textfiles/sex/EROTICA/U/uniform.txt

UNIFORM
by tigger@cais.com

	As she watched the Kazon move off through the wreckage of what had been
the Caretaker's array, Kathryn Janeway finally allowed herself to sink
back into the captain's chair.  Damaged badly when the ship was hurled
across the galaxy, it shifted alarmingly at her weight--but, at that
moment, she knew anything would seem less precarious than her own feet.  
	Behind her she could hear someone crying, while someone else snarled
menacingly; the latter, she guessed, must be Chakotay's engineer, who had
tried bodily to prevent Janeway from giving the order to fire on the
array.  Frustration radiated from other crewmembers, and she suspected
that more would give in to tears once they had left their duty stations. 
She wondered whether she would be one of those.  
	She'd known she and Mark were finished the moment she gave the order to
destroy the array.  Even if they found their way back to Federation space,
if he was waiting, if he forgave her, the trust they shared would be
gone.  She had never before had to choose between love and duty; now she
knew that duty would win.  The fact that she felt sure of the rightness of
her decision was small comfort.  "Seventy thousand light years from
home":  she had first heard the words surrounded by the dead bodies of her
bridge crew, the weight of it threatening to crush her.  Her own crew
would blame her for being stranded there.  Chakotay's crew would blame her
not only for that, but for their having to be on her ship, following
Starfleet's rules.  
	She turned to look at him; he no longer restrained Torres physically, but
he stood very close to the engineer, as if to let her know that he could
pin her down if necessary.  To stay in command, perhaps even to stay
alive, Kathryn Janeway was going to need Chakotay.  She gripped the chair
and pushed herself upright.  "Commander, may I see you in my ready room?" 
He followed her silently, tossing his soot-covered jacket to Tom Paris as
he passed.

	Janeway sat on one of the couches, not wanting to presume the position of
authority behind the desk.  Nonetheless, when she said, "Thank you for
backing me up on the Bridge," Chakotay immediately echoed his words to
Torres at the critical moment:    
	"You're the captain."
	That sentence gave her more pleasure than a simple statement of fact
should have.  She tried not to show it.  "I'm not sure all your
crewmembers agree just yet."
	He gazed levelly at her, commander to commander.  With a jolt she
remembered the same expression on his face when she had thought she was
leaving him to die in the Ocampa cavern; he had waved her away, giving her
an unspoken order to take care of their people, which she had obeyed. 
"They may not be happy with our position right now, but they'll
understand.  You refused to permit the destruction of an entire race's
world in spite of Starfleet interests.  That's something a Maquis would
do.  We've all been prepared not to make it home again since we joined."
	Janeway stared back at him, appalled.  "You backed me up because you
thought I was bucking the Prime Directive?"  Tuvok's earlier concerns
echoed in her mind; she dimissed them, framing her argument as to how the
Federation's highest order applied here, on the other side of the galaxy. 
Then she realized that he had said nothing of the sort; she had just
revealed her own fears to him.
	If he noticed, Chakotay nonetheless did not press the argument.  "I
backed you because this is your ship," he said firmly.  "Because, as you
said, whatever conflicts we might have had in the Demilitarized Zone have
been superseded by our current situation.  And because we've been talking
on the Bridge instead of in the brig."
	"It didn't seem to make much sense to spoil you in quarters for several
decades, when we need help cleaning up this mess," she admitted wryly,
relieved to see him smirk in response.  She leaned forward to put a hand
over his.  "That's what we need to talk about.  How we're going to make
our ship work."
	A pleasant emotion propelled him to turn his hand over and clasp hers. 
He'd had the feeling before, when she'd sent Paris down to rescue him. 
Maybe even earlier, as he stood on her Bridge watching her wave away his
phaser, her body telling him that if necessary she would fight him
barehanded but she would not be intimidated.  Perhaps he had felt it that
very first moment on the viewscreen, when she'd called him "Commander" and
told him she wanted to solve their problem together.  It had been a long
time since he felt it, but he thought the sentiment might be allegiance.
