GENTLEMEN'S AGREEMENT

Title: Gentlemen's Agreement, 10/16 
Author: Jaye (Copyright June 2002) 
Codes: C/P NC-17

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Voyager and all related characters and
concepts  are the property of Paramount. No infringement is
intended or profit  made. This is NC-17 for m/m sex. If you
aren't interested (or aren't old  enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going. Please
keep  the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive. E-mail is 
reader8901@fastmail.fm

Summary: An alien royal makes Chakotay an offer he can't refuse.

Note: Slightly AU, P/T never happened and I don't know how canon 
Chakotay dresses off duty. Also, Tom's 30, Chakotay 39.

***************

PART TEN

/She's hopeless. Absolutely hopeless./ "B'Elanna, give it a
rest. I've  told you everything I know." Harry was exasperated.
"You're like a targ  with a piece of gristle---stop chewing on
it!"

The Chief Engineer gave the Ops Officer a fierce grin and made a
show  of thoroughly masticating her current bite of pancakes.
She swallowed  and said, "But Starfleet, there *has* to be more
to it. Chakotay canceled  our bat'leth match a few nights ago.
Because, it turns out, he was  locked in the holodeck with
*Tom*. Working on some secret gift for the  Rutali Regent."

She leaned forward and used her fork for emphasis. "The *same*
Regent  who was searching for Tom during the garden party over
here. The one who  tried to slap Chakotay down at that damn
information exchange."

She flung herself back into the Mess Hall chair. "And now you
tell me  that last night this p'tahk assaulted Tom, was stopped
by Chakotay, and  is now slated to go one-on-one with one of my
best friends some time  tomorrow." She puffed a frustrated
breath through her lips. "Now I wish  I'd gone to that stupid
shindig."

"Why didn't you?" Harry was genuinely curious. "With all the
supplies  and energy we've gotten from the Rutali, the ship is
in great shape. So  it can't be work problems, yet you've been
lying pretty low since we  left the colony world."

"I've been playing it safe. Every time I see that old woman I
want to  tear her head off." B'Elanna's eyes smoldered with
remembered rage. "Do  you know what she told me in that
reception hall?" She imitated Milady,  "She said, 'At first
glance you have the look of a hunter, but neither  the patience
nor the skill. Anyone can go berserk and rip apart their  prey;
it takes much more to stalk, and trap, and strike to kill with
one  well-placed blow'."

Harry tried not to flinch as the fork swept toward him on the
end of  B'Elanna's angrily waving arm. "She'd barely *met* me,
and she's spouting  insults like that? She's lucky I didn't show
her just how well I can  rip things apart." The half-Klingon
seemed to be demonstrating her  abilities as she again attacked
her plate.

"Huh. Nobody's said anything like that to me, though my run-in
with the  Regent wasn't pretty. Trapped on a deserted garden
path with someone  tall, tawny and terrifying is not my idea of
a good time." Harry took a  thoughtful bite of his own
breakfast. "I was pretty scared for Tom last  night when I
realized Nedal was going after him." Harry shuddered. "I'm  just
glad the Commander reached them in time."

"Yeah, but now Chakotay's supposed to what, go a couple rounds
with the  guy, or lose his position as liaison." B'Elanna's
eyebrows quirked in  puzzlement. "I'm surprised the Captain
didn't lodge a protest, or just  cancel the whole trip. I mean,
we've finished all of our trading, so why  bother going to Ruta
at all?"

"Well, it's supposed to be a great honor," Harry shrugged.

"I know, but is it really worth Chakotay possibly getting hurt?
Nedal's  got at least three inches and 25 pounds on him."
B'Elanna nodded  decisively. "There's *got* to be something we
don't know. Besides what that  gift is."

She looked at Harry. "What could possibly take so long to
create, and  why would Helmboy be involved? Chakotay I can
understand, he's a skilled  artisan, but *Tom*?"

Harry defended his friend. "Hey, he may not be Mr. Arts and
Crafts, but  Tom does have an eye for beauty." He snorted.
"Though I admit *I* don't  have a clue what they could be
working on *all night*. Every night. And  Tom hasn't breathed a
clue---which is *not* the typical Paris MO. He  should be
torturing me with cryptic hints by now."

