Chapter 1 Chakotay never felt comfortable on Deep Space Nine. It was the Cardassian architecture that bothered him, with its asymmetries and dark colors reflecting the predictable unpredictability of the species as a whole. His attitude in the Maquis had been that you never knew precisely what a Cardassian was going to do, but you could be sure you wouldn't like it. No, he did not care for DS9 at all. Wolf Raider was docked at the station for small repairs and tactical updates. This hadn't been the closest Federation facility, but Chakotay suspected the station commander, Captain Sisko, had something to do with the assignment. Sisko's ship, the Defiant, and Chakotay's Wolf Raider had each destroyed nearly the same number of Dominion vessels. The station commander treated it like a friendly rivalry, and Chakotay played along somewhat, though his reasons for reticence had changed over the years. In the Delta Quadrant he had moved far away from the Maquis captain whose business it was to kill Cardassians. When he had first joined this new war he felt that killing, even killing Cardassians, should not be a sport. Now he faced only destruction or survival, and cared nothing for scores. Still, he let Sisko have his pleasure in the Defiant's kill record; they were three ships ahead of Wolf Raider. Chakotay put up with the ritual ribbing with good humor, but he was rewarded by unexpected news. "I'm not sure either one of us can hold a candle to some of those Runners," the bass voice had said. "They're out-powered and out- gunned, but they get away with the most *amazing* stunts. One of them is docked here at the station. He made it back after destroying a Dominion prison camp, and killing a Changeling." Sisko leaned back against the briefing table and continued, "I think you know him from Voyager. The admiral's son, Tom Paris." Chakotay's long habit of disciplining his face came to the fore. Sisko wouldn't see the shock he produced by that casual announcement, and Chakotay had turned the talk to more pressing matters to hasten his departure. Now, walking alone after the meeting, Chakotay's eyes swept over the promenade hoping to catch sight of Tom. This was ridiculous, he knew -- there were too many people, and Paris probably wasn't even here. He decided it would be better to leave a message at Tom's ship. As Chakotay turned to head toward the docking ring he caught sight of himself in a shop window several meters away. A break in the crowd revealed his reflection, full length, and he was a bit surprised. He didn't see himself like this very often. The image seemed leaner than he thought of himself, more grizzled around the ears, but he knew that already. Something in the image made him remark that he was turning from bear into wolf. Maybe he was taking after his ship, he thought wryly. Before he could turn away, he was stopped by another face in the reflection, the face of someone standing closer to the glass. Tom? No, the man was wearing the full earring of a Bajoran, but his sandy brown hair was longer and pulled into a short pony tail, a style unusual for that race. Chakotay had a view of both the front and back of the figure. Not Tom, no. Nothing fit together. This man was taller, wearing a long sleeveless vest of Klingon style, but cut of a softer fabric and color usually favored by humans. The decoration on the vest was distinctly Betazoid, but the boots were nothing he recognized. A man of many worlds, perhaps. Chakotay realized the reflection was aware of the scrutiny, and when he looked at the face in the glass, the eyes of the stranger locked with his. Then the face smiled, lopsided and knowing, and it could only be Tom. Motionless with surprise, Chakotay watched as Paris turned and walked stiffly over. His relief in seeing him alive was subverted by his inability to reconcile this taller man with the Tom Paris he knew. Where was the grace? What were these halting steps? The sharper face lacked some of the beauty he thought of as particularly Tom's. "Hello." The greeting was tentative, but the voice familiar. "Glad to see me?" Chakotay recovered himself. "Of course" he answered in a voice tight with confused emotions, "but I don't know what I'm seeing. What's happened, Tom? Everyone thought you were dead." "They've thought that before. Take me someplace quiet I'll tell you all about it. I'd invite you to my ship, but it's a mess right now. Actually, it's not even mine. You still have Wolf Raider?" "She's still flying." They walked in silence to the closest turbolift, and Chakotay had to shorten his steps to accommodate Tom's slower pace. Inside the lift they pulled each other close. Chakotay's head rested comfortably on Tom's shoulder, but the position only accentuated the strange increased difference in their heights. They parted, still wordless, as