Part seven
To part six

---

Not, of course, that they had much else.

Chakotay looked at the readings he'd gotten inside the rock sheath, had the computer look at the readings, ran the readings through the computer using six different algorithms, and mapped everything out in three dimensions on the holodeck. Ran the fucking useless readings through the system a couple more times.

Nothing. All that and, nothing-- He called up his boxing program--sans Boothby--turned off the safety protocols, and pounded the hell out of an indignant Klingon until his knuckles were raw.

And then ran the useless damn readings again, while he used the regenerator on his hands.

Still nothing.

And, then, all too quickly, it was time to escort the Shiunta to his weekend of romance.

"He is in there," the fruit seller said, nodding to the doorway at the back of the stand.

And, yes, he was, Chakotay found when he parted the curtains. Right there, back to the doorway.

Examining in pretty puzzlement the lifted hem of his already-short tunic.

Chakotay blinked for a long minute at one of the most breathtaking asses he'd ever seen: all roundness and firmness and bare golden skin-- "I'll be out here," he choked out, "when you're ready."

And was stepping outside as the manipulative little bastard raised an over-astonished, limpid gaze to Chakotay's face; but then the old Iushakan was bustling past him and slapping that beautiful ass hard.

"He does not want to look at your bottom! You keep your bottom for your husband!"

She yanked the tunic hem out of the Shiunta's hand and smacked his ass again under the pretext of smoothing the tunic.

Sputtering half-formed protests, the Shiunta was hustled toward Chakotay. Rubbing his ass (and looking through his eyelashes at Chakotay to see how he was taking this). Clutching Chakotay's arm as they started off.

"My husband will be so eager for me," the Shiunta said breathily, snuggling up close to Chakotay. He had on that damned distracting scent again. "So eager to fuck me."

Good god, to be anywhere but here, with the sudden flash of that image, those little sighs, the memory of that incredible backside, that fragrance rising from a warm, golden, willing body. Chakotay jerked his mind to the problem of that third injector in the port engine, which was either clogged or off its timing--

The Shiunta laid his cheek on Chakotay's shoulder and announced dreamily, "I think I'm going to beg."

An instant where Chakotay couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process anything he was looking at. Another sudden image raising the temperature in the station. "Ah," he finally managed to sputter. "Good! He--" Okay, okay, pull yourself together. "He'll--he'll enjoy that." He started walking faster--a jostling movement, with the young man clutching him so. "Why couldn't the fruit seller bring you today?" Neutral topic.

"Meeting," the Shiunta said indifferently. "I don't want to talk about her; she's ugly." He trailed a hand lightly down Chakotay's chest. "Does your husband fuck you harder when you beg?"

Oh, marvelous. "I'll ask him," Chakotay said dryly.

The trailing hand took a sudden dip south. "If you were my husband," the Shiunta said huskily, "I would beg you all the time."

Chakotay batted away the questing hand. "That would be ... flattering," he said. "And tiring," he added with a grin. Deflect it with humor.

Not always successful. "I wish you were my husband," the Shiunta said in a low voice; and his hand tightened over Chakotay's all-too-interested crotch.

Chakotay grabbed the hand and held it firmly. Luckily, nobody in the crowd around them seemed to be looking at them. "But then what would my husband do?" he said in mock concern. "And your husband would be very lonely."

The Shiunta sighed, then gave him a sly look. "When my husband is fucking me," he confided, "I'm going to pretend it is you."

Oh, just wonderful.

"I did it last time," the Shiunta went on in an excited whisper. "And sometimes--" An excited little giggle. "--sometimes I pretended you were my real husband, and he was raping me in your bed."

For a blank minute, Chakotay could only stare at him. "Ah--" he said. "You shouldn't-- That's the kind of thing-- What if your husband found out you were thinking of somebody else?"

"Oh," the Shiunta said dreamily, "he just gets very angry and fucks me so well that all I can think of is his penis. Which isn't as strong and large as yours," he added sadly. "Your penis would--"

Oh, good: they were finally at the prison.

"Well, your husband will be ... very eager to-- He'll be glad to see you," Chakotay said in relief. Babbling. Good god, he had to stop babbling.

He saw a free guard and started to disengage the Shiunta, to hand him over.

But the young man was resisting and looking puzzled. "Don't you go to the entrance for virtuous spouses?" He tugged Chakotay along to a small entrance a couple meters away.

