Pre-Voyager. Chakotay is recruiting a pilot to fly for the Maquis. On a tip-off he wanders into Sandrine's where he meets Tom Paris, freshly cashiered out of Starfleet…

Disclaimer: This is unbeta-ed slashfic. This means that it contains characters owned by Paramount being used in unorthodox ways, possible copyright infringements, male/male sex implicit or explicit, and questionable punctuation. If any of the above offend you, read no further! You have been warned.

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Chakotay needed a pilot, badly. He had been given one tip-off, but it looked doubtful. Tom Paris had an unsavory history of lies, betrayal and disgrace. Chakotay would not normally have been deterred by a dishonorable discharge from Starfleet – hell, he had one himself! But a fatal shuttle crash was not just a matter of 'Fleet protocol. It was unclear whether Paris was a killer or just an incompetent, but either one was not what Chakotay wanted. Then again, beggars can't be choosers, and there's enough of a shortage of pilots in the DMZ that he'd even take an alcoholic donkey if it could fly straight… Speaking of which…

From his corner, Chakotay could see a tall blonde man staggering up to the bar. He felt his lip curl with disgust. Whether he was drunk or high didn't matter, he wasn't going to be flying anything of Chakotay's. About to get up and leave, he was surprised to see Sandrine hurrying over. She saw enough drunks and druggies – this scene would be repeated in bars all over the city multiple times every day. What was different about this man to get her running *towards* him instead of away?

"Tom! Tom, Mon Dieu! What happened to you?"

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and it came away bloody. He shook his head and sat down heavily on a barstool. "Bastards!" he spat. "Attacked me from behind. They must have seen me coming out of the pawn shop and guessed I had the month's rent in my pocket. Merde! Sandrine, ma cherie, I am well and truly fucked." He slumped down over the bar with his head in his hands, and even from where he was sitting Chakotay could see that his hands were shaking. However, if it were just the shock – maybe there was something here he could work with after all.

Sandrine had brought a damp towel for Tom's face, and he was gingerly dabbing at the cuts and bruises as Chakotay approached him. "I hear you might be in need of a job," he gestured to the next barstool. "I have a ship in need of a pilot. Maybe we should talk."

Tom jerked his head at the stool. "Maybe. Depends on what the job is and what the pay is like."

Chakotay noted with surprise the order of those requirements. "I hear you need money. I can offer a thousand credits per month."

Tom raised one eyebrow. "That's a fair haul for a pilot. Should I assume this job comes with no other benefits except maybe a free burial in space if I get caught doing whatever it is you want me to do?"

Chakotay smiled grimly, "Perhaps we should find somewhere more private to discuss the details. Do you have a room somewhere?"

Tom leaned back from the bar and gave Chakotay a very obvious once-over. "I charge by the hour if you want to see the inside of my room. If you just want to talk business Sandrine can accommodate us right here."

Chakotay felt his hopes dimming. A pilot who was working the street? Sure, Tom was good-looking enough to turn tricks, but there must be some reason why he wasn't flying. If he really was broke enough to be pawning everything he owned and selling himself he had to be on either drugs or booze, probably drugs, and pilots who were either high or in withdrawal were not in Chakotay's line. Was this how Caldik Prime had happened?

"Of course, mes amies. Right zis way…" Sandrine seemed eager to get them together, ushering them quickly behind the bar and into a small meeting room behind the main bar. It had a small round table and four wooden chairs, not in particularly good repair. Tom flopped down on the nearest chair and winced as his back came into contact with it.

"If your hospitality would extend to a bottle of water and a couple of aspirins, I will be your love slave forever…" Tom winked rakishly at Sandrine, despite his obvious pain.

"Naughty boy!" She scolded fondly. "Don't go giving Mr Chakotay the wrong impression. He wants you for a serious cause and won't put up with your flirting! Try to behave, if you can. You need a job to take you out of here and back to your beloved stars." She turned to Chakotay, "He's a nice boy really, just a leetle too cynical for one zis young…" She sighed and headed back into the main bar.