the lift slowed, and stepped out into the corridor of the docking ring. Wolf Raider was only a few airlocks away, and Chakotay led them through the connection and onto his ship. As soon as they were aboard he went into 'Captain' mode, striding purposefully and forgetting that he had to slow his steps. He turned and waited for Tom to catch up, wondering what the problem was with his movements. They were not only slow, but somehow wrong. "Harry's going to want to see you," he said, breaking the silence to cover his embarrassment. "You could call him now. I might as well only tell the story once." Chakotay pressed his comm badge, not sure if he was disappointed to be sharing Tom so soon, or relieved for the diluting company. "Chakotay to Commander Kim." "Kim here." The voice followed them down the corridor. "Meet me in my quarters as soon as you can." "Aye, sir." The voice held the question Harry didn't ask. "Tom's here." "On my way. Kim out." "He sounds happy," Tom observed. "Happy to see you." Chakotay smiled and hit Tom gently across the chest with the back of his hand. "How's he been?" "Still a great XO. I'm afraid he'll be promoted out from under me, and I'd hate to lose him." Chakotay paused, then added, "Besides, there's something about having another ex-Voyager around." Tom said nothing, merely nodding slightly. "But I know what you're asking," Chakotay finished, "and no, he never got over what happened with B'Elanna. Harry Kim now has casual affairs." "Things do change." Something in Tom's tone made Chakotay look at him, but the sharp face was neutral. He didn't push it; they'd seen enough changes of their own, but this constraint between them was sadly familiar. They walked in silence until they rounded the last corner to the captain's quarters, and found Harry already waiting in the corridor. The stance of contained excitement with arms hugging across his chest reminded him of Harry in the early days. Chakotay watched both the sadness and the war drop from him, and, despite the threads of silver at his temples, he seemed the enthusiastic young ensign again. He rushed forward to greet them. "Tom! You're... taller." Harry stopped, nearly stuttering. His arms, rising for an embrace, shifted to a gesture of presentation. "And you've got a new tailor." Tom let Harry's discomfort go unnoticed. "Uh huh. A Cardassian tailor, in fact." Paris' face wore his signature grin, as he stepped past Harry and turned his friend with an arm draped across the shoulder. "You manage to stay out of trouble with that Ferengi bartender?" Harry snorted, and they followed Chakotay into his quarters where he was already walking toward the replicator, ready to play host. "Can I get you anything?" "You still make herbal teas? I'd like that." "Tom, are you all right?" Harry's face took on a mock-incredulous expression. Tom only shrugged, and Harry turned back to Chakotay. "I'm technically on duty, so a raktajino for me." It was Tom's turn to give Harry grief. "Klingon drinks?" "B'Elanna's mother got me on to it. So no scotch for you? How come?" "I, uh, can't risk it." "This I have to hear." "Hey, gotta keep sharp out on the front, you know," Tom deflected. Chakotay let them banter as he took their drinks from the replicator. He was as curious as Harry, but he was content to wait. The younger men traded insults behind him, and he found himself wanting to stretch the moment. He could almost pretend he was back in the Delta Quadrant, getting ready for a quiet evening with his lover and their friends. The only thing missing was B'Elanna. That thought drew Chakotay back to the present with surprising force. Tom was alive. Tom was here. Everything else he could figure out later. He took the mugs over to his guests and returned to make his own selection: Coffee. Admiral Janeway was inordinately amused that he'd succumbed to her favorite vice. She probably wouldn't be so pleased at the nights he now spent emptying glasses of bourbon with Harry. He took his cup over to the couch under the view port, and Tom and Harry followed. Harry took a chair, his eyes narrowing as he watched Tom slowly sink onto the couch. The way he moved looked unnatural, and in the quiet Chakotay thought he could hear the low whine of servos. Once seated, Tom sat up somewhat formally, and grimaced. "Sorry." His head bent over his mug. "So what's new, guys?" "Uh-uh, Tom." Harry shook his head. "When did you start dressing like a Klingon and wearing Bajoran jewelry? Or make noises like an outdated piece of machinery?" "It's a long story," Tom said. His companions waited, but he didn't continue. "Tom, don't be obstreperous," Harry said, with a mock threat. "That's a big word, Harry." Paris matched his tone. "You use that on all the ensigns?" "Quit stalling." "All right." Tom's voice was low. "I took some primitive