The BLTS Archive- Discoveries:
Discovery
by Julad (julad@bigfoot.com)

---

Disclaimer (well, sort of): Paramount owns Harry, but they don't 
deserve him. I'm sorry, I've only watched half of Voyager, but I can't
take it anymore. I like Harry and since Paramount is making him  do
and say those really lame, embarrassing things, I'm going to take
matters into my own hands. Be prepared: I intend to take Star Trek
canon  and twist it and smash it and stomp on it until Harry no longer
makes me  cringe. I'm leaving the rest of Paramount's property intact. 
Well, sort of. For now, anyway.

Warning (sort of): For 50K, this story is unfortunately fairly
smut-free. The R rating is for language, a few lusty m/m thoughts, and
characters talking about :gasp!: sex. But weep not, hot sticky messy
slashy fucking is coming soon. . .  well, eventually. . .  ok,
hopefully. . .  in a sequel near you.

Archiving: ASCEM, PKSP and the Star Trek Slash Archive. Nowhere else
without permission.

Feedback, oh god, yes, feedback, give it to me, oh, I want it now. . . 
I'll write back, I'll take criticism, I'll do anything, just give me
what I need!

And huge thanks to Chriss for all her help and encouragement. I know
I'm a hussy, but darling, even if you're not the only one for me,
you're the most important.

copyright julad January 1998.

---

It had been the most gruelling shift of his life, and Tom keyed the
code to his room and stepped inside with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
First the relentless attack by dozens of unknown shuttles, leading to
a battle with two larger starships that had stretched Tom's piloting
skill and nerve to the limit. And just as it was over, and the
exhausted crew prepared to change shift, there was a desperate chase
after a possible shortcut home. When the captain finally declared the
opportunity lost, nobody cared who the attackers had been, or whether
the moving anomaly had really been a wormhole. It was just the end of
another really long, weird day in the delta quadrant. All anyone
wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

Tom closed his eyes momentarily and swayed on his feet, trying to
decide between a shower and collapsing into sleep right here in the
doorway. Eventually he realised that he'd been awake so fucking long,
another ten minutes up was worth it for a better rest. It had taken a
supreme mental effort just to make that decision, so the process of
undressing was far too complicated for his exhausted mind. Tom
staggered into the bathroom, touched the control and stepped into the
steaming shower fully clothed.

The stinging water pounded into his aching neck and shoulders, washed
over his face and trickled through his hair and down his back. Tom
just stood there, trembling with fatigue, letting it wash away the
stickiness and the sweat, bringing welcome relief from the tension
which had tightened his body into a coil of screaming muscles. Finally
he peeled off the sodden uniform and sat for a long time on the floor
of the shower, the heat and steam working their magic until he was
clean, relaxed, and ready for a very long sleep.

He hadn't bothered drying off, just stepped straight into a pair of
drawstring pants, so he didn't notice Harry through the water dripping
in his eyes. Indeed, he was so tired that even the choking sound in
his otherwise silent quarters didn't really register. It was the
movement that finally caught his attention, Harry's shoulders shaking
with silent sobs as he rocked back and forth in the corner. Tom was
there in a second, sleep forgotten, arms around his friend, and
crooning mindless words of comfort. At the first touch, Harry howled
out loud and clutched Tom's shoulders, pressing his face to Tom's bare
chest. His tears were as hot against Tom's skin as the shower had
been.

Bewildered and concerned at this sudden, devastating outburst, Tom
gathered his friend up and carried him to the bed, holding his body as
close as he could, stroking his tangled hair and wiping the tears from
his distraught face. "Shh, Harry, I'm here. I'm here. It's alright,
tell me what's wrong, it's alright, I'm here."

After a while the weeping subsided into exhausted, breathless sobs,
and Tom gently turned Harry's head to look at him. "What's wrong,
buddy? What's the matter?"

Harry's eyes were swollen almost shut, the redness contrasting with
his cheeks, which were alarmingly pale. Tom realised that both of them
must be close to physical collapse by now. He looked at Harry
searchingly, but still barely heard the whispered reply.

"We're not getting home, are we Tom?"

Libby. Tom sighed and held Harry tightly. This had been a long time
coming, and if anything could have brought it on, it would have been a
shift like today's. "I don't know when we'll get back. Nobody knows.
But no, maybe we are not getting home." He hated  saying it to him,
even though it was true.

Harry choked back another sob. "We're dead, aren't we?  Back home. . . 
Nobody waits for us anymore."

"They hope, Harry. I know everyone who loves you prays you'll come
home. But it's been three years." Tom knew who his friend wept for,
and spoke very gently. "I can't tell you if she still waits. Maybe she
does, you know. But Harry, do you want to her to put her life on hold
that long?"

"No. . . " And with that hoarse whisper the tears started afresh. Tom
held him close and murmured words of comfort as Harry sobbed his heart
out for the love he was finally letting go.

It was a long time before Harry's grief subsided into silence and
then, exhausted from the gruelling shift and the painful outburst of
emotion, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Tom lay awake a few
minutes, still holding his friend, and then sleep claimed him also.

---

There was the fading remnant of a pleasant dream. There was the sound
of voices and footsteps in the corridor, coming closer and then fading
away  in the opposite direction. There was the hum of background noise
on the starship. There was a vaguely familiar scent. There was a warm
body next  to him. It was nice.

Tom opened his eyes.

Harry was still sleeping, one arm flung across Tom's chest and his
head on Tom's shoulder. He was still in his sweaty, crumpled uniform,
and Tom smiled indulgently, then sighed. Poor Harry. What must it be
like? I don't give a flying fuck if we never get home. But Harry had
clung to the dream of returning to the alpha quad and Libby, and now
he was giving up hope. It was sad, but since they had been stuck here
for years now, it probably had to happen. Tom stroked his face gently,
and drew him closer.

