swallowed.  Chakotay watched him, comparing the man
sitting beside him to the boy he'd met five years ago.  Tom was no
longer a boy, hadn't been for some time, but he was still beautiful,
as beautiful as he'd been then, maybe more so; he'd seasoned, matured
and his looks were richer, bolder now.  The eyes were the same though,
still the loveliest shade of blue Chakotay had ever seen.  He sighed a
little, wondering, as he'd done far too often over the past few years,
what it would be like to make love to Tom Paris.  Would he moan or
scream when he came, whisper Chakotay's name, shout it?  How would he
look in the throes of orgasm, in ecstasy?   How would Tom's erection
taste, when he ran his tongue up it?  Would he...  Chakotay shook his
head in an attempt to banish those all too arousing thoughts.  There
was really no point in dwelling on what would never be, just try and
concentrate on this moment when, all too rarely, he and Tom were in
accord.

Tom wiped the top of the bottle, noted that Renaqu was already
drinking water from her own supplies and offered it to Chakotay, who
took it gratefully.  The two men sat side by side companionably
passing the water bottle back and forth, looking out at the
surrounding mountains. Neither of them spoke.  Chakotay felt a feeling
of peace, of contentment steal over him, which he'd never felt before
in the company of Tom Paris.  He stole a look at Tom, who felt his
gaze on him and smiled, one of his real smiles, which Chakotay
realised, he'd seen all too seldom, and never directed at him, at
least not since their first meeting.

Tom too was surprised by how much he was enjoying Chakotay's company,
especially after their earlier rivalry.  He felt wistful when he
realised that this was the first time they'd been together off duty
without taking pot shots at one another since they'd met.  Without
conscious thought, his hand instinctively traced the part of his neck
that Chakotay had marked.  He still wondered what would have happened
if Seska and Teim hadn't come across them, what it would have been
like to feel Chakotay taking him.  How would his skin taste?  Would
Chakotay whisper to him, hold him tenderly and...  With a start, when
he realised what he was doing, his hand fell to his side.  He told
himself sternly to stop it, he was being stupid.  What was past was
past.  He hastily stored the empty bottle in his backpack and stood up
wordlessly, ready to set off again.

Chakotay felt a brief pang of envy at Tom's comparative youth, but he
too got to his feet, feeling surprisingly good, all things considered,
his body not protesting the punishment it had received anywhere near
as much as he'd thought it would.

They pushed off again, this time with Paris in the lead, not stopping
until they got near to the end, slowing only when they began to
encounter other traffic in the runs back down to the resort.  When
they were near the bottom, one of the two suns was sliding behind the
tops of the surrounding ring of mountains, throwing the landscape into
a type of eerie twilight.  Renaqu called a halt as they reached a
point where run they were on, which led back to the resort encountered
a side turning.

"There's a bar on the mountain where some of us meet at the end of the
day," she said.  "Would you both join me?"

The men exchanged glances.  "We'd like that," Chakotay answered for
both of them.

---

The bar took the form of a mountain side lodge, lit up in the half
twilight.  Music and singing could be heard emanating from the bar,
piercing the otherwise silent landscape.  Skis were stored outside,
protruding from the snow and stacked up in racks near the wall.  As
Renaqu opened the door, a blast of alcohol scented heat hit the three
of them, together with an explosion of sound.  The bar was packed,
people, all Diakans, sat, stood or lounged everywhere, on tables,
chairs, against the wall.  The colours of the Diakans' attire were
riotous, dazzling.  All were singing, a pretty filthy drinking song,
according to the lyrics produced by the universal translator.

