Second Chances
by Shayney

Date Posted: 30 March 2003

WARNING: Male/male relationship explicitly depicted. The off-screen death of a major character is mentioned, but it's a minor detail in the story. (All right, I'll tell you: technically, this could be considered a response to the "Die, Seven, Die" challenge. :-)

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

I started this story back in season 5. I wondered what would happen after Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, and this is the 30,000 word answer.

Most of this was written long before "Endgame" aired. (Yes, I'm a very slow writer.) The fact that they both start out at the ten-year celebration of Voyager's return is strictly a coincidence, as is Tom's post- Voyager career choice. Spoilers through "Endgame," obviously!

Most of this story is new, but two short bits have been previously posted to the PKSP.

Dedicated to those fans who make fun of Tom's. . . er. . . Shatnerization. Harry just thinks there's just more of him to love. ;-)

Commander Harry Kim gazed out of the shuttle viewport, watching Shian grow larger and larger, until it filled the entire screen. Even from space, it was a beautiful planet, vivid blue-violet, swirled with white clouds.

The shuttle hurtled downward, giving Harry a rushing glimpse of thick forests, broken here and there by rivers, lakes, and the occasional verdant clearing. It was easy to see why Shian was such a popular vacation world. But he hadn't come here to see the planet, lovely as it was. He'd come here to see his erstwhile crewmates from Voyager, some of them for the first time in ten years.

The tenth anniversary of Voyager's return from the Delta Quadrant was being celebrated on here on Shian – partly because it was a famous resort planet, and partly because it was in the sector of Federation space closest to the Delta Quadrant. Diplomats from many of the Delta Quadrant worlds Voyager had contacted on her seven-year journey had been invited to the ceremonies, as well as everyone who had served on Voyager, hordes of Starfleet dignitaries, and a large press corps.

Harry found himself anticipating the upcoming festivities with mixed feelings. Of course he was looking forward to seeing his old shipmates. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with the swarm of journalists that would be covering the event. Funny, when he was stranded in the Delta Quadrant, he'd often imagined returning home to a heroes' welcome, surrounded by cameras and clamoring reporters. It had all happened, just as he imagined. . . but after the first couple of days, it had quickly become tiresome.

And of course, the homecoming hadn't been quite as happy as he'd dreamed. Starfleet had been as lenient as they could be, and Janeway had pulled all the strings she could. But both the Federation justice system and public sentiment had demanded that Voyager's Maquis pay some price for their past misdeeds.

Eventually, an agreement had been struck. Chakotay had taken responsibility for his crew, and was sentenced to five years of prison time. With time off for good behavior, he'd been out in a little over three years. The rest of the Maquis had gotten probation. And none of them were allowed to remain in Starfleet.

Harry hadn't been happy with the compromise. He'd even thought about leaving Starfleet in protest. Janeway, and Admiral Paris, had talked him into staying. And Tom and B'Elanna had agreed. Or so they told him at the time. . .

A gentle thud brought him back from his woolgathering. The shuttle had landed. People began filing out, filling out paperwork, getting in line to go through customs. Harry got through quickly on his Starfleet clearance, and managed to grab a cab ahead of the crowd. He was standing at the curb, explaining where he wanted to go and negotiating a price when he was interrupted by raised voices nearby, getting louder and louder.

"I was told a car would be waiting. I will not be inconvenienced by your incompetence!"

The speaker was a tall man, neither human nor Shiani. Harry didn't immediately recognize his race, but it was vaguely familiar.

The Shiani clerk at the counter was out of her depth. "I'm sorry, sir. If you just take a cab to your hotel, we'll send you one of our best hovercars as soon as one's available. We'll be happy to reimburse you for the cab fare. . ."

"And what about my time? Look at all these people. It will be hours before a cab's available. My wife's not well. Is she supposed to stand here waiting?"

It was more likely to be minutes than hours, but Harry decided to intervene, for the sake of interstellar peace. "Sir, if I might make a suggestion?"

The man, his wife, and several of their aides all turned to look at Harry. Their gazes were uniformly cold-eyed and unfriendly.

Harry plowed ahead anyway. "My hotel is nearby. I've decided I'd prefer to walk. Why don't you and your wife take my cab?"

They immediately accepted the offer, the aides hurrying to load luggage. The man ignored Harry, sweeping into the cab as if it was only his due. His wife was more polite. She laid a hand on Harry's arm. "Thank you," she said softly, before following her husband.

Luckily, the hotel was indeed nearby, and he had only a small bag as luggage. He'd been so busy with work that for awhile, he wasn't sure he'd make the reunion. He hadn't had much time to pack, and decided he would just replicate whatever he needed.

Soon he was walking up a quaint, winding street toward the Shiani Royal Hotel. He found himself glad he'd given up the cab in favor of walking. The exercise and fresh air were welcome after the long trip, and it gave him a chance to see something of the planet.

Shian was a beautiful world. Its gravity was a little lower than Earth's, its oxygen level a little higher, which tended to produce a slightly euphoric feeling in those used to Earth standard. It was summer here, but felt as cool as spring back home in South Carolina. As was often the case on lower-gravity worlds, the native Shiani were tall and slender. They were a very striking people, with ebony skin and intricately braided white hair.

The Shiani Royal was an ancient fortress which had been renovated into a hotel. It looked a little like a European castle, with massive walls, round towers, and crenelated parapets, all of weathered grey stone. Inside, however, it was completely modern and luxurious: climate controlled, tastefully decorated, richly appointed with every comfort.

Harry entered, to find a holographic display filling the top of the high-ceilinged lobby. Voyager spun majestically through space, flying overhead and out of sight, then the words, "10th Anniversary Reunion" and "Welcome" appeared in ornate, three-dimensional lettering.

He stared up, filled with an oddly melancholy feeling that was suspiciously close to nostalgia. He couldn't believe it had actually been ten years.

He'd last seen most of his former crewmates. . .seven years ago, it was. At Seven of Nine's funeral. It was the ultimate irony. After all Janeway had done to save her, she had died anyway, in a freak transportation accident. Perhaps there was such a thing as fate. Or perhaps there were eddies in the timestream, that tended to keep certain events on a predictable course, despite humans' best attempts to meddle.

Nearly all his erstwhile crewmates came to the funeral. . . except the two he'd thought of as the closest to him. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres. Who had, not long after Voyager returned home, stopped answering his messages, started returning the packages he sent their child unopened, and refused to let him know their current address. Even now, years later, it hurt that they had cut him off so thoroughly. They had never said why, but he thought he had an idea.

He wasn't expecting to see either of them at this reunion, but somehow, he couldn't get Tom Paris out of his mind. Perhaps because the vision of Voyager in flight reminded him of her pilot. Perhaps because Tom had always loved holography. Perhaps because Tom had been such a big part of his life on Voyager.

Tom had been the best friend he'd ever had. Harry still missed him, after all these years. But it seemed every time he thought he understood the man, he was proved wrong. It had been that way ever since they met. . .

"Look out!" someone shouted. Before Harry could react, he was shoved roughly to the floor, a hard, heavy body landing on top of him. "Keep down," a voice said in his ear, barely audible over screams and a loud crashing noise.

When the noise faded, the person on top of him got up, and Harry looked around. A large holoprojector had fallen, nearly on top of him. Shattered bits of it were scattered all around them.

"Geez, I'm sorry," his rescuer said. "I don't know how that - oh my god, Harry?"

Harry turned, and found himself face to face with Tom Paris.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Tom's hands were gently touching his face, smoothing his hair.

"Yeah. . . yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, getting to his feet. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Well, a holoprojector fell, obviously, but I don't know why." Tom frowned, looking up. The holo-banner had vanished, of course. "I better get Joey up there to take a look at the others."

Security was high because of all the dignitaries expected for the reunion. A uniformed patrolman arrived almost instantly, taking down notes on his padd. "Anyone injured here?"

"No," Harry answered.

"All right. We'll want to interview you, so stick around."

"Joey!" Tom called. "We better check the others, make sure they're secure." A young man with dark skin and fleecy black hair nodded, and he and Tom went toward the turbolift together.

Harry talked to the patrolman, but there wasn't much he could tell him. The man took down his name in case he had any other questions later, and told him he could go.

"You're really okay?" Tom asked. Harry hadn't even seen him return.

"Yeah, Tom, I'm fine." Harry looked at Tom uncertainly. Since he hadn't really expected Tom to be here, he hadn't thought about what he'd say to him.

"In that case. . ." Tom wrapped his arms around Harry, hugged him tightly, then picked him up and swung him around.

"Hey!" Harry protested.

Tom put him down. "Sorry." His grin was unapologetic. "I know, you're not supposed to do that to Starfleet commanders. I'm just so happy to see you, Harry."

Harry frowned. "Why? You refused to speak to me the last time I called."

Tom's smile faded. "I guess I owe you an explanation." Tom put his arm around Harry's shoulder, and pulled him toward the hotel restaurant. "Come on, lunch is on me."

Harry resisted for a moment, then went along. He wanted to hear Tom's explanation, at least.

The restaurant was crowded, and far from peaceful. An irate and familiar man was seated at the table next to them. It was the man Harry had given his cab to. He was furious about the holoprojector accident, and let Tom know it. "It's an outrage, a complete outrage," he said. "Ashaz, my wife, was on her way to meet me here, from our room. A few minutes later, and she'd have passed right under that projector when it fell. She could have been killed."

The wife didn't look up from her plate. Harry felt sorry for her. She seemed beaten down by years with her blustery husband.

Tom was all charm. "My sincerest apologies, Ambassador. I feel terrible about what happened. It won't happen again, I promise you."

"See that it doesn't." The man snorted, and turned back to his food. He pointedly ignored them for the rest of the meal, and Harry was grateful.

"That's Daiben," Tom explained softly. "He's the Nasari ambassador."

Ah. That must be why he looked vaguely familiar. Harry remembered the Nasari. They were an alien race they'd met in the Delta Quadrant. Not terribly friendly, though it turned out they had a reason for their behavior. Apparently, they now had full diplomatic relations with the Federation. Though Daiben seemed a poor choice for a diplomat.

"You look good, Tom," Harry said after their meal was served. Tom was obviously on his best behavior, and Harry decided he would be, too. Determined to be polite, he smiled at Tom pleasantly over the heavily laden table. He didn't ordinarily eat a big lunch, but the custom on this planet was family-style, and Tom had ordered a lot. As always, it was the very best: sweet, tender filet mignon topped with crisp-fried oysters, rich, golden Yorkshire pudding, fresh, steamed asparagus, buttery mashed potatoes with Denebian horseradish. Tom had always loved his food.

And it showed; he was distinctly heavier now than he had been when Harry last saw him. But it looked good on him, softening his narrow face, gentling the rough lines of his big-boned frame. The hair Harry remembered as barley-colored was much lighter, almost platinum, and Harry realized it was because so much white was now mixed in with the blond. The eyes were the same, though, the blue just as vivid, and sparkling with the same humor and intelligence.

"You look good, too," Tom said. "Very good." His gaze was warm. . . too warm, Harry thought, feeling a little uneasy. Usually when people looked at you like that. . . no, he was imagining it.

"Where's B'Elanna?" Harry asked hastily.

The eyes weren't quite the same after all. The shadows in them were a bit darker than they had been. "Oh, I imagine she'll be here," Tom said casually.

Harry processed that. Did he mean they had traveled here separately? Or that they weren't together any more?

"B'Elanna and I divorced six years ago," Tom said.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He was shocked, and yet, not surprised at all.

Tom shrugged. "It was for the best." He helped himself to some delicate, lace-like onion rings, then put a pile of them on Harry's plate. "Eat. You could use a little more meat on your bones."

Harry felt a flicker of annoyance. As far as he was concerned, Tom had forfeited all right to fuss over him when he cut off contact, seven years ago.

"What?" Tom said. "Don't like onion rings? You used to love them."

"And you used to take my calls. And letters. And packages."

Tom put down his fork. "Harry. . . I'm sorry. After the divorce. . . well, I guess neither of us remembered to file a change of address form."

That explained why the packages had been returned unopened, but it didn't explain it all. "Tom. I called your dad, and asked him where you were. He said you didn't want to talk to me."

Tom's gaze dropped guiltily. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's just. . . Harry, I was a mess after the divorce. I didn't want to see anyone."

"B'Elanna's father wouldn't tell me anything, either."

"That was probably my fault, too."

"You told John Torres not to tell me anything?"

"No," Tom said, looking up. There was a hint of sardonic amusement in the blue eyes. "The man hates me. He always thought I wasn't good enough for his little girl. Turned out he was right. And he knows you're my best friend. Guilt by association. He was probably afraid I was trying to track down B'Elanna, through you."

"So. . . B'Elanna's not mad at me?"

"Why should she be mad at you?" Tom asked, looking honestly baffled.

"She can't be happy at what Starfleet did to Chakotay."

"Harry. . . was that you thought, all these years? That we were angry because you stayed in Starfleet after we were kicked out?"

"I couldn't think of anything else I'd done," Harry said defensively.

"Harry, you didn't do anything. It was me. All me."

At that point, the waiter showed up to take their drink orders.

"There's a nice local red," Tom recommended.

Harry thought about it, but decided he'd rather have a beer.

"That's a good choice, too," Tom said, and ordered spinach-pear juice for himself.

Harry couldn't help making a face. Tom caught it. "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it."

"I have tried it," Harry pointed out. Tom had favored that peculiar drink from their Voyager days. Harry had tried it once, out of sheer curiosity. Once was more than enough.

"Oh. Well, I guess it's an acquired taste. Go on, eat, it's getting cold."

Harry tried the food. It was delicious. The filet mignon and fried oysters practically melted on the tongue. "How's your daughter?" he asked conversationally.

"Okay. . . I guess." Tom stared down at his salad, as if he'd never seen one before. After a long pause, he added, "The courts have decided that Miral is better off not seeing me."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. It was highly unusual for a court to deny visitation. What on earth could have happened? "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

They ate in silence for awhile, then Harry tried again. "So, what are you doing these days, Tom?" The instant he spoke the question, he wanted to kick himself. If Tom really was upset at being cashiered out of Starfleet, that was the wrong thing to ask.

But it didn't seem to bother Tom. He grinned proudly. "I have my own business. Paris Productions, specializing in decorative and entertainment holography."

"That banner in the lobby," Harry remembered.

"Yup. We're doing all the holography for the reunion. I do all the design, and Joey helps me with the engineering. Did you ever meet Joey?"

"I think I saw him in the lobby. Dark-haired young man?"

"That's him. Joseph Carey, Jr. You knew his father."

"Joe Carey's son?" Harry said, surprised. "He doesn't look anything like Joe."

"Takes after his mom," Tom said.

Poor Joe. He'd died shortly before they'd gotten back to the Alpha Quadrant. . . on an away mission commanded by Tom, Harry suddenly recalled. "It's good of you to give the boy a job," he said carefully.

"No, it's good of him to work for me," Tom said. "He's a great engineer. Takes after his dad in that respect."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, not fooled for a moment. Whatever might have happened in the intervening years, this was, he decided, the same Tom he had known, ten years before. Despite all the changes, he recognized this Tom, and it made him smile. Tom smiled back, and suddenly it was like the last ten years had never happened.

After lunch, Tom came with Harry as he checked into the hotel, then went up to his room. He was on the second floor. There was a balcony which overlooked a large garden lake. . . or maybe it had been a moat? In any case, it was now quite decorative, with flowering water plants, huge, golden fish, and what looked like the Shiani equivalent of ducks, or maybe swans.

The room itself was richly furnished with antiques, including a massive table and two intricately carved beds. Polished wood, deep rugs, and colorful tapestries warmed the native stone of the walls and floor - the sort of old-fashioned luxury rarely seen in Starfleet. The bathroom and replicator, however, were completely state of the art.

"I could definitely get used to this," Harry said. He was standing at the railing of the balcony, looking out over the lake, and thinking he should have saved something from lunch to feed the fish and ducks. The full meal and warm sunshine made him feel sleepy and content.

"The hotel or the company?" Tom asked.

"Both," Harry said dreamily, watching the hypnotic flash of the fish in the water below.

"Good," Tom replied. A hand, warmer than the Shiani sunshine, rested on Harry's shoulder, then slowly slid along his arm to cover his fingers on the railing. "Harry. . ."

Suddenly very much awake, Harry turned to look at Tom. The azure eyes were gazing at him the same way they had earlier, their heat and intensity almost too much to bear. He tried to pull away, but Tom's grip tightened around his, his thumb moving sensuously along the back of his hand.

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

No one could do "innocent" like Tom Paris. His wide, thick-lashed eyes were positively angelic as they met Harry's. "Renewing an old friendship."

"Stop it," Harry said sharply. "We're not renewing that part of our friendship."

"Why not?" Tom asked. But he let go of Harry's hand. Harry hastily retreated back into the room, pulse pounding.

"Thanks for lunch," Harry said pointedly.

"All right, all right." Tom headed toward the door, then stopped and looked back. His expression was so forlorn, Harry almost called him back, but he was gone too quickly.

Harry sank onto the bed, head in his hands. He couldn't believe it. Tom had been flirting with him. After fourteen years.

So long ago. And so brief, he'd nearly blocked it from his memory. God, he'd been so young. Young, and hot-blooded, and foolish. He'd fallen for Tom, head over heels. Tom had never made any promises, and anyone less naive than Harry had been would have seen the danger signals. The way Tom insisted on keeping their relationship secret, for example, and continued to put on a show of pursuing women. But Harry had been so sure it was forever, that Tom would come around. . . until the day Tom had left him for B'Elanna.

The following months had been the most difficult of Harry's life. He'd found it hard to even look at Tom, let alone work with him. And Tom insisted on acting as if they were still best friends. Eventually, though, Harry had gotten over it, and rebuilt his friendship with Tom. Voyager was too small a ship to do otherwise. Besides, Tom really was a very good friend. It had been a huge mistake to get romantically involved with him, that's all.

He was just teasing, Harry finally decided. Tom had the damnedest sense of humor sometimes. Harry had probably overreacted, but he wasn't sorry. He didn't appreciate that kind of teasing, not from Tom, and it was best to make that clear up front. It's enough that he expected me to stay his best friend after he decided I wasn't good enough to be his lover. He can't expect me to flirt with him, too.

With a sigh, Harry stood up and headed toward the luxurious bathroom to take a shower. A cold one.

There was a welcoming reception scheduled for that night. Formal, of course. Harry pulled on the white jacket of his dress uniform, then peered into the mirror. He doubted anyone would have trouble recognizing him; he looked much the same as he had ten years ago. His face was a little thinner, perhaps, a bit of its former youthful roundness melted away with the years. Overall, though, his uniform had changed more than he had; Starfleet had gone through two different uniform re-designs since his Voyager days.

He fastened his commander's pips to his collar and studied his reflection. Not bad. . . except his hair. He pushed it back, but it immediately flopped back down into his eyes. He really needed a haircut. He'd meant to get one before he came to Shian, but he hadn't had time. Admiral Asosi had suddenly pushed the project deadline up three months; for awhile, Harry hadn't been sure he'd even be granted time off for the reunion.

He glanced at the comm on the wall for a moment, thinking about calling the lab. No, he had faith in his people; they didn't need checking on. Besides, there wouldn't be anything happening until the plans came back from review, which likely wouldn't be for several weeks yet.

The door chime sounded. "Enter." He turned to see it was Tom Paris, looking positively breathtaking in an expensively cut formal suit of grey velvet. For a moment, Harry was speechless.

"Hi, Harry," Tom said hesitantly.

Luckily, Tom didn't seem to notice his staring. "Hi," Harry managed. Swallowing, he dropped his gaze. . . and realized Tom was holding a lavish bouquet of flowers.

He gave Tom an enquiring look. Did Tom have a date? Or were they supposed to bring gifts or something to the reception?

"They're for you," Tom said, holding out the flowers - along with an ornate gold box of chocolates Harry hadn't noticed before.

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?" He crossed his arms, pointedly not taking the gifts.

"Call it an apology for this afternoon," Tom said.

