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Photonic Dreams : A sequel to Looking Glass Milk

(this is set shortly after Pathfinder though the events from then on bear no relation to canon)

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Part Two:

Kathryn retrieved the two coffees from her replicator, one liquid, one holographic, then took a deep steadying breath before turning to face the young man who was sprawled across her couch in a brave attempt to appear nonchalant. Although it was harder to deal with Tom when he was wearing his couldn't-give-a-damn face, the Captain had to admit to herself that it was easier on her emotions if not her temper.  She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd been climbing the walls in terror and it *would* have been more natural than the cocky insolent grin that currently graced his face. Still, she loathed tearful scenes. They made her skin crawl despite her genuine sympathy for whomever was in distress.

"So, you didn't tell him," she announced, as she put the coffee down and pushed the holographic mug in Tom's direction. It wasn't a question because Chakotay had bounced onto the bridge that morning with the same half-smile on his face that greeted her every morning. She still hadn't decided whether it was a grimace or a grin, given the way he always expelled his breath with a short gasp every time he sat down in the Command Chair and the material of his pants pulled tight across his groin, but he always exuded such an air of contentment in the same gasp that she'd decided it was largely irrelevant.

Tom took the opportunity of blowing on his coffee to formulate his reply and when he did finally speak his own grin had slipped several notches.

"I couldn't," he admitted. "I just..." he gestured helplessly, "...couldn't."

"I understand," Kathryn replied, since she'd selfishly grabbed at his offer to do it with more than a little relief herself. "But if you don't, then I will."

"Can't we wait?" Tom asked, his eyes widening to deep, pleading pools.

And she wanted to agree. It would be three more months before they reached the entry point of the artificial worm-hole that Starfleet had designed to bring them home. A lot could happen in three months. The wormhole could collapse. Voyager could be attacked. Starfleet could have a change of heart. Admiral Owen Paris could have a coronary or find wherever he'd misplaced his damn soul... No. That wasn't fair on either Tom *or* Owen.

"He does love you, you know," she murmured.

"Of course I know he loves me. If I didn't, it wouldn't be so damned hard to tell him," Tom snapped rudely.

"I meant your father."

Tom's face shuttered to form an emotionless mask.

"Whatever," he drawled.

"No, I mean it, Tom.  Try and see it from his perspective. He's had seven years to regret the way things ended between you. He personally took on the whole of Starfleet to get funding to rescue a ship that everyone believed had been destroyed. We're all going home, Tom, because your father loves you."

"Loved," Tom snapped, emphasizing the 'd'. "As far as he's concerned, he has no son. Funnily enough, I remember him saying that before. Nothing ever changes, does it?"

"He's hurt and confused, Tom. He can't see you're really alive any more than Starfleet can see that the Doctor is a truly sentient being.  They haven't been through what we've all experienced together. Their vision is blinkered by ignorance and prejudice but when they meet you, when your *father* meets you, he'll understand."

"And if he doesn't, then both you and Chakotay get charged and I still get terminated," Tom pointed out. "As much as I appreciate your willingness to disobey a direct order, you'll excuse me if I'm feeling less than optimistic about the outcome. With just one word, *one* word, he could have kept me out of Auckland, Captain. Know why he didn't? Because he has the rules and regs buried so far up his ass that he farts in numbers. If he wouldn't make an exception for a flesh and blood son, he's hardly going to go out on a limb for a fucking hologram." 

"Language, Lieutenant," Kathryn warned automatically, but waved her hand when Tom opened his mouth to apologize. "That's all the more reason to let Chakotay know what's happened."

"I know," Tom agreed. "I just wanted to think up some options before blurting it out to his face."

"I realize he's going to be shattered by the news, Tom, but no more than you have been. I really think you should be leaning on him for support instead of trying to protect him. It's what he'd expect you to do. He'll be hurt if you *don't* tell him."

"I know."

"Besides, as selfish as this may sound, I can't afford not to tell him myself. If he finds out I've concealed *this* from him, who knows what else he'll suspect me of hiding? He's not only responsible for your welfare, Tom, but that of his entire former crew. If he can't trust me to tell him bad news as well as good, he might suspect that I'm concealing equally distressing news about the future of the Maquis."

