Have You No Decency?

By JudySummary: An AU 30 Days ending in which Janeway uses corporal punishment for misdeeds. After Tom stole the Delta Flyer in an attempt to save the Monean water world he is beamed back to face his punishment. Someone stands up to her and stops his punishment.

Disclaimer: They're Paramount's, damn it. Story's mine. Copyright, 1999. Public or private feedback is welcome. Inspired by Cathy's words about Margaret's story. But the nasty stuff comes out of my own strange mind.

Warning: This is nasty discipline and I don't know what all else. If violence turns you off, you might want to pass on this one. If you really like Janeway, you may not like seeing her this way. But it borrows from the Janeway of Scientific Method, Living Witness, and 30 Days. There's adult language and situations. No explicit sex.

A one hour CPSG anniversary challenge since given feedback by Britta and others from CPSG. Thanks to you all. It grew to a longer story.

Archive/Post: CPSG; ASCEM/ASC; BLTS; R'rain's; Belynda's Allslash; others please ask.

This and other Voyager stories can be found on my web page: http://www.door.net/jlf

7/15/99; 7/25/99

***

Tom Paris lay on the biobed sick with dread, with shame, with despair, that he was about to be on the receiving end of "Flog 'em" Janeway's wrath. He'd done some pretty stupid things since he'd arrived in the Delta Quadrant. Let's see, he'd flirted with a married alien woman and been accused of murder. That earned him a reprimand and a public paddling. What was it? Ten swats to his bent-over-the-helm ass, a covered ass at least.

And what else? Oh, yeah, all that crap she and Tuvok had had him dish out to Chakotay. But his swinging on the First Officer couldn't be tolerated, not if she didn't want his cover blown. Private ass paddling in the ready room, Tuvok and Chakotay watching the paddle swing down twenty-five times on his briefs-covered ass. Geez, he remembered these as if it were only yesterday. It'd been how many years?

And then the juvenile, hormonally-fueled trysts with B'Elanna while they were on duty. Another ten whacks from Janeway's now well-worn paddle. They had both gotten it on the bridge at her regular Friday afternoon infractions call. Shit.

But what would she do to him this time? He could hardly fathom it. Seven had gotten a belt taken to her brown-clad rump when she disobeyed "Iron-handed" Janeway over the alien array. Who hadn't earned the woman's wrath and suffered the consequences?

The doctor's voice telling him he could sit up now brought him out of his ship-of-horrors memories. It was possible that there was both compassion and concern in the doctor's usually arrogant demeanor. So, even the doctor knew Tom was in for it this time.

Tom looked up from his focused gaze on the floor patterns when the sickbay doors swished open. His heart lurched, his fists closed around the biobed blanket. It was going to be fucking bad. He just knew it.

"Mr. Paris."

To his surprise it was not his captain's gravel-bruised voice; instead it was the First Officer. Maybe there was hope after all? Could it be that she didn't want to punish him? He had to shake himself from this fantasy when Chakotay called his name again.

Subdued, Tom acknowledged, "Yes, sir."

"Come with me to the Captain's ready room."

Oh, gods, she didn't trust him to get there on his own. Briefly, Tom flicked his eyes around the familiar sickbay. Wasn't there any escape? Fuck. Chakotay was looking at him, his face impassive, not giving away anything. When Tom tried to ask a question, his voice squeaked. "What's ... what's going to happen?"

For a moment it seemed as if Chakotay's mask slipped and he looked genuinely regretful. "I'm sorry."

Those two words said nothing and everything. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, gods, she was going to give it to him. If he hadn't been able to forget his other discipline sessions with the captain, what would this one do his psyche? Hell, forget his psyche. His body. Fearfully, he darted a glance at the doctor.

"I'll be here if you need me," the hologram said in a kindly voice.

Chakotay's hand reached for Tom, but Tom turned away. "I can get down myself."

Yeah, right. His legs nearly buckled under him when he stood up and this time he didn't shrug off Chakotay's offered help.

***

The ready room doors swished open and Tom tried to recapture the ramrod posture, the gaze over the shoulder, the moral sureness of his actions with the Delta Flyer. He had lifted his chin, let his jaw jut forward with disciplined pride, but none of that prepared him for the unvarnished, hateful fury in his captain's face. This was really going to be bad. Chakotay's hand on his elbow steadied him.

Janeway chewed the inside of her mouth, seemed as if she might spit at him. When she spoke, her voice held the cold anger of a hammer left out in the snow. As Tom trembled before her, trying valiantly to hold his rigid parade-ground posture, she narrowed her eyes to feline slits. She only took one step toward him to be within touching distance.

Tom tried to keep his eyes focused on the ready room's wall decorations behind her. But that didn't help, not when the wall adornments included a paddle, a whip, a belt, a switch, a rod, a cane, a leather-covered crop, oh gods, this was going to be bad.

He almost lost it when she ripped the two pips from his collar. "You are now a crewman with no rank and no privileges."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered hoping he sounded militarily precise, but the crack in his voice belied his fear.

He sensed, but didn't see, Chakotay still at his side, but now at some distance as if the man feared losing his own pips just by being in Tom's proximity.

"You will spend thirty days in solitary confinement in the brig," she rasped out, adding up the tally that constituted the magnitude of his crimes.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice clearly faltered now. He was claustrophobic. The brig was small, very small. No windows, closed in, solitary, no privacy, it was going to be fucking hard. Maybe impossible. He swallowed. She knew about his claustrophobia, probably knew the pips didn't mean as much to him as the crushing fear of tight spaces.

Was she finished? She had turned around and taken a few steps to the window. He dared to glance at her back, lowering his head to watch her. She was tense, rigid, self-righteously taller. What was she going to do to him? Really do to him?

As if she sensed his unspoken question, she whirled back to face him, hands on her hips, chin up, eyes flaming like a falling star. "Your final punishment will be this: you will be taken to the bridge, stripped, turned over the helm and flogged. Not only will I beat you, but so will Tuvok, Chakotay, Kim, Torres, all of those you betrayed and hurt with your thoughtless, selfish, traitorous behavior!"

Blood drained from his face, he could feel the lightheadedness, the unreality of the moment. She couldn't do that. All his proud posture had been punctured in the moment her words sank in. Public humiliation, on the bridge, over his beloved helm. Everyone who had a grievance against him able to take it out on his bare ass.

"No," he whispered. No one had ever received a beating like that.

"No?" she taunted. "Did I hear you say 'no'? You will accept your punishment. And believe me, there will be no regenerator, no holodoc, no healing salves to take away your pain. You will take it all the way to the brig, naked and beaten, with the whole crew lining the corridors paving your way, seeing your punishment in full."

He fainted.

***

When he came to, it was as she had said. Someone had removed all of his clothes, even his socks. Even his socks. Fuck no. She was going to do this. He was bent over the highest portion of the helm, held in place with soft restraints on his wrists and ankles. His ass felt as if it reached all the way back to Tuvok's station, the legs spread apart so far that he could barely balance on the balls of his feet.

He was beyond shame, mortification, all those things he thought he could never take. This was a nightmare from the nether regions of a fiery Hell. He heard the whistle of the whip as the sound seemed to take forever to complete its trajectory. Then the crack on his ass, then the searing, blinding, lighting bolt of pain.

He didn't even know who did this. Janeway always did her own punishing, but she'd said all the officers were going have a crack, no not that word, stupid, they were going to have a turn. Yeah, that was a much better word.

Out of the corner of his eye he realized it was Tuvok. He was expressionless, an officer just following orders, orders to flay a helpless crew member. Oh, gods, here came the next blow. He tensed, he tried to throw his body out of the way, the restraints held. No!

Three more stunning blows completed Tuvok's turn. When he was finished, Janeway told him to tell Tom what that was for.

In a monotone, Tuvok parsed out the words, "That was for endangering the lives of the Moneans."

"Fine," Janeway announced. Her voice was flat, as if she was disappointed in Tuvok's answer?

The fire, the flames, the pain across his buttocks, the knowledge that everyone was watching, Tom's control broke, tears flooded down his face.

"Harry, you're next. Tell him what it's for."

Harry dutifully picked up a long paddle and approached Tom's side. From the way he spoke, Tom could tell that Harry was definitely not happy. But there was no defying Janeway in her "Beat 'em up" mode. "Um, Tom, this is for making me almost kill you."

Tom could tell that Harry was crying. Not only had Tom embarrassed himself, but he'd upset his best friend. They would never be friends again. The paddle spoke for Harry, a light sting, but on his already painful butt, it hurt like hell. Unlike the whip, it didn't take his breath away. Fuck it all, the paddle had to come down on him ten times, not the five of the whip. Nonetheless, it was as if his whole backside had been plunged into an erupting volcano.

Both of them cried through the whole thing, but mercifully Janeway didn't order Harry to put more force into it. And his turn ended.

B'Elanna was up next. She selected the short leather-covered crop and positioned herself in the same spot Harry had just occupied. At Janeway's prompting, her voice overlaid with sorrow, B'Elanna told Tom that this was for leaving him. He'd taken the shuttle and could have disappeared forever in the Monean sea. Ten cracks of the crop rained down in such rapid succession they almost sounded as if they were one long firecracker. They went everywhere, as wild as B'Elanna's grief.

When she finished, Tom hung in his bonds, his body one long tube of burning pain, his mind awash in the misery he'd caused his friends, in the sickening humiliation of being punished like a miscreant in The Mutiny on the Bounty. Tears still flowed unchecked and he whimpered, wounded, broken, until the mewling sounds turned to hiccups that shook his body. He wanted to die, he wanted the bonds around his hands to be around his throat choking the life from his abused body.

Through the sobs, the hiccups, the pain and humiliation, Tom heard Janeway announce that it was Chakotay's turn. Geez, next to last was a man who had never liked him. He must be drooling at this opportunity to batter his ass.

"I expect you to give him what he deserves. I'm authorizing ten whacks with the cane." Her orders carried across the bridge that was otherwise silent except for Tom's heartbroken cries.

The cane, the cane, it'd break the skin, it'd tear his flesh, he'd get his wish. He'd die, but from unimaginable abuse. Then he heard something almost incomprehensible. It was the word, "No."

Holding his breath, holding back the sobs that wanted to wrack through him, Tom couldn't believe what he'd heard. The First Officer defying the Captain? An almost hysterical giggle ran through him that he couldn't totally suppress.

Janeway's voice was a whip breaking into the silence. "You think this is funny, do you? You've just earned yourself another ..." she paused as if thinking over the right number "... another 50. Another round by everyone. Except from Mr. Chakotay who seems to have lost his manhood, along with his position as First Officer."

Gasps of shock, anger, guilt washed over the still tableau on the bridge.

"No," Chakotay repeated more firmly. "This man is bleeding, he's pissed himself, and he's had enough."

"I'll decide when he's had enough," she grated out in anger and arrogance.

"Have you no decency? Have you no decency?" Unknowingly, Chakotay repeated the famous words that had undone a United States Senator long ago.

Shivering from shock, Tom couldn't figure out what was going on. Then he heard Tuvok say, "It's over, Captain. Mr. Chakotay is correct. The man has had enough."

There was a rustle on both sides of Tom as B'Elanna and Harry came to his aid and released his bonds. Tom sank down and would have fallen into the stinking liquid that slicked the carpet except for the strong arms of the first officer.

Chakotay carefully lifted Tom, avoiding as best he could the beaten flesh of his buttocks.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Janeway demanded.

"I'm ordering a site-to-site transfer to sickbay."

Tom's head lolled against Chakotay's shoulder, his body limp in the man's arms. He couldn't process the events unfolding around him. It was too extraordinary. And his sobs began in earnest, cries of relief, confusion, and pain all jumbled together.

"Release him immediately." He heard her rage over the sound of his sobs. "I'm the captain here."

Tom heard Tuvok suck in his breath and tell her, "I'm sorry, Captain. I must inform you that I am relieving you of your command. You are unfit for duty. Commander, I suggest you get that young man to sickbay. Now."

And Chakotay had done as he said he would. Cradling Tom's burning and shivering body in his arms, Chakotay commed the computer, then stayed with Tom in sickbay while the holodoctor healed his torn body. As Tom realized later, the man had felt more than moral outrage. It was the beginning of Chakotay's love for him and his for Chakotay.

