Chakotay:

Tom is coming over tonight and I've made a special dinner for our one-month anniversary. I know it's a little silly to celebrate one month together, but I also want this to be a night when we sit down and talk about our relationship. It isn't working, or not the way I want it to be. The sex is great, but that's all there is to it. We don't talk, we don't share our lives in any other way. Of course we have to treat each other professionally on the Bridge, but we don't chat in the mess hall, he's so distant if we meet in the gym or in Sandrine's – it's like this relationship exists only in my quarters.

Even in my quarters, it's like we just meet for sex. He gets my clothes off, and his own as fast as possible and then we're fucking like rabbits, and then he's gone. Sometimes we do it fast, sometimes we do it slow, sometimes in different positions and it's always great, but there's no loving cuddles afterwards or pillow talk. I had hoped he would want to stay the night after a while, but he never does and I haven't wanted to push him.

There's something odd about the sex too. Not kinky odd, but strange. He's so fantastic in bed it took me a while to realize anything was wrong, and even longer to work out what it was. He never initiates or suggests anything. Never. He participates eagerly and enthusiastically in everything that *I* want, but he never says what *he* wants. At first I thought it was just a 'First Officer' thing, and he was nervous in case I took suggestions the wrong way, but it's more than that.

It isn't just in bed either. He never comms me, never suggests we meet. When we play pool in Sandrine's he fleeces me of my rations same as anyone else, but never suggests we leave early and come back to my quarters. I think there's something about our relationship that he's unhappy about, but he's afraid to tell me. Does he think I can't handle disagreement? That I'll leave him if he expresses any difference of opinion to mine? I'm not Janeway, I can listen to other people's suggestions – I just have to convince him of that.

So this is what tonight is about. I've invited him much earlier than usual so we talk before we head to the bedroom. I've arranged a feast of dishes I know he likes, and a special fruit drink that I hope he will like. I don't want either of us drunk tonight, we need our heads clear for this talk. I've set the table with candles and programmed soft music. Maybe I should have done this earlier – made it clear that I want romance, the whole box and dice. I know not all men go for that, and I didn't want him to think I was sappy, but what we have now is the opposite extreme. It's a parody of a relationship. I can't be happy unless he's happy too, and I can't make him happy if he won't open up and tell me what he wants.

Finally, the door chimes. It is 1900 exactly. I call, "Come in," and the computer releases the door to let Tom in, just as I pour a glass of juice. Tom hesitates in the doorway. I think I've taken him by surprise. I'm a bit disappointed to notice that he didn't dress up at all – he's just wearing his usual off-duty jeans and white shirt. It looks good on him, but I was hoping for something a little more special. Still, I didn't actually *ask* him to dress up, so maybe he didn't realize what I had in mind.

"Um, am I early?" He's still standing in the doorway, looking at the table.

"Right on time," I reply with a smile. "Juice? It's a blend of my mother's favorites."

"I'd rather have a beer."

Oh. Well, one beer won't make him drunk. I go to the replicator and request a beer, synthehol of course. I know Tom's history and I wouldn't tempt him with the real stuff. I hand him the bottle without a glass, which is how he prefers it. I've watched him in Sandrine's and I know that he likes it cold and straight from the bottle.

He takes a big swallow and looks around at the romantic ambiance I've created for us. He's still standing in the middle of the floor, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what you had in mind. I've already eaten." He shrugs. "We've never had dinner before – I just figured you wanted me here earlier than usual."

I'm kicking myself. Here's something else I never noticed, but as soon as he mentions it I realize that it is true. We don't have dinner together. I mostly eat at my desk while finishing up reports, and by the time I comm him it is too late for dinner. I struggle on regardless, and invite him to sit down. He'll probably have something, since he is lucky enough to have one of those metabolisms that allows him to eat what he likes and stay slim. Anyway, I still need to eat and sitting at the table is a better way to foster talking. I have a feeling that if we sit on the couch we'll end up in the bedroom before any serious discussion can get under way. So I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice as I say, "Sit down anyway and keep me company. You might find something to tempt you to a snack."