	Then she shattered it with one sentence:  "I think we should remain a
Starfleet crew."

	Rather than fight her then and there, Chakotay begged for time off to
take a bath. 
	He did not realize just how filthy he was until he entered what were to
be his quarters.  He dropped his clothes across the floor as he walked
through, thinking that the scorched outfit was probably not worth saving. 
Then he turned back and surveyed the mess he'd made of the room.
	It was enormous--not only the mess, but the room.  It appeared that some
furniture had been removed--the table had only one chair, and a scar
crossed one wall where a shelf had been--but a holo of a Federation ship
hung over the desk, and a new viewscreen had been hastily attached to it. 
With a start he realized that Janeway had put him in the first officer's
quarters.  A bribe?  Or an admission of need?
	He tugged open one of the panels.  Someone had removed all visible
effects from the room, but had forgotten the civilian clothes tucked away
in the drawers.  He held up one of the shirts; it was going to be too
small, he doubted it would button over his chest.  Well, it would be
better than a Starfleet uniform.  

	"Tuvok," Janeway began without preamble.  "I'm going to invite the Maquis
to become part of this crew.  It's the only way to fill our own positions
and to ensure their assistance."
	He raised an impassive eyebrow.  "That may not be wise.  Many of the
Maquis have criminal records from many years before the conflict in the
Demilitarized Zone.   And many are Starfleet dropouts, familiar with our
systems and weaponry.  Allowing them the freedom of the ship may expose
the crew to unnecessary danger."
	"That's why I'm telling you this now," she grimaced sympathetically. 
"It's going to be your job to watch out for conflicts.  There's no other
way, Tuvok, we cannot keep that many people locked up when we barely have
enough personnel to operate the ship.  I think that if we treat them as
though we trust them, we'll earn their loyalty."
	"If you are incorrect, we might find ourselves prisoners on a ship run by
Maquis officers who would not be so generous."
	"I don't think so."  Although she had not met most of Chakotay's crew,
she sensed that they would obey his terms; his personal charisma
guaranteed that.  "I believe that Chakotay will agree to become my first
officer.  And if he follows us, I have confidence that his crew will
also."
	Tuvok's face registered something very close to displeasure.  Had he been
human she would have attributed it to ego--he was, after all, the logical
choice to become her first officer--but she knew the Vulcan concerned
himself with the orderly functioning of the vessel, the following of a
protocol which she was disregarding.  Of any position, she thought,
security was most dependent on the institution of Starfleet:  the presence
of the larger military organization gave weight to the office.  Out here,
without legal representatives or backup protection, Tuvok's job was going
to be much more complicated.
	"You know Chakotay's crew better than anyone but himself," Janeway added
to Tuvok.  "You probably have some sense of which officers can be trusted
to follow orders and which are perhaps not officer material at all.  I
need to know who's who."
	"And the Commander?  Are you sure you can trust him?"  She regarded Tuvok
warily; he had worked closely with Chakotay.  "It is fair to say that he
was a fine Starfleet officer, and used his Starfleet training in
discipline and morale to run his own ship."  Good:  that meant that the
Maquis officers would be prepared to obey protocol.  "But, Captain, I have
observed that Commander Chakotay has contempt for Starfleet.  He may agree
to become part of this crew, but I do not believe he will truly follow
Federation governance.  He does not always respect the chain of command,
and I am not certain whether he still accepts the importance of the Prime
Directive."
	"Well, that'll have to be my project," she noted.  "I'll take care of
Chakotay.  I need you to look after the crew."  He nodded shortly.  She
wanted to say something in appreciation, but settled for, "Thank you for
your input, Tuvok.  Dismissed."
	She dropped her head into her hands, sighing.

	Chakotay stepped in just as Tuvok was leaving; Janeway looked up to catch
the appraising look that passed between the two men.  Her gut tightened at
the impression that they did not like each other.  Quickly she dismissed
the feeling; Vulcans did not bear personal grudges, and Chakotay was still
angry at the discovery that his associate had been a Federation spy. 