Jem'Hadar weapon in the back." He was speaking as much to his mug as to his friends, sitting very straight-backed but with his head bowed. "It was a few hours -- I don't know -- before I got rescued. Only half my crew got out, and we ended up on a Runner ship that had a Betazoid medic. Between him and my Klingon engineer, this brace -- " He rapped his knuckles against one knee, and it did not sound like flesh on flesh. He looked up at them, and the wry smile was grim. "This was the best they could do." "It isn't permanent, is it?" Harry asked Chakotay's question. "No. The Betazoid was able to salvage some of the spinal connections, but the nerves regrow so slowly. They'll take years to reach my feet, but they say I'll get it back a bit at a time." Tom talked a bit louder, and seemed to recover some of his usual pose of nonchalance. "Anyway, the brace lets me walk and it stimulates the muscles so they won't deteriorate too much." He sipped his tea. "It was nice to have a telepath to teach me to use it." "How long have you had it?" Harry asked "A couple of weeks, but I'll be replacing it soon, I hope." Tom's mask was now completely recovered. "You might be interested to hear that the former Lieutenant Nine will be on the station tomorrow. "Former?" Harry's voice was puzzled. "I thought she was still working with B'Elanna." "She is, as a civilian." Tom seemed to enjoy the effect of this news. "She resigned her commission and made a deal with Starfleet that she would still help with ship technology if they kept their hands off her personal technology." "Why? What did they want from her?" Tom smiled, and Chakotay read pleasure at a successful deflection. "You're still full of questions, Harry." "You're still full of -- " Harry broke off, shaking his head. "Too much, Tom. What's Seven coming here for?" "A new device for me. I'll add Borg to my style palette." Before Harry could ask another question, Tom turned to Chakotay and asked, "Can I stay here for a while?" A nod was his response. "I'd really like to get out of this thing. I can't feel much of anything from the hips down, but my back is killing me." Tom stood up slowly as he spoke, shed the long Klingon vest, and pulled at the drawstring of his loose trousers. The pants dropped to his ankles revealing an ugly black and silver contraption. He stepped mechanically out of the pants, then pushed a sequence of buttons on the lighted panel at his lower abdomen. "You need help?" It was Harry who asked. "In a second." Tom sat down again, then leaned away from Chakotay. He unsnapped two clamps at his hips, and the thing hinged forward at the knees. "Can you slide it off me?" Harry rose to take one leg, and Chakotay bent forward to the other. It wasn't a smooth operation, but with Tom's guidance they pulled away the brace. The thing could stand on its feet, and had a weird metallic beauty all its own when apart from its owner. The silver metal had lain over the thick, black compression pants which still covered Tom's lower body, and the boots Chakotay had noticed on the Promenade were simply part of the brace. Chakotay wondered how Tom controlled the thing, and his mind shied away from thoughts of flesh and metal sockets. Tom reached down to pull his legs up onto the couch before lounging sideways. They looked normal to Chakotay, but Tom handled them like something separate from his body. "Here, watch this." Furrows of concentration crossed his face, and the thing walked itself, each step really a controlled fall, over to the corner of the room. "Wow," said Harry, walking over to look at it. "How does it work?" "Combination of servos and stimulating my own muscles, with a minimal neural interface. The power supply is in the soles of the feet." He indicated the black leggings. "This connects to the brace controls and the simulators embedded in my muscles, and they communicate by short-range radio. It's crude, but effective." Harry was examining the structure. "Radio frequencies?" he asked incredulously. "It looks like they made it out of wall bracing, EPS backups, and a tricorder control panel." Tom smirked. "They did." Chakotay was the observer through all of this. Once again, Tom was back, and once again, Tom was different. Paris' legs were twisted unnaturally, and without thinking his hands moved to straighten them. Tom looked up and Chakotay started to pull back. "It's okay." Tom pitched his voice low, barely whispering to keep the moment private. "Thanks." Chakotay glanced up to the brace and back to the pants they connected with. A host of practical questions rose in his mind, with answers he didn't want to follow. Harry stepped back to reclaim his mug, and sat down, saying, "Well, I can see how Borg technology would be appealing after a few weeks of that. So," he took a breath and spoke slowly, as if to a