Lost & Won
by Shayney

It was 2030 hours by the time the last patient was taken care of. Between the Hirogen and the holodeck armies, there were a heck of a lot of casualties. The longest sick call he'd ever worked in his life, Tom thought wearily. But along with the weariness was contentment. The Hirogen were safely vanquished, the crew mostly none the worse for wear. Though he'd never admit it to the Doctor, Tom had come to enjoy his secondary job as ship's medic - as long as it remained secondary. There was something deeply satisfying about healing. He'd always liked fixing things, after all.

"Paris to Torres."

"Go ahead."

"Hey, B'Elanna. Still working?"

"Yes, but I'm almost ready to take a dinner break. All done in Sickbay?"

"For tonight."

"How's Harry?"

Tom had been wondering that himself. "Harry? I haven't seen him. I figured he'd be with you."

"He came here wanting to help with the repairs, but I wouldn't let him. He looked like he'd been hit by a Type 9 shuttlecraft. I sent him to Sickbay."

Tom frowned. "He didn't show at sick call."

"I'm going to kill him," B'Elanna said.

"Now, now, don't make my job any harder," Tom chided. "I'll find him and make sure he's okay."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No, I think I can handle one recalcitrant ensign. Meet me for dinner in about an hour?"

"It's a date," B'Elanna replied. "Torres out."

Tom expected to find Harry working on repairs somewhere else on the ship, but according to the computer, he was in his quarters. Tom gathered up his field medical kit and headed off to see his friend.

There was no answer at Harry's door, so Tom keyed in the code and went right in. The room beyond was dark. He turned the lights on and headed for the bedroom. Harry was there, apparently sleeping peacefully in a tangle of blankets. Tom was relieved. . . until he got a closer look. Beneath the fall of dark hair, Harry was almost unrecognizable. His face was a mass of cuts, scabs, and bruises. His eye, lip, and one cheekbone were painfully swollen.

"Oh, Harry," Tom whispered, moving to his friend's side. Harry hadn't stirred when the lights came on, and he didn't when Tom shook his shoulder gently, either. Tom pulled out his medical tricorder and began scanning.

The readings both reassured Tom and disturbed him. He'd been half-afraid Harry was dead, or in a coma, but he was just deeply asleep. None of his injuries seemed immediately life-threatening. But there were so many of them, some fresh, some half-healed. Tom had seen many more serious injuries today in Sickbay, but no one so thoroughly battered as Harry was.

He hated to wake the obviously exhausted young man, but some of his injuries really should have immediate treatment. And, truth be told, Tom felt a need to talk to Harry, to prove to himself his friend was all right. He shook Harry's shoulder again. "Wake up, buddy."

Harry suddenly opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, so fast that he got caught in the blankets and fell back again. Tom would have laughed at the uncustomary clumsiness, but for the expression of stark terror on Harry's bruised face. Tom swallowed, feeling vaguely sick. That brief look on Harry's face reminded him of something. He couldn't recall what, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The past three weeks were a blank for him and the others who'd been used as Hirogen prey, and from what the rest of the crew said, they were better off not remembering.

The moment was fleeting. Harry recognized Tom, and relaxed. "Tom," he groaned. "Go away."

"Well, that's a fine way to greet your best friend, who you haven't seen in three weeks."

"Tomorrow," Harry muttered. "Please, I'll go to Sandrine's with you tomorrow. I'm so tired. . ."

Hmmm. Harry sounded a little confused, but then, he'd just been woken from a dead sleep. "I'm not here to drag you to Sandrine's, Harry. I think I've had more than enough of French bistros to last me awhile." Not to mention that until Voyager was repaired, it was doubtful anyone would be using their holodeck privileges. "Come on, talk to me, kid. I need to know you're coherent."

Harry made a vaguely protesting noise, then pulled a blanket over his head, turning away. Tom sighed, and tried to peel the blanket off. He managed to get the top and back of Harry's head unwrapped, and ran his fingers through the thick, dark hair. According the scan, the most dangerous injury was a blow to the cranium. . . there it was. A huge lump at the back of Harry's head. Tom touched it gently. "Harry, when did you get this?"