B'Elanna polished off her breakfast and stood with a sigh.
"Well, one  thing I do know is that Chakotay and I are going to
have a chat. Soon."

Harry finished and got up as well. "And *I* know if you want my
help  with that diagnostic we'd better start now or we'll be
late for the staff  meeting. Let's go."

***************

Chakotay's eyes opened to the molded ceiling of the ornate
bedchamber,  washed in the first blush of dawn. From the even
breaths against his  skin, he surmised that his companion was
still in the depths of dreams.

He glanced down to see the top of Tom's gold head where it lay
against  his own shoulder and chest. The rest of the man was
cuddled against his  side, one arm stretched across his waist
and a single leg firmly  wrapped around his thigh.

Handling the long body as if it were as delicate as its
porcelain  coloring suggested, Chakotay separated from his
bedmate. Then he shifted  onto his side and propped his head on
his hand, simply studying the  sleeping beauty.

The vision called up memories of art-history classes. Tom could
have  been the model for any number of angels and young gods
from the  Renaissance through the pre-Raphaelites. His face was
the epitome of innocence,  gilded lashes brushing cheeks
delicately flushed from slumber. The  aristocratic lines of brow
and nose and jaw were more pronounced now, free  from the myriad
expressions that kept the stunning visage ever in  motion during
Tom's waking hours. The carnation-hued lips were likewise 
exquisite in their stillness, spared the sarcastic twist that
sometimes  marred their gentle curves.

Chakotay sighed as he admitted that while a sleeping siren held
great  appeal, he keenly missed the energy that usually animated
the handsome  features. The teasing grin, the focused frown, the
narrowed-eyed glare  of suspicion, the sly quirk of nonverbal
innuendo, and especially, the  soft understanding smile that had
only revealed itself in this room.

One bronzed finger reached out to trace the tempting mouth.
Chakotay  shook himself out of his daze and snatched his hand
back. He'd been  operating on automatic, mindlessly intending to
caress Tom to wakefulness.  To see bright eyes blink away the
mists of dreams and begin to sparkle  with mirth and mischief.
To snap with intelligence and invention. To  swirl with concern
and compassion. To glow with...love?

Chakotay groaned soundlessly and closed his own eyes, his chin
dropping  to his chest in defeat. /There, I said it. Well, I
thought it, anyway./  Despite all his stern warnings to himself
not to get involved, the  obviously unromantic nature of their
union, the glaring inequality of their  physical relationship,
the utter futility of the situation, Chakotay  had fallen in
love with Tom Paris. His emotional discipline and  considerable
sense of self-preservation were nothing before the lure of the 
siren's call. He had helplessly, hopelessly succumbed.

If he were more stubborn or less honest, he might have managed
to  ignore that salient fact until Voyager reached Ruta.
Instead, he'd finally  acknowledged the truth. And now he didn't
even have the comforting  illusion of self-deception anymore. He
was going to be hurt, badly, and he  had nobody to blame but
himself.

When Chakotay originally approached Tom for help in expanding
his  sexual horizons, he'd expected a purely physical fling.
There was no reason  for feelings to become an issue. While he
had never had a casual  relationship, Tom was a grand master of
them. They would fuck for a week,  then go their separate ways.
Tom back to playing the field and Chakotay to  the Regent's bed,
hopefully skilled enough to shave a few more years  off of
Voyager's journey.

But Chakotay had immediately entered into familiar patterns of 
behavior. That was his mistake; he'd treated Tom like every
other lover in his  life. He had offered massages and cozy
meals, he'd sought intimacy  through word and action, he'd
nurtured the connection between them. He'd  trusted his partner
completely and unreservedly. And in opening his mind  and soul
to the younger man, he'd lost his heart. It had taken less  than
five days.

