The BLTS Archive - If I Could Choose My Own Truth. .
sixth in the Inequality series
by Sigrid (sigridthehaughty@yahoo.com)

---

DISCLAIMERS: Standard disclaimers. Voyager and the characters are not
mine, but the story is. Do not archive without my permission.

SPOILERS: Thirty Days, Resolutions

DEDICATED TO: AbyKitten, for being my greatest net buddy. Also
Helmboy, for her help and guidance. VSPS and JuPiter Station also!

---

I thought I'd find him here. Okay, I did ask the computer for his
location, but still. . .

"What are you drinking?"

He jumps, as I walk up behind him. I'm not even sure I should be here,
or what the hell I'm going to say, but I'm here. . .  I might as well
try to make the best of it.

He hides his reaction pretty quickly, and stills, still staring into
the glass like the meaning of life is written on the bottom. He
doesn't answer me, and I pull up a stool, taking his glass and
ignoring his protest as I sniff it.

"Saurian brandy. The real stuff."

"I had replicator rations owing to me. Might as well use them." He
shrugged, as he watched me putting down the glass. "You gonna
reprimand me?"

"What for?"

"Drinking real alcohol."

"It's not a crime, is it?"

He raises an eyebrow at that, and then smiles. He turns to Sandrine,
motioning her over. She nods her head in greeting, and then turns to
Tom, talking to him in her thick French accent.

"You've had enough, Thomas. You should go to bed and sleep it off. . .
you have duty in the morning."

"I'm fine Sandrine."

"The Doctor will not give you another detoxification remedy this week,
Thomas. You should sleep."

*Another* detoxification remedy this week? I raise an eyebrow,
assimilating this new bit of information. Tom's been drinking, again.
Damnit, what has she done?

I should have stopped this. A long time ago.

"Two Saurian brandies, Sandrine," he says breezily, his speech
slightly slurred. She looks at him in alarm.

"You can't drink two more brandies, Thomas. You will make yourself
ill."

"They're not both for me, one's for Chakotay."

"The Commander does not drink."

"He does tonight."

"Thomas," the landlady said warningly.

I decided to interrupt this conversation on my drinking habits then,
as the hologram's eyes narrowed dangerously. I recognised the look. It
was the look she gave the Doctor right before she deactivated him,
when he would say about his superior holographic matrix. I'm still not
sure how she's able to deactivate him, but since it's Tom's program. .
.  "Sandrine, it's alright, I'll have one. Just this once."

"See?" Tom said, smiling triumphantly.

"But only one. And you too."

The smile disappeared from his face, and he stared sullenly forward.

"Why?"

"You've got duty tomorrow."

"Maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means maybe I have duty, and maybe I haven't."

I thanked Sandrine for the two drinks, and then turned back to Tom. I
hear him delete the patrons in the bar. We're alone.

"I manage the duty roster. You have duty tomorrow. 0800 hours."

"Maybe," he said again, cryptically.

I eyed the drink, swishing it around in my glass, maybe hoping it'd
provide me with some sort of answer. It failed miserably, as usual.

I don't like to drink. It's not a religious thing, like everyone seems
to think. Not many of my tribe do drink, but for me, it's more a
matter of losing control. Losing all sense of reason. Doing something
irrational.

Doing something I've always wanted to do, but never could. Never can.
Never will.

I try to focus. Kinda hard with the drink already working it's way
through my system, but I give it a try anyway.

"Why 'maybe'?" I think I know, but I need to hear him say it. The
thought scares me.

"Because I don't know if I can go back there again."

"To the bridge?"

"To the bridge."

We remain silent for a while. He stares at his drink, but he doesn't
raise the glass. Hasn't even taken a sip yet. Mine's half gone. Not
sure when. I think it's giving me Dutch courage. Is that the phrase? I
can't remember. . .

"You want to resign?"

"No. But I think I should."

A definite answer this time.

"Why should you?"

A smile crosses his face.

"Stop it, Chakotay."

"What?"

"Analysing me. I'm not your patient."

"Sorry. But why?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You're a good pilot."

"True."

Some might take that as an arrogant statement, but not me. He doesn't
brag about it, but he knows his strengths. He's honest. Not many
accept a compliment well. Tom is one of those people. But when it
comes to his flying. . .

"You've served your punishment. The Monean incident, it's in the
past."

"Is it? Really?" For the first time, he raises his glass to his lips,
but only sips the drink. He's slowing down, trying to order his
thoughts.

"Do you really believe that it's all in the past?"

"I'm not sure it's the Monean incident that's the problem here." Damn,
the alcohol is slowing down my higher brain functions. I regret saying
the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. I look at him, to see
what his reaction is.

Direct hit. He's tense. Damn. This is not what I was intending.

I'm not sure what I was intending. Wasn't this going to happen sooner
or later anyway? But at least I could have planned for it. . .

If you can plan for this sort of thing, anyway. Can you? There are
always variables. Tom, Kathryn, myself. . .

The plan is full of variables, and not many constants.

"Maybe not."

I wasn't expecting this. Yet another variable, and I'm on dangerous
ground.

"Then what might it be?"

Silence greets that question. I down the rest of my drink, and then
focus forward. The atmosphere is thick with tension, much like the
bridge. When I'm about to give up on an answer, he surprises me yet
again.