He looks at the table without enthusiasm, then his eyes widen as he realizes that I've got everything he likes. I take a quick bet with myself as to what he'll go for – yep, the pizza. For the first time he looks really eager as he throws himself unceremoniously into a chair and grabs a slice. I'm glad he's relaxed enough to be comfortable as he helps himself and eats with his fingers. He rather self-consciously tucks a napkin into his shirt collar, which is not a bad idea considering the amount of tomato sauce on the pizza. I didn't realize he was so fastidious about his clothes, but I guess you can't look as good as he does without making a bit of an effort.

He eats for a while in silence, and I realize that it is going to be up to me to get this conversation rolling. "I've been thinking about us." Not a highly original opening, I realize. "I feel like we spend all our time together ripping each other's clothes off and leaping into bed. The sex is great – you're fantastic, as I'm sure you know." He murmurs something noncommittal. "But I think we should branch out and get to know each other's interests, spend some quality time together doing other things, talking, you know… You don't have to stay the night here if you don't want to, but I really want us to do some other things together than just have great sex…" That last bit was a joke, but I think he missed it.

Sure enough, he starts guiltily when he realizes I am waiting for a response. "Um, give me that last bit again?"

I give him the short version. "I think we should do more of this kind of thing." I gesture at us, sitting, having dinner and talking. Well, I'm talking and I hope he's listening.

"OK, sure," he says agreeably. "Dinners particularly, or other stuff as well?"

I'm glad he understands and agrees that we should spend more time together, but I didn't have a lot of specific activities in mind. I just thought we would share the kinds of recreational activities we already do. I know he's into holoprogramming, so that's a good place to start. "Oh, you know, maybe some time on the holodeck as well. A variety of things, you know?"

He frowns, and I start to feel anxious again. Am I asking for too much? I'm still very aware of the power inequality in our relationship, and I don't want to be the 'Commanding Officer' all over him. He should be free to say what he really feels.

"I don't do restraints," he says, finally.

I am shocked. I don't know whether he thinks this relationship is all about sex, or if he thinks that I only want him for his admittedly gorgeous body. Either way, this has to end. I hasten to clarify, "Of course not! I was thinking more about walks in the woods, strolling on the French Riviera, revisiting old haunts in Marseilles – that kind of thing."

"Oh, that's fine." He smiles at me. I find myself smiling back, and I reflect that it isn't often I see him simply happy. He's a reserved man and doesn't show his emotions plainly. I want to know him better, and a good way to start would be by letting him show me what he likes. I really want us to get past this relationship revolving around *my* desires. I know it sounds like a fantasy to have someone at your beck and call who wants to do anything and everything you want to do, but it makes for a very unbalanced relationship. I want there to be more give and take between us as we do activities together so I ask him, "Do you want to choose the first one?"

He looks taken aback. Damn. I didn't realize I was dominating our relationship so much that a simple offer to let him choose how we spend a day together would come as a shock. "You want me to surprise you?" He looks like he's getting used to the idea, maybe even coming around to like it. If he wants to surprise me, that sounds like a great idea. I grin at him, wondering what he has in mind, something adventurous probably. He's got a little smile on his face that suggests he's thinking of something to test my limits.

Then his smile shifts to something a little more calculated. "So, now that we've settled that, is it time for dessert?" He raises one eyebrow. I agree that we've done enough talking for one night, and I think we've made some positive steps. Now we can get to the part that he's always so keen on. I stand and lead him into the bedroom.

Unfortunately, the romantic atmosphere of the dinner table doesn't appear to translate into the bedroom. Tom is his usual efficient man of action, and it all passes in an erotic blur. He's sucking, he's riding, I'm coming – then it's over and he's off in the shower. I check the time and sure enough, it isn't even 2000. I think the longest we've ever taken to make love is about twenty minutes, but it's usually closer to ten. We both come, in fact he usually comes before I do, and I presume he likes it like this. I admit that I had been hoping for something slower, more sensual. It doesn't always have to be quite so hot and fast, does it?

Wait, what's that? I do notice something different tonight after all – he's whistling in the shower. He's happy. Thank the spirits, I'm relieved. I was worried that trying to press for change in our relationship would scare him off but our talk does seem to have done some good after all.

He comes out of the shower after his usual super-fast scrub down. I wonder again how he does that. He gives a whole new meaning to the term 'super-sonic' by showering faster than the speed of sound. I tuck that gambit away in my mind to use later. He's still smiling, which I like. "Hey, do you want some real dessert? I've got chocolate cake."