End Part 1

Part 2

Chakotay staggered a bit after the transporter beam released him in sickbay. He held a barely coherent and hurting Tom Paris in his arms. With only a glance at the nakedness of the man in Chakotay's arms, the doctor helped the commander position Paris on his stomach on the biobed. As the doctor waved the medical tricorder over Paris' body, his eyes narrowed and his body language spoke of his disapproval of anyone being in his sickbay in this condition.

"What happened, Commander?"

Chakotay blinked and pulled his hand away from the back of Tom's head where he'd stroked sweat-matted hair in an effort to calm the younger man. Surprising him, Tom's hand snaked out and grasped his wrist. Eyes that were still filled with tears seemed to plead with Chakotay to keep some kind of physical contact with him. "It's all right, Tom, you'll be all right now."

He let his hand resume its light petting of Tom's damp hair. With difficulty he turned his eyes away from the easing of the tortured expression on Tom's face and considered the doctor's question. He decided to keep his answers to a minimum. Although Tuvok had backed him up on the bridge in stopping Paris' punishment, the future wasn't all that clear. "He was disciplined."

"Like this?" the doctor asked incredulously. "Commander, I do not recall any Starfleet protocol that condones striking a crew member on bare skin."

"There is no such protocol."

"I see." The doctor traded in his tricorder for a hypospray and a dermal regenerator. "Who did this?"

"I'd rather not get into that right now."

Tom raised himself on one elbow and directed an angry glare at the doctor. "It was Janeway. She told them to beat me. She took all of my clothes and had them tie me up on the bridge."

The doctor exchanged a pained look with Chakotay. "Surely ...."

"Hey! I'm the one she had whipped and paddled and ..." Tom strangled on his tears and anger as the doctor pressed the hypospray against his neck. "What'd you give me?"

"Something for the pain, which I'm sure is as great as the humiliation you have suffered."

The pain reliever kicked in and Tom lowered his head back onto the biobed. "Yeah. Right. Anytime you want to put a blanket over me ...?"

In some sense Chakotay was relieved to hear the truculence and anger in Tom's voice. He'd almost been afraid the disaster on the bridge would take Tom's spirit the way it'd taken his dignity.

"I need to regenerate your skin first. It shouldn't take long." The doctor moved the regenerator across Tom's back, buttocks, and thighs spending the greater amount of time on the bleeding and bruised skin of his backside. Finished, the doctor put aside the regenerator and brought a blanket over to cover Tom's nakedness. "There. It'll be a few hours before it fully takes. There'll be some itching and a little burning until then. I'll put on some creme to help the healing."

Pulling the blanket around his shoulders, Tom moved as if to get up.

"No," the doctor told him. "Not yet. A few hours and then you can return to your quarters."

Tom snorted.

Puzzled, the doctor silently quizzed Chakotay who answered, "The captain ordered him to thirty days in the brig."

"But ... he's claustrophobic," the doctor protested.

"I think she knew that."

"On medical grounds, I can't permit him to ..."

"Doctor, right now let's just take one thing at a time. You want Tom to remain here for a few hours, right?"

"I said that."

Chakotay allowed a small smile. "Good. I'll return shortly."

With the doctor off to replicate some medicinal creme, Chakotay leaned over Tom's drawn, pale face. He couldn't resist using his forefinger to wipe away the tear tracks he could see. It was like seeing rust staining the perfection of marble, except that this marble was soft and warm. "I'll be back soon. Rest and don't worry."

Drowsily, Tom murmured, "Easy for you to say."

With a final pat to the back of Tom's head, Chakotay headed to the exit. On the way, he paused by the doctor, "Don't let anything happen to him. And could you clean up his face?"

The doctor straightened up and gave Chakotay a puzzled look. "I'll take care of him."

***

Chakotay found Tuvok in the conference room, the bridge temporarily given over to Ensign Kim. Because they had traveled light years away from the Monean world, no one expected any trouble.

"Tuvok."

Tuvok turned from a deep contemplation of the warp field flying past the view ports. "Commander."

Sighing, Chakotay sat heavily in one of the chairs. "I suppose there are regulations we'll need to follow on all this."

"By 'this' I assume you mean relieving Captain Janeway of her command?"

"Yes. I know we did the right thing. Gods, what she was planning to do to Paris ...."

"Her behavior has been extremely erratic in the past six months."

"What do you think pushed her over the edge?"

Tuvok sat down opposite Chakotay. "I can only speculate that she took Mr. Paris' behavior personally. Her anger was that of someone betrayed."

Chakotay jerked his head up at that statement. "Betrayed? But Tom was in a relationship with B'Elanna."

"Consider the history between the Captain and Mr. Paris. She brought him out of prison. She gave him a field commission of lieutenant."

"You wouldn't have?"

"Ensign perhaps would have been more appropriate. But I believe she wanted him to have something to live up to, some sense that someone had faith in him. You remember how Mr. Paris acted when we came aboard Voyager?"

Chakotay remembered and recalled his own animosity toward the younger man. Tom had been surly, arrogant, defensive, and those were the nice words that came to mind. "But the captain wanted him to do well, to have another chance."

"Was it not you who referred to him as her 'personal reclamation project'?"

Chakotay smiled as he revisited that scene with her. "She told you that?"

"Yes. And wondered if it was true. Then she took on Seven of Nine."

"But Tom was her first. And, I guess he did betray her. Her trust, at any rate. He certainly disobeyed her orders in a willful and public manner."

"Yes, he did. There is no question that his actions were wrong and violated a number of Starfleet regulations. Those behaviors fully warranted reasonable discipline."

"But not what she was dishing out."

"No. Not what she was ordering." Tuvok steepled his fingers and pressed the tips of the first fingers to his forehead. "We face a number of decisions. There is the matter of the captain. I have had her confined to her quarters. The doctor must examine her and provide a report on her fitness to serve. There is also the matter of whether we rescind or keep the captain's orders regarding Mr. Paris."

Thinking of B'Elanna and Harry, Chakotay noted, "There are also a few officers who no doubt require counseling."

"No doubt." Tuvok removed his fingers from his forehead. "However, I am not one of them."

"You took a whip to his bare skin."

"I do not need to remind you that corporal punishment has a long tradition in Starfleet and great latitude is allowed to captains on deep space missions. Had she not ordered more and more punishment for Mr. Paris, I would not have relieved her of her command."

"You were all right with what she initially ordered to be done to Tom?"

"All right? I am not sure what you mean by that. If you mean, is my conscience clear on the five strokes of the whip that I administered? Yes, it is."

"In your experience, has any crew member ever been beaten on bare skin?"

Tuvok took a moment to reply. "Yes. I have observed such punishment on other ships on which I have served."

Curious, Chakotay asked, "What brought on that kind of beating?"

"Sabotage, assault, serious offenses committed on ships at a great distance from the nearest starbase."

"I guess I left Starfleet too soon," Chakotay reflected drily. Referring to the incident on Voyager's bridge, he asked, "Then why did you back me up?"

"The escalation of the punishment concerned me. I agreed with your decision to stop it when you did."

Chakotay mulled that over. "I'm grateful for your backing."

"Technically, you are in now in command of the ship."

"Temporary command of the ship. Perhaps the captain will be able to resume her duties ...?"

"Perhaps." From the tone of his voice, Chakotay doubted that Tuvok saw her being back in charge as a viable option.

"I am at your disposal," Tuvok intoned.

Rubbing his face, feeling a huge let down now that the confrontation on the bridge had ended, Chakotay tried to order his tired thoughts. "If the doctor's finished with Tom, I guess his evaluation of the captain is the next order of business."

"How is Mr. Paris?"

Chakotay closed his eyes, but the image of the younger man's battered body immediately came to mind. "The doctor fixed him up. But I don't know ... how do you recover from something like that?"

"If you are Tom Paris, you close yourself off and pretend to others that nothing happened."

"And inside the pretense?"

"I suspect he will not allow himself to feel anything."

"Spoken like an admiring Vulcan," Chakotay observed with a wry smile.

"In Vulcans such restraint is admirable, in humans it can be tragic."

Those words lodged themselves into a self-repeating loop in Chakotay's mind. They would remind him that when Tom was at his most closed off, he was also at his most vulnerable and most needy.

Rising to his feet, Chakotay summarized, "You'll accompany the doctor during his evaluation of the captain. I'll go talk to Harry and B'Elanna. Then I'll check Tom Paris out of sickbay."

"Where will you put him?"

"The doctor is convinced that the brig is not the place for our claustrophobic crewman. I guess I'll do with him what you did with Janeway, confine him to his quarters until we can sort things out."

"Very well."

As they parted at the doors to the conference room to go on their separate missions, Chakotay stopped and said, "Thank you, Tuvok." At Tuvok's raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "I appreciate your backing me up on the bridge."

"I appreciate your putting a stop to what was turning into a most unseemly display."

***

On the bridge, Chakotay asked Harry to call up his relief crew and, when the crew member arrived, installed her at Harry's customary station. Chakotay directed the pilot on duty to remain at warp 2, then he invited Harry into the conference room.

As he regarded the young ensign, Chakotay felt a wave of sympathy for the man's dilemma. "How are you doing, Harry?"

"I'll be fine. How's Tom?"

"The doctor's taking care of him."

"No. *How* is Tom?"

"I don't know, Harry. He's resting now."

"What are you going to do with him?"

Chakotay heard the harsh judgment in Harry's tone. "He's not going to the brig and he will not be beaten further. For the time being, he'll be confined to his quarters."

At those words, Harry seemed to calm down. "All right."

Realizing that Harry had not yet looked him in the eye, Chakotay ventured, "You're upset about what you did."

Turning his whole head to face a nearby wall, Harry shrugged. "Yeah."

"If it'll help to talk about it...?"

The anger bubbled out. "Why'd he do it? I had to ... you were there. I could have killed him!"

"I know. Tom made a mistake and he's paid dearly for it. But what about you? You've been good friends."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Commander. I just don't know."

"Okay. Take a little holodeck time and do what you need to do."

By the time Harry left, he still hadn't looked Chakotay in the eye. Sighing, Chakotay commed B'Elanna.

"I'm busy," she brushed him off.

"Get un busy and get your butt up here."

"Yes, sir, Acting Captain, sir."

Unlike Harry's suppressed anger, hers boiled over in all its Klingon fury. He couldn't put it off, he needed to talk to her just as he had Harry. They had to know that he cared about what they'd gone through. When B'Elanna arrived she announced that this had better not take much time.

"It will take what it takes, Lieutenant." Nodding to a chair, he ordered, "Sit down."

"I can't," she countered and paced the conference room.

Telling himself not to escalate this further, Chakotay watched her silently until she realized her gambit wasn't working. "All right," she growled. "What do you want?"

"What do *you* want, B'Elanna? You went through a rough time today."

Shaking her head, she acknowledged angrily, "A part of me wishes Janeway had ordered *me* to take a cane to his backside. I wanted to tear him apart."

"And another part of you?"

The tears came then. "Damn him! Damn him! He could have died. He ... he abandoned me! Just left me and took off in the Flyer like I didn't mean a thing to him."

Chakotay kept his counsel. She knew the key to her feelings, she'd said the word. *Abandoned*. Tom had abandoned her just like her father had, just as she had always feared would happen if she let someone get too close to her. But he sensed there was more and he waited patiently.

"And I encouraged him."

"Did you tell him to take the Flyer?"

"No. But ..."

"But what? Did you push him into the Flyer when he didn't want to go?"

A sad smile broke through her anger. "No. But he was feeling there was nothing that even Captain Proton could help. And I asked about Tom Paris. I should never have said anything! If I hadn't ..."

"Do you think he wouldn't have thought of it on his own?"

"I shouldn't have ..."

"B'Elanna. Do you really believe Tom would not have figured it out for himself? He was committed, he had command of the Flyer, he's nothing if not resourceful."

She saw his point. But there was something she couldn't let go of. Without the earlier anger, but with overwhelming sorrow, she repeated, "He abandoned me, Chakotay. I loved him. I never thought ..."

