Chapter 7 Tom walked slowly through Wolf Raider's corridors. There were too many reasons for him to be angry at himself and at Starfleet. He had thoughtlessly risked Ba'ruq's personal safety by forcing him to walk through Deep Space Nine, but only with the revelation of a Starfleet spy on the Logan did Tom realize he'd been risking Ba'ruq's people as well. Shame, as always, made him furious. Fury needed direction. Trying to harness his thoughts, Tom realized he needed a distraction. He tried to guess what Seven's idea might be, whether it be revenge or some way to turn Starfleet's betrayal to some advantage. It was not her way to be subtle. No, subtlety was Chakotay's strong suit, or it used to be. He thought he knew Chakotay, but the simple revelation that the solid, constant man had taken to casual sex cracked the long-held image. It felt like betrayal -- not the sex itself, but he could hardly imagine Chakotay of all people following some strange woman home. He tried imagining Chakotay in bed with a woman, and was amazed at how natural it seemed. The very ease of the image irritated him, and his rising fury found its target -- a target wearing a Starfleet uniform. Anger at how he had been used threatened to overwhelm him again and he squelched it by thinking of taking it out on a piece of Starfleet ass. Oh yeah, Chakotay was in trouble. Tom had feeling back in his groin, and he meant to enjoy it. For the last few steps, he was grateful for the drape of the Klingon vest, hiding his growing arousal. Tom paused when his slow pace finally brought him to the captain's cabin door. He imagined himself ripping the red command uniform off Chakotay's body, bending that body over and giving back to Starfleet the screwing they'd given him. But he couldn't raise his hand to signal. This was ridiculous, standing in the doorway trying to tighten down his control. Besides, he had as much right to give Chakotay grief about sex as he'd had a right to comment on the bourbon the night before. But what bothered him was that wasn't like the Chakotay he remembered, to have sex for the sake of sex. "Just go fuck him," a voice seemed to answer. "Remind him of why he wants you *and* screw some Starfleet ass." Tom drew a deep breath and signaled the door. It opened to reveal Chakotay dressed in soft greens and browns. The civilian clothing cut through part of Tom's anger, and the smile of welcome daunted it further. "I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there," Chakotay said, and Tom could swear his dark eyes were shining. "You coming in?" Tom stepped across the threshold silently, the grin under the tattoo reminding him of the second mystery -- the return of the Crazy Indian. He hesitated for a moment, anger warring with curiosity as he looked into Chakotay's open face. The two emotions reached a truce, and without a word, Tom turned toward the bedroom. He paused only to see whether Chakotay followed. In the room Tom finally spoke, but only to call for low illumination. He began to pull off his clothes, tossing the vest and earring aside before sitting down to remove his boots. * Chakotay watched the process from the door to the bedroom, the broad smile of greeting now tempered into what could only be described as an expression of patient joy. He was pleased to see Tom's legs working again, and he let himself admire the body as it was revealed. Smooth skin covered muscles that suggested themselves as they flexed beneath the surface. Tom's was not a strength that announced itself, and it ran the deeper for its quietness. It was with rapt attention that Chakotay watched, not remembering what once was, not thinking about would would be next. Only the bands of the Borg implants below Tom's knees threatened to cut loose his deliberately halted train of thought. This man. This moment. Tom walked toward him, grabbed his chin roughly and turned his head to expose his neck and ear. Chakotay felt the rasp of Tom's tongue across his jaw, felt it trace up to his ear, felt teeth nip the lobe. In his ear huskily came the word, "Strip." Still without thought, he complied. Whatever Tom needed, Chakotay would give. Tom stood close, blue eyes locked with brown, their breath mingled as Chakotay dropped his loose clothing. He could hear, could feel Tom's breathing quicken, but something was different. This was not the sound of Tom's desire. Arousal, yes, but not desire. When the last item was dropped to the floor, Tom stepped aside and with one hand gripping tightly, propelled him toward the bed. It was not the gesture of a lover, but the moves of an enemy, a captor. Chakotay didn't try to comprehend, but allowed this to happen, allowed Tom to push him to the bed. "Heels to the ceiling, Chak." Although he moved to obey, the harsh nickname and crude command threatened to shake Chakotay's composure. He clung more tightly