The BLTS Archive-No Strings: Ending One
by monkee (wiecek@earthlink.net)

---

Author's Note: Part One will be posted in 2 sections, then there are
two different endings to choose from, one is J/P and one is J/C.

Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and all of its
characters.

---

From her seat in an isolated booth at the far side of the bar, Kathryn
Janeway could see just about everyone in Sandrines, yet very few of
them had noticed her. It was her favorite booth. She liked to be
amongst her crew, but didn't want to hamper their good time with too
much of a command presence.  From this vantagepoint she could see
B'Elanna Torres, Harry Kim, Ayala and Rebecca Williamson talking and
laughing at a table on the other side of the room. She could also see
Chakotay, sitting alone at a small table, looking pensive and
unapproachable. She sighed. They needed to have a talk. Again. But she
just couldn't face it tonight. It got more and more difficult every
time.

She heard a slight commotion at the door and looked over. Tom Paris
had just entered and was being greeted by several crewmembers and
Sandrine. Janeway smiled to herself -- Paris had a way of brightening
a room. She expected him to head over to B'Elanna's table when she
suddenly remembered overhearing that they had broken up. She hadn't
believed it at the time, but now she watched as Paris glanced over
towards the table, then looked away. He made his way over to the bar
and sat down, alone.

She turned her attention back to B'Elanna's table. She and Harry, at
least, had obviously seen Paris come in.  The laughter had stopped and
now everyone looked vaguely uncomfortable. She felt a pang of sympathy
for Harry. Tom and B'Elanna were his best friends -- he must feel very
much in the middle. As Captain, she was grateful that they were still
being civil and professional to each other while on duty, but she felt
badly for them personally. The tension that stretched between them in
the crowded room was palpable.

It suddenly occurred to her that there was something that she might do
to help. If Paris had someone to talk to, everyone might feel a little
bit more comfortable. Besides, it was ludicrous for her, Chakotay and
Paris to all be sitting alone and morose. There was nothing she could
do about Chakotay right now, but there was a perfectly good pool table
that wasn't being used at the moment. She stood up resolutely, walked
over to the bar and slid onto the stool next to Paris.

"Captain," he said, looking pleasantly surprised to see her. "I didn't
know you were here."

"Hi," she said, returning his smile. Sandrine put a synthale in front
of him and raised her eyebrows at Janeway, asking if she wanted one as
well. She did. "You know," she told Paris, gesturing towards the pool
table with her chin, "We haven't played pool in years."

He stood up. "Actually," he said, "YOU haven't played pool in years.
I, on the other hand, have been quietly honing my game. I think I can
take you now, Captain."

She laughed at his audacity.  "We'll see," she said with a grin.

---

He HAD been honing his game. He won the first one handily, so of
course she challenged him to another -- after all, she did have her
pride. She glanced around the room - this had been the perfect
diversion for everyone. The people at B'Elanna's table had resumed
their conversation and she and Tom were enjoying an exchange of banter
about pool and holoprograms. They teased each other a little bit about
Chaotica's 'Army of Evil'. After a while, even Chakotay seemed to
lighten up a bit, smiling and raising his glass to salute her when she
won the second game.

She was enjoying herself, and Tom seemed to be as well, so they
continued playing. He beat her once more, but then her shots began
falling easier -- it was all coming back to her. Sandrine bustled by
every so often, replenishing their drinks. She loved Synthale. It
offered the same benefits as alcohol -- relaxation and a general
feeling of good will -- without the actual intoxication and loss of
control. She knew that if a crisis were to arise, she would be able to
snap into command mode instantly, and that comforting thought just
added to her enjoyment. So she lost track of exactly how many they'd
had -- she just knew that for the first time in ages she was genuinely
happy and relaxed. She could tell that Tom was, too. They'd always had
an easy rapport, despite a few setbacks along the way.

It had already been late when they started playing, and after a few
games, she noticed that the room was beginning to empty. B'Elanna and
her group slipped out at some point -- she hadn't seen them leave, and
didn't think Tom had either. Chakotay was the last to leave, saying
goodnight with a wave.

She sank the eight ball, again, and they both sat down, tacitly
agreeing to take a break. Sandrine brought them each another Synthale,
and they sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Without the
distraction of the game and the other people, Tom started to look a
bit pensive again, and she figured that she could at least lend an
ear. Nodding toward the table where B'Elanna had been sitting, she
asked, "Want to talk about it?"

She fully expected him to decline, and was surprised when he looked
down at the table uncomfortably, and said quietly, "I'd like to talk
about it, but there's no one...I mean, Harry is my best friend, but I
don't want to put him in the middle." He looked up at her then, as if
gauging her sincerity, then asked "Are you sure you want to hear about
it?"

She put her drink down and moved forward, folding her arms on the
table. She caught his eye and said, "Of course."

He sat back in his chair, thinking for a few moments, then he began,
"Do you remember last year, when we got the letters from home through
the array?"

She nodded. Not likely that she'd forget THAT.

"B'Elanna was uploading them. One started to come through from my
father, but then we lost the array, and she told me she hadn't been
able to retrieve the message."

"I didn't know that, Tom," she said, surprised. "I'm sorry to hear
that. I so wish everyone had gotten at least something..."

"The thing is, the message DID come through. She deleted it," he said,
tersely.

"Deleted it," she said slowly, "by accident, I assume."

"No. She deleted it intentionally. And permanently. I can't recover
it, and I've tried." His jaw clenched and he fingered his synthale,
tracing patterns in the condensed moisture on the glass.

"Why would she do that?" she asked, absolutely stunned.

"Let me think," he said bitterly. "What did she say? She 'didn't care
for its tone'. She said that he spent most of the letter lecturing me
about not screwing up. Again. So she decided that I shouldn't see it."

She sat in silence, unable to think of a thing to say. What B'Elanna
had done was outrageous, but she was also wishing she could get her
hands around a certain Admiral's neck right now...