"Maybe I don't think it's worth it anymore. The tension. The damn
undercurrents. No one saying what they mean. No one saying what they
feel. Everyone's lying, Chakotay. Everyone is lying. And nothing is
really happening. It's all ready to blow up, but nothing is happening.
. .  no one is trying to stop it."

His voice falters, and he seeks refuge in his glass. I avoid his eyes,
his statements ring true. Too true. Even for me. And he doesn't even
realise that he's talking about me as well.

Damn. How did all this get so fucked up?

"I know."

That was a pretty weak response, but what else can I say?

He smiles, but there is not warmth in his expression.

"I really don't think you do."

'I know more than you think', I almost say, but the words die on my
lips. I want him to tell me. I don't want to force him into anything.

"Try me," I finally say instead, throwing him the ball, so to speak.

He's silent for a few moments, staring into the glass, and then out of
the window. Anywhere but me.

"I fucked everything up, that's what's happened, Chakotay. . . "

"You made a mistake, it happens. . . "

"This isn't about the Moneans, Commander. This is about me. I've
fucked everything up, and I'm not even sure how I even managed it."

As seems to be a regular occurrence tonight, I shut up, not saying a
word. What can I say? Everything I think of sounds cliched to my mind.

"I've been trying to work out why I did it. Take the Flyer into the
water planet."

"Any conclusions?"

He tried to laugh, but all that happens is some air passes through his
lips. He reaches down, taking the drink and making to down it in one
shot. But he pauses, and sips it instead.

"I think I might know the answer. It's not very honourable. I'm not
particularly proud."

I don't ask him the answer, although most of me is clamouring to. I
have some self-restraint, although being here, this close to him, is
weakening my resolve every second. Another minute and another drink,
and I might lose it all completely.

If I haven't already.

"Is that why you're thinking about leaving? The bridge?"

"I'm thinking about leaving the ship."

The words catch me off-guard, and I almost drop the drink, in a
haunting deja vu of a week ago, in sickbay. . .

"You've made a life for yourself here, Tom. You can't go, now. You
made a mistake, we all make mistakes. . . " *You can't leave me. . . *

"If I stay here, I'll carry on making a mistake. I'll carry on making
the same mistake, over and over again. . . "

"You can't let her do this to you."

My words hang heavy in the air, and I feel myself swallowing. Damn,
what have I done? The silence is suffocating. I try to sit still, but
the atmosphere gets to me, and I reach for my own drink, so I don't
have to look at the man sitting deathly still next to me.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Commander."

And so we're back to Commander. I'm not sure whether I'm doing the
right thing. I'm not sure if I'm ever doing the right thing, when it
concerns. . .  this. But it has to come out sometime, no matter what
any of us want. And I know that I can't risk losing him. Not forever.
. .

Perhaps it's just what I want. Perhaps I'm selfish. Perhaps that's why
I'm doing this. I'm not sure. Is this the right thing?

"What are you talking about, Commander?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Tom."

I can feel him scrutinise me. He can be more perceptive than Tuvok
when he wants to be. He can hide himself just as well. Perhaps he's
been learning. The thought fills me with jealousy, irrational. . .

We're not in a rational situation.

I finally turn my head, and I see a smile creep across his face,
slowly. Warily. He doesn't relax. The ramrod-straight posture of his
back does nothing to enhance the supposed expression of confidence and
control he's trying to project. His face may be a mask, but his body
is an open book.

"How did you find out?"

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know what you. . .  what you think you know."

"I think I know pretty much everything, Tom."

He nods, and relaxes slightly. I guess he feels more in control, now
he knows what I know. If that makes any sense. I'm not sure any of
this does.

"You know, B'Elanna encouraged me to take the Flyer that day. She
thought I was doing the honourable thing, that I had a 'cause'. You
know what scares me more? I don't think I was doing it for that. I
think it was a test." He paused, staring at his glass, raising it and
drinking the remains. It's empty now, but he doesn't ask for more.

"A test?"

He nods, not looking at me.

"Don't get me wrong, I hated what the Moneans were doing to that
planet, and I hate the fact that we were just going to let them. . .
The Directive is there for a reason, I know, but when you're faced
with that. . .  for the first time in a long time, I wished we were
back in the Maquis. We would have done what was right."

"The Maquis wasn't always honourable, Tom. You know that. You know the
sort of people on my ship, on the outposts. . . "

"But you had a purpose, Chakotay. A solid goal. . .  Starfleet's goal
is to explore, but we can't really *act*. We can't do what's right. .
. "

"It's not always right to interfere. . .  and we do have a purpose. To
get home. To get back."

"To what?"

The question stops me cold. Not because I don't have an answer, but
because recently, the answer has been harder to recall. As the days,
weeks, years pass, this ship begins to feel more like home. The crew
is becoming my family. B'Elanna, Tom, Harry, Neelix. . .  even Tuvok,
Seven. . .

Kathryn?

I shy away from thoughts of her. Her betrayal, her actions, they don't
ring true with the idea of family. . .

"What do you have to get home to, Chakotay? Tell me."

"We belong there. . . "

"Do we? Really? Half the ship is wanted for terrorism, the Maquis are
all dead, the Federation is torn apart by some war with an enemy we
have never even *heard* of. . .  are you really that desperate to get
home?"