"You don't need to-"

"Yes, I do." Tom stepped closer, still holding out the flowers. "I went about it all wrong. This morning you thought I never wanted to speak to you again. Shortly after lunch, I was already moving in on you. You're right, that was too fast. You deserve a real courtship."

Harry was so astonished he could only gape. Finally, he found his voice. "Are you crazy? Courtship?! We're friends. That's all!"

"Don't worry," Tom said with a grin. He tucked the candy and flowers into Harry's arms, forcing him to take them. "We'll go slow."

Exasperated, Harry threw the gifts down on the nearest table. "No, we won't." Tom smirked. "I mean. . . damn it, Tom!" Harry took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. "Tom, if this is a joke, it's not funny."

"It's not a joke," Tom replied. The smirk was gone, and he looked utterly sincere.

"Tom...I realize it's been a long time, so let me remind you. We tried this once. It didn't work."

"If at first you don't succeed. . ."

"No, Tom. We are not going to try it again."

"Aw, come on, Harry. I'm not so bad. I've got a job, I'm housebroken, I've got all my own teeth. . ."

"Tom. . . you're one of my best friends. You always will be. But as far as dating goes. . . not if you were the last person in the galaxy."

Tom winced. "Well, I can't say I blame you. But you can't blame me for trying to change your mind, either."

"Yes, I can," Harry replied sharply. "Go flirt with the Delaney sisters or something. I'm not interested."

"Your lips say 'no, no, no,' but your eyes. . ."

Harry fixed Tom with his most quelling glare.

". . . your eyes say 'no,' too," Tom finished, backing away a little. "Man. Do they teach you that look in commander school or something?"

Harry smiled a little, in spite of himself. Trusting Tom had gotten the point, he said, "Come on, we're going to be late for the reception."

Downstairs, the party was already in full swing. The host greeting people as they came in was a familiar figure - Neelix. "Tom! Harry!" he cried, with his trademark enthusiasm. "Look at you - Commander. You're all grown up!" He then belied his words by pinching Harry's cheeks, as people all over the universe seemed to do with small children.

"Hi, Neelix," Harry said. There was gray sprinkled in the Talaxian's hair, and he was a little heavier, but other than that, he seemed unchanged - except that his taste in clothes appeared to have become even more garish. The suit he was wearing not only featured brightly-colored plaid going in fifteen different directions, it was inlaid with sparkly metallic accents and flashing glow-lights.

"It's so good to see you two," Neelix said. "Please, go in. Almost everyone's here already."

They entered the reception hall, and paused to look around. Harry had to admit, Tom had done an amazing job with the holography. It was beautiful, striking, perfect. Two immense portals stood on opposite walls, one framing scenes from the Alpha Quadrant, the other scenes from the Delta Quadrant. Between was nothing but star-filled blackness. It was a little unnerving if you looked down, but visually stunning. The people whirling on the dance floor looked like they were dancing suspended in interstellar space.

"Wow," Harry said.

"It's actually a very long, narrow room. I wanted something that would open it up a little, so I. . . " Tom broke off, as the sound of raised voices caught his attention.

"It's barbaric!" someone said angrily, and Harry realized it was the EMH. The holographic doctor was standing on the edge of the dance floor, talking to someone whose elaborate costume and entourage suggested he was important.

"Daiben again," Tom said.

Sure enough, it was the ever-undiplomatic Nasari ambassador. "It's the only solution," he was telling the Doctor. "The Taresians are vermin. The only thing you can do with them is exterminate them."

"They are sentient beings. Sentient beings are not vermin!" the Doctor protested.

Tom moved in quickly to break it up. "Doctor!" he said loudly. "Come and say hello to Harry, here." He pulled the Doc away from Daiben, and a group of journalists moved in, surrounding the ambassador. Hopefully, none of them would be as confrontational as the EMH.

"Hello, Mr. Kim," the Doctor said, still glaring daggers toward Daiben. "The Federation should do something. What the Nasari are doing to the Taresians is an abomination. They've totally blockaded the planet. The entire Taresian race may perish."

The Nasari and the Taresians were long-time enemies. Harry's sympathies lay very much with the Nasari in this particular argument; the Taresians had almost murdered him. They were a planet of women who could only reproduce by killing men. "No loss," Harry muttered.

The Doctor bridled, offended. "Mr. Kim. I realize that you have personal reasons for disliking the Taresians. However, I can't believe you're in favor of genocide, just because-"

Tom interrupted. "Doc, settle down, will you?" The Federation is working on it. They have plans to eradicate the technology that allows the Taresians to inject their DNA into alien men and lure them to Taresia, and replace it with less violent methods of reproductive assistance. But we need to be on good terms with everyone in the neighborhood, or we won't be allowed in. Don't ruffle any feathers, okay?"

The Doctor paused, getting a grip on himself. "Well," he said. "That's excellent news, Mr. Paris. Do you think they need a doctor's services? If so, I'd be happy to help out. Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me about this project. . ."

Tom winked at Harry, and went off with the Doctor. Harry was considering following them, when a young man intercepted him. "Commander Harry Kim?"

"Yes?" Harry asked. He didn't recognize this man, who seemed far too young to have ever been on Voyager. Then he saw the press pass.

"Kevin McKenna, Space Technology magazine," the man said. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

"There's a formal press conference at 2030 hours," Harry said.

"I know, Commander, but we magazine reporters never get called on. Please? Our readers are eager to know more about the quantum slipstream drive you've developed."

McKenna was very new to his job, Harry decided. Probably just out of school. And Harry had always liked Space Technology magazine. "Tell you what. If your questions aren't answered at tonight's press conference, I'll give you a personal interview. Call me tomorrow and we'll arrange it."

"Really?" McKenna's boyish face lit up. "Thank you, sir!"

"Harry!" A woman's voice called his name, and Harry turned around to find a petite, dark-haired woman nearly running across the room toward him.

"B'Elanna!" He surged forward to meet her, and they embraced enthusiastically. "Ow, B'Elanna, my ribs!" She still had all her Klingon strength.

"Sorry." She beamed up at him. She was beautiful, in a long gown of midnight blue satin, her hair elegantly upswept. She eyed his rank insignia. "Full commander now, is it?"

"Starfleet will promote anyone, I guess."

"Oh, I'm sure you earned it." Someone jostled past them, and she pulled at his arm. "We're blocking the route to the buffet table. Come on, let's dance."

It was a good idea. If they were dancing together, they could talk without reporters bothering them. Harry led her out onto the floor, remembering how much he had always liked dancing with her. She wasn't a good dancer - quite the opposite. But neither was he, which made them comfortable together. Conventional wisdom had it that engineers were the worst dancers in the known universe; he and B'Elanna could be offered as proof of that.

"Don't let me step on your feet. With these spike heels, it could be fatal."

"I thought you looked taller." Taller, and downright gorgeous. Her hair was curly now, he noticed, and threaded with silver. Gems sparkled at her neck and wrists, and her simple, sleek dress was perfectly suited to her petite figure. He'd never seen her so elegantly turned out. "Things are going well for you, I trust? You look terrific."

"Thanks." She told him a little of what she did. She was working on Deep Space Nine now, for a civilian engineering contractor. Like all the Maquis, she had not been permitted to remain in Starfleet, but she liked her current job better. It allowed her to raise her daughter with some stability, and come home to her every night.

"And how about you? I heard about the Cochrane Medal. Congratulations."

"Thanks." Neither she nor Tom had contacted him when he won the Cochrane Medal of Excellence. Now, of course, he knew why. They would have been in the midst of their divorce at the time.

"You're not married, are you? Or if you are, you're not living with your wife."

She was right, of course, but. . ."How do you know?"

"You're too skinny." She poked him in the ribs. "No one's taking care of you."

"B'Elanna, I'm 38 years old. I'm perfectly capable of operating a replicator on my own."

"But you don't remember to, unless someone reminds you. You need someone to drag you away from that lab once in awhile, Harry."

That was likely true. Harry had found it difficult to make friends on Piran. At the Academy, and on Voyager, it had been easy to meet people. Everyone had been torn from their established friends and family, and were eager to make new acquaintances, form new bonds. It wasn't that people were unfriendly on Piran. It was just that most of them had grown up there, and already had established social circles. They already had friends and families to go home to. And Harry spent such long hours at the lab. He knew people through his job, of course, but now that he was a commander, he couldn't fraternize with most of them. Harry realized that his life, fulfilling as it was professionally, was a bit lonely.

"I'm taking you to breakfast tomorrow," B'Elanna announced.

"Why does everyone feel compelled to feed me?" Harry protested.

"Meet me in the lobby tomorrow. 0830."

"All right. But I'm paying for breakfast."

B'Elanna's reply was interrupted by the arrival of Tom Paris. "Excuse me, mind if I cut in?"

Yes, we do mind! was what Harry wanted to reply. But he stepped back, as politeness required. To his surprise, B'Elanna said, "See you, Harry," and faded away into the crowd - leaving Harry to dance with Tom.

"Come on, dance with me, beautiful," Tom said, pulling Harry into his arms. Harry, lead-footed with shock, found himself dancing with Tom Paris.

Tom was an excellent dancer. So good that he could make even the clumsiest partner look graceful. Harry had watched him in action many a time, but had never actually danced with him. Tom didn't dance with men.

"Tom," he said. "Are you crazy? What about the reporters?"

"What about them?"

"What if they take a picture of us, and your father sees it?"

"Afraid your Starfleet career will be ruined because you've been seen dancing with a Maquis ex-con?"

"No!" Harry protested.

"Hey," Tom said. "Relax. I'm sure Dad would be thrilled to see me with a fine, upstanding officer like yourself."

"The hell he would," Harry muttered. Owen Paris was very conservative. Though Starfleet officially had a policy banning discrimination based on sexual orientation, and Admiral Paris followed it on the job, he had raised his son to believe same-sex relationships were an abomination. Harry was convinced that was the reason Tom had left him for B'Elanna Torres, fourteen years ago. "Where is your dad, anyway?" he asked.

"Oh, he's around here someplace."

"He's here??" Harry looked around, alarmed, but didn't see the admiral in the crowd.

"Well, of course. Just about everyone involved in the Pathfinder project was invited."

Tom must be intentionally trying to annoy his father, Harry decided. And he didn't want any part of it. When the music ended, he made his excuses. "I'm due at a press conference."

"Sure," Tom said. He led Harry off the dance floor. "Hey. . . can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?"

"I'd love to, but I already have plans."

Tom was visibly disappointed. "Well, maybe I can come with you."

If it had been anyone else, Harry might have said yes. But somehow, he didn't think B'Elanna would appreciate his bringing her ex-husband along.

"Three's a crowd, Tom," he said.

"Okay, I understand. Some other time, then. See you around, Har." He leaned over and kissed Harry on the lips, and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry stood frozen in disbelief for a moment, sharply aware of the curious stares of the people around him. And then it got worse.

"Hello, Commander," Admiral Paris said.

"Sir," Harry managed, knowing his face was bright red. He'd kill Tom, he decided. It would be justifiable homicide. Not a court in the galaxy would convict him.

Owen Paris' expression was unreadable. "Admiral Janeway's been looking for you. The press conference is starting. This way, please, Commander."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, knowing that if he tried to explain it would only make it worse.

By now, Harry was adept at handling reporters' questions. The press conference was uneventful, and Harry made sure that young McKenna got a chance to ask a couple of questions.

Afterwards, Janeway signaled to him. "Come, Harry. Get me a drink, and we'll go for a walk."

Harry fetched her a glass of golden Shiani cognac, and they went out into the gardens. A flagstone path wound around pools of water, carefully pruned greenery, and artistically placed rocks. Flickering lanterns hung from the trees and floated on the water. It was breathtaking, and they wandered the little path in silence for awhile, just drinking in the beauty.

Eventually, they stopped on a footbridge that arched over a little stream. Small, bobbing lanterns drifted lazily under the bridge, down the stream and out of the garden. To the river, no doubt, and then to the sea.

"Prayers," Janeway said.

"What?"

"Each lantern is a prayer. It's the custom here. You light a lantern and set it adrift. It will carry your prayer to the gods."

Janeway put a coin on the bridge railing, then took a lantern from a nearby tree and placed it on the water. It floated slowly downstream with the others. Harry noticed that there were other coins on the railing.

"The monks from the temple in the city provide the lanterns each evening and collect the offerings in the morning," Janeway explained.

Harry put a coin of the local currency down beside the others, and set a lantern of his own onto the water. They watched it float away in silence.

After awhile, Janeway said, "What did you ask for?"

Harry hesitated. The custom had reminded him of something he'd done as a child, while visiting his grandparents every summer. The floating lanterns were supposed to lead lost souls to the land of the dead, though, not carry prayers to the gods. He hadn't wished for anything when he set his lantern adrift, except perhaps for the souls of Voyager's departed to rest in peace. But he didn't want to tell Janeway that. She blamed herself for every member of the crew who hadn't made it back. "Peace," he replied finally. "For all the Voyager crew."

"Don't wish us peace, Harry," Janeway said. "Wish us happiness." She turned suddenly, capturing Harry's gaze with hers. "Are you happy?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said, caught a little off-balance. "Of course I am."

"You always wanted to be a starship captain, Harry. Why are you letting them stick you in that lab?"

As if he had a say in the matter. "The needs of Starfleet," Harry reminded her, quoting a well-known phrase from the Starfleet enlistment contract. You agreed when you signed on to take any assignment you were given.

"You've been kept at that assignment a lot longer than you should have been. It's time for you to move on, and if you asked, they would let you go."

"I don't mind," Harry said. "It's important work, and I'm good at it."

"You've given up your dream of commanding a starship?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, though not without a twinge. "You were right. I'm better suited to engineering than command."

"That's not my opinion, Harry. We needed your technical skills on Voyager. Of course I had to use you in that capacity. And you saved all our lives, many times over."

"But you never promoted me."

"That had nothing to do with my assessment of your ability to command."

"It didn't?" Harry asked, surprised.

"What did promotion mean on Voyager? It's not as if I could give anyone a pay raise, or even a new assignment. We all did what we had to, regardless of rank or position."

That was true. Rank had meant less on Voyager than anywhere he'd ever been. But. . . "Some people got promotions," Harry pointed out.

"Promotion and demotion was a way to publically demonstrate my approval or disapproval, if necessary," Janeway said. "It came to my attention that some of the crew thought I promoted Chakotay over Tuvok because Tuvok had done something wrong. Promoting Tuvok allowed me to correct that misperception." She smiled. "There was no need to promote you, Harry. The entire crew knew you were my pet."

"What?!"

"Though I did wish I had promoted you once, after that incident with the Varro girl. Then I could have demoted you. As it was, there was no lower rank I could demote you to."

"I guess there are some advantages to being an ensign."

"Yes," Janeway said. "That's why I made Tom a lieutenant. I figured he might need some 'demotion room.'"

Harry laughed. Was she serious? Probably, at least a little.

"Harry," she said. "Do you want me to pull some strings, get you back on the command track?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I've come to realize that I don’t want the responsibility of command."

Janeway studied him for a long moment. "You're afraid you'll end up like me."

"You're an admiral, and a hero of the Federation," Harry protested. "I'd love to end up like you."

"I'm an admiral because court-martialing me wasn't an option, politically. So they booted me upstairs to harmlessly push paper."

Harry had heard that rumor, but had always discounted it. If Janeway didn't like what she was doing, she'd have quit, surely.

Janeway continued. "They're afraid I'll do what the other Janeway did, and break the temporal prime directive. So I'm not trusted with anything of importance."

"That's unfair," Harry said. "That wasn't you."

"Yes, it was," Janeway said. "And it seems I'm a failure as a captain as well. I turned one of the Academy's most promising young leaders into just another workhorse engineer."

"Hardly, Admiral," Harry said. "The failure, if any, lies with me."

She shook her head. "The buck stops here, Harry."

"And that's why I'm not sure I want to command," he replied.

Janeway laughed. "You're young yet, Harry. One day, you may find you're tired of engineering. When that day comes, give me a call."

When they returned to the reception hall, Harry found himself surreptitiously looking around for Tom, to his annoyance. He didn't find him, but he did find Chakotay.

"Harry! It's good to see you."

"You too. . . Chakotay," Harry said, almost calling him "Commander," out of sheer habit. He'd last seen Chakotay at Seven's funeral; the former Maquis had been granted a compassionate early release in order to attend, since he was almost due for parole anyway. Chakotay seemed to have aged twenty years since then. He was thinner, grayer, his face more deeply lined. But he was still a handsome man. He was working as an archaeologist in Central America now, and the sun had darkened his skin to a rich mahogany, set off perfectly by the brightly-colored tribal textiles he wore.

"Can you spare a moment, Harry? I have something I want to give you."

Curious, Harry followed Chakotay to his room, which was nearby. It was similar to Harry's, only, being on the first floor, it had a deck built out over the water, not a balcony. There were no personal possessions visible, not even a suitcase. Chakotay, typically neat and organized, must have unpacked and stashed everything out of sight already.

Sure enough, it was to the heavy wardrobe in the corner Chakotay went. He pulled open a drawer, and took out a small box, holding it out.

Harry took it. It was carved of smooth, light wood, inlaid with darker pieces in a geometric design. He opened it, and found a data strip lying inside.

"Seven wanted you to have it," Chakotay said.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It's. . . a scrapbook, I guess you would call it. Personal pictures and mementos of her time in the Delta Quadrant. You were her first friend, Harry. The first one who treated her like a human being. She never forgot."

Harry stared at the data strip, stunned. And also deeply touched. But. . . "Chakotay, are you sure? I mean, she was your wife. You should keep it."

Chakotay shook his head. "It was in her will, updated only a few months before she died. She wanted you to have it. I could make a copy if I wanted to, but I don't want to. It's not our way, Harry. My people don't value the possessions of those who have departed. Memories, yes, but not things."

"What about her family? Her aunt?"

"If you wish to give it to them or make them a copy, go ahead. It's yours. But I don't know how much meaning it would have, to someone who wasn't on Voyager."

"Then thank you, Chakotay. I will treasure it."

Despite the late night, Harry was up early the next morning. He decided to go for a run to clear the cobwebs. The morning was glorious. With the light gravity and richly oxygenated atmosphere, he could run faster and longer than usual. He ran along the river, through a small stand of forest, then around a small lake, set like a sapphire in the lush, green park.

By the time he got back, B'Elanna was already waiting for him in the hotel lobby. She looked more casual than she had at the reception banquet last night, but just as beautiful, in a soft, pretty, brightly-printed dress, her hair in a thick braid down her back.

"Am I late?" Harry asked.

"No, I'm early," B'Elanna replied.

"Then let me take a quick shower first. I'm not fit to be seen with you."

She laughed, and accompanied him up to his room, waiting patiently while he washed off the sweat.

"Shall we have breakfast in the hotel restaurant?" Harry asked, offering her his arm.

"No way." She dragged him toward the door. "We're eating down on the wharf."

"There's a restaurant on the wharf?"

"Not exactly. I'll show you."

The hotel was built along the river, and it was a short walk to the wharf. B'Elanna sat down on the wooden planking, sandaled feet dangling over the water.

"We're going to eat here?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Yup. Just wait."

Harry understood soon enough. As soon as they sat down, small rafts starting edging their way. Each one offered a different specialty: smoked fish, fresh fruit, bowls of soup rich with noodles and vegetables.

Harry eyed a plateful of hot shrimp dumplings. They looked good, and he knew B'Elanna, being part-Klingon, liked protein in her meals. He glanced at her, and she nodded.

"How much?" Harry asked.

"Twenty credits."

Harry was about to hand them over, but B'Elanna stopped him. "You're supposed to bargain."

"Why?" The price seemed fair enough to Harry.

"Two credits," B'Elanna said firmly.

"Ten," the vendor counter-offered.

Finally, B'Elanna agreed to a price of five credits, and the transaction was made.

"That seems awfully cheap," Harry said, worrying that B'Elanna had cheated the man.

"Harry, it's the custom here. And he was trying to take advantage of us because we're offworlders. If we were natives, his first offer would have been five credits, and we'd probably have gotten them for three."