Heads turned, looking at the two aliens with interest.  Renaqu started
to push through the crowd, followed by Chakotay and Tom, both of them
towering over the short Diakans.  Eventually, she reached a raised
dais, where a man and a woman were sitting; playing instruments that
looked a little like a guitar and a flute.  Renaqu said something to
them, to which they nodded.  She called for attention, obviously
having borrowed the musicians amplification system.  The room
quietened obediently, the noise dying down to a low hum of
conversation.  She beckoned Tom and Chakotay up onto the dais with
her.  Feeling somewhat self-conscious, already aware of just how
conspicuous he and Chakotay already were, Tom hopped onto the dais,
followed by Chakotay.

"I took these visitors, Chakotay and Tom up the Tsesalet today,"
Renaqu announced, naming the mountain they had skied that day,
indicating which Human was which as she named them.  "And we came
down..." Here she paused dramatically.  "The Tse'ra!"

There was a moment's silence, then cheers broke out.  The Humans
looked at one another in bewilderment, as the barkeeper leapt up onto
the dais, bearing two steaming mugs in his hand.

"Drink, drink, drink!" the crowd chanted.  Tom looked at the mug the
barkeeper thrust on him, shrugged, and drank.  He almost choked as the
fermented brew hit the back of his throat.  The drink tasted a little
like hot brandy, but more mellow.  None the less, he could feel it
burning all the way down.  He felt the heat warm him from the inside,
causing him to pull open his ski suit, shrug out of the jacket, to the
good natured applause of the crowd, indicated by slapping their
thighs, enthusiastically.

Tom bowed, acknowledging the applause, causing Chakotay to shake his
head wryly.  Let no one say that Tom Paris didn't know how to behave
in any social situation.  He took a more cautious sip of his own
drink, divested himself of his jacket as a precaution.

The crowd resumed their chant of "Drink, drink," until Tom drained the
mug, which was taken off him by the bar keeper, who had been talking
with Renaqu, inputting something into a padd he carried with him.  The
crowd cheered him again, then turned their attentions to Chakotay,
chanting, until he, too, emptied the mug, which was taken by the
barkeeper, who disappeared.

Chakotay felt a warm, fuzzy glow envelop him.  He swayed gently;
glancing at Tom, noting that the fairer man's complexion was flushed
and his eyes slightly glazed.  The people in the crowd were now
talking amongst themselves, but their attention was obviously still
centred on the dais.  They looked like they were waiting for
something.  Then the barkeeper pushed his way back to the dais, the
people in his way squeezing back to let him through.  He jumped onto
the dais, raising a hand for silence.  The crowd hushed.

The barkeeper turned to the Humans, holding out an empty tankard in
each hand.  "It's been a long time since off-worlders have dared the
Tse'ra," he said.  "Twenty-three turns, to be precise.  So, in honour
of this occasion, and as mementoes of your experience, as is
traditional, I'd like to present you with these."  He held the
tankards out with a flourish; they'd been engraved with a message in
the Diakan's spidery script.  "Your names have been engraved, together
with: dared the Tse'ra and won.  In the year 1467 of the
Commonwealth," he explained solemnly. He presented them to Chakotay
and Paris, to more applause and cheers, and cries of "Speech!"

Tom looked at Chakotay and shrugged.  He indicated to the older man
that he should step forward, but Chakotay declined, shoving Tom
forward, to a glare from Paris.

"I'm not quite sure what to say, except thank you, for this, um,
honour?" he said, questioningly to Renaqu, who had moved off the dais,
and now stood just in front of it.  "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed.
"Did I just hear that no off-worlder has done that jump for
twenty-three *years*!"  There was general laughter amongst the crowd.

"That's right," someone yelled out from the crowd.  "We've been
waiting a long time for this."

"You didn't tell me it was *that* dangerous!" Tom said accusingly to
Renaqu, to more general laughter.

She shrugged.  "It's only dangerous to those who don't know how to
dare."  She lifted her glass.  "A toast," she offered.  "To Tom and
Chakotay, who ski like Diakans!"

The rest of the bar followed suit, echoing the toast, after which the
musicians struck up a lively tune.  Tom turned to Chakotay.  "I
swear," he said, fervently.  "I had no idea that it was that
dangerous."