"Perhaps. A lot has changed, and we're missing out. Our own people are
at war. . . "

". . . The same people who tried to hunt you down!"

"It's not as simple as that! They are still my people. They are still
*our* people!"

"You're still willing to risk your life for the Federation?"

"No matter what they did, yes, I'm still willing. . . "

"Then you're a more honourable person than I am, Commander."

Silence. The quiet is deafening. It doesn't fit this bar. It doesn't
fit what I feel. The loud beating of my heart, why isn't Tom telling
it to shut up?

"Why don't you think you're honourable?"

"Because when I fight, it's for me. I didn't invade the planet for
them, well, perhaps partly. . .  I wanted. . . " his voice fades away,
and he looks set to reach for another drink, when I rest my hand on
his arm, ignoring the heat of his body or the slight curves of the
muscles of his arm.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Hide. Behind a bottle."

For a moment, I think he's going to ignore me, but then he stops
reaching, and sits back down fully on the chair. I take my hand off
his arm, but leave it near to him. I can still feel his heat, it's
distracting. . .

I can't risk this distraction, I know, but it determines me. . .  it
reminds me of what I could lose, what I have maybe lost. . .

As if I needed to be reminded.

"It always worked in the past. The drinking. Now, it just makes me
think too much."

"About yourself."

"Among other subjects."

"Were you testing yourself?"

"On Monea?" At my nod, he continues. The effects of the drink are
wearing off now, I'm glad to notice. Perhaps it's the thinking. . .

Perhaps he already has too much tolerance for the stuff.

"I was testing something."

"Someone?"

"Myself. And. . . " he hesitates, but I think I know the name he was
about to say.

"You were testing Kathryn."

His head snaps up, his eyes looking directly into mine.

"She told you everything," he said, more to himself than me. It was
almost like he had completed a jigsaw puzzle, but had then found
another piece, that doesn't fit anywhere, and so he finds the picture
is all wrong. . .  what he thought was all wrong. . .

"I know that you and her were. . .  involved. . . " the words hurt me,
haunt me. They shadow me, ever since I found out.

"Oh, you could say that." He looks at his glass again, but instead of
reaching for more, he just sets it down beside him, and pushes it away
with the back of his hand, so he doesn't have to see it.

"I thought I was in love with her."

My heart is banging painfully against my ribs, and my stomach feels
like it's about to drop out of sight. Damn, that hurt more than if the
Doctor had tried to remove my organs without anaesthetic.

Then a glimmer of hope starts threading through my mind.

"You thought?"

"No, I know I was in love with her."

The thread just snapped.

"And are you now?"

"I wish I wasn't. . .  I don't even know if I know what that is,
anymore. This isn't what love is supposed to be, is it?" He's looking
back into my eyes. Can he read me?

Silently, I shake my head no. No, it isn't. At least, that's what
we're supposed to believe. . .

Perhaps it is. The hurt, the pain. He feels pain. I feel it. Kathryn
feels it.

And we're all supposed to hide it. Love is what we all want, after
all?

Is there such a thing as mutual love? Perhaps we just all settle. . .

I don't know anymore, but I don't want to settle. Perhaps if I had
settled, settled with Kathryn, this would all be avoided. . .

But she would always want a part of me she couldn't have. And I would
always want someone I could never have. . .

But Tom? He would have been happier. Wouldn't he? Have I really caused
all this, all this pain, for him? This isn't what I'm supposed to do
for him, is it?

Is love about being selfish?

Am I being selfish? I thought Kathryn was, but perhaps she was the
realistic one, and I'm the one with the idealistic desires. . .

Who's right? Who's going to get what they want. . .  I don't think I'm
even in the running.

Perhaps I should just let him. . .

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know. A friendly planet we pass. So long as I can fly. . . "

"Is that all it'll take to make you happy? To be able to fly? You can
fly here. . . "

"I can't stay. Can't you feel the tension on the bridge? It takes all
my self-control not to yell, scream, do something. . .  all this, it's
hurting everyone. Even Kate. . .  Kathryn. . . " but I don't miss the
nickname. It stings.

"People would be hurt if you left."

"Who?"

"You have to be kidding me, Paris? Who?" I can't help it. The thought
of him leaving, the turmoil, the secrets, the damn web of lies. . .
I'm lashing out at the wrong person, but it's been straining. . .  he
jumps a little at my tone of voice, but I have to make him see. . .

"Yeah. Who?"

"Perhaps a couple of years ago, I'd have agreed with you, Tom, but not
now. B'Elanna, Harry, Seven, Neelix. . .  hell, even Ayala, Gerron,
Tuvok. . . "

"They'd be better off without me. . . " the self-pity's evident in his
tone, traced with an underlying tone. I'm not sure if he's believing
the crap he's saying. . .

"Do you really believe that?" I have to make him see. . .

"I don't know what I believe, anymore. . .  I can't even trust myself.
. .  I have to go. . . "

Before I know what's happening, he's standing, heading toward the
door, and out of the holodeck. . .  and I don't know what he could be
capable of at that moment.

"Computer, privacy lock, authorisation Chakotay-delta-four."

"Authorisation confirmed."

He whirls around, barely unrestrained fury in his eyes.

"Let me out of here, Chakotay."

I merely stand, hoisting myself off the stool and straightening,
meeting his stare with one of my own.