"And I would never have found out. She never planned on telling me.
She just slipped up one night, and it came out," he continued, anger
evident in his voice now. "I spent the entire last year trying to
imagine what that letter said, and now I find out that I could have
seen it for myself. She should have known," his voice cracked a
little, "how important that would have been for me. No matter what it
said."

She sat for a long minute trying to order her thoughts. Then she
ventured, "You're right, she should have, Tom. But I think you have to
look at her intentions. She may have been misguided, but she was
trying, in her own way, to protect you"

"Well, I don't need that kind of protection," he snapped. "And..."

She touched his arm to interrupt him. "I know, Tom. But she thought it
would hurt you and she didn't want that to happen. I can understand
the impulse to want to protect you, even if she was wrong."

He sighed, his anger burned out. "I guess so," he acknowledged. "But
anyway it's irrelevant now, because once we started arguing about it,
we said a few too many things that just can't be taken back."

"I'm really sorry about that," she told him, with a small sympathetic
smile. "I really thought that the two of you could make it work."

"Yeah, well...not anymore," he said, downing more of his drink.

She studied him intently, and bit her lip. He'd wanted to tell her
about B'Elanna, but she was sure the next topic that she wanted to
bring up was even more sensitive. She took a deep breath and began.

"Tom, about your father..."

"NO," he said, immediately.

"No?" she asked, somewhat taken aback. She hadn't expected him to
interrupt her quite so soon.

"Look," he said, "I know you and my father were kind of close, and
I...I really am not in the mood right now to hear about how much he
loved me..."

"Oh, he does love you," she said and held up her hand to ward off his
rebuttal, "and don't tell me how it's all just a big act, because I
know your father in a different way than you do, and I know he loves
you. But this was not my point."

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but hadn't expected that, so he
fell silent. She took the pause as his permission for her to go on.
She gathered her thoughts for a moment.

"I'm...disappointed in your father. I can't imagine why he would send
that kind of a message to you under the circumstances. I don't know
what he could have been thinking. I won't pretend to understand the
chasm between the two of you, but I know one thing. I KNOW that when
we get back, he's going to take one look at you, and he's going to
realize the kind of man you've become. Because I don't know how anyone
could look at you and...not see it. You're...an extraordinary person."

He looked down at the table, blinking hard. He took a breath, but
didn't say anything right away. He seemed to be struggling to maintain
control, and she thought it was sweet. Finally, he looked up into her
eyes and said, "Thank you. You...that means a lot to me."

She reached across the table, and took his hand. They looked at each
other in silence, then she squeezed his fingers and added, with a
smile "And if he doesn't see it, then I'm sure SOMEONE will point it
out to him. But I know I won't have to. He'll see it on his own."

He put down his drink and took her hand with both of his, lost in
thought. She smiled when he bit his lip - it was his turn to carefully
consider his next words. "I'm...glad that you still feel that way
about me. After my...demotion, I was afraid I'd lost your respect, and
that bothered me more than losing my rank."

"Oh," she said, "Well, we've talked about that. That was...we both did
what we felt we had to. Actually, that's just another example of what
I mean. You were standing up for something you believed in..."

"However misguided my reasoning might have been, right?" he
interrupted, with a grin.

She smiled. "Now, I didn't say that," she pointed out, then continued,
"You did what you felt you had to, but then you faced the consequences
-- you saw it through. You accepted what I had to do. I respect that,
and I hope that you understand..."

"I do, I..."

"Cherie," Sandrine had come up behind Tom and put her hands on his
shoulders. She spoke softly, but Kathryn could still hear her. "I'm
going to close up, now. Lock up when you leave, eh?"

"Oh," Paris said, surprised. "Um...well, sure."

Sandrine headed back into the kitchen, where Kathryn assumed she would
deactivate. Mystified, she looked over at Paris and found him looking
a little embarrassed -- perhaps even blushing.

"You've programmed them to deactivate at a certain time?" she asked.

"Well...n-not exactly. I programmed them to deactivate when I'm in
here alone with a...woman that I seem...interested in." He nodded
towards their hands, still entwined, "She must have thought that..."

"Oh." She pulled her hands back automatically. "Well..."

He shook his head, laughing sheepishly. She had to smile too, at the
awkwardness of the moment. The very notion that Sandrine thought she
might be some conquest of Tom's, well, it WAS funny.

"So," Tom said, broadly, in an effort to change the subject.

"So," she replied. They were both still smiling.

"Why don't we talk about...your love life?" he asked, looking askance
at her to gauge her response.

She laughed. Only Paris would have the nerve to say something like
that to her.

"Well," she said, lightly, playing along, "there's certainly not much
to talk about there."

He leaned his elbows on the table and looked at her. "Well, then,
let's talk about Chakotay."

Oh. He was serious about this. She considered him carefully. She knew
that he would drop the subject if she asked him to. But it would be
nice to be able to confide in someone. Normally, she wouldn't even
think about having this kind of conversation with a member of her
crew, but Tom Paris was...different. He was a Fleet brat and his
father was an admiral and he understood, all too well, that commanding
officers were only human. He was looking at her intently, offering his
friendship, and she decided to take the risk.

He must have seen a subtle change in her expression, because he spoke
first. "You know," he said, gently, "last week -- I don't think that
he and the Ambassador were actually...um...involved."

"Oh," she sighed, "I don't think so either. But that's just it. He may
have been reluctant to get involved with her simply because we were
leaving and she was staying and...well, I think Chakotay wants
something a little more permanent."

"Yeah," Tom agreed, "one night stands wouldn't seem to be his style."

"So," she said, "that may have been it, but somehow -- I think there
was more to it. I could see it in his eyes -- he was reluctant
to...move on. And I really wish that he would. He and I...we can't do
this."

"Why not?" Tom asked. He didn't say it accusingly -- he just seemed
genuinely curious. She was surprised by the wave of gratitude and
relief that washed over her -- she hadn't realized how badly she
wanted the opportunity to explain this, out loud, to someone willing
to listen.