Chakotay, who was feeling remarkably mellow, grinned at him.  "Don't
worry about it.  At the end of the day, I'm glad I did it."

"Oh.  Well, so'm I."

"Must be a first," Chakotay remarked, dryly.  "The two of us are in
accord."

"Yeah well, don't get too used to it.  There's no way I'm making it a
habit!"

As Tom spoke, Renaqu stopped in front of the dais, grabbed hold of
their hands, and pulled them onto the ground, saying as she did so:
"It's traditional at this time to dance.  Come on," pulling them
towards the dance floor as she spoke.  The two men laughingly
acquiesced, although Chakotay was protesting half heartedly even as he
moved forward.

---

Several hours later, Chakotay stood outside, watching the heat
streaming off his body in a cloud of steam.  He still felt warm, even
stripped down to his vest, which left his arms bare.  He couldn't
remember the last time he'd danced so hard, or drunk so hard, at least
with a group of strangers.  It seemed that the Diakans were determined
to celebrate that two off-worlders had jumped the Tse'ra, although
Chakotay suspected that they required little excuse for a party. Maybe
it was as a result of their harsh environment, but they seemed
determined to wring every last drop of joy out of life that they
could.  Chakotay tended to approve of this attitude; it struck him as
not dissimilar in some ways to that of his ancestors.  He felt a
little light headed from all the drink, but definitely not drunk.

As he stood there, the door opened, striking him with a blast of sweat
and alcohol scented heat.  A tall silhouette stepped through the door,
limned by the dull light inside.

"Shut the door if you're coming out will you, Tom," Chakotay said,
immediately recognising the familiar shape.  Paris closed the door and
stepped to the side of Chakotay.  He was panting slightly, and in the
light from the three of Diaka's four moons that were visible, Chakotay
could see that he was flushed.  He too was wearing only a vest on his
upper torso, leaving his arms and upper chest bare, revealing a
dusting of golden fuzz.

"Boy, they don't let up, do they?" Paris asked, rhetorically.  "I
don't know about you, but I'm exhausted!"

"Yes, me too," Chakotay admitted.

"But it's been... fun, hasn't it,"

Chakotay stole a glance at Tom, who was gazing out at the night sky, a
small smile on his face.  "Yes, it has," he admitted, quietly.  He
realised that it really had been, at that.  It wasn't just the skiing,
great though that had been, or the thrill of jumping the Tse'ra, but
also he'd actually enjoyed being in the company of Tom Paris.  True,
he'd got under his skin more than once today, as normal, but there'd
also been moments of quiet companionship, something he'd never have
thought before today he'd ever experience with Tom Paris.  And there'd
been laughter too, for once he'd actually enjoyed Tom's banter, but
then, this evening at least, none of it had been aimed at him.

Tom felt Chakotay's gaze on him, and met his eyes.  "Bet you never
thought you'd say that to me," he said, an impudent smile on his lips.

"Oh, I don't know about that.  After all, Tom Paris is known as being
fun to be with."

"Yeah, that's me," Tom agreed, with a cynical, slightly bitter note in
his voice.  "Want a good time, see Paris."

"That's not what I meant!"

Paris shook his head.  "Yes, I know.  I'm sorry."

"I should hope so, you're spoiling the mood."

Tom raised his eyebrows.  "The mood?"

Chakotay gestured expansively.  "The mountains, the fresh air."

"Well, fresh out here anyway," Tom muttered.

Chakotay laughed.  "I'm glad that we had this time together, hope
it'll improve our relationship."

Tom choked.  "I wasn't aware we had one."

Chakotay glared at him.  "Our working relationship," he said
pointedly.

"Oh, of course, our *working* relationship.  I should have known.
Jeez, Chakotay, do you always have to be so...so predictable!"

"And what's *that* supposed to mean?!"  Chakotay said, annoyed.