"Computer, remove privacy lock. Priority override, Paris-alpha-seven."

"Computer, belay that, voice print lock out, authorisation
Chakotay-command-Paris-alpha-seven."

"Fuck it, Chakotay, what the *hell* do you want me to say?!?!"

"I want to hear the truth, from you. Do you really think you're worth
so little? Do you really believe that?"

He's pacing, not looking at me. His hands are clenched. He pauses for
a moment, a hand near his face, a single finger on the bridge of his
nose. He's trying to find a way out of here. There's only one. . .
Only I can remove the voice-lock-out. At the moment, the computer
doesn't recognise his voice at all.

No voice. . .

"Well, looks like the celebrations were short-lived."

He's wrong-footed me, and it shows.

"What?"

He's silent, for a few moments, then finally, he turns to face me.

"When I got out of the brig, I did the usual stuff, play pool with
friends, ate with B'Elanna. . .  celebrated my self-respect. . .  the
thirty-first day. . . "

Some private joke I don't understand. This isn't going to plan.

Too many variables.

He's given up pacing, now he's just leant against the bar, sinking to
the floor, staring straight ahead, completely ignoring me.

"Kate came to find me, in the mess-hall. After hours. It was dark, no
one around, usual story. Usual place. She liked the thrill, you
probably know that though, know what turns her on. . . " I don't
correct him, just let him carry on. I'm not even sure he's talking to
me. He doesn't look at me, just stares straight ahead.

"Even after all the crap, after the thirty days, she still thought I'd
do exactly what she wanted. She didn't realise what I was doing in the
Flyer that day. She doesn't know that she failed the test. . . "

"The test?"

For the first time, he looks at me, and I move closer, kneeling down,
shuffling so that I'm next to him, as if the ability to see what he's
focusing at will help me see into him. The wood of the bar is hard,
painful almost, as the grooves cut into my back, but I daren't move.

"I wanted to see how far I could go against her. . .  I wanted to see
what she would do. I wanted to see what she put first, me or her duty.
. .  I already knew the answer, it was like a dare, I guess. A stupid
dare. I wanted to see how far I could push her, how far she would be
willing to go. . . "

I was beginning to understand.

"Did she show any sign that she. . .  cared about me, on the bridge?"
His question is soft, he's almost afraid, I think, of the answer. My
breath catches in my throat. . .

What do I say, that she ordered the death charge? That she absolved
herself of any responsibility, that she did nothing to protect him
against the Monean fleet?

I don't answer. He looks away, biting his bottom lip.

"I already know the answer, Chakotay, don't think you're sheltering me
or anything. I could hear it in her voice. She was the Captain then.
She was Janeway then. She wasn't Kate. . .  I don't even know who Kate
was. . . " The false bravado in his voice fades. . .  he knows it
doesn't work on me.

"She used to say that was the reason. The reason why we had to be a
secret. She didn't want to be the Captain with me, she liked to
pretend I was in control. . .  she'd try to provoke me, sometimes. I
can't explain it. . .  it was like whenever she slept with me, she
called the shots, but when it. . .  began. . .  I was the one who had
seduced her. The one who was in control. . .  and I don't understand
that, at all. Do you?"

I'm caught off-guard by the question. Partly because I don't really
understand, but I feel that I know more than he does. . .  what do I
say?

"I don't, really."

Do I? Really? Perhaps he did really have some sort of control that he
didn't understand or realise. He has control over me. He had control
over my decision about Kathryn. . .  therefore, he had control over
Kathryn. . .

I remember our one night together. We'd been stranded a couple of
months, I'd just built her a bathtub. It was a gesture of friendship,
perhaps more. . .  I didn't mean it to be more, but perhaps, then. . .

She found me, sitting alone, in a clearing in the woods near our
shelter. We didn't stray far, the Starfleet training still ingrained
into our heads, even mine. It could have been Earth, or Dorvan, if it
weren't for the two moons, but it was still beautiful. . .

. . . "What are you thinking about?"

"Just. . .  home. The ship. . .  I wonder what they're doing now."

She sat next to me, following my line of sight. Perhaps she was trying
to make out the shape of the ship against the stars. If only they were
that close. . .

Finally, she spoke. "I never thought that I'd be left behind. . .  I
made a promise to get the ship home, and I feel I've broken it. . . "

I moved closer to her, put an arm around her shoulders, draw her
closer. The nights are quite cold here, the warmth, the warmth of
another human being is a comfort that can't be denied. It was a need.
. .

"You did your best."

"It wasn't good enough. . . "

"Did you ask to be infected?"

She remained silent, having to acknowledge the truth of my words. She
sighed heavily, leaning against me. I could feel her hair brushing
against my arm. . .

"Do you think about the life you left behind, in the Alpha Quadrant?"

It was my turn to sigh. Out there, with only primates and one human
for company, there wasn't much else to think about.

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"A lot?"

"Was there ever anyone?"

I pulled away from her slightly, looked into her eyes. I managed a
small smile.

"Anyone.. close? Like Mark?" She asked.

"I thought. . .  maybe, but it didn't really work out. And there
wasn't much hope for it, when we got stuck out here. . . "

I realised my mistake, when she stiffened in my arms and lifted her
head.

"'Much hope'? Is she on Voyager?"

