The bastard seemed not to have realized it by the time Torres asked him and Paris to take out the recently overhauled Shuttle Ibn Battuta for a shakedown spin. The whole trip, Chakotay was silent as a stone, except when he snapped out orders for this and that. They tried out the warp capabilities--maybe not the smartest thing, given that they were in Kazon space--and had to take her engine apart and do a little on-the-spot revamp that took a good portion of the afternoon. By the time they were done and had a fix on Voyager, Paris was ready to pitch Chakotay right out an airlock.

And, wouldn't you know, even once they were back at the ship, things weren't right.

Because they were there, and Voyager was there.

But the crew wasn't.

For an eternal minute, Paris couldn't seem to breathe.

Scanning and talking to the computer and talking to the Doctor and reconstructing the timeline didn't make him feel any better.

Crew removed in the space of a few seconds, a couple hours and light years ago. Some sort of sensor beam bathing the ship; and then the logs every place on the ship showed the same: crew member, shimmer, gone.

"Transporter?" Chakotay murmured.

So they flew Voyager back to within kilometers of where the crew had vanished. Damn creepy trip, on a silent ship that seemed populated by ghosts.

"My god," Chakotay breathed when he saw what was waiting for them.

"Shiiiit," Paris agreed.

It wasn't long after that that they became An Item. Not that they were obvious about the fact that they were fucking on a regular schedule. Just that people noticed things, and on a ship like this, seventy thousand light years from home, people gossiped seventy times as much. Some of the Federation crew were titillated and maybe a little shocked: the admiral's son sleeping with the enemy. But most of them took it pretty well. Some of the Maquis crew were a little suspicious; but eventually they took it for granted. That Bajoran woman didn't--Seska, that was her name. Sheesh--the fury that rolled off of her when she saw Tom. And Torres: it took her a little while to warm back up.

Then stuff started to happen. This, that. Things gone missing: a replicator, a phaser or two.

A murder. When the murderer turned out to be Lon Suder, for some reason everybody relaxed a little about the other stuff, like he was to blame for that, too, though it didn't make any sense. The stuff was still missing.

Chakotay got that strained look, like it was all his fault: Suder was, after all, a Maquis. He'd brought him onboard, and he'd killed.

Not your fault, Tom could have told him, but didn't. That just didn't always help.

Six moons, one ringed planet--nothing special. Except the space between was littered with ships: various types, in various stages of decay. All drifting for the big planet, slowly drawing them ever closer for a final fiery fall.

All abandoned.

Sensors hinted at a population, scattered thinly over a planet full of ruins. No modern technology. A couple hot spots, though, where something hummed and provided energy. There, the population was thicker. Calculations showed them where Voyager had been when the crew vanished: right over one of the hot spots where there was one fucking big building humming with energy, and some villages.

They argued over how the hell to get down there without triggering whatever had happened before; and then they argued over whether both of them should go or not.

They both transported down, to just outside the building.

"Nice day," Paris observed.

Chakotay grunted. Phasers drawn, they took readings of the building and the area and the nice day. Building impenetrable to tricorder scans, area clear of humanoids, and ambient temperature well-nigh perfect.

So, in they went.

It was obvious that the building hadn't been used for years. And it was equally obvious when Chakotay tried his commbadge that communication with the ship would be impossible.

Greaaaat. Paris just loved these.

He liked this one less than usual: unlighted corridor littered with unrecognizable junk. Carbon marks here and there; center of the corridor clean and well-worn: somebody went through here regularly.

They edged along, aiming lights, phasers ready. Creepy building silent except for the busy hum of machinery. Empty--

Except for the enormous room where Voyager's crew slept. Tier after tier of shelves, with Voyager's crew asleep on them. Machinery humming in the background. Paris had a flash of the Caretaker's awful laboratory.

A hiss from Chakotay; and Paris flashed his light to a little table to the side. A crew member--Samtha?--in a tangle of tubes and machinery. Dissected quite efficiently.

Paris swallowed hard and lowered his light.

"Whatever that machinery is--" Chakotay's voice was tight. "--we have to get it turned off." Paris watched him change from the shocked man back into the Commander. "I'll go look for a power source. You get someone back to the ship, so the Doctor can figure out what's happened."

"Let me look for the power source," Paris said. "The Doctor might need you to--"

"Just don't stay too long, Tom," Chakotay said briskly. And he left.

Damn. It really wasn't that Paris was concerned for Chakotay's safety; it was just that--well, that sometimes you needed a Commander to tell the Doctor what was what. Really; it was just that. He spotted Janeway, on one of the lower shelves. Besides, the damned stubborn sonofabitch always seemed to get himself into trouble when somebody wasn't around to--

What was that light?