"You're so predictable, you know that.  Always the First Officer,
concerned about crew relations above all else, huh!  Even when you
have a little fun, you have to turn it into...into some sort of crew
training exercise!  Don't you ever just cut loose!"  Tom stopped his
tirade, aware that a look almost of hurt, swiftly transmuting into
anger was visible on Chakotay's face.  "I'm sorry," he said, more
quietly.  "I, um, sometimes I talk too much, I know that."

"Is that really what you think?" Chakotay asked.  "That I'm some kind
of humourless automaton who's incapable of enjoying himself?"

"Shit, no, not at all," Tom said, hastily.  "No, I know that you've
got a lot on your shoulders, with being First Officer and all.  It's
just that sometimes..." he hesitated.

"What?"

"Well, you could maybe lighten up a little, try to forget that you've
got all these responsibilities and just enjoy yourself.  I'm probably
the wrong person to be saying this, given that I'm not exactly Mr.
Responsible, but you know, given that we're stranded here in the Delta
Quadrant, I figure we should grab what opportunities we can."

Chakotay's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "I wasn't aware that I wasn't
'lightening up' as you put it.  Spirits, you make me sound like
Tuvok!"

"God forbid!  You're not as bad as that."

"Just that I lack spontaneity?"  Chakotay took a step towards him,
scowling.

Tom squirmed uncomfortably.  "Well, not that exactly."

"But I'm predictable?"  Another step.  Tom's eyes widened as he
involuntarily took a step backwards.  Uh oh, was Chakotay going to
deck him?

"Um..."  Closer yet.  Another step back.

"Boring?  Stuck in a routine?"  And closer.  Two steps back.

"Well, no, not exactly," Tom said, beginning to babble as his back hit
the wall.  "It's just that you could be a little bit more..."

"Shut up, Tom," Chakotay said, for the second time that day, grabbing
the younger man and... kissing him.  For a moment Tom was frozen in
astonishment, whatever he'd expected Chakotay to do it wasn't *this*.
Then the heat and urgency of the kiss hit him; he parted his lips at
Chakotay's wordless urging, allowing the other man access within.

Chakotay, for his part, was initially conscious only of a vast feeling
of satisfaction.  Boring, was he?  Predictable was he?  He'd show him!
Then he too, became caught up in the kiss; feelings sublimated for
five long years rising up to claim him.  It was even sweeter than he
remembered, kissing Tom Paris.  He felt a rising tide of arousal
consume him, sliding his hands down to cup the younger man's ass,
pulling him closer to him, pressing him to his groin, letting him feel
his erection.

He broke the kiss, panting, staring into eyes of dilated blue.  He ran
a finger along Tom's moist lower lip, slightly swollen from the force
of the kiss.  "So..." he began to say, stopped, caught his breath.
"So," he started again.  "Unpredictable enough for you?"

"I...uh, yeah," the other man said, still bewildered by this turn of
events.

"Good," Chakotay said, huskily, running his finger along the line of
one of Tom's high cheekbones.  Great Spirit, he was so beautiful.  He
kissed him again, passionately, deeply, possessively, rejoicing in
Tom's response, knowing that the younger man was as affected by this
feeling, this passion between them as he.  Why had he waited so long,
let his anger carry him for all this time, when he could have
experienced this sweetness before now?

This time, Tom was the one who broke the kiss, taking a moment to
catch his breath, saying: "But, I... don't understand."

"What don't you understand, Tom?" Chakotay asked, reaching up to cup
his face gently in his hands.

"Why you're doing this."  Chakotay touched his lips gently to Tom's as
he spoke.

"It isn't obvious?" Chakotay whispered, against Tom's mouth.

"I thought at first that you kissed me only to...to prove a point.  I
mean you hate me.  Don't you?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Does this look like hatred, feel like hatred?"

"Nooo.  But..."

"I don't hate you, Tom.  I've never hated you.  I've disliked you,
been annoyed by you, but I never hated you.  Just like I've never
stopped wanting you.  Surely you knew that?"