When she didn't pick up her train of thought, he asked softly, "Can you forgive him?"

She had no answer, just a helpless expression on her face. They both knew that she couldn't forgive him just yet, if ever.

"B'Elanna, you know how much he valued the Captain's good opinion of him. And yet, he deliberately disobeyed her."

With a tortured cry, she asked, "Why? Why did he throw away everything?"

"I don't know, but it's something I hope to understand before too long."

She continued her pacing and Chakotay realized there was even more on her mind. When she was ready, she turned to him. Unlike Harry she looked him in the eye. "What the captain had us do to Tom .... I know I was angry. I know I wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt me. But what she had us do .... There was no honor in it, Chakotay. You know that. There was no honor in punishing a man who's been stripped and tied up so that he's helpless. No honor."

"I know," he said gently. He rose and gave her a hug. "A lot of things went wrong today. A lot of mistakes were made. I hope we can pick up the pieces, do some healing, and go on."

As he released her, she brushed at her eyes and turned to go. "I let us -- all of us -- down. And I let myself down."

"And Tom?"

She shook her head and with grim humor pronounced, "That IDIOT!"

"Go on." He smiled back at her. "I hear your engines calling. If you need to talk more ...?"

"It'll be all right. Thanks."

He noticed she had said 'it' will be all right, not that she would be all right. But he didn't call her on it.

The holodoc commed him. "Mr. Paris is ready to be released."

"I'll be right there."

End Part 2

Part 3

Chakotay returned to sickbay after he heard the doctor pronounce Tom fit to be released. When he arrived, he found Tom in sweats, his face clean, his hair freshly washed, the ramrod posture of earlier in the day replaced with a hung head and a slumping posture.

"Tom?"

Bleakly, Tom regarded the man who had saved him. "Yes?"

"For the time being, you're confined to your quarters. You may have visitors, you may use the replicator as long as you have the rations, you may comm out, use the computer."

"But I'm to stay in my room like a good little boy, huh?"

Chakotay saw eyes so sad that the wildflower blue he'd always admired had been washed out to a slate grey. "Will that be a problem?"

"No, sir." Just a tad insolent.

"And in case you're interested, Captain Janeway is confined to her quarters." Tom seemed startled. "Let's go, then."

"You're taking me there yourself? No anonymous security officer with a phaser on his hip gets to do the dirty deed?" There was a mocking quality to Tom's tone that Chakotay found irritating.

In an even voice, he answered, "I thought I would go with you, yes."

Tom's head turned away and Chakotay wondered if he actually did see a trembling chin. He waited, giving Tom a moment to compose himself.

"Okay. Let's go."

A little of the steel-spine posture returned. Chakotay discreetly avoided looking at the moist eyes as he and Tom exited sickbay together.

Once Tom entered his quarters, Chakotay hung back by the door. Tom seemed a little dazed as he wandered aimlessly around the living area. Chakotay broke the ice, "Do you need anything?"

"A reset button?" Tom asked with bitter humor, staring out into the starfield going by at slow warp.

"I wish I had one for you."

With his back still to Chakotay, Tom remarked, "I guess I owe you."

"How so?"

"Don't be cute. You stopped *Mistress* Janeway from having me killed on the bridge."

"I did what I thought was right."

"Whatever. Anyway. Thanks."

The last word came out grudgingly. But Tom still hadn't faced him.

"How do you feel about what happened?"

This time Tom turned around, angry and hostile. "Don't! Don't play those games with me. We both know I fucking screwed up. I can't believe I did what I did! And I can't believe I alienated everyone who ever cared for me." Viciously, he added, "I wish I'd died down there."

"Is that something you want now? Do you want to die?"

A startled look passed over Tom's unhappy features. "What? No. Uh, no. I'm not suicidal. Just terminally stupid." At Chakotay's hint of a smile, he called the man on it, "What? What'd I say?"

B'Elanna had labeled Tom an idiot. Now he saw himself as stupid. "You're right. You fucked up. But, no, I wouldn't call you stupid."

"Thanks a whole lot for that vote of confidence. I'm sure it'll help." The sarcasm came out thick and self-pitying. "And I guess," Tom said with a wave at his quarters, "I'm still paying for what I did."

Chakotay shrugged. "I don't know yet what's going to happen to you. But I can't condone placing you in the brig."

A big sigh and more bitter words escaped from Tom's mouth. "Now I owe you for that, too. What do you want? Should I take my clothes off or are you more into ripping them off? Just tell me how you want me."

It took Chakotay a moment to realize what Tom was offering. He swallowed hard. "You ... you don't have to do that, Tom. Don't."

"Don't what? Isn't that why you're here?" Tom's bitterness no longer effectively covered up his anguish. "Am I such damaged goods now that you don't want me?"

Chakotay felt as if he'd been hit in the chest with a kick from the front hoof of a rearing horse. Tom's self-hatred seemed limitless. With disturbing insight, Chakotay understood Tom would not take his own life. Instead, Tom hated himself so much he needed to be punished until he could no longer feel. No wonder Tom's thanks for stopping the beating on the bridge had seemed so grudging. And now, if he wasn't going to be beaten, he might as well offer his body to be used, or abused, sexually.

In that moment, something crystallized for Chakotay. It wasn't quite pity and it wasn't totally unselfish, but he realized that he wanted to connect with this troubled young soul. Tom wouldn't become his reclamation project because that would imply he was using Tom for his own ends, that is, if Tom turned out all right, then he would look good. Instead, he wanted to see what Tom was like without the self-hatred and self-destructiveness. He wanted to see Tom reach a point where the younger man could actually make reasoned choices about himself, his life, and his relationships. The question, though, was how was he going to bring that about?

He knew too well his own tendencies to like controlling his sexual encounters, to enjoying possessing a body fully and completely, to getting off on seeing someone's complete submission to his needs. But there was a caveat. Whatever went on between himself and another had to be completely consensual. And Tom Paris was in no kind of shape to give consent.

Chakotay finally moved into the room and sat at the table. His voice was soft. "Keep your clothes on, Tom. I'd like to just ... talk. Okay?"

Wary, Tom turned from the window and crossed over to the table. He rested his weight on hands that held onto the back of a chair. "I can do *talk*," Tom smirked.

Inwardly, Chakotay sighed and wondered if this was such a good idea. Tom seemed to have regressed to his pre-Maquis days. Chakotay knew what Tom did back then with his body and what he had exchanged for it. Perhaps Tom felt that making such an offer gave him the illusion of control, the same illusion Tom had once entertained when he gave himself away for booze, drugs, a place to sleep, credits. Or, Chakotay theorized, maybe he was just projecting his own needs to control encounters onto Tom.

He watched the pilot shift uneasily behind the safety of the chair. As the silence continued, a look of annoyance crossed the younger man's face. Savagely, he demanded, "What do you want, Commander?"

Chakotay didn't dare give voice to his thoughts: I want you. I want you so much that the heat of it will take us out the other side of the bulkhead. "I'd like to understand."

Tom spread his arms wide to each side of him. "I'm an open book, Commander."

Well, the word 'open' fit into his fantasy rather nicely, but that wasn't on the agenda. "Please sit down, Tom."

Narrowing his eyes, Tom gave a shrug. As Tom took a seat opposite him, Chakotay could see by the way he moved that he hadn't completely healed from the beating he'd sustained. "Still hurt?"

With a small laugh, Tom told him, "Just my pride." Settling carefully on the chair, he asked, "So, what happens next? Although you *say* you don't want me, I think the jury's still out on that one."

Chakotay hesitated before responding. He thought through the different things he could say. Clearly, Tom hadn't survived on his own in the Alpha Quadrant as long as he had without developing a finely honed sense of what others might want from him. At some level, Tom had read him correctly, to deny that would be to place a barrier of dishonesty between himself and this already mistrustful young man. "Do you remember when you rescued me from the Ocampan tunnel?"

Caught off balance, Tom frowned, "Yeah?"

"How did you feel about me when you did that?"

Tom shook his head. "I don't follow."

"You told me I owed you. That my life was yours. Remember those words?"

"Sure."

Good, Chakotay thought. He's intrigued. This could be called progress. "What did you feel about me? About my owing you?"

"Nothing."

Chakotay let the silence speak for him. He would wait Tom out.

"Look. I don't know what the fuck you're thinking. Are we even now? Is that what you're saying? Fine. We're even."

"What did you feel when you knew you'd saved me from death?"

"I don't know!" Tom's agitation increased. "What is this? Some kind of inquisition?"

"Tom, you felt something. Think about it and tell me what it was."

"Shit. You don't give up, do you?"

With a smile, Chakotay acknowledged the charge. "No. I don't."

"And you're not going to leave until I answer you." Tom's statement didn't even have a question mark at the end.

Leaning back in the chair, Chakotay gave Tom the once over. His body language was less tense, but his demeanor suggested that he was still pissed off by Chakotay's persistence. "So?"

Paris seemed to try another approach. "You want me, don't you? But you're, what -- into some kind of big denial thing?"

It appeared that Tom had patience of his own. They were back to that. Shaking his head and smiling, Chakotay proposed a deal, "You tell me about what you felt in that tunnel and I'll tell you what you want to know."

Leaning back in the chair, arms crossed, Tom's famed poker-face suffered a major setback. Chakotay saw a week's worth of emotions chase each other, one barely forming before another took its place. But Chakotay couldn't decipher which feeling was finally allowed to rest there. Perhaps none were.

There was no mistaking the almost helpless look Tom gave him. As if lost, Tom admitted, "I don't know what I felt."

Softly, Chakotay tried not to tread on this moment of honesty. "Did you feel like gloating?"

Tom shook his head.

"Did you expect me to offer myself to you sexually?"

Flushing, Tom snapped, "Of course not."

Mentally holding his breath, Chakotay waited for Tom to tumble to the truth. And he did, confirming what Chakotay had realized. The pilot wasn't dense, just seriously fucked up. And the brief openness Tom had revealed went the way any quiet moment went in the Delta Quadrant. It was gone.

"So. What did you feel? Maybe you felt good? As if you might be someone brave, honorable, caring?" At each of the adjectives, a red blush crept higher and higher up Tom's neck and face. He seemed too embarrassed to answer. Drily Chakotay offered, "I'll take that as a yes."

With that topic exhausted, Tom's blush faded and he even smiled faintly. Seemingly recovered from his glimpse of Tom Paris-good guy, the sneer reappeared as inevitably as leola root in the mess hall. "Tell me what I want to know."

Chakotay allowed himself a small smile. Needling Tom just a little, he smirked in return. "Well, in addition to having these obviously unwanted good-guy tendencies, you're very perceptive."

"So. You do want me." Tom grabbed the bottom hem of his sweatshirt as if to take it off.

"Wait," Chakotay ordered, a genuine smile replacing the smirk. "At some point in the future, if you're not going with anyone .... " Chakotay paused. Here he was putting in all these qualifiers, but unfortunately he couldn't think of any less awkward way to say these things. "Yes. I would be interested in seeing if there could be a relationship with you."

Tom sounded indignant as he let go of his sweatshirt. "A *relationship*? Chakotay, I was talking about fucking. Geez, if you want a relationship, forget it."

At that, Chakotay laughed out loud. After a moment, Tom joined in. But he sobered when Chakotay stood up. "Are you ... leaving?"

Although the commander couldn't really read Tom's expression, he thought he saw fear. At the same time, he didn't know how to respond to that. Lamely, he made his excuses. "I've got a lot to do."

"Oh."

Once he reached the door, Chakotay turned to Tom. He saw him sitting there defeated and hurt and wondered if he should say something. He gestured with his hand as if to speak.

Tom tried to hide the pain once Chakotay faced him. "It's okay. Go."

"I can stay."

"No. I know ... I know what I did. You've got a mess out there to deal with."

"Tom? You can comm me if you ... if you want to."

Tom turned his face away from the door, but Chakotay heard the faintness in his grim reply. "Sure." As in, 'when hell freezes over'.

***

Outside Tom's quarters, Chakotay took a deep breath. Collecting himself after that encounter wasn't easy. And facing Janeway wasn't going to be any easier. At least he could hear the doctor's report first and brace himself for the inevitable meeting with her.

