The BLTS Archive - Unforgettable
sixth in the Tom, Dick and Harry series
by Emma Woodhouse

---

Everyone belongs to Paramount. No infringement intended. No money
being made.

Copyright 1996, by "Emma Woodhouse" (unless Paramount  wants to film
this, in which case, hey, go ahead!)

Warning: NC-17 - for sex, m/m, m/f, more m/m, some non-con, lotsa
trauma and heartbreak. You have been warned. . .

Introduction: This is the third in the Tom 'n Harry saga, and the
events herein occur after 'Tom, Dick, and Harry' and 'Lifewish';. And
now, a Word from Our Poet:

---
"I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees. All
times have I enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone;" -

Alfred, Lord Tennyson "Ulysses"
---

Ensign Harry Kim woke up in the middle of the night sweating and
shivering at the same time. But he wasn't worried; in fact he
chuckled. Because these symptoms weren't the result of a flu or an
alien virus, but could be directly attributed to the talented tongue
that was currently licking his penis.

Harry stroked the dark golden hair between his thighs, and said,
"Insatiable!"

Tom Paris raised his head and grinned at his friend. "Hey, we were too
wiped out earlier, went right to sleep. I missed my minimum daily
adult requirement of Harry."

Tom moved up Harry's body and lay on top of him. "So, now that you're
awake, wanna fool around?"

"Sure." Harry pulled Tom's head to him and kissed him. "What's the
agenda?"

"Oh, I don't know. Let me think about it."

They kissed again, and Harry stroked Tom's back, thinking how much he
loved this, lying under Tom, being loved so completely. He moved his
hand to the back of Tom's neck, running his fingers into Tom's hair,
while their lips continued to meet, and their tongues caressed one
another.

Tom raised his head. "Hey, I've got an idea."

"What is it?"

"Hard to explain," Tom said, "and I'm not sure it will work. Sit up."

He rolled off Harry, and Harry sat up.

"Spread your legs," Tom instructed, and Harry did. He was smiling
slightly, wondering what Tom's idea was. He suspected he was going to
like it; Tom was the most happily sensual person Harry had ever met.
Being his lover was a constant adventure.

Tom looked thoughtful. Then he sat down facing Harry, and spread his
own legs, scooting forward and wrapping his legs around Harry. Harry
gasped as their scrotums slapped together. "Hey, I like it so far," he
managed to say.

Both men had powerful erections, which had been brought together by
Tom's positioning, and Tom reached between them, and gathered their
penises together in both hands. Harry groaned. "Oh, that's good!"

Tom was breathing heavily himself, and said, "Hang on to me, Harry,
because I'm feeling kind of out of control."

Harry put his arms around Tom, and tucked his face into Tom's
shoulder, marvelling at how good this felt; he felt a faint beat
through his shaft, and knew he was feeling Tom's pulse.

And then Tom's hands started moving, sliding up and down, masturbating
them both at once, and he was kissing and chewing on Harry's neck,
while Harry gasped, "Oh god, Tom, that's good, that's wond- OH!"

Tom was as excited as Harry was, and his hands were moving faster,
harder, and he moaned, "Kiss me, Harry!" And they savaged one
another's lips, groaning in unison, moving frantically against one
another. They were beyond words now, lost in the rhythm, pressed close
together and feeling each other's sweat and excitement and pure
intolerable pleasure.

And then orgasm overcame them simultaneously, and they were shouting
incoherently, convulsing uncontrollably, locked together.

They rested together, panting, and Tom's slippery hands went around
Harry's shoulders, and Harry chuckled, "What a mess."

Tom stuck his tongue in Harry's ear, and then asked, "What do you
want? A tidy orgasm?"

---

Tom woke up the next morning wrapped up in Harry. The two men lay on
their sides, arms around each other, legs entwined. Tom felt Harry's
breath soft on his cheek, and remembered the fun they had last night.

He'd pretended to be offended at Harry's comment about the mess, but
that was just an excuse to wrestle Harry into the shower. And wasn't
it funny that the shower stall that he'd always thought was too small
for one person turns out to be just the right size for two?