Seeing no escape, I nodded my head. There didn't seem to be a lot I
could do, and it wasn't like I was going to see him again. . .

"Who?"

"I'd rather not. . . "

"Who, Chakotay? B'Elanna?"

"Oh no, not B'Elanna. Look, nothing is going to come of it, and I
don't particularly want to talk about it."

She took the hint, but she wasn't as relaxed as before. We sat for a
while, before I noticed she was shivering.

"C'mon, we better get back to the shelter. It's cold out here, and we
need to get some rest."

She smiled at me, taking my hand and pulling herself up. We walked
silently back to the shelter, neither of us willing to voice our
thoughts. I remembered the feel of her hair against my skin, her
smell. . .  I had spent too many nights thinking about someone I could
never have, could never have had, and now here was. . .

"What are you thinking about?"

I realised we had reached the shelter, were standing inside the
shelter, and now I was just standing there, lost in my own thoughts.

"Were you thinking about her?"

She's standing closer to me, I can smell her. She smells of soap, and
the earthy smell of this planet. New Earth. . .

We weren't on Voyager anymore. . .

"I was just thinking. . .  wishing. . . "

My words are cut off by her tracing my face with the backs of her
fingers. A whisper in my ear. . .  "Forget for a little while, just a
little while. . . "

If only I could. . .  her words drew me into a trance, I was so tired
of the loneliness, the frustration of watching him with others,
knowing he could never feel for me, the way I felt so hard, so damn
hard for him. . .  Tom. . .

. . . And so I let it take me over, I let her take me over. . .  I
should never have been so stupid. I had known it was on the cards, I
had known it was on the cards for a long time. The signs were all
there. We were the only two sentient beings on the entire planet, how
long could we have gone on without it happening?

It had been intense, I remember that much. A lot of it remained a
blur, a combination of instinct and dreams that were weaving through
my mind as I kissed her, took her. . .

It was only afterwards, she told me. A long time afterwards.

It never happened again, after that. When we had finished, she rolled
away from me, taking her clothes, and dressing herself, moving to the
other bed. . .  I was too tired, too dazed, too shocked to protest. I
feel asleep, images of Tom and Kathryn blurring together. . .  that
should have been my first clue. . .

Voyager returned a few days afterwards. The relief I felt was immense.
Both the prospect of escaping from Kathryn's silence and distance, and
of seeing Tom again, even if it were only at a distance. . .

". . . You know, he'll never be able to give you what you really need,
what you really want. . . "

Those words still haunt me. We had just finished packing up the ruined
remains of the shelter and our belongings, almost ready to transport
back up to the ship. Just before I gave Voyager the signal, she had
turned to me, tracing my face again with her fingers. The backs.
Always that way. . .

I reached up, stilling her hand, and she just smiled, and said those
words.

"He'll never be able to give you what you really need. . . "

I didn't understand how she knew, I couldn't understand. The confusion
must have shown on my face, because she smiled gently, sadly.

"I heard you, Chakotay. I heard what you said. I heard the name you
called out. And it wasn't mine. . . "

And then the blurred images made sense to me. It all made sense to me.
I didn't know what to say, how to deal with the hurt I had managed to
cause. . .

Before I could answer, Tuvok hailed, letting us know that they were
ready to beam us aboard. She muttered an understood, and then we left
New Earth behind.

But the troubles had only just begun.

Words Tom had said, come back to me, a question he had asked earlier
that night. Or a statement he had made. A statement he didn't want to
verify. Or maybe that was me. . .

"No one saying what they mean. No one saying what they feel.
Everyone's lying, Chakotay. Everyone is lying. And nothing is really
happening. It's all ready to blow up, but nothing is happening. . .
no one is trying to stop it. . . "

I had done nothing to stop it. In fact, I had helped cause it. Did Tom
realise any of that?

Could I tell Tom any of that?

No. I couldn't. *Selfish* my mind whispered at me. Was this what my
feelings have driven me to? Selfishness? Protecting myself, so I could
have a chance with him? Doesn't he deserve to know the truth?

Do I even have a chance?

"Chakotay?"

Damn, how long had I blanked out for? I turn to face him, see his
concerned expression. I open my mouth to speak, knowing that I should
tell him everything, I *needed* to tell him everything. . .

But as I get ready to speak, he moves closer, his face level with
mine. I hold my breath. For a crazy moment, one crazy moment, I
actually think. . .

"Are you okay?" He moves back slightly. "You zoned out there. Have you
been sleeping okay?"

When I'm not lying awake thinking about you and Kathryn. . .  "Yeah,
fine Paris. I was just thinking. . . "

"Perhaps you should go back to your quarters, get some sleep. . . "

"I told you, I'm fine." The tone of my voice is harsher than I intend,
and I wince as soon as I speak. He moves back quickly, like a wounded
animal, shying away. I can almost see the shields go up around him. .
.  No, don't do that. . .

"Sorry, Commander," he says, looking away.

"No, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Look, I want to help you.
. . "

"How?"

The question, like so much of what he says, what he does, catches me
off-guard.

"How?" I echo, stupidly.

"How can you help me?"

"I can listen. . .  I can be your friend. . . "

"Why?" Damn, those eyes are like lasers. Can he read me?

"What?"

"Why? Why do you want to help me, what do you get out of it?"