"I didn't.  But, I do now."

Chakotay kissed him again, but stopped, when he felt Tom's hesitant
response.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Tom initially said nothing.  Part of him wanted nothing more than to
lose himself in Chakotay's arms, his kisses, but the hard won
experience of that past few years dictated caution.  He pulled away
slightly, in response to which Chakotay released him from his embrace,
leaving Tom feeling suddenly bereft, which was ridiculous, when you
considered that he'd only been there for a few minutes.  Wasn't it?

"What is it?" Chakotay asked again, quietly, awaiting Tom's response
with far more trepidation that he'd like to admit.  He couldn't quite
understand just why what Tom said next mattered so much to him; he'd
only kissed the guy after all.  If Tom wanted to leave it at that, it
was no big deal.  Except that it was, he realised suddenly.  He wanted
Tom, not just to fuck him, although he definitely wanted that, but
also to experience again the fun, the joy, the companionship he'd
enjoyed today, with Tom.  He wanted to get to know him, properly, find
out his innermost thoughts, his hopes, his fears.  He'd kissed Tom
initially to make a point, but that didn't make his feelings any less
real.  He'd thought maybe he'd imagined it; that his memories of the
time he'd met Tom five years ago were playing him false.  But they
weren't.  Kissing Tom was like nothing else he'd experienced, that
sense of connection he thought he'd felt was real.

"Um, I guess I'm still a little confused," Tom admitted, running a
hand distractedly through his hair.  "I mean, just this morning you
really weren't too keen on even spending some time in my company, but
now..."

"And you were?  Keen to spend time with me, that is?" Chakotay
interrupted.

"Well, no.  See, that's what I mean, we go from... from sniping at one
another to making out!"

Chakotay shrugged.  "Ever hear of opposites attract, that kind of
thing?"

"Yes, of course, but... I don't think they usually don't get along for
five years and suddenly..."

"When we first met, what did you think?" Chakotay interrupted, again.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, warily.

"You told me you were trying to hustle me.  Were you really?"

Tom blushed, deeply.  "I...er..."

"Were you?" Chakotay insisted.

"No," Tom mumbled.  "Not really."

"What's that mean, not really?"

"I thought about it, OK!" Tom snapped.  "But when you... when you..."

"Kissed you?"

"No, before that.  When we were talking, you know, I decided then that
I wasn't going to, um, do it for money, but because..." His voice
trailed off into silence.

"Because you wanted to?" Chakotay prompted gently.

Tom bit his lip.  "Yeah."

"So when we first met, I wanted you, you wanted me.  And it looks like
we still do."

"Maybe so.  But I don't want to do that whole casual thing any more
y'know."

Chakotay looked at him intently; the moonlight shone silver on Tom's
face, bleaching it of colour, throwing shadows under his cheekbones.
Tom's expression was almost painfully earnest.  "Who says this is
casual?" he said quietly.

Tom looked dumbfounded.  "But you...I mean...you can't..."

"What?"

"After a couple of kisses, you're making out like you want to make a
lifetime commitment.  To me!  That's just...just ridiculous!"

"I think it's a little soon to be talking of lifetime commitments,"
Chakotay said, dryly.  "But, you must know me well enough by now to
know that I don't go in for casual encounters."

"Well, yeah.  That's why..." Tom realised what he was about to say,
and clamped his lips shut.

"That's why I can't possibly want to be with you?  Is that it?"

Tom blushed again, painfully, visible even in the moonlight.  "Yeah,"
he said, almost inaudibly.

