The Heart of A Friend
by Shayney

Yes, there will be a continuation of this, eventually. But I think this part stands alone.

And thank you to the members of PKSP and PKElite for their advice and encouragement - especially Rachel!

Date Posted: 07 March 2000

Spoilers: up to and including "Gravity"

Author's Note: This story takes place in a slightly alternate universe. It's not too different from the canon, except that here, the events of "Blood Fever" never occurred.

Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

"And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"Harry!" Tom hadn't expected to see his friend tonight, but here he was, wandering into Sandrine's, looking slightly lost. Catching sight of Tom, Harry smiled and threaded his way across the room to join Tom at the pool table.

"Tuvok stood you up?" Tom asked. This was the night Harry usually spent playing kal-toh with their Vulcan Security Chief.

"Yeah," Harry said. "He had to cancel."

"Well, you can play pool with me then," Tom said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Sure," Harry said. But he didn't seem very enthusiastic.

"Harry, what's the matter? I mean, I know playing pool with me can't possibly match the excitement of a thrilling game of Vulcan chess with Tuvok. . ." Tom broke off, realizing there was far more resentment in his words than was warranted.

But Harry only smiled. A reluctant but genuine smile that warmed Tom's heart. "It's not that. I guess I'm a little worried about him. He's been acting strange lately."

"I haven't noticed," Tom said.

Harry shrugged. "It's probably nothing." He racked up the balls.

The next evening, Tom hurried to the holodeck. He was supposed to have been there twenty minutes ago to meet Harry, but had unexpectedly been called to cover Sickbay while the Doctor ran some kind of urgent private errand. There had been no patients, but it was standard operating procedure that someone had to be in Sickbay at all times, just in case.

Harry was probably waiting for him inside the holodeck. They were planning on playing through another chapter of Captain Proton. Tom was looking forward to it. He keyed the doors open, and entered to find a program already running.

He recognized it. It was one of Harry's. Like its creator, it was deceptively quiet. Most people who did "landscape" holoprograms chose spectacular settings: unusual, outstanding, or fantastical examples of nature's wonders. This program was not in the least exotic. Just a ordinary place, full of ordinary natural beauty - but so carefully planned and finely detailed that, in its own way, it was quite extraordinary.

A lush green field spread before him, spangled with golden buttercups. Trees shaded the grass here and there: oak, dogwood, pine, pecan, magnolia. A creek cut through the field, its clayey banks leading down to clear, shallow water flowing around ribbons of smooth-washed gravel. It had that "suburban" look: not wilderness, yet not the manicured perfection of a formal park or garden, either. Tom had long suspected that this program was based on the area of South Carolina where its author had grown up, and he smiled, imagining young Harry climbing the trees and wading in the creek after tadpoles.

Tom caught sight of his friend, sprawled on the grass by the water. It was a lovely spot. Nicer than the real thing, actually. Thick masses of sweet-smelling honeysuckle vines covered the bushes, with nary a hint of poison ivy. Bees hummed over the flowers, but would never sting. No burrs in the fragrant grass, no chiggers in the brush, and the sleek gray snake that slithered away as Tom approached was guaranteed non-venomous.

Harry was reading something, so absorbed he didn't even notice Tom's arrival. Wondering what was so interesting, Tom slipped quietly up behind him and snatched the padd away.

"Hey! Give that back!" Harry protested. He sat up, but didn't pursue Tom, who backed just out of reach and began to read.

Or tried. He couldn't understand the script that flowed across the screen. It was, near as he could tell, all in Vulcan. "What is this?"

"Vulcan Poetry, Pre-Reform to Modern: A Selection, if you must know."

"Harry, you have got to be kidding. Learning Borg was bad enough. Now it's Vulcan?"

"I thought I should learn something about Vulcan culture," Harry said defensively. "It seems only polite. Tuvok has learned a lot about our culture. The least I could do was try to learn about his. He's my friend."

"I'm your friend, too, and you don't care about my taste in poetry." No, instead he plays Captain Proton with you. And he let you teach him pool, instead of kal-toh.

Harry lay back on the grass. Squirming, he pulled a twig from where it was jabbing into his shoulder and tossed it away. It splashed into the creek; minnows darted for cover, and clouds of silt swirled in the water as a crayfish scuttled away in alarm. Tom admired the details, deciding they were a reflection of Harry's thoroughness and persistence. Tom was rabidly obsessive about his programs while they were new, but tended to lose interest after awhile, moving on to new ones. Harry never quit working on a program. He was always fine-tuning and making improvements, even on ones he'd run for years.

"Okay, what's your favorite poem?" Harry asked.

Bluff called. Tom wasn't that fond of poetry, and couldn't think of any poems at all at the moment, except for the ones that began "There once was a man from Nantucket." "Guess," he said, mostly to stall for time.

Harry pondered. "Well, knowing you, it's something from the twentieth century. Ummm. . .'High Flight,' by John Gillespie Magee?"

"Huh?"

Harry recited:

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things. . ."

"No, but I like it," Tom said.

"Well, I give up, then. What is your favorite poem?"

Tom had thought of something by now:

"I pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave me birth.
Let me rest my eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth."

Well, that was cheerful. He'd always thought of it as just the longing of a spacefarer for home, but given Voyager's situation. . .

Harry didn't seem to be bothered, though. "Who wrote it?"

"Robert Anson Heinlein."

Harry laughed, recognizing the name. "Is that your way of telling me you want to get started with Captain Proton?"

"Well, we only have two hours, and I was late," Tom said.

"Okay," Harry said. Tom gave the order to the computer, and suddenly Harry was sprawled on the steps of Captain Proton's spaceship, rather than on the grass of a Carolina meadow. He stood up. "I'm impressed, Tom. I thought the only poems you knew started with 'There once was a man from Nantucket.'"

The next morning, Tom was already almost finished eating when Harry came into the mess. "You're up early," Harry said, taking his usual place next to Tom.

Tom answered glumly. "There was a message waiting for me when I got back to my quarters last night. The Captain wants to see me before my shift."

"Are you in trouble?" Harry asked.

"Probably," Tom said. "Aren't I always?"

"No," Harry said. "Actually, you aren't. Hey, maybe it's something good. Commendation? Promotion? Weekend pass?"

"Funny, Harry."

"Well, if she revokes all your replicator rations, you know you can always borrow mine." He paused. "At a very reasonable interest rate."

Tom looked at Harry in mock horror. "I've taught you too well." He stood up, gathering up his tray.

Harry stopped him. "Hey, Tom, you work in Sickbay. Have you heard anything about Tuvok? Is he sick or something?"

Tuvok had missed his bridge shift the previous day. Highly unusual for him. "I haven't heard anything, but I'll see what I can find out. Right now I have to go see what the Captain wants. See you on the bridge."

Tom entered the ready room, stopping in front of Janeway's desk, at attention. "Lt. Paris reporting as ordered, Captain." Mentally, he ticked off the list of things he might be in trouble for. There was that one report he'd turned in late. . . okay, two reports. He'd actually been pretty diligent about Sickbay duty lately; he didn't think the Doc had cause for complaint. Then again, the Doctor just didn't like him. Or maybe the Captain had found out about the betting pool he was running on the shipwide tennis tournament. . . and the odds he'd put on her winning.

"At ease, Tom," she said - and he knew, from the tone of her voice, that this was something far more serious than tardiness or betting pools. The last time she'd used this tone with him had been when she'd asked him to go undercover to catch a traitor.

She offered him something to drink; he wondered what she would do if he asked for a double shot of Scotch, but declined. Getting a coffee for herself, she gestured him to her couch. Oh, this was serious. Not the desk, not the table, the couch.

"What I'm about to tell you is not to go beyond this room," Janeway said.

"Classified, huh?"

"Not classified. Private." She gave Tom a stern look. "I mean it, Tom. You're to tell no one. Not even Harry."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She sipped her coffee, seeming oddly nervous. "Tom," she said finally. "What do you know about pon farr?"

He blinked in surprise. Of all the possibilities running through his head, he hadn't been expecting this. "Just what I've learned from the dirty jokes," he replied. "Vulcans only have sex every seven years. When they do, it's called pon farr."

"Not quite correct. Every seven years, they must mate. Or die. That is pon farr."

Tom nodded, wondering what this had to do with him.

"Do you remember Ensign Vorik?"

Tom did. "He died two years ago, of a Vulcan illness the Doctor couldn't cure."

"He died of unresolved pon farr."

"What? But, Captain, surely. . . there are Vulcans on board who could. . . Or even humans. Holograms! There's no reason for someone to die of. . ."

"It's not that simple, Tom. The sexual act alone isn't enough. Vulcans are telepaths. They are mentally bonded with their mates. That psychic bond is essential."

Tom absorbed that, shocked. "But. . . their mates are all in the Alpha Quadrant. All of the Vulcans on board are going to die before we get home." His mind suddenly made a connection. Tuvok! He wasn't sick; he must be in pon farr. Oddly, Tom's first thought was of Harry. The kid really liked Tuvok, and was going to take this hard. Heck, Tom was going to take it pretty hard himself. He'd had a special place in his heart for Tuvok, ever since his Banean murder trial. And he'd grown even more fond of him, while they'd been stranded for two months together, eating sauteed spiders on that desert planet.

"Not necessarily," Janeway said. "If a bond can be established with someone else, a Vulcan separated from his mate can survive ponfarr. This is acceptable, and not considered a betrayal."

"You want me to find a date for Tuvok?" Tom asked incredulously. Part of him was astonished at the very idea, but part of him was already considering possibilities. Hey, he'd fixed up less likely prospects. Tuvok had his share of admirers. Sue Nicoletti, maybe. She was an engineer, and liked the cool, reliable type. Jenny Delaney would love to be able to add a Vulcan to her scorecard. Or how about Harry? He's probably the one closest to Tuvok, aside from Capt. Janeway herself. It was a surprisingly unwelcome thought.

