Finally for all those who were wondering what happened at the end of
whitecrow's "What Is Tomorrow?" - here you go. Sorry for the delay, Chakotay
refused to cooperate.

When Tomorrow Comes is the seventh segement in the little universe whitecrow
and I are playing in. It follows Today, Yesterday, My Thomas, Wishes, Today Be
Sweet, and What is Tomorrow.

This is from Chakotay's POV and is set about a year after What is Tomorrow?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Tomorrow Comes
by BratKatze

All character, etc herein belong to Paramount. I'm just borrowing for good,
clean (?) profitless fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll probably see him tomorrow.
Three months, fourteen days, and a scattering of hours.

Is this how we are to measure time?

He should be there. I know he got the message, but? As with everything in this
war. Uncertainty is what we have to live with. I used to be a patient man, at
peace. Not any more. I no longer have an easy peace. Action has become
reaction. Incessant motion. I have changed. Long ago I accused Tom of
changing. And he has. But so have I. The change was more gradual, subtle. But
I am no longer the same man I was three years ago in the Delta Quadrant, nor
am I the same man who in returning home lost his soul, nor am I the man who
stood with Tom a little over a year ago staring at a broken bowl.

We have both changed. Change is neither good nor bad. The wheel turns.  It
simply is the way things are. To paraphrase Seven, resistance is. . .

I thought it was over then, after the doctor left. There was nothing left to
say. We avoided each other for the remainder of the journey to Starbase 847. I
didn't want to look at him. At this thing my love had become. I felt cheapened
and I know I made my disgust plain to him. I understand now that was what he
wanted. He wanted to push me away, drive me away from him. He done the same
thing to his father and his family. He had it mastered as an art form. And I
fell for it. I gave in to every negative emotion and feeling it was possible
to harbor within my breast. I felt ill-used and I felt hate. I would have put
him off the ship with nary a backward glance if given the opportunity. It was
over. I'd cut him off just like the Admiral. That's what I would do, just like
Owen Paris I'd. . .

Spirits Tom what you do to me.

I am not Owen Paris. I never wanted to become that cold, cruel, heartless,
self-serving bastard. Not even for Tom would I become him. It hit me the day
we were due to dock, the road I was on. The road Tom had shown me. It was a
road I was determined not to take. With only an hour to spare I exited my
ready-room and asked Harry where Tom was. My XO looked at me, unspoken
questions in his eyes. "I need to speak with him" was all I said. Harry must
have read more in my face. He nodded and told me where to find him.

I found him tinkering on his ship's engine. All sweat, dirt, and completely
desirable. He looked up curious when the doors opened. When he saw it was me
his expression became guarded.

"Planning on throwing me out early?" He said it with a grin and a hint of
challenge but I sensed the fear underneath.

I shook my head. "No. I just came to talk."

He frowned. "Why? We've said all we had to, haven't we?"

I sighed, "Have we Tom? Or is there more? Is it really over?"

"What's a matter Captain? Find yourself lusting for another taste?" He
swiveled his hips suggestively. "Your crew is certainly curious."

I saw red. I think this is a close to killing rage as I had ever come. I
reached forward and grasped his shoulders shaking him. "Damn it  Tom. Stop
pushing me away. I am not going anywhere. I am not your father. I . . . I. . .
still love you. I don't like you or understand you right now but I still love
you. Tell me you don't feel the same." He didn't answer. He didn't have to. I
read the answer in his face.

Curious. For all his vaunted talent at hiding emotions behind a mask, when it
really mattered, when it well and truly mattered you could read Tom like an
open book.

I asked him to stay. He asked me to go with him. He wouldn't. I couldn't.

Impasse.

We stood for a moment and stared at one another. He shrugged his too thin
shoulders. "I guess that's it then" he said.

"I guess so." I replied. I wanted to say more. I wanted to keep him from
walking out of my life. From disappearing again. I wanted to reach out and
bring back my Tom but he was gone. Replaced by this stranger, not a stranger.
My heart cried out but I would not beg. I had my pride, we both did.  Too much
had been said, there was too little trust between us. So my tongue stayed
silent. And he left.

I mourned him then. I mourned as if he were dead. I was certain I'd never see
him again. I have not shed tears often in my adult life. But I cried myself to
sleep those nights. I shed tears of loss and tears of rage, tears of
frustration and pain. Harry tells me I was impossible for those first weeks
after Tom left. That my anger and frustration almost drove the crew to mutiny.
But I was sacred. Terrified that one day I hear a news of a blond runner
captured or killed by the Jem Hadar or murdered in a fight in some dirty
backwater bar. 

