LEGACY

Title: Legacy, 2/4
Author: Jaye (Copyright March 2002)
Codes: VOY C/Weyoun NC-17

Note: Written for the Chakotay Fest

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Voyager, Deep Space Nine and all
related characters and concepts are the property of
Paramount. No infringement is intended or profit made. This
is NC-17 for m/m sex. If you aren't interested (or aren't
old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a line first so I know where it's going.
Please keep the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure, but this is only my second attempt at fanfic
so be kind, or at least constructive. If I've mangled DS9
canon, my apologies. I'm using episode guides for my info.

***************

PART TWO

The Ferengi who had commissioned the DreamCatcher was many
things: self-styled entrepreneur, connoisseur of unusual
decorative arts, incredibly unlucky at cards---and a
paranoid hypochondriac. His fears had caused the starship to
be equipped with some unusual features, including a
state-of-the-art Sickbay.

Chakotay thanked the spirits for the Ferengi's forethought
as he anxiously paced before a large comm screen set in the
wall. At the other end of the open channel Voyager's former
EMH pored over the transmitted diagnostic readings.

"A clone? Are you sure, Doc?" Chakotay sent a dubious glance
the hologram's way.

Distance did not diminish the EMH's aura of smug
self-satisfaction one bit. "I am positive that
your...guest...is a Vorta clone, native to the Gamma
Quadrant. He's named Weyoun, or I should say, his other
incarnations were." He settled back. "More to the point, the
patient's vital signs are within acceptable levels. He is
experiencing a normal recovery from sustained stasis."

Chakotay moved to hover near the alien's---Weyoun's---still
form. "Is there anything I can do?" His hands sketched a
vague gesture over the biobed. "Either to wake him up, or
make him more comfortable, or something?"

The EMH's eyes rolled. "I don't have that kind of
information. It's not as though anyone has written a manual
on this species..." The Doc's put-upon tone continued as he
muttered under his breath, "What do you expect---'The Care
and Feeding of Your Brand New Vorta'? 'Clone Contentment'?"

Chakotay briefly flirted with the idea of replacing every
reference to "holographic doctor" with "self-aggrandizing
pain in the ass" in his next book. He dismissed the fantasy
with a shake of his head. "Is there *anything* you can tell
me?"

The photonic man settled into lecture mode. "Well, from my
scans, the Vorta are very similar to humans in almost all of
their biological systems. There should not be any particular
physical or dietary requirements."

The Doctor glanced at the screens one last time and began
typing. "I'm updating your computer with all of the
information we have." He looked up at Chakotay. "This will
be no different than any other convalescence. Give him a
hydration and vitamin shot. Start out with liquids, soft
foods, then progress to a regular diet. Provide assistance
for bodily functions as needed, and wait at least a week
before any of your typical life-threatening adventures."

Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Not that any of the crew ever
bothered to follow *that* recommendation, right?" He swiftly
loaded a hypospray and pressed it into the Vorta's neck.

He heard a muffled snort from the comm in reply. The
Doctor's voice became suspiciously casual. "By the way, just
how did you come by a stasis-held Vorta?"

"Um, I can't really go into that right now." Chakotay rubbed
the back of his neck nervously. "And I'd appreciate it if
this stayed out of your official logs."

The EMH heaved a frustrated sigh, then shrugged, "How can
there be a record of a consultation when I never actually
*saw* a patient?"

The two exchanged farewells, then the screen went dark as
Chakotay turned to contemplate his "guest".

The temporary nurse sighed and briskly gathered supplies for
a sponge bath. As he removed the coverlet and began to clean
the snowy skin, Chakotay tried to maintain an appropriate
air of clinical detachment. He washed the face and graceful
neck, then laved the sleek muscled limbs, taking extra care
with the delicate hands. He started on the smooth torso with
long strokes, absently noting the slightly mauve tint to the
nipples and completely hairless cock and balls.

Chakotay rolled the unconscious body and quickly sponged the
graceful back and legs, hurrying over the firm buttocks. A
gentle rubbing with a soft towel brought no response from
the patient, so Chakotay checked the monitors once more. Now
that he knew what was normal for a Vorta, he reassured
himself that this was, indeed, just a deep sleep. Chakotay
debated with himself for a few more minutes, then wrapped
Weyoun in his own robe and carried him down the hall to lay
him on the large bed in the captain's cabin.