"Chakotay and I," she began, after a moment, "have an absolutely
perfect professional relationship. If Starfleet could have handpicked
a perfect first officer for me, Chakotay would have been the wise
choice. We balance each other out. He's sensitive and philosophical,
and I'm decisive and action-oriented. And he's not afraid to tell me
when I'm wrong. We worked really hard to forge this relationship and
I'm afraid that it would become... unbalanced...if we were to get
romantically involved. Especially as...intense...as I think it would
be." She sighed, "It's just an all around bad idea."

He was nodding slowly as she spoke, then he rubbed his chin
thoughtfully and focused on her face, "I guess...but we're a long way
from home. Aren't you lonely?"

She inhaled, and shut her eyes, surprised at the tears that were
forming. She didn't like to think of herself in those terms, but
hearing the word out loud...Lonely.  She looked at him again, and saw
friendship and compassion in his eyes. "Yeah," she admitted, quietly,
"I am, but..." She shrugged.

Automatically, he reached across the table again and took her hand,
giving it a friendly squeeze. "I'm still not sure why you feel that
you can't get involved with anyone. I can tell you, the crew wouldn't
think any less of you," he said.

With the hand that he wasn't holding, she brushed a tear that was
threatening to fall away from her eye. "Oh," she said, "it's not that
I don't think that I can get involved, it's that I don't think I can
get involved with him."

"Anyone else?" he asked, after a brief hesitation.

"Well, on the ship it's...difficult. And off the ship, well, I guess I
haven't been attracted to anyone, really." She laughed bitterly and
shook her head. "Listen to me," she said, impatiently, "I must sound
pathetic. It's all right, really. I mean, it's not something that I
obsess over all the time or anything. My life is pretty...full...right
now. It's not like I even have the time."

He looked at her skeptically, resting his chin on his hand. He rubbed
his chin again, then said, "You're so determined about everything
else. I still think that if you worked at it, you could find a
balance, either with Chakotay, or...someone else. And, you know, you
deserve...well, you should try."

She looked down -- she couldn't think of anything else to say. Her
glance fell on their hands. He was rubbing her fingers with his thumb
absently -- probably didn't even realize that he was doing it. She was
touched. And she felt relieved -- it had been cathartic to talk to
someone like this.  A genuine heart-to-heart conversation: she
couldn't remember the last time she'd had one. She couldn't talk about
her feelings with Tuvok, because he just didn't understand, and with
Chakotay...well, there was always a line that they couldn't cross.

But she sensed that this conversation had run it's course, and it was
late and they probably ought to turn in, but she just didn't want the
night to end just yet.

"Are you tired?" she asked.

"No. Do you want to shoot some more?"

She smiled, glad that he didn't want the evening to end yet, either.

---

They played several close games -- she'd fully recovered her form, and
he was playing well also. Their earlier conversation had been intense
and personal, so now they moved to lighter topics. He regaled her with
joke after joke, some of them a bit off-color, and some of them just
plain bad. At some point, he retrieved a couple of bottles of synthale
from behind the bar.

She could not remember the last time she'd been so happy. Everything
seemed vivid and sharp: the satisfying click of the pool balls, the
smooth taste of the ale, the cold moisture on the bottles...And Tom
was smiling and laughing and seemed genuinely relaxed -- much better
than he'd looked a few hours ago. And she felt like the weight of the
world had been lifted from her shoulders, just for a while. It was
wonderful.

She attempted a complicated bank shot, but narrowly missed it. "Now
you're just showing off," he accused, laughing.

"It almost worked," she insisted.

He picked up his cue and began edging past her. He touched her arm as
he went by and she happened to look up and straight into her eyes,
just as he looked directly into hers. They both froze, and maybe it
was the easy companionship that they'd been sharing, or maybe it was
Sandrine's earlier comment, but she felt a sudden, and very strong,
sexual attraction crackling between them. His smile faded and she
inhaled sharply. She found herself shaking her head...no...and
realized that they'd just gone past the point where they could ignore
whatever was happening. He reached for her face -- his hand hesitating
for just an instant before he touched her cheek. They both stiffened
at the contact, but he didn't move his hand, and she couldn't back
away, even if she'd wanted to. He had her backed up against the pool
table -- a fact that she was suddenly acutely aware of.

If this had been the first year of the journey, she'd have assumed
that he had manipulated the situation, but now - she knew that he
hadn't. He looked just as stunned as she felt.

"I...I don't know what..." he stammered, stepping closer to her,
slowly, as if he were being pulled against his will. He lowered his
head so that their foreheads were nearly touching, and brushed her lip
with his index finger.

"We can't do this," she whispered, but closed her eyes at the
sensation of his caress. He leaned his cue against the table and
lifted his other hand to her face. She was touched by his restraint --
he was trembling but he was not pressing himself into her. And she
knew this, because part of her wished that he would. He lifted her
chin and she opened her eyes. When he was sure he had her attention,
he said, quietly, "No strings."

The offer, combined with the naked desire on his face took her breath
away. His solid presence in front of her was making her dizzy: his
scent, his breath on her face, his touch, and the way his eyes had
gone dark. Her traitorous body was responding in spades, too, and she
couldn't remember exactly when she had put her hands on his chest. She
couldn't deny how badly she suddenly wanted this. "Oh God," she
whispered, desperately, "We shouldn't do this..."

He moved closer to her, brought his lips within centimeters of hers,
and said, "Captain..."

She shut her eyes again, but it didn't help. "Please," she said, and
he froze, not willing to push her. She was going to say, firmly, 'We
aren't going to do this,' but she didn't. Instead, she heard herself
say, "Don't call me that..."

This time, it was his eyes that closed. His lips, which were still
hovering near hers, now moved down close to her neck. He groaned
softly, then said, "I can't call you Kathryn, that's what he calls
you."

She almost laughed at the absurdity of their debate, but then his lips
grazed her neck and she gasped out, "Kath, then."

"Kath," he whispered, intensely. "Okay." He kissed down her neck and
she tilted her head back to give him access. He reached the hollow of
her throat and kissed her there as his arms moved down her arms and
around her waist. He pulled her closer to him, now, finally pressing
himself against her. She moaned. "Kath," he said, again.