"I don't. . . " the words I'm about to say die on my lips, as I stare
at him.

"You don't.. what? Understand? Why are you doing this, Chakotay? Why
are you doing this so suddenly?" A sudden thought occurs to him, and
he gets up, walking quickly to the other side of the bar, as if the
holographic wood will shield him from the pain of the answer.

"Where are you going?"

But he doesn't answer me.

"Do you want her?"

"What?" It takes a moment for the words to penetrate my mind. When
they do, I shake my head vigorously.

"No! No, I don't! This isn't what this is about! I'm trying to help
you. . . "

He eyes me warily, arms crossed.

"Why would she tell you about us?"

"I don't. . .  I don't know." I'm lying now. I'm trapped, in a corner.
And I want what I'm saying to be true. If I could only choose. . .

This isn't how I wanted this to happen, it really wasn't. I gripped
the back of my neck, trying to sort out my emotions, analyse them.

Physician, heal thyself. . .

But Tom was on a roll now, he had an explanation in his grasp, and he
was determined to hold onto it, whatever I said.

"You want her, and she wants you. . .  What am I, some game to you? Do
you both think I'm that stupid? I'm that *fucked*-*up*!?!?! I'm not
some plaything that you can mess around with!"

"I *know* that!" Without thinking, I grip the side of the bar, and
manage to haul myself over it, landing with a not-so-graceful thud on
the other side. I straighten up, tugging at my clothes, to centre
myself.

Tom watches every move I make, unsure of what I'm planning. I'm not
even sure. Like I said, too many variables.

Finally he speaks, softly, almost defeatedly, as he leans heavily
against the wall.

"Then, why, Chakotay? Why are you doing this. . . ?"

A simple question. A simple answer. . .

"Because I. . . " I falter for a moment, knowing that it was now or
never. This wasn't how I imagined this to be. . .

"I. . . " Damnit, how can I say this. . .

He searches my eyes for a moment, then, thinking he's not going to get
an answer, grips my forearms, to push me away.

And suddenly, I know. . .  My hands twist around and I grip his own
arms. He freezes, shocked, as I lean forward.

"I'm in love. With you. I'm in love with you."

I've said it. I've actually spoken the words out loud, to him.

What the hell have I done?

"What? How can you. . .  I mean, you can't. . .  You? Me?" his voice
trailed off, leaving a path of unanswered questions.

"Why can't I be?"

I'm still dangerously close to him, and he's not pushing me away.

He isn't pushing me away. . .

"Because you know what I've done. . .  and you. . . "

"I. . . "

"You don't even *like* me, Chakotay! You don't even like me. Why are
you doing this to me? What did I do to you and Kate that was so damn
terrible, that you have to do this to me?"

"This has nothing to do with Kathryn. . . "

"The hell it doesn't!" He yells, struggling, trying to free himself. I
just tighten my hold.

"Let me go!"

"No! I won't!"

"Let me *fucking* go, Chakotay!"

"Not. . .  until you.. listen. . .  to me. . . " I struggle with him,
and he finally manages to lever me off him, only to trip over a fallen
beer crate and end up on the floor on his back. But he doesn't move,
eyes firmly focused on the ceiling.

I stand up, offering my hand. He stares stubbornly ahead, pointedly
ignoring me. So I sit down next to him. He shifts away slightly, but
his gaze doesn't leave the ceiling.

"Are you going to stay there all night?"

"Until you leave."

"Why are you acting so childish?"

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, as I watch his eyes
close off and his mouth form into a small, firm line. Impenetrable.

"Isn't that what's expected of me?"

"Maybe, once, a few years ago, but you've changed Tom."

"Apparently, I have. . . " his voice is laced with sarcasm.

I breathe heavily. I hear him sigh, but when I look up, he's breathing
normally.

"Leave."

The single word is commanding. No room for argument. I imagine that's
what his father sounds like.

"No."

"Leave," he repeats. His voice remains almost level.

Almost.

"I won't."

Stalemate.

He stares at the ceiling for a few more seconds, and then gets up,
walking to the end of the bar and lifting up the hatch. Walking
through it, he moves to the door.

"Computer, end program."

"Unable to comply. Voiceprint not recognised."

He leans his head against the door, his laughing chilling me to the
bone, as I stand and watch him.

"Voiceprint not recognised. I like it."

Is that what he thinks, what he sees? Being ignored, his voice not
being heard?

*Selfish*

Am I ignoring him? Now I am, but only because I want to make him see.
. .  I need to make him see, he can't leave. . .

He turns to me, finally, standing behind the bar he created, leaning
his head back against the wall.

"What do you want from me, Chakotay?"

"Only you, Tom."

He smiles.

"*Only* me. How long would *only* me be enough? It wasn't enough for
Kathryn. I doubt it was enough for B'Elanna. . . "

"Perhaps they didn't see what I see."

"And what is it that you *see*. . .  Commander?"

I begin to talk as I walk, around the bar, toward him, not too close.
. .

"I see a man who's been hurt too many times by other people's battles.
A man who's brave, who'll do what he can for his friends, no matter
what they have done to him. . .  a man who'll risk his life for what
he believes in.