Nonetheless she could already see how awesome the task of integrating the
crews was going to be.  
	And she suspected that in a one-on-one fight, Chakotay could wipe the
floor with Tuvok, Vulcan strength notwithstanding.
	Chakotay was wearing a shirt buttoned only halfway up his chest with the
pants he'd had on all day, somewhat cleaner but still charred.  Janeway
looked him over in surprise, marking the hard muscles of his upper body,
but dropped her gaze when he cocked his head at her study.  "The
replicators aren't working," he explained, his own discomfort marring a
twinge of humor.  "Nice quarters you gave me, but the clothes don't fit. 
And I guess I'm not going to get any of that coffee I'd been looking
forward to as one of the perks of being on this ship."
	"Don't make me think about coffee," she replied darkly.  "Commander...why
didn't you just put on a uniform?"
	He crossed his arms over his bare upper chest.  "I don't think you're
going to have an easy time convincing my crew to wear that uniform," he
nodded at her.  
	"I don't think they're going to have a choice, unless you beamed over
your personal effects when your ship was destroyed," she retorted.  "But
that's not really the issue, is it?  The problem is that you don't want to
wear it."  She glared at him.  "I want you to become the first officer of
this ship.  But I don't see how I can, if you won't accept the most basic
regulations."
	"Starfleet regulations," he almost spat back.  "I hear you launched from
DS9.  Surely you noticed that more than half the officers on that station
are Bajoran, not Starfleet..."
	"Deep Space 9 is the property of Bajor," she cut him off, fighting not to
raise her voice.  "This ship is the property of the Federation.  If you're
going to be a part of it, you and your crew are going to obey Starfleet
protocol.  The matter is not open for discussion."
	"What are you going to do if they refuse?"  He leaned over the desk
towards her and she started to rise, jaw clenched.  "I'm not trying to
threaten you," he continued.  "It isn't up to me.  A lot of my crew joined
the Maquis out of idealism, or a misguided heroic impulse, or they have
some personal reason to mistrust Starfleet.  This is a pretty fundamental
problem."
	"You're right, Commander," she grated.  "Do you hate the Federation so
much that you're willing to live under terror?  I thought the Maquis
claimed to fight for their homes, not for anarchy and chaos."  He started
to protest and she continued, "You want a double standard for the crew? 
Everyone will know on sight who is Maquis and who is Starfleet, and they
won't forget with time as they might if we integrated the ship.  There
will be prejudice, and fights, and loss of discipline, and soon neither
one of us will be able to stay in control."    She could see that she had
scored points, and plunged ahead.  "Right now I think the Maquis will obey
your decisions.  We must have a uniform crew..."
	"You mean a uniformed crew," he added sarcastically.
	"Don't interrupt me," she started to say in her most authoritative voice,
but in spite of herself she could not suppress the snicker that crept into
her speech.  He tried to his face absolutely impassive, then gave up and
grinned mischievously.  They were still smiling at each other when the
ship jolted.

	Janeway slammed a hand on her comm badge as she strode toward the door. 
"Report!" she snapped.
	An unfamiliar voice answered, "Um, we're having a problem in auxiliary
control with the computer.  The system is..."
	"Who is this?" she interrupted.
	"She's one of mine," Chakotay answered as the ship shuddered.  "I think
maybe we should get down there."
	The computer damage in auxiliary turned out to be insignificant beside
the personnel problem.  Two Maquis officers had reinitialized the
secondary backup system, but the young lieutenant whose station it was did
not look pleased.  "Captain, they seem familiar with the specs on the
computer," he said softly to Janeway while Chakotay praised the Maquis. 
"I think this section of the ship should be off-limits..."  She glared
coldly and informed him that since they obviously needed the Maquis
officers to repair their systems, he should be grateful rather than
suspicious.  But she knew it would not be so simple, and the pressure of
that responsibility was beginning to exhaust her.
	Then a crewmember attacked her as she walked out of engineering.