He turned. Torches, in the doorway. Fire, flickering.

His light fell full on a group stopped in the doorway. For a half second, everybody froze.

In that half second, his eye took in everything: men, women, children. Baskets. Knives. All of them had knives.

He felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle.

Then he was howling and waving his light around, stamping toward them, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Somebody screamed, and the group stampeded out the door. He followed them, up the corridor clear to the entrance, still howling. It would have been funny, but there was something about those knives that--

A cry from behind him; and Paris was off at a run. Chakotay. Fucking stubborn Chakotay--

Who was struggling to move, apparently held in the corridor by some beam.

While a guy with a torch and a knife circled him, apparently looking for the best place to stab.

He fell with a really satisfying smack when Paris phasered him.

"Don't!" Chakotay shouted as Paris came for him. "I--I seem to have triggered something. No point in getting you caught, too."

And the fucking tricorder was, of course, no use. No figuring out where the beam was coming from, so Paris could phaser it out of existence.

"How come he wasn't affected?" Paris asked, using the tricorder anyway.

"I don't know--different biology?"

As much sense as any-- "I think they were here to--as ... cannibals."

Sick look at each other; then both looked at the downed hunter beside the torch with its dying flame.

"What happened to your light?" Paris asked.

"It quit working the second the beam caught me. Phaser isn't working, either. Some sort of electromagnetic pulse, I guess."

Great.

"Tom," said Chakotay. "You have to get a force field up at the entrance, keep those people out of here. You have to get somebody up to Voyager, so the Doctor can start working on them."

"And if he wakes up?" Paris said, raising his phaser to remind Chakotay that it could be set on kill.

Chakotay gave him a little headshake tantamount to an order. "Just hurry," he said.

So Paris hurried. Into the room, where he found Janeway and tossed her unceremoniously over his shoulder. Back up the corridor, shining his light into every corner.

Because he was frozen with horror at what could happen if any of those people had crept back. The helpless crew. Chakotay, imprisoned there in darkness as that torch guttered out, listening for his murderer waking.

The cannibals hadn't retreated far outside the building. And, shit, they didn't look happy. But they stayed away, though he'd love an excuse to phaser them all out of existence.

He called the computer, described the force field he wanted, waited while it sizzled into place. Transported himself and Janeway to the ship.

"Since when has it been procedure to transport the patient over your shoulder like a Neanderthal?" the Doctor huffed when they materialized in sickbay.

"No time," Paris said. "Take care of her, brief her, come up with a way we can get the crew awake before somebody does them in." He was out of Sickbay before the Doctor could come up with another huffy speech.

Just hurry. Paris grabbed a phaser rifle, transported back to just inside the force field. The crowd had gotten bolder. They were throwing stones at the field, either fascinated by the sparks or convinced they could "break" it.

He ran. A glance into the room where the crew still slept dreamless.

He charged down the corridor, rifle at ready.

Except he was too fucking late. The cannibal was on his feet, fingers tangled in Chakotay's hair, knife on Chakotay's throat. Growling something unfriendly into Chakotay's ear as he walked the Commander backward up the corridor.

The cannibal stopped when Paris's light hit them. Cast a glare at Paris, then started dragging Chakotay up the corridor toward Paris. This time, though, he was watching his feet on the well-lit path.

Shit. Paris had a great shot at him, but he was the only one who could get Chakotay out of that beam. And if the bastard so much as twitched as he went down, Chakotay's throat would be sliced ear to ear.

Paris fell back before them, lit the bastard's path so he wouldn't stumble and accidentally kill the commander of the sweetest ship in the Delta Quadrant. He practically felt Chakotay's relief when they left the area controlled by the beam and he could move on his own. Not that he could move much.

With the Commander clear, Paris made his own move.

"Hey," he said to the cannibal.

Who glared at him and made a threatening twitch with the knife.

Oh, great. "Me," Paris said, pointing to himself. "Take me." He gestured to the knife, then to himself. "Take me. I'm a hell of a lot more tender."

"Don't." Chakotay caught his breath as the knife shifted on his throat.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of being lunch." But, Voyager could better stand to lose a pilot than she could her commander--though he'd never tell Chakotay that. He smiled invitingly at the cannibal. "Take me."

The logic, the smile, or the promise of being tender--something made up the cannibal's mind. Or maybe it was the light Paris was carrying--the guy couldn't seem to keep his eyes off it.