I lived two and a half months of hell not knowing. Then came the rumors, the
confirmation, then finally weeks later I saw him again.

And so it began. By the time I saw him the seeds were sown. Within six months
from our parting Tom would be the most famous man in the quadrant-a legend in
the making. The most wanted man by the other side. Leader of a growing band of
independent fighters who dared what the Federation wouldn't.

'Thomas Eugene Paris, son of Admiral Owen Paris rescues captured diplomats
from Jem Hadar prison.' 'Thomas Paris and a small squadron of runners
successfully defend a convoy against Cardassian attack.'

We'd been sent by Starfleet to assist and provide back up if it proved
necessary. It was completely unofficial of course. Our stated mission was the
delivery of medical supplies. The official policy was disavowal and
disapproval. If the Admiralty thought that would stop Tom Paris they were
sadly mistaken. He'd lived with that all his life and learned to accept it,
some might say thrive on it. But Tom had allies in San Francisco and
elsewhere. Allies who saw to it, once he embarked on this course, that certain
things fell into his lap. Anything from spare parts to information to the
occasional backup.

It was I suppose Kathryn's way of attempting to set things right. It was also
her way of protecting her lost lamb, the one she thought she gone forever. The
return to the Alpha Quadrant changed her. Before, Starfleet policy and it's
regulations were all - to be adhered to unquestioningly. A religious faith of
sorts. There might be a few bad apples in the command line but Starfleet the
institution, the vision, was pure. No more. Now, she questioned, doubted. And
Kathryn being Kathryn, she acted. Once she made contact with that Bajoran
major on DS9 there was nothing she couldn't do, nothing she couldn't get for
Tom. Spirits save us from stubborn redheads.

We were on a routine run near the Cardassian border or so the orders read. I
was to delay around the coordinates for three days. No names had been
mentioned but I knew who I was waiting for.  So there I was. Waiting. Nervous
as hell, which I hated. And all alone. Harry was on leave trying to work
things out with B'Elanna. I missed him. He'd become my sounding board and
conscience. Who would have thought?

I kept reminding myself Tom left me. He left, not the other way around. But I
knew my feelings. I still loved him. Through it all I still loved him. It was
his feelings I doubted, and the power they had over me I feared. The moment he
walked through that door all the pain and longing hit me like a physical
thing. He was so beautiful. There was an assurance about him that hadn't been
there before. It gave him that casual grace that wild creatures have.

It provoked something me. A dark primal part of me I never acknowledged. It
tapped that part of the human soul that finds safety in destruction, and
pleasure in the hunt and the mounting of trophies on walls. He was barely
through the door before I attacked him.

"What game are you playing at now Tom?" 

He paused to look at me. "Visiting an old friend?"

I stared in silence till he lowered his eyes.

"Doing my small part for the war effort." 

"What's your angle this time Paris? Hoping to make enough of a name for
yourself for Daddy to take you back?" I was being deliberately cruel I know.

He sighed softly. "You were Maquis Chakotay. I expected you to understand."

"Understand what? You failed as a whore and a drug dealer so now you're
falling back on your mercenary skills. Don't forget Tom you weren't so good at
it the last time. The Maquis stood for something, fought for their freedom,
their families, their homes. What are you fighting for Tom? Bragging rights in
a bar? Your name in the news vids? Money?"

He looked at me then. His eyes wintry with anger and his cheek flushed. "Is
that what you think Chief? I suppose it is. I thought you would understand
better than Kathryn. But you've changed. I'm not sure that Captain's uniform
suits you".

"I haven't changed Tom, you have."

"No. We both have.  You've gone blind Chakotay. You're accepting  Starfleet
policy without question. Just like you accused Kathryn of doing when you first
came on Voyager. Well let me tell you there are a hell of a lot of people out
there who are outside 'policy'. Whose interests and lives are not protected by
this defensive war the Federation is waging. Aren't the smaller worlds worthy
of defense, don't their inhabitants deserve a future free of Jem Hadar
raiders?"

"Is that what you see yourself doing Tom? Saving the quadrant. Playing hero?"

He looked at me then, his face suddenly older, sadder. "I really hurt you
didn't I?" he whispered.

I couldn't answer.