Through similar transactions, they acquired bowls of fresh fruit, squares of fried porridge, tiny boiled eggs, some sweet buns, and two mugs of a hot, steaming drink that tasted like bittersweet chocolate. It was all delicious. He particularly liked the fried porridge, which reminded him of the grits that were a staple at home. The Shiani version was tastier, though, with a rich, nutty flavor that put the blandness of grits to shame. And it was very pleasant eating on the wharf, beside the river, with the person who had been his second-best friend for all those years.

He didn't ask her why she'd never contacted him. He thought he knew. When couples divorced, they often divided their friends like they did their property. He was Tom's best friend, not hers. She'd probably assumed that Tom was crying on his shoulder. Indeed, she seemed to assume that Tom had told him everything.

"How's the kid?" Harry asked, once the edge of their hunger had been blunted.

"Rala's fine," B'Elanna said, spearing a shrimp dumpling with the barbed skewer that was a customary eating utensil here. "She wanted to come with me, but I didn't want her missing school. She's with William, her stepfather. Back at home."

Her stepfather. So B'Elanna had re-married. Harry also noted the nickname B'Elanna used for her daughter Miral: "Rala." Not the human "Miri" or "Mira," the Klingon "Rala."

He looked at her carefully. She looked much the same. The only difference was her hair, now so long and curly, with threads of silver. It made her look more Klingon, something she would have avoided like the plague in their Voyager days. . . No, on the second thought, that wasn't the only difference. She seemed...serene. Secure, self-confident, and at peace, in a way he'd never seen her.

"What? Is there something stuck to my teeth?" she asked.

"No," Harry assured her. "Just noticing how wonderful you look."

"Flirt."

"I'm serious," Harry said. "I don't think I've ever seen you look so good. So. . . happy." Not even on the day she married Tom.

"I am happy," she replied. She hesitated, then said, "In a strange way, Tom Paris was the best thing that ever happened to me."

Harry blinked in surprise. "But. . . "

"We divorced, yes. Harry, before it happened, that was my worst nightmare. That someone else I cared about would leave me, like my father did. But you know. . . it wasn't as bad as I feared." She laughed ruefully. "Well, nothing could have been. But when Tom walked out. . . I was devastated at first. Then I realized. . . it wasn't me. The problem was him. It wasn't my Klingon heritage, or our part-Klingon daughter. It was him."

Harry bit his tongue, resisting the urge to defend Tom. B'Elanna probably had every right to be angry at her ex-husband. Though really, she didn't seem as angry as he expected her to be.

"There's nothing like facing your worst fear, and surviving," she said. "I know I can survive anything now. And I have Tom to thank for that."

Harry thought about that. He wondered which was worse: to worry constantly about being abandoned, as B'Elanna had, before finally having it come true, or to be totally blindsided and unsuspecting, as he had been. Harry sighed. "Tom doesn't mean to hurt people."

B'Elanna gave him a sharp look. "Did he ask you to talk to me?"

"No," Harry said hastily.

"Good. Because I'm not changing my mind about visitation."

"That's your business, and Tom's," Harry assured her.

B'Elanna seemed mollified. "Enough about Tom," she said. "Are you finished? Good. Let's go the market next. Just leave the dishes on the edge of the wharf. The vendors will come by later to retrieve them."

The market was a short walk away, just a little further down the river. It reminded Harry of many past Delta Quadrant shore leaves, with its exotic goods and bustling clamor. He and B'Elanna bought souvenirs for their friends and families, paused to listen to a troop of local musicians, and marveled at the native crafts, many of them based on weaving. B'Elanna had her hair braided by a hairweaver, then bought a dress made of the Shiani silk famous throughout the quadrant. She also talked Harry into buying a shirt of the same soft, lustrous fabric.

While B'Elanna was having her dress fitted, Harry searched for a gift for her daughter, Miral. He didn't know much about children, and wasn't sure what to get a ten-year-old girl. But he remembered his mother once telling him that it was better to guess too old than too young. A child would be insulted by a present that was too babyish. He thought about it for awhile, then settled on a necklace of shimmering river pearls.

All in all, it had been a delightful morning. They were walking back, nearing the hotel, when Harry caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. One of the numerous hovercars popular on this world, moving much too fast, and coming right at them. Harry realized it wasn't going to stop. He shoved B'Elanna aside, and threw himself headlong after her.

The vehicle zoomed past them as they fell, so close they felt the rush of air as it passed. Stunned, Harry sat on the ground for a moment, taking inventory. B'Elanna was on her feet instantly. "Watch where you're going, you p'taq!" she yelled, glaring after the speeding hovercraft.

People were gathering around, talking excitedly about the patrol, and the hospital. "I don't need to go to the hospital," Harry protested. He scrambled to his feet. "B'Elanna, you okay?"

"Fine," she replied.

A familiar voice cut through the surrounding commotion. "What happened?" It was Tom, threading his way through the crowd, almost as tall and light-haired as the natives, but far paler. "My god, are you all right? They said it was a hit and run."

"Not quite," B'Elanna replied. "We weren't hit. But it wasn't for lack of trying. And don't touch me, Paris!"

"A hovercar nearly ran us down," Harry said, trying to slow his breathing. His voice was calm, but it had been an awfully close call. When Tom put an arm around his shoulders, he didn't resist the touch.

"Did you get the registration code?" someone asked.

"I didn't see anything," B'Elanna said. "I didn't even notice anything until Harry pushed me out of the way."

Harry straightened, pulling away from Tom. "It was dark red, with grey trim, but I didn't catch the registration code."

"I did," someone in the crowd said. "5HX-308. I'll call it in to the patrol."

"You're sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" Tom asked. "Your hand is bleeding."

Harry looked down, noticing the minor injury for the first time. "It's just a scrape," he said. "Must have happened when I fell." He left Tom and went to help B'Elanna, who was trying to collect their packages, scattered in the street.

People started handing Harry and B'Elanna the various things they had dropped, and they conferred for a moment, sorting them out.

"Here, Harry, this must be yours. I didn't buy it." B'Elanna held out a white silk bag - the sort that jewelry came in, on this planet.

"No, it's yours. For Miral."

A surprised smile flashed across her face. At his nod, she opened it, and drew out the necklace of pearls. "Harry! You shouldn't have! It's too expensive!"

"No, it isn't. After all, I've missed a few birthdays, and Christmases, and Prixins. . ."

"Thank you! She'll love it." She hugged him, kissed him lightly on the cheek. They began walking toward the hotel, parting only when they got to the lobby. B'Elanna had a seminar she had to attend in half an hour. Harry paused, looking after her fondly.

"She's married, you know."

Harry started at the voice whispering in his ear. He'd almost forgotten Tom was there. "I know," Harry said, annoyed. "We're friends."

"I'm your friend, and you don't give me jewelry."

Tom must have seen him give B'Elanna the necklace. "Spying on us?"

"I just can't keep my eyes off you."

Harry rolled his eyes at Tom's insouciant grin. He went up to his room, Tom following uninvited. As he'd often done in their Voyager days.

The moment the door slid shut, Tom was all over him, yanking off Harry's clothes, kissing, licking, caressing the flesh thus revealed. Startled, Harry protested at first. "Tom, we're going to miss dinner. Tom! We. . . ohhh . . . Tom. . . yes, like that, right there. . . ahhh. . . " He forgot all about dinner, and pulled Tom down on the floor, where they. . .

"Harry? You sure you're okay?"

Harry blinked, pulled back from his memories. "I told you, Tom, I'm fine. The vehicle didn't even touch me. I just fell and scraped my hand as I was scrambling to get out of the way."

"Let me look at it." He took Harry's hand in his.

Harry pulled away. "Nothing's broken."

Tom took his hand again. "No, but it's badly bruised. If you don't let someone take care of it, there will be quite a bit of pain and swelling in a few hours."

Harry gave in, letting Tom treat his hand. Tom made idle conversation as he worked the regenerator. "I like your hair."

"What?" He didn't know what Tom was talking about at first. Tom reached out, batting at Harry's hair. There was a musical rattle, and Harry remembered. The hair-weaver who had braided beads into B'Elanna's hair had insisted on putting a few in Harry's hair, too. B'Elanna had been very amused. "Oh, that," Harry said. "Guy in the market wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Leave them in. You look adorable."

Tom was now rubbing some kind of ointment on Harry's hand, and seemed to be taking much longer about it than was strictly necessary. The gentle touch made him shiver, and he suspected Tom knew it. Tom knew all too well what kind of caress Harry was most responsive to, damn him. "Are you done yet?" he asked impatiently.

Tom grinned, then planted a warm, moist kiss on the back of Harry's hand. "To make it better," he said.

Harry jerked his hand back. "Funny, Paris. Don't you have somewhere you have to be?"

"Nope," Tom said cheerfully.

"Well, I do. I've got lunch with a reporter from Space Technology."

"I guess that means lunch is out," Tom said. "Are you busy tonight?"

"We both are," Harry reminded him. "There's a banquet tonight."

"That's right. I'll pick you up at 1800." He kissed Harry's hand again, and was gone before Harry could object.

The banquet, in honor of the friendship between the Alpha and Delta Quadrants, was boring, as diplomatic banquets usually were. And, Harry had to admit, it would have been a lot more boring without Tom's entertaining and informative commentary. Tom knew most of the dignitaries present, or at least knew of them, because of his father's position in Starfleet. Irritating as Tom could be at times, Harry found he'd missed the man's irreverent wit.

The meal seemed interminable, with course after course of elaborate food. A glass of Shiani wine came with the dinner; there was a cash bar for other alcohol. Harry had never liked drinking at night, and that was doubly true now that he was getting older. He gave his wine to an appreciative McKenna, who was sitting on his other side.

"Isn't he a little young for you?" Tom's voice was soft, pitched only for his hearing.

"About my age when I met you," Harry returned. That shut Tom up. . . but only for a little bit.

"What are you doing after this?" Tom asked.

"I'm going to the Shiani opera with Nicoletti, Tuvok, and the Doc."

"Oh. Well, maybe I'll go, too."

"Tom, you hate opera. Besides, tickets had to be pre-purchased. It's too late now."

"How about a drink after the show?"

"It won't let out until after midnight. I'll see you tomorrow."

It was very late when Harry got back. He was glad he'd gone; Shiani music was enthralling, the intricate harmonies woven as skillfully as their baskets and textiles. The rich, beautiful, haunting music echoed in his mind. . . no, wait, it wasn't in his head. Someone was playing music, somewhere outside.

Curious, Harry went out on the balcony, searching for the musicians. The lake lay quiet beneath him, the ducks and fish asleep for the night. Silvery light from Shian's handful of small, multicolored moons glimmered on the dark water.

Then he spotting a bobbing light. A lantern, he thought, hanging from the front of the boat. That's where the music was coming from.

The musicians seemed to spot him, moving toward him. Harry realized that he must quite visible, standing silhouetted against the bright, open doorway behind him. He was wondering if he was supposed to pay them, when a clear, ice-sweet voice cut through the night air.

"Alas, my love you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company."

Harry hadn't recognized the song at first. It was being played in a Shiani key, with harmonies that wouldn't be used on Earth. But he recognized the voice instantly. "Tom!"

The boat was right beneath the balcony now, and Harry could make out three or four Shiani musicians, plus someone poling the boat. Tom sprang up from his seat in the bow, and began climbing up the rough stone of the ancient hotel wall, still singing.

"Harry was all my joy
"Harry was my delight,
"Harry was my heart of gold,
"And who but my darling Harry."

Harry looked down at him, paralyzed with a mix of annoyance, embarrassment, and anxiety. He was of half a mind to go back in his room and lock the door, but anxiety won, and he leaned down over the balustrade to pull Tom to safety.

"Are you crazy, Tom? What do you think you're-"

He was cut off by a sizzling blast of heat and light, zipping right over him. Someone was shooting at them, Harry thought in disbelief. Acting on pure instinct, he hooked a foot through the railing to anchor himself, leaned as far out as he possibly could, and yanked Tom up by the scruff of his neck. They collapsed in a tangled heap on the balcony floor, as another shot splashed above them. Not quite a phaser, Harry thought. Must be a local weapon.

Tom was top of Harry, pinning him down. Harry gave him a shove. "Go inside. Keep down."

"Harry-"

"I'll be right behind you. Call hotel security."

Tom rolled off him and quickly crawled through the door. Harry followed, slamming the door shut, then leaping toward the replicator.

As a Starfleet commander, he had the authorization to replicate weapons, and now he used it, ordering a standard-issue hand phaser. He set it to stun, and edged back toward the door.

"Wait!" Tom said. "I called hotel security. They've called the patrol. Let them take care of it, okay?"

"But what about your backup band down there?" Harry said.

"Whoever it was seemed to be shooting at you, not them."

Harry wasn't so sure, himself. He shook off Tom's grasp, flung open the door, and crawled out, holding the phaser ready.

"You all right down there?" he called down into the darkness.

"Yes," a voice answered, to Harry's relief.

"Stay down. Help is coming."

He lay on the cold stone, staring out into the darkness. He wasn't even sure what direction the shots had come from. There was no sound except the lapping of waves and his own breathing.

A sharp knock sounded from inside his room, and he heard Tom opening the door. At the same time, he saw flashlights sweeping along the shore below. He let the phaser drop, sighing. The patrol was here.

It was hours later before things calmed down, and Harry was exhausted. The patrol interviewed him, Tom, the musicians, and anyone else who might have seen or heard anything. They took holos of the scorch marks on the wall above Harry's balcony, and the mild burn on the back of Harry's shoulder. Finally, they left, though the glare of floodlights outside showed that they were still combing the lake and its shores, on foot and on boat, scanning and searching.

Harry dropped onto the nearest bed, almost too tired to sleep. Tom sat the other bed, facing him. "Harry, I want you to spend the night with me."

Harry blinked. If he weren't so tired, he'd be outraged. "Just because you hired a few minstrels? I don't care if you hire the entire Federation Philharmonic Orchestra, Tom, you can forget it."

"That's not what I meant," Tom said. "Er, not that I'd mind. . ." Harry glared at him, and he hastily continued. "Harry, I don't think this room is safe. Someone's trying to kill you. You need to be somewhere more secure."

"We don't know they were trying to kill me," Harry protested. "They could as easily have been aiming at you. The patrol said it might be a local who doesn't like the idea of tourists invading Shian."

"Harry, put it together. The holo-projector falling almost right on top of your head. The hovercar in the market, almost running you over. And now this."

"Those were accidents," Harry protested.

"Were they? Come on, Har, I know you've always been accident prone, but three near-death experiences in two days is pushing it, even for you."

Harry thought about that, disquieted.

"Please, Harry. My room is on the top floor. Much less accessible than this one. Plus, everyone in the building knows you're here now, after tonight's adventure. If you stay with me, no one will know where you are. You'll be a lot more secure."

"All right," Harry agreed. He had a feeling he was making a huge mistake, but he was too exhausted to argue. And it would be nice to have some company tonight.

Tom's room at the top of one of the round corner towers. It was immense, and luxurious. It was so large, in fact, that it took awhile for Harry to notice there was only one bed. He picked up his bag again. "Oh, no. I am not sleeping with you."

"What's the matter, Har? Don't trust yourself?"

Fuming, Harry turned without a word, heading toward the door. Tom pulled him up short, grabbing his arm and dragging him back. "Harry, where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my room."

"You can't. It's too dangerous."

Not as dangerous as it would be for me to stay here. "Then I'll stay with someone else." He turned to leave again. Again, Tom pulled him back.

"Wait, Harry! I'll sleep on the floor, okay?"

"You can't do that!"

"Look, I don't want you wandering around the hotel by yourself. It's not safe."

"We could ask the hotel for an extra cot," Harry said grudgingly.

"No, Harry. I don't think we should advertise that you're staying here."

Harry hesitated, torn between irritation that Tom felt he had to babysit him, and uneasiness that maybe Tom's fears were justified. Finally, he said, "Okay, I'll stay here. But I'll sleep on the floor." Tom was the one paying for this expensive room, after all.

Tom looked like he was going to object, but gave in with a heavy sigh. "Whatever you want." Gently, he took the bag from Harry's hand, and ushered him over to sit on the bed. "Let me take care of your shoulder."

"I can do it," Harry said.

"It's on your back. You can hardly see it, let alone reach it. Take off your shirt." Tom went to the replicator, asking it for medical equipment and supplies.

Reluctantly, Harry complied. Tom returned, holding various items, and sat beside Harry on the bed. "Turn this way," Tom said, his warm hands gently guiding Harry around. "And relax. I used to be ship's medic, remember? I know what I'm doing."

It wasn't Tom's medical skills Harry distrusted. He felt heat and thrum of the regenerator, passing over his shoulder, erasing the low-level, throbbing pain he had barely been aware of.

Then Tom's fingers stroked along the newly-healed skin, making him jump.

"Harry, it's going to be tender for a few hours. You're not going to be comfortable sleeping on the floor."

"I'll sleep on my side."

"You only sleep on your back."

Damn Tom for knowing him so well. "I'll live."

"Come on, Harry. It's stupid for you to sleep on the floor. This bed is big enough for a Bolian and a dozen of his wives. You won't even know I'm there."

Oh, yes, I will, Harry thought grumpily.

"Tell you what. I'll replicate a sword and lay it on the bed between us," Tom coaxed.

Harry gave up, realizing he was being unreasonable. "All right, all right."

Tom squeezed his arm. "Good man. Come on, let's hit the hay."

While Tom was in the bathroom, Harry replicated shorts and a shirt and changed into them. He folded up the clothes he'd just shed, and pulled open the drawer in the nightstand, intending to stash them there.

But the drawer was already in use. Harry found himself blushing a little, looking at the collection of sex toys, lubricants, and the like.

"Confident, aren't you?" Harry asked as Tom emerged from the bathroom.

Tom came over to look in the drawer. "Don't blame me. It came with the room," he said.

"There was only a selection of religious treatises in my nightstand." Something suddenly occurred to Harry. "This is the honeymoon suite, isn't it?"

"It's the best room in the hotel. Often used as the honeymoon suite," Tom conceded. He waved at the wardrobe. "Take any drawer you want. I'm using the shelves."

Harry stowed his clothes, then crawled into the bed. He was momentarily annoyed to find that he automatically took the left side of the bed. Fourteen years, and he still remembered that Tom preferred the right side.

The bed was huge and comfortable, and so well-designed it didn't shift a micron when Tom climbed in a few minutes later. Physically, it was as good as having two beds. Psychologically, though, Harry found it playing hell with his hormones. It didn't matter that the bed was as large as a velocity court, or that he couldn't feel Tom's weight or warmth across that expanse. The fact was, he was in bed with Tom Paris. In the honeymoon suite. And even after fourteen years, he couldn't help remembering. . .


He thrust deep into Tom, again and again, lost in sensation, rising higher and higher and higher. . . then suddenly he was falling, seemingly in slow motion, the waves of pleasure so intense they made him scream.

Dimly, he realized that they really had fallen. . . off the bed. Tom was laughing. "Klutz," he said affectionately.

"Hey, you're the pilot," Harry retorted.

"In that case, let me drive," Tom said, rolling over on top of Harry. . .


Harry shut his eyes, sighing. He hadn't thought about that in years. Damn, this was going to be a long week.

Somehow, he did manage to get to sleep. It was the scent of coffee that woke him the next morning. Tom was already up and about; as soon as he saw Harry was awake, he brought over a breakfast tray. Harry accepted the coffee gratefully. It was exactly the way he liked it, Vulcan mocha, extra sweet, just shy of scalding hot.

With some coffee in him, he noticed the other items on the tray. A plate of sweet rolls, a dish of scrambled eggs with sour cream and caviar, a single red rosebud in a silver vase. . . and a white box, tied with a red ribbon.

"What is this?"

"Open it, and find out."

Irresistibly curious, he opened it - against his better judgment.

Inside was a white silk pouch; inside that, what seemed to be a small, gray, square stone. It was oddly warm and smoothly polished to the touch. Harry turned it over in his hands, unable to figure out what it was.

A faint flash of blue glimmered in the stone. As he held the stone, it got brighter and bluer, until it looked like a glowing sapphire, shining from within.

"Put it against your skin," Tom said. Harry did, placing it against the back of his wrist, and to his amazement, it stayed there. No matter how he turned his hand, the stone stayed where he'd put it, as if by magic.