The entrance for-- Chakotay stifled a laugh.

"If your husband knows that another man has touched your intimate parts," the Shiunta murmured earnestly, "it could be a scandal!"

A scandal. "But you said you slept with your cousin." Among others, apparently countless, judging by the stories.

"He's only a pel'tkh! Someone who might fuck you is different! It would be a terrible scandal!" The young Shiunta was so serious that Chakotay couldn't pursue it.

The entrance for virtuous spouses opened into a small waiting room with chairs and an entrance into the prison. A veiled Shiunta woman sat here, presumably a virtuous spouse, waiting.

When the door closed, she glanced up, brightened when she saw the Shiunta. "Your last fuck!" she exclaimed, and laughed.

The young man laughed with her, sitting and pulling Chakotay to a chair beside him. "Yes!" he said. "We will soon be home!" Then, "This is my friend!" he said, indicating Chakotay. "He has made me very eager for my husband!"

The woman flirted a glance at Chakotay. "Is this the one that won't let you satisfy him?" she said with a grin.

"Don't!" the Shiunta man protested through a giggle. "Don'tdon'tdon't! You will embarrass him!"

Chakotay gave him a quelling look that entirely failed to quell him. "Hello," Chakotay said to the woman. Refuse to play, and maybe the young man would give up the game.

"He is always talking about having sex with you," the woman said to Chakotay. "More than he talks about having sex with his husband."

Oh, good. "You must be looking forward to time with your husband," Chakotay said, ignoring the young man's giggling protest.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes. She gets very eager for me. And won't let me pleasure myself. She's very fierce." Her knees were pressing together, hard. "I get very eager for her. Did that hurt?"

Huh? "Uh...."

The woman brushed her eyebrow. "Did those marks hurt? Did your husband make them on you?"

"They're a family mark," Chakotay said flatly. "I had them made." He was not going to discuss this: he'd had enough lovers who'd fetishized his tattoo, and this woman was heading in that direction. "Have you been married long?"

She sighed. "Two turns of the sun. Just before we came here and she ignited the righteous wrath of the People." Chakotay recognized the canned phrase from the holovid all prisoners' spouses were required to watch. "I miss her very much."

"You should tell him about your veiling," the Shiunta man said. "It cost almost as much as the third prince's veiling," he confided to Chakotay.

This was evidently a more cheerful topic: the young woman giggled and sighed. "My father insisted," she said. "So much food, the beggars ate well for days after. My robe for the disrobing cost almost as much as the food. And he bought me my weight in jewelry, so I wouldn't be shamed in my husband's house. And, oh, everyone came: all the family, all my father's business partners, even the king's fourth cousins. One of them helped to disrobe me for my husband to see." She flushed, took a deep breath; her eyes grew dreamy; the knees pressed together hard. "She wanted meeeee," she moaned, visibly palpitating. "I could have lost my virtue right then, before she even gave me the veil." Another giggle, echoed by one from the young Shiunta man.

"I almost begged my husband to take my virtue the minute they disrobed me," the young man said. "And he would have!" He grinned slyly. "Of course, when I entered his house, I had no virtue left!"

More giggling; this appeared to be some sort of mutual joke.

"She had me stripped before we were a block away from my parents' house," the young woman admitted happily. "The carriage rocked so--everyone knew what was happening inside!"

Oh, but Chakotay didn't need to hear these stories right now; there were enough hormones in this hot little room to send half the Vulcan Academy into pon farr.

"I didn't need to turn my tunic inside out to put it back on," the woman confided. "She'd pulled it inside out taking it off!"

Screams of laughter over-- Chakotay wasn't sure he wanted verification of what he was suspecting.

"Wasn't your husband so eager for you," the young man said to Chakotay between giggles, "that he fucked you before he even got you to his house?"

Ah-- "We don't have that custom," Chakotay said.

Shock stifled the laughter. "How would everyone know how eager your husband was," the young man said, "if your tunic wasn't inside out when you came out of the carriage at his house?"

"That you were so virtuous that she was almost mad with lust and couldn't control herself the first time you were alone together?" the woman chimed in. She was palpitating again.

"We don't--" How the hell was he going to get out of this appalling conversation? "We're usually not alone together between the ceremony and going to bed." Okay: generic and neutral.