"No," Janeway said. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. As I said, there must be a bond. Vorik died because he was unable to bond with anyone on this ship."

"Captain, I don't understand," Tom said. "Why are you telling me this?"

Janeway shut her eyes for a long moment, then met Tom's gaze squarely. "Because Tuvok is mentally bonded with you. If he's to survive pon farr, you are his only chance."

Tom stared at his captain speechlessly. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

Janeway explained further. "He thinks it happened while you were stranded in that subspace sinkhole. It was only two days for us, but it was two months for you and Tuvok. Two months, with only each other for company. Two months, during which Tuvok's body was already gearing up for pon farr. Unconsciously, he reached out and connected with the only compatible mind available. . . yours."

Tom could hardly believe what he was hearing. Why him? Of all the people on Voyager, why him? "You want me to. . . mate with Tuvok?"

Janeway's voice was very gentle. "I am asking you to consider it. But I want you to be fully informed before you make a decision. Pon farr is violent. It's instinct, not love. Tuvok. . . won't be the man you know. Your life will not be in danger, but you could be hurt."

Tom nodded acknowledgment, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This just got better all the time.

"Please do not feel you must do this. This is not an order. I promise you, Tom, there will be no repercussions should you refuse. I'm asking this of you, not as your superior officer, but as Tuvok's friend." She hesitated. "He's going to be furious when he finds out I've even approached you, and I know it's not quite fair, but. . . there was no way I could not ask."

"Understood, Captain," Tom managed.

"Please, take some time to think about your answer. No, Tom, this is something you must consider carefully. There's time. Have your answer ready at 0900 tomorrow - not a moment sooner."

"Yes, Captain."

"Dismissed."

Tom left. He would do as Janeway said, and think about it until tomorrow, but he already knew what his answer would be. He owed everything he had, everything he now was, to Kathryn Janeway. How could refuse her anything? He'd give his life for her.

But why oh why did she have to ask this of him?

Tom did his best to act as if nothing had happened, but he didn't fool his best friend. Harry cast worried glances Tom's way all morning. The second half of Tom's shift was in Sickbay that day, while the Doc used his holodeck time, but Harry came down as soon as his bridge shift was over.

"What happened, Tom? What did the Captain want?"

"I guess my reports haven't been up to Chakotay's standards," Tom lied.

Harry looked doubtful.

"Relax, Harry. It's no big deal."

Thankfully, Harry let it go. "Okay, Tom, if you say so." He looked around to make sure the Doctor hadn't appeared, then asked, "Did you find out anything about Tuvok? Is he sick?"

Tom should have expected the question, but he hadn't. He knew he'd gone pale, and that Harry would notice. Damn and damn. "No, he's not sick," Tom managed. "The Captain said he's taking a few days off for a Vulcan ritual, that's all."

Harry's gaze was troubled. "Tom. . ."

"Look, I can't tell you any more, okay?" He looked at Harry, silently begging him to leave it be.

"All right," Harry said, though he clearly knew something was very wrong. "Shall we get dinner?"

"I'm really tired, Harry. I think I'm just going to go back to my quarters and make an early night of it."

Harry gave Tom a long look, then left without another word.

Tom sat on a bed in Sickbay, trying to ignore the Doctor, who was doing typical doctor things: scanning, poking, prodding. Though, unnervingly, he wasn't making any of his usual sarcastic remarks.

Earlier today, Tom had given Capt. Janeway his decision. She had been so profoundly grateful and relieved. It actually made him glad he could do this for her, and for Tuvok. But it didn't change the fact that he was also terrified.

They'd allowed him to decide when to go to Tuvok's quarters. The Doctor told him it could be any time in the next two days. Tom wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, so he'd picked that evening. Harry was scheduled to play in the tennis tournament semifinals tonight, so Tom wouldn't have to worry about running into him and being asked uncomfortable questions.

"I've prepared you as best I can," the Doctor said, still scanning. "I've implanted a subdermal transmitter here." He took Tom's left hand, touching the webbing between his third and last fingers. "Feel it? Press it hard, and you will be instantly transported to Sickbay."

Tom explored it gently, a tiny, hard lump just beneath the skin. He could easily activate it with the thumb on the same hand. "But why, Doc?"

"It's for emergency use only, Mr. Paris. I don't anticipate it will be necessary. However, I thought it prudent to provide you with some method of. . . contacting us. All communications to Mr. Tuvok's cabin have been cut, at his request, and with the Captain's approval. Vulcans may become irrational at times like this. Mr. Tuvok feared he could be a risk to the ship or her crew if he were allowed any contact with them. His combadge has been deactivated, and you will leave yours here. His computer terminal has also been deactivated. The door has been keyed to your voice. You will be able to enter, but once it shuts, it will remain locked for three days, or until the Captain gives the authorization to open it. And you must not let Mr. Tuvok know about the transdermal receiver."

They'd be locked in the for the duration. Tom couldn't help shivering a little. "What are we going to eat?"

"The replicator will respond to key-in commands," the Doctor said. "It will provide food items only, and the menu will be a bit limited. Tuvok won't be eating anything, so feel free to charge everything to his account. It's the least he owes you." He pressed a hypo against Tom's neck.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"Just something to calm you down a little. Don't worry, it's very mild. At the dose I gave you, you'd still be considered fit to fly."

"Thanks," Tom said, understanding that the Doctor was actually trying to help him. "Computer, time?"

"It is 1945 hours."

Harry's tennis match with Baytart should be underway now. As good a time as any. Tom stood up, removing his combadge and handing it to the Doctor. In return, the Doctor handed him a medikit. "Just in case."

Tom nodded.

"Good luck, Mr. Paris."

As promised, the door to Tuvok's quarters slid open at Tom's voice command. He stood in the doorway a minute, then forced himself to go in. He tried not to hear the door sliding closed and locking behind him.

The room beyond was hot and dark, and smelled of the heavy, sweet Vulcan incense Harry sometimes burned. "Lights," Tom said, then remembered computer voice controls were disabled. He found the environmental control panel and dialed up the lights manually.

Tuvok's quarters were elegant and spacious, as befitted an officer of his rank. A long bank of windows showed the passing stars, and as always, Tom found the sight calming. There was no one in the living area, so Tom headed to the bedroom. Yes, there was Tuvok, lying on the bed asleep. Or meditating?

He hesitated. Maybe he should let sleeping Vulcans lie. But even in the dim light of the bedroom, Tuvok didn't look well. He seemed to be trembling slightly, as if with fever or nerves, and his breathing was unhealthily fast and shallow. Compassion overcame fear, and Tom went in and sat on the edge of the bed. He took Tuvok's inhumanly warm hand in his, feeling for a pulse.

Tuvok's eyes flew open. He stared at Tom in shock.

"It's okay," Tom said. "Everything's going to be all right."

"No," Tuvok said. "You cannot be here."

"Yes, I can," Tom said.

"She had no right!" Tom had never seen Tuvok so agitated. "Get out!"

"I can't," Tom said. "We're locked in for the next three days. So what do you wanna do? Friendly game of Chinese checkers, maybe?"

"Get out!" Tuvok shouted. He was shaking, as if with anger, and Tom was really starting to get nervous.

"Okay, okay." He stood up and backed away. Apparently he wasn't moving fast enough, because Tuvok jumped off the bed and came after him. Tom hastily retreated out into the living area, but Tuvok still followed, with the swift, deadly grace of a predator stalking his prey. Resisting the futile urge to run to the door and pound on it, Tom stood his ground. He half-expected Tuvok to hit him, and braced himself for it; instead, long, dark fingers caressed his face. At first the touch was gentle, but abruptly it grew harder and rougher, roaming down his body, tearing at his clothes.

"Tuvok?" Tom said, but the Vulcan didn't seem to hear him. There was a wild look in his eyes, and he was growling softly. The touches grew more intrusive. . . and not just physically. A terrifying, dark heat was pushing against the edges of Tom's mind. He tried to control his rising panic, but finally broke, running for the door, even though he knew it wouldn't open. He got three steps before Tuvok grabbed him, flinging him around to land with bruising force onto the table. Tom yelled and fought back, knowing he shouldn't, but unable to stop himself. Tuvok hardly seemed to notice. His body had the dense, heavy solidity that tended to evolve on high-gravity worlds. Hitting him was like hitting stone. There was no way Tom could win this struggle.

"Kroykah!"

At first, Tom thought he was hallucinating. It sounded like Harry. Then he realized Tuvok had let him go. Startled, Tom turned to see that it was indeed Harry Kim standing in the open doorway. How had he gotten in here? And why was he shouting in Vulcan?

Tuvok stared at the unexpected intruder. "Ensign," he said hoarsely. "Please leave. Once the door closes, you will be locked in."

Harry stepped forward into the room, and the door shut behind him.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tom said.

Harry didn't look at him, only at Tuvok. "Kal-i-fee," he said.

The effect on Tuvok was like an electric shock. He gasped and shuddered violently. His eyes narrowed, focusing on Harry in a fierce, frightening glare.

Tom hurried to Harry's side, spurred by a harsh groan from Tuvok.

"Tom, no," Harry said. His gaze remained fixed on Tuvok. "Don't run from him. Move slowly."

"Harry, are you insane? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be playing best-of-five against Baytart!"

"I forfeited. Sorry, Tom, I know you were betting on me to win. I'll try to make it up to you."

"Get out!" Tom cried.

"I can't," Harry said. "The lock was set to keep Tuvok in, not to keep anyone out. It was easy to hack the lock from the outside. It won't open from the inside. Not without Captain Janeway's authorization."