I forgot how nice it is, to just lie with another human by my side,
Tom mused idly. He was fully awake now, and refreshed, but he lay in
he bed enjoying the warmth of Harry a while longer. It occurred to him
that there could be gossip, if someone found them together like this,
but Tom didn't really care. He and Harry were such good friends,
nobody would seriously believe any rumours about them.

By now Tom was noticing strange feelings in his stomach, and as soon
as he recognised the hunger he could think of nothing but food. God,
he was famished! He hadn't been able to take a lunch break, and was
too tired after the shift for dinner. And unfortunately, he didn't
have enough rations to replicate half the meal he needed. Dammit. Was
it breakfast or lunch in the mess hall?

"Computer, what time is it?"

"2040 hours"

Shit! How long have I slept? Tom thought a minute then realised he'd
lost all track of time since the first alien shuttles had attacked. He
didn't know when he'd finished his shift, or how long he'd sat in the
shower, or how late he'd stayed up with Harry, and had absolutely no
idea what time he'd actually gone to sleep. It was a complete mystery.
He laughed as the urge took him to ask the computer what the date was.

A movement beside him told Tom that his laughter had woken Harry.
"What's funny?" his friend murmured in a drowsy voice.

Tom laughed again. "I can't figure out what day it is."

Harry stretched lazily. He looked much better. "I'm not surprised. I
feel like I've slept for a week, and I bet I could keep on sleeping."

"You okay, Harry?"

Harry grinned ruefully, remembering his outburst. "Yeah, I'm okay.
Thanks for. . .  you know."

Tom gathered him in a huge bear hug. "Yeah, I know. But I did nothing
you haven't done for me before. How do you feel now?"

"Kind of blank, actually. Empty." He sighed, and rested his head on
Tom's shoulder again. "God, I hope she's okay. Someone better be
taking good care of her."

"You'll see her again one day, I know it."

"I know it too. One day." Harry smiled sadly, and Tom held him a while
longer, trying to ignore the insistent demands of his empty stomach.
He only lasted a few minutes.

"Harry, I have some bad news, I'm afraid." Harry looked up, concerned,
and Tom grinned evilly. "I'm so hungry that I'm leaving you for
Neelix."

"Oh,  food!" Harry breathed the word like a revelation. "If you're
leaving me for Neelix, I'm coming too."

The thought of eating propelled Tom into action. He got up and dragged
Harry out behind him. "Go have a shower and change. I'll find out what
day it is and talk to the captain, then we'll go have breakfast. It's
about 2100 hours, by the way, so let's go to Sandrine's after."

Harry laughed at the incongruity of it, and stepped through the door.
"Okay. I won't be long."

Tom stood in the doorway and watched his friend walk along the
corridor towards his room. An Ensign from Engineering walked past,
noticed Harry's dishevelled uniform, and then stared at Tom watching
him. Tom went back inside, snorting at the suspicious disbelief he'd
seen on the man's face. As if!

Harry was the best friend he'd ever had, they trusted each other
completely. Gods, Harry had just spent hours crying in his arms, and
Tom had held him while they talked and slept. And in a few minutes
they would go to the mess hall together, completely relaxed in each
other's company, closer than ever. They had the perfect friendship,
Tom realised. Why would he want more than this?

--- [two weeks later. . . ] ---

The door swished open and Harry walked into his friend's quarters as
Tom stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping. Harry was immaculate
in uniform, but Tom only had boxers on.

"Shit, I knew I'd be running late," he muttered. "Where are my pants?"

Harry handed them to him. "Don't worry, you're not very late." He
grinned. "Not much more than usual. Although I  had wanted a minute to
talk before breakfast."

"Can't let a man get dressed in private, can you?" Tom looked around
the bombsite that passed for his quarters. "Umm, shirt. . .  shirt. .
. " Harry grabbed it off the back of a chair and held it out.

"Not if a man can't get dressed without help!" Harry teased, and Tom
had the decency to look bashful. He deserved that. He'd overslept
shamefully, and probably would be late without help.

"So what's on your mind, Har?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Tom wondered if he was upset about 
Libby again. After that first night of crying, Harry had been kind of 
withdrawn for a few days. But over the past week and a half, he'd
pretty much come back to normal. Better than normal, actually. He
finally seemed happy to be stuck on Voyager. Content, maybe. Sometimes
Tom would catch Harry smiling at something, or staring at someone, as
if seeing for the first time, and it made him smile too. Tom had put
the quick recovery down to the fact that Harry's lifestyle hadn't
changed, his life had continued exactly as it had for the past three
years. Now that Harry was here and wanted to talk, Tom felt like a
fool.

Only his hope changed, Tom cursed his own stupidity. Only his dreams
and his entire plan for the future collapsed into galactic fucking
dust. There was no way that a couple of weeks were long enough to
recover from that kind of change. So Tom replicated two coffees and
two croissants, and gestured Harry to the couch.

"Hell, I wasn't going to make it to the Mess Hall anyway!"

"It doesn't really matter," Harry shrugged. "I just wanted to ask you
something, that's all."

"I'll tell you anything if you tell me where my other boot is." Tom
followed Harry's finger to the offending boot, half covered by a soggy
towel. "Alright, ask away!"

"Errm, it was just that, um, you pay attention to gossip, right?"