He sat for a moment and gently ran his hand through Weyoun's
black hair. The springy texture sent him back to his
childhood and the soft-fleeced sheep on his uncle's farm. He
sighed, "How in the world did you end up with the Maquis, my
sleeping friend?"

After making sure Weyoun was securely tucked in, Chakotay
quietly left the room to check up on the ship's systems.

************************************************************
************************************************************

The Time Before was always like a dream, indistinct. Who
he'd met, what he'd done, all he had learned only coalesced
at the moment of Becoming. When the voices of the
Ever-Changing sounded without and within, reaffirming his
purpose and his place. He served, as all his people did. As
he had done all of his lives, merely an instrument of the
Founders, his gods.

Until now.

Something had interfered with the transference and
awakening. Information had come, as always, but the memories
brought confusion. And the only voice he had heard in his
head in the first moment of consciousness was his own.

Weyoun opened his eyes to a ceiling decorated with delicate
moldings. He let his gaze roam about the spacious room. The
stars streaking past the viewports confirmed that he was on
a ship moving at low warp. The comfortable furnishings and
lack of personal effects offered no hints to his location or
situation.

He turned attention to himself. He felt weaker than usual.
In the past he had roused and immediately thrown himself
into whatever task the Founders demanded of him. At the
moment, Weyoun doubted his ability to even make it across
the room.

The Vorta dropped his head back into the pillow and noticed
an unfamiliar scent. The subtle combination of spice and
sweetness seemed to emanate from the soft robe covering him,
but he also detected a faint echo from the bedding.

The luxuriant fabrics teased his skin. The unusually rich
textures and scent made him uneasy; the Dominion was not
known for coddling its servants. And despite the power he
wielded for the Founders, Weyoun knew he was nothing more.

Strange images suddenly flashed before his mind's eye. A
small room, a dark man coming towards him. Hands touching
him. Touching him! Weyoun clutched the strange garment
tighter to his frame and shuddered. It was forbidden. Even
his attendants were careful never to make contact.

Someone had dared lay hands on him. And yet, the touch had
not been unpleasant, but gentle and warm. So warm. Weyoun
wished he could recall more, but the memories stayed hazy.

He scrambled to sit up at the whoosh of an opening door, but
his sudden breathlessness was not the result of his
exertions.

A tall, bronze, casually-dressed man strolled into the
bedroom with an air of easy confidence. He moved with a
fluid grace that seemed at odds with his powerful frame. The
face had a rugged handsomeness heightened by deep brown eyes
and an odd tracing set on one side of a wide brow. Weyoun
continued to study his visitor, whose gaze was focused on a
tray carried carefully in strong capable hands. Familiar
hands.

Chakotay paused in his mental inventory of medical supplies
to check the unconscious man on the bed. He felt a jolt as
he met the blue-green gaze he'd only glimpsed on Altos IV.
He broke into a relieved smile. "Welcome to the land of the
living."

Weyoun's breath caught again as delight brightened the
intriguing face. There was no way this man was a
reconfigured Founder. The reminder of his people's
gods---and his responsibilities to them---shocked him out of
his daze. He mentally berated himself for his foolish
distraction and felt his own features settle into the
arrogant mask of command. "Who are you and where are my
usual attendants?"

Chakotay felt himself bristle in reaction to the Vorta's
sneer, but the sight of pale fingers nervously twisting the
sheets gave him pause. He consciously relaxed and offered a
friendly grin. "I think we've already had this
conversation." He set the tray on a bedside table and held
out a hand. "I am Chakotay, owner of the light freighter
DreamCatcher, and your current host."

Weyoun dismissed the welcoming gesture with a quick pang of
regret. "Why am I on your ship, human? Has the Dominion
finally brought your Federation to heel?"

Chakotay dropped his hand and allowed his voice to cool. "On
the contrary, the Dominion has been sent back where it came
from. The Cardassians turned on their temporary masters, and
Starfleet and its allies finished the job." He paused.
"Years ago," he added more gently.

Aqua eyes blazed with desperate denial. "You lie! The
Dominion is invincible. I command thousands of Jem'Hadar
warriors. Cardassia is a conquered planet and---" He pressed
his temples under the assault of conflicting memories.
"---and I have to keep the rest of the worlds from falling.
It has to stop. I told Odo...I tried to tell him...I---"

Chakotay sprang forward at the younger man's distress.
"Easy," he soothed, "I know it's a shock." He laid a
comforting hand on a slender shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" In a surge of panic, Weyoun flung himself
away from the touch that seemed to race along his nerves. He
stumbled then swayed, gripping the back of a nearby chair to
stay upright. His chest heaved as he struggled with
confusion. His mind seized on a new suspicion even as he
knew it clashed with the sympathy he could see in the dark
eyes watching him.

