The Edge By Morticia C/P Disclaimer: Well, actually I can't be bothered - so go ahead and sue me! Part 1 of 3 Rating : R for language. Warning: ** Typical Mort Angst Alert ** "The Edge" Tom's heart sank as the Captain's words sank in. Two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks. The prospect made his stomach churn. Two fucking weeks alone with Chakotay and the Delta Flyer. Shit. If karma truly existed then he had definitely pissed off a whole slew of gods in some previous existence. Klingon Gods, probably. The real vengeful kind. He tried his trademark grin, deliberately flashing his baby blues at Janeway, his face schooled into a picture of innocence. "As much as I appreciate the assignment, under the circumstances, Captain, I think that it would be a great opportunity for Baytart to get some hands-on experience in the Flyer. Besides, what if you run into trouble? I really think that I should stay at the helm of Voyager, Ma'am. Just in case." He tried to ignore the sorts of amusement from Harry and B'Elanna, and the expression of pure disgust on Chakotay's face, at his obvious attempt to avoid the mission. To be honest, he didn't give a damn what they thought. The bottom line was that Chakotay hated him and there was no way in hell he was going to spend two weeks alone with him without a fight. "The Betlanni have assured us safe passage to their home world, Lieutenant," Captain Janeway replied. "It is an ideal opportunity for us to refuel and gather provisions. In the meantime, the Commander and yourself can continue the exploration of this nebula. Seven reports that the third planet is not only uninhabited, but is rich in useful ore deposits. I want you and Chakotay to map the region in the flyer and pinpoint the most suitable sites for excavation. "We will return to collect you in less than a fortnight. I am sure that Voyager can manage to survive your absence for that long," she added sardonically. As Tom ducked his eyes from Chakotay's stony glare, he decided that it wasn' t 'Voyager's' survival that was worrying him as much as his own. Sure, a casual onlooker might think that he and Chakotay had put aside their differences, but that was only because they were both careful to keep a mask of camaraderie on show for the rest of the crew. As soon as they were alone, which was fortunately not too often, Chakotay's face would stiffen back into its expression of distaste, and Tom would find his own features contorting into a defensive cocky grin. Dammit, he HAD tried. He had saved the bastard's life hadn't he? Then he had flushed out the traitor and thereby saved them all. So, okay, he had enjoyed decking the Commander as part of his charade, but that was only because he was pig-sick of the way Chakotay was being so publicly understanding of his 'problems' while taking every private opportunity to berate Tom for being the fuck-up and coward that he believed him. That had been five years ago. Five fucking years and still Chakotay loathed him. It didn't matter what he did, or how hard he tried, still the Commander blanked him. It hurt most that Chakotay never did it in public anymore. Hell, no. In front of the others, Chakotay would laugh at his jokes, would pat him on the shoulder for a job well done, would even condescend to play pool with him if the eagle-bright eyes of the Captain were watching. Yet, the moment they were alone, in the turbolift, or the corridor, or even when Sandrines had finally emptied to leave them without witnesses, the mask of disgust would settle back on Chakotay's face and he would stalk silently away, without even a goodbye, as though even the act of existing within the space that Tom breathed offended him. So, of late, Tom had avoided him. It had been months since he had allowed himself to be within the Commander's proximity, except during staff meetings and duty shifts. The idea of two weeks alone with the Commander in the close confines of the Delta Flyer and possibly the even closer confines of a sleeping tent, if they landed on the planet, was enough to make him want to howl. The worst of it was, that he was pretty damned sure that the Captain was doing it deliberately. She probably had some fucked-up idea of forcing them into some bizarre 'male-bonding' crap. Tom had too much respect for Janeway's acumen to believe that she had fallen for their pretence of comradeship. She was probably taking the opportunity of the Betlanni's invitation to try and make him and Chakotay settle their differences. The problem was, that some people just weren't destined to hit it off. Chakotay had hated him from the first moment he had set eyes on him, and no matter how hard Tom had tried to break through the other man's obvious disgust, all he had ever seemed to do was dig an ever deeper pit in which to flounder, as Chakotay tossed words of derision down onto his head like rocks. Two weeks alone, to put right five years of mutual antipathy? Shit, two fucking years wouldn't help. ~~~ "You're drifting off course again, Lieutenant," Chakotay snapped. "If you are too bored to pay attention, I am sure I could find some other task to occupy you." "Maybe you'd like to fly, Sir? I mean it would be a good opportunity for you to crash a different style