"Then comm her and get her to open it!"

"No!" Harry said firmly, finally looking at Tom. "This is my right. Starfleet has no jurisdiction in anything connected to the ponfarr."

"But Harry-"

Tuvok spoke. "He is correct, Mr. Paris. The Captain cannot interfere in this. You must not, either." He turned his attention to Harry. "This is your right, Ensign Kim. But I beg you. . . as your. . . friend. . . do not invoke it. Please."

Harry was pale, but met Tuvok's gaze squarely. "Kal-i-fee," he repeated.

Tuvok shut his eyes, as if in intense pain.

"What?" Tom asked, not understanding what was going on, and going crazy because of it.

"I'm challenging him," Harry said.

"What?!" Tom suddenly noticed that his friend was dressed in PTs - the snug, grey, short-sleeved uniform worn for physical training. Harry always wore casual civilian clothes for sports or working out. He'd come here intending to fight Tuvok. "Please, Harry, no."

"I know what I'm doing. Stay out of this, Tom."

"Harry, don't do this. It's not worth it."

"I think it is," Harry replied gravely. "But if it doesn't work . . . try not to resist. It will only make him more violent. And whatever happens - don't be mad at him. He can't help it." He took off his combadge and hurled it across the room. "Don't try to beam me out or interfere until it's over." He paused, something unreadable in his eyes, then put his arms around Tom and embraced him tightly.

Tuvok gave a low growl, and threw himself at Harry. Harry shoved Tom aside, then he and Tuvok were rolling across the floor, entangled. Harry ended up on top, but Tuvok easily flung him off. Harry rolled with it, landing lightly on his feet. Tuvok sprang up and the two began circling each other.

"Stop it!" Tom yelled, but both men ignored him. He tried to get between them, but Tuvok brushed him aside as if he were an annoying insect.

"Please, Tom, I can't watch him and you," Harry said. "Stay out of this until it's over!" He dodged as Tuvok aimed a vicious blow at his head, then landed a solid kick to Tuvok's knee. Tuvok barely noticed.

"When will it be over?" Tom asked, barely restraining himself as a left hook from Tuvok sent Harry reeling.

"The kal-i-fee is to the death," Tuvok said. It sounded like a plea.

What? Tom wanted to say, but somehow he had no breath for it. He sagged against the wall, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. To the death? Tuvok had to be kidding. But he wasn't, of course.

"Hey," Tom finally said. "Guys, can't we talk this over? How about we settle this with arm wrestling instead? Or we could flip a coin. Best two out of three!"

They ignored him. Why oh why would Harry do this? He knew it wasn't unheard-of for people to prefer to see their lovers dead rather than with someone else, but he'd never have guessed Harry was one of those.

And it was becoming all too apparent that Harry was overmatched, and not just because of Tuvok's superior Vulcan strength. Harry couldn't seem to bring himself to seriously hurt Tuvok, while Tuvok was going for the kill.

Two man grappled, then fell to the floor. "Come on, Harry," Tom coached. "Go for his eyes. Or his nuts. This is no time to play fair."

Harry, struggling under Tuvok, didn't take the advice. Instead, the heel of his hand smashed into Tuvok's jaw, and a kick to Tuvok's chest sent the Vulcan flying back. Both men were on their feet again quickly, but Tom could tell Harry was tiring. He was panting and soaked with perspiration. Blood streamed from his nose and lip, and he was definitely slowing.

To hell with Starfleet protocol and Vulcan tradition, Tom decided. He couldn't let this happen. He ran over to where Harry had thrown his combadge. Maybe if he called the Captain. . . Damn it, where was the stupid thing? Finally he found it, but there was no response when he tapped it. Harry must have thrown it hard enough to break it. Probably intentionally. Tom flung it aside impatiently, mind racing. He could use the panic button the Doc had given him, beam out, and come back with a security team. If Harry had been able to hack the lock from the outside, Tom was sure he could, too. But who knew how long it would take? They could kill each other while he was gone. He couldn't think of anything to do but stay here and try to help Harry as best he could. Maybe it wouldn't really be to the death. He had the medikit the Doctor had given him. If they didn't hurt each other too badly, he'd be able to patch them up.

Wait a minute, the medikit! Tom found it on the chair where he'd dropped it. Rifling through it, he grabbed the hypospray and loaded it with the most powerful sedative in the kit. Then he edged nearer the combatants, waiting for his moment.

But Harry saw what he was doing. "No, Tom!"

Tuvok whipped around. With lightning speed, he snatched the hypo away from Tom and squeezed, crushing it to scrap with one hand. Tom stared in amazement and not a little fear, but Tuvok just dropped the mangled pieces and turned back to Harry.

"I told you, Tom!" Harry said. "Stay out of this!"

The hell I will. Looking around, he saw some kind of weapon hanging on the wall. A short, heavy staff with a blade at one end. He grabbed it, and crept up behind Tuvok. He raised the heavy butt end, aiming for the head.

"Don't!" Harry cried, and threw himself at Tom, pushing the weapon aside. Tuvok turned and effortlessly wrested it from Tom's grasp. The broad, blunt end shoved against Tom's shoulder, sending him sprawling, then swung around to crash into Harry's chest with sickening force, catching him blind and dropping him like a rock. He lay supine on the deck, gasping harshly. Blood frothed at his lips. Tuvok stood over him, weapon raised.

"NO!" Tom crawled towards them, determined to stop this, even if it killed him.

But Tuvok did not attack. Instead, he stood frozen, looking down at his fallen opponent. Then he shuddered, and tossed the weapon aside. He fell to his knees beside Harry, fingers touching the pale, bloody face with surprising gentleness. Harry groped blindly toward him. Tuvok took his hand. "Tuvok," Harry whispered. He tried to speak, but he had no more breath for words. Instead, there was a final sigh, and he went limp, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.

"Harry!" Tom screamed. He activated the subdermal transceiver, reaching out to grip Harry's wrist tightly with his other hand.

Thankfully, all three of them were caught in the transporter beam. Tom hadn't been sure it would work that way. They materialized in Sickbay, Harry lying on the floor, Tuvok and Tom kneeling on either side of him. "Activate EMH!" Tom yelled, and dead-lifted Harry onto the bed in the surgical bay. For a moment, he just cradled his friend's lax body in his arms, so distraught he was unable to think of anything else to do. Then he saw the Doctor hooking up the life support systems, and his training took over. He readied the resuscitation kit. Cordrazine, cortical stimulator, neural amplifier. . .

Please, Harry, come back, please. Please come back. He mouthed the words repeatedly, hardly realizing he was doing it. What the monitors showed was not good. The Doctor worked with the brisk, grim determination that meant he wasn't sure if the patient would survive.

"Cordrazine, 2 cc's."

Tom handed the hypospray to the Doctor, and readied the cortical stimulator, which would be needed if the cordrazine didn't work. The hypo hissed against Harry's neck, but there was no response.

"Cortical stimulator," the Doctor ordered. "Fifty millijoules."

Again, no response.

"Seventy millijoules!" the Doctor said. Nothing. "Ninety millijoules!"

Tom began preparing the neural amplifier. That would be next, if this didn't work.

But, thankfully, it worked. After what felt like a millennium, Harry's staring eyes widened, and he coughed, spraying blood over his already stained uniform. The monitors settled into more normal rhythms, and Tom shut his eyes in relief. No guarantees yet, but part of him that had feared the worst was now daring to hope.

"Mr. Paris, see to our other patient," the Doctor said.

Tom gaped at the Doctor, mouth open to protest.

"I've got this case under control. I'll call you if I need you." Then his stern tone softened a little. "You're not objective with this patient. You'll do more harm than good."

Tom nodded reluctantly, then turned to where Tuvok was still standing frozen, watching the attempt to save Harry's life. Tom paused for a moment, trying to gain some kind of control over his roiling emotions. He knew Tuvok could not be blamed for what he'd done. . . But inside, he was screaming, How could you, you bastard?

As if reading his mind, Tuvok turned and met Tom's eyes. "I. . ." His voice broke, and he swallowed, and started again. "I profoundly regret what transpired, Mr. Paris. My actions were inexcusable. I apologize for my behavior toward you, and toward Mr. Kim. I will put myself on report. Should you wish to press charges, I will not contest them."

Caught off guard, Tom found his rage ebbing. Only a little, but enough so that he could think again. He drew up every scrap of professionalism he had, then slowly approached the Vulcan. Tuvok had seemed reasonably calm and sane since they'd beamed to Sickbay, but he still had not mated. The madness might return at any time. Tom didn't want to think about what it would be like to have a crazed Vulcan on the rampage in Sickbay.

"Don't worry, the Doctor's taking good care of Harry," Tom said, using his most soothing tones. "Why don't you sit down on that bed and let me take a look at you?"

"You need not fear, Mr. Paris," Tuvok said. His voice was hoarse, but composed. "It is over."

Tom blinked. "What? But. . ." He grabbed a tricorder and started scanning. Sure enough, hormonal levels and other anomalous readings seemed to be returning to normal. "But you haven't. . ."

"Ordinarily, this matter would not be discussed with outsiders." Tuvok's face was unreadable, but Tom had the feeling he was embarrassed. "However. . . I involved you, and your friend. Even though it was unintentional, you deserve an explanation."

"Go on."

"Mating. . . is not the only manner in which pon farr can be resolved."

For once, Tom said nothing. This was plainly something that Tuvok found very difficult to talk about.

"Killing one's opponent in the kal-i-fee, the Challenge, is also. . ." Tuvok's voice faded.

"What?" Tom struggled to wrap his mind around this revelation. "Instead of having sex you can just kill someone?"