"How does it work?"

"It's a soulgem," Tom said. "One of this planet's rarer products. It resonates with and amplifies the natural magnetic field of your body, enough to actually hold itself in place."

"What's it for?"

"Just decorative."

Suspiciously, Harry said, "It's jewelry, isn't it?"

"Hey, I already tried flowers, candy, moonlight serenades. I thought you might be holding out for jewelry."

"Thanks, Tom, but I can't accept this." He tried to pull it off, to no avail.

"Why not?"

"It's not an appropriate gift between people who are just friends. Which is what we are. And what we're going to stay." He tried to pull it off again.

"Slide it off, don't pull," Tom said, resigned. Harry did, and it came off easily. He placed it back in the box, and it immediately lost its glow and color, becoming seemingly ordinary gray stone again. It was a fascinating gem, and part of him wished he could keep it. As a memento of Tom, if nothing else. The blue it turned when he had it on was the exact shade of Tom's eyes. But it wouldn't be right to accept a gift as expensive as this surely must have been.

"Wear it yourself," Harry suggested. "The color suits you."

"I can't," Tom said.

"Why not?"

"Soulgems 'imprint' on the first person to touch them. They won't work for anyone else after that."

"And you let me touch it? Tom!"

"Sure you won't change your mind?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he said firmly. He was annoyed now. Tom had no business buying that kind of gift. Harry put the tray aside, and got up. "I've got to get moving."

"Aren't you going to eat your breakfast?"

"I'm meeting Tuvok this morning," Harry said, heading into the bathroom.

After he finished showering and dressing, he came out, to find Tom finishing up the breakfast rolls.

"See you in an hour," Harry said. Today was an "outing" day. Everyone at the reunion was taking shuttles over the mountains to a famous resort area, for a day of recreation and sight-seeing.

"Harry. . . be careful."

"I'll be with Tuvok. You remember him. Used to be our Chief of Security? I think I'll be safe."

"I know, but. . . be careful."

"I will," Harry said, and left.

He didn't actually have an appointment to meet Tuvok; he just needed to get away from Tom for awhile. Harry knew enough about Tuvok's habits to know that the Vulcan would have been awake for hours by now. Tuvok was one of his former shipmates whom he'd kept in contact with. They played kal-toh regularly via subspace communication, and Harry found himself craving Tuvok's cool rationality now.

He signaled at Tuvok's door, and was invited to enter. Tuvok was sitting at a table, reading a PADD and eating breakfast. He was wearing a richly embroidered robe, but Harry knew he hadn't just gotten out of bed. Knowing Tuvok, he'd been up at dawn for his morning workout and meditation session.

"Good morning, sir," Harry said.

"Good morning, Commander," Tuvok replied. He alone, of all Harry's erstwhile Voyager crewmates, looked exactly the same, due to his long Vulcan lifespan. "May I offer you breakfast?"

"Just tea, please," Harry said. He didn't feel like eating.

Tuvok poured him a cup of tea, then asked, "Are you well, Mr. Kim?"

"Yes, sir." The Vulcan tea was steaming hot, and tasted of warmth and serenity.

"There were reports that you were injured in an attack last night."

"That got around fast," Harry muttered.

"There are 86 journalists in this hotel. The likelihood of keeping secret an event as dramatic as last night's is exceedingly low."

He was right, of course. Harry made a mental note to call his parents, just in case it had made the news on Earth. "Tuvok, what's your professional opinion on this?"

"I am not assigned to this case. I am no longer even a security officer."

"I know," Harry said. Tuvok was captain of his own ship now, the U.S.S. Independence. "But you've got an awful lot of expertise."

Tuvok nodded matter of factly. False modesty wasn't logical, after all.

"Tom thinks someone may be intentionally trying to kill me." He detailed the two other incidents.

Tuvok had heard of them, too. He still made it his business to know what was going on with respect to security. "The holoprojector mount seems to have been in proper working order, and all safety procedures had been followed during its installation. It appears to have been manually disengaged. The plate on the hovercar was traced to a rental vehicle. One rented by the Nasari diplomatic team. However, they had reported it stolen several hours before. It was recovered, abandoned, yesterday afternoon."

Harry absorbed that rather disturbing information. "The patrol thinks it was just a local extremist with a grudge against off-worlders."

Tuvok considered. "Based on the limited data, I must regrettably agree with Mr. Paris. The events since you have arrived on this planet seem unlikely to be mere coincidences."

"But why me?"

"Your work on the quantum slipstream drive has made it possible to travel from the Alpha Quadrant to the Delta Quadrant in a matter of weeks instead of decades. The Federation is expanding rapidly, as a direct result of your work. There are those who oppose this expansion."

"So much that they'd kill me to stop it?" Harry said doubtfully. "I'm just one person. The rest of the team would continue without me just fine."

"You underestimate your talents, Mr. Kim. In addition, the behavior of such extremists is often illogical."

Harry thought about that. "But why now?"

"Perhaps you are an easier target now. On Piran, you live and work on a secure research station. Or perhaps the perpetrator is from the Delta Quadrant, was invited to this conference, and found you a target of opportunity."

"Logical as always," Harry said. They had, unfortunately, left a lot of people in the Delta Quadrant with little reason to love them. "Are you going on the outing today, Tuvok?"

"I am, but you should not."

"Why not?"

"You should leave this planet at once. You should certainly not go on a tour of the wilderness, where the patrol will be few and far between." He paused, the continued. "However, I know you will ignore this advice. Therefore, I will instead suggest that you let the patrol know where you will be, and check in regularly. And be careful."

It was getting late, and Harry got up to go. Just before he left, he turned back to ask one more question. "Tuvok, do you think people can change?"

If Tuvok was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "People can appear to change. But in my experience, such 'change' merely involves the display of a hidden quality which was always there. A potential that is newly expressed, not actual change."

"I'll take that for a 'no.' Thanks, Tuvok."

Tom wasn't in his room when Harry got back to it. Harry started pulling on his uniform jacket, then changed his mind. This was an "outing" day, after all. He shed his uniform in favor of the red silk shirt he'd bought while at the market with B'Elanna. Shiani silk was rightly famous. The shirt was loose and flowing, the shimmering fabric cool as water, soft as a whisper - far more comfortable than the stiff, heavy uniform. He didn't have any pants to go with it, so he replicated a pair. Since he didn't specify a color, the pants came out white, just like all the other clothes he'd replicated since he got to Shian. Unfortunately, he didn't have Tom's fashion sense.

He should have had Libby pick out some clothes for him before he left, he thought, tucking the shirt in. But there hadn't been time. Oh, well. It looked okay, near as he could tell. And it wasn't like he was trying to impress anyone.

He grabbed his ticket and headed out to the shuttle port. It was crowded, but mostly with Shiani. Harry didn't recognize any of his fellow reunion attendees. He found his assigned shuttle easily enough, but there was only one person on it - Tom Paris, who turned to stare at Harry in open appreciation.

Harry did his best to ignore the searing blue gaze. "Am I early? Where's everyone else?"

Tom's expression was all innocence. "I guess they decided to take different transports. It's just the two of us."

"Tom!"

"What?"

"You weren't even supposed to be on this shuttle. What did you do?"

"Nothing. . . well, maybe a little bribery, a little blackmail. Anything to be with you."

"You're insane." For a brief moment, he considered walking out and finding his own transportion, but decided it would be a little too petulant. With a sigh, he threw himself in the nearest seat.

"Uh, Harry? Up here. You're flying."

"No. You're the pilot, you fly it," Harry said, thinking it was an excuse to get him to sit next to Tom, and a pretty flimsy one at that.

"I can't."

Harry looked up at that, and noticed for the first time that Tom was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, not the pilot's. "Why not?"

"I. . . I don't have a license."

"What?"

"My pilot's license was revoked. Several years ago."

For a moment Harry just sat there, stunned speechless. So that's why Tom was designing holoprograms instead of flying for a living. But how had it happened? He couldn't bring himself to ask. Without a word, he went forward and took the pilot's seat, and started running through the pre-flight checks.

It wasn't until they were airborne and had cleared the port that Tom spoke. "I told you that I was a mess after the divorce," he said suddenly. "I was drinking, and crashed another shuttle. Banged myself up so badly that I can't meet the physical requirements for piloting any more." He gave a humorless laugh. "At least no one died this time. But it was close. I had just dropped Miral off with B'Elanna." Tom stared out the viewport, not meeting Harry's eyes. "Now you know why I lost visitation."

"Tom. . ." Harry found he couldn't think of anything to say.

"And you know why I didn't take your calls," Tom said. "At the time, I was so far gone I didn't care if everyone in the galaxy knew I was a worthless drunk. . . except you. I just couldn't stand the thought of you seeing me that way."

"You're not worthless," Harry said.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen me then."

Harry hesitated, then reached out and took Tom's hand in his, giving it a squeeze. Tom's hand tightened around his briefly in return, then let go. They flew for awhile in silence.

Harry wondered what could have driven Tom to such straits. He knew Tom had a bit of a self-destructive streak, but he'd seemed to have overcome it. Had he crumbled under the responsibilities of having a family? Had he been unable to adapt to the pressures of life in the busy, crowded Alpha Quadrant? Or was it being kicked out of Starfleet for a second time that had done it? Harry felt a stab of guilt. Maybe he should have resigned from Starfleet, found some way to stay with Tom. . . no, that was ridiculous. Tom had been married, with a child. He certainly didn't need Harry Kim tagging along.

Besides, it just didn't make sense. Nothing he could think of seemed enough to have turned Tom back in the self-pitying alcoholic Harry had known only briefly, in another timeline. Perhaps he just didn't know Tom as well as he'd thought.

"You still like fried chicken, don't you?" Tom said, interrupting his reverie. "I packed us a picnic lunch. Fried chicken, potato salad, rice balls, Rigellian pickles, cheesecake. . ."

"Tom, lunch is being provided. It's part of the tour."

"Well, yeah, but I thought we might want to go off on our own. . ."

"Forget it."

"Oh, come on, Harry. I even brought little paper boats."

"Paper boats?"

"A 20th century secret. Potato salad tastes much better when served in paper boats, with plastic forks. Just wait until -" Tom broke off as a powerful shockwave shook the ship. "What the hell was that??"

Harry scanned through the console readouts as fast as he could. "We're being fired on," he said in disbelief. His first instinct was to raise shields and return fire, but this light pleasure craft didn't have any shields to speak of, and no weapons. The ship shook again, and Harry began evasive maneuvers.

Tom picked up the comm. "Shuttlecraft Meriel to unknown vessel. What the hell are you doing? We're unarmed! Hold your fire!"

Another shot whizzing off their starboard wing was only answer. Tom switched to a general channel and started broadcasting a general distress call. The ship shuddered again, a direct hit this time. One of the rear controllers, Harry thought, because suddenly the shuttle became very unmanageable, listing strongly to port.

"Harry, find someplace to put her down. That ship is too fast and too powerful. We'll never outrun or outmaneuver her."

"I don't think we have a choice," Harry replied. "We're going down."

Tom took in the situation instantly. "There's a lake up ahead. Try for that."

"We'll drown!"

"No, we won't. You have enough control to set her down in one piece. We'll have to get out and swim for it before she sinks." Tom grinned. "Trust me, I'm an expert on crashing shuttles."

"Maybe you should take over," Harry said, struggling with the controls.

"No. I don't have the reflexes or the peripheral vision any more. But don't worry, you can do it."

"I've been in a lab for the last ten years!" Harry reminded him. He'd kept his license current, but hadn't had a lot of practice with emergency landings. Not like in his Voyager days. . .

"It's okay. It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget. And I'll help. You're doing fine. Just keep her nose up. Good. . . "

Their seven years on the bridge on Voyager served them well now. They worked together like clockwork, each knowing what the other needed, communicating mostly without words. Still, the surface of the lake was looming up with frightening speed.

"Crosswind's 12.3," Tom said, reading it off the console just when Harry needed the information.

"Compensating," Harry acknowledged.

"Trim's perfect. Just hold her steady. Good. Impact in 5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . ."

The crash was thunderous and teeth-rattling. Water foamed up over the viewscreen, and started filling the cabin, leaking in through several ruptures in the deck and bulkheads.

"Let's go!" Tom shouted. "We've got to get clear before she sinks, or we'll be sucked down."

The rear hatch had popped open on impact, and they jumped out into the cold, swirling water. Harry swam with all his strength, trying to put as much distance between himself and the stricken shuttle as possible.

Tom was falling behind, however. Harry turned and went back to him. "Tom, are you all right?"

"Muscle spasms," Tom said, through gritted teeth. "My back hasn't been the same since the last crash." He was starting to sink. "I'll be all right. Go on."

Harry ignored that. He took hold of Tom in the lifeguard's grip he'd been taught at the Academy, and began towing him toward shore. "Relax. It's okay. I won't let you go."

Tom was quiet for once, perhaps embarrassed at needing to be rescued. Harry put all his energy into swimming, until they were well away from the swiftly-vanishing shuttle. Then he slowed a bit, pacing himself. It was a long way to shore. Then Tom broke his silence.

"Harry. . ."

Tom's voice was soft, but something in his tone grabbed Harry's immediate attention. He turned, and saw Tom staring behind them.

There was a shadow in the water. An impossibly huge shadow, sliding closer and closer under the cold green waves. The water roiled, and Harry briefly caught a glimpse of long, sharp teeth and gleaming scales. "What is it?" he panted.

"I don't know, but I think it's hungry."

Damn it. At least in the Delta Quadrant, they had generally been armed when they met the indigenous life forms.

"Swim for it, Harry. I'll be all right."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Tom started to struggle in his grasp.

"Tom! Stop it! Tom!" If the creature was anything like Earth's predators, the splashing would only incite an attack.

"Let me go!" Tom insisted. "There's no sense in both of us dying. Save yourself, Harry."

"Nobody's dying!" Harry held onto Tom with all his strength, wrapping both arms and legs around him. They immediately started to sink. Harry allowed it for a moment, then broke for the surface, pulling Tom after him. They surfaced, gasping and choking.

"I'm not leaving you, Tom! Get that through your thick skull!"

"Harry, please..."

"No. Now come on. If necessary, I'll wait until you go under, then drag your unconscious body back to shore."

"I forgot what a stubborn bastard you are," Tom muttered.

"Don't make me remind you," Harry shot back.

Tom didn't reply, but he didn't struggle when Harry started pulling him toward shore.

"It's in front of us," Tom said a little while later.

Harry knew that. The creature was slowly circling around them. He couldn't outswim it, so he just kept on making a beeline for the shore.

"Harry. . . "

"No! Now shut up. I need my breath for swimming."

At that moment, something hit his foot. His heart slammed into his throat, then he realized it was only the bottom of the lake. The water was now shallow enough for him to stand.

"Almost there, Tom. Just relax."

Harry was anything but relaxed himself. Perhaps this predator, like Earth's crocodiles, liked to attack at the water's edge. Damn, where was it? There, behind them again. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, trying not to thrash. It was easier, now that he could wade instead of swim.

Soon the water was too shallow to support Tom's weight. "Can you walk?" Harry asked, eyes still on their pursuer.

"Yes, I think so."

"Go on, then."

"Harry!"

"I'll be right behind you. I promise, Tom."

Tom's hand wrapped around Harry's, intensely warm, and he began to walk toward the shore, pulling Harry with him. Harry backed his way out, never taking his eyes off the shadow lurking in the water only a couple of meters away.

Then they were on the clean white sand of the beach. Harry dared to turn around then, and they ran as fast as Tom could move.

Once they reached the shelter of the brush, Harry found his knees giving way. They collapsed under a large tree in tangle. Harry lay in the leaf litter, gasping. It was part terror and part physical exhaustion. He was out of shape, he decided. This sort of exercise wouldn't have fazed him at all in his Academy days, or when he was on Voyager. Definitely too much time in the lab.

As soon as he got his breath back, he tilted his head to look at Tom. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Tom's face was only a few centimeters away from his. There was an odd look in the wide blue eyes. "No," he answered. "I'm not all right." Before Harry could grow alarmed, he grinned. "I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."

"Are you ever serious?"

"I'm dead serious," Tom replied. "If you don't give me mouth-to-mouth, I think I'm going to die."

"Tom, that is the corniest-" Harry broke off, realizing Tom was really intending to kiss him. He tried to move back, but it was too late. Tom's mouth covered his, impossibly hot. Harry tried to push him away, but somehow found himself embracing Tom instead, running his hands down that strong, broad back, kissing him back greedily. The world faded away, and only Tom existed: Tom's teasing, demanding mouth, Tom's strong, skilled hands, Tom's solid, sensual body, warm against his. It had been fourteen years, but Harry's body remembered this touch, this taste, and responded against the will of his mind.

Finally, Harry found the strength to pull away. He lay on the ground, staring up at the sky through tree branches, furious at Tom, at himself, and yet, craving more. His hormones hadn't been this out of control since he was in his twenties.

"Harry? We should keep moving."

"What?"

"It's not safe here. Come on."

Harry suddenly remembered their situation, and sat up. He looked toward the lake nervously. "You think that thing might follow us?"

"The creature, probably not. The people who shot us down, very likely. Besides, we're soaked. We'll freeze to death unless we find shelter."

Tom was right. Harry was shivering now that he was no longer exerting himself. "Can you walk?" he asked Tom.

"I'll have to."

Harry carefully helped Tom to his feet, and they set off through the forest. They found a path before long, and decided to follow it, in hopes of finding civilization. The forest was beautiful, and the walk would have been quite pleasant, if they weren't soaking wet and in fear of their lives.

Tom's gait was stiff and awkward at first, but the exercise seemed to loosen his muscles, and he was soon moving more easily. He took the lead on the narrow trails, talking quietly and aimlessly about a variety of topics: the sadly lost picnic lunch he'd so carefully replicated, now on the bottom of the lake; tidbits of Starfleet gossip; their adventures in the Delta Quadrant, so many years ago. Harry wasn't sure how long they walked, but gradually, he stopped being aware of Tom's chatter, or the natural beauty surrounding them, and no longer worried about who was trying to kill them, and why. It took all his effort just to keep trudging along the uneven path, eyes focused on Tom's back.

He didn't realize Tom had stopped until he'd nearly walked into him. It took him awhile to find his voice. "What is it?" he finally managed.

"There's a house or something up ahead," Tom said.

Sure enough, there was. A small cabin was nestled in a clearing up ahead - a hunting lodge, perhaps.

Harry started toward it, but Tom grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Wait a sec, Harry. If they know we survived the crash, they might look for us at nearby cabins."

Tom was right, and Harry felt stupid for not considering it. He frowned, looking at the cabin. It looked uninhabited. The grass around it was high and weedy, the path leading up to it overgrown. The owner hadn't been there in awhile, it looked like. No one had, Harry thought, but caution was definitely in order. He wished he had a tricorder.

They circled the cabin at a distance. There was no sign of habitation. Tom decided it was safe. "Come on." They went down the path carefully, and tried the door. It was locked. "Nobody home," Tom said, and pulled a small, folding knife out of his pocket. With a quick, practiced motion, he used it to pry the cover off the door's control panel.

"Tom!"

"We need shelter, Harry. It's getting dark, and it's too cold to spend the night in the woods. We'll find out who owns this place and repay them when we get back to Shian City."

Tom made short work of the lock, and soon they were inside the cabin. It was a little dusty, but neat and cozy, with a large fireplace at one end and a few simple furnishings along the walls.

"See if there's any kind of communication device or power supply," Tom said.

Harry found the central controls quickly enough in the small cabin. He stared blankly at the console for a moment, before slowly making sense of it. "No comm," he reported. "There's running water, though, powered by the solar panels on the roof."

"Heat?" Tom asked hopefully.

"No," Harry replied. "Not enough power for it, probably."

"I guess that's what the fireplace is for." It was huge, taking up nearly the whole wall, and a stack of wood sat in it, waiting to be kindled, with more in a nook beside the fireplace. "See if you can find some way to light it. I'll see what kind of supplies we have."

There was a box of chemical incendiaries on the mantel. The wood caught, and slowly the fire grew.