"So, Mr-Serious-Cause," Tom leaned forward. "Sandrine thinks we are right for each other. You'll have to try a bit harder to convince me. What is it that you're doing?" He quirked a nasty little smile, "I'm sure it's all on the side of the angels and to promote love and justice, and probably peace through superior fire-power, but I'll need to know some more details…"

Chakotay took a deep breath and reminded himself that throttling his prospective recruit was not the best way to forward the Cause. Put your personal feelings aside, he reminded himself. If he can fly, we can put up with his mouth.

"I assume that even from your barstool you've heard of the war between the Cardassians and the Federation?" Chakotay sneered. "Which do *you* think is the side of the angels, Starfleet?"

Tom flinched slightly. Good. Show the little prick that he'd done his homework and knew about his disgraceful past. That would keep him more firmly in Maquis pockets.

"I… I see you know about my… previous career."

Chakotay snorted. "Nicely finessed. Look, I don't care that you had a past in Starfleet – I have one myself. All I care about is if you can fly. I'll even keep you in liquor rations to prevent the tremors if that's what it takes. You just tell me if we can deal."

Tom leaned forward and laid both hands palms-up on the table between them. "See? No tremor." He took Chakotay's hand in both of his warm, long-fingered hands. His smile was a wry acknowledgement containing little humour. "Sure, I like to drink a bit more than I really should. Keeps the ghosts away at night. But I know where my livelihood comes from and I'd never risk losing the stars for a few nights on the tiles."

Tom released his hand, and the night air seemed very cold where those warm fingers had been. "If you're wondering about Caldik Prime, it has nothing to do with that. I wasn't drunk. The drinking is the result of losing my friends, not the cause."

Chakotay nodded, cautiously. "I'll take that under advisement. You understand I'll need to see you fly before we can come to any final arrangement?"

"Of course," Tom appeared to hesitate, then leaned forward and took Chakotay's hand again. "But it's no rumor that I need money. I… I can't leave Marseilles without paying off some debts. Can our arrangement include an advance on that first thousand?" He was looking down at Chakotay's hand, rubbing the inside of the wrist with his thumbs. His eyes flicked up and caught Chakotay looking, and he quirked a wry smile, "I'll even throw in the inside of my room, if it'll help."

Chakotay extracted his hand and forced himself to lean away from Tom's seductive touch. "So why does a non-alcoholic pilot on the side of the angels need money so much? Even flying milk runs should pay enough to keep you in reasonable comfort, so that just leaves *un*reasonable comforts… I warn you now, there are no designer drug suppliers in the DMZ."

Tom shook his head vehemently, "No, it's nothing like that. I'm a man of honor, that's all." His lips twisted in an expression that had nothing to do with humour. It was obviously a private joke. "I have some gambling debts," he admitted. "I ran a book on a sure thing, and the bloody horse broke its leg in the middle of the race." He scowled, "I still think it was a set-up, but I can't prove it." He shrugged. "Anyway, the end result is that I owe some very serious money, and they'll break my fingers if I try to leave Marseilles without at least leaving a down-payment."

Chakotay relaxed – addictions to drugs and alcohol were one thing, but gambling was practically a national sport in the DMZ. "I'm sure we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

"Excellent." Tom was suddenly all business. He stood up and rubbed his hands together. "I just need to make some calls, then we can split." His grin at Chakotay was blinding, and he found himself returning it without knowing why. "This is a relief, I don't mind telling you. The demands of the debt collectors were getting… pressing. I like all my body parts exactly where they are, and I was starting to sweat where the next payment was coming from." He looked down at Chakotay speculatively. Obviously he couldn't see through the table to what that grin was doing to Chakotay's groin, could he?

Tom's grin turned to a smoldering smile, "So, you want to come back to my place and seal the deal? I'll even give you a free sample before we sign the contract – to show that I'm a man of honor."