And satisfactory; both the Shiunta said, "Ah!" and smiled. His own Shiunta patted his thigh, and then slid his hand higher. Chakotay grabbed the hand a little harder than strictly necessary, but the young man was unabashed.

Mercifully, the door to the prison opened, and the young woman jumped to her feet almost before the guards could wave her in. Male and female: presumably, one or the other could search the virtuous spouse without dishonor, and any lustful guard could be beaten back by a partner.

"Her husband didn't really outrage the People," the young man said confidentially to Chakotay after the door closed behind her. "She stepped on someone's shadow, and her husband took her punishment. As a husband should: a virtuous spouse could never go to prison," he said smugly.

Virtuous spouse. Chakotay glanced over at the self-righteous little bastard. "Virtuous" certainly wasn't the word he'd use to describe-- "Is that why your husband is in prison?" he asked.

The sudden look away was all he needed.

"I just brushed--" the young man started. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident. And my husband is pleased to show his love for me and regard for my virtue by taking my place in prison," he finished with an air of self-satisfied contentment. Then, "And isn't your husband--"

"He patted a child on the head. We didn't know about the taboo."

The young man blinked; maybe "taboo" didn't translate well. "I know a spouse who stepped on someone's shadow on purpose," he said. "Her husband was going to send her back to her parents, so she made sure he went to prison, so he couldn't." He grinned. "And every time they met, she fucked him so well, he became more and more eager for her, and by the time he was free, he didn't want to send her back. And so she avoided a terrible scandal."

By sending her husband to prison. Charming. "Why did her husband want to send her back to her--" Chakotay began; but the door into the prison opened, and it was the young man's turn to enter. He paused at the door to give Chakotay a glance humid with lust.

Oh, thank the spirits, he was alone at last. And not feeling all that virtuous: he got up to make his way to his usual entrance.

No knob on this side of the outside door. No way to open it from this side. Apparently, once you'd declared yourself virtuous, you were committed to it.

Unfortunately, he'd hoped for a minute or two out of this close little room, a cleansing little walk before he had to see Paris. All that heat and eagerness radiating from the young man and the young woman, all that talk of sex and overstimulated libidos, and all that groping--and now he had to sit (naked) next to Paris (naked) in a room full of bed and try to make small talk.

At least he could center himself. Walk up and down the room a couple times, sit down, close his eyes, take a full breath, relax, focus. Act like a guy antsy for a good fuck, who'd reconciled himself to a long wait, some part of his brain pointed out. Yeah, that too.

Another cleansing breath. He called up a mental image, something neutral: a point in darkness, moving with two others--those little ice planets in their graceful--

"Your husband will be impatient."

Huh? Chakotay's eyes flew open. The man and woman stood at the inner door.

Damn. "I'm sorry," Chakotay said automatically, meekly. "I was ... waiting."

And nowhere near centered enough to face Paris, especially with the damned thumping on the other side of the wall again.

"Shit," Paris murmured, eyeing the wall as they spread out the sheet.

"Nice to see you, too," Chakotay said dryly; and Paris laughed. Flirted a glance at him; flushed; and looked away very pointedly. Uh oh.

"Sure took your time." Paris sat beside him, knees drawn up, back against the thumping wall.

"I, uh--" Okay, come clean. "I had to escort that young man I told you about. He had to go to a different entrance, where everything takes longer." Hey--he had a good story. "Turns out his husband's doing his time in prison. He was the one who broke the taboo. His husband is serving the sentence."

"He's not the only one," Paris said. "I've met four or five people serving a relative's sentence. Usually it's those Shiunta--you know, the veiled types. Got some weird attitudes about marriage."

You have no idea.

"And I met one guy," Paris went on, "who deliberately touched one of the Wieong'tha, so he could get away from his husband for a few months. Kinda clingy, I guess." He smirked suggestively at Chakotay.

Bastard. "I'm not clingy," Chakotay said.

"No, huh? Not even if a guy starts at the tip of your cock and spends about an hour working his tongue down to the base and then starts on your balls, and by then you're whimpering and begging--"

--I think I'm going to beg-- "Save it for Harry," Chakotay said a little breathlessly. "And I'm not the clingy type," he added with a grin. Then he thought, Good god, he isn't fantasizing that about ME, is he? Which was-- Damn, but it was hot in this little room.

Luckily, Paris laughed--cleared the oxygen-poor air a little. But he had that look in his eyes that Chakotay liked to see in a potential bed partner: the one that promised a steamy session of taking and giving on sweat-stained sheets--

Good god, quit it! Neutral subject. Find neutral subject.