Harry's hand crept from beneath the covers, and Tom guided it to the lump. "A few days ago," Harry's drowsy voice said. "I had an argument with a bulkhead, and the bulkhead won."

"They threw you against the wall."

"Mmmphh."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"Not that time."

Tom sighed, and pulled out the regenerator. He held Harry's hair of out the way as best he could, and proceeded to treat the injury.

The soft, dark hair was still damp from the shower. Tom gave Harry's ear a tug. "Yup, still wet behind the ears," he said.

It was an old joke between them. Harry didn't open his eyes, but a reluctant smile crept across his face, albeit a sleepy one. He swatted Tom's hand away.

Next most serious injury...kidney. Tom yanked all the blankets off and threw them on the floor, leaving Harry curled on the bed, only his t-shirt and shorts covering him. "Please, Tom," Harry moaned. "Don't think I'm not glad to see you, but I'm so tired. They didn't let me sleep. Come back tomorrow. Please."

"Harry, you need medical attention. Now. You should have gotten it much sooner. Why didn't you go to Sickbay like B'Elanna told you?"

"Tomorrow, Tom. I promise I'll report to Sickbay first thing tomorrow morning."

"Nope, sorry, Har. It's going to be now. Doctor's orders." He lifted Harry's shirt, and gasped at the bruising over his ribs, stomach, and back. Tom eyed Harry's clothing. A faded red t-shirt and grey shorts with a "Starfleet Academy Varsity Velocity" logo. They looked old. "Harry, I'm going to cut your clothes off."

That got Harry's attention. "What? Don't you dare!"

"Harry, look at you. It will hurt if I lift the shirt off over your head. If it means that much to you, I'll replicate another shirt for you."

"It wouldn't be the same. This is my favorite shirt."

"Harry - "

"Okay, okay, I just put these clothes on. I can take them off again," Harry said. He was finally starting to sound like he was really awake.

Tom helped Harry up. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly slipped his arms out of the shirt. Tom pulled it off. "The shorts, too. And the underwear."

Harry sighed, stood up, and removed the items in question. "Just my luck. Someone appears in my quarters in the middle of the night and orders me to strip, but it's only the ship's medic."

"It's only 2100 hours, hardly the middle of the night. And if you'd gone to Sickbay as ordered, I wouldn't have to make housecalls. Here, lie down."

"Tyrant," Harry muttered.

Now naked, Harry lay back down on the bed. Tom draped a blanket over him, for modesty and warmth, then pulled out the scanner again. "You're lucky I didn't bring B'Elanna. She wanted to come with me. And she's not happy that you didn't obey her orders."

"She's not coming up here, is she?" Harry asked, sounding a little nervous.

"Not unless this takes so long she comes looking for me."

Harry's eyes glinted with mischief. "She'd probably check Megan Delaney's cabin first. She thinks you became a medic just so you could look at pretty girls with their clothes off."

"What?!" Tom said, outraged. He'd been drafted for this job, and Harry knew it. "You set her straight, didn't you?"

"Of course, Tom," Harry said solemnly. "I told her you didn't have to get the ladies' clothes off. You just use the medical tricorder to see them naked, even when they're fully dressed."

"I see your sense of humor is intact. Just as bad as ever." Geez, did B'Elanna really think. . .? Probably. She knew he was a pig, but loved him anyway.

"Hey," Harry said, suddenly serious. "I didn't mean to worry you. There were so many people injured. You were so busy down there. I didn't want to bother you."

Tom glared at him. "It's my job. And you're my best friend. How could you be bothering me?"

"Okay, I also didn't want to wait in line," Harry said. "It was backed up down the corridor almost to the turbolift."

Tom shook his head, then applied the regenerator to Harry's battered face. He'd have to turn over next, and it would be painful if his facial injuries weren't healed first.

"Okay, Har, on your stomach."

Harry obeyed, and Tom winced at the sight of all the bruises. "Hematuria?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Have you been peeing blood?"

"Oh. Yeah." He giggled. "You know, Tom, you've been hanging around the Doc too much. You're starting to talk like him."

"Harry, you should have gotten treated." Tom dialed up the intensity of the regenerator, so it would penetrate deeply enough to reach the contused kidney. "I know you hate doctors, but come on."