His smile widens even more, "Chocolate cake? My favorite!" He heads directly for the table and I hop into the shower – I might even whistle a little myself.

But I don't feel nearly so sprightly when I get my robe on and go out to the living area to find Tom has already gone. He didn't wait for me? The chocolate cake has been cut and it looks like he's managed to eat an enormous piece while I was in the shower, but he's gone. He left a slice out on a plate for me, but it isn't the same.

I sigh. It is too early to go to bed, but I don't feel like getting dressed and going out again. I make myself some tea and sit down with a few reports. Maybe I'll get ahead on the latest crew evaluations. Somehow, I'm not in the mood for cake after all.

Tom:

Chakotay commed me during the day today and asked me to come to his quarters at 1900 tonight. I can't decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe he just wants an early fuck and then go out for the evening – that would be a good thing. On the other hand, maybe he wants a whole night fuck-fest. That would be a bad thing. He's hinted often enough that he would like me to stay for a second session, but so far I've always managed to avoid getting the hint and he hasn't pushed the issue.

Actually, he hasn't pushed as much as I thought he would. He only tends to call me a couple of times a week, and the rest of the time he leaves me pretty much alone. This arrangement seems to suit us both. If only I could get Harry to look at me again, I could live with this.

But tonight breaks the pattern, and that freaks me out. Something different is going to happen. There's no point worrying about it though, since it isn't as if I have any real choice about going. All the same reasons that I had for agreeing to this arrangement still apply.

So 1900 on the dot finds me ringing Chakotay's doorbell. I hear him say, "Come in," and the door opens. I'm surprised to see the table set for dinner, candles, soft music, the whole shebang. I wonder if he's expecting the Captain for dinner? Am I early? Well, only one way to find out what he has in mind, so I ask, "Am I early?"

He's standing by the table pouring himself a glass of juice. It looks like some kind of carrot juice. Ick. "Right on time," he replies. He holds out the glass with a smirk – he obviously knows how I feel about carrot juice. "Juice? It's a blend of my mother's favorites."

I'm not sure how to interpret the mention of his mother in what is obviously a seduction scene, so I let it pass and restrict myself to answering the question. "I'd rather have a beer."

He shrugs and takes a swig of the juice himself before going to the replicator and getting me a beer. Synthehol. Shit. I was hoping he might get me a real beer. He has the access to do it but he's too cheap to waste the rations on me, I guess. He doesn't even bother to offer me a glass, so I swig it straight from the bottle which is rather out of place in this elegant setting – not that it matters, really. It isn't like this is a real date, even if he has decided to go for the "boyfriend experience" for a change of pace. Damn – this means it really is going to take all evening and I won't get to Sandrine's to see Harry after all.

Still, he never warned me about it, so I can get a cheap thrill in thwarting him in the little details. He can't legitimately complain. I'm not dressed for this, I'm drinking beer from the bottle, and now I'm about to kick him while he's down. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what you had in mind. I've already eaten." This is, in fact, true. I carb loaded before I got here guessing that I'd need the energy if this really was going to be an all nighter. I shrug casually. "We've never had dinner before – I just figured you wanted me here earlier than usual." I take a spiteful delight in the disappointment on his face.

He's determined to stick with the script though. He only says, "Sit down anyway and keep me company. You might find something to tempt you to a snack."

I look over the table. No kidding. He's got a selection of great food including pizza, which I can eat at any time. Well, they're his rations, if he wants to play it this way I may as well enjoy it. I'm sorry now I wasted my own rations on a big bowl of pasta. Chakotay sure can put on a good spread. I plunk myself down at the table and help myself to a slice of pizza with my fingers. He doesn't wince, so I decide to push it and tuck a napkin into the neck of my shirt.

I'm the son of an Admiral. I've been to more formal dinners than any other three officers on Voyager, Captain Janeway included. I'm sure I can think of enough faux pas to wind Chakotay up as thoroughly as I ever did on the Bridge. The best part is that if he wants to stay 'in role' he can't even take issue with it! This is going to be fun.

