Disclaimer: Another round of applause for BratKatze for dreaming up this wonderful universe, and for so generously allowing me to play in it! Paramount: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Owns all, does nothing with it. Me make money out of this? No way. =================== Today be Sweet, Part 2/3 by whitecrow June 1998 =================== -----------------------------///------------------------------ Tom stood on a right leg that ached only slightly, practising his balance as he gazed out the windowwall. The stars at warp streamed by, a sight disconcerting to almost everyone but pilots. He loved the trail of colours in and out of the spectrum, colours his eyes barely recognised, fading to colours his eyes could not see and named black in self-defence. The movement always seen out of the corner of one eye -- warp phantasms, plasma ghosts, colour spectrals - there were many unique and beautiful names for the things one couldn't quite see in warp space. He leaned forward and breathed on the clearsteel, misting it slightly. It used to be a game amongst pilots back at the Academy, the pattern of your breath distorted the warp colours even further, back into almost recognisable shapes. But today he could only see misted breath, fast disappearing in the ship's drier air. He sighed, and stood on both legs. He was avoiding the inevitable. He'd been on Wolf Raider for three days now, and he was fully healed. The captain hadn't stinted in providing equipment and manpower to repair his little Hornet, even if he himself had remained invisible. Tom had seen a bit of Harry, for which he was grateful. He'd been saddened to learn that B'Elanna and Harry's marriage wasn't good, and had tried to gently offer advice while trying to figure out what on earth he could say. Harry had finally thanked him for his efforts and asked him to stop. "After all," he had said gently, "I don't think your track record makes you an expert, either." Tom had had the grace to blush, and Harry continued "We'll either make it or we won't. I love her, you know. I think she even realises it. It's just the damn guilt..." He'd turned away briefly, then completely changed the subject, and the conversation had moved on from there. So ... Chakotay -- there, he'd said the name -- was letting him have whatever he needed to get on and get out, away from his ship, away from his life. And whose fault was that, Tommy-boy, he mused. *You're* the one who left without saying goodbye. He lifted his right leg, exercising the knee, feeling the healed muscles sliding not quite smoothly to perform the lift function. You're the one who left without giving him a chance, you're the one who wouldn't take the risk that he might fail. You're gonna have to face him sooner or later. Why not now? Four more leg lifts, then Tom lifted his head "Computer, location of Captain Chakotay?" "Captain Chakotay is in his ready room." Hmmm, was an ex-Starfleet pilot persona grata on the bridge of a Federation starship, or not? He'd been given extensive leeway to wander the ship at will, one of the new Pleiad-class ships that had entered service a few months after their return from the Delta Quadrant. And of course Chakotay had got one, Janeway would have seen to that. Still protecting her own, even if no-one could protect him. He pulled his mind out of its self-pity track and wondered again if he could just go to the bridge. Better wait until shift end. Strange that they'd never bumped into each other in the messhall, in the hanger bay as the crews worked on his Hornet. He could almost suppose that Chakotay had locked himself in his ready room until he, Tom, left Wolf Raider, or else he was damn good at making sure that he and Tom were never in the same location at the same time. Careful, paranoia will do it to you every time, he thought wryly. And you're a past master at the art of paranoia, he mused. Just because they're not here doesn't mean they're not out to get you. He smiled at himself. Scepticism, now that's what's needed. Oookkaay, Tommy-boy, just do it. He strode out of the guest quarters and into the turbolift. "Bridge" he said quickly, and the obliging machine took him there, no questions asked. The doors opened onto a familiar scene. He'd have loved to look around, see the new equipment, but already the security guard was moving forward to intercept him. Harry had risen from his chair, thank god a familiar face was there to rescue him *again*. Harry waved the guard away. "It's OK, Ensign," he said, "I'll vouch for this man." 