"But I do.  I may be stubborn, it may have taken me all this time to
realise it, but I do.  We had fun together today, I'm pretty certain
that we'll be good together in bed..." Chakotay watched, delighted, as
Tom looked away in embarrassment.  Who'd have guessed Mr hotshot,
flirtatious Tom Paris would be so easily embarrassed?  When he wasn't
trying to be obnoxious, he blushed so easily, and he looked so pretty
when doing it as well.  Chakotay made a silent vow to try and
embarrass Tom as much as possible in future, then sobered abruptly.
Assuming there was a future, that is.  "I think we could maybe have
something together," he said.  "I'd like to find out."

Tom looked back at him, remaining silent for a while, his mind awhirl.
The way the older man was looking at him, it was... it was...well, he
didn't know what it was, a mixture of anticipation, tenderness and
lust maybe.  All he knew was that that expression on Chakotay's face,
it made his stomach clench, and his throat ache.  He didn't think
anyone had ever looked at him like that, and it scared him, but he
wanted to see it again, and again.  This was all too confusing.  OK,
he'd never stopped wanting Chakotay, but he'd known that the other man
didn't, couldn't possibly, reciprocate his feelings.  That had been
one of the reasons Tom had so delighted in needling him, getting under
his skin.  But now, it seemed that he'd been wrong, that Chakotay
wanted him after all.  And not just casually either, as so many people
had wanted him, for his face, his body, in times past for his name,
his Starfleet connections. But could he risk it, dare he risk it, open
himself up, and risk getting hurt?

He knew that Chakotay was an honourable man, didn't say things he
didn't mean.  But what would happen when he really got to know him,
the real him, the person hidden within, the man only those closest to
him got even glimpses of.  Harry, B'Elanna, the Captain, Neelix on
occasion. Dare he add Chakotay to that list?  And not just as a
friend, but a lover.  God knows, he wanted Chakotay, always had, but
once the novelty of fucking him wore off, once Chakotay inevitably got
bored, what then? But could he live with himself, if he didn't take
the risk, knowing that his own cowardice had prevented him from
experiencing something wonderful, if only for a little while?  He felt
as if he stood on the edge of a precipice, one far deeper than the
couloir into which he'd jumped today.  If he took Chakotay up on his
invitation, everything could change, hopefully for the better, but,
ultimately, it could end up being for the worst.  Oh God, what should
he do?

He tried to maintain his careful mask while he was thinking, unaware
that flashes of his emotions crossed his face.  But Chakotay watched,
fascinated by the younger man's inner struggle.  He saw that Tom had
finally reached some sort of decision, and drew on his reserve of
inner calm, so hard won by his meditation sessions.  He found that his
heart was beating quickly, heavily as he waited to hear what Tom had
to say. He wasn't quite sure why it suddenly mattered so to him, but
it did, it did.

Tom gathered his courage in both hands... and jumped.  "I'd like
that," he said.

Chakotay let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.
"Good," he said, simply.

Tom smiled at him, making Chakotay's heart flip absurdly.  He felt
like he'd sell his soul for another of those smiles.  This time, Tom
initiated the kiss, with touching gentleness.  Spirits, Chakotay
thought, this was sweet, so sweet.  Tom put his whole self into his
kisses, holding nothing back.  He deepened the kiss, sliding his arms
round the older man, fingers curling in the crisp hair at the nape of
his neck.  He released Chakotay's lips, kissing his ear, then down his
cheek, nibbling lightly at his neck, then licking along his collar
bone, shoving the strap of the vest top impatiently out of the way. He
worked his way down the flesh bared by his action, pressing kisses and
tiny nibbles on the bronze flesh.  Chakotay found himself spellbound
by the magic the younger man was working on his body.  He moaned as
Tom's lips fastened on a nipple, sucking gently.  Suddenly, Tom bit at
the nipple. Chakotay felt a jolt of erotic pain, which went straight
to his cock, increasing his arousal.  The younger man then laved at
the bite with his tongue, sending tremors of excitement coursing
through Chakotay's body. He was panting by now, unable to control his
breathing.  This was even better than he remembered it from five years
ago.  He was tempted to beg Tom to take him, here, right now, but,
stirring dimly at the back of his mind was the conviction that this
would be the wrong thing to do, at this stage in their relationship. 
He knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself for much longer,
groaned as he felt Tom's hand grasp his erection, through the material
of his trousers, and slide slowly up and down the shaft.