"We're in luck," Tom said, coming out of the bedroom. He was holding an armful of sheets and blankets. "There's lots of food in the kitchen. No spare clothing, but I did find these." He set the linen on a bench beside Harry, then starting stripping off his wet clothes.

Tom was naked beside him, and Harry was too exhausted to care. He stared at the hypnotic flames, until Tom's hand on his shoulder shook him out of his reverie.

"Harry? Get out of those wet clothes."

"No," Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself. "It's cold." Tom was only trying to get him naked.

"Harry!" Tom's tone was sharp. "You know better. You took Survival at the Academy. Probably from my dad."

The mention of Owen Paris infuriated him. Tom's old-fashioned, narrow-minded father was the reason Tom had left Harry. "Screw your dad!"

Tom stared at him. Then his hand reached down into Harry's shirt, pressing warm against his chest. "Jeez, Harry, you're freezing."

Harry flung him off. "Leave me alone."

"No. You're hypothermic, Harry. You're not thinking clearly."

"It's not that cold." But suddenly, he felt doubt. A part of him knew this sudden irritation was irrational. He had taken Survival 101 from Admiral Paris. It had been almost twenty years ago, but he remembered that hypothermia was possible at relatively mild temperatures.

As if reading his mind, Tom said, "Young, healthy humans have died of hypothermia at 20 degrees Celsius and higher."

"That's room temperature," Harry protested.

"It's warmer than the temperature of this room."

Harry hesitated, then started to unfasten his shirt. It was slow going, though. His hands were clumsy with the cold, and he had trouble manipulating the old-fashioned buttons.

Gently, Tom took over. He easily managed the buttons, and peeled the wet, clammy shirt off, frowning. "No wonder you're so cold. Did you buy this shirt here?"

"Yes," Harry said, between chattering teeth.

"Bad choice. It may be quaint, but what you need is a modern fabric: water-resistant, wicks moisture away from the skin, keeps you warm when it's cold and cool when it's hot, that kind of thing."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I plan to crash a shuttle into a lake, swim for my life from the Loch Ness monster, and go tramping around in the woods for hours." He knew he sounded whiny, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Efficiently, Tom stripped off the rest of Harry's clothing. Before long, Harry found himself sitting on a blanket before the now-blazing fire, wrapped in a soft, warm sheet.

"Here, drink this," Tom said, putting a warm mug in his hand. It was hot tea. Harry took a sip, and made a face. He didn't like his tea sweetened, and this had so much sugar in it that it was practically syrup.

Tom was moving about, hanging their damp clothes up to dry. He'd knotted a sheet around himself like a toga. It was a modest enough garment. . . except when he stepped near the fire, and the fine, silken sheet turned translucent. The hint of mystery and unexpectedness of it took Harry's breath away. Those long, strong legs, which used to wrap around him so passionately. The lush ass, now even lusher and more tempting. The sweet curve of his lower back, which Harry had always liked to kiss. . .

"Harry? Drink your tea."

Harry blinked, then blushed, realizing Tom had caught him staring. "It's too sweet," he muttered.

"You need the carbohydrates. Drink it, then you can have some with no sugar."

Harry eyed the mug with distaste. He looked around surreptitiously, hoping to find someplace to dump it, in vain.

"Forget it, Harry. There's no dog to feed it to, and no potted plants to dump it in. Drink it."

Wondering when Tom had become a telepath, Harry drank his tea. He felt guilty, just sitting there while Tom puttered around the cabin, but he was too tired to get up. He let Tom feed him a candy bar and then a bowl of thick soup, then they sat before the fire, now built up to a respectable blaze.

"Watch it, you're going to drop it," Tom said, and took the mug of tea from Harry's hand. Harry started, realizing he was drowsing, leaning against Tom's shoulder, Tom's arm around him. "It's okay, Harry," Tom said. "Go to sleep." Harry did.


He knew something had been bothering Tom lately, so he decided to splurge, blowing all his replicator rations on a sensational dinner. He sent Tom a suggestively worded invitation, then began programming the replicator. All Tom's favorites, including a bottle of top-quality champagne. It was worth it, to cheer Tom up.

Tom arrived at 2000 hours, right on time. But he didn't seem cheered by the elaborate, romantic dinner. Instead, the sight of the laden table seemed to make him more depressed.

"What is it, Tom?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Tom's voice was hoarse. "Damn it, I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner." He ran a hand across his mouth, as if trying to keep words from escaping. "Harry...look. This thing between us. . . it was always temporary, right? Just while we were both between lady friends, right?"

Harry stared at him in silent shock. He couldn't find any words. True, there had never been any promises between them, but Harry had never thought of Tom that way - as some sort of makeshift. He loved Tom, with all his heart. Obviously, though, Tom didn't feel the same.

"Harry. . . I've found someone. I hope you'll be happy for me. You'll find someone soon, and I'll be happy for you."

God. Where did Tom get that sappy crap, anyway? He wanted to throw the plates across the room, if not break them over Tom's head. But his mother hadn't raised him that way. He only said, "Sure, Tom. I understand." Forcing himself to smile, he added, "Stay and eat anyway. No point in the dinner going to waste."

But Tom refused, saying he had to meet B'Elanna. Harry hadn't asked whom Tom had found, hadn't wanted to know, but he found out anyway.

For a long time he sat there, trying to tell himself that he was happy for them. That if he couldn't have Tom, he was glad B'Elanna could. He couldn't convince himself.

The expensive dinner grew cold, untouched. . .


Harry woke with a start. It was the middle of the night. He was lying in front of the fire, and someone. . . Tom. . . was lying behind him. "You owe me 67.4 rations for that dinner," he muttered softly, then was shocked that he still remembered what it had cost.

They were both naked, Harry realized, lying skin-to-skin under a layer of blankets. He felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do the fire.

What was wrong with him, anyway? The past was gone, water long under the bridge. And he wasn't twenty-two any more, for heaven's sake. He shouldn't be at the mercy of his hormones. He'd just have to get control of himself. Brooding, Harry stared at the dancing flames. He ached with arousal, but eventually, he fell back to sleep.

When Harry awoke the next morning, Tom was already up. Making coffee in the kitchen, by the smell of it. Harry dressed, then looked around for something to do. The smoldering remains of the fire caught his eye. They needed more wood. Even if they weren't staying another night, it was the least they could do for the owners of the house: leave some wood in the fireplace, ready for the next fire.

He was returning to the cabin with an armload of wood when he saw it. A flash of movement in the woods, too shiny to be natural. It was some sort of vehicle.

He almost dropped the wood, but then, afraid it would make too much noise, he kept it, running toward the cabin.

Tom met him at the door. "What do you think you're doing? You should be resting. Sit down and-"

Harry cut him off. "There's someone out there."

"Are you sure it's not an animal?" Tom asked. But he was already moving to the kitchen, pulling knives out of a drawer.

"It's a flyer or shuttle or something. Something manmade."

"Damn it." Tom handed Harry a knife, and began shoving furniture against the door. "Stay down, away from the windows."

They crouched behind a counter, each of them armed with a kitchen knife. "Shhh," Tom whispered. Footsteps crunched around the cabin, up the path. More than one person, from the sound of it. Damn it.

There was a loud rapping on the door. Harry tightened his grip on the knife.

"Hello?" a voice called. "It's the Forestry Service. Open up."

Tom and Harry looked at each other. Harry signaled to Tom that he should stay put, and crawled to a front window. He peeked out. It was two Shiani, dressed in what appeared to be ranger uniforms.

Tom joined him at the window. "Looks legit," he whispered. Then, more loudly, "Can we see some ID?"

The two held up badges with holographic portraits. Harry wasn't that good at telling one Shiani from another, but it looked like them.

He and Tom quickly shoved the furniture aside and opened the door.

"It's the missing humans!" one of the rangers exclaimed.

The other eyed the wood, scattered on the floor where Harry had dropped it. "You two have a campfire permit?" she asked.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. The rangers, it turned out, had been looking for them. They'd noticed the smoke, and come in to investigate. They'd been pretty understanding about their lack of a camping permit, all things considered, and the owner of the cabin hadn't pressed trespassing charges.

But hospitals, Harry thought, were the same all over the galaxy. The beds were always uncomfortable, the bureaucracy Byzantine. And it was boring. No one had come to visit him, or even called. Not even a reporter. He was starting to feel a bit hurt. True, everyone no doubt had better things to do on this beautiful resort world, but still. . .

"Hey, Harry, what are you doing still here?"

He looked up to find Tom Paris standing in the doorway of his hospital room. "Beats me. The nurse said I have to wait until one of the doctors gets a chance to talk to me."

Tom came in and sat on the chair by the bed. His movements were less stiff than they had been, Harry was relieved to see. "I told Neelix and the others who wanted to visit not to bother - that you'd be back at the hotel today. Don't tell me these quacks are making a liar of me."

"Don't worry. If they don't let me go soon, we're breaking out," Harry said.

Tom laughed, then turned abruptly serious. "Harry...thanks." He didn't understand, until Tom continued. "For saving my life. You should have left me, damn it, but thank you anyway."

"It wasn't really a risk," Harry said. He'd talked to one of the rangers. "That thing was the Shiani equivalent of a dolphin."

"That was a dolphin?"

"Not exactly, of course. But it's a fish-eater, that is known for helping people in distress. Leading ships through shoals, saving people from drowning, and the like. We weren't in any danger. It was probably just curious about us."

"Now I feel stupid," Tom said.

"You didn't know," Harry said.

"Neither did you. Thank you, Harry." There was a brief, awkward silence, then Tom changed the subject. "Still no word on whoever it was who shot us down. The ship was a very common type. And it might have been stolen, like the hovercar."

They were discussing possible culprits when they were interrupted by the comm. "Commander Kim, there's someone here to see you. Her name is. . . Libertad Latimer? She says she's your wife."

"Libby?" Harry said, startled. "Let her in."

A dark-haired woman came barreling through the door. "Harry! I heard about the accident, I was so worried. . . " She threw herself over Harry, and he gave her a hug and a kiss.

"Libby, I'd like you to meet my friend, Tom..." He broke off. Tom was gone.

An hour later, Libby had left, and Harry was trying to organize the stack of gifts she had left. He heard the door open and glanced up to see Tom, coming back in.

"Oh, there you are. Where were you? I wanted to introduce you to Libby. I can't believe she came all the way out here. Here, you have to help me eat this stuff." Harry offered him a box of chocolates. "Ghirardelli, from San Francisco. Handmade, not replicated!"

Tom shook his head.

Harry offered another box. "Antarean ginger candy?"

Again, Tom shook his head. It wasn't like him to refuse food. "Tom? Are you all right?"

Tom's voice was very quiet. "Harry. . . you could have told me, instead of letting me make a fool of myself."

"Told you what?"

"That you're married!"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about how it must have looked. And he was surprised Tom cared. In his heart of hearts, he still doubted Tom's courtship of him was serious.

And if it was? His pulse thudded at the very thought. . .which filled him with dismay. No, I can't. I just can't go through it again, when he decides he wants to marry a nice girl. Which he will.

"I should have known, I guess," Tom said. "I mean, of course you'd be married. Who wouldn't want to marry a guy like you?"

He was strongly tempted to let Tom keep on thinking what he was thinking. Anything to make him back off, before he totally battered down Harry's hard-won shields. But Harry had always been a lousy liar. And he couldn't deceive Tom, of all people.

"Tom, I did send you a wedding invitation. It was returned as undeliverable." He cut off Tom's attempt to answer. "But I'm not married. At least, not anymore."

Tom gaped. "But she said. . ."

Harry grinned ruefully. "She does that. Still claims to be my wife, when it suits her purposes. Like when she's trying to come see me in my top-secret, restricted-access lab. We're still good friends."

"She really waited for you?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry said matter-of-factly. "She waited two years, then married someone else. But it was over by the time Voyager got back home, and we hooked up again."

"You were still in love with her, after seven years?"

"I thought so at the time. She was the center for my dreams for a long time after we got stranded in the Delta Quadrant. If I didn't at least give it a shot, I'd always wonder." He shrugged. "It didn't last, though. We'd grown apart over the years. At the end of the five-year marriage contract, we mutually agreed not to renew."

"You're really not married?"

"I'm really not."

Tom's smile was blinding. "Where's that chocolate? I haven't had Ghirardelli in years."

Harry handed over the box. "She's still listed as my next-of-kin of record. They notified her about the crash. She happened to be passing through the sector, and took a little detour to Shian when she heard."

"You should update your records. She's not your wife any more."

"Are you kidding? Who am I going to list? My parents? My mom worries too much already. I trust Libby to tell my parents when it's important, and not to worry them when it isn't."

"How is your mom, anyway?"

They'd been talking about their families for at least half an hour when a Shiani doctor finally appeared.

"So, when can I get out of here?" Harry asked her.

"I'm not sure," she replied.

"What?" Harry said, startled. "I can't be that sick."

She turned to Tom. "Please grant us privacy."

Tom got up to go, but Harry said, "No, it's all right. Let him stay."

"He's family?" the doctor said doubtfully.

"He was my medic for years."

"Very well." She took a deep breath. "We did a routine DNA scan, Mr. Kim, and some anomalies were detected. It may be nothing. However-"

Harry laughed, relieved. "It's nothing," he assured her. "Just a souvenir from seven years in the Delta Quadrant." At her skeptical look, he continued. "I've got a rather interesting medical history. A lot of the aliens in the Delta Quadrant like to inject their DNA into yours."

"Yeah, what is it about you and alien DNA, anyway?" Tom asked. "The Taresians, Species 8472, not to mention all those Borg nanoprobes. . ."

Harry tried to reassure the doctor, who was looking rather alarmed. "Voyager's EMH was able to remove or deactivate the foreign DNA. Some of it is still there, but not expressed. Harmless."

"Well. . . if you say so," she said. "I'll make a note in your chart."

"So, can I go?" Harry asked impatiently.

"I'd like to keep you overnight, for monitoring. You need to take it easy, after your little adventure."

"I'll watch him, and make sure he rests," Tom said. "I do have medical experience, you know."

The doctor looked doubtful, but acquiesced. "All right. Let me give you some medication for him."

That evening, Harry decided he'd better call his mother. She'd be beside herself with worry, if she'd seen any hint of his recent adventures in the news. He thought about asking Tom to give him some privacy, but it seemed impolite, since it was Tom's room. Besides, it was only his mom. It wasn't like they discussed anything top secret.

"Hi, Mom."

"Harry!" She seemed relaxed and happy to hear from him, not at all worried. Good. Either the story of the crash hadn't made the news on Earth, or she hadn't read it. "How do you like Shian?"

"It's beautiful, Mom. One day I'll bring you and Dad here to see it."

They exchanged idle chatter for a bit. His mother seemed very happy he'd called. "You should call me more often," she said.

"I call you almost every weekend," he pointed out. The time difference made it inconvenient to call on weekdays.

"I try to call you, but you're never home. Where are you all the time, Harry? Your grandmother was here last week. We wanted to talk to you, but you never answered."

"Well, I'm usually at work until. . ." he did the calculation in his head. "About 2200 your time."

"And after that?"

Harry tried to remember what he'd done after work the previous week. It seemed a lifetime ago. "Let's see, Mondays I have volleyball. Tuesdays, velocity. Wednesdays, hoverball. Thursday, I help coach a kids' Parrises Squares team. Friday is golf."

"Is that all?" His mother seemed disappointed. "All those late evenings. I was hoping you had a lover."

"Mom!"

Suddenly, an arm draped over his shoulder. Tom leaned down into the field of view of the screen, nearly cheek to cheek with Harry. "Hi, Ms. Kim."

Harry froze.

"Hello," his mother said. There was a sudden gleam in her eye that Harry didn't like.

"Mom, this is my friend, Tom Paris. I told you about him. From Voyager."

"Are you married?" she asked Tom, with her characteristic bluntness.

"Mom!" Harry protested.

"Nope," Tom said. He held up his left hand, showing off his lack of a ring.

His mother smiled radiantly. "So nice to meet you, Tom. I better let you go, Harry. I'll tell your father you called."

"Good-bye, Ms. Kim," Tom said. . . then planted a kiss on Harry's cheek, just as the screen went dark.

Harry rounded on Tom. "I should have let you drown."

Tom grinned, unrepentant. "Hey, I just made her week."

"She's probably planning the wedding already," Harry groaned.

"Is that a proposal?" Tom asked.

"No. Let's get some dinner."

They ended up ordering in. There was supposed to be another banquet that night, and a costume ball or some such, but Tom insisted that Harry rest, and Harry found he didn't really mind. It had been a hectic week, and he was tired.

After dinner, he remembered the box Chakotay had given him, and dug it out of his bag.

"What is that?" Tom asked.

"Something Chakotay gave me," Harry said. He opened the box, revealing the data strip. "Can I use your computer?"

"Feel free," Tom said.

It was actually the hotel's computer. Harry sat at the desk, and inserted the strip into the reader.

It was just what Chakotay had said: a scrapbook. Seven, efficient even when she was being sentimental, had not saved mementos. She saved images and holograms of mementos - each elaborately labeled. Everything from a red rose Harry had given her one Valentine's Day (Rosa rubifolia, her label said) to her favorite positronic scanner.

But most of the entries were holoimages of Voyager's crew. Harry had few holos from his Voyager days. He'd been so focused on the destination that he'd rarely wanted to record memories of the journey. Oh, he had holos taken on special occasions - parties and such - but nothing like these. Seven had recorded the everyday lives of Voyager's crew, at work and play.

Tom put a cup of tea and two pills on the desk. "Take your medication."

"Thanks." Harry swallowed the pills, still scanning through the images. He paused at an image of himself and Tom, playing hoverball on the holodeck. "Geez. We were so young!"

Tom was still standing behind him, reading over shoulder. "Speak for yourself. I'm still young," he said. He leaned closer, examining the image. "You always were a sports nut. I shouldn't be surprised that you play a different sport every night."

That wasn't quite how it was. Oh, Harry did love sports. But the main reason he'd signed up for so many was in order to meet people. And it had worked. . . sort of. He had made a few friends, but none like he'd had on Voyager. He hadn't appreciated it at the time, but in some ways, he suddenly realized, his years in the Delta Quadrant had been the best of his life.

"Did you love her?"

The question puzzled Harry at first. Then he realized Tom meant Seven. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. He'd had feelings for her, certainly. But she hadn't returned them, so the whole question was moot, to his mind. Her death filled him with incredible sadness, even now, years later.

"I should have attended the funeral," Tom said.

"It's okay, Tom. I'm sure Chakotay understood."

They pored over the other images together for awhile, then Harry, sleepy from the medication, went to bed.

Harry woke up feeling warm and comfortable and better than he could remember in a long time. It took a moment to figure out where he was. In Tom's bed, at the hotel. With Tom wrapped around him.

Harry's memories of the previous night were fuzzy. He remembered taking a shower, calling his mom, eating dinner, looking at Seven's scrapbook, then...what? Had they...? No, they were both clothed. And Harry sure didn't feel like he'd had sex last night. He was hornier than hell, so hard he ached.

Tom sighed, and snuggled closer to Harry without waking.

God, but Tom was beautiful. The morning sunlight leaking around the heavy curtains turned his hair to molten gold. . . a much paler gold than it used to be, but just as striking. Gently, Harry stroked it. It was as fine and silky as a child's, even softer than it had been when he and Tom had been lovers.

Tom had aged well, Harry thought. The somewhat bland prettiness of his youth had matured into an arresting handsomeness. His face had character now. He'd always been attractive; now he was positively stunning.

I still love him, Harry realized. He finally admitted it to himself. He'd thought he'd gotten over Tom Paris years ago, but it seemed that only held as long as Tom had shown no interest in him. The minute he had. . .

Harry wanted to resent Tom for it, but in all honesty, he had no one to blame but himself. He wasn't a 22-year-old innocent any more. Just a stupid 38-year-old, who'd never outgrown his penchant for falling for the wrong people.

No, he couldn't blame Tom. In fact, he was certain Tom had nothing but the best of intentions. He always did. . . and then he broke your heart, anyway.