The unexpected and intense emotions he'd experienced in Tom's quarters surprised him. What the hell was he thinking of? A *relationship* with Tom Paris? At least Tom had the good sense to reject such an idea. So, why was he thinking of that pilot, seeing him in his mind's eye: Tom lying naked on his bed, waiting for him, eyelids slitted over glowing lapis, his pale body marked with Chakotay's ownership, an expression on a face that looked younger than his years that said 'do it again'?

Shaking his head, Chakotay headed for his office, comming the doctor and Tuvok to meet him there with their report on Janeway. If he had to pause en route to adjust his crotch, at least he made sure he was alone in the corridor when he did so.

Chakotay had time to down a cold glass of water before the other two arrived. Neither hologram nor Vulcan wore expressions he could read. Damn, he thought. He couldn't figure out anyone today. "Well?"

The doctor reported first. "Transient stress disorder."

Chakotay was in no mood for doctor-speak. "What the hell does that mean?"

"She experienced a momentary lapse brought on by stress."

"So she's fit to resume command?"

"I didn't say that," the holodoc warned, hearing the anger in the commander's voice. "She needs to engage in a stress-reduction program. Resuming command is not high on the list of recommended activities."

"Tuvok?"

"The Captain appeared to be fully cognizant, knew she had crossed the line, and was both apologetic and defiant."

"Sounds like her," Chakotay voiced his thoughts out loud. "Recommendations?"

"She follows my stress-reduction program, I re-evaluate her at the end of that period of time." The doctor spoke smugly, as if he was sure he had the answer.

"All right, that takes care of her health. If she'll cooperate. What about what she did to Paris?"

"Might I suggest a milder form of corporal punishment?" Tuvok offered as Chakotay blinked.

"Uh ... what did you have in mind?"

"All of those who took part in or witnessed Mr. Paris' punishment would be present to view her punishment. Twenty swats with the paddle on her trousers could be sufficient to bring home the lesson that no one is above answering for his or her misdeeds."

"I gather that's in Starfleet's tradition? Paddling an errant captain?" Chakotay checked.

Even Tuvok paused on that question. "I have not heard of such an event, no."

"Shit!" He exclaimed and whirled away from them.

"I do not believe that would be indicated," Tuvok intoned.

His deadpanned delivery caught Chakotay's attention and he shook his head, his back still turned to the others. "We've got Tom Paris playing out captain fantasies, the captain playing out Captain Bligh fantasies, and here I am, Acting Captain, trying to figure out what to do about them. And you know what? Nothing! Nothing is going to work."

"Commander, if I may," the doctor began, "I believe my program will ...."

"I'm not talking about your program, doctor. I'm talking about a guy we all like to believe is so tough, sitting in his quarters wishing he'd died underwater. A captain I've sworn to serve who I don't know what to do with! And that doesn't begin to cover the damage done to B'Elanna and Harry." Chakotay turned back to face them. "So. Shit."

"Your frustration is understandable," Tuvok empathized with as much sensitivity as he could muster from years of living among humans.

Chakotay sighed as the venting helped somewhat to calm him down. "I don't have to decide tonight. Who knows? Perhaps we'll be attacked by brain-sucking, limb-tearing aliens and Tom will be needed to pilot and Kathryn will be needed to ... hell, I don't know ... kick their butts back to wherever they came from. And this will all have been a bad dream."

"Commander, could you use a mild sedative?" the doctor offered, concerned by the usually stoic man's outburst.

"No." What he needed was Tom Paris on his bed, tempting him, responsive to only the touch of Chakotay's fingertip. Hell, he needed a very cold shower.

Head tilted, Tuvok seemed almost able to read his mind. "Perhaps the commander could use some time alone?"

The two left and Chakotay stared out the window for a long time brooding over his fellow crew members.

Tom Paris.

Kathryn Janeway.

End Part 3

Part 4

With Chakotay's departure, Tom tried to sort out the conflicting vibes Chakotay left in his wake. What the hell did the commander want from him?

His own feelings veered from the self-righteous anger that the injustices on the bridge warranted to the abject humiliation he'd experienced when his body had been tied to the helm. No doubt about it, this day would rank right up there in his personal pantheon of worst memories. Well, he had a tried and true remedy for that.

Tom approached his replicator like a Ferengi cornering a financial conquest. It'd been awhile, but the trickery he needed to make it produce his favorite 'poor me' beverages had never left him. First, he had it replicate a glass, then some water, then *permissible* alcohol, then the little alterations that made for the 150 proof stuff. Lifting the glass that held the precious clear liquid to his lips, Tom inhaled it. The drink had a penetrating, distinctive odor that made him shudder. Ignoring the cues of his 'this-is-bad-stuff' drink, he tossed down most of it. A second swallow took care of what was left. At his command, the replicator made him another. And another.

Five drinks later, but who the hell was counting, Tom staggered to his couch, a sixth drink in his hand. Chakotay. Shit. The man wanted him. Why the hell was he playing games? Well, there was B'Elanna, as in Tom and B'Elanna. They were supposed to be in a relationship. Maybe the ex-Maquis was just as honorable as he seemed to be? Nope. Nobody could be that honorable. Hell. He and the commander could have fucked, his debt would be paid, end of story.

But he sat there knowing he was a total shit. Didn't he and B'Elanna have a relationship? So, what the hell was this thinking that Chakotay should have fucked him when he'd offered himself? Crap. That wasn't even a question.

Of course, after his stunt with the Delta Flyer and the way B'Elanna'd smacked his ass with that riding crop, maybe they no longer had a relationship. Didn't matter, he was a total shit. He should tell her. Tell her what a shit he was. She'd agree, they'd break up, then Chakotay could fuck his ass.

Nope. Wait. There couldn't be anything with Chakotay until after the holodoc spent days putting him back together. Oh, yeah, once B'Elanna got through with him, he'd be a sack of broken bones and battered skin.

But, hell, it wouldn't be the first time she'd gone after him for some totally stupid deal on his part. Slugging back another drink, Tom felt its warmth curl through his dick.

No doubt about it. He was a thoroughly, totally, fucked-up pile of shit. Sometimes he knew he was getting B'Elanna going, and the inevitable slamming, banging, throwing, hurling, pain of it all was just what he needed. Was that what he needed now? Maybe he should comm her. Say something nasty. She'd be here in his quarters in a Klingon minute. He'd get just what he deserved.

No. Not a good idea. He wanted to stay alive. Today was not a good day to die. Not when he could pour down another drink.

Fucked.

How many ways could a guy be so fucked up? Fucked over? A fucking fool? The words played around in his alcohol-buzzed brain and before he could consider the advisability of his actions, he was at the replicator again. Better 'n a nurse, more reliable 'n a hypospray, more faithful 'n any person he'd ever known. Definitely his only friend.

He gulped down the fresh drink. He couldn't taste it anymore, didn't smell it either. It could have been water. But, fucking hell, water wouldn't take away the pain. No way. Another one went down just as easily and he took one with him for the trip back to his couch.

Hmm, his navigation was a little rocky. Well, old Captain 'pull down his pants and whip 'em' Janeway wasn't letting him fly the ship for awhile. Didn't matter then if the floor didn't always find his feet when he stepped on it. Oops. He stumbled. Nice recovery. No booze was lost in the making of this journey.

Very carefully, he placed his drink on the end table, then fell heavily toward the couch. What the hell? The damned couch shifted its position and he landed on his tail on the floor. Didn't hurt. Just fucking weird that a couch would move like that. Only one problem with being on the floor. Couldn't get up.

Fuck it. He'd landed on worse places than the floor of a starship. Nope. Being on the floor wasn't the only problem. There was another situation. That drink was out of reach. He'd watched his arm approach it, his fingers closing in on the glass, then fall when the drink was located too far from the fingers to snag it.

The motion of reaching for the glass sent his body rolling over and he found himself face down on the floor. That was all right. Right? Better 'n being on his back. He'd begun to feel the impact on his butt from falling on the floor. Smarted, smarted just like that beating 'n whipping. Damn.

***

Janeway paced her living area. She alternated her rage between targeting herself and aiming it at the men who had taken her command. She'd spent enough time reviewing her mistakes. Now it was time to level a mental phaser at those men. Damn every last one of them.

Tuvok? Who'd have thought faithful Tuvok would turn on her like that? He knew the Starfleet codes; he knew a captain had to have the latitude to discipline her crew, particularly when they were way the hell out in the Delta Quadrant. Particularly when they acted out the way Tom Paris had. Oh, that Paris. She'd done so much for him and this was how he repaid her. Made her wonder what she had ever seen in the devious son of a bitch.

And Paris was the son of an admiral, for all the gods' sake. Kathryn knew first hand how the admiral had run a ship. She'd served with him. She'd seen him whip crew members who'd deserved it. No one ever relieved the admiral of his command. And it wasn't as if his son was some stranger to corporal punishment. The admiral had bragged to her about his child rearing methods. Frequent, painful, bare-assed spankings had ranked high in his repertoire of child management techniques.

And Chakotay. Chakotay. Who would have thought that he, a man she trusted, flirted with, made first officer, would flagrantly defy her? And he did it in front of all of her senior staff. It was damned hard to believe. And it hurt. First Tom betrayed her and then Chakotay and then Tuvok. And now that know-it-all holodoctor. Someone should pull his neural gel packs and recycle them into something more useful. Stress management program, her ass.

Men. Worthless. Patriarchal entitlement a part of their raw genetic make-up. They just expected women to give in to them, to follow them blindly while they ran the show. Well, then, she'd do what she had to do by herself. They'd see. If she was interpreting the bridge scene accurately, B'Elanna was as angry at Tom Paris as she was. And Harry? Another man. Another wimp. He'd lightly punished Tom and he'd cried the whole time. Disgusting.

No, those men hadn't seen the last of Captain Kathryn Janeway. Fuck their little scheming minds. They were no match for her.

***

When her door chime went off, not unexpectedly, she managed to snarl, "Come in."

"Kathryn." Just as she had thought, Chakotay himself had finally found the guts to face her. "If you're not here to apologize and restore my command, we have nothing to say."

He moved from the shadows by the door to the better lit living area. Not giving him anything, she kept her position on the couch, her feet up, her body sideways to this unwelcome enemy.

"I am sorry that things got out of hand."

She snorted at that and listened for him to say something with real meaning. While she waited, she turned her gaze out the window where she could see his reflection. Good. He seemed uneasy. Let him sweat.

"Kathryn. I had to stop it. You went too far."

She shook her head.

Apparently Chakotay thought she hadn't heard him as he repeated himself. "You were ordering a whipping that went way beyond ...."

"Oh, stuff it, Chakotay." She stood up and faced him, all the anger and bitterness spewing out. "That little shit, that traitorous, lying, bottom-feeding asshole! He brought every bit of it on himself. I got him out of prison. Do you know what that means? Do you? Have you seen his prison record?"

She knew he hadn't. She'd placed it under a high level encryption code. Even Harry Kim would be hard pressed to open it.

"Tom's having been in prison has nothing to do with what you were planning to do to him."

"*I* got him out of there," she insisted. "*I* gave him a second chance."

The commander's eyes narrowed. "The way I hear it, he was going back to prison when your little mission to capture me ended."

That was interesting, she thought. Chakotay sounded bitter. Her first officer had some emotions after all. "You've hidden those feelings well, Chakotay."

"I'm not at issue here."

Damn him. He wasn't going to be deflected. Might as well get this meeting over with. She placed her hands on her hips and confronted him. "What do you want?"

"I want a way out of this."

"Oh? I thought you wanted my ship."

"No."

"Could have fooled me."

Janeway noticed that he approached her cautiously, as if expecting the warp-fast strike of a deadly snake. But she found his tenacity very much in character. Allowing herself a look at his face, she discovered unexpected pain on it. His few words came across softly, almost inaudibly. "I need your help."

Damn this man!

***

Harry spent hours berating himself for what he'd done to Tom. He couldn't get the sight out of his mind of Tom's light skin turning red under the paddle he'd wielded. How could he have done that to his best friend? He felt the same corrosive self-betrayal that had so undercut him after their rescue from the Akriterian prison. Well, he could wallow in his cabin or he could go face Tom and apologize. He had to do something.