"Do I pay attention? Do I pay attention? What a stupid question. I am
Voyager's official gossip co-ordinator, as well you know." Tom was
suddenly very curious; this didn't sound like it was about Libby.
"Why? Do you want to know something? Do you want everyone else not to
know something?"

"No, I was just thinking, well, I'm kind of single now, aren't I? So I
thought I should find out what I'm getting myself into. You know,
who's available and who I should watch out for and stuff. . . " Harry
trailed off at the look on Tom's face. The look that said he was
pretending not to be very, very pleased about something.

"Oh, right up my alley, babe. Anything in particular you wanted to
know about? Any one in particular perhaps?"

"No one, no, so don't get all excited. It's just. . .  Three years is
a long time I guess. I'm not really waiting for someone anymore, am
I?" Harry sighed, and stretched. "I've gotten a bit of a shock. Until
now, celibacy was easy."

"Easy? Celibacy!" Tom couldn't stop his horror showing. Did the man
have no hormones?

"Well, no," Harry corrected himself ruefully. "Celibacy was not easy,
but staying faithful to Libby was." He sipped his coffee, and then
shrugged. "To tell you the truth, celibacy was pretty fucking painful.
Some nights were agony. I needed to screw her so badly it hurt, but I
never wanted to be with anyone but her. No one else really turned me
on, so I never had cause to be unfaithful."

"Nobody turned you on?" Tom was again worried about  his young friend.
"B'Elanna, Kes, the Delaneys, Nicoletti. . .  none of them did it for
you? That can't be true!"

Harry flopped back on the couch and moaned. "Tom, you don't  know what
it was like. With me and Libby. The sex, I mean."

"What was it like then?" Tom asked, dubiously. He was  expecting some
lovely tale about being faithful and waiting forever. Harry's next
words were a bit of a shock to the system. . .

"It was incredible Tom, it was amazing what she could do to me. She
could take me from zero to orgasm in about two minutes. She could tie
me up and make me come just by talking. She could drag it out all damn
night until I didn't just think I was going to die, I thought I did
die and was burning in hell or floating in heaven or both." Tom had
choked on his coffee, but Harry didn't notice. "And I couldn't get
enough of her, ever. I could screw her all day and half the next
fucking week and still want more. So when I came aboard, there wasn't
room in my fantasies for another woman. I just wanted Libby. No one
even came close to turning me on like she did."

Tom had forgotten the coffee and was staring at his friend in utter
shock. "Shit! How come you never talked about that stuff? I was
starting to think you two never did it at all!"

"Oh, we did it, alright." Harry was smiling wickedly, and couldn't
resist teasing Tom while his guard was down. "I just didn't talk about
it because I wanted to keep my reputation intact. Otherwise, what
would the crew think? The two most insatiable sex fiends on board
spending all their spare time together?"

"Us.. What? But. . .  You're not like that!" Tom spluttered.

"Like what, exactly?" The warning in Harry's voice was offset by his
glittering eyes, and a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Uh
oh. That was a dangerous look. Forget embarrassing Harry, Tom didn't
speak for fear of making an idiot of himself.

Harry started laughing aloud now. "You think I'm not insatiable?
Wrong. That I don't fuck men? Wrong!" Tom's jaw was  making slow but
steady progress towards the floor, a rare sight for the  normally
cocky and unflappable pilot. That was so unusual that Harry just
couldn't help telling him more. He casually took a bite from his
croissant, continuing with his mouth full.

"Before meeting Libby, I used to. . .  well, experiment, with some of
my friends. Female and male. We were just like that, it was fun. You
know that picture I have, the eight of us from the academy? They were
great. Whenever someone felt like doing something, trying something,
we only had to ask. We were best of friends, best of lovers, never got
jealous, had fun all the time. Had absolutely fantastic sex, if we
were single and in the mood. Tried everything we could think of,
actually. It was a perfect arrangement. And when Libby and I got
serious, nobody was hurt that I didn't fool around with them anymore."
Harry sighed, lost in memories for a minute. "Gods, I haven't thought
about them in ages. I hope they're all okay."

It was probably nearly time to start shift, and Tom didn't seem like
he was going to speak anytime soon, so Harry explained his problem.
"Well, anyway, I might as well tell you, by the time we got stuck out
here, I'd been having sex pretty much whenever I wanted since I was
seventeen. Suddenly it's been three years, and I. . . . I guess I want
to know which crew members are like my academy friends. . .  Who like
to fool around but don't make a thing of it. I know I can't get
involved with someone yet, it's too soon."

Tom was wracking his brains, desperately trying to think of something
to say. Words repeatedly failed him. In the end he was saved by his
comm badge.

"Janeway to Paris."

Tom still couldn't get it together. What did he mean, 'tried
everything we could think of'? He'd thought Harry was so nice!

"Kim here. Go ahead." Harry responded for him.

The captain was furious. "We may be 70 light years away from Starfleet
regulations, Ensign, but I still expect my officers to answer their
own comm badges. I also expect bridge crew to arrive punctually at
staff meetings."

That broke through Tom's fugue, and he yelped in horror at forgetting
the time. "We're on our way, captain," Harry informed her, as Tom was
already out the door and sprinting towards the turbolift.

---

An hour later, Tom was grinning in surprise. Again. It seemed that
Harry was determined to keep turning his brains inside out until he
was a slobbering imbecile. Lieutenant Kim, he corrected himself
dazedly. At least this time Harry was as stunned as Tom.

For their five minutes tardiness, the captain's reaction had been
rather unsettling. Tom had apparently been taking her tolerance of his
laidback attitude for granted, because he hadn't expected the lengthy
reprimand they got. And in front of the entire senior staff, no less.
Tom had really started to worry when she focused on him, listing the
responsibilities of a lieutenant and the example that he should be
setting. He was getting seriously scared, but then she had turned to
Harry and handed him one of the small pips that meant so much to a
member of Starfleet.