"Too bad we can't figure out how to cut your hair," he said. "Getting kind of long." The Wieong'tha were used to prisoners who were either bald or wore their hair long, and were suspicious when someone mentioned that Paris might need a trim.

"Yeah; I wish we could." Paris tugged at his hair. "Gets kind of curly, and I look like an idiot." He was eyeing Chakotay. "You'd look pretty good with long hair."

"Indian hair doesn't curl."

"Yeah, but straight and ... kind of silky. Halfway down your back." Paris's gaze was unfocusing. "One of those beaded headbands...."

What the-- "You're not mistaking me," Chakotay said, "for that nitwit in Love Slave of the Apache, are you?"

Paris had the grace to blush. And laugh. "You have to admit it's a damned good pornographic movie."

And one that Chakotay thought he'd heard the last of, since he'd deleted the copy someone had smuggled into their Maquis cell: the appraising looks from those who'd watched it were ... unnerving. "Were you the one who downloaded it?"

"Nope." Said with that inflection that meant he was telling the truth. "I think it was B'Elanna." Mischievous grin. "She kind of had this thing for you. And she really likes the thought of two guys...." An instant where he dug his heels into the mattress, braced himself against the headboard: working out a little tension. "And that guy ... and the ... captive.... That scene where the captive is bathing, when Stone Walker sees him and gets a hard-on...." Sudden sharp intake of breath. Oh, great. "Love scenes are pretty good, too," Paris went on.

"How many times did you watch it?" The blond captive, glistening with water, unaware of his audience as he comforted himself with his right hand-- He really shouldn't have watched the stupid thing: damned curiosity.

"Three or four." Sly grin. "I mean, after all, you were fucking Seska; what else did I have?"

Bastard. "Half the Maquis." Really: they could have powered a ship on the anger and the sexual energy Paris had given off--and inspired.

"Not the half I wanted." Paris's voice had an underlying growl.

Chakotay looked at him; Paris looked back. Belligerence always did some nice things for him: added a spark to the eyes, a flush to the cheeks, petulance to that god-damned kissable mouth.

"Like you said," Chakotay said more easily than he felt, "I was fucking Seska." He rested his head against the vibrating wall, closed his eyes, feigned relaxation. Tried to ignore the heat from Paris's body.

"And now you're not," Paris murmured, so close that Chakotay could feel his breath in his ear. Murmur had a husky edge that seemed to go straight to Chakotay's cock.

He looked at Paris, who was giving him that defiant look that made a guy want to smack him. Or fuck him. Or both.

"I'm not fucking you, either," he said softly; and to his infinite relief Paris gave him a sly, delightful smile and moved away. Damn, the man had a beautiful mouth: those rosy lips curved in a way that invited a kiss and a nibble. And he was so damned interested: eyes bright and speculative; face a pleasant color; his eyes seemed all pupil; all he had to do was reach--

Stop this NOW. Luckily, Chakotay's better nature knew when to shout.

"B'Elanna?" he heard himself say. "An infatuation?" He leaned against the thudding wall again, closed his eyes, grinned. "That could be ... pretty interesting."

"Had." Paris's voice had an edge. "I said she had. A little thing. Not any more." Voice a little ... chilly.

Chakotay opened his eyes. The blue eyes were a little chilly, too. Well, YOU started it, Chakotay thought; he managed to suppress a grin.

Not before Paris noticed, though: the blue eyes narrowed, and the jaw tightened. "After all, she's probably seeing Harry by now. So she wouldn't be interested in anybody else." Then, "Besides, you're married."

"Doesn't mean a guy can't fantasize," Chakotay heard himself murmur. Quit this! the sane part of his brain ordered, but there was a real pleasure in teasing Paris: almost a substitute for sex.

Almost.

"Keep your fantasies--" Paris leaned close. "--to yourself." He had a dangerous look in his eye. "I can always divorce you."

"Got that covered. Forms just waiting for your signature. Once you get out." Chakotay met his gaze; Paris flushed at something he saw there.

Their eyes locked for an endless, breathless moment. Everything in the universe seemed to stop.

All he had to do was--

Rattling on Paris's side of the prison.

Paris blinked; he jerked exasperatedly at the sheet under them.

Looked at Chakotay.