"It wasn't that! I couldn't," Harry said. "Only people who were dying. . .'killed'. . . were taken to Sickbay. It was a triage situation, the whole three weeks. No time or resources for minor injuries."

"I'd hardly call this minor. Keep still." Tom activated the regenerator again. "Why weren't you in the wargames with the rest us?"

"I don't know," Harry said. He tried to look around at Tom.

"I told you to keep still." Tom used his other hand to hold Harry down.

"Sorry." Harry was silent for awhile, then said, "I think they chose the best prey for the hunts."

"Best prey?"

"The ones they thought would be the fiercest."

"You're too sweet-natured to be worth killing?" Tom teased.

Harry snorted. "It might have just been my rank. The Hirogen tended to assume the highest-ranking humans were the fiercest." He grinned. "Or maybe they realized I'm too smart to waste as prey."

Tom was about to jump into the opening Harry had given him, then reconsidered. "I bet they wish they had used you for prey. If they had, they'd have won." Tom finished the regeneration, then realized his hand was on Harry's bare ass and jerked it away. He hadn't really thought about where he was putting his hand when he held Harry still.

Harry was looking better now, with his major injuries healed. He was acting more like himself, too. It was making Tom uncomfortable. It had been easy to think of Harry as a patient, when he looked like death warmed over. Now. . . he was sitting on a bed with a naked Harry, alone. His thoughts were becoming distinctly unprofessional.

"So, what happened to you, anyway?" Tom asked, mostly to distract himself. "Did you volunteer as a Hirogen punching bag or something?" He recalibrated the regenerator, getting to work the rest of Harry's injuries.

Harry shrugged. "I guess they didn't like my sense of humor any better than you do."

"Forget your sense of humor. Try to develop a sense of self-preservation." Tom shook his head. He knew how Harry could get. Most of the time he was as placid and accommodating as you could wish for. If you riled him enough, though, he was like a hyperactive bulldog - willful, persistent, and stubborn as hell. Tom almost felt sorry for the Hirogen.

He put the regenerator away and did another pass with the medical tricorder. The readings were pretty good, except. . .

"Didn't they feed you?" Tom asked.

"Food was. . . a problem," Harry admitted. "The galley was closed for the duration. We had to use the replicators. When they worked."

"The entire crew and the Hirogen lived off the replicators for three weeks?" Tom asked in disbelief. "We don't have the power for that."

"Tell me about it. They shut down the warp drive, which freed up some power, but they wanted to use it all for the hologenerators."

"They starved you."

"No, not really. I mean, not intentionally."

"What do you mean, not intentionally?!"

"They weren't cruel, just. . . alien. They didn't understand humans, or human needs. They tended to forget we need to eat more often than they do. And that we're not built as sturdily. They never did quite wrap their minds around the concept of sleep."

"Have you eaten tonight?" Tom asked suspiciously.

"Tom..."

"I didn't think so. What do you want?"

"I don't have any rations."

"Don't worry about it. And don't worry that I'm sacrificing my rations for you. I'll charge it to the Sickbay account."

"That's nice of you, Tom, but -"

"Barbecued steak and grilled shrimp?"

Harry made a face.

Not up to that, then. "Peanut butter and jelly?" Tom suggested. "Chicken soup?"

"No, really. . . "

Tom played his trump card. "Fudge ripple pudding?"

Harry hesitated, then smiled slowly.

"Okay, fudge ripple pudding it is," Tom said, and went to the replicator before Harry could change his mind. He threw a quick glance in Harry's direction, to be sure he wasn't being watched, then shot a packet of data from the medical tricorder to the replicator. The dessert that appeared looked and hopefully tasted like fudge ripple pudding, but had extra calories, nutrients, and medication added.

By the time Tom got back to the sleeping area, Harry had his clothes back on. Taking the dish from Tom, he settled at the head of the bed. He frowned at the first spoonful. "You didn't, like, put vitamins or something in this, did you, Tom?"

Tom gave him his best innocent look. "No, Har."

"It tastes. . . different."

"Really?" Tom said, oozing concern. "Maybe I should take you to Sickbay. Distorted sensory perceptions can be a symptom of brain injury."