He starts the conversation with, "I've been thinking about us…" Yawn. I amuse myself by planning a series of unacceptable events for the dinner table as Chakotay yaps on for a while in the mode of sentimental wooing. Belching, definitely. Laughing at my own jokes, naturally. I could even snort my drink through my nose. On second thoughts it's beer, so maybe not. Should I lick my plate, or would that be going too far? Then there's a pause, and I realize he's asked me a question. "Um, give me that last bit again?"

He patiently repeats what he's apparently just said to me while I was scheming. "I think we should do more of this kind of thing." He waves his hand around at the role play setting of the intimate dinner.

"OK, sure," I reply. This will take more time and acting on my part, but will probably lead to less fucking overall, so it's fine by me. Anything that keeps his hands off me and dick out of my ass is a plus from my perspective. "Dinners particularly, or other stuff as well?"

"Oh, you know, maybe some time on the holodeck as well. A variety of things, you know?" He's being a little vague. I frown. I don't want this to turn into something really kinky – I've never been into that shit. I need to draw some lines here.

"I don't do restraints." I tell him flatly.

He looks genuinely shocked. "Of course not! I was thinking more about walks in the woods, strolling on the French Riviera, revisiting old haunts in Marseilles – that kind of thing."

"Oh, that's fine." I am relieved, but I had to be sure. The Marseilles thing could be some kind of seedy fantasy, but the rest sound OK. One of the first things you learn when you start turning tricks is to be up front and explicit about what the deal involves. Since this is a protection racket I can't exactly charge extra for the frills, but I can certainly refuse to be hurt – that's the whole point of this exercise in the first place.

He smiles at me seeming happy with my consent, not that he needed it. Then again maybe he does. Not all professionals do the whole 'acting' thing, and not all do it well. I do both, and in some ways I even prefer it to straight sex. It's all pretending anyway so if a mark wants to pretend we're buddies, lovers or doctors and nurses, it's all the same to me. Walking, holding hands and chatting is easier than bringing myself to orgasm with a mark. Role play with words is much less demanding than acting a lie with your whole body.

Then he says something that really catches me unawares, "Do you want to choose the first one?"

"You want me to surprise you?" I ask. Well, he surprised me with tonight's game, so I suppose turn about is only reasonable. The kind who like surprising people often like being surprised themselves.

He positively grins at this, so I must have hit on exactly the idea that he wanted. I don't know why he didn't just say so. I've never understood why some customers are shy about stating their preferences. If I were the one paying a professional I'd damn well specify every detail and make sure I got exactly what I wanted with no hidden charges to bite me on the ass later, figuratively speaking. Then again, he's not exactly paying me by the hour so the usual rules don't apply.

Actually, this could work out really well. I can ask for a few days to set things up for him and he won't bother me until then. I've got heaps of holodeck programs already written, so I can just polish up one of those. Plus, this way I get to choose what *I* want. Maybe I can get him to go running and really tire him out? I drag myself away from these pleasant thoughts of the future and focus back on tonight. Let's get this moving and maybe I can still meet Harry later. "So, now that we've settled that, is it time for dessert?" I smile and tilt my head meaningfully towards the bedroom.

He can't wait – he grabs my hand and drags me towards the bed. I've got pleasing him down to a routine now. I suck him until he's so hard he can't stand it, make myself come and slick him down with it, then ride him until he explodes. Mission accomplished. I don't know why he doesn't replicate some normal lube, but he does seem to like watching me come and anything that makes it easier to get him off is fine with me. He's so hot tonight he won't be able to hold on long, and sure enough just a few thrusts with my hips and he's spurting inside me. Excellent job, if I do say so myself.

In the shower I plan the rest of my evening. I like this earlier meeting time, and it has all gone so smoothly it's still early enough to catch Harry in Sandrine's. He hasn't been very receptive lately, but if I have longer to work on him I might be able to convince him to come back to my quarters. Shit. I'm out of rations so I won't be able to offer him a beer or anything. I wonder if Chakotay would lend me some? I head back into the bedroom with my best smile plastered on my face.

Chakotay smiles back from the bed, and I'm about to ask him to lend me some rations when he says, "Hey, do you want some real dessert? I've got chocolate cake."

I respond with genuine enthusiasm, "Chocolate cake? My favorite!" This might be even better than borrowing rations. I can just take some of the leftover cake back to my quarters, and if things go well with Harry we can share it. If I serve it on plates he won't notice that it's been cut already.