And lunged in for a kiss.

Chakotay dodged. Paris froze.

They stared into each other's eyes across the super-heated air. Chakotay felt his heart speed up; he felt ... dizzy. Giddy. All he had to do was--

Door on Paris's side opened, and Paris's mouth quirked. "I get out of here and we get annulled," he said in a low voice, "I'm going to fuck you right through the mattress." He scooted toward the door.

"Promises, promises," Chakotay heard himself growl.

The look Paris shot back at him seemed to burn all the oxygen in the room.

And then Paris was gone and Chakotay was left alone in the close little room full of bed--the hot little room still smelling of Paris: all musk and sweaty man: Chakotay was breathing him in by the lungful, and where Paris had sat, the mattress was still warm.

He looked down at his hand, spread where Paris had been sitting; and some part of his brain said very distinctly, Don't. Don't keep thinking about that; and very definitely don't keep thinking with your crotch.

But some very primal chemistry was taking over, hardening his cock, softening his brain; and good god, he had to get out of here.

Chakotay jumped when the door on his side opened. Dragged on his clothes as quickly as he could. Out of here. He had to get out of here.

Away from the others lined up to fuck their spouses; away from the looming prison; far the hell away from the Wieong'than section; out through the bustling streets.

A walk. He needed a walk. He needed to center himself, to get away from the thoughts of Paris's smell and of the heat in his eyes and of how that damn big cock of his would taste--

Chakotay snorted, tried to empty his mind. A walk. He just needed a damn walk: that would calm him down and set him right.

Except there were so many people in the streets: he couldn't just lose himself in walking, he had to keep dodging Wieong'tha. So he steered toward the shuttle, found himself in the alley behind the bar, surrounded by prostitutes.

You could do that. The words slid into his mind from somewhere deep inside his brain: that primal place awash in hormones, some ancient section in the structure that just wanted him to fuck.

He grinned. That fifteen-year-old was still inside him: that constantly aroused kid willing to prostitute himself if it would take the edge off that primal hunger.

You are a grown man, he reminded himself. A responsible man. A Starfleet officer. And those people do not look like they're enjoying themselves.

Well, actually, some of them did seem to be enjoying themselves.

But YOU wouldn't, the Starfleet-officer voice scolded.

Probably.

He went through the toilet and into the bar. Swallowed a couple mouthfuls of the house special and admired the image of the barman's fetus. Wandered out of the bar and into the shuttle.

Walk. He was still antsy, still-- He still needed a walk.

Called up the first outdoor program he could find on the holodeck. Entered the landscape of some minor alien world: rolling hills lush with tall grass, under a a yellowish sun in a greenish sky. Three crescent moons faint in the daylight. One of the unnamed worlds Voyager had circled a couple months back.

Wide skies and an interesting stand of trees on the horizon. Wind moving through the silky grass felt good. Some sort of insects were singing, and as he walked he watched iridescent birds swoop through the air. Peaceful.

By the time he reached the trees, he could feel himself relaxing. Really: all he'd needed was a walk.

The trees stood beside a deep pool, so clear he could see where the water welled up out of the ground. A little stream meandered away from the pool; some birds were wading in the stream, catching little crustaceans. Like good holo-images they didn't fly when he walked up. In the pool, some four-legged creatures were gliding along the bottom, chasing each other or something edible.

He dipped a hand in the water: comfortably under human body temperature. Oh, yes.

Stripped, Chakotay ran and took a good jump. Plunged deep and then kicked his way to the surface, grinning. Wonderful. This was-- He had a sudden flash of comfortable memory: swimming with his brothers on Dorvan five. One of those carefree days before-- Well, before adulthood happened.

He dove down, revelling in the sensation of cool water sluicing over him and in the power of his own muscles propelling him along. Found himself nearly nose-to-nose with one of the creatures, which had swum up to inspect him.

He remembered them now: yip-yips. Or so somebody had called them after a day hearing the things yeep-yeep monotonously at each other, and the name had stuck. Small, furry, large-eyed, four-legged, thick-tailed, and laid leathery eggs. None-too-graceful on land, but breathed air. Something on the way to living on land or on its way back to living in water. Harmless unless you were a fish.

And curious: the others rose to circle him, gliding away when he swam in their direction. Swam beside him for a while as he did some laps, then decided they'd had enough and dove again to the bottom.