Sighing, Harry shut his eyes. He was tired of the whirl of thoughts going around in his head. For now, he would enjoy the comfort of this soft, warm bed, and the feel of Tom's sleeping body against his, and try not to worry about the future.

He didn't think he fell asleep, but perhaps he did, a little. He was abruptly brought to full alertness by the sensation of warm lips brushing lightly over his. Tom. Kissing him.

A jolt of pure arousal shot through him. Instantly, Harry responded, kissing back for all he was worth. He couldn't help himself. Tom moaned, deepening the kiss. . . then suddenly pulled away. Harry followed him, wanting to continue.

"Harry!" Tom said. "Mmpf. . . Harry, wake up!" He shook Harry's shoulder.

He opened his eyes, and met Tom's warm blue ones. Harry was awake, and he didn't want to stop.

Tom was flushed, and slightly out of breath, and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. "I don't know what was in those pills, but they made you awfully affectionate last night. I forgot what a cuddly drunk you can be."

Harry suddenly noticed that he was very much on Tom's side of the bed. In fact, it looked like he'd chased Tom across the bed, sometime during the night. He should have been embarrassed, but he wasn't.

"Nothing happened," Tom continued. "I was honorable, even though-" He broke off suddenly, as Harry leaned in to place a line of kisses along the side of his neck. "Harry!" Tom's voice was nearly a squeak. "If you keep doing that, I won't be able to. . . oh. . . Harry. . . " Tom rolled over on top of him, kissing him with fierce, searing passion. Harry didn't resist. Resisting was the last thing on his mind.

Then Tom pulled away, panting. "God...Harry, what's going on? You're in your right mind, aren't you?'

Probably not, Harry thought, but what he said was, "I want this, Tom. Please."

Tom looked both hopeful and wary. "But. . . why? You've been shooting me down ever since you got here."

Because the only reason I was resisting was because I didn't want to fall in love with you again. And this morning, I realized it's too late. I love you. But what he said was, "I guess. . . the other day, we both could have died. It makes you reconsider." Which was the truth, but not the whole truth.

Tom smiled slowly. He laid a hand against Harry's cheek. "Harry, are you sure?"

For an answer, Harry turned to place a kiss on Tom's palm.

Tom leaned in to claim his mouth again, kissing him with an intensity that was stunning. Whatever other problems they'd had, their sexual chemistry had always been incendiary. Fourteen years hadn't changed that.

And fourteen years hadn't erased Tom's memories, either. His confident, exploring fingers still knew Harry's body better than he knew it himself. Harry arched, gasping, as Tom repeatedly caressed the tender spot just above his hipbone, which no one else had ever discovered, not even Libby.

Of course, Harry had memories of his own to draw on. He ran his hands down Tom's strong back, cupping the luscious ass, caressing it delicately. Tom jerked, moaning; he had always been exquisitely sensitive there. Harry traced delicate patterns over the plush buttocks that filled his hands, knowing it was driving Tom insane.

Tom would break his heart again. He knew it. They might never make love again. But damn it, Harry would do his best to make sure Tom would remember it for the rest of his life. Harry certainly would. He felt as if he were being branded, as if his skin were being permanently marked by the heat of their passion.

"Harry," Tom whispered hoarsely. "Please, Harry, please. . . "

Through the haze of lust, Harry realized that Tom was even further gone than he was. It calmed his arousal, just a bit, and he took Tom in his arms, gently stroking his hair, his face, his shoulders. "It's okay, Tom. I'll take care of you. Trust me."

Tom whimpered softly, and threw his arms around Harry, trembling. Harry held him for a moment, then began to undress him.

Tom was magnificent naked, as Harry had known he would be. He was larger, softer, than he had been in their Voyager days, which gave his body an irresistible lushness. Harry couldn't take his eyes away.

Finally, Tom grew impatient, and started pulling at Harry's clothes. Harry stripped slowly, feeling almost adolescently awkward, all knees and elbows. He was suddenly very aware of how sparse his body was compared to Tom's. He was rangier now, the smooth, gentle contours he'd had at twenty-two long gone. Would Tom be disappointed?

He needn't have worried. Tom's face showed nothing but delight as Harry's clothes fell away. When Harry was naked at last, Tom embraced him tightly, hotly, skin against skin, and drew him down onto the bed.

"Harry," Tom whispered between kisses, "Oh, my beautiful, beautiful Harry."

Harry knew what Tom wanted. What Tom had always liked best. Gently, he turned Tom over, propping his hips up with pillows. For a moment, he just admired the sight. In that instant, he thought that he'd never seen anything so lovely as Tom Paris lying on this bed, luxuriant ass lifted so enticingly. Harry was harder than steel, and unable to think straight.

He leaned over Tom, dropping a kiss at his nape, between his shoulder blades, the small of his back. Tom sighed softly, and Harry moved down, to the pillowy cushions of Tom's buttocks. Oh, god, they were delicious. Smooth and pale and tempting, like two generous mounds of rich vanilla ice cream. He nuzzled them, rubbing his face against them, kissing them softly, making Tom moan.

Tom's skin was as fine as a baby's here. Harry tasted it, licking, sucking, nibbling, unable to get enough. Tom's hips were undulating now, gently, rhythmically...until Harry's tongue slid between the two voluptuous cheeks. Then Tom froze.

"Harry. . ." His voice was low and choked.

Harry parted Tom's buttocks, and gave a tentative lick to the tender opening he found there.

"OH MY GOD! HARRY!"

Thus encouraged, Harry licked harder, probing, teasing, caressing. Well, as much as he could, with Tom bucking frantically beneath him.

Tom was moaning continuously now, clutching and biting at the bedclothes. Then there was a muffled shriek, and the puckered muscle under Harry's tongue began pulsing. Tom was coming, Harry realized, a little surprised. He couldn't remember Tom having quite that short a fuse. But then, he'd never done that to Tom before. It was something Libby had taught him.

"Harry," Tom groaned, as the spasms subsided. "Oh, Harry."

If it was possible, he was even more beautiful now, slick with sweat, his gorgeous ass marked with love-bites, face flushed and decadent-looking. Harry throbbed with arousal, just looking at him.

He fished the lubricant out of the night stand drawer, and carefully applied it to himself and Tom.

"Mmm, yes," Tom murmured, pushing back against Harry's fingers. Tom had always liked this. A lot. In fact, Harry had never met anyone who enjoyed being penetrated as much as Tom did.

And it seemed Tom liked it even better now than he used to. As soon as Harry slid into him, Tom came again, yelling and clamping hard around Harry.

As soon as Tom had recovered, Harry began thrusting. He kept it slow and gentle at first. He'd feared he would be the one to come immediately, but somehow, aroused as he was, he managed to stay in control.

"Harry," Tom sighed. "So good. So good. Yes!"

Harry kissed Tom's shoulders, his cheek, his temple, and thrust a little faster. God, Tom felt good. He had an ass dreams were made of. Inside and out.

Suddenly, Tom stiffened. "Oh, damn. I'm coming again. Harry. . ."

Half in disbelief, Harry braced himself, knowing if he let Tom push him out, the orgasm wouldn't be as pleasurable. And sure enough, the next moment, Tom was spasming around him, groaning and shuddering in ecstasy.

Tom was so beautiful when he came. Harry suddenly couldn't wait any longer. He thrust fast and hard, as hot and urgent lust built inside him.

Amazingly, Tom seemed just as excited, pushing back on every thrust, quivering and panting with excitement. Tom was going to come yet again, Harry thought. If only I can hold out long enough.

He didn't think he was going to be able to. He was too aroused, and seeing Tom so close only made him hotter. But just when he was about to lose all control, Tom peaked, shouting. Harry thrust deep, finally coming. And coming. And coming.

When the world solidified around him again, he was lying beside Tom. For a long time, they lay entwined together on the tangled sheets. Harry treasured every second, acutely aware that it was a moment he might never experience again.

"You okay?" Tom finally asked.

"Fine," Harry answered. "Have you been into the Klingon aphrodisiacs or something? I thought you were supposed to slow down as you got older."

Tom grinned, a bit abashed. "No drugs. It's just. . . Harry, I've been waiting for this so long. Dreaming about it so long." He stroked Harry's hair, caressed his cheek. "You're so beautiful. God, I love you so much."

Harry shut his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of Tom's gaze. Tom had gotten a little carried away, that's all. Besides, he reminded himself, Tom had spoken words like that before, then dumped Harry as soon as he got a better offer.

"Marry me," Tom whispered.

Harry opened his eyes, startled. "That good, was it?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean. . . Harry, I'm serious. I'm asking you to marry me."

"No."

Tom didn't seem upset. "Oh, come on, Harry. I promise to love you and cherish you and never break your heart."

"No."

"How about if I throw in orgasms so mind-shattering they make you scream with ecstasy? As many as you want."

"I don't scream anymore," Harry said, blushing a little. He had been a screamer in his younger days.

"Marry me, and I'll try my best to change that," Tom offered.

"No. I'm not falling for it again, Paris."

"Harry," Tom said, stricken. "I-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Saved by the bell.

A loud voice came over the comm. "Mr. Paris? It's the Patrol. Open up. We need to speak with you."

Muttering a curse, Tom got up and opened the door. "What?" he asked irritably. Tom was never a morning person.

Two uniformed patrol officers stood there, faces unreadable. "How do you feel?" one of them asked.

"Annoyed. Do you know what time it is?"

"Any pain? Nausea?"

"No," Tom answered, confused.

"Have you seen Harry Kim?"

"Well, actually. . . he's here." Tom stepped aside, giving them a clear view of the bed. Harry resisted the impulse to pull the blankets over his head.

"We need to take you down to the station. Both of you."

"Why?" Tom demanded.

"Get dressed. We'll tell you when we get there."

They were separated as soon as they got to the patrol station. That filled Harry with unease. They were being treated as suspects. But what were they suspected of? Was Tom going to be prosecuted for negligence, because his holoprojector fell? Or was it his own crashing of that shuttlecraft that was being investigated?

At any rate, Harry recognized an official interrogation when he faced one. And he was definitely facing one.

The "interview" room was small, and bare except for a table and chair. Two Shiani patrol officers, a man and woman, offered him the chair, then stood nearby, towering over him.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Harry Shan-Li Kim."

"Home of record."

"Florence, South Carolina, Earth."

"Occupation and employer?"

"Engineer, Starfleet."

"Date of birth."

The questions continued, all routine. Then there was a long pause. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Harry said. They had to know that. They'd given him a medical scan as soon as they got to the station.

"Did you know Kevin Avram McKenna?"

"The reporter from Space Technology," he remembered. "He asked me a few questions."

"So your relationship was strictly professional?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any reason to want him dead?"

"Of course not!" A chill came over him. "Is he dead?"

There was a pause. Then the first officer said, "Yes. I regret to inform you, Mr. McKenna died last night. The autopsy revealed that he was poisoned. And everyone else who sat at your table three nights ago got very ill. Everyone except you and Mr. Paris."

Stunned, Harry was speechless for long moment. "Will they be all right?" he finally managed. He tried to remember who had been at his table.

"Megan Delaney is in critical condition. She's been sent back to Earth, where specialists can treat her. The others are recovering in the local hospital."

"Oh, god. What happened?"

"That is what we are trying to find out," the first officer said.

"We think the poison was in the wine," the second officer explained. "Do you drink, Mr. Kim?"

"Sometimes. I try to avoid drinking late at night, though. Doesn't agree with me." He suddenly remembered something. "I gave my glass of wine to McKenna."

"What about Mr. Paris? Does he drink?"

"Not anymore," Harry said firmly.

"He's a problem drinker, is he not?"

"That's why he doesn't drink," Harry said.

"What is your relationship to Thomas Eugene Paris?"

"Friend," Harry answered. "We were on Voyager together for seven years."

"Just friends?" the lead interrogator, the woman, asked. "Not lovers?"

Harry hesitated. "We've slept together. It's not serious."

"On your part, or his?"

"Both."

"Mr. Paris has a criminal record, doesn't he?"

"No!" Harry protested, then reconsidered. "Well. . . I guess he does. But he didn't intentionally commit any crimes."

"Are you aware that he killed people, then altered flight records and committed perjury to hide that fact?"

"It was an accident! And that was a long time ago. He's grown up since then."

"How would you characterize his relationship with his ex-wife, B'Elanna Lucina Torres?"

Harry considered that. He wished he could say "amicable," but that wasn't quite the word for it. "It was volatile while they were together. Now. . . Call it an armed truce."

"And your own relationship with Ms. Torres?"

"Friend."

"You were seen in the market three days ago, wearing matching lovers' beads."

"What?"

"Those beads in your hair. They are generally worn by lovers."

"We didn't know," Harry said. "We thought they were just decorative."

"You were also seen emerging from the same hotel room that morning."

"She didn't spend the night," Harry said. "I met her in the lobby when I returned from my morning run. She came up to my room to wait while I showered, then we went to breakfast."

"Do you think Mr. Paris might be jealous?"

"Because I took his ex-wife to breakfast?"

"Of her. . . or you."

"If you're suggesting that he poisoned the whole table out of jealousy, that's ridiculous. He's not that kind of person. Besides, he knows I don't drink at night."

They seemed interested at this. "And Ms. Torres? Does she drink?"

"Sure. Not to excess or anything, but she likes a glass of wine or two with dinner." Something suddenly occurred to Harry. "Is B'Elanna all right?"

The officers looked at each other. Then the first one said, "We don't know. She's missing. No one has seen her since the dinner."

The interrogation had gone on for hours. The same questions, mostly, asked in different ways. When they finally let him go, Tom was still being questioned, so Harry waited.

After what seemed an interminable period, Tom emerged, looking very, very subdued. In shock, Harry noticed the silver band around his left ankle - a security cuff, so they could monitor Tom's movements.

"What -?"

Harry rounded on the patrol officers accompanying Tom, furious. Tom grabbed him. "It's okay, Harry. Let it go. It'll be okay."

Harry took a deep breath, and allowed Tom to lead him out of the station. "You're barking up the wrong tree!" he called as they left.

They took a taxi back to the hotel in silence. As soon as the door to Tom's room closed behind them, Harry found himself tightly embracing Tom, and being embraced. "B'Elanna's gone," Tom said, voice rough with anguish. "She's disappeared, and they think I'm responsible."

"We'll find her," Harry said, though he had no idea how. "She'll be all right. We'll find her." His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, to do. "Tom, you should call her husband. Let him know. Maybe he'll have some idea of where she could be. I'll talk to Tuvok, see if he's heard anything."

It was the best he could come up with. It wasn't much, but Tom seemed grateful for it.

B'Elanna's husband, William, had no idea where she was. He was now on his way to Shian. Tuvok told Harry what he knew about B'Elanna's disappearance. She'd last been seen at the dinner three nights ago. She'd told Sue Nicoletti that she needed a little air, and promised to be right back. She never returned. Sue hadn't worried; she assumed B'Elanna had decided to call it a night. The next day, the outing day, people broke into various groups, and then there was the excitement over Tom and Harry's crash. No one realized B'Elanna was missing - until people started getting sick. The patrol, doing their best to track down all possible victims, soon discovered that B'Elanna was nowhere to be found. Hotel security monitored all mechanized traffic entering and leaving the hotel property. They had checked on every vehicle that had left the hotel since the dinner, and had found nothing suspicious. Tuvok was baffled.

"Harry, you need to get some sleep."

"I'm not tired." He sat a bench in a window alcove, looking out into the night. Tom's room was so high up that he could see a good distance down the river. Of course, the river itself was invisible in the darkness, but its outlines could be picked out, dark among the lights of the city.

"Yes, you are. Harry, you won't do B'Elanna any good if you exhaust yourself worrying. The patrol will find her."

"No, they won't," Harry said. "They think you killed her. They aren't even looking for her. They're looking for a body."

Tom was silent, but not, Harry thought, surprised. He'd been thinking along the same lines himself, no doubt.

"I didn't kill her," Tom finally said.

"I know that," Harry said impatiently. "She's out there somewhere. We have to find her."

Tom got out of bed, and came and sat beside him on the bench. "If you can figure out where to look, I'm right behind you, buddy." He rubbed Harry's shoulders, murmuring at all the knots of tension he found.

Harry continued staring out into the night. There was something he should realize, but he was too fatigued to make sense of it. Maybe Tom was right. He should try to rest, even though he didn't think he could sleep.

He let Tom lead him to the bed. Harry didn't exactly relax, but he was comforted, lying in the dark, in the warmth of Tom's embrace.

Then, suddenly, it came to him. In his mind's eye, he saw the floating lanterns in the garden, drifting slowly downstream. He sat up.

"What is it, Harry?"

"I know where she is."

"Where?"

"Downstream."

Harry jumped out of bed, ordered the lights on, and began dressing as fast as he could. "No suspicious vehicles left the hotel complex during the time B'Elanna disappeared. She's an offworlder, she'd have been noticed if she walked out. They must have taken her on a boat. One not using any propulsion, so it was probably downstream. Come on!"

"Harry, they checked the river."

"They checked the river for her body. She's not in the water, or they would have found her."

"So she's somewhere downstream, but not in the water. Well, that narrows it down."

"It's better than nothing." Harry was going whether Tom came along or not.

"All right, hold on a minute. Let me get dressed."

There was a small dock down by the river, where boats could be rented during the day. The proprietor was still there, working on his boats. But he was reluctant to rent any of his craft after dark, citing the danger of boating at night. Eventually, however, they convinced him, by avowing their experience on the water and putting down a very large deposit.

He sent them on their way with a solid push. "Remember, no night-fishing without a permit," he warned, then laughed heartily.

"Why do I get the feeling he's not really talking about fishing?" Harry asked, as they paddled the canoe-like craft out into the center of the river.

"Probably because he's not," Tom replied. "'Night- fishing' is an old Shiani euphemism for sex."

"He thinks we're lovers, who rented the boat for romantic purposes," Harry realized. He could see how it might be a popular activity. The river was as beautiful at night as it was during the day, the water gently rocking them, glimmering in the lights of the city, and of Shiani's many small, vari-colored moons.

"Reminds me of our first date," Tom said.

"What first date?" Harry asked. They hadn't really had a first date. They'd been so close on Voyager, spending almost all their spare time together. There was never anything as formal as a date.

"You remember," Tom said. "Venice? Gondola? You falling into the drink?"

"That wasn't our first date," Harry protested. "That was a date with the Delaney sisters."

"Harry, don't tell me you still believe that double-date story. No one over the age of twenty double-dates."

Harry pondered that. Had Tom pursued him that long? He hadn't thought of Tom in a romantic light until a couple of years into their voyage. . . after Akritiri. He'd always assumed it had been the same for Tom.

Well, it hardly mattered now. Voyager was a lifetime ago, and at the moment, they had far more pressing concerns.

He was beginning to feel like an idiot, paddling around this strange river in the dark. They should have waited until morning. But as long as there was any chance B'Elanna was alive, he couldn't wait. And whoever had taken her had made the same journey, in this same darkness. That might be advantage, viewing the scene under the same circumstances. . .

A faint glimmer caught his eye. He thought he was imagining it at first, but the sparkling light grew brighter.

"What's that?" he said, pointing off the port bow.

"I don't know, but your hair's glowing," Tom said.

"What?"

Tom leaned close, his fingers stroking Harry's hair. "It's the beads. They're glowing in the dark."

Harry reached up to touch the tiny beads still braided into his hair. His fingers tangled with Tom's, then found the beads, cool and smooth and giving no indication of what might be causing them to glow.

"Did they ever glow before?"

"No," Tom said.

"Is it a blue light, kind of like that soulgem?"

"Yes, just that color," Tom said. "I though it was familiar, but I couldn't place it. It's much, much fainter, though."

Harry had been steering the boat towards the light he'd spotted off the bow, and as they got closer, Tom saw it, too. "It's the same color," he said.

Tom tried to turn a flashlight toward the soft blue glimmer. It was a mistake. The glare drowned out the faint glow, though it did show that the light was coming from a set of stone steps leading down to a dock along the river, probably for some private estate.

They steered the boat toward the dock and clambered out. Tom turned the flashlight off again, and they sat for awhile in the darkness, letting their eyes adjust.

"There." A small scattering of glowing sapphire seeds, rapidly growing brighter. They were scattered on the stairs leading up from the dock.