As she began unfastening his uniform tunic, she called out, "Computer,
secure holodeck, level one - emergency override only. Authorization
Janeway omega five eight."

As the computer acknowledged the command, they both lost whatever
tenuous control they had left. She grabbed a fistful of his tunic and
pulled him towards her, kissing him hard. He ground his erection
against her pelvis, planting her more firmly against the pool table.
He managed a muffled "Oh," when she opened his mouth with her tongue
and began tugging his tunic over his shoulders. They pulled apart,
briefly, eyes glazed, and the pool cue clattered to the floor as he
yanked her tunic off as well. They peeled each other's turtlenecks off
swiftly and kissed again, passionately, their tongues exploring. She
ran her hands all over his chest and his back. God, it felt so good to
touch someone like this again. He unfastened her bra, and cupped her
breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples. She held his head when
he moved down and took each one in turn into his mouth, his tongue
swirling around the centers. Her hands moved down to eagerly unfasten
his pants, but that was as far as she got before he bent down and
moved out of her range. Kissing her stomach, he pulled her pants and
underpants together over her hips and down her legs. She kicked off
her boots and stepped out of her uniform. He stood and, putting his
hands around her waist, lifted her easily up to the edge of the pool
table. Quickly, he knelt between her legs. She heard a chair scraping
on the floor as he kicked it out of the way.

When she felt the first flick of his tongue, she moaned, loudly, the
sound reverberating in the empty bar. He pulled her legs over his
shoulders and she writhed against his mouth. It had been so damned
long and she was so sensitive and what he was doing felt incredible.
He moved his mouth over her, licking and biting, and she was so
close...so close. "Oh, God," she cried out, clutching at his hair,
holding him against her. But he pulled away abruptly, stood up again
and kissed her hard. She could taste herself on his lips. He lay her
gently back on the pool table, then slowly pressed his finger inside
her. "Tom!" His name exploded from her mouth. He pushed another finger
inside her, and just before her eyes closed, she saw him -- he was
watching her, watching her respond to his touch, and his rapt
expression made her even more aroused. Her back arched and her head
bent back as he began moving his fingers slowly and deliberately
inside her, pressing in as deeply as he could, his thumb circling
skillfully on the surface. The moans coming up from her throat were
decidedly undignified, but she trusted him and knew they were both
past caring about appearances. She cried out as she came, hard and
fast. She heard him groan in response and then quickly pull his pants
down.

He lifted her hips and scooted her further back on the table, then
climbed up after her. She was trembling and still breathing hard from
her climax. "Kath," he said, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look
into his eyes. He kissed her, more gently this time. "I want you," he
told her, pressing her legs apart with his knees. He gasped as she
reached down and grasped his cock, guiding him towards her. "Oh
God...I want you, too," she told him.

He braced his hands along side her head and pushed, agonizingly slow,
into her. She knew he was trying to be gentle, since it had been so
long, but she was more than ready and when he realized it, he moaned
and forcefully thrust in the rest of the way, filling her completely.
They lay together, still for a moment, and she didn't know if both of
them were shaking, or if it was just her. She realized that she was
crying, too. Amazing, in retrospect, that she had denied herself this
basic human pleasure for so long. He began to thrust, slowly and
deeply, and she moaned and reached for him, holding hi m close to her,
wrapping her arms around his neck.

Whenever she'd allowed herself to indulge in fantasy, it had always
been Chakotay. Yet it didn't seem strange at all to see the blond head
moving above her instead of the dark one. It felt natural, somehow, to
see the passion washing over Tom's features. It was clearly a simple
culmination to the connectedness that had developed between them over
the years, and then, again, during the course of the evening. His name
spilled easily from her lips as he began pounding into her harder, and
then she stopped thinking completely -- forced to concentrate
completely on the pleasure that he was relentlessly giving her.

She could feel herself building towards another powerful climax and
his movements were getting erratic. He moved his hands to her shins
and pushed her knees up to her hips and started slamming into her,
shouting her name. "Oh, GOD...Tom," she moaned, grasping desperately
for the edge of the table to give herself some leverage. Instead, her
hand closed onto one of the pool balls, and she clenched it and just
let him ride her with abandon. The table was shaking and she knew the
felt covering was burning the skin on her back, but she just didn't
care. He yelled, "KATH," and jerked suddenly and she felt him spurting
and pulsing inside her, just before she came herself, throwing her
head back, arching her back and sobbing out his name, too.

He collapsed on top of her, and he kissed her neck and she nipped his
ear and they lay together, panting hard. She could feel his heart rate
slowing against her chest, and he stroked her hair. Eventually, their
breathing slowed -- he continued playing with her hair, and she softly
ran her fingers down his back. She heard him snort with amusement, and
then he spoke, his voice muffled against her neck, "Well, if you
thought things were bad before, now you're lying on a pool table
underneath Tom Paris."

She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. She had to admit to
herself -- that thought had crossed her mind. But she also had to
admit to herself, in all honesty, that she wasn't really sorry. He
lifted himself up onto his elbows and smiled at her, visibly relieved.

He sighed and said, "I was afraid that you might have been thinking
that I'm a complete pig. I just wanted to...I don't know. We're both
lonely and we were having such a good time and I just wanted to...give
you something. Give us both something...Damn. I'm not being very
articulate."

She brushed a stray lock of hair off of his forehead. "You aren't a
pig, Tom," she said, "I understand. It just...happened." They lay in
silence for a few moments. He absently traced her ears and jawline
with his index finger. A sudden, random thought made her smile.

"What?" he asked.

"I..." she grimaced, not sure if she should tell him.

"What?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

"I...was just wondering what your father would have to say about
this," she said, grinning. It was his turn to burst out laughing. He
buried his face in her neck. "Oh God," he groaned, "he would kill me!"

She chuckled, "Well, you'd have plenty of time to get away while he
was killing ME..." After a moment, he sobered, and said sincerely,
"Hey, we're both adults. You aren't that much older than me, and we
haven't done anything wrong..."