Chakotay climbed out of the pool and stretched out on the soft grass to let the breeze and sun dry him. Swim was as good as a walk: he was fully relaxed now, centered, certainly not thinking about how frustration brightened Tom Paris's eyes or how badly he wanted to kiss that beautiful mouth--

He snorted and jerked his mind away from the warmth of Paris's body and how it would feel to have his cock laved by that hot tongue-- Jerked his hand away from his interested cock. That would help--this was nothing that a few minutes with his right hand wouldn't fix--but that certainly wouldn't make the next session of naked chat with Tom Paris any easier, and he was strangely reluctant to jerk off in someone else's holographic fantasy place.

Especially one that had had this much care taken with the details. A slight rustling near his head turned out to be a beetle-like creature long as his hand, and Chakotay sat up in a hurry. Fucking punch-beetle. Just like on the planet.

Sensing him nearby, the beetle stopped, antennae waving. It got a fix on his body warmth, reared up on its hind legs, began to punch the air with its forelegs. Funny and a little cute, except that punching pumped some glands under the forelegs, so the curious onlooker got a good spraying--as Tuvok accidentally found out. Nasty smell, tough to scrub off.

Chakotay scrambled out of the target zone just before the first unaromatic spurt. Found himself laughing, though. "Computer," he said, who is the author of this holoprogram?"

"Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris."

Of course. The high quality, the care to include that one detail that could make somebody laugh: typical Tom Paris.

Chakotay was cheerful on his way to supper that night. Planning what he was going to say to Paris: tease him about that holoprogram. And--maybe--mention that he'd actually found a copy of that damned porn vid in the computer's databanks. And--maybe--threaten slyly to delete it....

Typical marital chitchat.

Except there was that damned punch-in-the-gut moment when he was waved over by a guard.

"Your man is being whipped." Fucking monotonous, though the guard was watching him expectantly. Hoping for a juicy reaction.

At first, Chakotay could only blink at him. Then, seeing the carefully banked interest, he clenched his jaw against the sudden fury. Not right. It wasn't right that they could punish Paris any damn time they pleased and enjoy his pain. Enjoy Chakotay's disappointment. Not fucking right at all.

He managed to snap out an ungracious thanks before stumbled blindly back to the shuttle. Not right. Just not fucking right, his brain kept repeating. And not goddamn fucking fair. What the hell could Paris have done to deserve a beating so soon after the last one? Because they always had to have a fucking reason. Even if the fucking sub-assistant warden was just trying to snag some interesting alien hardware, he still had to justify flogging Paris in his damned reports.

Back at the shuttle, Chakotay shoved the basket of supper into the refrigeration unit. Slammed the door harder than usual. Paced.

You have to figure out what to do, that really practical part of his brain pointed out. As if he didn't know that already.

Problem was, he felt like hitting somebody, but he didn't want the controlled violence of his boxing programs. He had to get out, expend some energy, maybe pound somebody. So he taped up his knuckles, stripped down to his briefs, and went jogging through the Blue Forest.

The Blue Forest program wasn't for jogging, it was for practicing hand-to-hand combat: one of those programs where you fought your way from opponent to opponent, through one of Jastica II'S weirdly beautiful forests of dark trees under a blue sun. Monotonous. Predictable. Paris had fiddled with the program, randomized the kind of characters you'd meet and where you'd meet them. Still not the most popular program on Voyager unless you wanted a mindless workout.

Chakotay wanted a mindless run, with extras: almost naked, wearing light shoes, armed only with anger. A run through the forest, heart pounding at every rustle in the undergrowth, choosing his fights. Expending the fury that blossomed inside him at the thought of Paris being beaten, at his own helplessness, at the eagerness and malice in the guard's eyes. He reached the other side of the forest feeling empty, sore, focused.

Showered and then dumped the medkit onto the table and sorted everything out. Last time, they'd let him use everything the first day, but nothing after that. Probably figured that as their baseline: this is how long it takes the human prisoner Thomas Eugene Paris to heal when not coddled by his loving and solicitous spouse. Well, this time they'd get something different.

The newly re-rigged tricorder/regenerator and the new hypospray got some tweaking. So did the salve: Chakotay upped the analgesic, argued with the computer about the toxicity of the new dosage, found a compromise. Discussed the efficacy of the topical application of vitamins. Added them anyway.

He repacked everything and thought, Good god, when did you last eat? Ate.