"I see a man who wants to love, but is afraid to trust, believe,
because when he allows himself to, he's been hurt, through no fault of
his own. . .  A beautiful, hurt, brave man. The man I couldn't help be
in love with. . . "

He drops his head, tilts it to one side, as he listens to the words I
say. If only I can make him see. . .  I continue moving closer, I can
feel his heat. . .

"Only you could be everything to me, Tom. . .  not Kathryn. You. . . "

He's watching me, his body coiled like a spring, a panther, ready to
flee. . .

My hands are on his chest, one moving up to the juncture between neck
and shoulder, the other tracing his lips. . .  so soft, as they move
against my finger. . .

"I don't know if I can. . . "

"Please Tom. Believe me. . . "

His eyes are dark, the sapphire blue almost completely replaced by the
inky blackness of his pupils. I can feel him shake slightly, I know
I'm shaking too. I can't believe I'm doing this, that I'm about to. .
.

"I believe you. . . "

He smiles, but there's still a hint of uncertainty playing about his
features. Like he's caught in a dream, and he's afraid to move, in
case he wakes up. . .

I don't want him to ever wake up. . .

Slowly, I move closer, closing my eyes finally when I touch his lips
with mine. I feel him release a shuddering sigh, as he parts them,
allowing me inside.

And then all I can feel is him. His body pressed against mine, as we
kiss against the door. His hair through my fingers, the soft skin of
his neck under my hand. I can feel his hands reaching up, running them
through my hair, stroking the nape of my neck. I feel one slide lower,
under my shirt collar, as we share one hot, open-mouthed kiss after
another. Anytime one of us pulls back for air, we're immediately
pulled back again. It's like we can't stop. . .

I never want this dream to end. . .

"How long?" I hear him gasp out, as finally, I pull my mouth away to
taste the inviting skin of his neck that I had been stroking with my
hand. As I pull at his shirt, baring his shoulder and then kissing it,
he groans, thrusting hard against me. I'm glad he deleted the patrons
earlier.

"How long. . . ?"

"Oh God. . .  How long have you. . .  wanted. . .  me?" He manages to
say, as my hand strays underneath his shirt, teasing at his navel. His
hands claw at my back, as his head rears back, slamming against the
wall. But he doesn't even seem to notice, as he groans with pleasure.
I can feel how much he wants this. . .

"Since. . .  since I first saw you. Since I was born. . .  I was born
for you. . .  Can't believe. . .  I'm here with you. . .  now. . . "

And I can't. I can't believe that they're his hands, holding my head
up so he can stare into my eyes. That it's his lips that are moving
toward mine. That it's his fingers and tongue, tracing my tattoo. . .

How many times had I longed for this, dreamed of this? So many
different settings, here, my quarters, Tom's cabin, a shuttlecraft. .
.  Of the desire, the need building up, becoming so strong that all
sense and reason is lost in the ensuing madness, the lust, the
realisation. . .

But is this right? The doubt gnaws at my conscience, even though the
rest of my body is craving to surrender to his warmth, his hands, that
are slowly, too slowly, unbuttoning my shirt, occasionally slipping
inside. . .  I look down, feeling myself harden as I watch the
entrancing display. So simple, yet so erotic. . .

I'm losing control, I can feel it slipping away from me, as I feel
Tom's hands slip lower. Soon, a few minutes, a few seconds, it'll be
too late. . .

A last tendril of rational thought snakes through my head, coiling the
pent-up desire that's over-flowing in my mind. As he reaches to undo
the last button on my shirt, I reach down, gripping his hand in both
of my own. His head snaps up, looking at me, a question in his eyes, a
fear...

"Are you sure?" I whisper. I'm so afraid of the answer. Both of us,
afraid. . .

*Selfish*

He relaxes, leaning back against the door, holding my gaze, searching
my eyes, letting everything show. . .

Blue skies, not a cloud in sight. . .

"Very," he whispers back, a caress. . .  his other hand, the one not
held in mine, cradles my cheek, tracing the shape of my left eye. So
gentle. . .  so much I never knew about this man. . .  He leans
closer, drawing me to him, breath soft against my cheek.

"I don't think I've ever been surer of anything in my life, Chakotay.
. . " he whispers into my ear, making me shiver. I can feel the grin
shaping his mouth, before a tongue darts out and traces the edge of my
ear. It's only for a second, but it's enough. He moves back, and now
it's him initiating the kisses, his task of unbuttoning my shirt
temporarily forgotten as he searches out my mouth with his.

Not that I'm complaining. I know we've passed the point of no return,
that I couldn't even stop, even if I tried.

Not that I wanted to. Not that I ever wanted to. If I never left this
holosuite, I would be happy, so long as he stayed with me. . .

I feel as if I'm going to pass out. I can't decide whether it's lack
of oxygen, or just being here with him, but I know I have to pull
away. . .

We separate, just about, and he grins at me, before reaching down to
unhook the last button. But he can't. I don't understand what's taking
him so long, until I realise he's shaking. Gently, I take his hand in
mine. . .

"I won't hurt you. . . "

"I know. . . "

I pin the hand to his side, as I reach down and dispose of the button.
I'm not exactly the model of calm and control, either, and I'm pretty
sure the button isn't attached to the shirt anymore.

Fuck the button. I'm more interested in. . .  other possibilities now.
. .