He'd never expected Tom to be so...compelling...in private. The
person  who had been a friend over the years became even more
attractive when  they were alone. Such an intriguing blend of
streetwise cynic and  wide-eyed optimist. Entertaining and
thought-provoking. Fun and  philosophical. And, when faced with
Chakotay's inexperience, surprisingly  understanding and
supportive.

But as wonderful a creature as his siren had shown himself to
be, he  should not have been able to claim Chakotay's soul so
profoundly. The  temporary nature of their joining *should* have
prevented it; they were  never free from the looming specter of
Nedal. The ever-present weight of  the crystal around his own
neck was another cold reminder of the  reality of Larat. If
nothing else, the simple fact that Tom was a man should  have
been ample protection for Chakotay's heart.

The high-spirited blond was the only male to ever spark the
older man's  interest or libido. That made it unlikely that
Chakotay would ever  consider a long-term commitment to one,
even on that unconscious level  where attraction and love are
born. It was simple logic: he'd never been  drawn to men, so he
probably wasn't capable of forming the most primal  connection
to one. Therefore, his reaction to Tom should never have 
developed past physical infatuation.

Chakotay opened his eyes, checking that Tom was still asleep. He
was  grateful; he knew his expression would have revealed far
too much at that  moment. Love, desire, the pain of regret. The
older man needed to get  control of his feelings, to bury them
again and school his features into  something that wouldn't
scare Tom off. He only had three more days with  the man who had
lit such a flame of longing in his heart. He refused to  lose
those precious hours by burdening Tom with unrequited love. Or
to  waste them by wishing for things that had no hope of coming
true.

There was no way Tom could love Chakotay. A key element for that 
emotion was missing in the younger man with regard to his
current bedmate:  trust. Without that essential ingredient, love
was no more possible than  fire in pure vacuum.

Chakotay had been forced by circumstances---though later by
choice---to  place himself, body and soul, into Tom's hands. And
his siren had risen  to the occasion, soothing and protecting
the spirit even as he bestowed  pleasure on the flesh. But while
Tom continuously demanded affirmation  of Chakotay's trust in
him, he offered little in return.

It was sad, but true. Tom always held back a part of himself. He
had  never suggested a reversal of roles. He was always
hyper-aware when  Chakotay's hands were on him, as if he were
ready to bolt the second the  older man strayed from the
unwritten rules that defined their affair.

For reasons Chakotay would probably never know, Tom preferred
not to  let down the protective barriers around his emotions or
even his body. He  prayed that the condition was a fundamental
part of Tom's make-up, or  had developed at some point in the
handsome man's past. It would be  devastating to learn that
Chakotay's own actions or attitude had somehow  sparked Tom's
fears.

Perhaps if he'd had more time, Chakotay could have eased his
siren's  suspicions, found a way to offer reassurance, to
augment the white-hot  sparks of passion with the abiding warmth
of love. But even now the clock  was ticking, counting down
until the moment they reached Ruta.

Chakotay shook his head, banishing the false comfort of the lie.
/I  really am too damn self-aware for my own good./ If he were
brutally honest  with himself, it seemed unlikely that he and
Tom could ever have  anything lasting. Chakotay was too
different from the type of person that  usually drew that
carefree spirit. And even if he succeeded in waking  Tom's love,
the emotions---kindled under these bizarre 
circumstances---would in all probability never have survived the
fundamental betrayal of  his own sojourn as Nedal's plaything.

Chakotay leaned forward and brushed the faintest of kisses along
the  wide brow of the man slumbering against the white sheets.
The man who  unknowingly held his heart in those delicate hands.

He sighed. He knew he couldn't have love, but he had found a
fragile  peace. He would enjoy what he had, continuing to show
Tom trust and  passion. Love would stay out of sight, if not out
of mind, and when they  parted ways Chakotay would have some
very special memories. Hopefully they  would ease the pain of
losing what was likely the other half of his  soul. It would
have to be enough.

The bronzed man quietly slid from the bed and left his siren to
his  dreams.

************************************************************

Tom woke with a frown. The second his eyes opened he knew the
cause: he  was alone in the enormous Rutali bed.