If Tuvok was offended by his bluntness, he gave no sign of it. "Not just anyone. But. . . yes, under certain conditions, murder is as effective as mating." His mouth tightened. "It is not the solution I would have chosen."

Tom's mind whirled. Had Harry known? Did he intentionally. . .? Tom got out the regenerator and got to work on Tuvok's injuries, which were mostly minor. He concentrated very carefully, partly because he was unused to Vulcan patients, partly to try to avoid thinking about what Tuvok had told him.

"What is going on in here?"

Tom looked up to see Captain Janeway striding in. The transport from Tuvok's quarters had been detected on the bridge, no doubt.

"Captain," the Doctor said.

"Sir!" Harry said, sitting up suddenly, as near to attention as he could get in bed. His eyes were open, but he wasn't fully conscious.

Tom left Tuvok and rushed back to Harry. He helped the Doc push him back flat on the bed.

"Lie down, Ensign," the Doctor said, glaring at Janeway. "You're ruining all the work I've done on your lung and ribs." But Harry still fought them, trying to get up. "Restraints, Class 2."

Tom switched on the low-level inertial field that instantly held Harry immobile against the bed. He hated to do it, but he knew it was necessary.

As Tom feared, Harry panicked at the confinement, straining futilely to move. "Shhh," Tom said. "Harry, calm down. Relax." The restraint field only prevented sudden movements. If Harry stopped struggling, he wouldn't even feel it. But Harry was too far gone to understand this. He was fighting it with all his strength. The Doctor pressed a hypo against his neck, but it seemed to have no effect.

"Ensign Kim! Stop it. You're hurting yourself!" the EMH said sternly. Harry didn't seem to hear him.

"Give him a sedative or something," Tom said.

"I've already given him a triple dose. I don't dare give him any more."

Tom leaned down, stroking his friend's ruffled hair. "Harry," he said softly. "Harry, please, listen to me. You have to calm down. Come on, Harry."

Harry seemed to hear him. He stopped struggling for a moment, but was still tense, breathing raggedly.

"Harry," Tom soothed. "It's all right. Look, you can move, as long as you do it slowly. See? It's only when you thrash around that the restraint field activates. It's just to keep you from hurting yourself, not to confine you."

Harry moved his right arm slowly, and found he could. This seemed to reassure him. He sighed, relaxing. Then his eyes slid shut, and he was unconscious.

"Good job, Mr. Paris." The Doctor sounded almost surprised.

"Is he okay?" Tom asked.

The scanner whirred. "No permanent damage done," he reported. "I think he'll be all right. Tell the Captain I'll be with her as soon as I'm finished here."

Tom could have fainted with relief. Instead, he returned to the bed where Tuvok was sitting. Captain Janeway was with him. She didn't look happy. Neither did Tuvok. If Tom didn't know better, he'd say they'd been arguing.

"The Doc said he thinks Harry will be all right," Tom reported. "He'll be with you as soon as he can."

"Tom," Janeway said. "What happened? How did Harry get involved in this?"

"I don't know," Tom replied. "I didn't tell him anything, I swear I didn't. He just showed up."

"Why did he interfere?"

Tom hesitated. "I don't know," he said again. Well, it was true. He had his suspicions, but he didn't know.

Janeway gave him a hard look. "Very well, Mr. Paris. We'll discuss this later. Tell the Doctor to let me know when Harry can receive visitors. I'm due in Engineering to see what we can do about our dilithium situation."

She left, and Tom turned back to Tuvok. "Near as I can tell, you're fine now. But the Doctor will want to look at you."

Tuvok nodded, and settled back down on the biobed. Though his face was as impassive as ever, there was an air of utter misery about him.

Watching him, Tom found that most of his fury had melted away - now that it was reasonably certain Harry would live. "Tuvok. . . I'm not going to press charges," he said. "And Harry won't, either."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "You must not try to influence Ensign Kim's decision in this matter."

"I won't," Tom said. "I just know Harry. He won't press charges. He likes you."

Tuvok said nothing, no doubt out of his depth when it came to the subject of Harry's human emotions.

It had occurred to Tom that he might be partially at fault. "I guess I should apologize, too," he said. "Harry tried to warn me, you know. Told me I was standing too close to you, touching you too casually. I didn't listen to him. I wanted you to be more human. It was damned arrogant of me. I should have known that there were reasons for your customs."

"I took no offense. I understand that it is just your way. And do not blame yourself, Mr. Paris. You did nothing to cause what happened. The fault is solely with me."

"But-"

"No, Lieutenant. I did not take the proper precautions. An adult Vulcan is expected to prevent such improper fixations. I did not, with you. Quite frankly, I did not anticipate we would ever be compatible enough for that to be a danger. I will be more cautious in the future."

"There were others you did 'take precautions' for, though?" Tom couldn't help asking.

Tuvok hesitated, then nodded.

Like Harry, no doubt. Tom gritted his teeth.

The Doctor joined them at that point, medical tricorder and scanner in hand. "Well, Mr. Tuvok, you seem to be in blooming health once again. I see no reason to keep you any longer. Just be sure to call me if you experience any unusual symptoms."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tuvok said, getting off the bed to leave. "And. . . thank you, Mr. Paris."

"So how's Harry?" Tom asked as soon Tuvok was gone. He tried to get around the Doc to see for himself, but was pulled up short.

"Let me examine you first," the Doctor said.

Tom blew out an exasperated breath. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"I'll be the judge of that." The mediscanner whirred, and Tom shifted impatiently. "Well, you seem to be fine, aside from some mild contusions," the Doc announced.

"Now can I see Harry?"

"All right, Mr. Paris. But keep it short. He needs to rest."

Harry was only semi-conscious, the triple dose of sedative having finally taken effect. He opened his eyes when Tom took his hand, though, and smiled.

"Damn it, Harry!" Tom said before he could stop himself. "If you die one more time I'm going to kill you!"

"I'm sorry. . ." Harry whispered.

"Don't try to speak, Mr. Kim," the Doctor interrupted.

Harry persisted. "Tuvok?" he asked.

A surge of resentment jolted through Tom. But all he said was, "He's fine."

"I told him that, but he doesn't seem to believe me," the Doctor said peevishly.

"I examined him myself, Harry. The. . . situation is resolved."

Harry shut his eyes, and squeezed Tom's hand. His grip was weak, but reassuring nonetheless. Tom watched him, filled with conflicting emotions. He wanted to kiss him, and to throttle him, but of course could do neither. So he just held Harry's hand, until the Doctor chased him away.

Harry was young and strong, and recovered quickly. Once it was clear that he was going to be fine, Tom found his anger outweighing his concern. He had his regular duty shifts in Sickbay, so he couldn't avoid Harry altogether. But he was distant and scrupulously polite, not giving Harry any openings for personal discussions.

After a couple of days, though, the Doctor announced that Harry was well enough to be released the next evening. . .if Tom stayed with him the first 24 hours.

"I can't," he protested. "I have a Sickbay shift that night."

"I'll be happy to excuse you from that duty, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said.

Tom glared at him suspiciously, wondering if he was running new psychology subroutines. The Doc wasn't usually so eager to get rid of patients.

"No," Harry interrupted. "It's not fair to expect Tom to waste his day off taking care of me. I'll be all right by myself. Or if not, I'll stay here a little longer."

Damn Harry anyway. "Don't be ridiculous," Tom said through clenched teeth. "How is spending a day with my best friend a waste?"

"Tom. . ."

He turned to the Doctor. "What time are you springing him? I'll bring some of his clothes and pick him up."

The following evening, Tom appeared in Sickbay at the appointed time. The Doctor handed him a small medical pouch. "I've packed some things you might need. Mr. Kim is recovering nicely. I don't anticipate any serious problems. Just make sure he eats well and gets enough rest. The regeneration process takes a lot out of the body. Speaking of which, the regen drugs may cause him to be more emotionally labile than usual. Don't upset him." He gave Tom a padd. "I've written down some instructions. Call me if you need me."

"Sure, Doc."

The EMH vanished into his office as Harry came out of the bathroom, dressed in the clothes Tom had brought. He'd picked them because they looked comfortable and easy to get in and out of: a white t-shirt that unsealed invisibly down the front, and loose black pants that wrapped and fastened at either side. Though he'd had practicality, not fashion, in mind, Tom had to admire his choices. Harry looked damned good. Tom could hardly tear his eyes away. It was just so good to see him on his feet again, he told himself.

Harry hung back, subdued and shy in a way he rarely was with Tom. Obviously, he sensed Tom's anger. It made Tom feel like a jerk. Yes, he was mad, and he felt he had a right to be. But Harry wasn't well, and Tom would be a lousy friend as well as a lousy medic to take it out on him now. Later. We'll have this out later.

"Come on, let's go," Tom said, forcing himself to smile. "Do you feel up to walking, or should we use the transporter?"

The smile Harry returned was tentative but genuine. "I can walk," he said.

"Okay, off we go." Tom took Harry's arm, twining his around it in the grip the Doctor had taught him, and led him out into the corridor and toward the turbolift.

Harry looked at their interlaced hands, then up at Tom. "I had no idea you felt this way about me."

"Don't get your hopes up. I'm holding your hand strictly in the line of duty. This grip will let me catch you if you pass out."

"Tom, I'm not going to pass out."

"Humor me."

They got to Harry's quarters without any trouble. Well, aside from some odd looks from passers-by. Tom was too distracted to really notice, but Harry was flushed pink with embarrassment by the time they entered his quarters. It was then that Tom realized how it must have looked. Oh, well.

Tom tried to guide his charge to the sleeping area, but Harry protested. "I've been sleeping for days. I want to check my messages."