Chakotay hesitated. No! Just say no! You don't want to get involved with someone you barely know, an ex-Starfleet cashiered alcoholic and self-confessed prostitute and heart-breaker who is soon to be a member of your crew! Not a good idea! No, no, no, no, no!

"Yes."

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Tom's apartment was exactly the run-down tenement Chakotay had expected. They walked up five flights of stairs to get there, and it wasn't worth the effort. Directly under the roof, it obviously had no insulation at all because the place was a furnace even though it was well after sunset at the end of a not particularly hot day.

"Sorry about the heat," Tom threw open all the windows as far as they would go. In this case two, and about ten centimetres. "I usually try not to come back here this early. By midnight the place has usually cooled off a bit. Cold drink?"

Chakotay nodded. He was still standing awkwardly in the middle on the living room. Partly because he hadn't been offered anywhere to sit, and partly because all the flat surfaces in the room looked unappealingly sticky. There was a bottle of whiskey on its side halfway behind the couch – it was empty now, but that didn't mean anything. There were several ashtrays in the room all full to overflowing and not just with nicotine either, if Chakotay was any judge.

"I've got beer, or um…" Tom was rummaging in the fridge, his perfect ass on display. "Sorry, after the party last night I think it might be just beer. Usually I have a few other choices, or there's a bar down the street if you want something particular…" He turned around and caught Chakotay staring. He winked. "Or you could skip the appetizer and go straight to the main dish."

"Beer would be fine." Chakotay never drank and didn't like beer at all, but he would be *damned* if he would let Tom think he was hanging out for a lay, even if he was. He finally decided to perch on the arm of the couch. He could always wash the stains out of his pants later.

"Beer it is." Tom brought out two bottles and handed one to Chakotay. Flicking the top expertly off his bottle, Tom took a long slug and sighed. "Well, it started out a shit of day but it has all worked out for the best in the end. Here's to the start of a beautiful friendship." He raised his beer in salute and took another long swallow.

Chakotay started guiltily and stopped staring at Tom's lips wrapped around the bottle and Tom's throat as he tilted his head back to drink. He dropped his eyes to his own bottle of beer and… What the hell was this? The top of the bottle wasn't a standard twist-top but some kind of crimped cap that was going to tear the hell out of his hands. Having asked for a beer he now had no idea what to do with it, and what was he doing here in this oven-hot apartment anyway with someone who was about to be part of his crew, and he'd better go before he made more of a fool of himself than he had already… He put the bottle on the table, got to his feet and started to make his excuses, but Tom interrupted.

"Hey, if that beer is too… cold, have some of mine." Tom was standing in front of him, holding out his own bottle. Chakotay automatically reached out to take it, but found his arm around Tom's waist instead as he slipped inside his guard. Tom was slightly taller than he was, and had to bend his head to press his lips against Chakotay's. There was an interesting contrast between the warm lips and tongue and the cool beer that was now flowing into his mouth. Chakotay swallowed, almost involuntarily, and had to suppress a cough as the unaccustomed but distinctive taste of alcohol burned at the back of his throat.

Tom moved his head back at the feel of Chakotay's discomfort against his lips, but kept the full length of their bodies pressed together from chest to groin. "Are you OK?"

"Fine," Chakotay choked, "This just isn't my usual brand."

Tom quirked an eyebrow at him. "Fuck the beer, let's just go to bed then." He dropped the bottle on the coffee table without looking and steered Chakotay into the bedroom. Unceremoniously stripping off his clothes, he threw himself face-down on the bed and spread his legs, his head comfortably pillowed on his folded arms. After a pause, he reconsidered and grabbed a pillow to shove under his hips before resuming his position. He turned to look at Chakotay still hovering in the doorway. "I'm yours, do me already. Whatever you like, for as long as you like. No charge, seriously." When this reassurance failed to get Chakotay plastered against his back, Tom frowned. "Or did I misread the signs? I can top too, if you prefer that, but I thought this would be more your style. If you want kinky stuff try the top drawer, I've got pretty much one of everything."