He bolted upright and scanned the room. He relaxed when he
lighted on  Chakotay, curled in a sofa corner reading the alien
book. The  night-black hair was damp, and he was dressed in the
outfit from the evening  before.

The rustling brought up the brown eyes as the soft voice called,
"Good  morning, sleepyhead."

Tom was still a little unsettled. He'd gotten used to greeting
the day  curled around his Titan. "You could have awakened me,"
he groused a  little sulkily.

The broad shoulders shrugged. "It's still early. I had to get
ready for  a meeting with the Captain to hammer out the wording
of today's  announcement, but there was no need to cut short
your rest as well."

The blue eyes turned a little smoky. "We could have shared a
shower. Or  another bath."

Chakotay looked at the slim figure set against the ruby, white
and gold  of the bed. His desire leapt to the fore at the heat
of the memories,  and the possibilities of Tom's suggestion. But
as he considered the  images, a less-than-pleasant realization
dawned on him. His passion faded  as speculation rose, whirling
through his mind. His eyes dropped  thoughtfully to the ornate
tome in his lap as he began carefully turning the  pages. "Ah
well, such is life."

Tom was taken aback. /Where is my teasing, tempting Titan?/ He
noticed  his robe laying on the ruby coverlet, and hastily rose
and wrapped  himself in it. He approached the sofa. He made a
last-minute course  adjustment when he noticed his body was
heading for the cushioned arm with a  vague notion of draping
himself over Chakotay in order to read over his  shoulder.
Instead he chose to settle his frame in the other corner, 
tucking his legs under. "What part are you reading?" His voice
held only  curiosity.

The powerful hands closed the volume a moment, then reopened to
another  section farther back. "I'm trying to decide on my
official outfits."  The dark eyes were rueful as they peered at
Tom. "It's pretty obvious  these things weren't designed by the
people who have to wear them."

"No, but you have to admit they *are* creative." The unformed
unease  was starting to fade somewhat as the older man seemed to
come back to  himself. Tom grinned, "Are you sure you don't want
me to help you out? We  could have another fashion show."

"No thanks, I got into enough trouble with the last one.
Besides,"  Chakotay rolled his eyes, "there's no way I'm even
*thinking* about putting  on some of those pieces of glorified
dental floss they call clothes."

"You'd look magnificent." Tom's eyes had started smoldering
again.

"I'd look like an idiot." Chakotay countered. "I'm 39, not 19."
He gave  the other man a fond smile. Tom looked pretty young
himself, curled up  in a corner like a kid waiting for a story.
His expression faltered as  he had an urge to ruffle the tousled
fair hair and brush a quick kiss  across those smiling lips.
He'd have to be on his guard against such  casual actions.
Chakotay knew he tended to express too much through touch.  He
quickly recovered though, and tilted his head to ask, "Is 2000 
tonight good for you?"

"Yeah, it'll give me some time to eat and catch up with Harry."
/Pity  though, I'd love to have dinner with you again. Even in
the Mess Hall./  He dismissed the thought and desperately
searched for a new topic. "I'm  surprised you didn't head back
to your cabin for a uniform."

"I didn't want you to wake alone. I'll change later; it's not
like I'm  on duty yet. Sometimes it's good to keep the
boundaries clear." He  shrugged and stood, hefting the book.
"See you at the staff meeting." The  older man gave a small
smile and left the holodeck.

Tom continued to sit, frowning. *Something* had happened between 
sleeping and waking to alter Chakotay's attitude. There was a
hesitation in  their conversation just now, as if the
awkwardness that should have  existed between them all along had
suddenly asserted itself. The younger  man had sensed the
start-and-stop of Chakotay's movement toward him. He  *knew* his
Titan was going to lean forward with some gesture of  affection.
He'd been anticipating it, the gentle brush of hands or lips
against  his skin.

But now he was alone in the Larat's bedroom without even the
lingering  warmth of Chakotay's touch. He felt cheated somehow.
Tom acknowledged  the irony: he was deliberately withholding
part of himself, body and  soul, from this joining, yet he
denied his partner the same privilege.  /Tough luck. That's the
way it is./ The pale jaw set as Tom stood and  headed for the
shower. /I can't do anything about it now. But later...you 
won't hold *anything* back from me. That much I promise you, my
Titan./

************************************************************

"I seek to understand."