of shuttle wouldn't it?" Tom drawled back, his face carefully blank in contrast to his mocking tone. It was the third day, they were finally approaching orbit of the tiny planetoid that Seven had directed them to, and their painful silences had given way to petty bickering, more at home in a nursery than a Star Fleet vessel in Chakotay's opinion. Of course, the Star Fleet Vessel in question was a shuttle so small that he couldn't escape the scent of Tom's body and it was driving him to distraction. Even within the confines of Voyager, Chakotay had been able to keep his distance from the infuriating pilot. This was the first time that he had been forced into a long-term, one-on-one situation with the man who had dominated every waking hour of his existence for five years, and not a small proportion of his dreams too. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Chakotay had identified Tom as his enemy the first time he had cast eyes on the younger man's cocky, irritating and undeniably beautiful face. In that first moment, he had weighed Tom up and had identified the danger that he posed. As sparkling and beautiful as a finely polished knife. A tease. A heartbreaker. His looks as cunning and deadly a camouflage, as the multi-hued scales of a viper were. Tom's charm was just guile. His smile was that of a ravenous devouring beast who would steal his heart then rip it asunder, trampling it into the dust before he stalked off after his next victim. And there had been enough of those of Voyager to prove him right. One by one, Tom had worked his way through the lonely hearts of Voyager, using his looks to seduce and beguile, only to quickly lose interest and move on to the next vulnerable soul. Except sometimes in the quiet of his own cabin, alone with his thoughts and regrets, Chakotay would wonder whether he was being fair in his interpretation of Tom's wandering affections. Perhaps Tom was simply as lonely as he was, yet instead of wrapping his loneliness in a mantle of chastity, he instead skipped like a bee from flower to flower, hungrily tasting in hope, only to find himself still dissatisfied and then moving on again. If he stopped pushing Tom away, if he stopped long enough to let him taste his nectar, could he tame the bee? Could he addict Tom to the taste of his own flesh and thereby bind him to him? It was possible. Hell, anything was possible. But he simply didn't have the nerve. What if he finally let down his defences, dropped the mask of indifference, and then Tom scorned him? Better to keep his pride than let Tom shatter his heart, he reminded himself firmly. "Unless you want to be on report for disrespect to a Senior Officer as WELL as dereliction of duty, Lieutenant, I suggest you keep your eye on the view screen and your mouth well and truly shut for the duration of this mission," he snapped. He averted his eyes from the look of pain that flashed over Tom' s face at his harsh reprimand. It's an act, he told himself. Tom isn't really hurt. It took a conscience and a heart to be capable of feeling pain and he was pretty damned sure that Tom didn't possess either. ~~~ After a day spent sweeping a low orbit over the planet, mapping the geological profile and establishing the site where the optimum excavations could be made with the minimum of effort, Chakotay instructed Tom to land. He was mildly concerned by the high level of electrical disruption in the planet's atmosphere, but the computer judged them within acceptable parameters and he couldn't wait to be free of the confines of the tiny craft and put as much distance as possible between himself and the pilot. Four days of Chakotay's snapping discouragement had finally proven Tom to be less irrepressible than he had imagined. Tom had descended into a major funk of sulking, now only responding to Chakotay's tense commands with a bitter "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir." Chakotay was finding the resultant near-silent hostility too much to deal with, although he was at least honest enough to acknowledge that it was largely his own fault. If it had been any other member of the crew, he would have made an effort to be civil, would have been concerned with the morale of his subordinate. As it was, he was too frightened of over-compensating to offer any apology for his admittedly unprofessional behaviour. If he started to apologise to Tom's rigid back, he might find his tongue running away with him. He might even confess the truth. That the reason he couldn't hold a civil conversation with the other man was because every time Tom opened his mouth, Chakotay had an insane desire to thrust his tongue between Tom's parted lips. He strapped himself in the passenger seat behind the pilot, relieved that Tom's back was turned from him so that he could simply enjoy watching the talented fingers flashing over the helm without having to control his expression of admiration. Tom was incapable of doing anything ungracefully, he decided. Even though he was still rigid with rage from Chakotay's earlier heckling, in the pilot's seat he was the consummate professional, his concentration evident as he guided the flyer through a small eddy of storm clouds. Like the rider of an untamed horse, Tom whispered