Chakotay felt himself starting to soften, to withdraw himself from this highly transactional encounter. Somehow, knowing it was just part of the job for Tom was cooling his ardour considerably. "I… um… maybe it would be better just to see you on the ship after all…"

Tom sat up, blinking disbelievingly, "Are you a virgin with men, or something? I *know* you want me, here I am. What's the problem?"

Chakotay blushed, "Not a virgin, no… I just don't usually jump on my partners quite this fast…"

"Oohhhh," Tom drawled, "That's so cute. I never would have guessed that beneath the hard-bitten exterior of the Maquis Captain beat the heart of a sentimentalist." Tom sat back against the headboard of the bed and pulled the sheet up over his lap. "I'm sorry I thought you would just want to fuck me." He ran both hands through his hair, as if to reorder his thoughts. "It's been a while since anyone cared about me… you know, as a person." He shrugged, and the bitter twist to his lips tugged Chakotay unwillingly closer to the bed. "I've been bought and used in so many different ways…" His eyes dropped from Chakotay's to the floor as he almost whispered, "I don't know if I have it in me to really love any more…" He looked up suddenly and speared Chakotay with watery pale blue eyes. "Come here and just hold me for a while?"

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Chakotay could never remember the exact details afterwards, but he found himself sitting on the bed with Tom's head resting in his lap. Tom cried as he told Chakotay the details of his life. Chakotay had already known most it; the disaster of Caldik Prime followed by the public disgrace and the disowning by his father the Admiral. Then came the sad and sordid details of his life in Marseilles, drowning his sorrows in meaningless sex and drink, sometimes using one to pay for the other. After the storm of confessions and tears, Tom lay in a limp heap, not looking at Chakotay's face.

"It's OK," he said in a low voice, "I understand if you want to leave now, and forget you ever saw me." He raised his red-rimmed eyes to Chakotay's. "I understand if you hate me – I hate myself, so believe me, I know where you're coming from. I… I'm soiled goods and you have every right to put me back in the gutter where I belong."

Chakotay found his arms tightening involuntarily around Tom's shoulders. After a moment, Tom's tension dissolved, and he allowed himself to be drawn up to sit beside Chakotay. "You're not… any of that. You're beautiful." Tom looked doubtfully at him from beneath long golden lashes. "You're elegant, my golden boy. And you're a pilot, which I need desperately. You are my dream come true." He leaned in slowly and kissed Tom lightly on the tip of his nose. Tom shivered, and Chakotay realized that the heat of the day had faded from the room, and it was definitely getting cold. "Here, you're shivering, you should have said something. Get under the covers."

"Are you… are you going to stay with me?" Tom looked up pleadingly, "Please stay with me, please… make love with me." The last four words were spoken almost too low for Chakotay to hear, but he was straining to catch every word. Without waiting for Chakotay's answer, Tom pressed his burning, trembling lips against Chakotay's mouth and the struggle was over. Chakotay's arms came up around Tom without his volition, and then he was being pressed down onto the bed, his clothes were gone and the beautiful blond pilot of his dreams was kissing him everywhere. It was like a fever dream, with disorienting flashes of pale skin against his darkness and those heated lips all over his body.

After kissing up and down each other's bodies for what felt like hours, Tom groaned and said, "I can't stand it any more. I have to have you, or have you take me, or go mad!"

Chakotay grinned, "Can't have you going mad – waste of a good pilot, you know. You were right about me – I prefer to top but we can do it any way you like."

"I like it." Tom replied firmly. "You lie right there, I'll take care of everything."

Chakotay found himself flat on his back with Tom straddled over him, and the next thing he knew Tom was sliding down over his erect cock and it was hot and wet and the friction was just right, and then Tom started to move and squeeze and it was all so hot and exciting he knew he wouldn't be able to last long. He managed to gasp out, "Slow down, I'm…"

But Tom just grinned at him and squeezed his internal muscles harder and thrust his hips faster, and then Chakotay was coming so hard he blacked out.