"Oh, I know," she whispered. His stroking of her face was getting a
bit more purposeful, and when he shifted slightly, she realized that
he was hardening inside her again.

"Tom," she said, "we can't..."

"Why not?" he said, nuzzling her cheek.

She inhaled sharply as he shifted again. "The first time, it just
happened," she tried to explain, "but if it happens again, it's more
of a...conscious decision..."

"So it's a decision. So what?" he asked, gently. "Hey," he said,
touching her chin until she opened her eyes. He bent down and kissed
her, slowly, tenderly -- nothing like their earlier frantic kisses.
His lips moved over hers languidly, his tongue flicking out along her
lower lip. 'So what, indeed,' she thought, as she began to respond to
him. They'd already gone this far...

She shifted her hips against him and he moaned and began to move very
slowly inside her again. The motion, however, reminded her, painfully,
about her back.

"Tom," she winced, "All right, but we aren't going to do this on the
pool table again. After all, I have to have SOME standards!"

She felt him smile against her lips, and then he pushed himself up and
slowly pulled out of her. She moaned when he slid out, the sensation
almost pushing her to the edge. Damn, it had been so long. She could
probably make love to him all night.

He rolled off of her and sat up, pulling her up with him. "All right,
follow me," he instructed her. He slid over to the edge of the pool
table and finally kicked off his pants. He hopped off agilely and
helped her down as well. He took her hand and led her behind the bar
and into a supply room. Wine crates were stacked haphazardly around
the small room, and there was actually a mattress on the floor, in the
corner.

"You programmed a MATTRESS into the bar?" she asked incredulously.
"First you have the holocharacters disappear when it's convenient, and
now a mattress? This is quite the little love nest!"

"It's a back room. A place to crash," he protested. "All good bars
have them!"

She scowled at him skeptically, but couldn't keep from smiling.
"Well," she said, shaking her head, "it's definitely a step up from
the pool table..."

She looked over at him -- his smile had faded away and he was looking
at the floor. "This must seem so...sordid. I can't believe that only a
few years ago, I was trying to lure women back here. But I don't want
you to think that this is the same kind of thing for me. It isn't."

"Oh, I know," she said, quickly, touching his hand, "I know."

"Really," he said, quietly, "You mean more to me than some...God, that
sounds so cliched. But my feelings for you are...complicated, and I
don't want you to think..."

"I don't," she said. "Tom, come here..."

She pulled him towards her and ran her hands up his chest and onto his
neck. He gently ran his fingertips over her breasts before wrapping
his arms around her waist and bending down to kiss her again. Their
first time had been so out of control that it had been almost surreal,
but this was more serious, and it made her a little uncomfortable.

"Tom?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked. She smacked his arm and smiled -- he was
trying to lighten the moment, for her benefit, and possibly for his,
too. He was far more sensitive than she had ever suspected.

She pushed him gently backwards until he had no choice but to sit down
on one of the wine crates. "I thought," she said, "that I told you not
to call me that."

"What you said was that I couldn't call you Captain," he said, his
eyes twinkling. "So, technically...Oh..." He groaned as she ran her
finger up the length of his erection.

She smiled seductively at him and his eyes widened briefly as he had a
glimpse of a side of her that he certainly hadn't seen before. He
recovered quickly, though, and when she moved closer to him, he put
his hands on her hips appreciatively and guided her as she straddled
and lowered herself onto him. As she began to rise and fall on him, he
kissed her neck, then they both closed their eyes and groaned in
unison.

---

She awoke gradually, at first disoriented by the strange lighting and
the fact that she was obviously not alone. But memory returned
swiftly, and she smiled to herself. They'd finally -- probably only a
couple of hours ago - curled up together on the mattress, dimmed the
lights and fallen asleep, spooned together. She sighed contentedly --
God, it felt good to lie beside someone else -- to feel someone
breathing against her. Since this WASN'T going to happen again, she
was going to enjoy it while she could. She felt a bit stiff, and
understandably sore, so she stretched a little, carefully. Tom shifted
in his sleep, but did not wake up. She was not dreading the morning,
really -- she was pretty sure that things would not be awkward between
them -- neither of them had any illusions about what the night had
been. But she smiled again, remembering. They had really enjoyed each
other. She'd forgotten how much she loved the playful part of sex, and
the laughter.

She felt him stir, then he awoke abruptly, stiffening and saying,
"Where? Wha?"

She half turned towards him and said, "Good morning, Tom."

He relaxed again, and exhaled in relief, "Oh. Hi." He pulled her close
to his chest and began stroking her hair back off of her face. "Wow,"
he said. She smiled -- it had to be as strange for him as it was for
her.

She could feel the beginnings of an erection pressing against her ass,
and she closed her eyes, just enjoying the moment. She heard him
drowsily ask the computer what time it was.

"It is 0551," the computer replied.

He sat bolt upright on the cot, "SHIT!" he exclaimed.

She sat up, too. "What's wrong?" she said. "Neither of us is on duty
until 0800."

"You don't understand!" he said, springing from the mattress and
heading into the bar, "In nine minutes, this holodeck is supposed to
turn into a gym! Darby is always here right on the nose. We have to
get you out of here!"

Damn. It hadn't even occurred to her to check to see what time the
holodeck was no longer available. And it should have. Damn.

She followed him over to the pool table, and he began tossing clothes
over to her. They both pulled on their pants, hastily, and began
working on the boots.

"We'll check with the computer to see if the corridors are clear. You
leave first, and I...shit, these aren't MY boots...here!"

"I can't find my bra!" She couldn't help but laugh at the two of them,
and he smiled in response.

"I don't see it. Shit. We don't have time for this. Hold on a minute."

He accessed the holodeck controls from a hole in the floor and began
inputting commands. She watched him, curious, as she put on her bra,
which she found draped over a chair.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm initiating a site-to-site transport. I'm going to have to send
you directly to your quarters. We're too late."

"No, Tom! The transporter technician..."

"Won't know. Trust me."