"Are you?" Tom asked bluntly.

Kathryn bristled with offence, then relaxed again as she realized it was a fair question given the shock that Tom himself had suffered.

"No," she told him honestly. "The only people whose futures are currently in some form of jeopardy are you, the Doctor, and Seven."

"Seven?" Tom demanded, abruptly straightening in his chair.

"Well, I admit that I am just assuming Seven might have problems. I haven't received any official word on her yet," Kathryn admitted.

"But you suspect the worst?" 

"I helped her to compose a message to her paternal grandparents who still live on Earth. She didn't get a reply in yesterday's transmission. I might be over-reacting, but..."

"But since you can't imagine them *not* replying, you suspect Starfleet never passed the message on," Tom finished for her, his eyes flashing.

"Well, it's just a speculation but the fact that you jumped immediately to the same conclusion proves that we've either both become a little paranoid or we both understand Starfleet a little too well."

"You don't really think they'd hurt her?" Tom asked carefully.

"Hell, no," she announced firmly. "We're Starfleet, not Cardassians. I think they might want to 'keep' her for a little while though and I suspect they won't want the Hansens to know of her existence until they are finished with her.  She has knowledge that could be vital for developing defenses against the Borg and it would be irresponsible for Starfleet *not* to take advantage of the opportunity."

"I agree," Tom replied, "but she'd give that information willingly. Her parents died for that information and she suffered all those years as a drone. Seven won't hesitate to co-operate. There's no reason for her to be held against her will."

"A point I will make clear in my next transmission," the Captain said grimly, "at the same time as I continue my arguments on behalf of the Doctor and yourself."

"How are you going to explain not obeying the order to kill me?" Tom asked.

Kathryn flinched. There was a hell of a psychological difference between the idea of 'terminating a program' and 'killing' Tom Paris-Chakotay and, despite her distress at the Admiral's order, it wasn't until she considered it while looking Tom in the face that the full horror of the situation finally came home.

"Quite apart from my moral indignation at the idea of being told to murder you," she said clearly, wanting Tom to be in no doubt about her feelings in the matter, "I shall point out that you and Chakotay are the only pilots capable of flying Voyager through the wormhole and that I highly doubt Chakotay would agree to fly the ship if you died."

Tom nodded, satisfied by her answer. He'd never doubted the Captain's *feelings* about him but felt far better to know she had a more valid reason for refusing a direct order than her emotions. 

"It's a good bargaining tool," he agreed.

"It is," she agreed. "Remember it when you tell Chakotay the truth tonight."

"Tonight?" Tom gulped.

"If you don't, I will," she said firmly, then leant forward and patted Tom on the knee. "It'll be fine, Tom. Has Chakotay *ever* failed to rise to the occasion?"

She chuckled internally as Tom flushed dark red from her deliberate double-entendre but kept her expression so Captain-like that Tom just rose to his feet in a fluster and rapidly made his excuses to leave. 

As the door closed behind him, she sank back in her seat with a pained smile. Seeing Tom blush and fidget like that, it was hard to even remember he was a hologram. Yet he was one. He was physically nothing more than a clever collection of photonic light and even though his personality and character were sparkling and bright, so were Michael's and he was *definitely* not alive. Perhaps Owen *was* right to say that Tom was dead. Perhaps this Tom *was* a technological abomination that simply thought it was a real person. Perhaps Tom was no more alive than the Doctor.

Maybe all it came down to really was what exactly *was* the definition of life? 

Both Tom and the Doctor *were* sentient, there was no doubt in her mind of that at least, and Captain Picard had set a precedent for sentience being the sole determinating factor in whether a being had rights.  

She didn't even foresee a problem in proving the Doctor was sentient because he was so clearly greater than the sum total of his parts.  When his creators finally met him, Kathryn was positive that they would be awe-struck by him and they would be unable and even perhaps unwilling to deny his existence as a new individual. Every time the Doctor opened his mouth, he proved that he was unique.

Unfortunately, the only thing that Tom could prove was that he was Tom Paris. He looked like Tom, he spoke like Tom, he even thought like Tom.  But, instead of that proving his sentience, it would simply re-enforce the idea that he was simply a hologram that had been provided with Tom's stolen memories.