Gathering together about him the frayed remnants of his courage, Harry walked with somber determination to Tom's cabin. He tried Tom's door once, then twice. When he received no answer either time, he let himself in. "Tom?"

The cabin reeked of alcohol and vomit. Breathing as much as possible through his mouth, Harry did a visual scan of the cabin and found his friend on the floor near the couch. Tom's face partially rested in the pungent, regurgitated contents of his stomach. He tried not to gag as his fingers felt the artery in Tom's neck.

Good. Tom was alive, but obviously shit-faced. He'd clean up Tom first and then see to neutralizing the alcohol that remained in his system. Harry hauled the limp man up against the couch, using it as a backrest.

Working quickly, but constantly on the verge of gagging, Harry used a clean, wet cloth on Tom's face and neck. Tom didn't stir or even open his eyes as Harry wiped his face clean. Unfortunately, the dried vomit in his hair and on his shirt made a complete clean-up hopeless.

With a sigh, Harry replicated a hypospray in the hopes that it would sober up Tom. All it had to do was last long enough to get Tom to a point where he could finish the job of cleaning himself. After he pressed the hypospray against Tom's neck, he called for the computer to activate the air fresheners and carpet cleaner.

As Harry squatted next to Tom, the drunken man finally stirred, his bloodshot eyes opened to half mast. Tom's face scrunched up in distaste. "Gods, you stink."

Harry smiled. "I think you got that wrong, pal. You passed out and threw up. A little shower, some teeth brushing, you'll be a new man."

A light seemed to dawn. "You sobered me up! Damn it, Harry. That was a lot of replicator rations and you just wasted them!"

Harry shook his head. "No, Tom. You wasted them. This is no time to get drunk, do you hear me?"

"Fuck."

Tom was not a happy sobered-up drunk. Standing, Harry extended his arm downward to give Tom a hand. A little unsteady on his feet, Tom placed one hand on Harry's shoulder for support. Red-veined eyes pierced at Harry as if a column of red laser light connected them. "If I wanted to be sober, I wouldn't have gotten drunk."

"And I'm telling you, this is not the time to get drunk."

"Why not? I'm confined to quarters, everybody hates me, and I've got nothing better to do."

Disgusted by Tom's self-pity, Harry took the other's hand off his shoulder and steered Tom toward the bathroom. "I'll talk to you after you've showered and after you've brushed your teeth. Got that?"

"Yes, mother," Tom complained but entered the bathroom anyway, stripping off his top and tossing it into the refresher as he went.

As Harry waited for Tom to get out of the shower, he carried on a conversation with the computer to discover how Tom had managed to conjure up enough alcohol to get so drunk. Believing he was doing Tom a favor, Harry used his programming skills to make sure the computer never served Tom another drop of real alcohol. From now on, Tom would get only synthahol. With any luck, his friend might not discover the deception. No. Tom would realize he wasn't getting a real buzz very quickly. But, tough. Tom and alcohol were a very bad combination.

With the replicator adjusted to his satisfaction, Harry sat uneasily on the couch. So far this hadn't gone as he'd hoped; he hadn't had a chance to voice his apology. Moreover, Tom had said that 'everybody' hated him. It could mean that Tom included him in that field of eligibles. He hated this waiting.

A somewhat chastened Tom Paris emerged from the shower with a towel around his slim waist. From his place on the couch, Harry's eyes followed the pilot to his closet where he selected a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. When the towel dropped, Harry had a look at a pale, smooth ass, no signs of the beating visible, a set of wrinkled balls and a flaccid cock, and very long legs lightly covered with almost invisible blond hairs. Unselfconsciously, Tom pulled up the sweats without bothering with shorts. Then he added the t-shirt, covering a lengthy torso with the light blue fabric.

Too bad Tom wasn't into men, Harry thought idly. While he was at it, too bad he himself wasn't into men. Tom's body alone was a work of art. Long bones, seemingly unending muscles, finely balanced features, and eyes now restored to their more usual, brilliant blue, it all added up to the fact that Tom was a very beautiful man. Why he seemed so bent on destroying the gifts he'd been given was just beyond Harry's understanding.

"So. Harry. Still here, I see." Tom got a glass of water and downed it in one swallow. "Come to inspect what was left of me after Janeway's little party?"

"Cut it out, Tom," Harry ordered with more sharpness in his tone than he'd intended.

"Well, you're my good buddy, right? So I guess I'd better behave. Or what? You'll take another paddle to me?"

"Tom. Please." This time maybe too much pleading sounded in his voice. "I came to apologize."

Tom dropped onto the end of the couch opposite Harry and sprawled over it like a discarded afghan. "Okay."

"I shouldn't have done it. I didn't want to do what she ordered. I didn't, but -- "

Tom interrupted, "-- but she's the captain, huh, Harry?"

"Something like that."

Tom hung his head, as if the fight had gone out of him. "I remember -- you were crying."

Embarrassed, Harry acknowledged the memory. "Yeah."

"So ... what now?"

"Can we still be friends?"

"Want to get drunk?"

"Tom," Harry told him, frustrated, "getting drunk is not a solution."

Sighing, Tom said, "I always thought it was. Well, until ... "

When Tom's voice trailed off, Harry asked him to finish his thought. "Until what?"

Very blue eyes held his. Tom's jaw thrust out ever so slightly, his lips pulled in. Harry wasn't sure whether he was going to answer the question or not. The eyes dropped, a tongue flicked out to lick his lips. "Don't you know?" Tom's whisper spoke the rest. "Until I lost my self-respect."

It may have been the most honest statement Harry had ever heard from Tom and it took him a moment to put things together. "And today ... on the bridge ... it happened again. Your self-respect?"

"Yeah."

Restlessly, Tom pulled his body together like a rag doll controlled by invisible strings. He stretched and stood up, then wandered over to the window. Placing a hand against the pane that held back the cold and vacuum of space, Tom appeared to merge with the blackness outside. When he faced Harry again, he seemed different yet again. The painful honesty was gone. In its place was the hard, go-away mask of his earlier years on Voyager.

Blinking back the momentary moisture that welled up at the change in his friend, Harry got to his feet. "I'm still your friend, Tom."

"Thanks, Harry, but I'm a little toxic on friends."

With the stubbornness that used to vex his parents, Harry shot back, "I've got a toxic-proof suit on. I'm not going to be harmed by a few caustic chemicals."

The smile on Tom's face was as cold as the space he'd tried to touch on the windowpane. The voice held no warmth, only a detached kind of irony. "Thanks, Harry. You've convinced me. I appreciate the visit."

There was nothing more to do or say. Harry wanted to touch Tom on the shoulder or on his back, somehow hoping a gesture like that would reassure his friend. But Tom's body language closed the fortress and pulled up the bridge over the moat. There was no access.

The feeling that this Tom Paris was shuttered to his friendship hurt with a sting that Harry hadn't expected. He did the only thing possible. He left. "I'll see you later, Tom."

"Sure. Harry."

Tom approached the replicator and went through his routine to fool it into producing an alcoholic drink. He brought the glass up to his lips, drank from it, then spit the liquid out in a wide, wet fan. "Fuck! Dammit, Harry ...!"

***

In the mess hall, in the corridors, in the community holodeck programs, the punishment of Tom Paris and the usurpation of the captain from her position were virtually the only topics of conversation. And sometimes very heated monologues gave the illusion of conversation.

"She went nuts. No wonder the commanders took over."

"He didn't get nearly what he deserved. She ought to have destroyed the flyer with him still in it."

"How could anyone order a beating like that?"

"He should have smacked her back. Captain or no captain. Anyone who'd try that on me, let me tell you ...."

"His actions were totally illogical. But, then, so were hers."

"He disobeyed her direct orders! Direct orders!"

"She should've left him behind on the water world, he liked it so much. Let him swim back to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Chakotay ought to lock her up and forget the command codes."

"No one, and I mean no one, deserves what she did to him. She fucking lost it, that's all I can figure. She's lost it."

"He's been conning all of us. She should have left him to rot in prison."

"Suppose he started a war that got us all killed, huh?"

"That bitch."

"That fucking asshole."

End Part 4

Part 5

For what must have been the fiftieth time, Tom turned over on his rumpled bed. Nothing seemed to work now that his *pal* had sobered him up. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't get comfortable, his mind wouldn't shut up. It wouldn't stop showing him holovids of other possible lives, other possible choices.

One of the choices: let Riga return alone to his planet, while he, Tom, flew Voyager toward the Alpha Quadrant still in the good graces of his captain and friends. Another choice: break off his attack in the murky waters of Monea and pilot the Delta Flyer back to Voyager when Janeway ordered it. Another choice: swear off alcohol. Never mind. Another choice: take a sleeping aid and fall asleep. Another choice: break the restraints that held him to the helm and launch himself at 'Field Marshall' Janeway and punch her lights out. He shouldn't have just taken what she ordered; he should have had the strength or cunning or whatever to fight back.

Tom flung himself onto his back and tried to conjure up a soothing, warm beach with gentle ocean waves breaking on white sugar sands. In the midst of the idyllic scene, he had a flash of Tuvok flicking the whip at him. Concentrate, he told himself, gentle waves, just soothing breakers, nothing more. No. There was Harry's paddle colliding painfully with his backside no matter how much Harry had tried to soften the blows. Breakers, waves, breathe, Tommy, he told himself. Chakotay. The wider body lowered itself on top of his, desire polishing those black obsidian eyes to unnatural brightness.

His feet scissored restlessly, tangling even more with the already mangled sheets. This wasn't working. It wasn't working. Breathing heavily, he commanded, "Computer, lights at twenty percent."

Tom sat up and began to pull apart the damp sheets from his legs. Finished with that surprisingly complex task, his shoulders slumped, his hands rested loosely over his knees. Maybe he'd better take something if he was going to get any sleep at all.

Padding barefoot over to the replicator, he asked it for a specific hypospray that he knew would knock him out but would not leave him with a hangover in the morning. His thirst from the earlier drinking and puking asserted itself and he swallowed a full glass of water. Thus armed with the best of modern medicine, Tom crossed the room to his bed without incident.

He sat for a moment on the edge of the bed with the hypospray in hand considering the ramifications of taking it. He would sleep, no question about that. He needed sleep, again, no question there. So, why did he hesitate? In his sleep deprived brain there were no answers, just a vague uneasiness. Without answers, Tom finally pressed it against his neck, placed the empty sprayer on his bedside table, and lay down to wait for sleep.

***

After a restless night, B'Elanna got up before her alarm and groggily began the morning rituals that signaled the start of her day. She'd resolved nothing in her sleep, she had no idea what she should do about her relationship, her *supposed* relationship, with Tom. Anger still kept her company and she wondered how long she would stay angry, or if it would ever go away.

She had to do *something*. Just letting things work out over long periods of time was not in her repertoire. Part of her urged her to talk to Tom. Another part of her was equally forceful about staying away from him. Damn.

***

As Tuvok prepared for his duty shift, he was commed by Neelix. Sighing, he wondered what the friendly man wanted this time. "Tuvok here."

"Ah, Mr. Vulcan. Might I see you privately?"

With restraint, Tuvok politely inquired, "To what purpose?"

"Information that might be important to you, as ... um ... security chief?"

"Very well. I shall be in the conference room in ten minutes."

Neelix arrived just after Tuvok did. The smaller man's normally bubbly presence was considerably subdued. Tuvok wondered if this adjustment in presentation was simply respect for Tuvok's nature or if it meant something else. As soon as Neelix began a round-about introduction to whatever was on his mind, Tuvok reasoned that this quieter Neelix must be due to the nature of the man's information and not some ability to conform to Vulcan standards of conduct. Finally, Tuvok interrupted, "I am not sure I understand the relevance of the theft of two knives from the mess hall ...."

"Ah. Yes. Well, don't you see, no I guess you don't see." Neelix regrouped. "There has been considerable talk in the mess hall and I suspect all over the ship concerning the events of yesterday. Feelings are running high."

Tuvok frowned. He had not sufficiently anticipated that the mostly human crew would act like, well, humans. "What kind of talk, Mr. Neelix?"