"This is some sort of trap. You're holding me for ransom, or
you want me to help you destroy the Founders." Weyoun gave a
bitter laugh. "You'll be disappointed. The Dominion
considers hostages dead the moment they are taken. And I
will tell you *nothing*!" he snarled.

"I haven't done anything except try to help you." Chakotay
retorted. "Look around you; this is hardly a prison. And I
can easily prove everything I've said is true." He was
surprised how urgently he wanted to ease the upset soul. "I
don't know what happened to you or why, but there's nothing
to gain from holding you captive because there is nothing
left of the Dominion. At least, not here." He gestured
toward the bed. "Please, Weyoun, lie back down before you
fall down."

Weyoun's trembling was due more to fear than fatigue.
Somehow he believed this dark stranger, but what a terrible
truth: He was alone in the hands of an enemy. Worse, Weyoun
had failed, utterly and irredeemably. He would never again
be welcomed among his people, or into the presence of the
Ever-Changing. He served; he obeyed. He had no other life.
There *was* no other life.

Chakotay felt a sick twist of fear in his gut as he watched
Weyoun attempt to sort truth from suspicion. The sea-spun
gaze turned inward, then seemed to settle into an eerie
calm. The hair on Chakotay's nape began to prickle in
premonition.

Weyoun looked at the beautiful bronze man before him and
again felt the keen slice of regret. He let the mask of
arrogance drop with an exhausted sigh. Strangely enough, at
this last moment he thought not of the Founders he'd served
for years, but of a brief encounter with a stranger.
With...Chakotay.

"It would seem my time is over," Weyoun said quietly.
"Whether I am a hostage or a refugee, my orders are clear:
Self-Terminate. A single thought and my implant will release
a neurotoxin for which there is no antidote. Good-bye,
Chakotay." He closed his eyes, frowning in concentration.

Chakotay opened his mouth to protest, then recognized the
futility of the gesture. He felt the sting of tears for the
loss of life as he waited helplessly for the end.

Weyoun's eyes flew open in shock. He didn't feel the burn of
poison or even the mental click of the implant's presence.
This last shock opened a yawning chasm of confusion and
despair and he helplessly fell into it. Screeching "What
have you done to me!" he leapt at the older man, slim hands
curled into claws.

Maquis reflexes shifted Chakotay to the side, then behind
Weyoun as he grabbed the wildly swinging arms. Tightly
hugging the struggling figure, he tried once more to soothe.
"Nothing, I swear. Just calm down, we'll figure it out.
You'll be fine. I promise, I promise." When the body in his
arms continued thrashing, Chakotay dragged them both toward
the bedside table and risked one hand in a search for a
hypospray. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he injected a
sedative.

When Weyoun slumped in his arms, Chakotay returned him to
the bed and gently settled the curly head back on the
pillows. He stroked one finger along each of the delicate
ridges framing the beautiful face, once more relaxed in
sleep.

Chakotay's own features radiated grim determination as he
decisively stood up and headed for the bridge. He needed
answers and he needed help. And he knew exactly where to get
both.

************************************************************
***********
************************************************************
***********

"This is the life." Gregor Ayala stretched his long frame
towards the ceiling in an arc of satisfaction. He lowered
his arms and grinned at Geron Tem's appreciative perusal.

"No argument here, lover." The slim Bajoran lazed in the
chair at the DreamCatcher's Conn and watched Ayala saunter
across the bridge, pausing at each empty station to check
readouts. He leaned forward for a better view of the older
man's snug derriere. "This ship practically flies itself."

Ayala ran an eye over the Engineering stats, turning
slightly to see if Geron would follow. He was rewarded with
a startled "Oof" and the sight of his beloved deliciously
sprawled across the carpet. "I could have told you you'd
fall over if you kept gawking like that."

Geron grinned and performed his own stretch, watching
Ayala's brown eyes darken further in response. "What makes
you think I was really surprised?"

Ayala shook his head and offered Geron a hand up. "No way,
querido. We're being paid here, quite handsomely I might
add. And Chakotay's counting on us."