"I hope that in the future, your behaviour will justify the decision
made by Chakotay and myself, Lieutenant Kim." As Harry stood
speechless, Janeway had dropped the furious expression and cordially
invited her officers to dinner in her quarters that night.

As they moved to their positions on the bridge, Tom turned to grin at
Harry some more, even though his cheeks already ached unbearably.
Harry was still blushing faintly, but looked very, very pleased.
Fortunately it was a fairly mundane shift, because Tom could barely
sit still for excitement. Not only was his best friend now happy to be
stuck on Voyager, they had more in common than Tom had previously
thought. . .  and he was a lieutenant! There were going to be some
massive celebrations tonight, Tom predicted, and fuck the synthahol,
he and Harry were going to get incredibly, seriously, properly drunk.
Suddenly, there was a lot he wanted to talk about.

---

Tom was almost writhing with anticipation by the time Harry came by
his quarters. At the end of alpha shift, Harry had had to speak with
the captain and Chakotay about his new rank. Unfortunately, that also
meant leaving Tom alone to think and, more importantly, to scheme. But
this time, Tom thought, Harry would go along with his plans willingly. 
Or else!

The door slid open and Harry entered, looking fairly dazed. Tom
grabbed him, yelling a hundred things at once, then ordered him repeat
every word of his meeting with Janeway and Chakotay.

"I'll tell you what she said about you, Tom," Harry offered.

"Me? Why would she talk about me?"

Harry managed to look humble. "She said now that I'm the same rank as
you, I don't have any excuse for being dragged into trouble with you.
She said from now on, I'm being held equally responsible for any and
every piece of mischief you get up to. Then Chakotay rolled his eyes
and told her to get on with it, and she said we both have tomorrow off
because she knows we're going to need it."

Tom was impressed. "Smart lady, she's right. Now, since you're equally
responsible, do you want to hear what we're going to get up to
tonight?"

"There's no time, Tom, we have to get ready for dinner."

"That's what the mischief is about, my friend. I've got you a
present." Tom couldn't quite keep the sly smile from his face.


Harry knew that smile too well. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"It's in the bathroom. Go open it. And shut the door behind you. And
Gods, don't look so worried! This is a great day, and it's only going
to get better! I've solved your celibacy problem!" Tom couldn't help
another hug, and then propelled Harry into the bathroom. He listened
to the rustle of wrapping paper, and Harry's low whistle. "Oh, wow,
Tom."

"That's what you're wearing to dinner and Sandrine's tonight," Tom
explained. "Put it on, I know it fits perfectly."

There was a few moment's silence, but soon Harry burst out laughing.
"Oh my God, are you serious?"

"Absolutely! Show me."


Harry stepped out of the bathroom. His wry smile said it all. "Holy
shit," Tom breathed. He had intended Harry to look good, that was the
idea. He hadn't expected his friend to look gorgeous. But the man
standing in the doorway resembled a glamourous holovid star more than
his unassuming friend. The clothes Tom had replicated were made of an
exquisitely soft, thick fabric he'd seen at a tailor's store on Deep
Space Nine. The pants were black, clinging to Harry's hips and
stretching across a flat stomach. Further down the fabric was a little
looser, gently molding to long muscled legs as Harry walked over to
the couch where Tom was seated open-mouthed. A cherry sheen
highlighted the silhouetted figure as the fabric caught light and
reflected it in a different colour.

The shirt was the reverse colouring of the pants, a deep dark red that
gleamed midnight black in the folds and shadows. It was a simple
T-shirt style, also closely fitting, but not everywhere at once. As
Harry shrugged, bemused, the fabric tightened across his chest and for
the briefest second, pecs were perfectly outlined. Tom watched in awe
as his friend turned, gently rippling shoulder muscles apparent, and
walked back to the bathroom. His eyes followed as the shirt clung to
the arms Tom already knew were well defined. It was fascinating to
watch. Even though Tom had seen his friend work out countless times
before, the way the fabric drew attention to first this curve, then
that shadow, was utterly mesmerising.

Harry's polite cough from the bathroom doorway drew Tom back to the
task at hand. "I take it you're pleased with your handiwork?"

"Oh, very," Tom grinned. "You look good enough to eat. If you don't
get a dozen propositions before the night is over, why, I'll screw you
myself!" Tom was a little surprised to realise he was only
half-joking.

Well why not, he defended himself. In my academy days I would have
thrown myself at something that good looking. . .

Thought was lost as he saw his friend lean over the bathroom sink. The
way Harry's pants fitted his ass left nothing to the imagination.
Well, it left a lot to the imagination, actually. Such as where to
touch, where to kiss, where to bite. . .  Tom rolled his eyes, but
couldn't repress a little shiver of desire. There was no doubt about
it, his friend was going to get a lot of attention when he walked into
Sandrine's tonight.

Harry turned around, hair now damp and slightly mussed. A few black
strands fell over his golden skin, highlighting cheekbones and drawing
attention into warm eyes. The half smile on voluptuous lips completed
the transformation from serious crewmember to an amused, relaxed and 
handsome man. "Well, I guess I'm as ready as I ever will be,  knowing
this crew," he joked sardonically, and all resemblence to  serious
young Ensign Kim vanished without a trace. "What are you  wearing
tonight?"

Tom hadn't even thought about it. "Something good, I think. Can't let
you get all the offers!"