now to the message of last night's Vision, his first in over a year. He was still to re-learn an old lesson. He simply let it happen, let Tom take him, let himself relax into it, wondering whether Tom needed to prove to himself that he was completely recovered. After many minutes of silence broken only by ragged breathing, Tom stopped and looked looked down at him and said, "Can a woman make you feel like that?" They were both on the edge. Tom had not been gentle, but he had been thorough. Chakotay nearly laughed, realizing his guess at the source of Tom's mood had been wrong. Harry must have mentioned that he was not the only one to take comfort where it was offered, and Tom was angry to know that there were women in Chakotay's life. "Women are nice," he said, as if admitting a point. "You know that. There's nothing like the feel of a breast in your hand." Chakotay paused, sensing that this was not the reaction Tom expected. He pushed it further, reaching up to catch his fingers on the low growth of beard. "They're smooth, and they're soft, and they taste -- " He broke off with a dark chuckle. "There is nothing in the universe as sweet as the tast of a woman when she's coming." Tom's eyes had closed during this recitation, his face flushed with strain. Chakotay answered the original question. "No, they don't make me feel like this. No one else does, Tom." He laughed, quietly and deeply, and asked, "Do you wish it was a woman under you right now?" Tom smiled, but he didn't open his eyes. "No," he answered, "I'm pretending your women are watching us, seeing how much you seem to like having a man." Chakotay laughed. "Love it. Love you." He pulled Tom down, lifting his own head up for a lingering kiss. * Dressed in nothing more than loose trousers, Tom's in dark tan and Chakotay's a deep brown, they sat down to eat. The air was full of a happy confusion, an amusement at themselves. Tom let himself concentrate on the Crazy Indian, the Chakotay who had taken what Tom intended as a punishment fuck and turned it into love making. Tom's anger, at Chakotay at least, had dissipated in what was finally their first shared pleasure in nearly a year. "Chakotay?" Tom asked, pausing between bites. "Mmm?" Chakotay's mouth was full. "You got any more surprises for me?" Chakotay swallowed. "What do you mean?" "You're different from how you used to be." "How's that?" Tom put down his fork and began to count off his thoughts on his fingers. "First, you couldn't handle what happened to me." He paused for Chakotay to object or apologize, but the man kept on eating. "Second, you very publicly do some heart ritual. Third, you nearly cried in public. Fourth you drink alcohol, and fifth," Tom paused and took a breath. "You, Mr. 'I need to be in love to make love', has casual sex." Chakotay reached for his glass of water, his eyes still amused. "You finished?" "That's about it." "Hmm." He took a sip, and went back to eating. Tom stared at him. "'Hmmm'?" he asked incredulously. "Just 'Hmmm'?" Chakotay grinned without looking up, and it pushed Tom towards a rant. "C'mon, Chief. If I'd been injured back on Voyager you'd have been all 'noble martyr'. You were very private about your feelings and your personal rituals." Tom's voice rose in volume. "You hardly touched even synthehol, and as for women, I can count on one hand -- " Chakotay held up a hand to stop the tirade. His face was a mask of patience with the eyes of a trickster. "Tom, things do change." "Not you." "Yes, me." A smiled tugged again at the corners of the full lips. Tom was exasperated, exhausted from all the day's revelations. He'd had it with the Crazy Indian mystery. "What's so damn funny with you today?" * Chakotay took a last bite of food, and pushed his empty plate aside. "You eat," he indicated the barely touched dish of beans and pasta in front of Tom, "and I'll talk." Tom picked up his fork and Chakotay leaned back, folding his arms over his bare stomach. "Once, in a time and in a place, there were creatures confined to a cage. There were many different animals: Birds of the air that could not fly in the cage, burrowing animals with nowhere to dig in the cage, grazing animals with nowhere to run in the cage, and sea creatures with no water to swim in the cage. "The cage sustained them all, and in time they put aside their true natures and became simply creatures of the cage. In time they almost forgot what they each once had been, and some, in some ways, made themselves as they would like to be. "In time, the creatures began to choose mates, and they chose each other heedless of the kind of animal that they had been outside the cage. "This was how the wolf came to be mated with the hawk." Chakotay paused and looked across the table. Tom's eyes were focused on what would be the outer corridor. He hoped he was following. "Neither one really knew the other. The