"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." ~Kahlil Gibran

Life was a series of steps and Chakotay walked through the paces with little to no interest. As long as his hands were occupied, his brain could get lost in the details. He'd made a lifestyle out of short nights, early mornings, and 20 hour days. An exhausted body had no time for nightmares.

He thought of B'Elanna Torres less and less with each passing day. It wasn't because the memory of their last day together had begun to fade. Her face was still as clear to him as it had been at the hour of their separation. The desperation in her cries still rang in his ears. His open wounds still festered with guilt. After six years, he'd simply gotten better at ignoring it.

To the others assigned to Beta Verde, Chakotay appeared dispassionate and dedicated to his work. None of them knew him well enough to know that he was only trying to escape. After three attempts to ascertain her fate, Chakotay had been forced by friends and lack of resources to abandon his search. In a single night, he'd transformed from a driven man into a broken shell. Regret and sadness threatened to consume him. He did his best to disappear, completely leaving his old life behind. It was his intention to start anew, buried in the sand of this long-dead civilization, on an uneventful planet, in an unimportant sector. He wanted to forget and be forgotten.

When the shadow of a ship passed over, Chakotay thought nothing of it as he labored in the dirt. The monthly supply ship was due for its drop off. Sweat dreanched his loose clothes as he toiled over a buried piece of broken pottery in advanced stages of decay. Chakotay switched from the micro resonator to a fine bristled brush. He moved slowly, going to painstaking lengths to prevent further damage. In mid-stroke, another shadow fell over his work. The overhead sun cast the outline of a person on the uneven ground before him.

"You're blocking the light," Chakotay announced without inflection.

"I thought playing in the dirt was for kids," a familiar voice returned.

Chakotay glanced up over his shoulder at the unexpected visitor. He was surprised but hid the evidence from his face. He had no intention of giving Tom Paris the satisfaction. Instead, he gently placed the brush aside and straightened. Locking gazes with the younger man, he waited.

"It's been a long time, Old Man," Paris observed.

Chakotay bristled inside at the use of B'Elanna's endearment. There had been a time when the term had passed through his lips with sincerity and honest camaraderie. Now, after all these years, it was hollow.

"What do you want, Tom?"

"I need your help, Chakotay," Paris answered.

Irritation caused him to sigh inwardly. "Last time I checked, the comm was working just fine."

Paris flexed his hand into an involuntary fist. "Look, Chakotay. I know you'd rather be left alone -"

"Yes, I would. So say what you've come to say, Tom."

The pilot drew in a deep breath and blurted out his news.

"B'Elanna's alive."

[TBC]