"All right," Tom said, letting Harry go to the desk instead. "But I don't care if every gel-pack in the ship has turned into plomeek soup, you are not working. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, already powering up his terminal.

"Can I get you anything?"

"How about a Rekarri starburst?"

"One orange juice, coming right up." Harry had to be kidding. The Doc would kill them both if he let Harry drink anything alcoholic.

Harry didn't look very disappointed, and Tom realized he was kidding. And Tom was suddenly furious. How dare Harry joke around when. . .

When what? When he almost died? When he almost scared Tom to death? Tom was surprised and confused at the vehemence of his feelings. Yes, Harry had acted like an idiot, but he'd done it before. You'd think Tom would be used to it by now.

Calming himself by force of will, he took the glass of orange juice from the replicator and brought it over to the desk. Harry was already on the comm with someone.

"Sure, come on over. No, I'm not tired. It will be good to have company. The Doc kept me pretty isolated when I was in Sickbay."

Tom spoke as soon as the connection was closed. "If you're expecting. . . visitors, Harry, I can make myself scarce. As long as they promise to keep an eye on you and call me if something happens."

"What?" Harry asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled. "Some place you have to be, Paris?"

"No, no," Tom said. "I just thought you might want privacy, if. . . you got any special visitors."

"Special visitors? Tom, I told you, Seven and I are just friends. You don't have to leave if she wants to visit."

"Not Seven!" Harry still seemed confused. "Someone like, oh, say. . . Tuvok."

"Tuvok?" Harry looked rueful. "He talked to me briefly when I was in Sickbay. I don't think he'll want to see me much for awhile."

"Why not?"

"Tom, he's embarrassed. Probably a bit angry, too, though he'd never admit it. Pon farr is very private, and I'm an outworlder who interfered in it." He picked up the glass of juice and took a sip.

"But only you did it because you're in love with him!" Tom protested.

Harry almost choked on his orange juice. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Harry, it's obvious. You're in love with Tuvok. Don't try to deny it. . ." Tom broke off as he realized Harry was laughing at him. Laughing so hard it had to hurt. "Harry, stop that before you bust a gut or something."

Harry continued to laugh helplessly. Tom was getting worried. "All right, I'm calling the Doc. You're hysterical."

At that, Harry sobered rapidly. "No, no, I'm all right, Tom. I'm sorry. It's just that. . ." He broke into giggles again. "Me and Tuvok?"

"Well, yeah," Tom said, beginning to be really annoyed. "What's so outlandish about that?"

"Tom, I like Tuvok. I guess we are. . . close. Considering he's a Vulcan. But he's well over a hundred years old. He thinks of me as a son. A somewhat backward and wayward son, probably. And he reminds me of my grandfather."

"You're not in love with him?"

"Tom, what would make you think that?"

"Why else would you rather die than let him have sex with me? I mean, I may not be a perfect lover, but most people don't consider me a fate worse than death."

"You think I did it because I was jealous?"

"Well, why else would you...?"

Harry lowered his eyes, avoiding Tom's gaze.

"What?" Tom demanded.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Vowing to get to the bottom of it later, Tom opened the door to find Seven of Nine standing there, holding an extravagant bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. Two dozen, he estimated, wrapped in glittery paper and adorned with streamers of bright ribbon.

"For me?" Tom joked.

"No. I am here to see Ensign Kim," she said. Tom gestured her in.

"Hi, Seven," Harry said, standing to greet her.

She held out the roses to him. "According to my research, it is appropriate to. . . 'visit' convalescents and bring gifts of vegetation."

To give him credit, Harry's smile held more warmth than amusement. "Thank you," he said. "They're lovely."

"Sit down," Tom told Harry, and took the flowers from him. He offered Seven a seat, but as usual, she preferred to stand.

"Your contributions to the operation of this vessel have been missed," Seven said. "I am pleased you are recovering from your injuries."

Well, well. Seven was getting pretty good at this "small talk" stuff. The Doc's lessons must be working. Who would have dreamed that the Doctor would one day be teaching anyone social niceties, back when Tom and Harry had first activated him?

While Seven and Harry spoke about what had happened while he was in Sickbay, Tom searched Harry's shelves for something to put the flowers in. He'd just placed the roses on Harry's desk when the door chime sounded again. Motioning Harry to stay seated, Tom got the door.

It was Megan and Jenny Delaney. "Oh, hi, Tom. We made chocolate chip cookies today, and we thought Harry might like some."

"Come on in," he said, but they were already past him.

"Oh, Harry, you poor thing. You look so thin and pale," one of the sisters said. Tom wasn't sure if it was Megan or Jenny. "What did Tom do to you?"

"Hey!" Tom protested.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "And Tom didn't do anything to me. It's not his fault this time."

"This time?!" Tom said. He was soundly ignored.

"Here, Harry, we brought you some cookies," the other sister said.

"Thank you. You know I love your cookies."

"You have other visitors," Seven said. "I will leave."

"No, no," Harry said, taking her hand. "Stay. Practice your social skills. If you want to."

Seven hesitated, then said, "Very well. I will stay."

"Great! Here, have a cookie," Harry said.

"The ensigns intended them for you."

"That's not how it works, Seven. They're as much for my other visitors as for me."

She looked at them, no doubt wondering why items of such negligible nutritional value were offered to a convalescent, then took one and gingerly bit into it. "Quite pleasant," she admitted. "My father made comestibles very similar to these, before we were assimilated."

There was a sudden, awkward silence. Apparently Seven still needed to work on her small talk after all.

"This is our grandmother's recipe," one of the Delaneys replied, smoothly filling the gap. They could always be relied on to keep a conversation going.

Tom watched in amazement. Seven and the Delaney twins, discussing cookie recipes? He realized Harry was doing for Seven what he'd done for Tom a few years earlier: helping her get social acceptance among the crew.

The door chime sounded again. Tom gave up, and ordered the computer to open the door and leave it open. This time it was Ayala, bearing a basket of fruit from the airponics bay - a gift from the entire Operations Department to their boss. He was followed by Sue Nicoletti bearing a pan of lasagna, Sam and Naomi Wildman with some pictures Naomi drew for Harry, Ensign Baytart with some kind of potted plant, Neelix with a Talaxian casserole, B'Elanna with a PADD full of games and novels. . . Tom gave up trying to keep track of them all.

An hour later, Tom was rummaging around in Harry's closet, looking for something else to put flowers in. Maybe he'd have to replicate something. He now knew why the Doc had been so anxious to get Harry out of Sickbay. The place was packed with visitors - everyone from Harry's subordinates in Ops to his volleyball teammates. Flowers, food, and other gifts covered every available surface. This had happened in Sickbay the last time Harry had been seriously injured, and the Doctor had not been pleased. The noise and commotion had disturbed him, the clutter even more so. Funny, Tom wouldn't have said Harry was popular. At least, not the way the Delaney sisters or even Tom himself were popular. But everyone liked Harry Kim, and something about him seemed to bring out the protective instincts in people.

Including Tom. He was just thinking about kicking everyone out so Harry could rest, when he realized the dull roar out in Harry's quarters had subsided. There were only two voices now. Harry's. . . and Janeway's. The Captain must have come in and dismissed everyone else.

Tom knew he should leave as well, but it would be just too embarrassing, emerging from the closet now. From the sound of it, the Captain and Harry were already deep in their conversation.

"I already have Mr. Tuvok's report," Janeway was saying. "Now I want yours." Silence. "Ensign, report!"

"Captain. . . it's. . . private."

"Nothing is private if it affects my ship. Now tell me why you interfered in the situation. You could have been killed. You could have gotten Tuvok killed. You'd better have a good explanation, Mister."

There was a long pause. "Captain, I don't mean to be insubordinate. But. . . I can't tell you. It would be a violation of trust."

"Ensign Kim, if necessary I will order you confined to the brig until you answer. Don't make it necessary."

Again silence. It was all Tom could do to remain in hiding. Angry as he was with Harry, he wanted to rush out there and defend him. How dare the Captain press him like this, when he was still recovering? When he'd only done it out of love?

Janeway changed her approach. "How did you find out, anyway? The only people who knew were Tuvok, Mr. Paris, and me. I didn't tell you. According to Mr. Tuvok's report, he didn't tell you. That leaves only -"

"No!" Harry cried. "I mean. . . no, Ma'am. Lt. Paris not did breach your confidence. I swear it."

"Then how did you find out and why did you interfere?"

"I. . . guessed. No, I'm telling you the truth, Captain! I know a little about Vulcan culture. I know Tuvok, and I know Tom. I just sort of. . . put it together."

"Harry. . ." The granite in Janeway's voice softened. "Did you understand what you were doing? What the results could be?"

"Yes, Captain. I understood. And I had reasons for doing what I did."

"Then tell me what they were, Ensign. You almost got my Operations officer and my Chief of Security killed. I have a right to know. Especially since this situation will likely come up again."

Again there was silence, but this time it didn't seem as angry as it had been.

Janeway persisted. "Is it because you're in love with Tom?"

"That's not it, Ma'am!" Harry sounded insulted. "I'm more mature than that."

Ouch. Well, they said eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. And it wasn't as if Tom wanted Harry to be in love with him. Still. . . ouch.

"Then why?" Janeway demanded. "Off the record, if you wish, Harry," she added, her voice gentling.

Harry finally capitulated. "Off the record?"

"Off the record," Janeway agreed.

Harry sounded very unhappy, but he began to talk. "Captain, you couldn't be expected to know this, but. . .Tom's probably the worst candidate Tuvok could have picked."

"Why?"

"Because of his. . . personal sexual history."

Tom froze, suddenly wishing a convenient black hole would swallow him up.

"Explain," Janeway prompted. But from the tone of her voice, it sounded like she knew what was coming.