The blunt statement caused Tuvok to lift an eyebrow along with
his head  as he regarded the resident ex-Borg. Seven still had a
stiffness to her  movements that clearly marked her as a former
drone as she sat with  military precision at the Mess Hall
table. He gave a mental sigh and set  aside his padd. "What is
the nature of your inquiry?"

"The announcements at the morning briefing. Before Voyager gains
access  to the Rutali wormhole, Commander Chakotay must remain
at the royal  palace for an indeterminate length of time."

"That is correct."

"What purpose does his incarceration serve?" The pale forehead
creased.  "Has the Commander committed some crime?"

Tuvok steepled his fingers. "You have made an incorrect
association in  this matter. Firstly, the Commander has
committed no crime. He is not  scheduled to serve time as a
prisoner on Ruta; he will be a guest of the  Regent. Mr.
Chakotay is the official representative of Voyager. The  Rutali
wish to understand our people more fully before granting access
to  their wormhole."

"This method is inefficient. A single person cannot adequately 
represent the totality of Voyager's collective."

"The Rutali are of a different opinion. They prefer to know one
person  well rather than have a slight acquaintance with many."

"Then they have chosen unwisely. The Commander is not typical of 
Voyager's crew."

One brow raised in inquiry. "Mr. Chakotay is brave, intelligent, 
honorable, loyal, and a diligent officer. In what way is he
anomalous?"

"He often disagrees with the Captain's assessments of
situations. He  comes from a people that deliberately eschew the
trappings and  philosophies of this century, and he sundered his
connection to the Federation  collective. He espouses beliefs
that are in decided minority among the  people he is supposed to
represent."

"Perhaps it is that very uniqueness that attracts the Rutali,
for it is  *they* who have chosen him. I am certain that he will
acquit himself  with his usual aplomb. While *you* may not
consider the Commander an  appropriate candidate, the Captain
approved the selection. She too has  confidence in the First
Officer's abilities."

The blue eyes were blank, processing the information. Her next
question  was a non sequitur. "Then the aliens have no hostile
intentions toward  Voyager?"

"Not toward the ship, no." On a more personal level, the Vulcan
was not  so sure.

"But the leader of the Rutali has challenged the Commander to
single  combat. Is that not a hostile act?"

/I see now it would have been better to consume the noon meal in
my  cabin./ Tuvok suppressed another sigh. "Commander Chakotay
and Lieutenant  Paris were involved in an altercation with the
Regent. More precisely,  a misunderstanding. Nedal...desired Mr.
Paris and made...physical  overtures. The Commander, believing
the Lieutenant would, but was unable to,  refuse stepped forward
to lend his assistance. In Rutali culture, such  actions gave
the Regent the right to demand satisfaction for what he  deemed
an insult to his authority. Thus, the duel." He spread his hands 
in closing.

"To express aggression through physical conflict without intent
to  conquer territory or defeat enemies is without merit and a
waste of  resources." Seven seemed insulted by the obvious
inefficiency.

"Juvenile would have been my assessment, but our opinions are 
irrelevant. The Rutalis' traditions must be honored. It is the
Starfleet way."

"At times the Prime Directive is most...inconvenient."

"Indeed."

************************************************************

"This is a highly unusual situation," Sisryn said, her hand
fluttering  around her crystal as she tried to keep her voice
calm. "A Larat has  never entered the arena with a Regent in all
of our history."

Chakotay leaned his elbows on the conference room table,
distracted for  a moment by the anthropological implications.
"Then how did this  challenge become part of your law?"

"Physical combat is the method by which the Rutali decide most 
questions of rights and power. The Regent can be challenged
anywhere, anytime,  by any citizen. He must, within three days,
prove his worthiness to  wear the seal by defeating his opponent
in a full blood rite."

"And then the loser just disappears back into the woodwork? Why 
wouldn't he or she just come back with an army?" Kathryn
couldn't picture any  of these proud people simply slinking off
in disgrace.