I slice a piece of cake and put it on a plate, then change my mind. It will be easier to carry the cake in a box. I replicate a cardboard box and cut a big enough piece for two people to go in it. I'll drop it off at my place on the way down to Sandrine's. Fingers crossed, I can convince Harry to come back with me to help me eat it. He's a sucker for sweets, so it shouldn't be hard. I bounce out of Chakotay's quarters in anticipation of a good night ahead.

* * * * * * * * * *

I arrive at Sandrine's just before 2100. I decided to change into something more suitable at the last minute, so I've got on the blue silk shirt that Harry just loves on me. He says it brings out the color of my eyes which is shit because my eyes aren't anything like that deep blue, but whatever turns him on works for me.

As I stroll in, I spot Harry immediately. He's pretending to play pool with Chapman and Foster, but he's not concentrating. I'm afraid he's going to bolt as soon as I try to talk to him. He's been avoiding me like I carry some contagious disease, or like I'm some filthy whore – well, that's probably what he *does* think of me. I can't help it though, I still love him so much. I still want to convince him to come back to me, on any terms. I've tried begging him, I've tried seducing him, I've tried making him jealous by flirting in front of him.

The one thing I have left is something I've *never* stooped to before, and I hope he appreciates how vulnerable it makes me. Unsuitable as it is for me, undignified it is, I'm going to try the straightforward approach.

I approach the pool table and address him directly, no tricks, no seduction scene. I just try to tell him with my eyes how much I love him and need to talk to him. "Harry, we need to talk." OK, so it isn't brilliantly original or witty, but it has the advantage of being true.

The situation works in my favour for a change as Chapman and Foster are both Starfleet to the core. They are polite and more to the point, don't want to be seen with me. They slap Harry on the back and retreat as quickly as possible.

Harry gets a stubborn set to his mouth as he says, "There is no *we* to talk about. That part of your life is apparently over, so I'd appreciate it if you let me move on as well."

I can feel myself starting to plead again, even though it never worked for me before. "Harry, I want there to be an *us* again. I never moved away from you, it was you who pushed me away."

"*I* wasn't the one who left. I helped you move your stuff out, but you left me first – where do you get off saying that *I* pushed you away?" He's getting angry now. Shit. I was trying to avoid that. I didn't mean to sound like I was blaming him for our breakup – not everyone can cope with having a sex worker for a partner. Most people don't understand it's just business, like shaking hands or playing tennis with someone to get ahead. Anyway, Harry never gave me a chance to explain – he just kicked me out. Damn. Now I'm getting angry. Breathe, Tom. Smile. Get him back to your quarters. In a room with chocolate cake and a bed your chances will be ten times better than on the holodeck with the rest of the crew watching.

"Harry, we need to talk seriously and in private. Will you come back to my quarters with me? Just listen and you can leave anytime you want. I'll give you a cup of tea and chocolate cake and you listen, no obligation." He's weakening – it was the chocolate cake that did it. He's going to say yes. Yes!

"Fine. You talk, I listen, I leave – and that ends *any* obligations between us. Fair enough?"

Not quite the overwhelming assent I had been hoping for, but it's a start. "Fair. Let's go."

* * * * * * * * * *

We arrive back in my quarters, and Harry disdains sitting on the couch in favour of a stiff-backed dining chair with the table between us. He's going to make me work for it. Well, that's fine – I can work it pretty good when I have to.

I go over to the replicator and request a cup of the Vulcan spiced tea that I know Harry likes, and coffee for myself. The cake is already there, of course, so I cut the piece in half and put it on two plates. I take the food to the table and take a seat opposite Harry, not crowding him.

This coming clean thing is harder that I thought, but I manage to choke the words out, "Harry, I know you hate me and think I'm a dirty whore, but I still love you." God. There it is. I wait for him to say something. He stares at me for a moment, then returns his eyes to his plate. Come on Harry say *something*. Talk to me, give me something to work with. I can make you love me again, I know I can, just talk to me!

"I don't hate you." He finally says. Well, that's a start and I'm more relieved than I can say. But he doesn't follow up this statement with anything more reassuring, for example "I still love you too" would be favorite, but I'll settle for "I still want you in my bed."

There's a long pause before he finally goes for, "You hurt me when you left me for Chakotay, but if you really think we can work it out, I'm prepared to give it another try."