backwards cadet. "How did you get from your father's funeral to the business end of a Jem'Hadar weapon?" "I took a ship, Har'." Tom bowed his head to unbind his hair, but Chakotay could see a small smile. Tom was enjoying this, and Chakotay knew that falling back on old patterns was Tom's way of putting both Harry and Tom himself at ease. All along, Tom had been asserting the upper hand, retaking the dominant position of their early friendship. "Tom!" Harry's frustration was evident. Paris ignored him and removed the earring. He set it on the discarded vest and shook out his hair, which fell curving to his shoulders. Chakotay stared at the profile. The long hair softened the now sharp features, but he wasn't sure he liked either one. Harry looked like he was about to ask another question, but he caught himself. Chakotay could see that he had finally caught on to Tom's evasions and decided to play the game. With elaborate casualness his exec sat back, stretched out his legs and sipped from his mug. "Nice to see you, Tom. How ya' been?" "Busy. How are you, Harry?" "Fine. The usual. It's a war, you know." "Seeing anybody?" "No one special." They sat in silence for a moment, and Harry seemed content to wait it out. In the long moment, Chakotay watched Tom's face. The expressions crossing the features told him what words wouldn't say: Tom was tired, and he couldn't keep up the mask. Finally Paris gave up and spoke. "You asked about the earring. It belonged to my Bajoran tactical officer, Terat Bellor, who died rescuing me. Ba'ruq, he's my engineer, remembered to take it so that we could return it to his family if we ever made it back. The family -- " Tom paused. "I met them this morning. They treated me like some kind of hero. They wanted me to keep it, and I told them I could only do that if they permitted me to wear it. I thought his mother was going to cry." There was an odd bitterness as Tom said, "Evidently that was the right answer. "Anyway, I felt so strange when I left them. I mean, I came to tell them that their son was dead, and they *thanked* me." Paris looked sideways and swallowed. "I was walking around the station afterward and stumbled on that Cardassian tailor's shop. I just wandered in and ordered the vest, because Ba'ruq's Klingon. The tailor didn't say anything, but I guess he knew who I was. He made it for me right away, and wouldn't take payment, but I don't see why a Cardassian would like what I do. Anyway, the ornament is Betazoid, for the medic. I found it in another shop." He turned toward the Fleet officers again. There was a bitter edge to his voice "You wear those uniforms and you know who you are. You know what you should be doing, because somebody gives you orders. You don't know what a luxury that is." Paris fell silent again, and Chakotay reached out, rubbing the feet and legs cased in the black tights in a gesture intended for comfort. Tom looked at him, smiled wryly and said, "Y'know, I can't get used to seeing people touch me and not being able to feel it." Chakotay's face was immobile. No one else could have noticed; only people who knew him well, such as the two in his quarters, would know that Tom's remark had hit hard. The reality of the injury started to sink in, and his mind could no longer slide off the subject. Tom turned back to Harry, letting Chakotay recover himself. "I had a lot of time to think after I got hurt. After my father's funeral I lost sight of everything. Until someone died rescuing me." Tom studied the inside of the mug gripped tightly by his fingers. "Now they think I'm some sort of hero." Tom spat the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "There were at least three times when I could have saved people, and didn't. I knew there wouldn't be a Changeling there and couldn't be bothered. All I wanted was one dead Founder." Tom gestured upward with a bitter laugh. "I didn't even care if it was the same one that got my dad. I mean, how do you tell shape shifters apart? And when I finally do find one and kill it, someone dies because he tries to help me. "I shouldn't be alive. I *told* them to leave me, that once I killed a Changeling I was done. Finished. Ready to die." There was a small silence at the end of Tom's monologue, broken finally by the captain. "But your crew came after you." Chakotay's voice was toneless. "I can't imagine why they rescued me. It cost a lot -- it cost the ship!