A soft chime signaled the end of the duty shift. Chakotay looked up from the padd he had just been handed, watching as crew members exchanged places. He paid particular attention to the helmsman, who now stood next to his assigned position, grinning broadly as he greeted the young woman who had come to replace him. A slight flush brushed the woman's cheeks and she looked aside, obviously shy about the contact. She nodded demurely, then hastened to take her seat and bury her discomfort in her work.

Daisen, Chakotay recalled the woman's name, one of the Starfleet crew, and almost as green as Kim. Green in more ways than one, he thought as he watched the exchange. Paris laid his hand on the girl's shoulder and bent to whisper something in her ear. She stifled a giggle, then continued to concentrate on the helm readouts before her, shaking her head as she did. Chakotay bristled, his own protective instincts getting the better of him. Tom Paris could not resist the urge to flirt with anyone. It was as much his nature as breathing. But there was a time and a place, and this was neither.

Chakotay watched as Paris walked toward the door leading to the turbolift and he could feel the crease forming between his own brows. Having been in command of one crew or another most of his adult life, he sensed something was wrong with the younger man. There were few aboard Voyager who could claim to be without problems, but Paris, of all the crewmen, was least inclined to admit he was bothered. He seemed to genuinely enjoy their position and had every reason to. While a curse to most of the crew, their current predicament had meant a new life, and new opportunities for the one time Starfleet officer.
Perhaps, it was the rigid stiffness of the man's back that nagged at Chakotay. Held any straighter and his spine would crack. Paris was not known for his strict military bearing, nonchalance being his trademark, yet for the past two days he had moved like a wooden soldier. What puzzled Chakotay more was the fact that he had so carefully hidden his obvious discomfort from Captain Janeway. His demeanor remained casual, even flippant, when the Captain was on the bridge, but as soon as she existed, Chakotay could almost feel the young man's breath as it hissed soundlessly through clenched teeth. This, coupled with the murmurs of discontent he had heard concerning Paris' field commission, made the new first officer of the Voyager more than a little suspicious.

Handing the padd to the officer who had come to relieve him, the Commander decided it was time to investigate further, for while he made no pretense of liking Paris, and had more than one reason to dislike the man, he was also directly responsible for this crew's well being, whether the crew liked it or not. Besides, there was a small matter of debt. Paris had saved his life in the depths of the Ocampa homeworld, and he owed him.

* * * * * * *

Over an hour later, Chakotay sat, methodically pushed vegetables from point A to point B on his plate, not conscious that he was playing with his meal instead of eating it. He stabbed with frustration at a particularly odd looking plant Neelix had assured him was very tasty. The Talaxian was certainly well meaning, and determined to prepare meals pleasing to the palate. Chakotay just had not determined whose palate he was trying to please.

The culinary artistry of their volunteer cook was not the source of the first officer's annoyance, simply the unfortunate victim. After leaving the bridge with the intention of talking to Paris, Chakotay found the lieutenant had vanished, as much as it was possible to vanish aboard a ship the size of Voyager. It did not require a great deal of searching before he located him on the holodeck, security sequence keyed in, and totally unresponsive to hails.

It was his right, Chakotay fumed silently. The man was off duty and could spend his off duty time however he pleased. There was no immanent disaster threatening the well-being of the ship, and Paris' services as pilot were not currently needed. So, let him enjoy the holodeck. Whatever program he had been working on must be quite intriguing. That did not mean Chakotay had to stand idle. He had decided to find out what was bothering the lieutenant, and once the decision was made he was determined to carry through, although Paris would quite likely tell him it was none of his business. Had he been in Paris place and questioned by a superior officer he would probably make the same assertion. But, discrete inquiries by the first officer of Voyager had resulted in a disturbing tangle of half truths, rumors and innuendo. There was a distinct undercurrent of unrest onboard directed at her new helmsman. Chakotay could understand the tension between Maquis and Starfleet officers. It would be a long time, if ever, before that uneasiness would be assuaged. The unrest that bothered Chakotay was a universal dislike of Tom Paris. It was the kind of dissension that could prove hazardous to the young man if it was not squelched immediately.

Squelching the dissension fell under the duties of first officer as Chakotay interpreted them. Giving his salad a final stab, the commander pushed the plate away and looked up, sensing a change in the atmosphere of the room. Conversation had stopped, or had dropped to hushed whispers. The reason, as Chakotay suspected was the arrival of Tom Paris. Giving no indication he noticed the silence that accompanied his presence, Paris helped himself to several items, then searched the common area of the room for an empty table. He nodded and smiled to one of the female crew members, who in turn looked away, pointedly ignoring his advance. Paris shrugged, as though accustomed to the rebuff. He stepped around the table, but before he had taken two steps, another crewman, this time one of Chakotay's Maquis, stood abruptly, jostling the young Human.