Over the next few minutes, Neelix replayed for the Vulcan some of the more inflammatory statements that he'd heard, some against Janeway and some against Paris. "Naturally, I'm very distressed by all this. But the theft of two large, very sharp carving knives, concerns me."

"Yes, I can see that." And he did see. Mixing high feelings with potentially lethal weapons was not a good combination for the security and safety of the ship's crew.

"Well, I just thought you should know."

"You were right, this is something that should come to my attention."

Neelix beamed at the rare praise from the security officer. "I will continue to ... to monitor crew sentiments."

"A good idea, Mr. Neelix."

When the Talaxian left to return to the mess hall, Tuvok didn't give a second thought to alerting the Acting Captain. The potential for a hostile, divided crew had never been higher than since the beginning of their journey together.

***

"Come on, Tom, I know you're in there," B'Elanna demanded through the door to his quarters. Finally, her limited patience snapped and she simply overrode his security lock and entered his dark quarters. She called Tom's name a few times and received no answer. When she asked that the lights be raised to fifty percent she was able to make out his sleeping form, back to her, on his bed.

Her well developed sense of smell kicked into high gear as she tried to identify the faint odors on the way over to the pilot's bed. By the time she reached his side, she had recognized alcohol and vomit, but their faintness told her that those odors were old. At his bed, she identified sweat and a hint of some kind of pharmaceutical. Sure enough, a used hypospray rested on his bedside table.

"Hey, Tom." She reached out and rolled him over onto his back. At first she wasn't alarmed, he was simply deeply asleep. But as she looked at his face, smelled the drug on his breath, noticed a faint blueness of his lips, she became alarmed. "Tom? Come on, Tom."

When she wasn't able to awaken him, she commed the doctor who ordered a beam-out of Paris to sickbay. B'Elanna was instructed to bring the hypospray and any information from the computer as to the drug Tom had used.

She arrived at sickbay to find Tom on a biobed, the doctor scanning him with a tricorder. Comparing notes, they found Tom had had the alcohol in his blood stream only partially neutralized by a dose of inoprovalene, but then he'd injected the sedative without taking into account that there was still some unneutralized alcohol in his system acting as a CNS depressant. Together, the two had produced the deep state of unconsciousness that B'Elanna had found him in.

"Will he be all right?"

"As soon as I put together an appropriate antidote. And revoke his replicator privileges as a medic."

"Damn the man."

As he worked the doctor observed, "I gather you wanted to see him on a matter of some urgency?"

"If kicking his butt qualifies, then yeah."

There was no grin to accompany that comment. Finding him out of reach of whatever it was she had wanted to say to him just put her out of sorts even more. And interestingly, she had enough detachment to monitor her own reactions. She recognized her anger with him for this stunt, even if the doc determined it to be an accident. But where she once would have felt something *for* him, she found that this time she didn't. Instead, there was just the anger side by side with the empty futility of it all.

"I'm going on duty," she announced abruptly and whirled out of sickbay. The doctor could just take care of Tom Paris from now on.

***

Chakotay and Tuvok went over Neelix's information along with that of other security officers that Tuvok had contacted. Chakotay knew that he and Tuvok shared a concern for the potential violence that seemed to simmer under the surface of the crew's upset over the recent events. Before they could begin to discuss options, the holodoc commed Chakotay.

Both heard the doctor notify Chakotay that his presence was required in sickbay. As he was leaving the conference room, Chakotay directed, "Stay on top of this, Tuvok. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

***

Seven of Nine stood in front of her captain, her arms behind her back, her stance stiff. She did not understand why the captain had summoned her, but she had complied with the order. Despite all their conflicts over the past year, this was the woman who had rescued her from the Borg. Seven had come to appreciate what it meant to have her humanity restored to her.

However, this woman before her seemed very different from the variations on Kathryn Janeway that she had encountered before. With disheveled hair, narrowed eyes, and tightly controlled body movements she seemed more like the Steth-inhabited woman who had knocked her out in the shuttle than she did the mentor and mother-figure Seven more often encountered. "What is it you want?"

"Sound out the women on this ship, one by one, privately, find out what they're thinking about all this."

"By *this*, I presume you mean your removal from the captaincy?"

"Of course, Seven."

"I do not understand."

Janeway paced in front of her. "What? Do I have to spell it out? I want to know how many women are on my side."

"Just women?"

"Yes! I'm a woman, you're a woman, this was done by men to women. Don't you see?"

Seven wasn't sure what she saw other than a possibly deranged mind. "I shall take it under advisement."

"No. I want you to *do* it. I want a full report tonight."

Tilting her head to the side, Seven regarded the captain. There was something wrong here, Seven realized, even though she wasn't sure what it was. Deliberately ambiguous in her choice of words, Seven replied, "I shall report tonight."

"Good. Dismissed."

Seven left the captain's quarters and decided on a detour to sickbay before she returned to her duties in Astrometrics.

***

Both Chakotay and Seven arrived simultaneously at sickbay and walked side-by-side through the doors to the doctor's location. The holodoc looked up in surprise at the two visitors. Something inside him fired up at the sight of Seven, but he turned off that piece of programming as inappropriate to the moment. Clearly, from her expression, this wasn't a social visit on her part. However, he had asked the commander to report here and he acknowledged both, "Commander, Seven. Seven, if this isn't an emergency, I need to speak to the commander -- " he paused to correct himself, " -- to the Acting Captain for a few moments."

"Certainly," she replied while noticing that Tom Paris occupied the biobed next to the doctor. The pilot's condition was not readily apparent to her inquiring eyes and the doctor nodded to her as she stepped back towards his office. "However, it is fortunate that both of you are here. When you have concluded your business, I would like to speak to both of you."

"Fine," Chakotay told her.

The holodoc held the tricorder's readings up to Chakotay's eyes. But the man simply shook his head, his eyes taking in first Tom, then the tricorder, then the doctor. "What's going on?"

The doctor explained quickly as Tom listened, for once silently. In fact, since awakening and having his condition explained to him, the pilot had been very quiet, as if shocked into an unnatural silence. He still wore the sweat pants and t-shirt he'd worn to bed, now stained with dried perspiration. Although all the drugs had been purged from his system, he seemed defeated and tired.

Turning his attention back to Chakotay, it appeared to the doctor's discerning eye that the Acting Captain had understood clearly what he'd explained.

"Accidental overdose," Chakotay summarized.

"Yes. Apparently."

Tom finally chimed in, his voice sarcastic. "Yes, doctor, it was an accident. It was the middle of the night and ...."

"We understand, Mr. Paris," the doctor interrupted. Tom glared at him.

Chakotay turned to Paris, "Tom?"

"I just wanted to get some sleep. I thought I asked for the correct dosage."

Chakotay looked at the doctor, "Under normal circumstances, would the dosage have been correct?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like an accident to me."

"Captain, there was a pattern to Paris' actions last night. And, quite frankly, I'm alarmed."

Chakotay explained, "Tom had a tough day. He got drunk, his friend came along and tried to sober him up, then he couldn't sleep and took a normal dose hypospray only there was still too much alcohol in his system."

"After what this man went through yesterday, don't you think someone should be counseling him?"

"What?" Tom protested.

Chakotay looked thoughtful. The doctor wasn't sure what the man saw when he so obviously scrutinized the pilot with a gaze that seemed concerned, if not possessive. "You're right, doctor. Unfortunately, we have our hands full right now."

"I can download some counseling programs."

"Do it."

"But I can't guarantee that they'll help."

"No," Tom told them, sitting up on the biobed. "I don't want him counseling me. I mean, half the time he's my boss."

"I can't do it," Chakotay admitted without explaining himself. "Perhaps Tuvok ...."

"Look, just leave me alone for awhile. I'll be fine. I always am."

"No, Tom, you won't be fine," Chakotay contradicted.

Tom challenged him back. "How would you know?"

"Do you want me to go into things here?"

"Is that a threat?"

The doctor stepped into the escalating exchange, not quite understanding it, but recognizing that there was something between the two men that probably should remain private unless it put the ship at risk, which didn't seem likely. "Mr. Paris, no one is threatening you. Not in my sickbay." He directed the latter remark to Chakotay who nodded silently.

The sickbay doors slid open and B'Elanna beat a path to the biobed, surprising all three men.

"B'Elanna?"

The doctor noted Tom's smile and her fury and stepped between the chief engineer and the pilot. Perhaps he had spoken too soon about no one threatening Paris in sickbay. B'Elanna pushed around the doctor. "Tom, it's over. I've put your things back in your quarters."

"Wait! What's this all about?" Tom asked, clearly confused.

Both Chakotay and the doctor stepped back to let the drama play out.

"I can't ... we can't be together anymore. That's all I have to say."

"But ... ?"

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked directly at Tom. "It's over, flyboy. I've had time to think about things and I can't be with someone who would just up and leave me for ... for a fantasy."

Stunned, eyes blurred, Tom waved a hand at her as if asking her to wait. "Why?"

"I told you why. I have to go."

"B'Elanna?"

She turned to leave, took a few steps, then looked back at him. "I'm sorry, Tom."

With that she was out the door.

Only the background sounds of the ship running at slow warp could be heard for a few moments. The doctor noted the way his patient's respiration had increased, his heart rate had shot up, his face had flushed to a summery pink. For his part, the Acting Captain seemed torn by sympathy and some other feeling that the doctor couldn't identify.

Clearing his throat as if the interruption had never occurred, the holodoc spoke to Paris. "Now then, Commander Tuvok will be your counselor unless he has some objection. I will speak to him and he will comm you to set up your first appointment. In the meantime, clean up, replicate some fresh clothes, and someone will escort you to your quarters."

Even though Tom's body hadn't yet recovered from B'Elanna's visit, nonetheless, he had the presence of mind to object to the doctor's decision. "No. Not Tuvok." Tom appealed to Chakotay, "He beat me."

Chakotay took that under advisement. "You need someone. What just happened ...."

"Neelix," Tom said uncertainly.

The doctor cleared his throat once again. Neelix was not on his approved list. "I must object, although Mr. Neelix is good-hearted, he is hardly trained ... "

"Neelix," Tom insisted.

The doctor checked with the Acting Captain who nodded. After a quick look at the tricorder that indicated Tom's vital signs had more or less returned to normal, he capitulated on the choice of counselor. "Very well, I'll contact Mr. Neelix. Now, you're free to return to your quarters. And, Mr. Paris, when you need a sleep aid, contact me."

The look Tom gave both the holodoc and Chakotay was unreadable, but he dropped off the biobed and went to the replicator. While he finished dressing behind a privacy screen, the doctor and first officer located Seven in the doctor's office.

The doctor asked her what brought her to sickbay.

"It's the captain. She is acting strangely."

The two men exchanged worried glances. "How so?" Chakotay asked.

"She seems to believe that there is some antagonism going on between the men and women of the ship. She pointed out that the men of the ship had taken away her command and she wanted me to question the women as to their views of the situation."

Chakotay looked shocked by her information, almost as if he'd been betrayed. The doctor thanked Seven for coming forward, then asked, "And what will you do?"

"I will await orders from the officer in charge. However, I came to sickbay because her condition appeared to be so ... unusual."

"Well, as the Acting Captain," Chakotay began, "I appreciate your bringing this to our attention. I do not want you going around asking the women on this ship anything about the situation that occurred yesterday. There is apparently enough conflict already over what happened without bringing gender into it. Let me assure you, if Janeway had been a man, I would have done the same thing that I did, and I believe Tuvok would have backed me up just as he did."

"I believe that to be true," Seven agreed. "Is there anything you wish me to tell her when I report to the captain this evening?"

"You won't be reporting to her. The doctor is going to see her now."

"Fine." With a nod of her head, Seven abruptly turned on her heel and left.

Tom Paris, dressed, shaved, his hair finger combed, appeared between the doctor and the commander. "What was that all about?"

"Something the doctor and I will take care of," Chakotay sighed. "Let's get you back to your quarters."

With a leer, Tom taunted, "Walking me back to my room *again*?"

"As many times as it takes," Chakotay shot back, but with a grin. To the doctor he directed, "Go see her, doctor. I'll expect a full report."