There's that blame thing again about me 'leaving' him. Doesn't he realize that I only went to Chakotay to protect him? To protect us both? Starfleet, my father the admiral and the Federation government couldn't protect me in prison, and Captain Janeway can't protect us now. We have to, I have to, make our own protection.

"I didn't leave you." I begin. He rolls his eyes, which annoys me. He seems to think this is some kind of technicality. What he doesn't seem to understand is that I would have stayed with him if he'd let me. I try to explain, "I didn't go with Chakotay because I loved him more than I love you. I don't love Chakotay at all."

He snorts, as if my feelings don't matter. "Yeah, well, if you're just sleeping with him for payment in short shifts and chocolate cake, that really doesn't make me feel any better about it, you know."

I can feel myself blushing, damn my fair skin. It doesn't let me hide anything. Harry can't possibly have known about the cake – that has to be a wild guess. It must have been, because he suddenly turns pale as he realizes what my blush means.

"Shit, Tom! You got this cake from Chakotay?" He spits out the half-chewed lump of cake in his mouth like it is poisoned. "How could you?"

Suddenly, I'm really angry. Or maybe I've been angry for a long time and have only just let it come to the surface. I'm doing everything I can, literally sacrificing my body to Chakotay's lust to keep Harry safe, and he has the gall to make jokes about me selling myself for chocolate cake?

"Look," I say to him, my voice low and vicious. "This is not funny. Chakotay threatened me, and threatened you! I agreed to sleep with him to stop him from breaking every bone in my body and busting *you* down to Crewman. You should be thanking me, not making jokes about it."

Harry's mouth falls open. He's just sitting there, staring at me. God, he's so naïve! He looks like he's never heard that Chakotay was a Maquis captain who knew and used every dirty trick in the book, like he has no idea what went on in the DMZ in what is laughingly called the 'good old days'. He finally manages to speak, "Chakotay? Blackmailing you?"

"Yes Harry." I sigh and close my eyes. "About twice a week for the last month."

Harry is silent for a moment, and I wait for the next obvious comment. Sure enough, "So why didn't you tell the Captain? This sort of thing can't happen on a Starfleet ship!"

I snort. God, he really is that innocent. Was I ever that green? Probably not. "Look, this isn't the Federation any more. Chakotay is the First Officer *plus* the Maquis are all personally loyal to him. He's probably the most powerful person on the ship *including* the Captain, and the only reason he hasn't taken over is that he couldn't get the Starfleet crew to cooperate to fly the ship home. As long as we're in the Delta Quadrant he has no motivation for a mutiny. But the reality is that if he decides he's going to have a little fun on the side, no-one can stop him."

Harry looks horrified, and I need to make *sure* he doesn't go running to the Captain about this. If he did, Chakotay and the Maquis could really make both of our lives hell. "Look, Har, I'm only telling you all this so that you know I didn't *leave* you – it's pissing me off the way you keep saying that. I went to Chakotay to buy protection for us with the only coin I had. I would have come back and stayed right by your side if you didn't think I was a dirty whore and thrown me out of your bedroom."

Harry's eyes meet mine, and for the first time since he came into my quarters, I allow myself to hope.

Harry:

It has been a month since Tom left me for Chakotay. Oh, sure, I've seen him on the Bridge and he's even tried to corner me in Sandrine's but I haven't wanted to talk to him. I still love him so much, but he's not serious about me. Hell, maybe he's just not a serious person. I never would have said that before, but the way he just walked off and left me there with a single word, "Later." That moment is etched in my memory – I'll never use that as a farewell again.

The odd thing is that he doesn't really seem to be 'with' Chakotay either. They don't spend much time together, and their relationship on the Bridge is not only strictly professional but it doesn't even seem particularly warm. They sleep together about twice a week, but Tom never stays the night. I'm tracking the movements of my ex-lover to the point that I can tell you how often he has sex with his current lover. How sad is that? I get some kind of sick satisfaction from the fact that he can't hold Tom all night like I used to.