Geron ran delicate fingers along the edge of Ayala's shirt.
"I know, but how much is there to do, really. We're on
autopilot, the sensors will signal any oncoming obstacles,
the engines are in great shape and Chakotay's asleep."

Ayala slid one hand down the Bajoran's slender back to
firmly cup his ass. He delivered a quick pinch. "*And* we
have to keep an ear open for anyone answering the messages
Chakotay sent about our mysterious shipmate. I think he
contacted every Maquis in comm range."

"Every non-Voyager Maquis, you mean." Geron's scrunching
face emphasized his nose ridges. "I can't help feeling we've
all been kept in the dark. They fought a war---and
lost---but nobody will talk about it."

"I don't know, Tem. Maybe it hurts too much to remember. We
lost so many people..." Ayala sighed. "We'll probably never
know what happened. Anyway, no sex on the bridge." He ended
his message with a small smack to the Bajoran's butt as he
pushed Geron back to his station.

Geron gave a quick wiggle and settled back at the Conn. "The
Cap should be up soon, anyway, and I for one would hate to
be interrupted." He looked at the viewscreen a moment, then
sent a sidelong glance Ayala's way. "He seemed awfully eager
to get back aboard."

"I'm not surprised. This Weyoun guy was ready to kill
himself from what Chakotay said. He probably didn't want to
leave him alone too long." This time Ayala delivered a
speculative glance. "You think there's more to it?"

"Well, he practically begged us to join him." Geron shook
his head with a laugh, "Like it's a chore to take a jaunt
across the quadrant in a luxury cabin on a top-rate
ship---complete with gourmet chef."

"You said it." Ayala gazed a moment at the passing stars.
"He hasn't looked at another man in years---since Kurt
Bendera died."

"I know, but I'd like to see him happy after all he's done
for us." Geron heaved a dramatic sigh. "Besides, I hate to
think of such a gorgeous hunk of man just going to waste."

Ayala snapped to attention. His eyes narrowed. "You just
keep your mind on your *own* man, Mister."

Geron just chuckled.

*********

Warmth. Safety. Peace. And that tantalizing scent, stronger
this time. As strong as the arm firmly wrapped around his
waist.

Weyoun bolted upright, freeing himself from the unfamiliar
hold. He'd barely had time to turn and look at his erstwhile
captor when a barked "Computer, lights!" left him blinking
in the sudden brightness.

Chakotay regarded his bedmate with a level stare. He was
glad the Vorta had slipped into a normal sleep after the
sedative wore off, since Chakotay himself had sorely needed
some rest.

He had sent dozens of secure queries about Altos IV to his
Maquis contacts, then sped to the resort where Geron and
Ayala were vacationing after finally leaving Starfleet. He'd
been surprised to learn that his own resignation had a
domino effect. Former crew who were dissatisfied in
Starfleet saw his departure as permission to admit they too
preferred their independence.

Chakotay couldn't read the Vorta's aqua eyes, but he knew
his own expression needed to be deadly serious. There was a
life at stake. "Let me make this perfectly clear. You will
*not* be committing suicide aboard my ship."

Automatic defiance set Weyoun's shoulders as he glared. "Do
not think you can dictate to me, *Chakotay*. I do not take
orders from anyone, especially an arrogant human who does
not know his place."

Chakotay felt the stirrings of desire as the comely alien
crossed his arms in emphasis. Damn, but he was attractive
when he got fired up. Those bright eyes sparked and temper
warmed the pale cheeks.

Weyoun felt more alive than he could ever remember. His
whole body tingled, but he wasn't sure whether it was
reaction to the older man's demands or his proximity. Weyoun
was sorely tempted to lean in ever so slightly so he could
once more bask in that beckoning heat.

Chakotay forced his mind back to the task at hand. "I know
my place very well indeed, Weyoun. At your side. Practically
in your pocket. Until I'm convinced you're not a threat to
yourself or anyone else on this ship, we're going to be
joined at the hip." He leaned back with a studied
casualness. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer the
alternative."

The Vorta didn't trust this "option" one iota. "What?"

Chakotay was in the younger man's face before he could draw
breath. "I'll keep you chained to this bed. You'll be fed
your meals and subjected to a rigorous regimen of physical
therapy." He played his trump card. "Be warned, I'm a very
'hands on' type of guy in that situation."