"Then allow me," Harry said smugly, moving to the replicator. He
tossed Tom a blue T-shirt similar to his own. "Wear that with your
white jeans, and we'll see who is the most popular." Tom wriggled into
the shirt immediately and looked at himself in the mirror. Unlike
Harry's, this shirt revealed everything about Tom's torso at once. The
folds of the royal blue gave off a silvery sheen, making his eyes
glitter like sapphires in reflection.

"Yippee!" Tom cried, and disappeared into the bathroom. "Replicate our
first drinks for the night, Harry. It's time for some serious fun.
Where has this personality of yours been all my life?"

"Alpha quadrant?"

The sarcasm in that reply felt like cold water down Tom's back,
killing off his carefree mood instantly. More than anything, it
reminded him of what his friend had been through in the past three
years. Sure they'd had some bad times here, a lot of them in fact, but
that wasn't the point, Tom suddenly knew.

In the alpha quadrant, he thought to himself as he got ready, Harry 
had had everything a person his age could want. Family, fiancee, great 
friends and a very promising career. There, he would have been
promoted two years ago. Here he had friends, sure, but no career
prospects and no promise for the future. This talented man was
confined on the one starship with miserable supplies and no backup,
scrounging out survival in the delta quadrant, when he should be
soaring up the ranks of Starfleet and enjoying the lifestyle and the
resources of a successful officer. Tom suddenly realised what the
alpha quadrant meant to Harry, and why, until now, his friend had left
this side of himself there. For Tom, delta quadrant was a merciful
escape from his father, his prison sentence and his past. But for
Harry, it was the end of practically everything he'd looked forward to
in life.

It made Tom want to get home tomorrow, and damn his own problems 
there. But that wasn't going to happen. All he could do was make Harry
enjoy life on Voyager as much as possible. Starting tonight. This
wasn't going to be just a promotion celebration anymore. Tom decided
he would make it Harry's first real welcome to the delta quadrant. He
stepped out of the bathroom and took the proffered drink.

"A toast, my friend," Tom held his drink up, and looked straight at
Harry. "To you, and to your wonderful future, wherever it takes
place." Tom drank deeply, and after looking at him for a long minute,
so did Harry.

---

"Want 'nother drink yet?" Tom asked, trying unsuccessfully to sit up
in his chair. Apparently his tolerance for real alcohol had deserted
him since his Marseilles days, because each of his limbs suddenly had
a mind of its own, and they sure weren't listening to him anymore. Tom
reached for the bottle and missed. He made another grab, and missed
again. On the third attempt, he grasped the bottle neck and sighed
happily. God, he loved tequila. Harry's sides ached unbearably from
laughing, and he could only shake his head in answer and try to get
more air. It felt like he'd been laughing since. . .  since Henley had
passed them in the hall on the way to dinner.

Harry had had to admit that Tom looked carefree, sexy and gorgeous in
the blue shirt, and he knew Tom was very pleased with his handiwork on
him. Harry hadn't seen that person in the mirror for many years, and
could barely believe it was him wearing pants as tight as these. He
looked older, too, and his eyes held dark shadows of experience, scars
borne of life in the delta quadrant. The two men's appearance seemed
to shock everyone. Henley's expression as she looked Harry up and down
had slowly changed from disbelief into frank appreciation, causing Tom
to look incredibly smug.

"See you at Sandrine's tonight?" he'd asked with an  air of innocence
that fooled nobody.

Henley had given a cool "maybe" and strolled off, but Tom turned back
and caught her checking out Harry's butt. She was already in the
holodeck with three of her girlfriends when the two men had arrived.
The reactions of everyone at dinner had been a scream. B'Elanna had
licked her lips and growled, Chakotay averted his eyes, Janeway smiled
indulgently, and Tuvok's eyebrow had shot to his hairline. They'd had
a fantastic time throughout the meal, downing glass after glass of
wine and flirting outrageously with everyone at every opportunity.
When the party moved to an already packed Sandrine's, their high
spirits had been infectious.

Tom reigned over the celebrations from his usual position at the pool
table. He was teasing opponent after opponent mercilessly, until he
literally had an audience surrounding him, just listening to his
wisecracks and cheering on the players. Harry had spent the night
dancing, losing himself in the festive atmosphere, the holoprogram's
music, and the company of anyone who cared to join him. All of his
partners were full of congratulations and somewhat wide-eyed at
Harry's appearance, and the fact that he was giving Tom a run for his
money in the flirting department. His style was different though, more
calm and mysteriously seductive than Tom's cynically blatant and
self-assured invitations.

Tom was in fine form tonight, first regaling him with stories of old
mischief, then filling him in on every bit of salacious Voyager gossip
he'd picked up in three years. Somewhere along the line everyone else
had left, either for their shifts or for bed, and by the start of
gamma shift, they were the only two in the holographic bar. As drink
after beautiful drink had annihilated all sense of propriety, Tom had
begun making a score of gross, bizarre and indecent suggestions about
how, where, and with whom his friend should be exploring the options
of a single man on Voyager. At the most recent suggestion, involving
Neelix, the mess hall storage cupboards and that hideous apron, Harry
was helplessly convulsing with giggles.

"That's not going to be even remotely funny when we sit down to
breakfast tomorrow," he gasped.

Tom shrugged and rolled his eyes in drunken resignation. "As if we
could face a Neelix breakfast tomorrow anyway. It's bad enough when
we're not hungover. God, those pink blobs and stretchy brown sauce
would probably taste better on the way back up anyway. Give me greasy
bacon and eggs so I can puke like normal people, I say."