Tom's and my relationship was more of a real thing, more of an emotional connection than his series of affairs with Chakotay. That's a funny word for my mind to choose "real". I turn it over in my thoughts, and it feels strangely right. I had more of the *real* Tom than Chakotay does, so far at least. Somehow that makes it worse. Tom threw me away for meaningless sex. Though, I suppose to be strictly accurate I was the one who threw our relationship away when it became clear that Tom wanted it both ways. He wanted to screw Chakotay and then come home and sleep with me. Sex with one man, love with another. Now who's the sick one?

So I've been trying to put Tom out of my mind by working too hard and playing too much pool. I learned more from Tom than I realized, and I've been cleaning up. Tonight I'm wiping the floor with Chapman and Foster when Tom walks in. I know immediately when he enters a room, something about the sound of his walk – I would recognize it anywhere. I don't look at him directly, though I see out of the corner of my eye he's wearing that blue shirt I love so much. I love him in that shirt. I love him. Shit. There was a time that I wouldn't talk like that, even in my private thoughts, but Tom has been an influence on me in lots of ways.

I stare down at my hands as I make my shot, and they're shaking so much that I fuck it up completely. Great. Now I look like a patsy as well as a dumped ex-lover. Tom comes directly over to the pool table, and I continue to avoid looking at him. Tricky, since it isn't my turn, but I stare at the table anyway. "Harry," he says, and his voice is low and serious like I've never heard it before, "we need to talk."

It's been a month, already. *Now* he decides we need to talk? On some level I know I'm being unfair, that he's tried to talk to me before and I haven't wanted to, but dammit, if he really wanted to talk to me he would have worked something out. Anyway, I have some pride. He can't leave me hanging for a month and expect me to jump when he snaps his fingers, like some kind of eager puppy. So I say, "There is no *we* to talk about. That part of your life is apparently over, so I'd appreciate it if you let me move on as well." That hurt him, I can see it in his eyes. Good.

"Harry, I want there to be an *us* again. I never moved away from you, it was you who pushed me away."

How dare he? After the way he betrayed me, walked off without looking back? How *dare* he blame me for this mess he's made of our relationship? "I wasn't the one who left. I helped you move your stuff out, but you left me first – where do you get off saying that *I* pushed you away?" Another point to me. He's hurt now, and starting to get angry.

But I'm interested to see him take a deep breath and try again. Hell, maybe the man *has* learned something after all. He's doing a surprisingly good impression of a mature and adult human being who knows he's made a mistake. Maybe he really does want to try to work this out?

He says, "Harry, we need to talk seriously and in private. Will you come back to my quarters with me? Just listen and you can leave anytime you want."

Well, well. Serious talk, no flirting. Listening rather than covering up problems with sex. Amazing. Of course, he can't leave it there. He adds, "I'll give you a cup of tea and chocolate cake and you listen, no obligation."

Tom being serious, Tom talking and working things out – this I have to hear. But I can't look like I'm giving in too easily. I agree, but cover my dignity with some tough talk. "Fine. You talk, I listen, I leave – and that ends *any* obligations between us. Fair enough?"

He agrees immediately. "Fair. Let's go."

We don't talk as we walk back to his quarters. I don't know what he's thinking, but I know I'm remembering the many other times we made this same walk, and how many times we ended up in bed together at the end of it. Sometimes we were happy, often we were tired, sometimes we were totally hyped after a hoverball game or an episode of Captain Proton.

Usually we just crashed on the couch or in the bedroom as soon as the doors open, but this time I want to show him that things are different. That I expect serious talk, not a quick fuck. I make a conscious decision to sit at the table instead.

He's nervous. He goes to the replicator and makes coffee for himself and tea for me. He fusses for ages with some cake and finally gets it arranged the way he wants it on two plates. I don't know why he didn't just replicate it that way in the first place. He sits down opposite me at the table. That's a good sign, I think. No distracting hand on my thigh under the table or knee pressing into mine. He really is going to do the serious sorry talk thing. I'm just forming up a nice speech about giving him one more chance, when he really does shock me.

"Harry, I know you hate me and think I'm a dirty whore, but I still love you."

I stare at him, my thoughts spinning. Then I have to look away from the raw hurt in his eyes. How can he think I hate him? He left me, betrayed me, and still I love him so much I can't sleep on his side of the bed. To be honest, I don't sleep well at all anymore. I still wake every morning reaching for him. Still turn around after making a good shot at pool to see if he saw it.