Grabbing her turtleneck she went and peered over his shoulder. "You've
by-passed the security protocols! I can't believe you!"

"Don't tell Tuvok!" he grinned.

She was still staring at him with her mouth hanging open in mock
outrage.

"Come on, you have to go!" He helped her pull on her turtleneck, then
retrieved her jacket from the floor and handed it to her.

She took it, then said, "Well...I guess...goodbye? Thanks for a lovely
evening?" She laughed ruefully. "I don't know what to say."

He reached up and stroked her cheek, and said, "Yeah...I wish...well,
we just don't have time -- you have to go..."

She caught his hand and kissed his fingers. "I guess I'll see you on
the bridge," she said, shrugging regretfully.

"Bye," he said quietly, before turning and activating the transporter.

Both he and the room shimmered away, and she found herself in her
quarters, holding a jacket that was much too large for her.

---

Darby ambled down the corridor, stretching and yawning. He'd been
tempted to just sleep in this morning and skip his daily workout, but
now that he was up, he was glad he'd decided not to. He was always
sorry when he did.

When he got to the holodeck, he was about to activate his program when
he noticed that one was already running. Frowning, he asked the
computer, "Computer, who is in holodeck two?" "Ensign Thomas Paris,"
was the reply.

Oh. Of course. It was Sandrine's, after all. He probably had gotten
drunk and fallen asleep in there again -- it certainly had happened
before. But he was going to have to push off, now -- it was 0600, on
the nose. He was about to press the door panel for entrance, but
noticed that there was a level one lockout...but that couldn't be --
Paris didn't have the clearance for that. When he looked again, there
was no lockout. He rubbed his eyes, confused.

Suddenly, the door opened and Paris walked out, trying, without much
success, to struggle into his jacket. His hair was disheveled, and he
still looked pretty groggy. "Hey Darby," he mumbled.

"Hey Paris," he responded. "Rough night?"

Paris smiled to himself as he turned and walked away, "Not really," he
replied. He'd given up on his jacket and had draped it over his arm.
As he rounded the corner, he began to whistle -- it was one of those
strange twentieth century songs that he was so inexplicably fond of.

Darby shook his head and entered the holodeck.

---

He arrived at the mess hall at the very end of the dinner period.
Neelix was already beginning to clean up, but cheerfully fixed a plate
for him anyway. He spotted B'Elanna, the only one left in the room,
sitting in the far corner.

He brought his tray over and dropped it on her table. "Hey," he said,
sitting down across from her. "How's my favorite engineer?"

She looked up from her PADD at him as if he were speaking another
language. "Huh? Oh, Hi Chakotay..."

He studied her in concern. He'd been meaning to have a talk with her
ever since she and Paris had broken things off -- just to make sure
that she was okay. But things had been crazy, and then he had problems
of his own...he just hadn't gotten around to it. He hadn't worried
about her too much, though -- every time he saw her she seemed okay,
but now she looked distracted and a little jumpy.

"Hey," he said, "You know I'm here, if you want to talk about it."

She looked at him strangely. "If I want to TALK about it? If I want to
talk about what?"

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. What the hell was wrong with
her? She sounded far angrier than he'd expected her to. "If you want
to talk about you and Tom," he offered, gently.

Again, she stared at him as if something were sprouting from his head.
Then, her expression softened, and she said, "You don't know, do you?"

"Know about what?" he asked, mystified.

"Of course you don't know," she said, mostly to herself.  "I only know
because I know Tom so well, and because...Still, I don't know how you
could miss it the way they were acting together...How could you not
see it?"

"B'Elanna, what are you TALKING about?" He asked, with a growing
feeling of vague apprehension.

"Tom and the Captain!" she said, exasperated.

He laughed out loud, despite himself. "You're KIDDING, right? Are you
crazy?"

"You didn't see the way they were in Sandrine's last night? And all
day today, in the morning briefing and in the mess hall -- there's
something between them, Chakotay!"

"B'Elanna, I think you're overreacting," he said, almost relieved at
the absurdity of what she was saying. "They were just playing a
friendly game of pool last night. I was there, remember?"

"For seven HOURS, Chakotay?" she asked, pointedly.

"What are you TALKING about, B'Elanna?" Now, he was getting angry. It
wasn't like B'Elanna to fall for ludicrous gossip, and spread it.

B'Elanna sat back in her chair and folded her arms, regarding him
sympathetically. "Last night, things were so awkward in Sandrine's
between myself and Tom and I wanted to kind of clear the air between
us. So I kept asking the computer where he was and who he was with.
When he went back to his quarters I was going to track him down and
try to talk to him. But he never got back to his quarters. And he was
in Sandrine's with the Captain all night. Until 0600. With a level one
lock-out on the door."

He sat, speechless, absorbing the new information.

"And I would give them the benefit of the doubt, but when I saw them
together today..." her voice trailed off.

"They could just have been talking," he said, but even he didn't
believe it.

"No, I know Tom, remember? I know how he acts after...well, I just
know."

Chakotay was playing scenes from the day back in his mind, and, in
retrospect, there had been something between her and Paris. A few
looks between them that he had barely seen, but now seemed very
important. And Kathryn's demeanor -- she had
been...different...somehow, today. More open, a little happier -- he
remembered now, because he'd been pleased to see it. Now, he felt
sick.

B'Elanna stood up. "I'm sorry, Chakotay. It was so obvious to me -- I
thought that you knew." She put her hand on his shoulder. "I don't
know why either of us should be upset. Tom and I are through anyway,
and the Captain was never going to...well, now at least you can feel
free to move on also. I just...I just hope that they don't hurt each
other..."

He put his hand on top of hers. There was nothing else to say.
Eventually, she grasped his hand for an instant, then left him with
his troubled thoughts.

---

Chakotay stopped in his tracks in the middle of the corridor. Several
crewmembers looked at him in confusion as they walked past him and
rounded the corner. He'd been blindly wandering around the ship for
over an hour. He wasn't sure WHAT he was feeling. Anger? Betrayal?
Surprise? Part of him still could not accept that Kathryn would have
sex with Tom Paris, of all people. He looked around the empty corridor
-- it occurred to him that he didn't even know which decks he'd been
on. This was pointless. He had to know for sure.