Tom, uh, Tom," he moaned.  The younger man ignored him, not ceasing
his attentions in the slightest.  "I think...uh...please.  I think
that we...ought to..."

Tom smothered his words with a kiss, kissing him passionately.  Great
Spirit!  This was so good, but he had to... he really had to stop this
now.  Chakotay drew on every particle of self-control he possessed,
and, reluctantly, broke the kiss, releasing Tom, drawing back from
him, to stand apart, panting.

Tom stared at him, bewildered by the sudden cessation.  Didn't
Chakotay want him after all?  Because if Chakotay didn't want to have
sex with him, what else had he to offer?  Maybe...maybe Chakotay had
come to his senses, realised that he really didn't want to be with Tom
Paris after all.  He felt a lump rise in his throat, as he fought to
speak, to not give away his feelings.  "What it is?" he asked. "What's
wrong?  Why'd you stop?  I thought...I thought you wanted me."

Despite Tom's best efforts, he was unable to keep the hurt he was
feeling from showing in his demeanour, his voice.  Chakotay stared at
him; Tom looked so vulnerable now.  For the first time, he felt that
he was finally seeing the real Tom, the person hidden beneath the
layers of attitude, the carefully cultivated persona.  This was
someone who looked as if he could be all too easily hurt, a sensitive
soul, belied by the outwardly cocky exterior.

"I do, oh I do," he said fervently.

Tom heard the note of sincerity in his voice and frowned, puzzled. "So
you do want to... to..."

"Make love to you?"  Tom blushed, at Chakotay's use of the word love.
"Definitely.  Make no mistake Tom, I want you."  He looked at him
hungrily.  "But, I think maybe we ought not to rush things, get to
know one another a bit first, as friends this time, rather than as
sniping partners, or colleagues.  This is important to me Tom,
*you're* important to me, you must believe that.  But, we've been at
loggerheads for so long, that I think we just need to take it slowly.
This matters too much to screw things up now.  Do we have a deal?"

Tom stared at him for a long moment, trying to subdue his arousal
enough to think coherently.  He believed Chakotay meant what he said,
he realised.  He should have known that Chakotay wouldn't have told
him earlier anything he didn't mean, wouldn't change his mind, just
like that.  The older man was totally sincere in what he'd just said,
he believed that implicitly.  And really, what Chakotay was saying was
in accordance with his, Tom's, earlier comments about no longer
entering into things in a casual manner.  So, as much as his body was
clamouring at him for immediate gratification, for sex, now, with
Chakotay, this relationship was too important to him also, to rush
matters.  He nodded, slowly, reluctantly.  "Deal."

Chakotay held out his hand to Tom, who took it.  "Then let's go
inside, rejoin the party."  He shivered suddenly, aware, as his body
cooled, of just how cold it was here outside the lodge.  "I don't know
about you, but I'm freezing!" he said.

"In a moment," Tom said, pulling Chakotay to him, trapping him in his
embrace, and kissing him again for a long moment.  When he finally
broke the kiss, he grinned at him.  "You look all warmed up to me,
Commander," he said impudently, eyes sparkling.

Chakotay shook his head, amused by the younger man's mercurial change
in mood.  Looked like the smart-ass was back, but this time, he was
actually enjoying seeing his reappearance.  "Maybe, but I could do
with a drink anyway, all that kissing is thirsty work."

"So, there's conclusive proof.  You think kissing me is hard work!"

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up!" said for the third time that day.

Tom saluted.  "Aye aye, sir!"

Chakotay took his hand again, opened the door to the bar.  "Tom?"

"Mmm?"

"Five years to the day, huh?"

"Yep."

"Happy anniversary!"

---

The End