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Disclaimer time once again! Forty-first verse same as the 
first . .everybody *sing*:

I don't own these characters, (chorus) Paramount does!
I don't own this venue, (chorus) Paramount does!
I am making no money off of this, (chorus) Paramount does 
not either!

This story involves history between two men. If that is *not* 
your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, 
ain't it??)  Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always 
answered.  Flames will be passed around to friends and 
chuckled over.  :)

Spoilers galore for 'Killing Game'.

Companion piece/sequel to 'Comrade-in-Arms'.

'Call-to-Arms' by Amirin


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Shit.  I can't believe I did this.  <sigh>  Oh, hell. Why? 
Dammit, I don't even *know* why, not really.  Okay, so 
maybe . . . maybe I do.  My own curiosity, once again. 
<snort>  When will I ever learn?  Fuck, all I wanted was to 
find out why the hell the insides of his quarters were 
suddenly so damned fascinating to him. Gods, none of us 
had laid eyes on the man off-duty for, what, damned near 
two months?  <sigh>  Look at that paragraph.  What are 
there, seven curse words in as many lines?  I've got to 
watch that, I know, don't say it.  It only happens when I get 
knocked off-kilter.  Which is exactly what's happened. 
Knocked off-kilter and right on my ass.

Anyway, back to my . . *our* First Officer.  <sigh>  Yeah, 
okay, so I hacked into his computer and dug into the 
Hirogen's logs a bit.  Big deal. I knew he was supposed to 
be scrounging through them, looking for anything that could 
help the ship, just because Captain Janeway had asked him 
to.

And before you ask, no, I *don't* know why she asked *him* 
to, instead of me, especially since I know more about 
holo-logs than any ten people on board.  She just stated 
how important it was and never took her eyes off of him until 
he volunteered.  Like he had a choice.  But, damn, that 
choice became something like an addiction, for him.  The 
records of his time spent looking at the logs confirmed that. 
Only six hours of sleep a night, eight more on duty and the 
rest watching the logs.  Even *after* the 'project' was done.

<shrug>  Yeah, me too.  I didn't get it, either, and wanted to 
find out what the hell was so damned interesting, so I 
followed him through the maze of log entries.  Basically.  He 
wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to anyone's but his. 
And mine. Which were practically identical since we hardly 
ever let each other out of our sights.  <snort>  Just about 
joined at the hip, we were.  Buddies.  Yeah, I know. 
Shocked the shit out of me, too.  But, there it was.  The two 
of us.  Fighting together (but not with each other, go figure 
<grin>), living together, eating together, talking together, and 
I mean *really* talking together.  Not just him speaking in my 
general direction and me mock-snapping to attention and 
obeying his commands with a grin on my face, but *talking*, 
ya know?  *With* each other.  Granted, everything we talked 
about was a load of crap, but still . . .

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Anyway, I tracked him through the 
logs like he would track me through the woods, following his 
footsteps, ignoring what he'd ignored, until I found his notes 
about what he was seeing.  About 'Bobby'.  Me.  <sigh>

Ya know, he was thinking the same thing?  Marveling at how 
well we got along, not at each other's throats, or anything, 
but as friends.  Commenting on how well we worked 
together.  How almost . . . angry he was that the memories 
of those times had been swept from his mind like cobwebs.
And how much he wanted them back.  I guess I can 
understand that.  I did, too, sort of.  He talked about how the 
Hirogen had taken so much from us, our identities, our 
senses of reality, our *ship*, for cryin' out loud.  I think it was 
partly a control thing for him.  That doesn't explain what it 
was for me.  Or why I did what I did.

<sigh>  Yeah, I followed him there, too.  Wouldn't ya know 
it?  The Doc didn't even have the grace to *act* surprised 
when I showed up with Chakotay's request on my lips - to fill 
those damned black holes in my head.  True, part of me 
wanted the equal footing, the level playing field, as much as 
it could be.  But, most of it was curiosity.  I'll admit it, hell, 
yes.  I didn't like having him know more about me than I did 
about him, even if it was all fiction, with no more depth than 
a holocharacter.  Okay, so there were a *lot* of reasons for 
me to have gone through with it, but shit, the chaos whirling 
through my mind, now, gods, it's enough to make me 
scream.  I wasn't expecting that.  I don't know what I was 
expecting, but it wasn't that, wasn't *this*.  This feeling . . 
hell, I don't know.  