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When Chakotay woke up it was early morning. There were no curtains, so the sun was shining directly into his eyes and the little room was already uncomfortably warm. Tom was asleep next to him curled up into a suprisingly compact ball for someone who was taller than Chakotay. He reached out and rubbed Tom's back.

Tom instantly woke up and rolled over, smiling. "You fell asleep immediately and started snoring, so I assume that means it was good for you?"

Chakotay felt guilty. "I didn't mean to fall asleep so quickly. I didn't even get the chance to take care of you. Make it up to you?" He hesitantly reached towards Tom, then realized that he was wearing pyjama pants.

Tom gave him a bright smile. "Never mind about that, we'll have plenty of time aboard ship together, assuming you'll take me?"

"I thought I already did." Chakotay winked.

Tom sniggered. "Yeah, but I don't consider it a sealed deal until I've got your palm print on the PADD as well as your cum on my sheets. And so far I've only got half a deal!"

Chakotay laughed and got out of bed and headed for the shower. "All right, flyboy! A shower, then we get the documents signed and witnessed, transfer some credits, then shuttle up to the Valjean. You'll like her, she's a sweet little ship and she's got more under the bonnet that you'd think just looking at her."

"Don't we all?" laughed Tom.

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The morning was a whirlwind of activity, documents and credit transfers. Tom seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where the money had to go, and there was even a little left at the end. "That's it, I'm done." He announced. "I hope room and board is included on your ship, otherwise I'm going to lose some weight over the next month!"

Chakotay slung an arm around Tom's waist as they walked to the shuttle. "Oh, I can always feed you in the Captain's quarters, you know. Rank hath its privileges."

In the shuttle on the way up, Chakotay briefed Tom carefully about all the crewmembers, not that there were very many. He was worried that Seska might make trouble for Tom. Chakotay was aware that she had her eye on him, and that she thought that sleeping with the Captain would get her better missions, but so far he had declined to take up her offers.

Their arrival at the ship went as smoothly as either of them could have wished. Tom was introduced to Seska, B'Elanna, Gerron, Dalby, Ayala, Jonas, a Bolian whose name he missed, and all the lower deck crew whose names he didn't bother to learn.

Chakotay immediately gave orders for the Valjean to file a flight plan (fake, of course) and to take off for the Badlands. Then they retired to his cabin with indecent haste. B'Elanna raised an eyebrow on learning that Tom would share the Captain's cabin, and Gerron gave a nervous giggle, but Dalby just shrugged.

"You didn't know the Captain swings both ways?" he asked.

"None of my business," she replied shortly.

"Still isn't," he agreed. "I just hope that his flying doesn't live up to his reputation, or he's not the only one getting a thorough screwing over."

Gerron frowned. "You don't think the Captain has let Tom's, er, *charms* influence him into hiring someone unreliable, do you?"

Dalby shrugged again. "The Captain is pretty smart and hasn't been led astray by his dick before. But there's always a first time, so I'll be keeping a close eye on this piece of ex-Starfleet, and not just on his arse either. Though God knows that's worth while in any case…"

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In the privacy of their cabin Tom paced and fretted. "Did you see the way Dalby looked at me? He knows. He suspects. He hates me already! And Seska has a nasty smirk. I think she's heard something too. God, I hope I don't have to sleep with her to win her over – she's got really cold hands and I hate cold hands."

Chakotay interrupted his nervous dithering. "Forget it. She won't lay a hand on you. You're mine now, and the Maquis way is that what belongs to the Captain is off limits to everyone else. Or else."

Tom sat on the sofa with his head in both hands. "I don't know if that's a good idea. The only way I know to win favour is to… well… hand out favours. If you won't let me, then they'll all hate me and I don't know what else to do about it!" The last words rose in tone and pitch and Chakotay wondered if Tom could possibly be getting hysterical about the idea of *not* being allowed to use sex as currency? How long had he been working the streets of Marseilles for it to become his standard "meet and greet" technique?