Would it be enough that he was self-aware?

She didn't think so. There wasn't a single holocharacter in their data banks who didn't *seem* to be self-aware.  They were all capable of full interaction with the crew. They were all capable of demonstrating emotions. They all could converse intelligently and 'believed' they were alive. She had spent countless hours in the company of Leonardo and treasured his company and wisdom as much as, if not more than, that of any member of the *real* crew.

Yet she would erase him or any other of the holograms without a second thought, if ordered to do so.

So what make Tom different? What make him *alive*? Was it just that she *wanted* him to be real? Had she simply allowed this holographic Tom to steal her heart because she couldn't bear to face the idea that the real Tom was dead? Was that why Chakotay had accepted him or did his Native American culture allow him to believe a truth that science denied?

She didn't know, and therein lay the problem. How could she successfully convince Tom's father that Tom *was* alive when she wasn't even truly sure herself?

~#~#~#~

Tom grinned across the table, forked another mouthful of beans into his mouth and enjoyed Chakotay's obvious pleasure at his enthusiasm for the meal.  Within two days of his 'activation' Tom had discovered that people felt intensely uncomfortable eating and drinking around him while he didn't partake. It seemed to rub his holographic nature in their faces. So he'd swiftly begged B'Elanna's help to solve the problem.

Because the energy that ran the holodecs was powered from a separate supply than the one that ran the rest of the ship it had been a little complicated to reroute it to the replicators but not a drain on ship's resources so the Captain had given B'Elanna permission to play. Now simply by entering Tom's code into a replicator, the item requested arrived as a holographic image rather than the genuine article. 

The problem was that it never actually tasted of anything. For Tom, only the food and drink he consumed on the holodec had genuine taste and texture. Still, it brought him pleasure regardless just from the way it increased the comfort level of his friends to be able to share drinks and meals with him so he'd never mentioned the fact that he couldn't taste the food.  Besides, that had advantages of its own. For instance he *hated* refried beans but since he only ever ate them in his quarters he'd never needed to hurt Chakotay's feelings. 

"Harry's organized a concert tonight," Chakotay mentioned between mouthfuls. "Perhaps he's decided that music is the way to Seven's heart."

"So you were listening to me last night."

"Hard not to," Chakotay teased. "You were as bad as both the Delaney's together. Worse, in fact, since you don't even have to stop and catch your breath."

Although Chakotay was right in a literal sense, Tom definitely had the sensation of gasping in response to Chakotay's playful words. It took him a few seconds to compose himself.

"You...um...you really don't have a problem with this, do you?" he asked, staring at his husband in wonder. Maybe this was the right time to tell him, he decided.

"Problem with what?"

"This...me...you know," Tom mumbled, using his right hand to gesture at his body.

"Your holographic body?" Chakotay asked carefully, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "I thought we were clear on that, Tom. I love you. That's all that matters to me. I'm sorry. I thought you felt more comfortable about it yourself. I'd never have teased you if I'd realized you were still sensitive about it." He reached forward to carefully take Tom's right hand in his. Bringing it to his lips he kissed Tom's fingertips one by one. Then he looked Tom in the face and gave a lewd grin. "But, since we're on the subject, I *do* love your body. Want me to show you how much?"

"Big talk," Tom laughed, abruptly deciding that confession time could wait. "Want to put your dick where your mouth is?"

Chakotay blinked in momentary confusion at the mixed metaphor, then smirked as Tom wriggled on his chair in obvious excitement. Normally he would have responded with a teasing "Slut" and Tom would answer "But I'm *your* slut, Chak." Tonight, despite Tom's enthusiasm, some gut instinct was telling him that Tom was more sensitive than normal so he simply rose to his feet and put his hand out to his husband with a courteous bow. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Tom replied coyly. "Perhaps we should go to Harry's concert instead."

"Fuck the concert," Chakotay growled.

Tom's voice pealed with laughter. "I'd rather you fucked me," he confessed, jumping to his feet and, ignoring Chakotay's outstretched hand, racing around the older man towards the bedroom. "Last one in bed gets the lube," he called out over his shoulder. He disappeared through the open bedroom door and then Chakotay heard a resounding crash as Tom evidently head dived onto the mattress.