He couldn't respond. Not with such a dry throat, caused by
either trepidation or anticipation. Weyoun was shocked by
his body's excited reaction to the images described by that
husky voice. This was supposed to be a threat?

Deciding not to beard the lion in his bed, Weyoun gave in
with hidden relief and obvious annoyance. "Very well. I'm
sure your vigilance will slip and I'll be free soon enough."

Chakotay leaned close to the hollowed ear ridge. His breath
caressed it as he whispered silkily, "Oh, I wouldn't count
on that."

Weyoun shivered as the hot blast of air touched him. He
cleared his throat nervously, only relaxing when Chakotay
moved away to stand up on the other side of the bed. He
absently noted how well the silky black pajamas set off the
bronze skin. He jerked his eyes up to meet Chakotay's when
the older man stopped in front of him. He too had relaxed
and now offered a small smile.

"Another choice for you. Do you think you can walk to the
bathroom with my help, or should I carry you?"

Those strong arms looked like they could easily handle his
weight, but Weyoun didn't know how he'd react to such close
contact. "I can walk," he said stiffly and swung his legs to
the floor. He made sure the robe was secure before levering
himself up. He was grateful for Chakotay's hand as the room
spun dizzily for a moment. When he tried to pull away, his
companion just slung an arm around his waist and they began
to walk. Joined at the hip indeed.

Chakotay was in full medical mode as he carefully watched
for any sign of weakness in the younger man. After that
first moment he seemed strong enough, but Chakotay was
reluctant to relinquish his hold.

They reached the spacious bathing chamber and Weyoun was
stunned by its trappings. A huge tub graced one side of the
green-tiled space, while the sonic/water shower stall looked
like it could easily accommodate three or four. One
double-basin sink took up more wall space, while a single
model could be seen through a doorway to the other
facilities. Chakotay sat him on the stool in front of a
mirrored vanity.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Chakotay said with a grin. "Now,
there aren't any sharp objects laying around, so don't get
any ideas. I'll be right back." He then disappeared into the
"water closet" and shut the door.

Weyoun studied his reflection as he ran a hand along the
mirror's gilded edge, but he wasn't seriously contemplating
a way of breaking it. He surprised himself with how quickly
he had chosen to live---and how much his beguiling
"guardian" had to do with the decision.

Chakotay was soon at his side and helping him to the same
facilities. Weyoun too quickly finished and returned to the
bathing chamber. Where he stopped in shock.

The large tub was more than half-filled with steaming water,
and Chakotay was half-undressed. The muscles in the wide
back flexed as the older man laid out supplies on a tray
bridging the water.

He looked over his shoulder to see Weyoun. He quickly
returned to the Vorta's side and began leading him forward.
"Your bath awaits."

Weyoun pulled away. "I don't think so." His chin tilted. "We
do not indulge in such frivolous luxuries." He gestured to
the shower stall. "A sonic cleansing will do."

"Not until you're more steady on your feet and I've got some
solid food in you. There's too much of a chance you'll
experience dizziness." Chakotay crossed his arms with a
casual air. "Unless, of course, you're willing to share."

"No, no, the bath will be fine." Weyoun hoped he didn't
sound as flustered as he felt. As Chakotay reached for the
belt of the Vorta's robe, Weyoun stepped back and clutched
the garment to his throat. "You first."

"I'm not getting in with you, Weyoun. I just thought I'd
wash your hair."

"Agreed. But a wise man never makes himself more vulnerable
than his opponent. So strip."

Chakotay swallowed and sent a quick prayer to the Spirits
that he could control his body's responses. He quickly undid
the tie and let his pajama bottoms drop. Casually kicking
them in a corner, he offered Weyoun a hand into the deep
tub.

Weyoun reminded himself to breathe as a new
sensation---desire?---uncurled in his belly. His eyes traced
the planes and curves of the powerful body in front of him.
He noted the small brown nipples setting off the muscular
chest, and the curious dark patch of hair at the human's
groin. He felt an absurd desire to run his fingers through
it and discover if the texture was wiry or soft. He then
thought that while he was down there he should do a little
more exploring.

Weyoun turned his back to Chakotay, dropped the robe and
quickly settled into the steaming water. He hoped that the
older man wouldn't see his unprecedented erection, or would
just assume the heat of the bath was its cause.