"No, it's fine," Harry said hurriedly. "I was just imagining it, I'm sure."

Tom watched Harry eat with quiet fondness. Fudge ripple pudding - like it mattered how it tasted. Near as he could figure, the appeal of the confection lay mainly in how it looked. Harry was such a kid sometimes.

And sometimes not. The "kid" had single-handedly saved the ship this time. Putting up with who knows what kind of crap for three weeks. No, Harry really wasn't a kid any more.

Finished with his pudding, Harry tried to get up to dispose of the empty dish. "Let me," Tom said, taking it back out to the living area to be recycled. He was only away for a minute or two, but when he got back, Harry was gone. "Harry, where are you?" Tom called, suddenly worried.

"In the bathroom," Harry's muffled voice replied. He sounded slightly exasperated. "If that's all right with you."

"Sorry," Tom said, feeling foolish. "Don't mind me." I'm just a little high-strung, because the damned Hirogen just about killed you, and I love you. No, he couldn't say that, much as he wanted to. Harry didn't share his feelings; it was obvious. He blushed whenever a pretty girl smiled at him, but was completely unconcerned at stripping naked in front of Tom. Tom sighed. He had long known that his private dreams about Harry were destined to remain only dreams. And anyway, Tom was with B'Elanna now.

So don't even think about it, Paris. He busied himself getting the blankets and sheets back on the bed.

"Now you're making my bed?" Harry asked. Tom looked up to see his friend standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel draped around his neck.

"Well, I did mess it up," Tom said.

"You going to tuck me in, too?"

Tom gave Harry his most irresistible grin. "I guess I should, since I'm the one who rousted you out."

That drew a grudging smile from Harry. He leaned in the doorway watching Tom work, then said, "Thanks, Tom. I feel a lot better now. Sorry if I was. . . difficult."

"All part of the job description, Har. Tom Paris, pilot extraordinaire, ship's medic, designated baby-sitter of dewy-eyed young ensigns, that's me."

The towel came flying across the room, whapping Tom in the face. "Good arm," he said, laughing. He disentangled himself and draped the damp towel over his shoulder, trying not to notice that it carried Harry's warm, clean scent.

"Tom, really. . . thanks for coming by. It's good to see you again."

The expression on Harry's face was very odd. "What's the matter, Harry?" He had a sudden intuition. "Something happen between us that I don't remember?"

"No, no," Harry said. "Nothing happened." He crossed the room and gave Tom a quick, awkward hug. "I'm just glad that you're all right."

Something had happened. But clearly, Harry wasn't going to talk about it now. Oh well, he'd get it out of him later. Tom gave the sheets a final tug, then folded down one corner. "To bed with you, Har."

"What, no mint on my pillow?"

"Sorry, we seem to be all out."

"So much for your tip."

"Oh, go to bed."

Harry crawled between the sheets, looking decidedly sleepy.

"I want you to report to Sickbay tomorrow morning, Harry," Tom told him. "Before your shift starts."

"Oh, come on -"

"So far as I can tell, you're all right, but I want the Doctor to look at you. With the good instruments. And I'm entering this recommendation in the medical log, so if you don't show, you'll have to explain to the Captain why not."

"All right, all right!" Harry said, yawning. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll be there."

Tom went into the bathroom to hang the towel up. If it were his own towel, he'd just drop it on the floor, but he knew that kind of thing really bugged Harry. By the time he came back out, Harry was sound asleep.

Tom packed up his medical kit, then knelt by the bed, watching Harry's sleeping face. He looked so sweet when he slept, so young and beautiful. A sight to break your heart.

He reached out to stroke back an errant strand of Harry's dark, silken hair. If only. . . but no, Tom wasn't going to think about that. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was to quit while he was ahead. He already had more than he ever thought he would. Far more than he deserved. B'Elanna for a lover, and Harry for a friend. To wish it was the other way around was just stupid and greedy and pointless.

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against Harry's lips, soft with sleep and so temptingly lush. One secret kiss - he could indulge himself that much. "Good night, Harry," he whispered. Then he turned out the lights and left. B'Elanna was waiting for him.

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