"Computer," he snapped. "Where is Ensign Paris?"

"Ensign Paris is in holodeck one."

He shut his eyes and swallowed hard. "Is anyone there with him?" he
asked.

"Negative."

He turned and headed purposefully to the nearest turbolift.

---

He stalked into the holodeck, knowing that he was feeling too raw for
this confrontation, but unable to make himself turn back. He looked
around in annoyance. He usually tried to be tolerant of what other
people chose to do with their free time, but maintaining a holographic
car suddenly seemed completely inane. But then, every aspect of
Paris's personality was getting under his skin at the moment -- his
cocky attitude, his stupid jokes, his ridiculous preoccupation with
20th century Earth...and his reputation, at least the one he'd had in
the early years, with women.

"Paris?" he called out, the sound of his voice echoing in the garage.

He heard a few muffled thumps and curses, then saw Paris emerge from
under the car, smudged with oil.

"What?" Paris said, wincing and rubbing his head. "Oh...Chakotay.
What's up?"

Face to face with the source of his recent anguish, he found it
difficult to articulate a response, but finally he managed to grind
out, through clenched teeth, "Is it true?"

He watched comprehension cross over the younger man's face as he
absorbed the question, the tone, and the barely controlled fury that
he knew was in his eyes. Paris mouthed the word 'damn' and pulled his
hand across his face, leaving a few streaks of oil behind. He got to
his feet slowly, then looked at Chakotay, somewhat defiantly.

"Yeah," he said, simply. "It's true."

There was something else now, in Paris's eyes, and Chakotay recognized
it. Sympathy. It was the last straw. In the back of his mind, he knew
that he should just leave, just walk away, but he heard, through the
roaring in his ears, angry words pouring out of his mouth.

"You're such a PIG! I don't know what Kathryn could have been
thinking, and I know she's capable of taking care of herself, but let
me tell you something..." he stepped directly in front of Paris and
felt his nostrils flare, "if you hurt her, I'll kill you. Got it?" he
added a firm shove for emphasis.

He should have seen it coming, of course. Boothby, his boxing coach,
would have been disappointed in him. But he heard the sound of the
blow before he saw the closed fist, or felt its impact. And suddenly
he was sprawled on the floor, and Paris, angrier than he had ever seen
him, was standing over him, tense, his fists still clenched.

"You're an asshole, Chakotay!" he yelled. "I would never hurt her!
EVER! Don't you understand anything?"

Chakotay just glowered at him, and wiped blood from the side of his
mouth with the back of his hand.

"We were just there for each other," Paris continued, no longer
shouting, but his eyes still flashing. "We understand each other. It
just happened. But she...she's everything to me. And I would never
hurt her."

Paris took a couple of steps back, calmer now, then added, "We aren't
in love, though. And if anyone's hurting her, it's YOU. She loves you,
and I think you should either let her go, or stand by her until the
end. If I were you, I would. She's...an extraordinary person." As he
spoke of her, there was a complex mixture of respect and regret on his
face. And with that, he turned and left the holodeck.

Chakotay sat up, wincing at the pain in his head. His anger was gone
now, replaced by melancholy, and some guilt and embarrassment. Not
because Paris had knocked him flat on his back, but because he knew
now that he'd been narrow-minded and unfair. Even after working with
Paris for all these years, and watching him turn into someone who
commanded the respect and admiration of peers and superiors alike,
he'd automatically assumed the worst of him. He could see that, in his
own way, Paris loved Kathryn, too -- and had been able to reach her in
a way that he could not. Tears stung his eyes as he remembered how
calm and...happy...Kathryn had been today. Tom Paris had done that,
not him.

---

He rang her chime and waited for the door to open. When it did, she
was standing right in front of him -- she'd answered it herself
instead of just authorizing entrance. Her eyes went wide when she saw
him. "Chakotay," she gasped, "What happened?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, but couldn't form the words. He
didn't have to. She was looking at his eyes, and she already knew. She
grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room.

"What happened?" she repeated, her voice hard, as the door closed
behind them.

"Paris hit me," he said, "but I think I deserved it."

"You had a FISTFIGHT?" she asked, her voice rising. "Where? In the
corridor? In the messhall?" She was absolutely livid, and for just an
instant he was pretty sure that she wanted to hit him too. Instead,
she balled her hands into fists and turned away from him, shaking her
head angrily. "I ought to put you both in the damned BRIG!"

"Neither of us is THAT stupid, Kathryn, " he told her. "We were in the
holodeck, and we were alone."

"Dammit!" she spat. She'd been holding a PADD and now she threw it
onto her table. It slid all the way across and clattered noisily to
the floor. She pulled her hands through her hair in agitation, then
turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest.

"Why were you fighting?" she asked, flatly. He knew he was going to
have to tell her everything. She was furious, but she was also trying
to find out who knew what. And he could understand that.

"B'Elanna was trying to reach Tom last night, and then today...well,
she just knew. But I think she's the only one who does. I went to
confront him about it, and I was...upset. I called him a...well, never
mind. He decked me."

"Good," she said, coldly. Then she rolled her eyes and rubbed her
forehead. "I didn't mean that, exactly, but it really wasn't any of
your damned business."

"I...I know that. It's just...I don't know. It made me angry. I wasn't
thinking."

She sighed, folding her arms across her chest once more. Her anger was
beginning to dissipate. She looked down at the floor, and when she
looked back up at him she shook her head and snorted in bitter
amusement.

"So, how many people saw you walking around with this split lip and
bloody nose?" She asked, moving closer to him to inspect his face.

"Only Sam, in the turbolift," he said. "I told her I'd been boxing."

She cracked a wry smile at that, then took his arm and led him over to
her couch, saying, "Well, let's get you fixed up before you bleed to
death on my carpet."