	Her initial reaction was that Tuvok had been right, that it must be a
Maquis mutineer.  But when she called for security backup, members of both
crews appeared and quickly restrained the officer, whom she'd managed to
throw off.  He was wearing a Starfleet uniform.  He was a new ensign,
sobbing something about a girlfriend at the Academy and his sister who was
ill.  Two crewmembers hustled him off to Sickbay before she got a chance
to speak.
	She wasn't injured, and was relieved that she'd been in control of the
situation when help arrived, not wanting to show any weakness.   Still,
several crewmembers made sympathetic comments after the attack.   Their
concern seemed exaggerated, but then for each crewmember who blamed her
for their situation, there was probably another who feared the loss of the
Captain would end any chance they had of survival.  She felt almost
maternal towards them; part of her wanted to protect them from the
responsibility, the awesome guilt of the Prime Directive.  They were,
after all, very young and very far from home.    Her head pounded.  She
headed quickly towards the upper decks, thinking that Tuvok was right: 
she needed to remember to rest before she collapsed.

	Chakotay was waiting for her outside her quarters.  Despite her
exhaustion, her mood lifted at the sight of him.  Their gazes knotted for
a moment.  "I hear there was trouble," he said.
	"Not much, just a scared kid," she retorted, wondering who had notified
him so quickly.  She gestured wearily for him to follow her.   His look
was not sympathetic so much as admiring, and she realized that he was the
one person on board she did not feel any need to protect.  "Commander,"
she sighed, "tell me what you think.  Did I do wrong by these people,
stranding them here..."
	He moved toward her, eyes wide with alarm.  "You know better than to ask
that," he said forcefully, almost angrily.  "You did what you had to."
	She lifted her hands in frustration.  "If there's even the slightest
possibility that it was wrong..."  Having observed that she herself often
made physical contact with people when she sought their full attention, he
caught her by the arm.   The gesture earned him a bitter glare.  "Either
hear me out or get out."
	"Janeway," he snapped, but when she tried to jerk away, he tried more
kindly:  "Kathryn."  Although he had heard her call crewmembers by their
first names, none dared to address her so; she froze as though the
hierarchy had been collapsed.  "You listen to me for a minute.  We all
knew what had to be done once we realized the stakes.  You did the right
thing."  He tugged at her gently.  "Come on, sit down for a minute."  
	She seemed to take his words as permission.  Her knees simply went out
from under her and she collapsed onto the floor, pulling his arm down with
her.  He caught himself before they both toppled over, folding his legs to
drop beside her.
	She tried to focus her tired eyes, rubbing at them as a child might.  The
gesture struck him as oddly intimate.  "I'm sorry," she lamented.  "I know
the rules, but we're so far from home.  I shouldn't have put this on you."
	"That's what a first officer is for," he reminded her mildly, surprised
that she would admit to him concerns which could be interpreted as a sign
of fragility.  Unless it was all an elaborate attempt to gain his
sympathy.
	But her distress seemed real as she shook her head:  "No, it was my
responsib..."  The word stuck in her throat and she swallowed.  She
glanced down to where his arm still held hers, wondering how they had
become so entangled.  Aware that he could not indefinitely quash the
physical response he was having to her closeness, he watched as she
studied him.  She made no effort to free herself.
	"Permission to speak freely?" he asked with barely a trace of irony.
	"Of course," she answered as glibly as she could.
	"Your head will feel a lot better if you get that knot off of it."  He
lifted a hand to her hair and pulled it free of the bun, stroking the
length of it.  To her surprise, the tension in her temples lessened as he
released the band holding the locks tightly back. For what seemed like
several minutes, they remained frozen, her arm resting against his body,
his hand curled on her shoulder inches from her cheek.  She expected him
to pull guiltily back, he waited for her to recoil, but neither moved.  