Thought, Good god, when did you last meditate? Hesitated.

Meditation had always been a retreat: a warm place where he could gain perspective, figure things out. But he was reluctant to go there now. It wasn't always a warmsafecushiony place, but--

But he needed his anger. He needed it, to keep him going when he managed to fuck things up. He needed it, to help him outwit the damned Wieong'tha. He needed it, to keep him focused on what was really important. Keep him focused on getting Paris the hell out of that fucking prison.

Before it killed him.

~ ~ ~

Because, Chakotay realized the next morning, it just might.

Paris had retreated into himself, jaw clenched, barely acknowledging the people around him. Had that mulish tilt to his chin. His back was heart-twisting mess: new bruises on old.

Well, Chakotay thought, reaching for the rigged tricorder, you're not going to like THIS.

"No," the sub-assistant warden said firmly.

Huh? "Sir?" Chakotay said.

"No. You've seen your husband's bruises before. You don't need to analyze them."

A silent minute while Chakotay looked at him, puzzled. Paris's head snapped up; he looked at Chakotay out of the corner of his eyes.

"These are new bruises on old--" Chakotay started. He stopped at the sub-assistant warden's frown. Okay.

Okay.

So.

Chakotay put down the tricorder. "May I give him his vitamins?"

"Yes."

Paris gave a surprised blink when the hypospray hissed and the expected pain relief didn't materialize. Chakotay smiled blandly at him, ignored his puzzled frown.

Turned to the sub-assistant warden. "May I use the salve?"

"Of course."

Paris's hands were clenched at his sides. Chakotay glanced at them as he smoothed salve over Paris's bruises.

Watched them relax as the analgesic hit. That's better.

Chakotay kept his head bowed as he said, "Sir?" to the sub-assistant warden.

"Yes?" Said languidly.

"May I come to tend my husband tomorrow?"

A long moment of silence. Then, "Of course;" and Chakotay felt himself relax. And, "After all, you have a contract;" and Chakotay clenched his jaw against the tittering of the guards.

But still, a tiny triumph.

~ ~ ~

"What the hell are you doing?" Paris said at breakfast, glaring across te table at him.

Fucking with the Wieong'tha. "Randomizing the variables," Chakotay said. "I didn't like the way things were going."

"Randomizing with what's left of me?" Paris was working himself up to a good snit.

"How do you feel?"

Paris blinked. "Fine," he admitted. "Better than--" He looked at Chakotay with suspicion. "Better than usual. What did you put in that stuff?"

"This, that. Something for pain." He took a swig of coffee. "Something for stress." Looked at Paris.

Who was looking right back. "So you're drugging me now," Paris said. A smile flickered across his face. "I thought it was the donuts. I keep forgetting how sneaky you are."

"I think you'll start getting a lot of reminders of that." Chakotay shifted in his chair, suddenly unhappy. "You know, I think they're gonna--"

"Yeah," Paris broke in. "He--" He glanced over at one of the placid guards and lowered his voice. "They've been impressed with how quickly I--I ... heal. They-- Well, I did kind of smart off, but-- I mean, you know, you can get a guy pretty--pretty damn antsy for good, hard fuck...."

He could? Chakotay felt himself redden at the look in Paris's eyes.

"But--really--I didn't--" Paris went on. "I mean, I wasn't that upset. They just kind of found a reason to hurt me. He wants whatever it is you're using." Tom watched his finger push around a few donut crumbs on the counter top. He looked unhappy. "I don't-- Don't give it to him." He looked at Chakotay. The earnestness in his eyes was unsettling.

Uh-- "You know, they beat you enough, and they could do some real damage."

"Yeah." Tom's expression hardened. "I know. But just don't. I don't want that son of a bitch getting a damn thing. I don't care if it kills me."

"I do," Chakotay said softly; and the surprise in Tom's eyes made his heart stumble.

Tom gaped for a moment. Then he said, urgently, "I don't want anyone here to get ... that kind of advantage. They'd-- Good god, think of what they would do to-- Well, it would be horrible. Just don't, Chakotay. Promise me."

"I can't do that." And Paris had to know that.

"You are damned stubborn." Good: he'd gotten Paris mad. Angry, Paris could withstand quite a lot.

"Yep." And I still can't promise not to do whatever it takes to get you out of here.

The guard was getting restless.