Chuckling to himself, he headed for the replicator and dialed the lube which was more for his benefit than Tom's. Although Tom's body registered pain in vaguely the same way as a 'normal' body did, he couldn't be harmed by a dry fuck and often preferred the intensity of being taken that way. To that extent, Chakotay had to admit to himself that their relationship had improved since Tom's accident. Tom had always preferred being taken harder and rougher than Chakotay was comfortable with. While Tom had never been as fragile as he appeared, his lean frame hiding a surprisingly whipcord-strong body, Chakotay had always remained conscious of his own greater weight and strength even in the throes of passion.  In that respect, Tom's new form had liberated both of them. Chakotay now was free to give Tom *all* of the passion he felt for him and Tom could indulge his surprisingly masochistic tendencies without fear of injury.

Unfortunately, Chakotay's cock wasn't so resilient.  He was still sore from the night before. Spirits, he was *permanently* sore these days.  

Not that he was complaining.

"You got the lube, Chak?" Tom asked. His words were muffled by a pillow and Chakotay gulped heavily at the sight of a bare butt wriggling enticingly in his direction from two feet above the bed.

"Yeah," he muttered, as he began to fumble at his uniform with suddenly numb fingers, wondering how the hell it was possible that after nine months of marriage and six months of particularly mind-blowing sex, the sight of Tom naked still had the power to render him as speechless and awkward as a teenager.

"Lots of lube?" Tom sang out merrily.

"Yeah," Chakotay choked, still incapable of forming a complete sentence as Tom continued his bouncing dance on the bed.

"Good, 'cos I want you to use your hand," Tom announced.

Chakotay raised his right hand to his face and stared at his two forefingers in puzzlement.  "I always do, Tommy," he protested, as his left hand unfastened his pants. 

"Not your fingers," Tom laughed, rising on his hands so that he could stare at Chakotay through his open legs. "Your hand. Your *whole* hand."

Chakotay abruptly sat down, his butt connecting painfully with the carpet, and he gazed with combined shock and arousal at Tom's upside-down grin.  The last time Tom had said that to him was before they'd even been married. Tom had asked him to fist him and although Chakotay's whole body had stiffened in sympathy with the biggest hard-on of his life at Tom's shameless words, Chakotay had taken one look at his own meaty hand and another at Tom's delicate ass and the resultant argument between them had almost stopped the marriage before it had started.

Tom had never mentioned it again and, although it *had* occurred to Chakotay since Tom's accident that fisting was probably no longer any more of an issue than any other of the 'games' Tom liked to play, he'd been reluctant to suggest it himself. He felt that it would somehow be a selfish thing to suggest, that it was wrong he could personally gain such pleasure from Tom's misfortune and, despite his own acceptance of Tom's 'condition', Chakotay had no illusions that what had happened to Tom was anything but a terrible tragedy.  No matter that Tom had adjusted to his holographic form and seemed determined to make the most of it, the fact was that any other person in Tom's circumstances would probably have gone insane. It was credit to Tom's unquenchable spirit and incredible bravery that he was capable of looking for a silver lining in any storm cloud and it was that courageous spirit, more than anything, that Chakotay adored. 

So although he'd spent the last six months reassuring Tom of his love and willingly following wherever Tom wanted to lead him, he'd drawn the line at ever saying or doing anything that might suggest he preferred Tom's new body to his last. He didn't. How could he? But, conversely, how could he love Tom so much and *not* delight in their new ability to demonstrate that love without fear or compromise?

"Oh, Tommy, are you sure?" he whispered. "Because if this is just because you think I'm sore, I don't want to do this. I *am* sore," he admitted, "but I'd be just as happy if you wanted to fuck me tonight."

"I'm sure," Tom insisted, and although he appreciated Chakotay's attempt not to look too excited he could see Chakotay's flesh gleaming with the sweat-sheen of intense arousal. "I'm fucking sure, Chak. Now do it!"

"Jeez, you were right last night. Romance *isn't* dead," Chakotay chuckled, scrambling eagerly onto the bed and caressing Tom's trembling butt cheeks.  His voice lowered as he switched from teasing to quivering wonder. "I've dreamt about this moment," he confessed hesitantly. "You're so beautiful, Tommy. Sometimes I can't believe you're mine."