Harry's stomach lurched at the memory of today's pink and brown lunch.
"Now you have to pour me another drink," he muttered, "or I'll cry at
the thought of seventy years of that shit."

Tom really was doing his best to get the liquid in the glasses, but he
could barely hold the bottle straight. At this stage, Harry observed
wryly, that tequila is probably better off on the table than inside me
anyway. Of course, the sensible part of his brain had left in a huff
after the fourth shot had met the wine from dinner, so he downed the
tenth in a surreal imitation of his usual calm efficiency and asked
for another.

"Not yet," Tom waved a blurry finger at him. "You still haven't
decided whose invitation you¦re going to accept tonight. Six
offers to choose from! Can't go making a decision like that under the
influence, my boy."

Harry was barely able to see straight, but he had the strongest
feeling that he didn't want to talk about that. Why not, of course,
would have to remain a mystery until he was sober. Instead, he decided
to distract Tom with some grand gestures. He grabbed the bottle and
poured another two shots, handed one to Tom and stood up shakily.

"To the fucking delta quadrant!" he announced, and drained the glass.
Tom was finding pretty much everything to be hysterically funny by
now, and he choked on his own drink then literally fell out of the
chair laughing. Harry had just enough brain cells operating to be
vaguely concerned by that, and walked around the table to see if Tom
was all right. Walking was a bit complicated, as it turned out,
because his legs weren't moving quite as fast as his body was, and the
floor was suddenly approaching at warp speed. He didn't feel a thing
as it slammed into his shoulder, he was too busy wondering who had
rotated the ship's gravity.

His friend was now clutching his sides and shrieking in mirth. "You're
even drunker than me!" he howled in triumph.

"I'm three whole drinks more than you drunk," Harry said indignantly.
That's pretty drunk, he watched his friend dazedly, because Tom's
fucking wasted. He rolled onto his stomach, then looked down in
surprise. "Where did the floor come from?" he wondered aloud.

"You fell."

"Oh? Oh. Guess I better stay here then," Harry muttered resignedly.
"Too dangerous up there." They lay there a long time, occasionally
muttering words like "leola root" and seizing up laughing again, but
eventually settling into a companionable silence.

After a while Tom leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in his unfocused
eyes. "So, Harry, what else don't I know about you?"

Harry screwed up his face as he tried to understand Tom's question
through the blizzard of drunken thoughts in his head. That eleventh
tequila had done a lot of damage to his brain, apparently. He finally
settled on a confused "huh?"

"Harry, the whole Voyager thinks you some kind of puppy dog, all cute
and innocent and nice," Tom slurred. "I just found out the 'innocent'
bit is bullshit." Harry made a sexy face and growled, then fell about
laughing, but Tom stubbornly persisted. "So tell me what else there
is. . .  you know, that's wrong, what we think about you."

This time Harry understood, and sighed because he wanted to say
something and couldn't seem to get a sentence started in his head.
"Tom!" he wailed, a plea for help. Then he noticed  again how drunk he
was, and the giggles resurfaced. "Too drunk to talk." He grimaced and
then rolled about laughing until tears streamed from his eyes.

Tom was torn between his curiosity, and his own alcohol-fuelled
inclination to join Harry in mindless hysterics. He lolled about in
indecision for a while, giving in the occasional drunken snicker, and
finally pulled himself together (well, sort of) and staggered over to
the bar. "Sandrine, Sandrine, mon cherie, I need help." He stepped
back slightly at the quizzical look on his creation's face. The room
spun with that tiny step, and he gripped the bar for support.

"I need stuff, you know, sober stuff, medicine, you know, that stuff.
. .  Harry too drunk, can't talk. . . " The inclination to giggle
finally won over. "Like me!"

He beamed as Sandrine wordlessly held up a bottles of pills. "Knew you
had it! Umm. . .  how many? Don't want sober, just want to talk," he
added sternly as the bartender opened the bottle. She handed him two
pills and two glasses of water, patted his hand with a knowing smile
and returned to her tidying.

Tom stood there for a long time, trying hazily to remember if he had
programmed her to be silent and enigmatic. Then he remembered that he
couldn't remember anything because of all that tequila, and finally he
remembered the pills in his hand. He swallowed one, and as his vision
cleared (well, sort of), he made his way to where Harry was still
lying on the floor.

At least he's stopped laughing, Tom smiled indulgently as he rounded
the table, then stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on Harry. He
was stretched out on his back, eyes half closed, silky black hair
falling everywhere over golden skin, and luscious lips curved
ever-so-slightly upwards. One arm was thrown behind his head, and even
the way his fingers curled was gorgeous.

The picture of sensual abandon Tom thought, and then started at the
direction his own thoughts had taken. Sensual my ass, he's the picture
of drunken stupor, he corrected firmly, but the memory of Harry's body
in his arms, shaking with sobs, drifted through Tom's mind as he knelt
down.

"Harry," he shook him gently, and then grasped his shoulder to help
him sit up. "Here, swallow this."  And don't think about shoulder
muscles moving under my hand just then, and don't even begin to think
whatever it is you want to think about Harry swaying slightly and his
face turned up and his neck exposed. . .  Fucking what?!?

Tom suddenly felt like slapping himself in the face, beating his head
on the floor, anything to stop the crazy thoughts that had started
appearing in his own head. What the hell was going on? Harry was his 
best friend, for chrissakes!

"Hey, what's wrong?" Harry asked, suddenly aware of the pained look on
Tom's face.

"Just considering the relative benefits of staying here on a hard
floor, as opposed to dragging my carcass into a chair," Tom lied
easily, then lay back beside Harry. "Nope, the chair is definitely too
high to reach at this stage."