Chakotay saw the Maquis' elbow jab into Paris ribs, subtly, in such a fashion Chakotay would have missed the maneuver had he not been watching carefully. Paris jerked aside, and stood for a moment with eyes closed, as though struggling to catch his breath, and conceal his pain. Without pausing to offer an apology, the crewman turned his back and walked to the exit. Chakotay had risen to his feet, a sharp reprimand on the tip of his tongue. He was about to call the crewman back, when his eyes met Paris'. An odd look of resignation, along with a twisted half smile, as much as told Chakotay not to bother. This had happened before. Paris silently requested he not interfere. Although he had never given Paris much credit for moral character, Chakotay had reluctantly admitted the man had courage, and was not the type to give in without a fight. His passive acceptance, seemed, out of character. Chakotay was willing to respect Paris desire for privacy, but not if by doing so he was deliberately and knowingly placing the young man in any danger, or encouraging any form of insurrection among this crew, however minor. Their position was far to precarious to allow anyone to usurp the basic rights of a single person on board.
The young man had taken a seat alone and was staring at the star trails passing by the window, obviously lost in thought. Removing his uneaten food, Chakotay left the common room, making no attempt to speak with Paris. The commander was willing to wait a little longer. He would intercept Paris, privately, after he had finished his meal. Chakotay had no desire to call any more attention to the lieutenant in full view of his fellow crew members.

* * * * * * *

Chakotay faced Paris as the door to the small conference room hissed shut behind them. The first officer had waited until Paris emerged from the dining hall, then, had requested the helmsman meet privately with him. As expected, Paris declined. The request, then became an order. Chakotay did not need an empath's talents to tell him his interference was not appreciated. He was beginning to wonder if he would be farther ahead leaving Paris to his fate. The smug grin on Paris face rankled. Was the man naturally irritating, or did he work at it. Then Chakotay took a closer look. Paris' face was far too pale to fit the attitude conveyed by the grin, and in the sharp light of the small room, the drawn tension around his eyes was painfully evident. No light from the smile that graced his lips, reached his eyes, which were strangely veiled and secretive. Chakotay couldn't help wondering what he was trying to hide.

"What happened?" Chakotay asked bluntly.

"Happened? Just now in the dining hall? You were there."

"No. I mean before that. Over the last few days?.

"Why nothing, Chakotay," Paris answered with a smirk. "I'm just fine."

Chakotay took a step closer to the younger man, angered by his disrespectful tone, yet also pleased Paris held his ground. "I've seen war refugees who were finer, lieutenant. You might think you're hiding something from the captain, but it is obvious to me you are in pain. Now, how did it happen?"

Paris shrugged, then almost imperceptibly winced at the movement. "Is that what you've been checking on? " Paris shook his head, then laughed a laugh as odd and lifeless as the look in his eyes. "Holodeck accident. Carelessness on my part. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Why didn't the doctor put you on medical report."

Paris laughed again, this time a genuine show of humor. "Come on, Chakotay. You don't think I'd voluntarily subject myself to Mr. Personality's charm. Its nothing really."

Paris started to push his way past the first officer, but Chakotay's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Then, if its nothing, you won't object to showing me."

Paris stood very still, a smirking half grin frozen on his lips. "Why? Are you a field medic too?"

"In the Maquis, you learn to be a lot of things."

"We're not in the Maquis any more. And as I recall, when I was, you were never that concerned about my welfare." Paris' voice had dropped to a bitter whisper.

Chakotay resisted the urge to snap back. "Yes, Mr. Paris. This is a Federation vessel, as we are so often reminded. I am her first officer, and the welfare of this crew is my responsibility. Now, you can show me this injury that is 'nothing' but has had you hobbling around like an old man, or we can go to the infirmary and the doctor forwards a complete report to Janeway."

Paris backed off a step, his former cockiness rapidly becoming stubborn defiance.

"Me, or Janeway?" Chakotay repeated.

Paris hesitated, a deep crimson flush creeping up his neck to burn brightly on his cheeks. The flush of shame startled Chakotay, but he did not reveal the wash of sympathy he suddenly felt for the young man. With deliberate slowness, Paris unfastened the thin gray shirt he wore, opening the front. He would have stopped there, but Chakotay's wordless nod, indicated there would no longer be anything hidden. Slipping off the shirt, Paris stared at the ceiling, and Chakotay could almost imagine him counting the rivets in the welds, would have, had he not been shocked and alarmed by what the shirt had hidden. Livid bruises, purpled almost to black, darkened across the young man's ribs, mottling the flat of his stomach, until it was almost a solid mass of discolored flesh. Paris had been beaten, soundly and expertly. Chakotay's first response was a rush of anger, at whoever had done this, and at the foolish lieutenant who thought he could hide the truth.