	Her hair, slightly damp where it had pressed againt her scalp, smelled
faintly sweet.  He fought a strong urge to press it to his nostrils, to
let the fingers holding it stroke down her neck to her breasts.  Observing
his intense stare, she knew she should extricate herself.  Instead, as she
disengaged her arm from his, an impulse she did not even know she had
lifted it to touch the tattoo on his forehead.  She wanted to ask what it
meant and whether the pain of being marked represented part of its
significance.  His eyes rounded, but his body held utterly still; the
realization dawned on her that he was not going to budge again until she
acted.  
	As he had said several times that day, she was the captain.  The
exhaustion and unhappiness which had threatened to topple her earlier 
dissolved into a strange exhilaration:  for the first time in her career,
she felt drunk with power.  Her body snapped to a decision before her
intellect had time to react.
	"Let's worry about Starfleet protocol later," she murmured, reaching
around his neck to pull his head down.  The strength in his arms startled
her as he lifted her into his lap.  Yet his kiss was luscious--more tender
than she expected, lingering gently.  She nudged his mouth open with her
lips, entwining her tongue with his.  He moaned quietly, and she found
herself trembling with arousal at the vibrations which coursed through
her.  Fighting the urge to throw his weight against her and tumble them
both to the floor, he settled for wrapping one leg over hers to press her
closer.   When they finally drew apart, he was panting; his chest rose and
fell against the ludicrously tight shirt, and she tugged at the
fasteners.  He had the top of her uniform open before she'd gotten to the
last one.
	She realized that she could not get up onto her nearly-numb legs without
his help.  He felt her stumble.  Trying unsuccessfully to keep her pressed
against his hip in order to prevent his erection from ramming into her, he
put an arm around her waist as they staggered together to their feet.  She
looked up at him gleefully, then quickly dropped her gaze to the opening
on his pants which she yanked impatiently.  He spread his legs slightly
and straightened his back, relishing her scrutiny.  His almost elegant
penis looked slightly different than any she had seen on a human, and she
realized with a start that his people must still practice circumcision as
part of their religious ritual.  She wrapped her hands around it, circling
the shaft, while he cupped her breasts, then slid his hands around her
back so as not to obscure his view of them.  
	Before she realized what his fingers were doing, he had her entire
uniform undone; a quick tug dropped it to the floor.  "I'm glad you didn't
forget everything from your years in Starfleet," she hissed in wicked
amusement. 
	"I remember how miserable the bunks are.  Do you prefer the floor, the
couches, or your desk?"
	"Usually I prefer the holodeck," she admitted, his chest hair tickling
her as a chuckle shook his torso.  "But we'd better settle for the bed.  I
don't think we want to start gossip this early in our collaboration."
	He kicked his boots and pants from around his ankles as they tripped
together across the room.  She sat when the backs of her knees hit the
bunk, pulling his firm buttocks towards her but stopping him when he would
have swung himself beside her.  She stroked his thighs, nipping at his
cock which pulsed before her, then licking and sucking the tip.  When her
fingers made contact with the back of his scrotum, he knew he wasn't going
to last very long that way.  He put his hands on her shoulders and gently
rolled her back on the bed, lowering himself on top of her and then
sliding down to lick her nipples.  
	Arching her back, she wrapped her legs around his body and cooed softly
with pleasure.  His tongue worked its way slowly down her belly while his
hands slid up from her knees.  When they met, gently stroking the warm
wetness at the center, she let out a long shuddering moan.  "Computer, dim
lights," she sighed, closing her eyes as she settled back.  His mouth
lightly kneaded her sex while his thumbs traced the outer edge of her
vulva, palms resting on her inner thighs and fingers lightly massaging her
skin.  Moving slowly against him, at first merely clenching and releasing
the muscles in her pelvis, then swinging her hips slightly, she rapidly
found herself thrusting forward with her leg muscles as her toes dug into
the bed.  He slid his thumbs slowly in and out of her, spreading her open
gently, pushing his tongue into the space and pressing up against the
swollen sphere at the entrance.  Occasionally he hummed indulgently in
answer to her soft ahhhs of satisfaction.  The vibrations sent jolts of
energy through her. Her legs straightened and she jerked convulsively as
she came, crying out in pleasure and gratitude.