Chakotay hastily dropped to his knees on the thick rug
beside the tub and reached for the shampoo and a bowl for
water. As he began wetting and cleansing the dark locks he
debated pressing against the side of the tub in hopes the
shock of cold marble would dampen his arousal. Now that
Weyoun was awake, Chakotay was having a hard time reminding
himself that he was only the Vorta's temporary protector.
The sight of the smooth, lightly muscled form had wreaked
havoc with his intentions to stay detached. Even the fact
that the man was only a few days old didn't seem to be a
deterrent, for Weyoun's mind was sharp and clear and his
body equally mature. And mouth-wateringly beautiful.

Weyoun luxuriated in the warmth and the gentle massage of
talented fingers. He sighed and relaxed into the new
sensations.

Chakotay hoped conversation would take his mind off the body
gleaming under the rippling water. "So, what would you like
for your first full meal? I don't have any Gamma Quadrant
recipes, but I'm pretty good at all the Alpha
cuisines---except Klingon."

Weyoun tensed. "Vorta do not eat. We consume liquid and
capsule supplements designed to deliver optimal nutrition."

"You sound like a friend of mine." Chakotay was pleased to
feel nothing but amusement at the memories of Seven. "She
learned to enjoy food---eventually. You will too. But I
don't understand why you wouldn't eat; our digestive systems
are nearly identical."

Weyoun hesitated, then admitted, "It was forbidden."

"What?" Chakotay moved to see Weyoun's expression, and felt
a surge of sympathy at the mixture of bravado and
uncertainty he saw there. "Why would anyone forbid you to
eat?"

Weyoun dropped his eyes. "Vorta are forbidden all forms of
'stimulation' by our creators---the Founders." His monotone
echoed the reciting of a lesson. "All mental energies are to
be devoted to duty. To the survival and success of the
Dominion. The senses are mere distraction." He took a
breath. "I hated visiting Terek Nor," he blurted.

Chakotay's voice was soothing, as was his renewed touch on
Weyoun's scalp as he returned to his original position.
"Deep Space Nine, why?"

Weyoun shrugged. "Because it was all possible temptations in
a single place. The sights, sounds, smells, flavors---so
overwhelming." His voice turned bitter. "Until the Dominion
changed it. Until *I* changed it. Into someplace dark and
dull and cold."

Chakotay chose that moment to thoroughly dunk Weyoun to
rinse off the soap and shampoo. As the sputtering Vorta came
up dripping and indignant, Chakotay grabbed the pale
shoulders. "Listen to me. *You* didn't do those things. And
your people were victims as well. Don't you see what your
beloved creators did to you? They turned you into ghosts. No
joy or color or texture to your life. No feeling."

He squeezed the wet skin. "They tried to make you into
shells that lived only to serve them." He shook the Vorta in
a blast of anguished fury. "And you want to *die* for them?"
He flung the man away and began to stand, desperate to
escape his own roiling emotions. He whirled at the sound of
a sob.

"No!" Denial, despair, recognition of all the wasted years
flooded Weyoun. Overwhelming everything was the fear of
losing something he wanted and needed but didn't understand.
"Please," Weyoun said, reaching for the solid body as
Chakotay once more knelt. The shock of their naked chests
meeting was swamped by the feeling of comfort in the
embrace. He leaned over the edge of the tub and pushed his
face into the older man's neck, burrowing into the warmth
and now-familiar scent.

Chakotay rocked the trembling man, hugging him tightly and
whispering reassurances until the storm passed. After
several long minutes he pushed the younger man back and
searched his face. "Are you okay?"

Weyoun felt drained, but strangely light and free. "I---I
think so."

Chakotay lightly gripped the back of the pale neck. "I'm
glad you've decided to stick around, Weyoun." His grin of
relief was dazzling. "Again, welcome to the land of the
living. Let's eat."

************************************************************
***********
************************************************************
***********

"Mmmmm...Chakotay, it's criminal you let Neelix be Voyager's
cook." Ayala sopped up the remains of his sauce with the
last bit of his freshly-baked roll. "You're lucky he didn't
find his way out an airlock just to force you in front of a
stove."

Chakotay chuckled. "I had better things to do than figure
out a hundred different ways to serve leola root. Besides,
once Neelix toned down the spices, his food wasn't half
bad."

Geron stacked his plates, then leaned toward Weyoun with a
conspiratorial air. "You really should try some Bajoran
dishes. The Maquis still talk about the time Chakotay made
pali nabotash. It has to be tasted to be believed."