"Show me," Tom purred, wriggling his ass expectantly.

Chakotay gulped and fumbled for the lube, his fingers shaking and his eyes blurring as they filled with tears. He began to grease his fingers carefully, then stopped and, leaping off the bed, he raced to the bathroom.

"Chakotay?" Tom roared. "What the fucking hell are you playing at?"

Chakotay returned with a sheepish grin and a pair of nail scissors which he offered at Tom.

"It's okay, just do it," Tom insisted.

Chakotay just glared at him until Tom sighed, turned over, sat up and grabbed the scissors.

"They're already so short I can barely trim them," he complained as he sliced tiny slivers off Chakotay's nails.

"They were long enough to scratch you last night," Chakotay pointed out.

"Scratches that you will note are *gone*," Tom snapped.

Chakotay leant forward and kissed the tip of Tom's nose.

"Humor me, Tommy."

"Don't call me Tommy," Tom replied automatically, and they both grinned at each other.

They were still smiling when Tom rolled back onto his hands and knees and waved his butt in the air pointedly.  Chakotay gulped and dove for the lube, coating the thick gel on his fingers until they gleamed like molten bronze. He pressed his forefinger against Tom's pucker, heard Tom's groan of excitement, and paused to kiss Tom's left butt-cheek with reverence.

"Thank you for this gift," he murmured, as a wave of love for the younger man swept through him like a tidal wave leaving him weak and trembling in its wake.

"Just fucking do it, would ya?" Tom demanded impatiently and, as always, Tom's irreverence at a moment that should have been sacred somehow squeezed Chakotay's heart even tighter. 

Spirits, he loved this man.

He pressed his finger against Tom's anus and it slid inside with barely any resistance despite the fact that Tom's body was virginal once more. He shivered as the warm heat of Tom's passage caressed his finger and he began to move it in slow circles, pressing the pad of his fingertip against the tight pulsing walls that enveloped it.  Tom groaned in pleasure, folding his arms beneath him so that his face sank to the pillow and his ass bucked upwards to accept its tender invader.

Chakotay continued his slow investigation, only adding a second finger when Tom felt loose and fluid around the first. Tom grunted as the second finger pressed inside and Chakotay paused. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Fucking wonderful," Tom replied dreamily.

Chakotay grinned and began to pump his fingers slowly in and out of their hot velvet glove.

"Oh yeah," Tom enthused. "Faster, Chak. Do me hard."

It was all the encouragement Chakotay needed and he rested his left hand on Tom's back for balance as he flexed his biceps and began to thrust his fingers in and out of Tom's ass with barely controlled violence.

Tom wailed as the friction increased until he was bucking his hips wildly to encourage the sensation and his cock stiffened so much that it slapped against his abdomen and began to dribble a snail-trail of precome over his taut stomach. "More," he begged. "I want more, Chak."

He whimpered with loss as Chakotay pulled his fingers out, then gasped with pleasure at the sudden pressure at his anus that confirmed three fingers were about to replace the two that had already given him such pleasure.  Chakotay had wonderful hands, he decided dreamily as the thick digits pressed into him, powerful hands with strong fingers. Wide fingers. Three of which had just entered him in a tight triangle but were now spread out side-by-side to increase the pressure in his ass.

"So good," he purred, "so fucking good, Chak."

Chakotay curled his fingers, deliberately stroking them against a place that evidently refused to believe it was holographic given the way Tom screamed and leapt on the bed in reaction.

"I'm gonna come, Chak," Tom gasped, more with satisfaction than in warning since his body was always 'good to go'.

"Come for me, Tommy," Chakotay growled, and scraped his prostate again.

"CHAK!" Tom screamed, and his untouched cock erupted hard enough to splatter the underside of his chin.  

Chakotay felt his fingers squeezed and massaged by Tom's constricting ass and continued to pump against the pressure, his own cock leaking at the sounds of mindless pleasure that Tom was whimpering into the pillow.

He slipped his pinky finger inside to join its three companions and Tom barely shuddered in reaction to the small addition so, after a few tentative thrusts to be sure, Chakotay withdrew his fingers and folded them carefully into a point with his thumb tucked up behind them.  With his left hand he squeezed another generous amount of lube over his right hand, concentrating on his knuckles that suddenly seemed prohibitively large, even to him, and he carefully began to ease his fingers back into his husband's ass.