"The ones in your hair are getting a lot brighter, too," Tom said.

"Lovers' beads," Harry remembered. He went to the stairs, to find the glow coming from small blue beads, just like the ones B'Elanna had had braided into her hair at the market.

"What?" Tom said.

"One of the patrolman told me they call these lovers' beads. I bet they glow when they're together." He picked up one of the beads and held it close to the ones in his hair. The glow got visibly brighter. "These are B'Elanna's."

"They could be anyone's," Tom said, doubtful. "Maybe they just glow whenever there's another bead nearby."

"No, I think they're keyed to mine." Harry picked up another bead off the steps, and held it next to the first. There was no change.

"She dropped them here intentionally," Tom said suddenly. "She left us a trail of breadcrumbs. Come on!" He pushed past Harry, headed up the stairs. Harry followed, phaser drawn.

There were more beads at the top of the stairs, scattered down the stone-lined path to an old house, hidden in overgrown trees.

"We're going to become the most notorious burglars on Shian," Tom said.

"Maybe we should call the Patrol," Harry said.

"No time," Tom said, and Harry understood what he meant. The patrol were convinced Tom had killed B'Elanna. They might not hurry to investigate, and it might already be too late.

The door was unlocked. It slid open easily when Tom tried it, revealing an elegant if somewhat dusty interior.

"Someone's vacation home," Tom whispered. It wasn't abandoned or empty, but neither did it look currently inhabited.

Harry immediately began scanning. His heart leapt as he saw that there was someone in the house...alive. In the basement, it looked like. "She's here! This way!" He ran down the hall, Tom on his heels. "Here." A narrow door opened over a steep staircase.

Tom's hand grabbed his arm, holding him back. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"It's fine," Harry said, checking the readings. "Old, but structurally sound." They made their way down the uneven stairs, Tom with the flashlight, Harry with the tricorder.

"How do we know it's B'Elanna down there, and not the irate homeowner?" Tom asked. "Or the guy that's trying to kill you?"

Harry reached the foot of the stairs, and headed over to one end of the basement, following the tricorder readings. "It's her." B'Elanna's part-Klingon life signs were unmistakable.

There was an indistinct bundle on the floor by the far wall. "Here!" The flashlight searched, then steadied. Harry pulled back a fold of dirty blanket, revealing a pale, bruised face. It was B'Elanna. She lay on the floor against the wall, wrapped in some kind of blanket or tarp. Harry reached out to touch her, then thought better of it, afraid he would hurt her.

Tom came up beside him, taking the tricorder. "She's alive, but I can't tell how bad she is without a medical tricorder. Her vitals are awfully weak. We have to get help." He stood up. "Stay with her, Harry."

The house, like most private homes, was shielded. Tom would have to go outside to call the medics. "Take the flashlight," Harry said. "We'll be okay."

Tom nodded, and was soon leaping up the stairs. Darkness fell over the basement, but Harry found he could still see, in the light from the tricorder. . . and the glow from the blue beads in his and B'Elanna's hair.

He reached out, gently caressing the ridges of B'Elanna's forehead. Hang on, B'Elanna. Please hang on. Hang on. . .

Suddenly, there was sharp pain in his hand. He pulled it back with a yelp. He'd been bitten. "B'Elanna!"

Her eyes were open, and she stared at him incredulously. "Harry?" Her voice was a dry whisper. "What. . . what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Harry said, rubbing at his wound.

"Sorry. I thought you were. . ."

"Who, B'Elanna? Who did this to you?"

She frowned. "I...I don't remember. I was at the reception. Then the next thing I remember is waking up here. With a hell of a headache."

"It's okay," Harry said. She must have been knocked out. He knew it was common for people who were knocked unconscious to lose their memories not only of the event, but of several minutes leading up to it. "You're going to be okay. Tom went to get help."

"Untie me, Harry, please."

"What? Oh, B'Elanna, I'm sorry!" Harry hadn't even realized she was bound, but now that he thought about it, of course she must be, or she could have rescued herself. This couldn't be the first time she'd woken up in the past three days. Cursing himself for a fool, he gently peeled away the tarp covering her. She was hogtied. He drew his phaser, set it on low, and carefully cut the ropes.

"Thank you." She licked her dry lips. Harry rummaged in his pack for a bottle of water, and carefully gave her a little.

She wanted more, but Harry wasn't sure that would be wise. "Wait a bit. See if you keep that down," he said.

"How bad am I?"

"You're going to be fine," Harry said, though he wasn't at all sure. "Rest. Don't try to talk. Conserve your strength. The medics will be here soon."

"No. If I only have little time left, I don't want to spend it resting."

"You're going to be fine," Harry repeated.

"Humor me, Starfleet. I've got something I want to say."

She hadn't called him that in a long time. He stroked her hair softly. "All right, B'Elanna. Talk to me, then." Maybe it would be a good thing, to keep her awake and engaged.

"I want you to give Tom another chance."

"What?" This was the last thing he expected. He'd never been sure if B'Elanna knew about him and Tom. They'd been very discreet, and their romantic involvement had been brief. But she'd been married to Tom, and perhaps he'd told her. Harry had never said anything, in case she didn't know. He knew she would feel guilty for "stealing" Tom, and he didn't want that.

"He'd make a great husband for you, Harry."

"You divorced him!" he couldn't help pointing out.

"I said he'd make a great husband for you."

Harry didn't understand. Maybe she was delirious.

"Harry. . . you know, when Voyager got home...and we scattered our separate ways. . . I was glad. At last, I'd have my husband to myself. I wouldn't have to share him with you."

"Me? B'Elanna, Tom and I weren't -"

"I know. I know. But he spent almost all his spare time with you. Even when he was with me, all he did was talk about you. Even though you're one of my favorite people in the universe, I was sort of glad to see you go."

Harry was speechless. He'd had no idea.

B'Elanna continued. "But like they say. . . be careful what you wish for. Tom just wasn't the man I married, without you. I saw even less of him than I had when we were on Voyager. We fought constantly. He drank too much. He. . . well, you get the picture. Though part of me was devastated when he asked for a divorce, most of me was relieved."

"What do you mean, without me?" Harry asked. Surely B'Elanna couldn't believe he had anything to do with it.

"I mean he's a much better person with you than he is without you, Harry. Trust me. I've lived with both."

"B'Elanna, the only one who can make Tom a better person is Tom."

"Well, then, you make him want to be a better person." She grabbed his hand. "Harry, I don't know why you dumped him, but please, give him a second chance."

I didn't dump him, he dumped me! He didn't say it, though. "Well, that's quite a recommendation, I guess," he said instead. "That you're still so concerned about him, after all that's happened."

She smiled faintly. "I have an ulterior motive. If I die, Tom's probably going to get Miral. The Tom he is when you're in his life is a good father. The other one. . . isn't."

"You're not going to die!"

"Just in case," she whispered.

"All right," Harry said. "I'll give him a second chance." More to keep her calm than because he meant it. She was going to be fine, he told himself.

Noise coming down the hall above told Harry the medics had arrived. Light suddenly filled the basement. He squeezed B'Elanna's hand. She smiled wanly. "Tell Miral and William I love them. I'll always love them."

"You'll be able to tell them yourself!" Harry protested, hoping he wasn't lying. But the medics were pushing him away by then, and he wasn't sure she heard him.

"I'm coming with her," Harry said.

"Are you family?" the medtech asked.

"No," Harry admitted.

"Stay here. There's nothing you can do anyway, and the patrol wants to talk to you. You can come see her later."

Harry sat on the floor, watching as the medical team took B'Elanna up the stairs and outside, where they could be transported. Then a warm, strong arm went around his shoulders. "She's going be all right," Tom said, kneeling beside Harry. "Remember, she's a lot tougher than she looks."

Harry had hoped finding B'Elanna would allay the patrol's suspicions. Instead, they were even more suspicious than ever. They asked some pointed questions about how Tom and Harry had managed to find B'Elanna, but in the end there was no cause to hold them.

"Yet," Tom muttered under his breath. They weren't offered transport back to the hotel. Which was just as well, since they had to take the boat back. They left the patrol swarming over the crime scene, and headed back up the river.

They didn't talk. The rowing was much harder upstream. They were nearing the hotel before Tom spoke. "Why won't you marry me?" he asked.

The question came out of nowhere, startling Harry. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Because it wouldn't work," he said gently.

"Why not?"

Something about the darkness and the water invited confession. Or maybe it was just that he had more urgent matters on his mind. In any case, he answered with the truth. "Because one day, you'd decide you want a woman instead. Just like you did before. It's okay. I understand, really. But. . . Tom, I couldn't stand losing you again. Please don't ask that of me."

Tom was silent for a long moment. Then he gave a harsh laugh. "Oh, god, Harry, you don't know how wrong you are." He laughed again.

"What?" Harry said, a bit annoyed.

"If I ever leave you, it won't be for a woman. Harry. . . I don't like women."

"What do you mean, you don't like women?"

"I'm gay," Tom said. "Not heterosexual, like I wanted to believe. Not bi, like you are. I'm gay. I only like men."

"You married a woman!" Harry blurted out.

"Yes, I did, and it was very unfair of me. I won't ever do that to another woman, Harry."

Harry sat in shocked silence. So that's what had gone wrong with Tom's marriage. Poor B'Elanna. She had so feared that her Klingon genes would drive Tom away. In reality, it was her genes that doomed her relationship with Tom - but it was her lack of a Y-chromosome that was to blame, not her Klingon DNA.

And poor Tom. Harry couldn't imagine what it must be like, to so hate what you were that you married someone you didn't love, in an attempt to deny it.

Tom was staring out over the water. God, but he was beautiful in the moonlight. Fourteen years ago, Harry might have been thrilled to hear this admission from Tom. Now, though, he was only sad. Sad for Tom, for B'Elanna, for himself. If things had been different. . . but it was very difficult to overcome childhood indoctrination. It was, Harry feared, far too late.

"Are you ever going to tell your father?" Harry finally asked.

"Oh, he knows," Tom said casually.

"He knows you're gay?" Harry said, astonished.

"Yeah. I didn't mean to tell him. He was just being so damned nosy, asking me why the marriage ended, how I could have lost such a wonderful woman. I just couldn't stand it any more. I told him, 'We divorced because I don't like women. I like men.'"

Harry was astounded. He never expected Tom Paris to say that to his father. "What did he say?" he asked, when he got his voice back.

"He ended the communication rather abruptly. He didn't hang up on me or anything, but he suddenly didn't have time to talk any more."

"Oh, Tom." It was what Tom had most feared: rejection from his father.

Tom continued. "I didn't hear from him for a month, and I thought I never would again. And, weirdly enough. . . it was okay. I was sad that he would disown me for something like that, but it was also a relief, to finally get it out in the open. To finally stop living a lie."

Harry nodded his understanding.

Tom continued. "Then, I got a letter from him. A real letter. Handwritten, with an actual pen, on real paper. I'd never gotten a real letter from him before. He was always the subspace communication kind of guy, you know?"

"What did it say?" Harry asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Tom hesitated, then slowly smiled. "It said he wanted me to know that he and my mother loved me, and were proud of me, and always would be."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "No!"

"Yes. Not only that, but he apologized for all the terrible things he'd said about homosexuality, all the years I was growing up."

"Wow." Even Harry had never expected that decent a reaction from Owen Paris. Had it been losing his son to the Delta Quadrant for those seven long years that had brought him around? Or was Tom's view of his father simply inaccurate, as children's views of their parents often were? Well, it didn't matter. "That's great, Tom. Really great."

"Yeah." Tom's smile was beatific. "For so many years, I was so afraid. . . and I had nothing to be afraid of." He took Harry's hand. "Imaginary fears are always worse than reality."

Harry shivered at the touch, but pulled resolutely away. Unfortunately, not all fears were imaginary.

They were almost there when a swinging light and cries of distress cut through the night. "Somebody help! Please help me! Please!" A woman was standing on the hotel dock, waving a lantern and shouting.

Harry and Tom exchanged a glance, then steered toward the dock. As they grew closer, they could see that it was an elderly woman. Not a Shiani. An offworlder, dressed in what looked a nightgown, her white hair tangled around her shoulders. "Ashaz," Harry said, recognizing her. The Nasari ambassador's wife.

"It's my husband! I think he's dying! I called emergency medical, but they haven't sent anyone yet."

"What happened?" Tom asked.

"I don't know!" Ashaz cried. "Please, you have to help me!"

"I don't like this," Tom said quietly.

"Stay here. I'll go with her," Harry volunteered. It was possible that the medical unit here was so small that they didn't have any staff to spare until they'd finished with B'Elanna. Or there could be some kind of communications mix-up. If something happened to the ambassador. . . well, Starfleet would be most displeased.

"No," Tom said. "I'm the medic. And I don't think either of us should go in there alone."

They climbed out onto the dock, and followed the distraught woman toward one of the numerous cottages surrounding the main hotel - "garden suites," the brochure called them. "Let me go first," Tom said. "If there's any sign of trouble, get out of here, and go get help."

Harry nodded, and let Tom precede him into the cottage. Suddenly there was a thudding noise, and ear-splitting shriek. Harry didn't even think. He ran in.

The first thing he saw was Tom was lying on the floor, blood on his forehead. Beyond him, Daiben lay face down, very still. "Look out, Harry!" Tom yelled, and Harry ducked as a blunt object came swinging at his head.

Ashaz dropped the antique Shiani club, and pulled a more modern weapon out of the pocket of her robe. She aimed the sleek pistol at Harry, and fired. He tried to dodge, but it caught him in the thigh, throwing him back. At first his leg was numb and cold, then hot pain ripped through it, making him gasp. He tried to get to his feet, knowing he would die if he didn't, but his leg wouldn't support him. He watched hazily as the gun aimed again, helpless to move.

A shadow fell across him. Tom. He was weaving slightly on his feet, but he stood bravely in front of Harry, shielding him with his body.

"Tom! Run!" Harry yelled, fearing Tom would be killed before his eyes. Tom didn't budge.

"Get out of the way, or I'll kill you, too," Ashaz said.

"No," Tom said simply.

"Tom, please!" Harry pleaded. "There's no sense in both of us dying," unconsciously echoing Tom's argument to him after the crash in the lake. Tom didn't even look at him.

"Do you want your friend's last sight to be your death?" Ashaz asked.

"I'm not leaving him," Tom said.

"Then you die," she said.

"In that case," Tom said, "Grant me a dying wish. Tell me why. Why do you want to kill Harry?"

"Because he's Taresian!" she spat.

Taresian? Harry puzzled over that. He remembered his ill-fated trip to Taresia, but couldn't remember ever seeing Ashaz there.

"He's not Taresian, Ashaz," Tom said. "He's human."

"He's Taresian!" she insisted. "Do you think we can't tell? He's full of Taresian DNA."

"It's deactivated," Tom said.

Harry suddenly remembered the visceral disgust he'd once felt for the Nasari. It was gone, ever since the Taresian DNA had been deactivated. . . but if it was mutual, if the Nasari felt the same way about Taresians as he'd once felt about the Nasari...well, it would explain why Daiben had been so unfriendly.

"He was a victim of the Taresians," Tom was saying. "The Doctor couldn't remove the DNA they inserted in his chromosomes, but he did deactivate it. He's not Taresian. If he has children, they will not be Taresian. Any Taresian DNA he carries is harmless."

"All Taresians must die."

"And B'Elanna? The part-Klingon woman? Did she have to die, too?"

She hesitated. "No...yes. She saw! I didn't want to hurt her, but she saw, and I couldn't let her tell."

B'Elanna must have seen something at the banquet that night. Perhaps she'd seen Ashaz put something in the wine, and followed or confronted her?

At any rate, Ashaz was clearly nuts. They had to do something, or she'd kill them. Harry looked around the room, desperately trying to find something that could help. The Shiani club was lying a couple of meters away. He didn't think he could reach it in time, not injured as he was, and it was of dubious use, against a gun. There was a com set just beyond the ambassador's body, but again, no way to reach it. Even if he succeeded in calling for help, she'd kill them before the patrol could get here.

Then he saw it. The silvery band around Tom's ankle. The security ankle cuff. Once, he'd had to wear one of those himself. He'd tampered with it, and security was there almost instantly. Hopefully, the Shiani patrol would be as prompt.

Harry heaved himself up, creeping towards Tom, as if he were trying to cower behind him. The pain was blinding. The room began fading away, but he clung ferociously to consciousness, and reality steadied around him again.

Tom was still trying to reason with Ashaz. "He's not Taresian."

"He's the only Taresian to ever escape our blockade! We tracked the rest of them down, sealed the planet off. He's the only one left. Kill him, and the Taresian scourge will be finally be gone."

Just a little bit more. . . his hand was resting against the smooth leather of Tom's heel. Tom must have felt the touch, but didn't react. Harry didn't have any tools, but he ripped at the cuff circling Tom's ankle with his fingers. It resisted at first, but finally he felt something give. Was it enough? Harry wasn't sure. He kept at it, doggedly pulling at the bits of wire and metal until his fingernails were bleeding and ragged.

"He's not Taresian," Tom repeated. "He's a brave and loyal Starfleet officer."

"He has to die," she said, calm as only the completely insane can be.

Tom continued. "He's a talented engineer, whose brilliant work is bringing two quadrants of the galaxy together. He's a true-blue friend. He's a loving and devoted son."

That last seemed to bother her. "Shut up!" Ashaz said. The gun was wavering in her hands.

Sensing he was getting to her, Tom continued. "His mother loves him very much, Ashaz. He's her only child."

"SHUT UP!" Ashaz screamed. Tom did, and the three of them were frozen, silent and unmoving. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. . . then the room exploded in a roar of sound and light, and everything went dark.

Harry woke with a suddenness that left him utterly disoriented. He looked around the clean, bright room, confused. Hospital, he thought. Then he spotted Tom, slumped in a chair nearby, a huge splotch of blood staining his shirt front.

"Tom!" Harry said, alarmed. "Nurse!" he called.

Tom jerked awake at the sound of Harry's voice. "Harry, what's the matter, what's wrong?"

"You're bleeding," Harry said.

"No, I'm not," Tom said. He looked down. "Oh. This is your blood."

Harry remembered, sort of. Just a few dim, hazy flashes: shouting, flashing lights, patrol officers everywhere, the safety of Tom's arms around him.

A young man appeared in the doorway. "Is something the matter, Mr. Kim?"

"No," Tom answered. "Everything's all right. Sorry to bother you."

The nurse nodded, and left.

"You're all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine. Nothing a minute or two under a regenerator couldn't fix. You, on the other hand...you're going to have to stay off your feet for a few days, to give your leg a chance to heal. And you have an appointment to have your DNA re-sequenced. Starfleet has decided that, in name of interstellar relations, and for your own personal safety, the Taresian DNA will be stripped out of your chromosomes."

Harry thought about that, bemused. So long ago, he'd almost forgotten. Yet it lurked inside him, in the very center of his cells, yanking him out of his settled life, years later. Those seven years in the Delta Quadrant were a part of him, he mused, in ways he'd never considered. They always would be, no matter what they did to his DNA.

"What happened?" he asked Tom, who looked worn and exhausted, but ethereally beautiful in the morning sun pouring through the windows.

"Your plan worked," Tom replied. He took Harry's hand in his, and Harry gripped it tightly, welcoming the comfort. "The alarm went off when you broke my ankle cuff, and the patrol came running. Since it was the ambassador's apartments, they decided not to risk a hostage situation, and threw in a sonic grenade. Knocked everyone unconscious."

"And we're not in jail?" Harry said. If it came down to Ashaz's word against Tom's, he wasn't sure the patrol would believe Tom.

"It was iffy for awhile, but the ambassador put them straight," Tom said.

"He's alive? And he sided with us?" Harry wasn't sure which was more surprising.

"He's fine. And he's honest, if not exactly personable. He found out what she was doing, and tried to stop her. She only clubbed him, like she did me. You were the only one she wanted to kill." Tom hesitated. "She had a son."

Harry had been expecting this. "The Taresians?"

Tom nodded. "He was her only child, and the Taresians killed him. She was never quite right after that, though the ambassador never suspected she'd go this far."