	He  waited for her to stop twitching before he lifted his head to slide
up her body, his mouth leaving a wet trail across her belly and chest. 
She grasped his rigid organ as he came into range, squeezing the lower
part of the shaft with one hand and rubbing the glans in a circular motion
with the other.  He inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, which led her to
guess that it had been months since he had made love.  In fact, he could
not remember the last time--he had not touched a woman like this since
before the trouble in the Demilitarized Zone had begun.  Very slowly he
lowered himself onto her body and she shifted to take him in.  
	He let out a sound like a sob as he entered her,  burying his face in her
hair.  Then he surprised her by locking his arms around her back and
rolling over, flipping her on top of him.  "Don't move," he groaned.  She
tightened around him and kissed his neck, pressing down against him just
enough to send sensuous ripples through her own loins.  He brushed his
fingertips lightly over her back, breathing slowly and evenly, and began
to rock gently, letting gravity pull him back down when she arched away. 
Sliding her hands between them she rubbed his abs with her fingers,
squeezing his nipples as he sat up slightly to grip her bottom.  Together
they rolled over again, his rhythm becoming more intense, one of his hands
finding its way between them to press between her legs just above the
point at which they were joined.  She shrieked in delight while another
orgasm shook her.  Releasing his breath in a long shuddering "Ohhhh," he
held himself up to look at her face before collapsing to plunge deep
inside her as his semen spurted out.  
	They clung to each other for several minutes afterwards, faces pressed
into one another's skin, making low inarticulate sounds.  Then, exhausted,
he rolled to one side, and they fell asleep clamped stickily together.   

	The shrill of a communicator shrieked--Janeway could not say after how
long--causing them to jolt guiltily awake.  It was Neelix, in search of
parts for a navigational chart he was constructing.  Janeway snapped at
him to contact stellar cartography, then broke the link before she
remembered that the chief astrophysicist had died during their cataclysmic
trip to Neelix's quadrant.  
	Chakotay listened to her as he waited for his heart to slow; being jolted
from sleep usually meant one more crisis, and adrenaline already surged
through him.  He wondered idly which gods he had so pleased that his life
had been spared three times in barely as many hours, only to be granted
this ship, this night.  For a man lost on the far side of his universe, he
felt strangely blessed.    She wondered at his beatific smile as she
relaxed against him.   "I know I made the right decision about letting
them on the ship, but I should never have given him a communicator," she
groaned.
	"That's just the beginning of our problems." 
	She rubbed sleep from her eyes.  "What, that we're the ones who are going
to get called whenever anyone needs anything? "
	"And that our shifts won't coincide except in difficult situations."  He
breathed exaggerated regret.  
	"Mmmm, I guess we'll only see each other during emergencies."
	"Does that mean this is only going to happen again if there's a crisis?"
	Her smile wavered.  "You know it's more complicated than that.  This
was...well, it was wonderful."  She glowed for a moment and he nodded
agreement, his expression melting momentarily into the bliss she'd
witnessed before.  "But I think we had better leave it at that for now. 
We can't afford to let it affect our work, and we certainly can't start
second-guessing ourselves or each other.  Plus, there's always the
possibility that one of us won't make it back from a mission, and the
other one will still have to command the ship."  
	"Don't you think I'll think about that every time you insist on joining
an away team?"  His fingers closed convulsively around her hand.  "Tell me
the truth about one thing," he entreated.  "Are you hiding behind command
responsibility because of him?"  He jerked his head in the direction of
the picture of Mark which still stood on her desk.
	"No," she responded firmly, "but I'm not willing to risk any of the crew
more than I would myself.    They deserve families and homes and lives
after Starfleet, and I may not be able to get them back."  
	She rolled onto her back and he lay his head on her shoulder.  "I may
have ruined their dreams for all of them. With everything we may have to
face, that's still probably my greatest fear," she whispered.  After a
long pause during which his head drooped further against her neck, she
turned so that their noses brushed.  "What's yours?"