"Wait here," she said, after he was sitting down. She disappeared into
her bathroom and emerged moments later with a wet washcloth and a
dermal regenerator. She sat down next to him and began dabbing
gingerly at his cuts with the soft cloth. "Looks like a good start to
a black eye, too," she observed. "Honestly, I can't believe the two of
you."

She cupped her hand against his cheek and chin and whispered, "Hold
still," as she began healing his lip with the regenerator. He closed
his eyes -- he could hardly feel the cuts, although they did sting.
Mostly he was aware of her touch on his face. Gentle. Almost loving.
But she was patching him up, not caressing him.

He sighed, then opened his eyes to look at her. She was biting her lip
in concentration as she ran the regenerator over his skin. She was so
close to him, and, unbidden, images of her face transformed by passion
played out in his head. What had she looked like? What had Paris seen
when he was making love to her? He felt another surge of jealousy and
hopelessness.

"Kathryn," he said, softly, "Why?"

He saw her eyes flash with anger again, briefly, then her expression
settled into one of sadness. She put her hands in her lap and looked
down at them, studying the regenerator intently. Finally, she met his
gaze.

"Chakotay," she said, "I shouldn't have to explain that to you. It's
not like YOU haven't..." her voice trailed off and it was his turn to
look away. "He and I, we were just lonely. It just happened. It was a
one-time thing. And you and I - we have to stop doing this to each
other. It's going to be a long trip home, and it looks like neither of
us is planning on staying celibate. We're both going to have to get
used to this."

"I'll never get used to this," he said, before he could stop himself.
And he meant it. He felt utterly betrayed, although he knew that he
had no right. And he knew that this was how she must feel whenever he
was with someone else, although she had no right either.

She took a breath, but didn't say anything. Instead she shook her head
and continued with her ministrations to his face.

"Maybe," he said, "this would have been easier for me to deal with if
it hadn't been someone from the ship. But Tom Paris..." He swallowed
hard, then continued. "I always thought that you wouldn't get involved
with me because we work together, and I could almost accept that. But
now...how could you..."

"It's different, and you know it, Chakotay," she said, as if it should
be obvious. "I mean, I'm not in LOVE with Tom Paris..." She winced and
said, "Well, that sounded bad. I care for him, of course, but I don't
feel for him the way that I feel for..."

She stopped as she realized what she'd just indirectly said. He'd been
holding his breath, and the air came out all at once and then he was
crying. He'd often tried to imagine what it would be like to hear her
admit that she loved him, but he'd never come up with a scenario quite
like this one.

"Oh, Chakotay," she said, emotionally, holding his face between her
hands and brushing away a tear. "I do love you. But can't you see how
complicated this is? Can't you?"

He didn't speak for several moments as he struggled to regain control.
It seemed vitally important that he handle this carefully, that he
think of exactly the right thing to say. He had to find a way to make
her see...When he felt calm enough to speak, he reached for her. It
was as if the wavering in his voice had transferred itself to his hand
-- it trembled as he tentatively touched her face, and stoked her
hair. "Kathryn," he said, "You're so strong. You fight so hard for
what you believe in. Why can't you fight for this? There's so much at
stake here -- this could be so...right."

When she didn't respond immediately or pull away from his touch
automatically, he knew that he'd finally gotten through to her, at
least. She had heard him and was thinking about his words. He kept
gently caressing her cheek, tracing her ear with his finger. She had a
far-off look in her eyes and she said, softly, "That's what Tom said,
too. About me...with you."

"Kathryn," he whispered intensely, drawing her closer, "We could make
it work, I'm sure of it." She shut her eyes as if to block him out,
and he leaned forward and kissed her. She stiffened initially, but
didn't stop him, and when she put her hand on his chest he deepened
the kiss -- moving his lips slowly over hers. She began responding to
him, her lips softening, her hand moving up to his collar. Her arm
snaked around his neck, holding him to her, and he moved forward,
pressing her back on the couch. She moaned softly as their bodies came
into full contact and she felt his hardness against her stomach. She
gasped and broke away from his mouth. Then, unexpectedly, she began to
laugh. Her chest was shaking his as she chuckled underneath him.

He propped himself up on his elbows and scowled at her. "You know," he
told her, "a lot of men would find this really insulting..."

That just made her laugh harder. Finally, wiping tears from her eyes
she said, "I'm sorry...it's just...well, this is the second time in
twenty-four hours that I've found myself in a compromising position
with someone on my senior staff."

Grinning, he sat up, pulling her up with him. They sat together side
by side, and he took her hand. She leaned into him, putting her head
on his shoulder. "Oh, Chakotay," she sighed, "I just don't know about
this. I think we have a lot to work through before we can..."

He interrupted her by pulling her hand up to his lips and kissing it.
"It's all right, Kathryn. I know. And we have plenty of time."

She started to protest, but he held up his hand. "I have something to
say," he announced. "I'm putting you on alert, Kathryn Janeway. I'm
telling you that I am going to wait for you. I'm not going to get
involved with anyone else.  I am going to wait for you for as long as
it takes. I am going to wait for you for DECADES if I have to. I am
going to wait for you until we' re both old and frail and weak." He
put his hand on his heart, dramatically. "My heart belongs to you."

She stared at him, aghast. "You can't say that!"

"Of course I can," he said.

"That's a hell of a lot of pressure, Chakotay," she protested.

"Good," he said, firmly, with a smile, and she laughed.

He kissed her hand again, then stood up. They both had a lot to think
about, and it was late. They needed to wait until things between them
had settled a bit. He needed some time to get over her one-time only
encounter with Tom Paris, and she needed some time to accept his
feelings for her, and explore her own for him. And, of course, they
would need to define a few parameters. She walked him to the door, and
he leaned down and kissed her gently goodbye.

He turned to go, then stopped and turned around. "Kathryn?" he asked.

"What," she replied.

"Do you think it's actually going to take decades?"

She smacked his arm, and said, "Get out of here!" But she was smiling,
and he decided that it probably was NOT going to take decades.
Someday, he'd have to remember to thank Paris.

---

The End