Harry's voice was very low. "Captain. . . there was a. . . traumatic incident. . . in Tom's past that makes him. . . uncomfortable with male sexual partners. And uncomfortable with. . . encounters as aggressive as pon farr is likely to be."

There was a long pause. "Then why did he agree?"

"It was Tuvok's life at stake," Harry replied. "How could he refuse?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It would have been a betrayal of Tom's trust. And what good would it have done? We couldn't just let Tuvok die."

In the closet, Tom slid quietly to the floor, his knees now too weak to hold him up. God. Harry had done it for him?

"Harry, we could have worked out something, somehow."

"We did," Harry said. "Captain, I know how it looks, but my actions were not reckless. I thought this out carefully. If it had gone as you had planned, Tom and Tuvok would have lived, but both of them would be profoundly scarred. Maybe Tuvok worse than Tom."

"Better that than killed!"

"Tom was in no danger of being killed. Neither was Tuvok. I had no intention of killing him, nor of injuring him so badly he could not consummate the pon farr, should it be necessary."

"You intended to let Tuvok kill you."

"Yes, Ma'am. But I hoped it wouldn't be permanent."

"Harry, that was a hell of a risk to take."

"Yes, Ma'am. But it was my life to risk. I made the decision I thought would best serve Voyager. And I would do it again."

A really long silence this time. Tom was surprised they couldn't hear the thudding of his heart.

"Very well, Ensign," Janeway said at last. "I can hardly reprimand my officers for showing initiative. And I can't argue with the results of your actions."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it without informing you. . ."

"I have only myself to blame. I underestimated you, Harry. I can see I should have brought you in from the beginning. As both Tom's and Tuvok's closest friend, I should have known it was impossible to keep you out of this."

"I'm not Tuvok's closest friend, Captain. You are."

A heavy pause. "Observation noted. Harry, sit down before you collapse. And don't worry, there will be no disciplinary action. In fact, I would consider giving you a commendation, if there were a way to do it without violating the other parties' privacy."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Harry didn't sound as relieved as Tom would have expected.

"Good night, Harry. Get some rest."

Tom heard the doors swish open and shut again. He got a grip on himself, and slowly stood up. Harry was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, and didn't see Tom emerge from hiding.

Tom cleared his throat loudly. Harry looked up, startled. He saw Tom standing in the closet doorway and turned white. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"Tom, I'm so sorry. . ."

Before Tom realized what he was doing, he'd crossed the room to grab Harry by the shoulders. "You did it for me?" He gave Harry an angry shake. "You were willing to die to spare me a little emotional distress? All that, for me?"

"Not just for you," Harry managed, teeth chattering. Tom realized it was because he was still shaking Harry, and let him go, feeling ashamed. Furious, but ashamed.

With a muttered curse, Tom fetched the medical kit the Doctor had given him. He sat beside Harry and ran the scanner over him. To his relief, the readings looked pretty good. Some microscopic bleeding, but that was normal after the kind of surgery Harry had been through. Nevertheless, Tom loaded up a hypo with a drug that would help the tissues heal. He threw in some painkiller as well. Damned martyr would never ask for it, even if he needed it.

Harry grimaced at the touch of the cold hypospray. "Tom. . . if you panicked and tried to escape or fight back, it would have been. . . very unpleasant. And if Tuvok hurt you. . . he would be devastated, once it was over and he was himself again."

"But we would have survived, you idiot!" Tom threw the scanner and the hypo back into the medical kit with rather more force than necessary.

"I survived," Harry pointed out. "I had faith in you and the Doc. I've taken worse chances."

"Keep doing it, and one of these days you're going to lose."

Harry shrugged. "Sooner or later we all do that."

"And you seem bound and determined to make it sooner!"

"I'm sorry, Tom," Harry repeated softly.

Tom didn't answer. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Harry right then.

After awhile, Harry got up and went over to the sleeping area. Tired, no doubt. Or just trying to give Tom some space. Not that there was much in a single cabin, even a senior officer's.

Tom paced around, trying to calm himself by randomly touching the get-well gifts that cluttered Harry's quarters. He stopped at the spectacular bouquet Seven had brought, fingering one velvety, perfect bud. "Two dozen long-stemmed red roses," he said. "In my book, that means start running, someone wants to slap a ball and chain on you."

"Not with Seven," Harry protested. "She just doesn't understand the fine nuances of the language of flowers." He paused awkwardly, then forged on. "She never uses her rations, you know, so she can afford to be extravagant with even her casual friends. Once, after Megan helped her with some-"

Tom interrupted, unable to bear another of Harry's Seven stories. "How did you know all that, Harry? How did you know that letting Tuvok kill you would fix everything?" He went into the sleeping area, standing over Harry where he sat on the bed.

Harry blinked. "I'd heard rumors. The rest. . ."

"Tuvok told you."

"No," Harry said, surprised. "Tom, Vulcans don't talk about it, especially to outsiders."

"Then how? I couldn't find any information, even using my medical clearance!" Tom was feeling stupid and out-maneuvered, and man, he hated feeling that way.

"It was that Vulcan poetry." Harry smiled a little. "Not all of it is like the kind Tuvok reads at Talent Night. Ancient Vulcan poetry and literature is much different from the modern variety. If you read between the lines, it's all pretty obvious."

"It is?"

Harry nodded. "The plak tow, the blood fever that can be purged only by love or death, is mentioned a lot. There's an epic poem called Tarek and Kavir. They are twin brothers, who become fixated on the same woman, and go into pon farr at the same time. In the end, one kills the other in the kal-i-fee. Then kills himself in remorse, when the blood fever leaves him."

"I'm beginning to understand why Vulcans never smile," Tom said.

Harry looked at him. "When the Captain asked to see you, and you came out of her ready room looking so pale, I knew. Tuvok fixated on you, right?"

Right. Part of him was astounded at Harry's perspicacity, but part of him wasn't surprised at all. Harry was bright, very bright, and had a knack for making connections other people didn't. Damn him.

Tom stalked back to the living area. The idea that Harry had been willing to die for him filled him with horror. He paced around furiously some more, then went back to the sleeping area. Harry was still sitting on the bed, looking wan and tired and way too young to be wandering the Delta Quadrant without his mother.

"I don't believe you, Harry. You did it because you're in love with Tuvok, even if you won't admit it. When you lay there dying, it was him you called for, him you reached for. Not Seven. Not B'Elanna. Not Megan." And not me. Tom astonished to realize how hurt he was by that.

"Tom, you don't understand. He was the one who. . . killed me. But he couldn't help it. I had to let him know I didn't blame him." He looked down. "I said goodbye to you before the combat began, but Tuvok. . . Tuvok couldn't understand until after. . . "

Tom turned to pace some more, then turned back. "Damn you, Harry Kim! I didn't ask you to be my keeper. I can take care of myself. Next time, take your stupid altruism and shove it!"

Harry licked his lips, then stood up. "Tom. . . I wasn't acting solely out of altruism."

"Oh, and what was in it for you? You like being beaten to a pulp and almost killed?"

"No." Harry's voice was almost a whisper. "But I knew if. . . Tom, you'd never get over it. And I'm hoping that one day. . . well . . ." Harry's gaze dropped, voice trailing off.

Tom's mind worked at that for several long moments, unable to believe the conclusion it kept coming up with. "Harry, are you saying that. . . that. . . "

Harry visibly steeled himself, and nodded. "It's not Tuvok I'm love with."

Tom felt like the universe had dropped out from under him. He was speechless for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Forget it, Harry. It will never happen." He turned and went out into the living area again. This time, he stayed out there.

Smooth, Paris. You really let him down easy. Tom lay on Harry's couch, trying to get the image of Harry's stricken face out of his mind. He had to do it. It was for Harry's own good. There was no way he could give Harry what he wanted. It was better to dash his hopes completely than to string him along.

Harry had come out of the bedroom once, and seemed surprised to find Tom still there. But Tom had promised the Doc he'd look after Harry, and he took his duties seriously. Harry hadn't said a word. He'd pulled some pillows and blankets out of his closet and put them on a chair, then gone back into the bedroom.

The couch was cold and uncomfortable, but Tom didn't touch the pile of bedding. He didn't deserve to be comfortable. He probably wouldn't get any sleep tonight, anyway. . .


A sharp knee in the small of his back dragged him from a deep, drunken stupor. It forced him flat on his face, pinning him down on the bed. "I've had enough of you," a low, angry voice growled. "I'm first pilot on this ship, and don't you forget it."

"You may be first, but you aren't best," Tom shot back, recognizing the voice. Dennison. A mean, ignorant, dangerous man. Who wasn't a bad pilot, actually. But Tom was better, and he couldn't resist pointing it out. Even though he knew he would pay.

Dennison jerked Tom's head up by his hair. "Shut your mouth." Something cold touched Tom's throat. A knife.

"Get off me!"

"You asked for this, Paris. Don't give me any trouble, or I'll be forced to call for backup." Hands fumbled at Tom's clothes.

Tom grimaced. He could probably fight Dennison off. Assuming that silly, old-fashioned knife was the only weapon he had. But Dennison did have backup: a coterie of other Maquis who followed his lead and stuck together for mutual protection. If anything happened to Dennison, his gang would exact revenge on Tom. And Tom had no backup. He was new to the Maquis, and didn't make friends easily. The only one who even tried to be nice to Tom was the ex-Starfleet officer, Chakotay. And Chakotay couldn't help him. Chakotay had backup, more than Dennison. But he wouldn't ask them to risk their lives for the likes of Tom Paris. He couldn't. His men followed him only out of loyalty, and he would lose it if he asked them to fight for trivial reasons. Maybe if Tom had been a true Maquis, and believed in the cause. . . but he wasn't, and he'd made that abundantly clear far too many times.