wolf had made himself into something more like a gentle bear -- fierce when necessary, but wise and slow to anger. The hawk had made himself into a hunting hound -- still quick and able, but loyal and bent to serve. They had known each other outside the cage as hawk and wolf, but in time they forgot. "As the gentle bear and the loyal hound, the two creatures loved, each thinking they knew the other, and each content to love what they thought they knew. "The day the cage opened, everything changed. The hawk threw off the skin of the hound and took again to the air. The wolf, though, kept the skin of the bear, believing it to be his own. "When they met, the wolf would marvel at the hawk, and search him for traces of the hound he had loved. The hawk, in his turn, saw only the bear skin, and was satisfied. The wolf grew to love the hawk for what he was, but the hawk had never seen past the skin of the bear, and did not know the wolf. The wolf had long looked out of the eyes of the bear, and did not know himself. In time, the bear skin grew mangy, began to rot, and without noticing, the wolf was finally a wolf once more. "But the hawk had never seen past the skin of the bear," Chakotay repeated, "and he did not know the wolf." A short silence followed, and finally Tom asked, "Is that the end?" "No." Chakotay sat up and leaned toward him. "It's only the beginning." Tom looked at him and shook his head. "How long you been rehearsing that?" "I just made it up." Chakotay grinned wryly at him. "If I'd rehearsed it, I'd have a better tag line." Tome rolled his yes. "Yeah. I think the 'just the beginning' bit has been done before." He stood up to clear the table. "So, all that doesn't explain the return of the Crazy Indian." Chakotay grinned at the nickname as he rose to help, answering only, "I used the Akoonah last night, for the first time in over a year." "A *year*?" Tom asked, surprised. "Yep." "Damn." "'Damn' is right." Chakotay stepped over to the replicator. "Drink?" "Whatever you're having. I'm curious to see what synthahol does with these new implants." Tom veered the subject. "Remember the first time Seven got drunk?" Chakotay laughed, handing Tom his glass. "Yep. She subjected the Doctor to the Borg version of 'I love ya', little fucker'." He slurred out the last, then continued, "Speaking of Borg and implants, yours seem to be working." "Like I was born with them," Tom said, raising his glass in salute before sitting on the couch. Answering the gesture, Chakotay asked, "So what was that bit about you not being so hurt? Didn't I hear that doctor say something about how a field medic should have been able to take care of it? I asked Ba'ruq about it when we were walking back to the Logan, and all he knew was that the medic convinced him you were trying to die, and that he shouldn't do much more for you than the brace." * Tom took a quick sip, feeling the color rise as anger returned. Another sip gave him time to think as Chakotay sat down on the other end of the couch. "Well," he said finally, "I guess that medic wasn't as good as he could have been. Runners don't get Starfleet training in counseling, y'know." Chakotay conceded the point with a nod, and Tom watched him to see whether he assumed that Dahl's misjudgement was the source of Tom's visible anger. It seemed to work as a deflection. Chakotay ran his hand through the solid line of silver hair that ran from above his right eye to his temple, and asked, "So now what?" Tom led them over to the couch, composing himself to lie by telling half the truth. "Bashir says that Starfleet Medical can fix the legs up good as new, no implants. I guess I'm heading for San Francisco." "That doesn't seem right," Chakotay said as they sat down. "Bashir's one of the best. Sisko tells me that even out here he's managed to teach Starfleet Medical a thing or two." He regarded his drink, his brow furrowing under the tattoo. "Curious as to why they'd be so eager to treat a civilian, especially a Runner. You know you're not very popular with the brass right now?" Tom knew; Seven had told him. He merely raised his eyebrows, saying blandly, "Do tell?" "Runner activities are a Dominion negotiating point." Chakotay answered. "They need to stop before any talks can move forward." Tom thought to himself that the Dominion's Founders really wanted his head on a platter for killing one of them. He sighed as a cover and said, "I see." He made a quick mental calculation. He wanted to tell Chakotay what was really going on, but to do so might jeapordize Seven's plan, whatever that would turn out to be, and she had expressly asked him not to tell Chakotay. Tom gambled that he could find a way to at least plant the idea that Starfleet might not be playing straight. "So do you think Dahl could have messed me up on purpose and lied to Ba'ruq about why?" Chakotay looked at him. Tom