to the flyer as he flew, his voice low and melodious as he soothed the craft through the jostling air-currents. "Okay, honey, that's it, that's right," he whispered as he banked the Flyer flawlessly through the buffeting of the atmosphere and glided down towards the ground. A flurry of rising air currents rocked the ship, but Tom quickly compensated, his fingers flashing over the controls until the Flyer steadied. "Come on my beauty," Tom whispered, oblivious to his passenger, as the shuttle battled the electrical currents. Chakotay closed his eyes, drowning in Tom's words, as a multitude of fantasies coalesced and he imagined that the endearments were whispered to him, that the undisputed tone of love was directed not at the non-sentient Flyer but at him instead. So he never saw the ball lightening that rose and smote the flyer. It was only the sound of the explosion that dragged his eyes open in terror, just in time to see the console erupt in Tom's face. Spiralling wildly out of control, the shuttle dropped the last fifty feet like a bomb, impacting on the ground with a screaming grind of twisted metal. The suddenness of the descent caused Chakotay to black out. He never even felt his legs snap as his chair was crushed to the floor. When he woke, he was lying on his side, still strapped into the chair. He could barely open his eyes for the sticky blood that had poured from his forehead, matting his hair to his skull before congealing in his eye sockets. His ribs ached as though they had been kicked by a horse, and he could feel the straps of his seat harness cutting into his midriff. It was an effort to even take a breath. The pain was almost insignificant next to the nauseous waves of agony that flowed from his legs. Somehow, his legs were folded beneath him, pinned by the broken chair and his own body weight. "Tom," he gasped, twisting his head frantically to look for the pilot. The console was just a twisted tangle of warped, smouldering metal and the pilot's chair had been ripped off its base and hurled through the viewscreen. Chakotay screamed in horror, his own pain forgotten as he visualised Tom's body thrown headlong through the shattered screen. Somewhere, outside the corpse of the Flyer, lay the shattered lifeless body of her pilot. "TOM!" Chakotay howled, letting all of his pain and misery escape in a roar of animalistic torment. It was only when he finally stopped sobbing, and began to realise that he was alone on this planet, ten days from any possible rescue and unable to even move from the chair, let alone find a med-kit, that he finally heard a whimper from the rear of the shuttle. "Tom? TOM?" He demanded, his fright transforming to relief and then to rage as the whimpering simply increased in volume. "Lieutenant, I need HELP, here!" he yelled. He twisted his head around, still unable to see into the recesses of the shattered craft where the whimpering sound was coming from. He's hurt, he reminded himself quietly, trying to calm his urge to scream at the pilot again. The console exploded in his face, he has to be badly hurt. That's why he's not responding. Maybe his legs are as mangled as my own. That's why he isn't coming to help me. "Tom," he pleaded softly. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?" He had no idea what he could do if Tom replied yes, but in the darkness of the twisted cabin, Tom's incessant whimpers were beginning to terrify him. "Tom?" he repeated, forcing his voice to remain calm. "Can you hear me? Talk to me, Tom." The whimpering sobs quietened a little at his soothing tone. Calling on his spirit guide for strength, Chakotay managed to keep his voice light, despite his growing unease and the gnawing pain that knifed through his lower body. "Tom? Come here, Tom. Please," his voice breaking a little on the last word. He held his breath as he heard a slithering movement from the back of the cabin. He could hear Tom moving, thank god, and that meant that Tom could release him, could fetch him the med-kit. "Come on Tom," he crooned, "come here. Help me." From the corner of his eyes he saw a skittering movement as Tom appeared in the doorway only to freeze there, his face pale and eyes huge as he looked down at the Commander. Chakotay was torn between relief that Tom was alive and an urge to punch him in the face for scaring him so badly. Shit, he'd thought a lot of bad things about Tom in the past, had called him a lot of cruel names, but he had never thought of him as the kind of coward who would fall apart like this in an emergency. Damn, he wondered. Was this why Tom had lied about Caldik Prime? Had Tom fallen apart then too? Had he just curled up in a ball of misery that time and let his passengers bleed to death, like he himself was bleeding to death? He struggled to keep the bitter disgust out of his voice as he called to Tom again. "I'll kill you, you bastard," he muttered under his breath. "When we get out of this, when we get back to Voyager, I'm gonna kick your sorry little ass all the way back to the Alpha Quadrant." Yet all he said out loud was, "I need help, Tom. Please help me. Fetch me the med-kit and let me out of the chair. Come on, Tom. Help me." He watched in disbelief as Tom slowly stepped out of