"I must say that table seems a long way away," Harry admitted,
stretching out beside him. "So I guess you didn't sober me up
completely."

"No, sorry Harry, I'm aiming for the perfect balance - drunk enough
that you want to spill your secrets, but  not so drunk that you can't
get the words out." Tom turned to look at his friend. "So you did want
to talk about something? Do you remember what you were trying to say?"

Harry was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Tom could see
his chest rise and then fall as he exhaled deeply. "Yeah. . .  I did
want to talk about something. Two things, actually. The first is not,
you know, some amazing secret, but something that people didn't 
understand about me, something I wish they knew."

Tom stared at Harry's profile only inches away, wondering whether to
prompt him as he lapsed into silence. Finally Harry turned his head
and looked into his eyes, and Tom felt like a white-hot bolt of
lightning had shot down through his eyes and along his spine, right to
his feet. Harry was beautiful, Tom was drowning in his dark eyes and
his toes were tingling unbearably from the shock he'd had.

Am I still drunk? Tom wondered, his mind spinning through the stars.
Am I out of my fucking mind? Does it matter that I'm crazy if I just
fell in love with my best friend?

Harry grinned ruefully, and Tom suddenly remembered where he was and 
the conversation he was having. Remembered he had to breathe.  "You're
going to hate it," Harry confessed. "It's about me and Libby. Again."

Tom sat up, reminding himself that Harry was his friend and wanted to
talk, and gladly pushed his own rather sudden discovery out of his
mind. "Don't be so sure Harry," he joked. "I rather liked the last
confession about you and Libby."

Faint colour stained Harry's cheeks but he continued. "Okay, umm, it's
just that it always bugged me, the image everyone had of me and Libby.
Of us being engaged. Like I'd met a nice girl who liked me, so  of
course I proposed. Like we were two cute kids staring at each other
shyly, and blushing when we held hands, and giggling nervously at the
idea of getting married and doing that."

Tom snorted at the idea, and Harry surprised him, stopped his heart
actually, by breaking into a wicked and very unashamed grin. "OK, so
you know that isn't true, but it was the other stuff that got to me.
People seem to think that we got engaged because we were nice kids and
that's what nice kids do. Like we didn't know what it meant; like we
didn't know what we were doing. But it's not true, we did know, we
chose a future together. We had both been in and out of relationships
for years, so we knew love when we found it. What we had wasn't cute,
Tom, it wasn't sweet," he said the word like it poisoned him, "it was
strong and it was real and it took my breath away, how much I wanted
this woman at my side forever."

Tom nodded, starting to truly understand why his friend had only
recently given up hope of returning, and Harry continued. "She knew me
better than anyone. She knew my blackest moods and my deepest fears
and still loved me. We did that cute stuff, holding hands and kissing,
and it was nice. We did the sex stuff, and that was fantastic Tom, it
was mind-blowing and it was relentless, but the thing people don't
know is that she was my closest friend, my lifelong companion, my
other self. We laughed together all the time, and talked about
everything, everything!"

Harry's looked up at Tom, trying to make him realise what Libby had
meant to him. "I would have died for her, to save her life. But not
the way a man dies for a girlfriend or crewman or a cause, not nobly
or gallantly, or bravely. I would have died for her passionately.
Without even thinking. Like I'd die to save you. That's what  people
don't know. I would die for Libby the way I would die for my  truest
friend."

"You would really die for me?" Tom whispered, disbelieving.

Something in Tom's face made Harry bite back a flippant reply. He
answered with the truth. "Without reservation, Tom."

"Why?" Tom didn't know why this was affecting him so deeply. Yes I do,
he corrected himself wryly.

Harry smiled up at Tom, wondering how he didn't know. "There are other
people I would die for, of course. B'Elanna, the Captain, my family. .
.  but you're the only one who means as much to me as Libby did. You.
. . " Harry trailed off, suddenly wondering exactly why Tom was so
important to him. "I need you. I started needing you when I found
myself lightyears from Libby. I needed a friend so badly, and you were
there for me. But before that, in the beginning, I needed to help you.
You were utterly alone, I saw that. Back then, all I knew was that you
were in a lot of trouble, and that when I was a complete stranger and
you thought I needed help, you gave it. So I helped you, and I'm so
glad I did, Tom. I couldn't ask for a truer friend."

Harry would kill me for thinking this, Tom thought fondly,  but that
is the sweetest smile anyone has ever given me! Then something
occurred to him.

"Hang on a minute, Harry. Did you just say I thought you needed help
on DS9? Are you implying I was  mistaken in thinking you were totally
out of your depth?"

Harry laughed, somewhat mischievously. "Ermm, well. . .  yes, you
were." Tom opened his mouth indignantly, but no sound came out.  Harry
continued. "Well, you never told me off or teased me or anything,  so
I had no reason to tell you this, but yes, I knew exactly what I was
doing when I was talking to that Ferengi."

"Bullshit," Tom spluttered in disbelief, and then stopped. That wicked
look in Harry's eyes, the one he had seen so much of recently,
reminded him of every time he had been outwitted by his young friend.
Tom realized he could only roll his eyes and listen to the next
amazing Harry revelation.

Seeing Tom's resigned expression, Harry couldn't repress a giggle.
This was so fun, he should have opened up to Tom long ago! "You
interrupted me before I got to the punchline, I'm afraid. I was going
to get haggled up to a ridiculous price for those silly crystals, then
change my mind and tell him he would be better off making his
complaint so that in the future, he wouldn't be insulted by foolish
cadets who had been given misleading and slanderous information about
his people. I like to think his reaction would have been amusing."