He smiled at me. A sad wistful smile. An old smile. He reached out a hand and
caressed my face, his fingers running lightly over the tattoo. His thumb
traced the outline of my lips burning it with his touch. The he bent his head
and kissed my lips. Lightly. A feather's touch. I closed my eyes and he
whispered softly "I love you". Then he was gone.

He left me with a lot of thinking to do and plans for a new subspace
transmitter the Cardassians were building just inside Federation territory.


It was three months before I saw him again. For three months I lived with
constant daily reports of his death or capture. With each new raid, the price
on his head grew and the number of volunteers to his rebel band grew. He was
also growing more reckless, his raids taking on a nose-thumbing character
which only incensed the Cardassian authorities more. After he raided a prison
on Cardassia herself to rescue the daughter of a Klingon general, threats of
retaliation and an official complaint were lodged. But there was nothing
Starfleet could do. Tom was a private citizen. He hadn't broken any Federation
laws. They had no control over his actions. They had no knowledge of his
whereabouts. I heard there was a daily toast to Tom at the bar of Deep Space
Nine. Their Ops Chief was apparently thrilled that someone was giving the
"damn Cardies a run for their money."

The only one not enthused by all of this was Admiral Paris. The son he denied
and disowned was now making the Paris name a legend.  It was the cruelest of
ironies and Kathryn later told me she feared Owen would actually betray Tom
out of jealousy and anger. She sent me to warn Tom and ask him to lay low for
bit.

When he walked through my cabin door this time I kissed him. We came together
like a spark and dry tinder. It was like one of those old fashioned romance
vids where the man and woman barely make it to the bed. We didn't. I couldn't
get enough of him, the taste him, the energy of him. I'd lost him too many
times, I couldn't let him go. 

I spent an hour tracing the scars on his body, the old and the new. There were
more of the latter than I cared to contemplate. A particularly wicked one
stretched across the small of his back to his side. Apparently a Ferengi
bounty hunter found the prize money irresistible. It was only through the
timely intervention of my old Maquis crewmate Ayalla that Tom was still alive.
Apparently several of the old Maquis left Starfleet to serve with Tom.

He watched me as I explored his body. His expression guarded, pensive. 

"Now what Chief?"

"I don't know Tom. You tell me."

"I can't stop this. It's bigger than me. I'll probably continue until some Jem
Hadar gets a lucky shot."

I held my fingers to his lips "Don't say that."

"It's true Chakotay. Like roulette, it's only a matter of . . ."

I became angry. "Is that all it is to you? A game. A thrill? A . . ."

He kissed me. Then held my face in his hands "No. It's not a game. But it's
the way it is. The way it has to be. What happens happens, neither you nor I
can stop it."

"When did you get philosophical on me?"

He grinned impishly at me. He didn't grin much anymore. He was harder, more
serious. "You really don't want me to answer that."

"No I suppose I don't." I lay down and covered my eyes with an arm. "What
about us?" I asked.

"Is there still an us Chakotay?"

"If you want . . ."

"No. If we want, maybe. But I or you singularly, no. I don't know. Some much
has happened, perhaps we've missed our time. I can't go back to who I was
before."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Aren't you? You want me to stop."

"I don't want you to get yourself killed."

"I can't promise you that. And I won't stop. It's all I have. It's my chance
to count for something, to stand up and do something. To be worthy of . . ."
He paused and did not finish the sentence. He swallowed, all defenses gone
from his face. "Chakotay, when I came out here, I came because of you. I came
not so much to make a difference out here but to be near you. Now I have to
stay because of me. Can you understand that?"

I did. All to well. I looked into his eyes and whispered. "Make love to me."
And he did. The next morning I let him go.

It's been three months, fourteen days and some hours since that last morning.
I'll see him again tomorrow. At the funeral. I know he got word and I know
he'll be there. Everyone will be there, quite a state event. The funeral of a
Starfleet Admiral murdered by a changeling right in the heart of the
Federation. Many will be there out of curiosity but Tom will be there because
he's Tom and he couldn't do otherwise.

I don't know what I'll say to him. I'm not sure I can live like this. Not
knowing where he is for months at a time. Never knowing if he is dead and I am
alone. 

I never used to drink. But now I do. Harry and I will often drown our troubles
together. The divorce is final now and believe it or not B'Elanna's already
moved on.  I always thought it would be Harry who'd bounce back. Shows you
what I know about love, about life, about anything. But I do know that
tomorrow I'll see Tom. And for tonight that is enough.



 Sent by:  BratKatze@aol.com
 List page at http://lonestar.texas.net/~raonaid/cpsg.html