"For me," Paris said to Chakotay. His voice was soft, almost pleading. "Do it for me. You don't have to promise. Just-- Don't give it to him." He got to his feet, ready to go.

Their eyes locked.

"I don't want to break the Prime Directive," Chakotay said carefully. "But I will do whatever I need to, if it will save your life."

And was oddly shaken by the half-hopeful expression on Tom's face as he went back into the prison.

~ ~ ~

I will do whatever I need to-- Because Paris was right: the thought of those damned self-righteous Wieong'tha with a regenerator was too horrible to imagine. --if it will save your life. Except, Chakotay had to get him out of there: trauma on top of trauma could eventually damage Paris beyond what Chakotay could do for him under the eye of the Wieong'than guards. I will do whatever it takes.

But it could get damned complicated.

The little old fruit seller was at her stand today, efficiently stacking saggy-looking green squash that tasted vile no matter how Chakotay prepared them, briskly making change for a customer, swiftly sorting through eorda beans. She looked more relaxed and contented than Chakotay had ever seen her.

"How did the meeting go?" Chakotay asked casually and was astonished to see her start and glance around guiltily.

"How did you know about that?" she demanded in a low voice.

Uh-- "The young man told me. Shouldn't he?"

"It was ... secret." She considered Chakotay and seemed to come to a decision. "Some people meet where nobody can listen to them. They think Wieong'tha too hard to get along with and want to start a market on another ship. One where Wieong'tha can't put everybody in prison. I don't want to."

Huh. "That would free up trade, wouldn't it?" Chakotay said.

"Hah." She flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe more people come to buy if they won't end up in prison, but when people have family in prison, they stay and spend money and buy more things." She looked happily at the bag of expensive berries that she was filling for Chakotay. "Like you do for your husband."

Well, there was that rather Ferengi-like attitude. "It would be expensive to relocate," Chakotay said, getting into the spirit of the conversation. "It would take a while for business to become regular. And you'd need a ship."

"Huh! Got one. Old freight ship right outside the station. Making it into a market, a nice one." She grinned slyly. "My sister is there selling fruit. Maybe if it is more popular than the station, I move there with her. But, maybe we make more money with two places. Until everybody decides they don't want to be in Wieong'tha prison and stop coming here." She handed him his purchases with a meaningful look.

Play both sides. Of course. "When will your helper be back?" Chakotay asked.

"Huh! That one not coming back."

"What?"

"His husband is out of prison now. They not coming back."

That explained her contentment. "But I just took him yesterday to...."

"He wanted so much to be fucked by his husband, even though his husband getting out of prison today." She actually looked guilty.

That little-- Chakotay set his jaw against a flash of anger. Self-involved little bastard. And, of course, the old woman had seen a chance to get him off her hands early--not that Chakotay could blame her.

"His husband is taking him home to his planet," the fruit seller went on. "Him--huh! I think he doesn't get any peace at home."

She brightened at Chakotay's sudden sly grin. "I think he get more peace in prison," she went on happily.

"I sure couldn't live with him," Chakotay said.

The old woman grinned toothlessly. "That boy is like Little Mousie," she said.

"'Little Mousie'?"

"Hah! You know: Big Mousie, he goes along, all boasting, saying, 'I am Big Mousie. I am Big Mousie.' But Little Mouse, he faaaaarts--so big! He even stinks up Big Mousie." Her eyes begged him to look beyond the vulgar joke, to understand what she was trying to say.

"I know what you mean," Chakotay said. And he did. It was the kind of lesson some officers never learned, even at the Academy: that no matter how important and competent you felt, to the outside world, you were only as good as the crew you commanded. When they fucked up, you fucked up, too.

He found himself laughing as he went back to the shuttle, imagining some staid professor at Starfleet Academy explaining the nuances of leadership with the Big Mousie story. He should put it in the log: perhaps the Iushkan people told other stories about Big Mousie and Little Mousie in order to express aspects of behavior, just as some of his own people told stories about Coyote. Maybe he could coax her to tell more of them.

Collect some cultural artifacts: a little anthropological research. Distract himself a little. Give him something to think about when he didn't feel in charge of anything else. Keep him calm through the difficulties ahead: the difficulties of getting Paris out of prison before something irreversible happened to him.

Because Chakotay had a plan. But for it to go forward, the damn Wieong'tha had to do their part.

And getting them to do it would take all the patience he could muster.

[end of part seven; part eight to follow]

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