"Why wasn't this reported?" Chakotay demanded, forcing himself to unclench the fists he had reflexively made, making himself relax. If any member of his Maquis were involved in this attack there would be hell to pay.

Paris pulled the shirt back over his shoulders, fastening the front. "There was nothing to report. It was just a stupid holodeck accident."

"No one receives that kind of injury in a holodeck accident unless they've programmed a loosing battle with a kick-boxer run amuck. I want the truth." Or do you always make a habit of hiding the truth, Chakotay thought savagely to himself.

Paris took a deep breath, the looked the Indian directly in the eye. "Isn't it obvious?"

"It's obvious you were on the receiving end of a beating. I want to know why and by whom?"

Paris shook his head, and laughed softly, The same strange, almost wistful smile curving his lips. When he spoke his voice was resigned. "The why is the most obvious part, isn't it Chakotay. I'm not one of the more popular members of this crew, either with the Starfleet regulars or the Maquis. Most of them still treat me like a pariah. Like a convict in a penal colony, constantly reminding me in so many subtle and not so subtle ways that I don't belong here, on this ship or as part of this crew. For one reason or another, everyone seems to have reason. Even yourself."

Chakotay bit back a sharp retort. "Who?"

"Does it matter?"

I'm trying to help you, Chakotay thought. I'm on your side, stop fighting me. He took a deep breath before continuing.
"Whether the other members of this crew like it or not, you are a commissioned officer aboard this ship. If you have been brutally attacked, the perpetrators need to be punished."

Paris shook his head, and laughed again. "You are beginning to sound like Mr. Tuvok. What happened to the Maquis commander who was ready to defend B'Ellana for doing the very same thing."

It was Chakotay's turn to seethe silently. He took a calming breath to control his rising anger. "Who?" he repeated, as gently as possible.

Paris stared as though the question had no meaning. His face was very pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. "I don't know." Paris looked to the floor, then turned and walked to the view port. Leaning his hands against the lower rim, he stared out the window at the silent scroll of strange stars.

Chakotay stepped up behind the helmsman, resisting the urge to lay his hand on the man's shoulder, a gesture he was sure would be unwelcome. His voice softened as he spoke again. "No one takes a beating like that without seeing who did it."

Paris spoke without turning, his words directed into the darkness of space. "You do if you're hit from behind and blindfolded first."

Chakotay could hear the fear in the younger man's voice, and the certain knowledge that the same thing could easily happen again and again. The attack was not spontaneous, it was premeditated and prearranged, and that made the incident more insidious. Chakotay could imagine the terror - blind, defenseless and totally at the mercy of his attackers. "Why didn't you report this immediately?"

"Because I couldn't prove anything." Paris suddenly burst with anger and indignation. "Because I knew it would just result in endless finger pointing. Because I knew most of the crew would silently be glad it had happened. And maybe because, over the years, I've learned it sometimes just doesn't pay to tell the truth."

Chakotay looked into the young man's eyes and realized he had said more than he had intended, and suddenly the first officer understood. "That's what Caldik Prime really taught you, didn't it Mr. Paris. That the truth doesn't always work."

"Caldik Prime is ancient history. It happened light years and a lifetime ago. It has nothing to do with now." Paris turned again to stare unseeing at the hurtling stars.

You're very wrong, Chakotay thought. It has everything to do with now. With why you're here, with the rest of us, lost in the Delta Quadrant, instead of flying for the Federation. When you told the truth about Caldik Prime, no one believed you. When you lied, probably to cover someone else's mistake, they jumped down your throat. You thought your father's reputation would get you off the hook, instead it cost you everything, and whoever you covered for, went free.
It suddenly made sense to Chakotay. He felt as if he were beginning to understand this complicated young man.

"This will not happen again." Chakotay's voice was firm. This time he did place a hand on Paris shoulder, turning him so they were eye to eye. "Trust me. This will not happen again."

A fleeting, and indecipherable look passed over Paris' face. "There's no way you can guarantee that."

"Yes, I can," Chakotay said firmly. "If not the Federation way, then the Maquis way. Several strongly worded suggestions placed with the right crew members, letting those responsible know that I know who they are."

"But you don't. I don't."

Chakotay nodded. "Yes, but they don't know that. "

Through the hand that still rested on his shoulder, Chakotay felt the tension begin to drain from the young helmsman. He took a deep breath, and some of the cockiness came back into his grin. "I suppose this means the debt is paid."

"Perhaps," Chakotay replied. "I want you to report to the infirmary immediately. Have the doctor take care of those bruises. I expect you back on duty tomorrow, in one piece, and" Chakotay paused, "be more careful with your next holodeck program."

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