	He had been almost asleep, lids fluttering, breath caught in his
nostrils; he was feeling profoundly at peace.  But at her question, his
eyes flickered open.  "Right now? " he mumbled.  "The opposite.  That
we'll find a way back."
	"It's not something to joke about."  Sounding hurt, she lifted herself up
on an elbow, knocking his head off her shoulder.  
	He grunted sadly.  "I wasn't."  He pulled himself up so that their faces
were almost touching again, thinking that this was not the right time. 
"We find a way back, and I lose this ship, this job.  All these people. 
Even that fucking uniform of yours."  
	He could tell from her breathing that she was shaken.  "It would be
different, yes.  Your Starfleet record was exemplary until you resigned. 
You would have to make a choice..."
	"A choice?"  The anger resonated as his chest vibrated against hers. 
"The Federation made a choice for me when they chose to cut off my home. 
I won't go back to Starfleet!"
	"You're serving in Starfleet now!"
	"In this quadrant, you are Starfleet.  I'm serving you.  But don't think
that changes how I feel about your Federation."   In spite or maybe
because of everything else, he could not keep a note of resentment from
his voice. 
	"I thought maybe you'd gotten a different perspective on things."
	"That's exactly why I don't want to go back."  He waved his hand above
his head, sweeping the room. "Here, we're in a little magic bubble that
contains only the best aspects of Starfleet.  We can explore, we can
cooperate, we don't have anyone to answer to at headquarters.  There's no
bureaucracy to betray its own citizens.   But as soon as we find our way
back, that changes."  He paused to catch his breath.  "When we get home,
as you call it, I lose everything.  Even you. "
	She was silent for so long that he knew he'd gone too far.  She was
thinking of Mark, but not nostalgically:  rather she was considering how
she'd betrayed him in the name of Starfleet.  And wondering whether she
would do the same to this man. 
	"You don't mean you'd go back into the Maquis, not after..."
	"I mean I won't go back to the system that bartered away my life!"  His
voice rose more than he had intended, making her jump.  "Do you think I'm
like Paris or those kids who joined the Maquis looking to be heroes?  I
was fighting for my home, a part of me.  And if Starfleet is so much a
part of you that you can't accept that..." he lay back, not looking at
her, "...then none of this means anything."  He put a hand over his eyes,
but she could see the pain that twisted his expression.
	She looked into the face of this man who had joined forces with her to
save his people,  who could possibly have led a mutiny on her ship had he
so chosen.  Instead he had pledged her his devotion.   She knew what she
owed in return.   "Chakotay, I promise you this.  I will never betray you
the way you feel Starfleet has. "
	"And when we get back?"
	She looked at the deck of her ship--their ship.  "Would you go back to
the Maquis?"
	"I guess that depends on whether you send me to jail," he snapped
gruffly, looking at her.  "If nothing had changed, and you went back to
the Federation?  Probably I would.  Where else would I have to go?"
	 "Well, you don't have to decide that now.  A lot might have changed. 
Maybe the fact that we came looking for you made a difference," she said
wistfully.  "But that doesn't change the issue.  So I'll make you a
pledge.  If you'll stop thinking of yourself as Maquis, here and now, then
I promise that when we get back I will do everything in my power to
reverse the situation in the Demilitarized Zone."
	"And if the Federation is unwilling to change its policy?" he prompted.
	"If the Federation won't reconsider..." she paused, wanting him to feel
the weight of her vow, yet wishing she did not feel it so strongly
herself, "...then I'll resign from Starfleet."
	"You'd resign from Starfleet for my people?"  His voice held both doubt
and hope.
	Not for your people.  For you, she thought.  But aloud she said only, "Yes."
	He looked at her as though he were going to say something, then thought
the better of it and simply hugged her hard.  He stopped before she had a
chance to respond or to pull away herself, knowing he'd gotten more than
he'd dreamed from her and not wanting to ruin any of it.  "We'd probably
better get out there and read our people the riot act," he sighed.  "Where
do I get one of those damn uniforms you're so determined to see me in?"

END