"Ssshhh, it's OK." Chakotay stroked Tom's hair, "That's all over now. I can protect you, give you what you need. You work for me now and you won't need to do any of that ever again."

Tom looked up at him, wanting to trust him, but doubtful, "Are you sure? I… I don't deserve someone like you…"

Chakotay hugged him fiercely, "Yes you do! I hate it that you don't think you're good for anything but sex. Stay with me, and you'll realize that."

"Oh, I don't really care what the others think. They think we're already having sex in here anyway." Tom looked up through his lashes at Chakotay. "I'd really hate to disappoint them."

Chakotay felt his breath catch as Tom slipped off the couch to kneel in front of him and started working his belt buckle loose. The leather was new and still stiff, and with an impatient growl Tom pulled it so hard he ripped it out of the belt loops.

"Sorry about that," he said unrepentantly. "Take it out of my first month's pay." Then he was unzipping and yanking down Chakotay's pants, and his mouth was hot and wet and his hands were everywhere and in less than a minute Chakotay was coming in Tom's mouth.

Tom sat back on his heels and smirked up at Chakotay's breathless and flushed face. "Fifty seconds. Not bad for a man of your age."

Chakotay pretended to be offended. "You are not even ten years younger than I am, so don't be too sure of yourself. Tonight I intend to make you pay for that remark." He breathed warmly into Tom's ear. "But you're right that I need to get back to the bridge now. Make yourself comfortable and settle in here in the meantime, and tonight we can break in the bed." He winked as he rearranged his clothes, then left the compartment.

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The next month settled into a routine for Tom and Chakotay. They would wake up and take care of each other's morning hard-ons, then go up to the Bridge together. Chakotay was making the rounds of his contacts, gathering information and weapons. He had contacts all over the Badlands, and he made sure they all met Tom and that Tom knew all the contact codes. Soon he would be flying missions by himself, and Chakotay did not want any mistakes which might lead to the capture of his precious pilot. Not when it was just getting to the fun part…

One evening after a long day of tediously dodging asteroids, Tom flopped down on his stomach on their bed with a sigh. Chakotay was already there, sitting reading something from a PADD.

"Hard day?" he asked.

Tom just grunted in reply.

"Here, let me massage your shoulders. All pilots store their tension in their shoulders. I used to massage my mother's neck and shoulders all the time. I was the only one she trusted not to make it worse." Chakotay slowly guided Tom to sit up on the edge of the bed. Massages lying down needed to be on a harder surface than a bed to be really effective, but he didn't want them to get out of bed for this conversation, so sitting up would be the next best thing.

"I've got a special present for you, Tom." He began. "It's an independent mission. I know all this dodging about in the asteroid field has been a pain for you. Literally." He chuckled, "but I think this will make it all worth while. The details are on that PADD, but it's a quick and easy two day information collection run. One of our contacts is in the mining colony. You don't need to pick her up, just collect the data and bring it straight back here. Should take you about 48 hours. You might be able to do it in 40 if you redline the drive. How does that sound?"

Tom made an appreciative noise, but it wasn't clear if he was referring to the massage or the mission.

Chakotay chuckled again, "However, that wasn't the present I had in mind. Here." He dropped a small, classical square box in Tom's lap. A jeweler's box. Tom slowly opened the box to reveal a gold band with a single sapphire. "I chose it for your eyes, you know."

Tom turned to face Chakotay. "Does this mean what I think it does?" He dropped his eyes back down to the ring. "I don't deserve this. I'm not worthy of you."

Chakotay gently took the box out of his hand and removed the ring. "I didn't give it to you because I thought you deserved it. I gave it to you because I love you and I wanted to show you that I want to marry you." He slid the ring onto Tom's finger and they both stared at it. There was a heavy silence in the room for a moment, then Tom slowly removed the ring and put it back in the box.

"Can we talk about this when I get back from the mission?" he asked slowly.