"I'll comm for one of the backup medics and then go." If a hologram had emotions, then the doctor was definitely feeling dread at his upcoming house call. "I'll get to Mr. Neelix when I'm done."

"Fine." Chakotay lightly touched Tom's arm. "Let's go."

***

On the walk to Tom's cabin, Chakotay was acutely aware of the surprisingly silent man beside him. Tom's lack of chatter was all right. There were so many things Chakotay had to sort out, the reports on the crew's anger and potential for violence, the obvious impairment of the captain, and not the least, the condition of the younger man who'd had to be beamed to sickbay when he couldn't be awakened and who had just been publicly dumped by his girlfriend.

As they walked the corridors, Chakotay alternated his attention between awareness of Tom Paris beside him and the reactions of the crew to their presence. There were some strong reactions. A few smiled, one actually gave a thumbs up. But others wore Klingon-fierce scowls. Two men from maintenance 'accidently' bumped into Tom, sending him reeling into Chakotay. The crewmen apologized, their nonverbal signals contradicting their conciliatory words with raw aggression. Chakotay was about to challenge them when Tom braced a hand against his shoulder. "Forget it. No harm done."

The men were gone before Chakotay could make up his mind. At the least, he was distracted by the heat of Tom's hand resting on his shoulder. "Fine."

Inside Tom's quarters, Chakotay couldn't suppress the insistent image of Tom pinned under him, being taken, Paris' body hot and writhing in pleasure. Contradicting those intense mind pictures, he calmly asked, "Are you going to be all right now?"

Bitterly, Tom responded with, "Compared to what?"

"I'm sure Neelix will be able to help you."

Chakotay watched Tom's blue eyes dart around the cabin, then settle for an inspection of the floor by his feet. "Why can't you? Why did you say you couldn't?"

Chakotay was startled by the mix of emotions in Tom's voice: anguish, challenge, confusion, and hurt. "I ... I can't."

"Why not?"

This time Tom looked at him, the same feelings on his face as in his voice. Softly, to lessen the obvious pain his earlier decision had caused, Chakotay explained, "I find that I care about you."

Clearly, nothing he could have said would have shocked Tom more. Shaking his head, Tom stumbled backwards towards his couch. Hitting it with the backs of his legs, he sank into the cushion. "You *care* about me?"

"Yes."

End Part 5

Part 6

The mess hall lunch crowd sat in tense, hunched groups talking among themselves. Harry overheard snatches as he pondered the featured selections of the day.

"Paris tried to kill himself. Too bad he didn't succeed."

"Torres broke up with him."

"I hear the Acting Captain had to take him back to his quarters."

"Someone should finish the job."

"No one's seen Captain Janeway. Makes you wonder what the commanders have done to her."

With a troubled glance around the room, Harry finally settled for a table to himself. He could still hear his fellow diners trading gossip and speculation and anger. Unfortunately, he couldn't help wondering what was actually true and what wasn't. The bit about Tom trying to kill himself had gotten his attention and he tried to dismiss it as an exaggerated version of Tom's having gotten drunk. But no one knew about that except himself.

The food wasn't sitting well and he sent what was left into the recycler. As Harry left the mess hall, he vowed to find out what was going on before his lunch period was over. The most direct course was to find Tom Paris and to ask him.

***

Kathryn organized her notes on the PADD. Although she'd instructed Seven to survey the women on the ship, she found herself compelled to conduct her own research. So far her comms to various female Starfleet officers had not gained her the information she had hoped to hear. Oh, some of it was encouraging. Enough of her old crew were so incensed at the way she'd been replaced by the former Maquis Captain that they could be readily manipulated into acting as she directed.

It was a start. But so far they were too few to insure the restoration of her captaincy. Not without violence. And if it came to that, she'd volunteer to lead the cause. Those men were not going to get away with the humiliation they had caused her. Not without a fight.

***

Tom stared at the Acting Captain for a moment. For some unfathomable reason Chakotay had declared that he cared about him. With a brittle laugh, Tom demanded, "Are you nuts?"

At the hurt expression that appeared momentarily on Chakotay's face, Tom realized that he'd probably just blown any chance of receiving continuing concern from the man. "Um, I didn't mean that."

Chakotay rocked back on his heels, then crossed the room to sit next to Tom on the couch, sweeping off a small stack of clothing and toiletries that B'Elanna must have left earlier. His other arm reached across the back of the couch almost touching Tom's shoulder. "Look, I know you've got to be upset about B'Elanna ...."

Tom gazed at his scattered belongings, now littering the floor. He concluded that the mess resembled his life. "Yeah. Well."

"She meant a lot to you."

Without looking at Chakotay Tom listed the people who fit that category, "B'Elanna, Janeway. They all meant a lot. So did my acceptance by the crew. Now, I'm back to where I was five years ago when everyone hated me."

"Those crewmen shouldn't have -- "

"No," Tom interrupted, "I don't blame them. I let the whole ship down. And for what?"

He didn't understand why he was opening up like this, maybe those crewmen who'd bumped into him in the corridor had affected him more than he thought it had at the time. It did remind him of the hostility and outright physical violence he'd endured in those early months. But a more cynical voice surfaced and whispered that he'd do almost anything, even reveal himself in exchange for a few unsupported words of affection.

And B'Elanna ... geez, he never thought she'd just dump him like that. No discussion, no talking over their options, just "it's over" and she was gone. Damn. He needed to make his chin stay still, his lips stop moving over each other, his eyes had to dry up. Dammit, he couldn't fall apart now. But he was and he couldn't help it. Chakotay had to go and say he cared about him. How the hell could he keep up his front in the face of genuine concern?

"Tom, it's okay, let it out."

He shook his head, no way was he going to cry or break down now. No fucking way.

"What do you need?" Chakotay's soft voice was like a caress. His fingers had found Tom's shoulder muscle and were kneading it gently.

Yep. That's what it took, a kindly touch and he'd give it all away. "I've screwed up everything. Gods, I always do," he cried, finally losing the battle to stay in control.

Chakotay pulled Tom's face into his chest and held him in a hug as he let out the hopelessness and despair in great gulping sobs. As much as Tom wanted to fight against the misery that consumed him, he found Chakotay's broad expanse to be the kind of warm haven he needed but would never let himself accept. Until now.

The door chime rang and before Tom could recover enough to be presentable, Harry burst in. "Tom. Uh, Commander, I mean, Captain. I'll just go ...."

"Hold it, Harry," Chakotay ordered before the ensign could leave. "What do you want?"

Pulling away from Tom, and stepping out into the room to meet Harry by the door, Chakotay blocked Harry's view of Tom. Paris took the opportunity to pull himself together and to wipe his face with one of the pieces of clothing B'Elanna had returned. He wasn't sure he was going to succeed, but he didn't want Harry leaving with the image of him crying his eyes out in Chakotay's arms.

"Look, I just wanted to see Tom. I heard some things."

Tom stepped up to the two men. Coughing to clear his throat, he tried for a steady, normal voice. "What'd you hear?"

"B'Elanna broke up with you?" Harry looked from one man to the other as if torn between leaving and satisfying his curiosity.

"True."

"I'm sorry, Tom, I really am."

"Yeah. Thanks, Har." As much as he'd tried to control his voice, it cracked, and caused Harry to eye him carefully, appraisingly.

"What else?" Chakotay asked.

"A lot of talk in the mess hall about Tom."

Clearly, Harry didn't want to say what else he'd heard. Tom prompted, "So, what's worse than B'Elanna dumping me?"

"Tom," he finally looked at Tom, but then quickly shifted his eyes away. "They ... I heard someone say you tried to kill yourself."

"Not true."

"Then, I don't understand ... ?"

Chakotay stepped in, a hand on Harry's shoulder. "There's bound to be a lot of gossip right now. Tom didn't try to kill himself."

Harry's dark eyes beseeched Tom. He had to recognize that Tom had been crying. "You wouldn't lie about that?"

"No," Tom decided he should answer for himself. "No. I -- uh -- I did something stupid. I took a hypospray to help me sleep and it worked too well 'cause I wasn't completely sobered up when I took it."

"But you're all right?"

"Yeah." Confused, Harry turned to go but Tom reached out a hand to stop him. "Harry, what you saw here ... it wasn't what you might think."

"Oh? You and the ... Captain Chakotay holding each other wasn't what I thought it was?" The ensign sounded angry.

"Tom was upset," Chakotay explained. "I was offering comfort."

"Okay. I gotta get back to the bridge. I'm on shift." Harry couldn't leave fast enough.

After Harry left, Tom turned to the man beside him. "*Did* something happen?"

Chakotay gave a rueful grin, "I think Harry believes so."

"Oh, shit." Tom didn't know what to do. He wanted to follow Harry and explain to him that he really had been doing something as embarrassing as literally crying on Chakotay's shoulder. Nothing more. But he couldn't leave. There was an invisible, but powerful and urgent connection between himself and Chakotay.

So, maybe it had been what it'd seemed. If you couldn't touch someone without an excuse, well, unwittingly sobbing in his embrace could break through that barrier. He wondered if sharing sex could be less intimate than sharing his tears.

Chakotay pulled Tom to him and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. "It's all right. I think you needed to do that." For awhile there was a comfortable silence between them. "But ... if I told you about all the things I've been thinking, Harry could have walked in on a lot worse."

Startled, Tom stepped back and looked at Chakotay's grin. "Oh, man. So-o, what have you been thinking?"

The gleam in the man's dark eyes jumped out at Tom. Although he wondered if he should be alarmed, somehow, there was a reassuring warmth coupled with the unmistakable look of lust. "Chakotay?"

Chakotay touched his forehead to Tom's, his arms pulling him in closer. After a few stumbling steps, Tom found himself engulfed in Chakotay's arms. "I don't think you're ready for what I'm thinking."

Hesitantly, Tom placed his hands around Chakotay's waist, not sure what he was supposed to do with them otherwise. Leave his hands dangling at his sides? "I'm a big boy, Chakotay."

"Relationships on the rebound are not a good idea."

"Who says I'm rebounding?" Tom challenged.

Chakotay's hand wove through the hair at the back of his head, breath eased hotly across Tom's face. "Do I have to remind you of what Harry just interrupted?"

"You haven't said ... what *could* he have interrupted?" Tom persisted. He wanted to know what this man was thinking.

"Unfortunately, I don't have time to tell you or properly show you."

"Oh?" Tom kidded, "Geez, I may end up on the rebound -- again."

"On the other hand, perhaps a brief demonstration." Chakotay pulled him close once again, so close that their bodies touched at chests and hips, and then planted a firm kiss on his lips. Surprised, Tom resisted and the man let him go. "I'm sorry. Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"No. No. I -- I was just surprised." Under Chakotay's careful scrutiny, Tom blushed. "Um. I liked that."

"You did? It didn't ... "

"I did. Show me more?"

Chakotay seemed to believe him. Finally. But, unfortunately, the Acting Captain surfaced and spoiled the moment by saying, "We should be talking, Tom. I'm the captain now and you're ...."

Tom just gave him an exasperated pout and Chakotay's response was to grin so widely that his dimples dug ditches in his cheeks. He warned, "All right. We can talk later. But, this is going to be brief and frustrating."

The words floated to him on one level, but on another level Tom was affected by the man's closeness, his breathing, his glittering dark eyes. He knew these cues were drawing him in and as long as this was about lust, at least on his own part, he believed he could handle it. He silenced the cynical suggestion that his response was just a rebound reaction.

Tom gave a tiny jump when Chakotay placed a hand to his t-shirted chest and began to propel him backwards once again towards the couch. The man's power derived from some unseen generator that pumped heat and energy from Chakotay's palm into Tom's body.

The heavier man quickly followed Tom onto the couch and lay full length on top of him, his mouth pressing kisses along Tom's neck, his hands stroking Paris' body. After a full lip-locked exchange that Tom made sure took great effort to break, Chakotay pulled up a little. Then, with Tom's cooperation, he quickly flipped Tom onto his stomach and again pressed his weight and prominent parts of his body into complementary places.

Tom detected teeth that took small pockets of flesh between them and tugged, then a tongue licked over the almost-bruised tissue. Eventually, Chakotay found another target along Tom's neck to torture and anoint. A larger area felt relentless sucking, so much so that Tom knew the little blood vessels under the skin had broken, leaving him marked. Tom couldn't help the moans that only served to egg the man on leaving these mounds of throbbing flesh in his wake.