'This man is my friend..' Tom shook his head. Too many weird presentiments today. "Unhh, I'd like to see Ch.. the Captain." "Sure, Tom?" it was a question. "Yeah, I'm sure." "This way." Harry led him past conn, so that Tom could have a good look at the pilot's station, then up the ramp behind Ops and Security to the small door beside the bridge john. He pressed the chime. "Come." said a voice, familiar enough to make Tom's palms suddenly sweat, his heart to beat faster. He looked wildly at Harry and shook his head. "Not ready..." he managed to gasp, as the door slid open and Harry pushed him gently in the back, enough to propel him forward. The door slid shut without Harry. Tom turned around slowly, and found the captain. Tom knew he had to speak first. He had to set the tone for this meeting, had to control his and Chakotay's reactions to each other. "Hi Chak, Guess you never expected to see me out here, did you? Like a bad penny I just keep turning up." He grinned, his best hotshot fly-boy grin, the one calculated to drive Chakotay white with anger. Instead the commander, oops, captain, regarded him impassively. "I trust your injuries have fully healed?" "Unnhh, yeah, sure, thanks. That's what I wanted to say, Chakotay, uhhh, Captain. Thanks for patching up me and my ship. We'll be on our way as soon as we can..." "I understand we are unable to replace your warp core," Chakotay interrupted. "I'm afraid you're stuck on board until we reach Starbase 847." "Unnh, sure.." where was his control? He thought he'd be running the conversation. Instead, Chakotay stood there as calm and impassive as the old dime store Indian, and about as emotive. He wasn't getting angry, he wasn't throwing Tom's cowardice in his face, he was acting like a complete stranger would to a stray runner he'd picked up, trying to shake him as fast as possible but accepting the inevitable like an albatross around the neck. Two could play at that game. "Sorry to have taken up your time, Captain. Just wanted to say thanks," Tom drawled. He turned to leave, but Chakotay's voice stopped him. "I'll expect you in my quarters at 1930 for dinner." Tom turned back, excuses falling over his tongue. *Gods* the *last* thing he wanted was to be alone with Chakotay for any length of time. "Sorry, captain, my regrets and all that...." "I shall expect you at 1930." Chakotay repeated, then turned his attention back to his reports. Tom stood there for a few seconds, entirely superfluous, then left as quickly as he could. ------------------------///-------------------------------- So here he stood, outside Chakotay's quarters, at 1935. Nervous as hell, scared, slightly angry, wanting once more to run away. He took three deep breaths, then pressed the chime. The door slid open at some silent command and he entered. It was almost the same. Somehow he hadn't expected the visual reminder of the quarters that he and Chakotay had shared to hit him with such physical force. His stomach cramped in sudden pain, memories that he thought he'd shut away, that he thought he'd scourged entirely from his brain, flooded back unbidden. The medicine wheel hanging on the lounge wall, the woven rug from the Delta Quadrant - it was all the same. Involuntarily he looked toward the table, and saw the same three river stones arranged in the low bowl that he himself had made for Chakotay. He wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't prepared for the emotional burden, much less the physical one. He turned to leave, fuck the consequences, what could the captain do to him anyway.... "Oh, Mr Paris, there you are. You've retained your usual prompt standards, I see." Chakotay's voice stopped him. Slowly he turned back. Chakotay had just re-entered the dining room from the small refectory that captains on starships were permitted for their private entertaining. Usually containing one probationary ensign and or a replicator. He held a carved wooden bowl in his hands, so scratch the ensign. "Not leaving already? Here..." he placed the bowl on the table and scooped up a glass of a pale yellow liquid. He handed it to Tom, who took a self-defensive sip. He looked up in surprise. "Semillon Sauvignon Blanc, from Dorvan V." Chakotay smiled at him, a genuine, eye-crinkling, teeth flashing smile. "RHIP, as they say, and it sure does, Tom, it sure does." Tom was stunned. What was happening here? And so it proceeded, a lovely easy dinner, pasta, salad, fresh bread, fruit, all the simple, tasty things that Chakotay loved to eat. Tom's head was spinning, and not just from the wine. He kept telling himself where he was, on Wolf Raider, *not* Voyager. Chakotay kept the conversational ball rolling with an ease he had lacked 16 months ago. Must be all that hobnobbing with Admirals, Tom thought to himself. But it was so similar, so terrifyingly similar, that as the evening wore on he began to respond less and less to Chakotay's conversational gambits, the similarity of so many evenings spent this way on Voyager overlaying his brain with *this* evening, here, on Wolf Raider. Surreal. He was losing it. Why hadn't Chakotay asked him The Question? Wasn't he curious? Surely Tom's leaving hadn't gone unnoticed? He barely noticed when Chakotay stood and led the way up to the lounges at the far windowwall. Warp stars slid by the clearsteel, and Tom debated where to sit, but they were all curved lounges, no single chair to hide in. Chakotay handed him another full glass of the delicious cool wine, but he was almost at the end of his mental strength. He yawned obviously, hoping that signal would be a hint to Chakotay wind up the evening in good form. Sometimes his upper class upbringing prohibited him from making social gaffes - it could be a real bind. Chakotay poured him a cup of strong black coffee, and he drank it greedily, hoping to beat some sense into his spinning brain. And then reality settled around him. End Part 2