"As Milady intimated at the time of challenge, Captain, the
match is to  the death. That's what makes the transfer of power
so inevitable. If  the Regent is victorious there is no more
usurper. If the challenger  succeeds, there is no one standing
between him and the seal." The Chief  Consul noted that the
three faces before her had stilled as the  repercussions for the
Commander sank in. Even the unemotional Vulcan seemed  affected.

She hastened to remind them. "This combat, however, is not so
dire. The  Larat is not a Rutali citizen, and he did not truly
challenge Nedal's  right to rule, merely his actions in this one
circumstance. The combat  simply tests Chakotay's worthiness of
remaining the Larat. That title  and position are temporary.
Hence, the consequences, that is, the wounds  sustained, must
also be temporary."

"What form of fighting does the match entail? Are weapons
involved?"  Tuvok was very much interested in the answer to his
questions. If the  duel used alien armaments, he fully intended
to familiarize both himself  and the Commander with their
operation. Their First Officer would not go  into battle
unprepared.

The Security Chief's tactical instincts, though he wouldn't call
them  that, were on high alert. He believed Voyager's crew,
especially the  Commander, were being manipulated by their
hosts. It didn't ease his  perturbation one iota that the Rutali
had been so blasé about admitting  their duplicity in arranging
this bout. Unfortunately, the wormhole's  existence ensured that
he and his colleagues would continue to, as Lt. Paris  would
phrase it, put up *and* shut up. The dark eyes narrowed. But not 
to the point of allowing a valued officer to be badly injured
merely to  satisfy some petulant royal's taste for blood. /Not
to mention the fact  that devotion to logic does not preclude me
from being concerned about  my friend./

"The arrangements are fairly straightforward. The large
reception room  you saw last night will be adjusted to
accommodate the challenge. The  Commander and the Regent will
fight without weapons, and the first  combatant to knock the
other unconscious wins."

"Sounds almost like boxing," Chakotay remarked as he and Kathryn
shared  a look.

"You may use any fighting style you wish," the Chief Consul
continued,  bringing forth a box, "but these items *must* be
worn by both  fighters." She opened the lid to reveal dark brown
leather-look gloves.

Chakotay picked up one and slid it over his left hand. It was
much like  a driving glove, except it had extra padding and
material over the  fingertips. He flexed his hand experimentally
and secured the wristband.  The fit was perfect. "Do all Rutali
wear these in ritual combat?"

"Actually, several pair have been altered from the traditional
style  for tomorrow's match." She indicated the thickened tips.
"Those guards  are designed to prevent Rutali claws from
piercing the material and doing  serious damage." Sisryn
shrugged. "The Regent is known to be quick, and  relentless,
while fighting. The padding guarantees that even if he  forgets
and unsheathes his claws, they won't be able to reach you."

Chakotay considered the Rutali. "Are these protections your
invention?"  At the answering blush on the tawny cheeks he
smiled softly. "Thank  you."

Sisryn ducked her head. "I'm simply doing my job." She
straightened and  addressed them more briskly. "If it is
amenable to you, the match will  take place at noon tomorrow
aboard the flagship."

Captain Janeway looked at the gloves and sighed. "Since we
really don't  have a choice in this, what does it matter what
time it happens?" She  glanced at her First Officer. "Is that
all right with you?"

Chakotay shrugged. "As you say, what difference does it make."
He  grinned, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "I'll just adjust
my luncheon  plans."

Kathryn gave him an exasperated, grateful look, while Tuvok
simply  raised a brow at the joke. The officers stood to leave,
but paused when  Sisryn remained seated. "Chief Consul?" the
Captain inquired.

"If I may, I would ask a private moment to speak to the Larat."
The  tawny fingers were again playing with the minister's seal.

Chakotay considered the nervous woman a moment, then nodded at
his  colleagues and heard them depart. He chose to move to a
seat next to  Sisryn. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say, that is, you should know...I'm sorry
about what  happened." The alien's face was sad and ashamed. "As
I told your  Captain last night, Nedal ordered me to distract
you, then when the time was  right to send you after Tom." She
dropped her eyes. "And to corral and  deliver the witnesses on
schedule."