"And B'Elanna?"

"She's down the hall a little, terrorizing the medical staff. She's going to be fine. So is Megan. Jenny called to tell us. Luckily, Ashaz didn't have a lot of experience poisoning humans."

"Can I go see B'Elanna?"

"Later. She's asleep, and you should rest."

"So should you," Harry said, realizing Tom must have sat beside him all night. "You look like hell. Go to bed."

Tom smiled suggestively. "Any room in this one?"

"Sure," Harry said.

Tom did a double-take, obviously not expecting that answer. But he wasted no time kicking off his shoes, stripping off his shirt, and climbing into bed beside Harry.

It was snug, but comfortable. Harry sighed, relaxing into the warmth of Tom's body, spooned up against his. "Thanks, Tom," he murmured.

"For what?"

"Everything. Saving my life. Sitting beside my bed all night."

"Any time." Tom's arms tightened around Harry. "God, I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too," Harry said.

Behind him, Tom stopped breathing. Harry was beginning to get concerned when Tom finally drew in a long, shaky breath. "Really?" he whispered.

"Really," Harry said, full of drowsy contentment. "You finally wore me down."

Tom dropped a soft kiss on Harry's hair. "Great. Let's get married."

"Don't push it, Paris."

"You know I'll wear you down about this, too," Tom teased.

"Maybe, but now will you just go to sleep?"

"Mmmmm," he said, nuzzling the back of Harry's neck. In a few minutes, they were both asleep.

"This is a hospital, not a hotel!"

Harry opened his eyes to find the EMH standing beside the bed, scowling with disapproval. "Hi, Doc. Am I going to live?" Beside him, Tom snuggled closer, but didn't awaken.

"You'll be fine." The Doctor hesitated. "Mr. Kim. . . Harry . . . I want to apologize for not recommending that you get that Taresian DNA removed. We didn't have the capability to do it on Voyager, and once we got back, it never occurred to me that it would be a problem. It had been years by then, and it never seemed to bother you, so-"

"Doc!" Harry cut him off. "It's okay. Really. You couldn't have known."

"You're sure?"

"All's well that ends well." To change the subject, he asked, "How's B'Elanna?"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," the Doctor said, seemingly reassured. "Ms. Torres is awake, visiting hours start soon, and several of your former crewmates are on the way over to see her. I thought you might like to join them."

"Sure," Harry said, sitting up so abruptly he nearly sent Tom tumbling off the bed.

"Hold on," the Doctor said. "You're not walking on that leg yet. Here, I brought an antigrav chair."

Tom, awake now, made as if to lift Harry into the chair. He was stopped by the Doc.

"Mr. Paris. You're going to throw your back out again. Let me handle it."

"Again?" Harry asked, as the Doc helped him into the chair.

"He carried you out. I keep telling you, Mr. Paris, you're not 20 years old any more. Considering all you've put your body through. . ."

"Is he all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Tom said, voice rough with sleep. He tucked a blanket carefully over Harry's lap.

"Just try to avoid heavy lifting in the future," the Doctor said. "You're not a miner."

"Thanks," Harry said to Tom quietly.

"Anything for you," Tom said. His tone was light, but he was perfectly serious.

"All set?" the Doctor said. "Good. I'll see you in a few minutes. I promised Admiral Janeway I'd meet her in the lobby and show her up." He left.

"The Doc's getting tactful in his old age," Tom observed. "Harry, now that we're both fully awake..."

"I love you," Harry said, knowing what Tom was going to ask.

A smile of surpassing joy and tenderness spread over Tom's face. "Harry. Oh, Harry..." They shared a long, slow kiss.

Finally, Tom pulled away. "I could kiss you all day, except this angle is killing my back."

"We should get going anyway. Don't want to miss visiting hours."

"All right," Tom said. "Let's go."

"Don't you think you should replicate a shirt first?" Harry said.

"Oh." Tom looked down at his bare chest, then went over to the replicator. He came back soon wearing a rust-colored shirt that made Harry smile. Tom had always liked that color. The size was a little larger now, the cut slightly different, but it was the same shirt that had been Tom's off-duty favorite, fifteen years ago in the Delta Quadrant.

"What?" Tom said. "Is it sticking up?" He was running a comb over his hair. Harry shook his head, and Tom came over, gave him a few licks of the comb, too, then threw it on the bed. "Come on."

B'Elanna was sitting propped against a mass of pillows, and smiled warmly as they came in. She looked great, Harry was relieved to see. And she already had a visitor - a dark, slender man, perched on the edge of the bed, who must be her husband, William.

As B'Elanna introduced them, Harry took the opportunity to inspect the man. He seemed the complete opposite of Tom Paris: dark, where Tom was fair, slight, where Tom was solid, reserved, where Tom was outgoing.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," William said. "And thank you." His voice was gentle, and surprisingly deep.

"For what?" Harry asked.

"For saving my life," B'Elanna answered for him. "Harry, you did it again. I should have known you'd come through. You always did."

"We're probably about even," Harry replied. She had saved his life at least as often as he'd saved hers. He tried to change the subject, uncomfortable at the attention. "So, where's Miral?"

"She's with her grandfather," B'Elanna replied. "My dad went to stay with her, so William could come here. We didn't tell her what happened. Didn't want to worry her."

A muscle in Tom's jaw tightened. "You left my daughter with John Torres? The jerk who abandoned you when you were twelve?"

"Tom, that's not fair. That was a long time ago. He's changed."

"So have I," Tom said quietly. "Miral needs her father, as much as you did, B'Elanna."

"You're not taking her from me!" Harry thought for a moment she was going to spring off the bed and attack Tom.

"I don't want to take her from you," Tom assured her hurriedly. "You're a wonderful mother. But she's my child, too. B'Elanna, I want to see my daughter."

"You're contesting the court order?" she asked, calmer, but still wary.

"No," Tom said. "No courts, no lawyers. I'm asking you, as your ex-husband, and her father, to let me see my child."

B'Elanna eyes dropped, focusing on Tom and Harry's hands, which were linked, fingers interlaced. She was silent for a long time. Finally, she smiled a little. "Well," she said. "I guess she can't get in too much trouble if Harry's going to be there."

Tom's smile was like sunshine. "Thank you, Lanna!" He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll both be coming to our wedding, right? And you too, William, of course." He put his arm possessively around Harry.

"What wedding?" Harry asked.

"Wedding? What is this about a wedding?" It was Owen Paris. He came into the room, along with several of B'Elanna's friends from Voyager: Janeway, the Doctor, Chakotay, Tuvok, Neelix, Nicoletti, Ayala.

"Hi, Dad." Greetings were exchanged, then Tom continued as if there had been no interruption. "Miral can be our flower girl."

"She's ten years old, Tom," B'Elanna reminded him. "Too old to be a flower girl. She'd be outraged if you even suggested it."

"Then she'll be maid of honor!" Tom declared.

"I did not agree to marry you!" Harry protested.

Everyone looked at him. "You promised me, on my deathbed," B'Elanna said. "You can't break a deathbed promise, Harry."

"I promised to give him a chance. I didn't promise to marry him! And you didn't die, anyway."

"Give it up, Starfleet," B'Elanna said. "You two are meant to be together. It would have saved us all a lot of trouble if this lunk had admitted it from the beginning. Don't you start being difficult now."

"I'm not." Harry smiled in spite of himself. "I just don't want him taking me for granted this early in the game."

"Me? Never!" Tom immediately dropped to his knees. "Please, Harry, make me the happiest man in the universe, and marry me?"

"I'll think about it."

"Harry!"

"Can I talk to you outside, Tom?" Harry said.

Tom stood. "Pick out some nice outfits for you and Miral to wear to the wedding," he told B'Elanna.

They went out in the hall and closed the door.

"What?" Once they were alone, Tom's confident air faded. He actually looked a little anxious. "You do want to get married, don't you?"

"Yes, but. . ." It all seemed awfully fast to Harry. It wasn't that he wasn't sure, but. . . "Tom, there's a lot we have to discuss, if we're going to get married. And it seemed a little tasteless, to do it in front of your ex-wife."

"Oh. Right. Well, what is there to discuss?"

"Well. . . where are we going to live?"

"I'll move to Piran. Or wherever Starfleet assigns you."

"What about your business?"

"I can write holoprograms anywhere. Joey can handle the business end of it without me. He'd welcome the challenge, in fact."

"What if they post me to a starship again?"

Tom shrugged. "It won't faze me, Har. I grew up a Starfleet brat, remember."

"And what kind of marriage were you thinking of? Five-year contract? Ten-year?"

"I was thinking more of forever." Then, seeing the startled look on Harry's face, he added, "But I'll settle for whatever I can get."

"Names?"

Tom shrugged. "It would be easiest if we each kept our names, but I'll take your name if you want me to. And you're welcome to mine, if you want it. Anything else?"

"Property options?"

"Merge," Tom said. "What's mine is yours."

"Tom!" While a young couple with similar incomes, just starting out, might choose the merge option, it was highly unusual when one of the partners was a lot wealthier than the other, or when there were dependents. "What about Miral?"

Tom grinned. "Hey, I love you. I trust you to do right by Miral, if it ever becomes necessary."

Tom's over-the-top romanticism was touching, but also a little worrisome. "Tom. . . are you sure about this?"

"Surer than I've ever been about anything in my life. Harry. . . I came to Shian to marry you."

Harry snorted. "You came here for the reunion, same as I did."

Tom shook his head. "When I got the reunion notice last year, my first inclination was not to go. Reunions are where you go to brag about your accomplishments. I didn't have anything to brag about."

"So what changed your mind?"

"I started thinking. I was fifty years old. Half my life was gone. And what did I have to show for it? A big, fat nothing. I decided I didn't have any time to waste. If I was ever going to be happy, I had to start working on it. Whether I deserved it or not, I was going after what I wanted."

Tom took Harry's hand. "I thought about what I wanted most in the universe. My heart's desire. And I realized it was you."

"Tom..."

"No, really. I never stopped thinking about you, after all these years. I was an idiot, who threw away the best thing that ever happened to me. I had to try and make it right. So I came to the reunion, hoping you'd be here."

"And if I'd told you to blow it out your afterburners?"

"You did, pretty much," Tom reminded him. "I kind of expected it. So I came prepared to change your mind."

"And if you hadn't succeeded?"

"Well, if I couldn't make it up to you, at least I'd have given you the satisfaction of being able to throw it back in my face, after all those years."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious. I didn't really expect to be this lucky. Heck, I don't deserve it, not by a long shot. But I had to try, you know? What did I have to lose?" He smiled wryly. "If you'd told me to get lost, I'd have been heartbroken. But I'd have survived. Without going on a drunken binge. And maybe one day, I'd have found someone else. . . by the fiftieth reunion, say."

Harry was pleased by this well-grounded, realistic answer. "You really have thought about this, haven't you?"

"I've done nothing but think about it, ever since I got the reunion notice." Tom fished in his pocket, taking out the soulgem he'd tried to give Harry once before. He got down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "Yes," he said.

Tom smiled blindingly. He pressed the soulgem to the back of Harry's wrist. "An engagement present," he said.

This time, Harry did not refuse it. He touched it softly with one finger, watching it sparkle, then leaned forward to kiss Tom. "Thank you. I'm going to have to find a suitable engagement present for you."

"You've already given me the best present in the universe: a second chance." They kissed again, and things soon grew heated. "Let's go back to your room," Tom whispered.

"Wait," Harry said. "I think we should tell your dad first. You know, ask his blessing."

"You think he's going to say no?"

"Of course not. And if he does, I'm marrying you anyway. But it's the polite thing to do."

"All right." Tom stuck his head in B'Elanna's room. "Hey, Dad! Can you come out here a minute? Harry has something he wants to ask you."

Owen Paris came out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. "Yes, what is it, Harry?"

"Sir, I would like permission to marry your son."

Admiral Paris smiled. "No," he said pleasantly.

"What?" Harry said, shocked.

"Tom's mother would kill me if we leave her out of this. No, you are going to do this properly, come to San Francisco, and ask both of us." The twinkle in the man's eye left no doubt as to what the answer would be, and Harry found himself grinning like a fool.

Tom stuck his head in B'Elanna's room. "You're all invited to the wedding," he announced.

Cheers and applause answered him, then everyone started talking.

"What took them so long. . ."

"On Vulcan, these matters are handled logically. . ."

"Naomi's daughter can be the flower girl. . ."

". . . a little place in San Francisco that makes the best wedding cakes. . ."

"Come on, let's go back to your room and lock the door," Tom said. "They'll never miss us."

Tom guided Harry's wheelchair with one hand; it glided smoothly and silently through the corridor under the slightest touch, thanks to its state-of-the-art antigrav mechanism. Soon they were back in Harry's room. Tom lifted him out the wheelchair, whirling him around.

"Tom! The Doctor told you to take it easy."

"I'll take it any way I can get it," Tom replied devilishly. Very carefully, he placed Harry on the bed, shut off the medical monitors, then lay down beside him. "Computer, lock the door."

Harry settled against Tom, relaxing in his embrace.

"Beautiful Harry," Tom murmured. "Sweet, virginal Harry, mine at last."

"Virginal?" Harry snorted.

"You've been driving me crazy ever since you arrived on Shian. Always wearing virginal white, as if to warn me to keep my hands off. Torture, since you look absolutely mouth-watering in white. Irresistible."

Of course, Harry hadn't been trying to send Tom any messages with his clothing choice. He just wasn't terribly imaginative when it came to fashion; they came out white because he didn't specify a color. And it wasn't like he had any say in the color of the hospital gowns. He wondered briefly if he should remind Tom of this, but Tom's hands were now impudently exploring through said hospital gown, and soon the finer points of fashion were the last thing on Harry's mind.

"Whoa!" Tom gasped. "Whoa, slow down, Harry. We can't do anything too athletic."

"Come on. It's not every day we get engaged," Harry protested.

"Harry, we have the rest of our lives. It won't kill us to take it easy now." Tom pulled away. He was flushed and breathing heavily. He took awhile to compose himself, then said, "I know."

He raised the head of the bed, then settled on it, next to Harry. His warmth breath tickled Harry's ear, as he whispered, "Do you remember what my second favorite thing is?"

Harry grinned. Yes, he certainly did. He kissed Tom thoroughly, letting his hand drift down to the fastening of Tom's pants. Working it open, he slid his hand inside, making Tom gasp. Tom tried to return the caress, but Harry firmly pushed his hand away. One of them had to keep a clear head, or they'd end up doing something the doctors wouldn't approve of.

Tom had always loved this. He had a fascination for Harry's hands that Harry had never quite understood. Tom had once confessed that he thought his cock never looked bigger than when it was in Harry's slender, fine-boned hand. Harry had been a little insulted at the time, but now, over a decade later, he wasn't bothered. He accepted himself now, incongruously delicate hands and all, and was pleased, if a little bemused, to find that Tom was as fascinated by the sight now as he had been then.

Slowly, steadily, he stroked Tom. He could almost see what Tom meant. Tom's beautiful cock did look huge, thick and flushed and straining in Harry's narrow, tanned fingers. He rubbed along the edge of the crown with his thumb, making Tom whimper and buck. He was very close, and Harry realized they needed a towel or something. "Hang on, Tom," he said, and let go, turning to rummage around in the drawer in the bedside table.

"Harry!" Tom protested. "Please!!"

"It's okay," Harry reassured him. "I just have to find a towel, and then you can come."

"Screw the towel!"

"Well, that is the idea," Harry said, grinning. Damn it, what drawer were they in?

Tom groaned in frustration.

"You'll thank me for this, when you don't have to walk out of here later with come all over your shirt."

"It's not going to get on my shirt," Tom growled. "Geez, if you keep me waiting any longer, it's going to shoot straight into orbit."

"Oh. In that case, I guess I should notify Ops of the traffic hazard."

"Harry!" Tom nearly screamed.

Finally, Harry found one of silk squares that were used as towels here on Shian. As quickly as he could, he wrapped the sheer fabric around Tom. The silk was as cool and slick as water, and Tom seemed to like the feel of it very much, especially when Harry started rubbing him through it. "Oh, yes," Tom sighed. "Oh, yes, right there. . . please. . . harder. . ." Harry leaned over to kiss Tom; the moment he thrust his tongue into Tom's mouth, Tom came, arching up against Harry's hand, crying out softly.

When it was over, Tom fell back as if he'd been stunned with a phaser. God, but he was beautiful, glowing golden and pink, moonlight hair tousled, those ridiculously long lashes resting against his cheeks. Harry just gazed at him for a long moment, unable to take his eyes from him. Then he smiled, and turned to clean Tom up.

When he looked up again, Tom's eyes were open. "It didn't go into orbit," Harry offered, putting the towel aside.

"No, but I did," Tom said, with a lazy, satisfied grin. "Come here, you." He pulled Harry carefully into his arms.

Harry sighed with contentment. Tom's mouth was warm and slow on his. His hands combed through Harry's hair, stroked down his back and shoulders, squeezed his ass. Harry moaned, and tried to roll on top of Tom.

"Whoa," Tom said. "None of that. Lie back, and I'll take care of you." He pushed Harry gently into a supine position, slipping a pillow under the injured leg. "Comfortable?"

"Fine." As comfortable as he could be, with an erection hard enough to bore through herculanium.

"Good," Tom said. He lifted the hem of Harry's hospital gown, pushing it up to armpit level. His eyes widened. "You're not wearing anything underneath."

"Hospital gowns don't generally come with underwear," Harry pointed out.

"I like it. When we get married, I'm going to program our replicator so that it won't make you any underwear."

Harry tried to object, but Tom prevented him from replying with a probing kiss. Soon, Harry forgot everything except Tom's mouth, hot and urgent on his, and Tom's hands, stroking and tickling and caressing all his most sensitive places.

Tom's mouth trailed down, until he was sucking and nibbling at the tender skin of Harry's neck. Harry gasped, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation, then gasped louder, as one of Tom's hands found his nipple, and softly rubbed it.

Tom's mouth soon followed his hand, his tongue licking neatly at the hardening bud, making Harry moan. He ran his hands through Tom's hair restlessly, arching his body up toward that talented mouth.

"Shhh, relax," Tom murmured. "Try to keep still." His mouth moved to the other nipple, and his hand drifted down to wrap around Harry's aching cock. Harry groaned and thrust up into the touch, unable to stop himself.

Tom pulled away, frowning slightly. "I think I better get on with things, before you hurt yourself thrashing around." He grinned. "Guess I'll have to save the part where I lick every square centimeter of your body until you're recovered." With that, he leaned down and engulfed Harry's cock.

Harry gave a startled cry. Oh, it felt good. Better than he remembered. Better than he could bear. He trembled with the power of his building orgasm. He drifted in a delirium of arousal, almost too excited to come.

He felt Tom's fingers stroking his balls, then gently squeezing them, with just the right pressure. It was heaven, pure heaven. His brain totally clouded in a haze of racing hormones, Harry was completely shocked when he felt Tom's finger slide inside him. It had been a long time, and he was unused to the sensation. He couldn't resist it, especially when Tom slid further in, finding a tender knot of intense pleasure, touching off a world-shattering explosion.

Gradually, he became aware of gentle hands stroking his hair. "Harry?" someone was saying. "Har, are you all right?"

He opened his eyes to see Tom beside him. "Geez, Tom, you shouldn't make me come so hard," he grumbled. "I'm not a well man, you know."

A self-satisfied smirk spread across Tom's face. "Good thing these rooms are sound-proofed," he said. "That was one hell of a scream."

Had he screamed? He couldn't remember, but he probably had. It was hard not to, during an orgasm like that.

"Guess you really liked it, huh?" Tom continued. "I'll have to remember that particular technique."

Harry smiled. He knew it wasn't the technique, terrific as that was. It was that he finally trusted Tom enough to let go. But Tom would figure that out on his own, soon enough. "I love you," he was all he said.

"Harry, you don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that," Tom said. He lay down beside Harry, pulling him close. "I love you, too." He paused, then announced, "There's one more decision we have to make."

"What?"

"Do we go to South Carolina first, to tell your mom, or to San Francisco, to tell mine?"

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