He's staring at me, and I realize that I haven't actually said anything. I swallow the rather dry piece of cake in my mouth, unless it is my dry mouth and not the cake that's the problem, and I finally manage to say, "I don't hate you." He looks pleased, but still uncertain. I want to reassure him. "You hurt me when you left me for Chakotay, but if you really think we can work it out, I'm prepared to give it another try."

He gives me that same old knee jerk reaction again, "I didn't leave you." God. I don't want to get into the whole you-started-it thing. I'm about to point out, once again, that sleeping with Chakotay counts as leaving in my book, even if I did have to move his stuff out myself. He must have realized what I was about to say because he gives an irritated wave of his hands. "I didn't go with Chakotay because I loved him more than I love you. I don't love Chakotay at all."

Oh really? So you *did* leave me for meaningless sex? I can't help a sarcastic response. "Yeah, well, if you're just sleeping with him for payment in short shifts and chocolate cake, that really doesn't make me feel any better about it, you know."

He stares at me, then blushes, and I realize that my semi-random remark has hit a nerve.

"Shit, Tom! You got this cake from Chakotay?" I can't believe it. He's feeding me sweets given to him by his other lover? I think I'm going to be sick. I manage to spit my current mouthful into a napkin without emptying my stomach completely, although that suddenly sounds like quite a good idea. "How could you?"

His blush deepens to an angry red, and he hisses at me, "Look, this is not funny. Chakotay threatened me and threatened you! I agreed to sleep with him to stop him from breaking every bone in my body and busting *you* down to Crewman. You should be thanking me, not making jokes about it."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Chakotay? Blackmailing you?" I think my mind has melted down completely.

Tom just sighs and says, "Yes Harry. About twice a week for the last month."

"So why didn't you tell the Captain? This sort of thing can't happen on a Starfleet ship!"

Tom snorts, and gives me a short lecture on the reality of life in the Delta Quadrant. Shit. Finally he concludes by swearing me to silence about the whole thing. Not a difficult thing to do – I'm so shocked I don't think I'll be able to speak for a week at least. Finally, his last words penetrate the fog in my mind.

"… I went to Chakotay to buy protection for us with the only coin I had. I would have come back and stayed right by your side if you didn't think I was a dirty whore and thrown me out of your bedroom."

Oh, no. Shit, shit, shit! From his perspective of *course* it looks like I kicked him out for prostituting himself with Chakotay. God, I even said something about it the night he came back to our quarters. Now who is the idiot? I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I look at him, and I can hardly see as I reach across the table for his hand.

"Tom, I love you. I don't think… that… about you, and I never did. I'm so sorry. I was hurt that you wanted Chakotay more than me. I wanted to hurt you back so I said things I didn't mean. Can you forgive me? Can we be together again?"

Tom smacks his hip into the corner of the table as he rushes around to take me in his arms, and I wince in sympathy. He almost whispers, "You don't mind me touching you?" He must have seen my answer in my eyes, because he doesn't wait for me to speak as he gathers me into his embrace. I sigh happily as I rest my head against his chest, where it belongs. Tom is slightly taller than I am, so we fit together perfectly when he holds me like this. He sighs as well, and we stand still for a moment, just enjoying the completion of being together after too long apart.

"Harry, look at me love." He pulls away from me a little and I can't help it, I whimper and try to burrow back into his chest. "Just for a minute, then I'll take you to bed and show you the best time in the Delta Quadrant." He quirks that little smile at me that I love, the one I can't resist, and I try to focus on what he's saying instead of just on him.

"We have to keep this a secret. If the Maquis know that we are together it will make you more of a target and give Chakotay more leverage against me. Promise me, love, that you won't say anything to the Captain or Tuvok and that we will be totally discreet about this."

I lean forward and kiss a line of feather-light touches along his collar-bone. "Anything you say, love. I'll pay whatever price you ask, as long as we can be together again."

He smiles, wicked and playful once more, "Any price?" he raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.

Suddenly, I realize what he has in mind, and I break away and try to run – too late. He tackles me around the waist and throws me over his shoulder. I pretend to struggle, just a little, not enough to break his hold. He carries me into his bedroom and throws me down on his bed, but even as my body sails through the air I realize that I'm not falling – I'm flying.

I think these guys have one more round left in them… TBC…