The Commander stilled the fingers restlessly twining on Sisryn's
knees  with one hand. "You didn't have a choice, did you?" he
asked softly.

"No, Chakotay, I didn't. This was not something I'd do
voluntarily."  Her lips twisted in distaste. "The challenge is
supposed to be a true  test of worthiness, given and accepted
with full knowledge. To orchestrate  such an elaborate ruse
simply to trap you into a fight---and for no  better reason than
to bed some *blond*---"

"Easy," he soothed, trying to calm down his companion. "What's
done is  done. The Regent's plan worked and the fight is set.
Nothing will  change that, especially your getting upset. And
just between you and me," he  gave an embarrassed smile, "Tom is
more than just 'some blond'."

"Oh no," Sisryn breathed, "he's your friend, isn't he? The one
who's  helping you to prepare."

"Yes, he is," Chakotay admitted, his cheeks beginning to heat.

"No wonder Nedal is so angry. He probably learned of 
your...association." She sighed in despair. "That makes what I'm
about to ask of you even  more necessary, but also makes it a
near unbearable task."

"You wanted to ask me for something?" Chakotay was surprised.

"To ask you to do something." She looked into compassionate dark
eyes  and felt even worse. She took a deep breath. "I'd like you
to lose the  match with the Regent."

"What? You want me to throw the fight?" Chakotay was bewildered.

"Yes." Sisryn clutched those warm powerful hands in anxious
fingers.  "If Nedal is defeated by a mere human, he will lose
face before the  prides. That could lead to a true challenge to
his reign, and bring chaos  and anarchy raining upon us all."

She tried to convey her desperation. "When a Regent is killed by
a less  than worthy successor---it happens, anyone can get
lucky---the prides  go into a state of civil war, sending
champion after champion until a  victor finally emerges. Usually
only after the lifeblood of dozens of  good people has been
spilled."

"And you think that Nedal could be at risk?" Chakotay's head was 
whirling.

"He has already shown a lack of discretion in his pursuit of Tom
Paris.  If he is beaten by you, he will appear weak, and ripe
for overthrow."  Sisryn sighed miserably. "There is no one I
know of who could be  considered as strong a leader. The
constant battles would begin again. I know  that you have your
own sense of self-esteem, Chakotay, and again this  is not your
concern, but I am asking you to stand aside for the welfare  of
all of the Rutali. For in truth, no matter how remarkable a
Larat  you make, you are not as irreplaceable as a powerful
Regent."

"No, Sisryn, I can't," Chakotay's eyes were compassionate but
his voice  certain. "I'm sorry, but there's too much at stake.
As much as I  understand the unfortunate situation you're in,
and sympathize with your wish  to protect your people, I can't
*let* Nedal win."

He looked away and his voice lowered, "Even if I could convince
myself  that the greater good would be worth living the lie, the
fact is that I  will not let anyone else become the Larat. Nedal
is a cruel, petty  despot. And I could never conscience
deliberately putting Tom---and let's  face it, it would be
Tom---in his hands."

"Because he is your lover," Sisryn's voice was bitter.

"Because he is my crewmate, and my responsibility." Chakotay
sighed.  "And yes, because he is my lover." /Though mostly
because he is my love  and I couldn't bear to see him hurt./

"I understand." Sisryn said, resigned. She stood and looked down
at the  Larat. "But I had to ask."

"I know." Chakotay gave her a sad smile, then stood and rested a
hand  on Sisryn's shoulder, guiding the Chief Consul to the
door. "You may be  jumping to conclusions, you know. Nedal is
both taller and stronger  than me." He shrugged. "It could very
well be that I don't stand a chance  against him."

Sisryn paused in the corridor to turn serious golden eyes on the
human.  "One thing I am certain of, Chakotay, is that you are
not a man to be  underestimated." She touched his hand. "Until
tomorrow."

Chakotay bowed and watched her walk away a thoughtful expression
on his  face.

TBC