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Disclaimer time once again! Forty-third 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.  :)

Some spoilers for 'Killing Game'.

Sequel to 'Comrade-in-Arms' and 'Call-to-Arms'.

'Men-at-Arms' by Amirin


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It took him nearly an hour to stop shaking.  Another hour 
until he was able to speak, the words coming haltingly, the 
tears, effortlessly.  Then, when he could speak no more, 
there came a silence so absolute I'd thought he'd fallen 
asleep.  He hadn't; he was just waiting for me to pick up 
where he'd left off and go on.  So, I did.  

Speaking in the near-dark and total quiet, I told him all I 
remembered.  Yes, everything.  My guilt, my horror, my . . 
shame.  But, no regret.  Spirits help me, no regret.  I'd have 
done nothing differently, and I knew it; the cost might have 
been his life.  And that was a price I wouldn't have been 
prepared to pay.

Depending on how you looked at it, it was my fault, the 
trauma he found himself helpless in the face of and never 
had my responsibility weighed so heavily on me. *My* 
actions had led to *his* horror, seeing his friends die around 
him, before him, next to him. But, not him. Never him. And I 
was truthful in my assertion that I wouldn't have it any other 
way.  The smile that comment roused was tremulous, but 
sincere in its gratitude.  

He told me I kept his spirit intact, whole, that I somehow 
insulated him from even worse than what was currently 
clouding his mind.  I was glad to hear it.  Glad that he was 
able and willing to draw from my strength, my experience. 
Glad it helped make it better for him, or at least tolerable.  I 
took a moment to make sure he knew that he still could, 
whenever he needed to, and the tears came again.  He 
murmured that he'd missed me in a choked whisper and I 
could do nothing more than tighten my arms around him as 
he found what shelter he could within them.  I let him cry 
and was so tempted to join him. But this was his release, not 
mine. He was the one who needed to put it all into 
perspective, get through it, and emerge from the other side, 
complete and well.  The fact that it was all a holodeck 
simulation only helped a little and I feared for him as he 
grew quiet again, leaving me to wonder at the dark spirits 
which were no doubt chasing him at that moment. 

He finally stirred, mumbling that I had better things to do 
than listen to his 'tale of woe' all night.  I flinched a little at 
the derision I heard in his voice, yet another thing aiming for 
the vulnerable spot inside him. I didn't let him go, though.  I 
just quietly told him that I would listen for as long as he 
wanted me to.  The trembling through his body heralded a 
fresh bout of tears and I drew him closer to me, glad once 
again for the slight bit of knowledge gained from being the 
de facto 'ship's counselor'.  His trust humbled me, so 
devastatingly certain that I *could* be trusted, that I found 
myself hoping I'd be worthy of it.

He grew quiet again, but turned his face up to see mine and 
stretched his legs out the full length of the sofa we were on. 
I scooted down a little, my head resting on the armrest, his 
on my shoulder, and tugged the blanket thrown across the 
back of it over the two of us.  I wasn't sure he'd be able to 
sleep, but I wanted him to try.  My hand was carding gently 
through his hair for a bit, until I realized the movement was 
distracting him. I stopped, leaving my fingers imbedded in 
his hair, and watched his eyes close, slowly, flickering open 
a time or two before they stayed closed, and he slept, 
exhausted.


                      <<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>


When I woke up, he was still there, at my side.  Like he 
could've gone anywhere with a sleeping wreck lying on top 
of him. <sigh>  His eyes were shut, mouth partly open and 
he looked like he was grabbing some shut-eye until I needed 
him again.

I wish I could've hated needing him, but I couldn't bring 
myself to do it.  I had the sofa at my back, he was in front of 
me, I was sort of stuck between the two . . . and I hadn't felt 
so safe in a long time.  Kind of corny, huh? So be it.  I'm too 
tired to be my usual witty, sparkling self, all right? and I feel 
like shit.

Gods, my eyes ache.  I hate crying.  I'm not that good at it, 
so I try to do it as little as possible.  <small grin>  Stick to 
the things you excel at, I always say.  <sigh>  I'm tired.  I 
feel better, but I'm beat.  Yeah, I know, no shit, right?  