Either way, he swung the knife from Chakotay's throat to Paris's, let go of Chakotay, grabbed Paris by the hair and bent his head back before either could move. Very efficient.

"More painful than it looks," Paris hissed. But just as awkward: dragged backward, hoping to hell the guy didn't twitch too hard.

"Shit, Paris!" Chakotay followed them, stealthily took the phaser rifle, which the cannibal apparently didn't see as a weapon.

"Hey--you're always ... telling me to take initiative." His neck muscles were screaming--couldn't the guy let up for a second?

Then they were past the room where the crew lay helpless, and then they were at the open entrance, where sunlight streamed in.

Paris turned off his light.

The cannibal stopped in his tracks; and for a horrible instant Paris thought he was going to just slaughter him on the spot.

But the idiot just made a surprised sound and lifted the knife to gesture at Paris's light with it.

And dropped when Chakotay cold-cocked him with the rifle butt.

Didn't let go of Paris fast enough, though; and, "Shit!" Paris was on the ground, rubbing uselessly at his wrenched neck.

Then Chakotay was beside him, kicking the knife far down the corridor; and his hands were on Paris's neck, kneading, soothing. Felt pretty fucking good. Paris relaxed into it.

"Damn it, Tom," Chakotay said with some heat.

Paris looked up at him. "This is what--three times I've saved your life? Three lives you owe me?"

"Well, I did save yours when the Oeongaleesh wanted it."

My god: an actual joke. "Actually, it wasn't my life they were after...."

And then Chakotay was looking down at him; and Paris saw a smile touch the corners of the precise mouth. "So, if my life belongs to you, since you've saved it," Chakotay murmured, "then, I suppose your virtue belongs to--"

"Gentlemen!" Janeway's voice, brisk.

Chakotay let go. Paris's head hit the floor with a distinct thunk. "Sorry," muttered Chakotay. He helped Paris to his feet.

"Are you all right?" asked the captain.

"Just my-- Oh, god." Paris winced. "Just my neck and my head and about half the muscles down my back--"

"Report to the Doctor." Janeway took him from Chakotay, supported him as they left the building. "Come back when he's taken care of you."

Oh, gee--alone and helpless with pain in the hands of the Doctor, no doubt still smarting from being ordered around like a mere ensign. What fun.

But Janeway grasped his arm and looked deep into his eyes. "Good job, Tom."

And Paris looked past her at the doorway, where Chakotay stood, actually smiling at him; and wouldn't you know it, the praise in Janeway's husky, intimate tone was nothing compared with the memory of Chakotay's strong, comforting hands and that smile, so warm that Paris wanted to bathe in it forever.

The shuttle most definitely wasn't Suder's fault.

When the first thruster blew, Tom thought, Shit!

When the next two blew, his brain started to chant, Ohnoohnoohnoohno--

Numbers four, five, and six; and everything inside his head just fucking shut down; he became a machine. Senses locked into what the shuttle was doing; brain flipping through scenarios; hands flickering over the conn. He knew that Harry Kim was beside him, but it didn't matter, because they were about to skim the ionosphere of the fucking planet they were supposed to survey, and if Tom didn't keep it together, they'd be adding some new elements to the planet's surface.

He angled her nose a little higher, and they bounced, as he'd hoped they would. But the atmospheric drag slowed her a little, and they frankly didn't have the thrusters to keep her in orbit for long. And then there was the lovely ticklish problem of getting her back onto Voyager.

Because--with the remaining thrusters still on full--the conn shut down completely.

Harry was out of his seat in a nanosecond, headed for the processor at the back of the shuttle. Tom fell to his knees to examine the conn panel.

"Nothing wrong here!" Harry shouted.

"Nothing here!" Tom answered. Fuck!

Tom slapped his commbadge, but there was no answer, because the computer just wasn't there to respond.

The shuttle shook at that exact instant, and Tom felt his heart stop. Even with two thrusters burning, they would sink toward that big hard shuttle-smashing planet far faster than he'd like.

There was another shudder. And,

"Oh, thank you!" Harry said fervently.

Tom raised his head to look out the port.

And saw Voyager, tractor beams on full, holding them steady. Though with the thrusters still firing, bringing them into the shuttle bay would be disastrous.

A crackle on his commbadge. "--to Paris. Are ... okay?"

The damned tractor beams interfered with ship-to-commbadge communications at just the worst times.

"Yes!" he said. "But, Voyager, we've got a problem--"

Yeah, they fucking did. "Shiiiiit," Tom breathed, as the second-biggest Kazon warship he'd ever seen glided out from behind the planet's closest moon.