Tom grunted with pleasure as the fingers and thumb stretched him wide, but he winced slightly as Chakotay's knuckles caught at his entrance.  Chakotay froze his forward movement and began to turn his wrist from side to side to carefully stretch Tom wider.

"Just do it," Tom gasped. "Just push it in."

"Shush," Chakotay replied. "I won't hurt you, Tom."

"You *can't* hurt me," Tom wailed. "Please Chak. I want it. I want YOU."

"I can't injure you, but I *can* hurt you and I won't do it," Chakotay replied firmly, although his gut clenched with disappointment as he realized there was simply no way he could press inside anymore without making a liar of himself. His hand was too big, as he'd always suspected it would be.  "We can try again, honey," he assured Tom, as the younger man suddenly sobbed as though he'd sensed his decision. "It rarely works first time. It's something we can have fun working towards."

He pulled his fingers back, raised himself up on his knees and slipped his weeping cock into Tom's ass before Tom completed his wail of disappointment.  He was so hard and Tom's open hole so welcoming that it took no more than a half dozen deep, powerful thrusts before both he and Tom howled and came together.

"Oh, Tommy," he gasped, as he fell across Tom's back so hard that they both crashed to the mattress. "That was so good."

"But you didn't..."

"I loved it, Tommy. It felt so good to be inside you like that, so special that you trust me so much, and we can do it again until you're ready for me."

"No, we can't," Tom sniffed. "By tomorrow I'll be as tight as a fucking virgin again. I'll forget myself and adjust my matrix and we'll be back where we started."

"Can't you adjust it to make yourself...um...looser?" Chakotay asked cautiously.

"No," Tom snapped. "It's stable, remember? I can't change the way I look. I can't change anything. I'm like a fucking rubber band. No matter what happens to me, I just snap back into shape. The only way my ass is ever going to fit your hand is if you *make* it happen or you have the balls to look the Doctor in the face and explain why you want him to adjust my parameters."

"Then I guess I'll have to use my balls, Tommy, because I'm sure as hell never just punching my way in," Chakotay replied firmly.

"God, you're a soft bastard underneath all that brawn," Tom muttered, but he sounded oddly pleased by the fact despite his disappointment.

"Yeah, well I'm the soft bastard who loves you, so get used to it," Chakotay chuckled, folding his arms around his husband and kissing him tenderly. 

Then they lay in each other's arms, Chakotay smiling with utter contentment as he cradled Tom in his strong but infinitely gentle grip, Tom frowning as he fought an inner battle between getting it over and done with or waiting until breakfast so he could break the news then run to the bridge to avoid Chakotay's fury. He had no doubt that if he failed to tell Chakotay then the Captain would be true to her word and, although a cowardly part of him almost welcomed that idea, he loved Chakotay too much to let a third-party tell him such a terrible truth.  In which case, he decided, waiting until breakfast so he could make a quick escape was just as cowardly.

"Chak. I need to talk to you about something," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"What's wrong, Tommy?" Chakotay asked, hearing the tension in Tom's voice and tightening his arms protectively as Tom began to tremble in his arms.

"It's about the last transmission we received from Starfleet."

Chakotay stiffened slightly and closed his eyes in pain. "What did your father say, Tom?"

"What?" 

"I know he wrote you, Tom. Someone told me there was a note from him in the transmission and it was coded for the Captain's eyes only. I assumed that meant he wrote something so sensitive that he didn't want to risk anyone else seeing it so sent it via Kathryn. Is he disappointed, Tom? Is that why you've been hesitating about discussing it with me?"

"Disappointed?" Tom asked, completely confused by the question.

"Finding out about our marriage was bound to be a hell of a shock, Tom. I'm a Maquis. Even though the war's over, I understand that I'm not what he was probably hoping for in a son-in-law. After all the year's he's spent trying to find you, I understand the last thing he probably wanted was to find out you married a 'terrorist'. The important thing is that you and he re-unite, Tom. Family is important. Too important to turn your back on. If he's not ready to accept my presence in your life, I'll keep in the background. Make your peace with your family, Tom. Don't worry about my feelings. The important thing is that you and your father have some time together to put things right."