-- and I owe them." Tom sighed. "I have a lot of lost time to make up for, and a reputation I have to deserve." He looked down into his mug. Harry didn't let the quiet last. "You're hoping Seven can Borg you back into shape." Tom nodded, not looking up. Before anything else could be said, the comm system interrupted. A lilting accent said, "Banta to Commander Kim." "Oh shit. I forgot." Harry slapped his comm badge. "Kim here. Apologies, Lieutenant. I'm on my way. Kim out." He rose and crossed to Tom, extending a hand. "See you soon?" "I'll be around." Tom took the offered hand, and Harry gave him a hard squeeze before turning to leave. At the door he paused and said over his shoulder, "I've still got questions, Paris." He didn't wait for an answer, and the door shut behind him. "Harry says, 'Oh shit'?" Chakotay gave Tom a half smile. "Like you said, things do change." Tom barked a short laugh. Chakotay picked up the conversation again. "So the vest, the earring? You take the coverings of others and lose yourself in them?" "That's maybe the idea." "Maybe?" "Chakotay, I just got all this stuff! I don't know what I'm doing." The answer was dry, tinged with humor. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were getting spiritual in your old age." "Well, as they say, things do change." Tom regarded his empty mug, then looked up with teasing eyes. "Right now what I need to change is my underwear." Chakotay almost spat his coffee in surprise at the shift in mood. "C'mon, you're a captain. I bet you've got a real bathtub," Tom cajoled. "These leg things make my balls sweat. I may not be able to feel it, but I can smell it." The bath itself was fine. Chakotay stripped and helped wash, eventually joining Tom in the water. Tom was clearly in heaven, scrubbing until the skin was pink and ordering Chakotay to wash between every toe. It was getting Tom in and out that Chakotay hadn't been prepared for, wasn't trained for. Water threatened to get everywhere, and Chakotay eventually just put a towel on the floor and helped Tom down onto it. Tom dried his head and torso and his friend took care of his legs. Chakotay hesitated when he reached the tops of the thighs, then ran the towel back down each leg, leaving the rest to Tom. If Tom noticed his reticence, he said nothing. He finished drying himself, and towled his head one last time. At last Tom said, "We done here?" "I think so. What now?" "Now you take me to bed, and we make love." Chakotay was stunned at the suggestion, but he looked carefully at Tom. His hair fell in a few tousled ringlets, and his skin glowed from the harsh scrubber he had insisted on using, even on his face. He ran his fingers over Tom's lips, over the face whose expression he could not read. "How do we do that?" The question was sincere. "Just get me into bed first. I think that'll be the hardest part." Chakotay had to laugh. "No kidding. You're like handling a sack of corn." "Well just throw me over your shoulder." It was a struggle, but they managed. Chakotay dumped his load unceremoniously on the bed, then sat down. "This seems like it might be a bit one-sided." "More nerve endings in the mouth than on the dick. I'll be fine." "You and your medical training." Chakotay's tone was more dismissive than he intended, but the near-clinical detachment in Tom's voice shook him. Tom imitated Chakotay's words and tone. "Well, you and your counseling training ought to know that right now I need to know you still want me." "Spirits, Tom, of course I do." Chakotay ran his hand across Tom's chest, tracing the line of one pectoral, remembering how he enjoyed the feel of the soft, reddish chest hair. "I just never know what I'm going to get when you come back." "But I come back," Tom said, with unusual sincerity. "Lucky me." Chakotay gave a soft snort of laughter, but there was no sarcasm in his voice. "Every time I think you're dead, you come back. Every time you come back, something is different. Remember the first time when we found you in that wrecked ship? You were doing drugs, doing everything you could to push me away." He placed his hand flat on the chest he'd been idly caressing. "Now I wonder who this introspective hero is." "Damned if I know." Tom sighed. "You want introspection?" he asked impatiently. "Try this. All my life I've never felt good enough. That Betazoid medic told me I was like a badly set fracture, and I needed to be re-broken to be made right." The impatience slipped out of Tom's voice, leaving him sounding tired. "It was like he'd always known me, but I guess telepaths are like that. He said I kept trying to break myself -- drugs, risks -- but a Jem'Hadar did it for me." Tom flicked an eyebrow, but he didn't smile. "He suggested I use this time to decide how to heal. He sounded just like some stupid Starfleet counselor, but, I don't know. There was something about what he said." Chakotay looked down at Tom, hiding his uncertainty about what they were about to do behind his own counselor's voice. "Maybe there is something to that." Tom snorted once, picked up the brown hand on his chest, and used it to pull Chakotay down to him. "Enough of the introspective hero bit. Just kiss me." Chakotay leaned down to obey, willing, but unsure.