"Keep still and keep quiet," Dennison grunted.

Tom shut his eyes, bracing himself for the all too familiar pain and humiliation. This was the Maquis way - rank enforced by brute strength. Chakotay had warned him. Once, Tom would have killed Dennison, or died trying. But he was just a drunken loser now, who could do nothing but submit. . . again.

"Kroykah!"

Astonished, Tom looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway. He was wielding a metal pipe, swinging it viciously. As Dennison cowered away, Harry stepped between them. "This man is my friend," he said. "No one touches him. . ."


Tom woke abruptly, utterly disoriented for a moment. Then he recognized where he was. On Voyager, in Harry's quarters. It was dark, and there was a blanket draped over him. Harry must have turned off the lights and tucked him in.

Tom had had this nightmare many times over the years. He sighed, shuddering. Dennison was likely dead, he told himself. Along with all the other Maquis. But the thought didn't bring the satisfaction it usually did. Instead, he found his mind turning back to Harry.

Odd. . . this was the first time Harry had been in his dream. That wasn't how it had actually happened, of course. He'd yet to meet Harry back then.

Harry. . . Harry couldn't really love him, could he? What would a bright, talented, handsome young man like him see in the likes of Tom Paris? Suddenly Tom remembered what Harry had said to the Captain earlier. She'd asked him if he loved Tom, and he'd denied it. Harry hadn't declared his love until after Tom had given him that hypo. The regen drugs may cause him to be emotionally labile. . . That was it. Harry wasn't himself when he'd made that ridiculous declaration.

Feeling a little better, Tom got up and went to check on his charge. To his dismay, he found the bed rumpled but empty. "Harry?" The bathroom was empty, too. "Computer, location of Ensign Harry Kim?"

"Ensign Kim is in the quarters of Commander Tuvok."

For one brief, mindless moment, Tom was filled with blind rage. Then he realized Harry wasn't in Tuvok's quarters - his combadge was. The locator on it must still be working, though the communicator was busted. While Harry had been connected to the ship's computer via a Sickbay biobed, there had been no need for a combadge, and no one had thought to retrieve it, or replicate another.

Tom pulled on his boots, muttering to himself. Where would Harry go? He checked Sickbay first, just in case. It was deserted, and he didn't activate the EMH. He didn't want to think about what the Doc would say if he found out Tom had lost Harry.

"Computer, have any airlocks been used in the last three hours?" Tom asked, fearing the worst. If the drugs had driven Harry to think he was in love with Tom, who knew what else they might have driven the kid to? Especially if he thought Tom was rejecting him.

"Negative."

"Has there been any phaser discharge on board within the last three hours?"

"Negative."

Tom sighed in relief. Well, then, Harry must still be on the ship. Where could he have gone? Tom took a deep, calming breath. . . and suddenly knew. Where Harry always went when he was troubled.

The mess hall was dim when Tom entered. At first Tom thought no one was there. Then he saw the figure silhouetted against the stars. Harry was sitting on the back of the couch, slumped against one of the high windows. "Computer, lights!" Tom said, hurrying over.

Harry jerked as the lights came up, and almost fell. Obviously, he'd been asleep. He caught himself before he tumbled to the deck. "Tom?"

Tom bodily lifted Harry down. "What did you think you were doing? Can't you find someplace a little less precarious to sleep?"

"It's only a meter off the ground, Tom. And I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You're supposed to sit on the seat of the couch, not the back, you know."

"I wanted to look at the stars," Harry said.

"Harry. I woke up, you weren't around, the computer couldn't tell me where you were. I was afraid you'd. . ."

"What?"

"Harry, I asked the computer if there had been any phaser fire on the ship."

Harry suddenly understood. He scowled. "Don't flatter yourself, Paris."

Tom took a deep breath. "You aren't wearing your combadge."

Harry looked down. "Oh. Sorry. But that's no reason to think-"

"You came to Tuvok's cabin intending to let him kill you. Pardon me for thinking you might be suicidal!"

"That's not the same!"

"Harry. . . there's a reason I was worried about you. Some of the drugs you've been given can have side effects. They can make you more emotional than normal. Make you say and do things you ordinarily wouldn't."

Harry understood what he meant. He pressed his lips together, then looked away. "Yeah, sure, Tom. If it makes you feel better to think that, go ahead."

They went back to Harry's quarters in silence. Harry went straight to the bedroom and lay down. "Do you need something to help you sleep?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry said, suppressing a yawn.

"All right. Kindly let me know if you're going to go out and wander the ship again, so I don't have a heart attack wondering where you are."

"I didn't want to wake you up," Harry said. "I just needed to think." Then he noticed what Tom was doing. "You're not scanning me again?"

"If you'd rather be hooked up to a biobed..."

"You're acting really strange, Paris," Harry grumbled, already half-asleep.

Tom quietly ordered the lights dimmed, and went back out to the living area. He set the computer to sound an alarm if the door to Harry's quarters opened, then lay down and shut his eyes.

There were no nightmares this time.

Tom woke to the smell of garlic and coffee. He rolled off the couch, rubbing at his face sleepily. He looked around for Harry automatically, and found him sitting on the bed, eating something out of a bowl and reading a padd.

Tom watched him in silence. Harry had already showered, judging from the damp tangle of his hair. He was wearing ratty clothes that had to date from his high school days. They didn't quite fit him any more. Tom always teased him unmercifully when he caught Harry in this outfit, but Harry insisted it was comfortable in a way newly replicated clothes couldn't be. Perhaps it was a reminder of home.

Tom used to think Harry looked ridiculously young and nerdy in those too snug, too short clothes. But he found himself seeing with new eyes this morning. The outfit did emphasize Harry's gangly arms and legs, but not in an unattractive way. Harry, Tom noted, had that hard-bodied look of a basically healthy person who had suffered a recent weight loss. When he raised his mug of coffee, solid muscles popped out of his slender upper arm, as if from nowhere. It was a fascinating sight.

"Can I get you something?" Harry asked.

Tom realized he'd been caught staring. "What the hell are you eating?" he said, rather more belligerently than he intended.

"Sue's lasagna," Harry said. "It's delicious."

Tom made a face. He liked lasagna as much as the next person. . . but not for breakfast. Harry had always liked eating what Tom thought of as dinner foods for breakfast. Well, as long as he was eating something, Tom would try not to complain. But lasagna?!

"There's some nice nutbread that Henley made," Harry offered. "Along with something she calls Devonshire cream. In the stasis unit."

Tom rummaged around and found it. He went back to the sleeping area, munching, and found Harry staring wide-eyed at his padd, completely absorbed. "Harry, eat your breakfast. What're you reading, anyway? More Vulcan poetry?"

Harry blinked, then looked up. "No, this is one of the novels B'Elanna gave me." He glanced down at the padd again. "Is this even anatomically possible? While they're both holding knives?"

"Don't tell me she's got you reading Klingon romances."

"Is that what this is? Somehow I never pictured romances as being quite this. . . bloody."

Tom hadn't, either. He'd flirted with Torres, even dated her a couple of times, but had quickly realized that he'd never be able to stomach the violence inherent in Klingon romance.

"Janeway to Paris."

Tom gulped down his last mouthful of nutbread. "Paris here."

"Tom. I'd like to talk to you. Report to my ready room at 1400 hours."

"Yes, Captain."

"Janeway out."

Tom threw a look at Harry. "I can trust you to stay here and be good while I'm gone this afternoon, can't I?"

"I reserved time on the holodeck at 1400 hours," Harry protested.

Tom thought about that. He doubted he'd be away more than twenty minutes or half an hour. And the holodeck had built-in safeties. Harry would probably be safer there than here. "All right."

"Can I use your programs?"

"Sure, but none of the sports ones."

Harry looked disappointed. "I want to ski."

"Harry."

"All right, no sports," Harry conceded. "Thanks, Tom."

"Lt. Paris reporting as ordered, Captain."

"At ease, Tom. Thank you for coming in. I know this is your day off."

"My pleasure, Captain."

"I've had reports from Tuvok and Harry about the. . . recent events. Do you have anything to add?"

"I messed up. I'm sorry, Captain."

Janeway seemed surprised. "That's not what Harry and Tuvok think."

"It didn't exactly go as planned," Tom pointed out.

"No," Janeway admitted. "But it worked out well. You did everything I could expect from you, Tom. In fact, you did more. Much more."

She continued. "I just want you to know. . . Tuvok is in no way responsible for what happened. Yes, he told me he had accidentally bonded with you. . . but only because he was afraid that, as ship's medic, you would be sent in to treat him. He wanted me to keep you away from him. I did just the opposite."

"I volunteered, Ma'am," Tom said.

"You were under duress. My behavior was not ethical, and Tuvok has told me so in no uncertain terms."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Janeway cut him off with a gesture. "Tom, I'd offer you an apology. But it wouldn't be sincere. Oh, I am truly sorry I had to ask you to do this. But I'd probably do it again, to save the life of a member of my crew."

"I understand, Captain."

"I also want you to know that you'll never have to worry about a recurrence. Tuvok assures me that he has taken measures to make certain that it won't happen again."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Dismissed." As Tom was turning to leave, she added, "And Tom - I owe you one."

Tom hurried down the corridor toward the holodeck. He'd been longer than he expected. Chakotay and Torres had caught him as he was leaving the Captain's ready room, and asked him to sit in on an emergency briefing. The dilithium problem hadn't been resolved, and they were considering rationing.

He entered the holodeck, and froze in astonishment. He barely recognized the program as his 20th century flight simulator before everything exploded into chaos. The floor lurched and buckled, metal screamed, flames shot up then were drowned in a sudden flood of cold, bitter seawater.