I mean, I know we were friends, right?  Okay, I *know* that. 
But, this . . this friendship feels like what I have with Harry. 
It's like Chakotay and I have . . oh, fuck, I can't believe I'm 
saying this, but it's like we have *history* together. 
<chuckle>  All right, so that was awful, shit, give a guy a 
break, will ya?  

Gods, that's something else I remember.  How much time 
we spent laughing at one damned fool thing or another. 
Sometimes, we got so punch drunk, we were falling all over 
each other, trying not to collapse in hysterics.  In the middle 
of fucking wartime, yeah.  Oh, well.  Damn, I miss that.  I
really do.

I remember how . . I dunno, safe? I felt when I knew he was 
just a radio call away.  A couple of times I got penned down 
by enemy mortar and I told the Cap I was in trouble, gave 
him my position, and that calm voice of his punched through 
the static and crackle . . . 'Don't move. Don't even *think* 
about moving, you hear me, Soldier?  I'm coming, just hang 
on, I'm coming' . . . And he'd be there.  Always.  As soon as 
he could get to me, he'd be there.  He'd give me a hand up 
out of whatever hell I was in and I'd grin and nod at him and 
he'd just grin back . . .

And then, there were the times he *wouldn't* give me the 
order to go.  I'd just look at him and suddenly he was telling 
me why, which is not SOP, not by a long shot.  'Not this 
time, Bobby.  You stay with me'. I wouldn't do much more 
than nod and answer 'I'm with you'.  And I stayed.

He made it almost bearable, man's inhumanity to his fellow 
man. That strength of his. Damn, we *all* leaned on the 
Captain, me more so than any of the others, I guess.  He 
kept me with him, kept me at his side, saved my life a dozen 
times over.  He was a friend, the best.  Throughout all that 
ugliness, I had him.  And he made it bearable.  One man. 
Just one man and he made *World War Two*, for fuck's 
sake, bearable for me.  Made my *life* bearable.  Just like 
he does now.

I still need that strength.  I still lean on him, hell, we *all* do. 
And I still have the *man*, but I miss the *friendship*, now 
that I know what I'm missing.  I could admit being scared to 
the Captain, at night, in the dead-quiet, and he never 
thought less of me for it.  Gods, I'd rather take a phaser-hit 
than admit anything like that to Chakotay, now.  <pause> 
Or, I used to, at least.  Now, I'm not so sure.  I still look to 
him, when I'm not too sure I know what the hell I'm doing, 
and even when I am.  I still follow his lead.  <g>  Or, I 
wouldn't be *here*, now, would I?  I wouldn't have all the 
memories of that whole time, if I hadn't followed him. I 
would've followed the Captain to hell and back and 
sometimes it *was* hell. Hell on Earth.  Because it was war. 
Gods, it was *war*.

Ya know, war hasn't changed much, really.  No, it hasn't. It's 
no more civilized, now, than it was, then.  People still died. 
Sometimes a round would wipe out the three guys in front of 
you, the one next to you, two more behind you and leave 
you standing, drenched in more blood than you had in your 
own body.  <shudder>  Who knows why?  <shiver>  Gods, I 
hate this.  Fuck, would you look at my hands?  Shit, I'm glad 
no one expects me to fly, right now, because I'd probably 
crash Voyager into a sun or something.

I remember what it was like, ya know?  all the . . the 
incredible adrenaline surge in the heat of battle, and . . and . 
the explosions, the gunfire, the fighting, screaming, men, 
my *friends*, dying . . dying all around me. <groan>  Fuck, 
Tommy, calm down.  Shit.  What the fuck is this?  Shit, don't 
tell me I'm getting *shell-shock* on top of all this.  Breathe, 
calm down.  Dammit.  *Dammit*.  Not working . . it's not 
working.  I don't *need* this . . Dammit, I need . . I need . .

"P-paris to Chakotay."

"Chakotay here." 

<pause>

"Cap?  I-I'm in trouble."

<pause>

"I'm coming.  Just hang on.  I'm coming."


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