Damn, you shoulda seen the look on his face when he came 
into my quarters.  (Let himself in, didn't even knock or chime 
or anything.  I guess I scared him. Well, hell, I scared me, 
too)  Intense, worried, frowning, he headed right for me, but 
with caution.  I mean, I was already backed into the far 
corner of the sofa as much as I could be . . . maybe he didn't 
want me feeling trapped.  I dunno.  He just sat down next to 
me, leaned back and pulled me into his arms.  I didn't even 
have to move around to try and get comfortable; we fit just 
fine, which was something of a surprise, since I'm taller than 
he is.  But, it worked.

I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and hung on, trying to 
remember how to breathe while he rubbed my back.  I was 
*this* close to hyperventilating, I really was.  And shock was 
setting in with a particularly nasty vengeance, which wasn't 
helping a damned bit.  He asked me quietly if I wanted to go 
see the Doctor and I practically gave myself an injury 
shaking my head 'no'.  Shit, that was about the *last* thing I 
wanted.  He shushed me right away and just held me, letting 
me lean on him for about the millionth time.  Okay, so it was 
the first time I'd leaned on *Chakotay* like that, and not the 
Cap, but still . . .  

I remember apologizing once and he told me I had nothing 
to be sorry for. That he was glad I'd called him, glad that I 
*knew* I could, anytime I wanted to.  The Captain had told 
Bobby that a few times, but it was the first time Chakotay 
had said it to Tom.  Felt good to hear it, let me tell you.  Real 
good.  I don't know how many minutes passed until I was 
able to unclench my hands enough to let go of him, but he 
didn't let *me* go.  He just shifted me around a bit, making 
my weight more comfortable and said those three little 
words that started all the tears.  Well, not *those* three little 
words, sheesh!  <g>  'Talk to me'. Okay?  Not an 'I love you' 
by a long shot, but it made me feel a whole lot better.

I rambled on forever about everything that came bubbling up 
out of my mind, things I'd remembered and lots of things I 
wished to hell I hadn't. I finally found the brakes that go with 
my mouth and came to a screeching halt, but he walked into 
the silence, so I wouldn't have to be there alone, and 
continued from where I left off.  I started crying again, 
dammit, when he told me how guilty he felt that he'd done 
what he knew he had to do, to keep me safe and with him. 
And that he couldn't bring himself to regret it and that he 
wouldn't have it any other way.  <sniff>  Shit, here we go 
with the damned tears, again.  Calm down, for crying out 
loud.  You don't want to wake him. He's just as tired as you 
are.

Anyway, <sniff> that's when I told him how much I missed 
him.  I didn't mean to, but the brakes malfunctioned, okay? 
And my mouth just started in with all this stuff about how he 
kept me in one piece, spirit and body intact.  It's not his fault 
my mind's so fucked up, now is it?  Nor was it his fault that I 
couldn't seem to shut off the damned tears, either.  And he 
just held me, like it was perfectly normal to do so, not even 
worthy of a second thought.  

I think I felt his breathing hitch, like maybe the crying was 
infecting him, too, but he shook it off, turning his whole 
attention on me, again.  I got real quiet, trying to let him 
know it was okay, only fair, really, right?  Nothing happened 
and I remembered who I was with and felt like an ass.  I 
went into self-protection mode big-time and muttered 
something about how he shouldn't have to listen to my 
problems, but he didn't let go of me, like I thought he would. 
 He just told me gently that he'd always listen.  <sigh>  It 
was like he'd thrown the switch on the waterworks, again, 
because the tears came back for the umpteenth time.

Fortunately, I guess I was about out.  I just looked up at him 
from where I was lying on his shoulder and he wriggled 
around until we were both flat out on the sofa and covered 
me up and held me close.  Yeah, I know.  Me, too.  His 
fingers were playing around with what little hair I've still got 
<g> and I liked the feeling so much that I kept waking myself 
up to enjoy it.  Which is when he quit doing it.  <sigh>  I 
guess sleep came pretty quickly after that.

I still feel like someone's worked me over with an emotional 
baseball bat, but it's better than it was.  Talking it out really 
helped. And it's not usually my best thing, ya know?  But, I'd 
like to return the favor, I really would.  Now, all I have to do 
is wait for him to wake up.  Not that I'm in any hurry, or 
anything.  I like it where I am.  <g>  I like it just fine. 


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