"Thanks, Geron, but if you want some just use the
replicators." Chakotay stood and gathered the dishes,
leaning down on Weyoun's other side. "He neglected to
mention that it has to be made by hand. And that it takes a
solid day to do it." He walked behind the galley counter to
place his burden inside the sonic cleanser. He moved to the
stasis unit. "Dessert's coming up."

Geron lowered his voice and sidled closer to the silent
Vorta. "He'd do it, you know. If you asked him."

Weyoun had spent the last few days developing a tentative
friendship with his new companions, but was still
uncomfortable enough with casual contact to shy away a
little. While his previous incarnations would have snapped a
cutting response to the Bajoran's impertinence, he offered
an uncertain smile. "I don't think that's a good idea.
Chakotay's working on some difficult chapters right now."

"Exactly. He could use a break." Geron seemed struck by a
sudden idea. "And you could keep him company---take
dictation so he could work and cook at the same time." The
Bajoran was all wide-eyed innocence as he made the
suggestion.

The former commander sent Ayala a look from where he was
pouring melted chocolate over fruit-filled dessert bowls.
Greg simply shrugged and raised his eyebrows with an
expression that clearly asked, "What do you want from me?"

Chakotay made his way to the table and set down the tray
with a decisive click. "Geron, we'll be meeting Ro Laren on
Bajor in two days. Surely you can wait that long for pali
nabotash. By the time I finished slaving over the
ingredients, you could buy some ready-made in dozens of
shops in the capital city."

Weyoun's blue-green gaze sought the older man's. "She was a
Starfleet officer, right? You think she'll know what
happened to me?"

Chakotay sank back into his seat and handed out bowls and
spoons. "I'm not sure, but she's the only one who was even
willing to talk to me." He shook his head sadly as he
snagged his own dessert. "I don't understand it. They all
were so happy to see us when we got back, now I can't get a
hold of anyone."

Weyoun laid a sympathetic hand on Chakotay's arm, and felt
the familiar tingle of attraction as the older man accepted
the gesture with a smile of thanks. The two men had begun a
delicate dance of courtship, and neither had even broached
the idea of Weyoun moving to his own cabin.

The Vorta had gotten comfortable waking up in Chakotay's
arms, and sitting together either talking or working on
their projects. Chakotay was starting his second volume of
Voyager stories, while Weyoun was catching up on events of
the last few years.

The younger man felt a near-overwhelming surge of
anticipation whenever the two of them touched. And while he
enjoyed getting to know Ayala and Geron, he very much wanted
to spend more time alone with Chakotay. He also wanted more
from Chakotay, but wasn't sure exactly what or how to ask
for it. He sometimes thought he saw desire in the dark gaze,
but nothing ever came of it. Weyoun sighed and turned to his
dessert, savoring his first taste of chocolate. He thought
it appropriate that the rich confection matched the deep
warm color of Chakotay's eyes.

Chakotay tried not to watch the way that cupid's-bow mouth
opened to accept each new bite of coated fruit. A smear of
chocolate made a sharp contrast beside that tempting portal,
and Chakotay was fighting a desire to clean the cloud-white
skin. With his tongue, which would then make its way between
those tantalizing lips to finally discover the sweetness
within.

He'd been dreaming about it. Passion and tenderness and
concern and caring all wrapped around each other in his mind
and heart. He didn't know how much longer his control would
last. Each day he woke and stared at Weyoun's sleeping face,
grateful for whatever kind fates had set their paths to
cross. He hoped that soon they could settle the mysteries in
the Vorta's past. Chakotay was hoping more and more for a
place in the enticing alien's future.

The lights in the snug galley suddenly flickered and turned
amber as a sexy female voice purred, "Warning. Cloaked
vessel on intercept course detected within sensor range.
Speed Warp 7, ETA five minutes."

"Damn it!" Chakotay snapped as the four men leapt from their
chairs and ran for the bridge. "I hoped the enhanced sensors
would give us more warning than that."

Ayala looked at his grim-faced friend as the bridge doors
opened. "You should be grateful, Chakotay. Most Federation
vessels can't detect a cloak until a ship starts firing on
them." He turned right to reach the tactical station and
began tapping keys. "Weapons charged and ready."

Geron slid into the centered pilot's seat and glanced back
over his shoulder. "Evasive maneuvers?"