Tom's mind stuttered to a halt, his ability to think crushed under the weight of Chakotay's misunderstanding. Blinded by tears, he rolled away from his husband and struggled to his feet, his eyes wide with pain and his whole body trembling with a combination of terror and so much love that if he'd remained in Chakotay's arms a moment longer he might have exploded like a super-nova. His matrix was flickering wildly, his image fading in and out of existence as his overwrought mind lost control of his mobile emitter.

"TOM?" Chakotay screamed, leaping to his feet and charging towards his husband only to slide to a confused halt as, instead of leaping into the comfort of his arms, Tom scuttled away from him and howled "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Tom. Please baby, what's wrong? Is it your matrix? Do you need help?" His eyes cast frantically around the room for the comm. badge on his discarded uniform. 

"WHY?" Tom shouted, his face streaming with tears. "Why the fuck do you love me so much, Chakotay? I can't...I can't bear this. I can't." His voice ended in a wail of such pain that Chakotay flinched from the tortured sound, his own tears beginning to gush from his confused, frightened eyes.

"Please Tom. What's wrong. Tell me what's wrong. Let me help you, baby. What's wrong?"

"I'm DEAD. Why don't you see that? Why can't you understand that? I'm dead, Chak. I'm fucking dead."

Chakotay froze in shock, his head filling with a deafening rushing sound as the secret fear he'd carried around his neck like an albatross for the last six months began to tighten around his neck like a noose. It had finally happened. For whatever reason, Tom had finally faced what had happened to him and although Chakotay *knew* Tom was wrong, that he *wasn't* dead, that life lived in a spirit not a body,  seeing the hysterical man in front of him Chakotay wasn't sure whether he could ever convince Tom that was the truth.

"I LOVE YOU," he roared suddenly, his voice booming through the room like thunder and the sheer volume of his scream cut Tom's own wails off mid-stream.

He surged forward, grabbed Tom's shoulders and shook him so violently that he heard Tom's teeth chatter together like castanets.

"I...LOVE...YOU," he screamed in Tom's face, too blinded by his own tears to see the complete shock on Tom's features.

"Oh, Chak. I love you too," Tom howled, throwing his arms around his husband's neck and hugging so tightly that Chakotay gasped for breath and sank to the floor, his knees giving way with the sheer relief that Tom was now clinging to him for comfort instead of cowering away.  He hit the floor and Tom tumbled with him, somehow twisting his body until he was sitting in Chakotay's lap while their tears continued to mingle together on Chakotay's chest.

"What happened, Tommy?" Chakotay crooned, when Tom's sobs quietened a little. "Please trust me. Let me help you."

"I'm dead," Tom repeated, but this time the words were uttered in a low, broken monotone, not in hysterical fear.

"Tom, you're not..."

"Listen to me," Tom hissed. "Starfleet *say* I'm dead. My fucking *dad* says I'm dead and...and..." he choked to a halt.

This time Chakotay didn't interrupt, he just stroked Tom's back with long, soothing strokes and tried to ignore the volcanic rage that was building inside his heart.

"And he told....my fucking *dad* told...no...'ordered' the Captain to terminate my matrix," Tom blurted, then waited for the explosion.

Instead the hands on his back simply continued their loving strokes and Chakotay remained silent in the face of Tom's terrible admission. 

"Chakotay?" Tom whimpered fearfully, as the older man's silence began to crush him despite the gentle hands that continued to caress him.

Still Chakotay failed to reply and, despite his fear, Tom cautiously raised his head until he could see Chakotay's expression. What he saw in Chakotay's face made Tom cringe. Instead of the rage he'd expected to see contorting that proud face, Chakotay was smiling.

Looking at that smile, Tom's whole matrix flickered with a combination of dread and an almost equally shattering feeling of adoration for the man he called husband.

Eyes like black fire bore into Tom's face and although Chakotay's face retained its terrifying smile as he said the words, they emerged from his lips in a roll of thunder like the sound of cannons firing the first volley of battle.

"You're mine," Chakotay growled, the words both avowal and threat.

And, strangely, at that moment Tom felt almost sorry for his father.

Go to Part Three