"Computer, end program!" Tom yelled.

The wreckage faded away, and Harry was kneeling on the hologrid. "Hey! What'd you do that for?"

"What were you doing?!" Tom demanded, furious.

"You said I could use your programs, except the sports ones," Harry said warily.

"Are you crazy? You don't try to land a Boeing 747 on an aircraft carrier!"

"I know that now," Harry said.

"How can someone as smart as you be so stupid?" Tom fumed.

"Tom, relax. It's only a simulation, remember? The holodeck safeties are all engaged."

Tom opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Harry was right. But he still felt an unreasoning anger. Sighing, he gave an order to the computer, and Harry's Carolina meadow formed around them. Harry stretched out on the grass, and Tom sat down beside him.

There was a long silence, which Harry finally broke. "What did the Captain say?"

"She apologized, and said it won't happen again."

Harry looked down. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said softly. "I shouldn't have told her about. . . your past. I betrayed your confidence."

Tom shrugged. "I never told you that you couldn't tell anyone. And I sure don't expect you to let yourself be locked up in the brig over it." It truly didn't bother him. Duty to ship and captain would always trump personal loyalties. Tom understood that. He'd grown up Starfleet, after all.

"But-"

"I don't mind the Captain knowing, Harry. Don't worry about it."

"Then why are you so mad at me?" Harry asked quietly.

"I'm not mad at you."

Harry persisted. "Is it because I love you?"

"You don't love me, Harry. It's the drugs. They're making you all emotional."

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. He plucked a blade of grass, fit it between his thumbs, and blew a shrill, wavering note. The sound was so melancholy it made Tom shiver.

"Okay," Harry said, dropping the piece of grass. "Why are you so angry with me, then?"

"I'm not angry," Tom said.

Harry shrugged. "Fine. If you don't want to talk it, don't."

"I'M NOT ANGRY!"

Harry blinked in surprise. "So I see," he said cautiously.

"All right, all right, maybe I am a little angry. But at myself, not at you."

"Why would you be angry at yourself?"

"Because I almost killed you!"

"What?" Harry asked blankly.

"You told me not to interfere. I didn't listen. If I hadn't grabbed that Vulcan weapon. . ."

"A lirpa," Harry offered.

"It killed you. And it was my fault."

"Tom, you're being ridiculous. There was only one way that battle was going to end, and we both know it." He smiled crookedly. "I'm glad you did it. It was quick, and not that painful."

"Don't say that!"

"What?"

"Don't goddamn thank me for killing you!"

"You didn't -"

"Yes, I did. You almost died because of me. If it weren't for me, it would never have happened." He wasn't talking about the stupid lirpa anymore, and Harry seemed to realize it.

"Tom-"

"Some friend you are, anyway. How do you think I would have felt if we couldn't save you? Knowing it was my fault - that you died, all because of me? I have enough deaths on my conscience, without adding my best friend to the list!" Tom swallowed, surprised at his own words. Apparently he was angry with Harry after all.

Harry was pale with distress, but unflinching. "Tom. . . don't think like that. Everything worked out okay."

Tom rubbed his eyes wearily. "Just. . . just promise me you won't do anything like this ever again. Please?"

"I can't do that, Tom," Harry said gently.

"Damn it, Harry! I'm not worth it!"

"I think you are." Harry took a deep breath. "I told you, Tom, I love you."

Tom made an impatient gesture. "Harry, I overheard you talking to the Captain, remember? You denied that you were in love with me."

"What?? I never said that."

"Yes, you did." Tom could remember almost the exact words. "She asked you if you were in love withme, and you said you were more mature than that."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "No," he said. "She asked me if I did what I did because I was in love with you. If I did it because I was jealous of your being with Tuvok. That's when I said 'I'm more mature than that.' And I am. If you'd wanted to be with Tuvok, I wouldn't have tried to interfere." He sat up, facing Tom. "I love you. I've loved you for years. Maybe I wouldn't have told you without the drugs, but I do love you."

Tom's throat was so tight he could barely speak. "Harry. . . "

"I know," Harry said. "And it's all right. I'm also mature enough to take no for an answer." He smiled wryly, then got up and left the holodeck.

Tom ended up sleeping on Harry's couch again that night. The Doc had declared Harry well enough to do without a chaperon, but Janeway had ordered everyone on Decks 6 and 7 to temporarily move onto Decks 3 and 4, as an energy conservation measure. Chakotay had just assumed Tom and Harry would share, as they often had during similar situations in the past, and assigned Tom to move in with Harry.

It could have been awkward, but Harry took it in stride. In fact, he didn't seem to mind at all, clearing half his shelves for Tom's things, and even offering to let Tom have the bed. Tom refused, of course. Harry was still recovering, and needed his bed more than Tom did. Besides, the couch was comfortable enough, outfitted with his own pillows and blankets, brought from his quarters.

Tom pulled the blankets closer, more for reassurance than for warmth. He felt strange and out of joint, and he wasn't sure why. All in all, things were going pretty well. Tom had feared his friendship with Harry would never be the same, but they had gotten along fine this evening. Better than they had in awhile, in fact, with the air somewhat cleared between them. Sadly, Tom realized that Harry had had a lot of practice being just friends with would-be lovers. Mentally, he listed them. B'Elanna, at the beginning of their mission. That girl he knew at the Academy, Lyndsay. And he'd had it real bad for Seven, when she first came aboard. Megan Delaney. . . Tom fell asleep.


Harry and Tuvok were circling each other, each looking for an opening in the other's defenses. Tom watched with increasing anxiety. Please, no, not again. He called to Harry, but Harry ignored him, eyes only on Tuvok. Suddenly, the two surged together. . . exchanging not blows, but fevered, probing kisses. Tom stared, full of shock and outrage. Incensed, he grabbed a Vulcan weapon from the wall and crept up on the pair. They were too intent on each other to notice him. He raised the lirpaand swung it fiercely at his rival. Tuvok fell away, and sweet, hot triumph soared through Tom. He claimed his prize, pulling Harry close, kissing him deeply. . .


Tom woke with start, gasping for breath and utterly terrified. As he got his bearings and the nightmare faded, he tried to dismiss it. Dreams meant nothing, he told himself. Just random test patterns generated by the sleeping brain.

But he couldn't convince himself. He recognized the truth of this dream in the very marrow of his bones. And that made it the most frightening nightmare he'd ever had.

Huddled in his blankets, alone in the wee hours of the ship's night, he realized what should have been obvious a long time ago: he was in love with Harry Kim. Tom now understood his wild resentment of Tuvok, the protectiveness he felt for Harry that went way beyond mere friendship. It had been so long since he'd had feelings like that for another man. He thought he never would again.

But the dream reminded him. Reminded him that once, he'd liked men as much as women. Maybe more. There had been a special excitement with other men that he hadn't felt with women. That Maquis thug had taken that away from him. And Tom had let him.

Nervously, Tom got to his feet and began pacing. With both fear and excitement, he considered acting on his new self-knowledge. It could be the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't know if he could go through with it. But. . . Harry, his best friend, wanted it. Tom wanted it, too. He wanted to reclaim this part of himself, and if he couldn't do it with Harry Kim, he couldn't do it with anyone.

But if he failed. . . what would it do to Harry? The kid had been through so much already. He deserved better than Tom Paris, damn it. Tom had just about decided that, when he made the mistake of padding quietly into the bedroom to check on his friend.

Harry was sound asleep, nestled on his side near the edge of the bed. Beneath the dark, silken curtain of his hair, his face was so exquisitely sweet and vulnerable it was like a knife through Tom's heart. For a long time, he stood there, just watching. He couldn't look away, and he knew then there was no way he would be able to resist, now that he had admitted his feelings to himself.

But how to admit them to Harry, when he'd rejected him so bluntly before? He hesitated, then quietly stripped naked and crawled under the covers.

The bed was deliciously soft and welcoming. Harry, lost in the deep sleep of youth, didn't stir. Tom licked his lips nervously, then slowly reached out to caress Harry's shoulder, so strong and solid beneath his thin shirt.

After a few moments, Harry murmured and turned toward the touch. His eyes slowly opened. He looked at Tom in confusion, then his face flushed pink as understanding dawned. Tom smiled tightly. The smile Harry returned blazed with warmth, leaving Tom breathless.

Harry rolled over to face Tom. He didn't make any move to close the distance between them, just lay there, gazing into Tom's eyes. "Are you sure?" Harry asked.

Tom nodded. "I realized that. . . well, there's a reason why I've been so insanely jealous when I thought you and Tuvok. . . And I decided that I've blocked off part of myself for too long. I don't want to give them that victory. Harry, I. . ."

Again that blazing smile. Harry's hand reached out and took his. With a shiver of both anxiety and anticipation, Tom shut his eyes, bracing himself for what was coming next. But nothing happened. Eventually, he opened his eyes again. To his astonishment, Harry appeared to be asleep. Tom didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.

"Harry," he said softly.

"Mmmmm?"

"Don't you want to. . . you know."

"What?"

Tom swallowed hard. "Sex!" he finally blurted out.

Harry's eyes opened. "Oh, that." It was hard to tell if he was kidding or not. "Tom, I hope you don't mind, but I'm not the kind of person who goes all the way on the first date."

"Oh." Tom felt suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. I'll leave."

Harry's hand reached out and clasped his. "Stay," he said. "If you want to."

Tom found he did want to. He squeezed Harry's hand. Harry smiled, and closed his eyes again.

He felt more relieved than disappointed, Tom decided. They had plenty of time. Besides, this was very nice. Tom had done many things in bed, with many people, but somehow, nothing he'd ever done was as intimate as holding hands with Harry under the covers. He sighed, and fell asleep.

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