His eyes darken, he's breathing heavily. His hands move to my
shoulders and he's opening the shirt wider, pushing it away from my
chest, across my shoulders. . .  I feel it slide against my skin and
off, down to the floor. . .

And now suddenly I'm pushed against the wall. His expression, he's
determined. . .  it makes me shiver. I hardly have time to wonder at
the role-reversal before he's leaning closer. . .  he kisses me
lightly, once, not the kisses I crave, but another sort. . .  he's
teasing me. . .

Then his lips move lower, and his hands are running all over my chest.
Almost as if there is more than one of him. . .

". . . Only you could be enough. . . "

"Mmmmmm. . . "

"You sound like a cat who's got the cream, Paris. . . "

Suddenly, he bites me, on my shoulderblade, hard. I jump, as the pain
courses through me, but that's nothing compared to how it feels when
he's licking and tasting my skin. . .  Damn, I feel as if I'm on fire.
. .  I think I'm harder than I've ever been in my entire life. . .  I
want him. . .

"Perhaps I'm the puppy with the bone. . . "

I have no idea what he means by that, at all. . .  and at that moment,
his hand moves purposely lower, rubbing my nipple, then my navel, then
lower. . .  and now he's grasping me, I can feel his hand through the
fabric, stroking me. . .

Oh God, this is going too fast, too damn fast. . .  part of me doesn't
want to pull away, but I know I have to.

"Not yet. . .  too. . .  soon. . . " I finally ground out, somehow.
I'm not even sure if I've said the words, but he backs away slightly,
his hand moving upwards again, stroking at my nipple. I want him, I
want him badly. . .  so badly, it hurts. . .

"I need you. . . " he whispers, ". . . need you, need this. . . "

And I need him too. . .  my hands come around his back, I want to
touch him, but the shirt he's wearing is in the way. I try to unbutton
it, patiently and calmly, but I fail miserably. . .

So I end up tearing it instead, pushing him back against the door. He
hisses at the friction burn, as the sound of the ripping cloth. . .
the shirt's a dark tawny red, I notice. Funny, I would have expected
him to wear blue. . .

He rarely follows expectations. . .

Except now. . .

And then the shirt's gone. I see a flash of red as it lands somewhere
under a table. But who cares about the wrapping. . .

He's fair. As I explore his body with my hand, he shivers. Light,
downy hairs are sprinkled over his chest, and the effects of recent
workouts in the brig are obvious.

So beautiful. . .

I step back, staring at him. He's still pressed against the doorway,
he's watching me, as I explore him with my eyes. . .

How long have I wanted this. . .

"Do you like what you see?" a throaty whisper, that goes straight to
my cock. All I can do is nod.

His eyes are fixed on mine, and he moves toward me. I feel his hands
sliding down, his fingers hooked into my pants. . .  I can feel him
tugging at them. . .

"You don't have to. . . "

He cuts me off with a reassuring kiss.

"I want you Chakotay. I want it all. . . "

If I wasn't lost before, I am now. I'm beyond thinking, all I can do
is feel, as he slowly lowers himself to his knees on the floor,
pushing down the last of my clothes with him, pooling at my feet.
Cautiously, he lifts one leg, and then the other, freeing me. I feel
the lightest of kisses on my knee, slow, torturously slow featherlight
kisses creeping up my calf, my thigh. . .

I've lost track of the moans, the gasps, the noises I'm making. I
grasp the door, as he moves higher, higher still. . .

I can feel the first of his touches on my hardness. So light, I could
almost believe it wasn't there. A finger, a tip of a finger lightly
stroking me. . .

"You're going to drive me insane. . . "

"I want to hear you say it. That's it's only me. . .  Only me you
want. . . "

He moves closer, I can feel his breath on my flesh, but then he
pauses, looking up at me.

"It's only you I want, Tom. . . "

That's all the answer he needs, it seems, as he moves closer, and then
soon, too soon, my mind overloads with the sensations his touch brings
out in me. . .

When I come to, I find myself leaning against the wall, near the door,
legs out-stretched in front of me.

"You passed out," a voice beside me says, and I turn quickly.

"I'm not surprised."

An eyebrow is raised, and he's eyeing me speculatively.

"Oh really," he manages to drawl out, as I begin to stroke his leg
through the pants he still kept on. One was bent, he rested an arm on
it. The other was outstretched, like mine, our feet touching.

"You're pretty good at that."

"'Pretty good'? I'm surprised they didn't hear you in the messhall. .
. "

"Alright, you were very good, brilliant, the best. . .  happy now?"

He grins at me, stretching like a cat.

"Well, I know what could make me happier. . . "

My eyes follow his downward, and I can feel a smile tugging at my
lips. . .

"Oh, I think I can make you happy, Tom. . . "

He doesn't mean the hidden meaning in my words. He stiffens slightly,
and for a few seconds, I panic, but then he relaxes.

"Perhaps. . . "

"Are you challenging me. . . " I almost say 'Lieutenant', but I
realise at the last moment what that single word could destroy.

"I've had enough of the challenges, Chakotay. Just. . .  show
me. . ."

I roll toward him, placing a hand behind his neck and gently tugging
him forward. He smiles, a lazy smile, and then leans forward, meeting
my lips halfway. I drink him in, tasting him, letting him do the same.
. .

And then I show him exactly what he means to me. . .

---

the Inequality series was never finished