Chakotay was dismayed. He had known that Tom's insecurity ran deep, but to actually refuse him? Still, he didn't want to begin their formal life together with Tom feeling forced into anything. It could be all a bit overwhelming dating the Captain.

"Sure," he finally forced out. "Whenever you are ready. I'll still be here for you." He was quite proud of himself. Supportive, without being pushy. He seemed to have hit the right note because Tom brightened up considerably.

"Right. So tell me about this mission?"

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After seeing Tom off on the mission, Chakotay wandered disconsolately back to his cabin. It would only be forty-eight hours, then he would be back. Then they could have delicious reunification sex and explore each other all over again and pretend it was their first time together. Chakotay could feel himself getting hard just thinking about it. As he wandered through the bedroom they had so lately shared, he was surprised to see a message PADD sitting on the bed. Smiling, he shook his head fondly – only two days away and Tom couldn't bear to go without leaving him a love letter. He picked it up, and was even more surprised to see a print-locked voice recording. His smile widened into a grin as he speculated what kind of saucy message would require a privacy lock inside the locked Captain's cabin! Could it even be an acceptance? He pressed his thumb against the screen, and the message started to play:

Chakotay, by the time you find this message I will have already betrayed you.

Chakotay felt his lungs constrict as the apparent oxygen level in the room dropped to zero, and he bent over, gasping like he had been slugged in the gut. The half-whisper suggested the recording had been made either in the bathroom or while he was asleep, and it never occurred to him to doubt the sincerity of the low-voiced confession. He hugged himself desperately as the horrible recording continued.

It was all a Starfleet set-up. I was a plant to find out who was the leader of the Maquis. When I don't return, you will get a message saying I was captured during the mission. Of course, by then I will have been debriefed by Starfleet and they will already know about all your secret base, key contacts and command staff.

Chakotay felt agony burn through his chest. Lies and betrayal, both personal and for the Cause. How could this have happened? But the hideous litany of disclosure was continuing.

You were great in bed, babe. My favorite part of the mission. Never let anyone tell you that you can't mix business with pleasure.

Chakotay ground his teeth. The smile was clearly evident in Tom's recorded voice. Little bastard! If he *ever* saw him again he would smash that smile right back in his teeth…

If things had been otherwise, well, it might have been good between us. I hope you realize that I'm risking my career by leaving this note at all, but after last night I figured I owe you that much. Anyway, you can't tell Starfleet unless we catch you, which will be my next assignment. If we catch you, who knows…? Don't take it personally, I've slept with hundreds of people and never loved any of them, but you were the best.

Bastard! Arrogant little bastard! Don't take it personally? I loved you, gave you my heart and you *stomped* on it! How much more personal can you get? And to tell me that this encounter was no different to a hundred others? That just makes it worse!

I know I wasn't who you thought, but even if it wasn't love it was good for a while. I won't say I'm sorry because I can't be sorry I got to meet you and know you. So here's a song for you…

A mournful male voice filled the room, putting into words the tears Chakotay would never shed.

You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach. You'll never drill for oil on a city street.

I know you're looking for a ruby in a mountain of rocks,

But there ain't no Coup de Ville, hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box.

I can't lie. I can't tell you that I'm something I'm not.

No matter how I try, I'll never be able to give you something… Something that I just haven't got.

And all I can do, is keep on telling you; I want you, I need you,

But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you.

Now don't be sad. 'Cause two out of three ain't bad…

Chakotay crushed the recording under the heel of his boot. Maybe he had lost the best fuck he'd ever had, but Tom-the-liar was right. It hadn't been love. It had been lies and delusion. The man he thought he'd loved had been nothing more than a cover persona. He'd get over it. This wound would most quickly be soothed in the arms of another lover. Not a man, he needed the softness of a woman right now. He reflected on which member of his current crew might do. The only bright spark in this whole sorry mess of his love-life was that Seska was waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces. And the other small mercy was that Starfleet would never catch him, and he need never see Tom Paris' face again…

THE END

"Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" Lyrics by Jim Steinman, sung by Meat Loaf.