Chakotay made a sharp left to the Ops board and waved Weyoun
toward the Engineering station at the back of the bridge.
"No, we'll just increase shields. We don't know if they mean
us any harm---yet. And if they do, I want to know who's
after me and why." He started buckling his seat's emergency
restraints. "And strap in, everybody. This could be a bumpy
ride."

"Maximum power output available, all readouts showing
green." Weyoun double-checked the reports, grateful that the
other men had taken the time to introduce him to the
DreamCatcher's systems.

Chakotay scanned the sensor readings. "It looks like they're
practically on a collision course. Drop out of warp, Geron.
I don't want to take the chance of plowing right into them."

Geron's voice was filled with frustration. "I can't see
anything out there." He was keeping a careful eye on the
sensor schematic taking up one corner of the large
viewscreen. At least it *showed* the oncoming ship, even if
it was just a blip on a grid.

Chakotay punched in a few commands, trying to pierce the
other vessel's camouflage. "Damn cloaks make everything so
vague. I can't tell if we're dealing with Cardassians,
Ferengi, Romulan---"

"Unknown ship dropping out of warp---incoming phaser fire!"
shouted Ayala.

The lights didn't even flicker as the shots were absorbed by
the DreamCatcher's shields. The three ex-Voyager officers
also appreciated the absence of sparks and smoke, courtesy
of the surge suppressors Chakotay had installed.

"Whoever they are, they don't have to drop the cloak to use
their weapons." Chakotay grimaced in frustration. "Weyoun,
send them a 'cease and desist' message." Chakotay swiftly
adjusted the viewscreen to give more space to the sensor
schematic. The blip became a large ball marked with a few
glowing points. "Okay, I've extrapolated from the phaser
trajectories to inside the cloak. Hopefully those points are
the weapons ports. Greg, Tem, let's see what this baby can
do."

The lovers worked in tandem to turn the DreamCatcher from
passive prey to sleek hunter. Since coming aboard Geron had
reveled in the chance to fly again after being stuck in
Voyager's science division for so long. He was glad he'd
taken the opportunity to occasionally turn off the autopilot
and put the DreamCatcher through its paces. Under his hands
the supple freighter moved like a fighter, darting in to
strike at their unseen enemy.

Ayala wielded the vessel's impressive armaments with all the
skill he had honed in the Maquis and at Voyager's weapons
console. He constantly adjusted the phaser harmonics,
seeking the frequencies that would best cut through their
opponent's cloak and shields.

The DreamCatcher shuddered slightly as a new bombardment
began. "They're firing photon torpedoes. Shields 80
percent." Ayala snapped, while Weyoun's light voice
reported, "Power levels stable, but I'm reading a
temperature rise in the starboard phaser banks. I'll bring
some of the secondary conduits online."

Chakotay began swearing as the schematic showed a stream of
small stars trailing from the unidentified vessel. "Tem,
watch out! Those look like multi-phasic mines. We get caught
in the middle of them we'll be trapped in a firestorm."

The inertial dampers struggled to keep up with Geron's
course changes as he avoided the new obstacles. Occasionally
the system lagged and the men were tossed against the
chairs' restraints or pressed into to the padded backrests.

Ayala never lifted his eyes from his screen. "I think we've
knocked out the phaser banks, but those torpedoes could
overload our shields."

"I'll transfer power from the cargo bays and cabins," Weyoun
said, typing frantically, "That should give us a little more
time."

"Chakotay, I can avoid the torpedoes or the mines, but not
both." Geron slammed the ship hard to port, his legs
swinging in reaction. "They're peppering the whole area with
the damn things!"

A pattern suddenly leaped out at Chakotay from the
viewscreen schematic. "Greg, I need you to fire three of our
torpedoes, here, here and here." He sketched a triangle in
the midst of the mines. "Weyoun, as soon as they're
released, reverse the polarity on the shields. Geron, take
us away from the mines, full impulse. Don't worry about the
torpedoes. We should be able to handle a few more hits."

The three men's movements synchronized like a fine ballet as
they followed orders. Explosions blossomed from the points
hit by the DreamCatcher's missiles, expanding to catch the
cloaked ship in the edges of the destructive field.

All four men stared in stupefaction at the viewscreen as the
badly damaged vessel was finally revealed. They all
recognized the squat shape of a Defiant-class vessel. An
unmistakably Federation vessel.

TBC
END OF PART TWO