Tom smiled wryly at the thought of the Ferengi trying to bargain his
way out of that situation.

"Anyway, I guess that's part of the second thing people don't realise
about me, but I want you to know now." Harry looked at him fondly,
tolerantly. "I am really not as green as everyone thinks, you know. Or
as sweet, innocent, and naive." Tom stopped looking wary and started
looking extremely suspicious. His friend gave him a knowing look.
"You've seen my academic record. One is not  made chief operations
officer on their first mission for being stupid, my friend. Really, it
sometimes disappointed me that you never figured me out. But I didn't
expect you to. It is amazing how easily people let their guard down
when they think they are dealing with an incredibly naive rookie. Most
of the time they don't even know they've done it."

He was apparently doing a bad job of explaining this, because Tom was
looking at him like he'd suddenly started speaking in Klingon. "That's
what the innocent act is for, you know. Getting past the barriers
people build around themselves. Sometimes, like with the Ferengi, I
want that guard down for my own preservation, or to see what people
say when they think I won't understand. Stuck in a weird place like
the delta quadrant, it's actually turned out to be a useful cover for
when I really am naive and ignorant. Mostly I do it because it's
easier to make friends, and help people get along better. But
sometimes," Harry put his hand on Tom's knee, "I want someone to let
me help them."

Tom put his hands on his face and groaned as the truth of it landed on
him like a ton of bricks. Oh fuck. It was true, he could see right
away. He knew Harry was always perfectly capable on duty, and utterly
dependable in any crisis. That was the reason for his promotion. Tom
had just never noticed that the naivete was only apparent when the
shift was quiet, or Harry was off-duty.

Tom needed another drink. This was too much for him. Meet the new
Harry, he told himself. Confident, relaxed Lieutenant, recently
single. Devastatingly sexy with incredible depth of character and
emotion. Intelligent. Courageous. Generous. And, it seemed, a streak
of wickedness and a cunning personality that even Thomas Eugene Paris
admired. God, he'd fallen for it himself.

Tom remembered how he had felt during those first weeks on Voyager,
completely isolated in a hostile environment, too terrified of his own
fragile life to even breathe. Suddenly the memories of the years
before Voyager gripped him. Haunted by the ghosts of three people
killed by his one mistake, cast from the only life he'd ever known or
expected, torn from the sky. Finding himself utterly alone, disowned
by family, friends, fiancee. The deliberate downward spiral through
the bars of Marseilles, and the ridicule and contempt of the Maquis
when, in a last desperate grasp at flight and freedom, he'd joined
their cause. Getting caught on his first mission was a blow delivered
by the most malign and all-knowing God imaginable. Nothing could have
shamed him more. And in prison, he finally hit rock bottom, an outcast
among outcasts, despised by every despicable criminal for every moment
of his life there. The son of an admiral, the image of his beautiful
mother, a killer, a liar, a Starfleet traitor, a Maquis traitor, and a
failure. Every single inmate had a reason to hate him, to taunt him,
to mock and crush and teach him that he was worse than nothing, he was
the most reviled man ever born.

Then he had been offered a brief journey back into his beautiful stars 
in return for another betrayal and one more abandonment to add to all
the others. What the hell, he'd thought, nothing could hurt more than
it already did. Tom had come onto Voyager the most hollow, vacant,
alone person in the world. The facade of a human surrounding an
emptiness that stretched farther than the most desolate expanse of
space. He would never, ever have willingly trusted anyone, never
knowingly let anyone near, but that totally innocent, charming,
friendly ensign won him over within days.

A man who'd known exactly what he was doing at the time.  Tom started
trembling at the thought. Harry had found the person inside him and
brought it back, made it think and feel and laugh again. Given him
hope, when hard years had taught him that hopes only got torn to
shreds by his own stupidity. That, that resurrection of his own soul,
had been deliberate.

Well, how's that for a surprise, Thomas Eugene Paris? Tom laughed
weakly, not knowing what, if anything, was funny.

"Hey," the hand on his knee moved down and tugged gently  at his
ankle. "You okay?"

Tom shuddered. "I had no idea, until just now, how much I let myself
trust you. Shit, if you hadn't done it as my friend. . . "

"You know you can trust me, Tom. I only ever do it as a friend, okay?
That or in self protection against scavenging Ferengi or ravenous
Delaney sisters." He grinned, showing beautiful white teeth, then
stood up and stretched. "Had enough revelations for the night? You
want another drink?"

Tom stared up at his friend, feeling his mind mercifully retreating
from the discoveries of the day. He was transfixed by every detail of
Harry's sensual movement. It was like golden light was pouring off the
statue of a god. It was like golden warmth was pouring inside Tom as
he realised how much he loved his marvellous friend.

"That's okay. My head is already spinning too fast, thanks to you."
Tom murmured, smiling coyly up at Harry, realising his comment could
be taken two ways, and that he meant both of them.

Harry held out his hand and hauled Tom onto his feet. "Maybe we should
get some sleep. Day off tomorrow, we can talk, okay?"

Tom looked down to where his hand still rested in Harry's. The brown
fingers were so warm, so reassuring against his own pale ones. It felt
like they had always been there, holding him all along, like a
lifeline to salvation.

My life must have been upside down before, and now it's the right way
up, he thought dizzily. That's why all this strange weird crazy stuff
feels so normal. . .

Harry tugged at Tom's hand, leading him towards the exit, but Tom let
go and stood still and stared at Harry as if for the first time.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

It seemed like a very, very long time since he'd stepped out of the
shower this morning. Tom returned to his quarters in silence, and was
grateful when sleep finally put an end to impossible thinking.

---

The End