When Chakotay stopped suctioning his skin, Tom wondered if he could handle the loss. But then he felt a thrust of a pelvis into the small, tight area between his legs. Tom took this as a signal, even an order, to move his thighs apart as much as the couch and Chakotay's weight would allow. Chakotay humped him continuously. In between thrusts, Chakotay whispered into his ear, his breath a sensual tickle on sensitive skin, "You're mine, Tom Paris. I claim you."

The groan from Tom was meant to let the man on top of him know that he accepted the claim and wanted more. Then, abruptly, Chakotay let him go. With what Tom hoped was an affectionate, but nonetheless sharp smack to Tom's hip, Chakotay stood up. Turning on his side, Tom gazed unselfconsciously upwards at that imposing body and tried to catch his breath.

To his satisfaction, Tom found that Chakotay was breathing just as hard as he was, and from the look of him, was just as interested in the fully-clothed encounter as he had been. Chakotay seemed able to bring himself under quick control despite Tom's best attempt to look wanton and waiting. Shaking his head, but with a wide grin, Chakotay said, "Sorry, Tom. But hold that position. When I'm off tonight I'd like to come back here and ... "

A little breathless, Tom interrupted, grinned back, and inquired with a waggle of his eyebrows, "And?"

The man leaned down so that his mouth was close to Tom's ear. A hand stroked the bare flesh under Tom's t-shirt with fingertips like flying embers. A soft voice told him, "Where do you like to be licked, touched, poked, slapped, nipped, bitten, smacked, kissed? What will you look like when I take you *on* and *over* every piece of furniture in this cabin?"

Tom groaned, knowing that, as threatened, this had been too brief and way too frustrating.

Chakotay stood over him, shifting into his captain persona. With all trace of the recent seductiveness gone, a little enigmatically, the Acting Captain informed him, "The doctor thought you might need to take a nap this afternoon." After a pause and a long stare at Tom's body, he added, "And I think you should follow his advice. I know it'll probably be a first for you. But you're going to need your strength."

Tom blinked, trying to regain control over his reactions, When he opened his eyes, Chakotay was heading for the door. "Um, Chakotay?"

A dark head turned around. "Yes?"

"I'm not the only one who's going to need his strength."

With a laugh, Chakotay was out the door.

"Oh-h, shit." Tom moaned as he flopped onto his back. It wouldn't take much for him to take care of the longing Chakotay's demonstration had created. But he wanted Chakotay to be the one who took care of that. In truth, he wanted everything the other man had promised. And all of the things that had only been implied.

***

One of her informants had told Kathryn that B'Elanna Torres had broken up with the disgraced pilot. After mulling it over, probably for far too long, but she'd been visited by that officious piece of walking software called a doctor, she commed the chief engineer. Although Torres sounded harried -- and when hadn't she acted that way? -- she agreed to meet with Janeway.

It was a long fifteen minutes before B'Elanna arrived. Knowing that the engineer would hate small talk, Janeway immediately gave her the pitch. "I'm not happy about what's happened. I wondered how you felt about all this."

"So you've heard that I broke up with Tom?"

"Good move. He's unreliable, he'd just break your heart."

"Yeah. Well, he had his good points."

Immediately, Kathryn switched gears, she didn't want to force B'Elanna into defending her former lover. "What he did is an old story. What Chakotay and Tuvok have done to me is something else again."

"Why am I here?" B'Elanna asked with her customary directness.

"I want my ship back."

"I'm sure this is just temporary," the engineer temporized.

"What if it isn't? Do you really think Chakotay should be in charge of this ship? You saw him on the bridge. He's a coward. He wouldn't take his turn punishing Paris. But you did. Even poor Harry did. Chakotay's not fit to run a ship like this the way it has to be run, don't you agree?"

The smaller woman's eyes were dark and unreadable. "I'm not sure that I do agree. He was a good captain when I was in the Maquis."

"But you were there yesterday. His actions were cowardly, B'Elanna."

"No. I don't see it that way."

"Then how do you see it?" Janeway wasn't happy at the way Torres was defending the former first officer.

"All right. I agree that Tom's actions with the Delta Flyer were wrong. Some kind of punishment for him was warranted."

Janeway made her voice silky and surprised, "But not a bare-assed whipping?"

"I know it's Starfleet's way to use corporal punishment. And it was used in the Maquis, too."

"Then what's the problem, B'Elanna?" Janeway sensed that Torres was becoming confused and tried to press her advantage. "Don't you agree that I'm Captain?"

"Yes. I think of you as the captain."

"Then, I can count on your help if I need it?" The chief engineer was frowning. "I'm going to need your help, B'Elanna. I want to know if I have your loyalty. Paris let you down, but I never will."

"Okay. If that's all you wanted, I've got to go."

"Thank you, B'Elanna, I knew I could count on you."

After Torres left, Janeway decided that this was one crew member she would have to put in the maybe column. B'Elanna's agreement to help had come too easily, probably spoken only so she could return to engineering. Clearly Torres had some of her Maquis loyalties still intact.

***

Once he'd eaten a quick sandwich, cleaned up the belongings that B'Elanna had returned, and tried to recover his equilibrium after Chakotay's seduction, Tom lay down wearily on his couch. Although he'd intended to read a PADD for awhile, he experienced surprise at how tired he felt. But as he thought it through, his previous day's humiliation, his actual crying on Chakotay's shoulder, and then the *almost* sex he'd *almost* had with the man, hell, a lot had accumulated. No wonder he was drained and exhausted.

He ordered the lights at five percent and pulled a throw over him. The memory of Chakotay's words placed a smile on his lips as his eyes closed. After fighting it for awhile, Tom finally found himself falling asleep on his couch.

He was deeply asleep when a loud commotion just inside his door jarred him to partial alertness. He searched his chest to no avail for his comm badge when he saw dark, human shapes moving in his quarters. That futile exploration took precious moments and just as he called, "Computer," someone clipped him on the jaw.

He fell back on the couch, stunned for a moment, his jaw sending lightning bolts of pain through his head. He struggled to get past the hands holding him down. Squirming, he managed to slide onto the floor where he tried to lurch free of the arms and legs that reached for him. There was a heavy blow to his shoulder that sent him face down on the floor, then hands brought his body up for other fists to smash against his face, his stomach. So many places on his body called for immediate relief from the devastating pain. But there was no aid, only unrelenting agony.

A booted foot kicked his thigh, barely missing his crotch. Despite the miss, the blow hurt like hell and he instinctively reached for the shocked area with his hands. Those arms were pulled away into strong grips that left his body open and vulnerable to his other attackers. With waning strength, he tried to call again to the computer, but another strike at his head knocked him almost senseless. The hands let him fall again to the floor and more boots connected with his sides, his legs. Darkness swelled around him, then receded. But a kick to his head painfully jolted the darkness into embracing him fully.

End Part 6

Part 7

The conference room held a meeting of the senior staff, minus Janeway and minus Paris. Due to the seriousness of the situation, the doctor appeared in person. Even Neelix and Seven were present. Harry fidgeted and wouldn't look Chakotay in the eye. Again. B'Elanna also twitched in her seat. Her gaze rested on all the officers and advisors in a random pattern. Tuvok simply looked in turn at each speaker who held the floor.

Chakotay began by addressing the doctor. "Doctor, tell all of us what you found."

"Captain Janeway is more seriously impaired than originally showed up on my scans."

At this, B'Elanna gave him her full attention, wondering if anyone was monitoring the captain's visitors. "How do you mean?"

"She is delusional. When I examined her a short while ago, she was unable to mask the paranoid thoughts that make up her delusion. I've recommended she undergo immediate treatment. The biochemical imbalance that is evident can be redressed."

"Involuntarily?" B'Elanna wanted to know. Her own forced treatment remained a vivid and horrific memory.

"Her paranoia believes any effort to help her is part of the conspiracy to harm her."

"Doctor, are you saying she believes we are all against her?" Chakotay asked.

"All the men are. Yes."

The Acting Captain nodded. "That explains it." At the looks he garnered from those around the table, Chakotay elaborated, "I asked for her help and I believed she pledged to do what she could to let tensions die down. She promised to help herself so that she could be returned to the captaincy. But then Seven came forward ... "

"Seven?" B'Elanna interjected.

"The captain asked me to quiz the female crew members as to their sentiments on her removal." Seven revealed.

B'Elanna was on the verge of letting them know about her summons to Janeway's quarters, when Harry spoke up. "Does she really see some kind of male conspiracy?"

"Indeed," Seven replied.

"Maybe there is one," Harry muttered.

At Chakotay's dark look, Harry stared down at the table top, his forefinger tracing a random pattern. Chakotay decided to get it out in the open. He knew that secrecy would eventually snare all of them in paranoid fantasies to one degree or another. In a gentle tone, he urged, "Harry, it's okay, you can tell them."

Mumbling at the table top, he revealed, "I saw Tom and Captain Chakotay in an embrace. Tom had been crying."

Shocked looks came from Neelix and B'Elanna. More than shock registered on B'Elanna's face, anger and betrayal appeared as well. "What the hell!" she exploded.

"He was upset," Chakotay explained firmly. "You had just broken up with him. But, I will admit there may be more between us. At least I hope so."

"You?! How dare you? He's mine!" She practically leaped across the table at Chakotay.

Silently, Harry agreed with her. Tom belonged with B'Elanna and he had been sure that once she had calmed down from the Delta Flyer incident they would have been back together again. And, maybe, Tom Paris would have learned what was valuable in his life.

Harry had seen the looks that had been exchanged between Chakotay and Tom even if the parties involved didn't tumble to the fact that those feelings could be detected. This attraction to Chakotay and this brief walk on the wild side away from B'Elanna had to be temporary. Harry reasoned that Tom was momentarily grateful to the only person who'd stopped his torture on the bridge. That was all. Soon Tom would come to his senses.

Tuvok restrained B'Elanna from actually going at the Acting Captain.

"B'Elanna, if you still believe he's yours, why did you break up with him?" Chakotay's tone was close to scolding. "Don't you think he's been through enough without your having done that?" And he was going to help Tom overcome all of it.

Dammit, his calm words made sense, but she didn't have to like it. B'Elanna subsided back into her seat and glared at her Acting Captain. Maybe this wasn't the time to tell them that Janeway had tried to recruit her.

Tuvok redirected the group's attention to the doctor. "What is involved in helping Captain Janeway?"

"I've detected some subtle alterations in her brain chemistry. A series of hyposprays will gradually restore to normal specific neurotransmitters targeted to precise locations in her brain. The hyposprays, coupled with my earlier suggestion for a stress management program, should have her back to her usual, competent self." The doctor's effort to appear smug and sure of himself fell flat. He quickly noticed the skeptical and even hostile glances of the others. "What?"

"Suppose she doesn't agree to the treatment?" Chakotay wondered.

"It needs to be done. This isn't going to suddenly clear up on its own."

"What brought it on?" Tuvok asked.

"Stress and genetics."

That hit home. Chakotay's own genetic background predisposed him to a form of imbalance if his faulty gene ever became active. "How do we convince her to accept treatment?"

"Do we want to?" B'Elanna challenged, more to be in opposition to Chakotay than to take up Janeway's cause. And there was an important principle involved concerning self-determination of health decisions.

"Doctor, have you broached the treatment regime to her?" Tuvok wanted to know.

"Of course. And she determined that it was a plot by the males of this ship to harm her further. In short, she said no."

"Suppose she's right?" Harry spoke up without looking at Chakotay. "Maybe Captain Chakotay took over Voyager because that way he could have Tom for himself without having her tell him it was wrong."

"Is that right, Chakotay?" B'Elanna demanded.

"No. Of course not. And I would not have taken over had I not had the backing of the other officers on the ship." If he sounded a little testy, so be it. He'd had no conscious intention of winning over Tom Paris by his actions. "Furthermore, any attraction I have to Paris came afterwards, not before."

Harry had the good grace to blush. "I owe you an apology."

"Yes. You do." Chakotay stared at the e