wore the expression he labeled 'ultimate poker face'. "You know something I don't?" "Dahl's gone missing," Tom said. "By your own account, you were badly hurt," Chakotay answered carefully. "That brace was a pretty drastic alternative if it wasn't really necessary. Do you think he saddled you with that on purpose?" Tom knew Dahl had done it on purpose, but he said, "The thought had crossed my mind. If our positions had been reversed, I probably could have handled that kind of injury. Dahl told Ba'ruq he wasn't sure he could do it, and that if he healed me he thought I'd just go off on some suicide mission again. He was lying. He had to be lying, because I wasn't thinking that way. Maybe he wasn't what he seemed. Hell, maybe he worked for Starfleet Intelligence and was supposed to put me out of action." Too close to the truth? The conversation seemed to bother Chakotay. "That doesn't sound like Starfleet, Tom." "Maybe not." Enough of this; the first seed of doubt was planted. "Well, maybe Starfleet's willing to fix my legs on Earth so that they can prove to the Dominion that I'm no longer on the front lines out- Running them." Chakotay smiled. "Now that does sound like a Starfleet tactic." He set his drink aside. "Speaking of your legs, I haven't really had a chance to look at the implants." Tom took the opportunity to drop the conversation. "That all you want to look at?" he drawled. "No," came a simple answer. "Twice in one night, Chief? You're not as old as you look." "Come here and say that, White Boy." *--* They drowsed, nearly asleep until the comm system woke them. "Bridge to Captain." Chakotay sighed heavily, and Tom felt him roll away. "Go ahead." "Captain, incoming communication from Starfleet Command. Admiral Nachayev." "Put it through to my desk here," he answered, grabbing a robe. Tom buried his head under a pillow, muttering, "Fucking Starfleet. Remind me not to date their captains." A few minutes later he felt the covers pulled off him and a sudden swat on his buttocks. He peered out from under the pillow to see Chakotay looking down at him. The face was not that of the Crazy Indian; Tom knew he was looking at the wolf. "You have orders?" he asked, knowing the answer. The tattooed head dipped once before turning away. Tom got up and went into the bathroom. By the time he came out, Chakotay was already in uniform, asking the computer to locate Harry Kim. Tom dressed as he listened. "Commander Kim is not on board Wolf Raider," the computer answered. "Patch into the station's comm system, and try again." "Commander Kim is on Deep Space Nine." "Chakotay to Kim." There was a pause before a slightly breathless voice answered, "Kim here." "We have our orders, Harry." "How soon?" "Just over two hours. Oh-two-hundred," the captain answered. "Are you still with Seven?" A pause before, "Um, yeah." "Well, finish your fascinating engineering discussion and then get back here." "Understood." There was a chuckle in the voice. Tom had the feeling they'd had similar conversations before, over women Tom didn't know. "Kim out." "Well, I'll be damned," Tom said. "I finally have a confirmed hit." Chakotay looked at him questioningly, and Tom answered, "Seven. Sex." "Oh." Chakotay seemed uninterested, and a bit distracted. Tom walked over and took his face in his hands, forcing his attention. "When are you going to leave this outfit and fly off with me?" His voice was light. Chakotay looked at him soberly. "Wolves are pack animals, Tom. I run with my pack." "There are lone wolves," Tom reminded him. "But wolves don't fly." "Never?" The blue eyes were serious now. "Not today." Tom leaned in and they kissed gently, once, twice. Fine hands moved up into Chakotay's hair, traced his face, played over him like a console. Their eyes remained locked. Finally the broad hands took the longer ones. "I'll miss you." The wry grin. "You always do." "Will you contact me through Starfleet when you know about your legs?" "I'm a lousy correspondent, Chakotay." Tom let go and stepped back. "You've got a lot to do before you go." Chakotay nodded in acknowledgement. "Until next time, whenever that is." "Whenever that is," came the whispered agreement. * Chakotay turned away before Tom left, looking out at the stars past one of the station girders that blocked his view port. He heard the door open and close, but a movement next to him told him that Tom was still in the room. Warm hands took him by the hips, and breath in his ear whispered in Tom's best seductive voice a continuation of Chakotay's list of the pleasures of women and extended it in graphic detail. He ended by describing an act Chakotay found improbable, but appealing. Chakotay felt lips grazed his neck and the body behind him move away. "'Til next time." This time with the noise of the door Tom was truly gone. The hawk had flown, and the wolf had work to do.