What happened next he wasn't in a position to hear. There was probably an exchange, and it probably went along the lines of Janeway saying, "Back off," and the Kazon captain replying, "Make me." It wouldn't be a fucking equal contest, because Voyager couldn't raise shields while the tractor beam was in use, and they were too far away for her to enclose them in her shields. So it was bye-bye Voyager or bye-bye Shuttle Ibn Batuta, and Tom knew which one made more sense.

Chakotay, he thought. Chakotay. It seemed all he could think.

He knew that Harry was making his own peace with the universe--

Then Voyager was coming at them at full impulse; and the two photon torpedoes she spat out seemed just an afterthought.

But they did the job on the Kazon cruiser--wham whomp--the first puncturing her shields, and the second punching a hole right through her midsection. There was a second or two when it wasn't clear that the cruiser was even hurt.

Then a flower of fire seemed to bloom inside the ship, and out spewed flame and ship plating in all directions--

--and Voyager was right over the shuttle; he almost felt her shields extending around them, holding them in a protective embrace, which was good, because--

--the shock wave hit them and everything went haywire for an eternity or two they were rolled even inside the shield everything flying and Harry crying out and something thumping him pretty damned hard on the shoulder--

It was a shaky minute before Tom realized he was in one piece. And Harry. And the shuttle. And-- He slapped his commbadge.

"Paris to Voyager!"

"Good to ... voice, Tom." Chakotay. Fuck--Chakotay was all right. He could have sobbed in his relief.

Not that they were out of the woods yet. The fucking thrusters were still at work. And where there was one Kazon cruiser, there usually were two or three.

"I've got to disconnect the power cells," Tom told Harry.

"Let me." Harry was fast, and Harry was adamant. He had the panel open over the cells before Tom could stop him.

"I'm the pilot; it's my job," Tom said, elbowing him out of the way.

"You get the next ones." And Harry had his hand on the power cell unit before Tom could stop him.

He jerked.

A sudden crackle and a flash, and both of them were flung wide. Tom blinked, shook his head free of cobwebs, scrambled over to Harry.

Who wasn't breathing.

Tom's hands were working even before his brain caught up, pumping that still chest. He cocked the head back, blew air into Harry's lungs. Pump; blow. Pump; blow; pump--

Harry choked, sprayed vomit, coughed. Automatically, Tom turned him on his side, crooning encouragement, slamming him unmedically on the back to make sure everything cleared. He barely noticed when the shuttle thumped gently onto the deck of the main shuttle bay.

It was after they'd rushed Harry off to sickbay that Tom suddenly started to shake. Fucking almost happened again fucking almost killed-- Tom's legs failed him, and he leaned against the shuttle. --Harry almost killed Harry--

Distantly, he heard thumping over and over and over--somebody hitting something hard again and again--hitting something unyielding--

Then Chakotay was there; he could smell that warm skin; Chakotay right next to him.

And it was Tom's fist hitting the side of the shuttle, Tom's arm jolted from the thumping. Somebody was trying to stop him, but Chakotay interfered; there was a small altercation.

And then Tom found he could stop. Chakotay just put his hand on Tom's cheek, and Tom stopped.

The next thing he knew, he was in sickbay, and the Doctor was being sarcastic over his broken hand.

"Don't," Chakotay said; and the Doctor shut up.

Harry was okay; Tom could see the monitor from here. Asleep, and some of the readings looked a little wrong, but okay. Eventually. Kes was beside him. She was really wonderful in sickbay, and Harry would be all right.

Torres stomped in then, crackling so much fury they could have run the ship off her rage for at least a couple weeks.

"Sabotage!" she spat out to Chakotay. "Somebody sabotaged the shuttle! Almost killed--"

And to Tom's astonishment, her face started to crumple. She marched over the Harry's biobed, swept Kes right out of the way. She glared at the monitors, at Harry Kim.

"Damn it, Starfleet!" she said.

Suddenly Tom felt giddy. So tired he could barely stay upright. Chakotay's strong hands were on him; he leaned into that warm body and closed his eyes. Chakotay stroked his neck.

"Hmmm," said the Doctor. "Perhaps there's a paper here on the narcotic effects of sexual--"

"I can do that, Doctor," Kes said hastily. "Perhaps you should see to Ensign Kim."

Tom felt the rumble of Chakotay's repressed laughter. "Somebody ought to reprogram his bedside manner," he said softly.

"I heard that!"

"And his hearing," Chakotay whispered.