the doorway and hesitantly approached him. He was fine. Spirits, there wasn't even a mark on him. Except for the tear-streaked powder burns on his face, he bore no visible injury at all. Fury filled Chakotay. He was lying on the floor, his legs crushed and mangled, the pain in his ribs suggesting possible internal injuries, and Tom Paris had simply walked off and left him to die. "Bastard," he snarled. Tom's face crumbled at Chakotay's bitter tone. He began to wring his hands in misery, tears filling his blue eyes as he stared helplessly down at the Commander. "Help me!" Chakotay roared, then gasped as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He struggled for a moment, unsuccessfully fighting to control the agony, and then slumped back into unconsciousness. ~~~ When Chakotay finally woke, he realised that the straps were still biting into his ribs, his legs were still pinned under the crushed seat, although they had gone worryingly numb, and a hand was gently caressing his hair. His eyes shot open in disbelief. Instead of making any effort to help him, Tom was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him and was running his fingers through his hair. "Lieutenant," Chakotay gasped, the word seeming to rip its way out of his dry throat. "What the hell's WRONG with you?" Slowly, Tom raised his head until their eyes met. Chakotay went cold with the sudden realisation that Tom's eyes were completely blank and unseeing. "It's shock," he told himself, "he's in shock, that's all." But then, Tom twisted his head slightly, and Chakotay finally saw the injury that was so small that he had completely failed to notice it before. On Tom' s left temple there was a deep purple bruise, no larger than a fingerprint. "Tom?" Chakotay asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "Can you understand me? Do you know where you are? Do you know WHO you are?" Tom just continued to stare at him blankly, then reached out his hand and began to swirl his fingers over Chakotay's tattoo, suddenly too fascinated by the pattern to even pretend to listen to the strange sounds of Chakotay's voice. Watching Tom with growing fear, Chakotay felt true fear begin to clench at his guts. He understood enough about impact wounds to realise that the smaller the surface area of the point of contact, the deeper the damage travelled. The bruise on Tom's temple looked innocuous, but in all likelihood hid a brain injury so intense that Tom was barely able to function at all, let alone process a coherent thought. His brain was undoubtedly bruised, perhaps even bleeding and swelling within his skull with life-threatening rapidity. No wonder he had just curled up and cried. He was probably incapable of understanding his own injury, let alone realising Chakotay's need for assistance. Oh, Spirits, Chakotay prayed. I'm sorry I shouted at him. I'm sorry I thought the worst of him. Please let him be alright. Even if I don't get out of this, let Tom be alright. But he wouldn't be, Chakotay realised. If the injury to Tom's brain was as bad as he suspected, then even if the pressure of the haematoma didn't kill him, Tom would be incapable of looking after himself until rescue arrived. Which meant that Chakotay couldn't let himself just lie here and die either. Somehow, Chakotay had to get them both through this. Somehow, he had to make Tom fetch him the med-kit and then he had to somehow keep them both alive until help arrived. "Tom," he pleaded gently. "Listen to me, please." Tom at least responded to his voice, turning his face towards him and smiling sunnily at Chakotay's pleasant tone. "Tom, go fetch the med-kit," Chakotay gasped, painfully raising his hand to point at the supply panel. Tom simply regarded his hand with obvious interest. Chakotay waved his hand, pointing desperately, but his gestures only increased Tom's fascination with his fingers. He reached out his own hand and tentatively touched Chakotay's outstretched finger with his own, then beamed happily. Chakotay dropped his hand with a groan of frustration. He simply couldn't think of a way to communicate his needs to Tom. Maybe if he managed to free himself from the straps, and tried to drag himself out of the chair, Tom would understand enough to help him move, he decided. Tom watched with apparent fascination as Chakotay began the slow, torturous process of digging his fingers into his swollen stomach and teasing at the buckle of the harness. Releasing the strap caused the blood to rush to Chakotay's battered rib cage and he screamed involuntarily as pain knifed through his guts. Terrified by Chakotay's scream, Tom scrambled away and hid in the rear of the shuttle again. It took Chakotay nearly an hour to coax him back to his side. Inspired by Tom's instinctive urge to flee from the scream, Chakotay had finally formulated a plan. He would grab hold of Tom's arms and then deliberately let loose a blood-curdling yell. When Tom tried to run, he would cling on to him and hopefully be hauled out from under the chair before he fainted from the pain. Then, when he recovered enough, he would drag himself to the med-kit himself. It was a desperate plan but, under the circumstances, Chakotay simply couldn 't think of anything else to do. TBC