They had fun cleaning one another and then drying one another, and
then went back to bed, and just held one another, kissing softly. Tom
had fallen asleep with his lips moving gently against Harry's.

Now he began to kiss Harry again. God, he loved this. Sometimes he
couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that everything had turned out
so well, that he could be so happy, when once he'd thought his life to
be, in the old Fleet phrase, "fucked up beyond all repair."

And most incredible, that Harry loved him.

---

Harry woke up kissing Tom. He'd gone to sleep kissing Tom. Maybe
they'd just kissed all night.

"Morning," he mumbled.

Tom kissed him harder. "Oh, good, you're awake."

"Mm-Hmm."

"And we don't have to be anywhere for over an hour."

"Mmm!"

Tom nudged Harry. "Come on, buddy, hands and knees. I'm ready for a
little action."

Harry chuckled, and reluctantly detached himself from Tom, rolling
over and getting onto his hands and knees. He felt a slick finger
slide into his anus, and moaned happily. Oh, god, he loved this. Tom
was kissing his back, and Harry felt an erect penis sliding between
his cheeks. "Oh, inside me!"

Tom was breathing heavily, kissing and stroking his Harry, and then he
began to push into his lover, slowly. Harry was wide awake now,
starting to become aroused, and Tom was thrusting into him. Now he was
moving faster, the friction building, and Tom was panting and
clutching Harry's hips, pushing deeper and deeper into his friend.

Harry was panting now too, oh, this turned him on so much - he started
to reach for his erection but Tom said, "Don't!" He leaned over and
kissed Harry's shoulder, gasping, "You're going to do  me next,
Harry," and Harry shivered all over.

And then Tom was coming, hanging on to Harry and pistoning his hips
into Harry's ass, crying out, "Oh, Harry! Love!" Tom collapsed on
Harry and wrapped his arms around him, kissing and biting his friend's
smooth shoulders.

After panting for a moment, Tom sat up and turned Harry over, smiling
at him and kissing his lips. He'd kissed a lot of women in his day,
but none of them had lips as kissable as Harry's. None of them had one
of these beautiful things, either, he thought, lovingly stroking
Harry's erection.

Harry was smiling at him, his eyes dark with lust, and Tom reached for
the jar of lubricant, and lubricated Harry's penis. He did it slowly,
with long teasing strokes, until Harry was writhing, and gasped,
"Tom!"

Tom grinned at him. "Okay, think you're ready?"

"Oh, boy, AM I!"

Tom lay down on the bed, on his back, and pulled his knees up toward
his shoulders, spreading his legs, offering his tight opening to his
lover. "Let's do it this way," he said. "I want to watch you come."

"Oh god, TOM!" Harry lunged at him, kissing his lips, sucking his
tongue. Then he sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. He
placed Tom's legs over his shoulders, lifted his hips, and began to
push into his lover. Tom was smiling faintly, proudly, watching Harry
enter him, loving him.

Harry slid slowly into Tom's tight channel, his eyes never leaving
Tom's. How he loved this man! Oh, how good he felt! He was thrusting
now, and Tom was riding easily with him, his eyes half-closed, feeling
their connection. Harry turned his head to kiss Tom's leg, and Tom
moaned softly.

Harry was moving rapidly now, sliding slickly in and out of his
beautiful lover, and Tom watched intently, watching the tension on
Harry's face. Oh, he was so close, he was gasping, and then Tom felt
the sudden rush of warm fluid, filling him, and Harry's head was
thrown back, eyes closed, and Harry was calling out his name, HIS
name, and Tom bit his lip, so full of love he could hardly bear it.

And then Harry collapsed, pulling Tom into his arms, and the two men
lay together, enjoying the warmth. They were both liberally smeared
with semen and lubricant, and they slid against one another, and Harry
laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, this is just so much fun, Tom!"

"Isn't it, though? Want to call in sick?"

Harry snorted. "Right. With what?"

"A rare form of kissing disease. We just can't seem to stop kissing."
Tom began to exhibit the symptoms immediately.

"Umm!" After a few minutes, Harry managed to tear his lips from Tom,
and said, "Not only wouldn't the Doctor buy it, but we'd have to hear
in great detail just why he won't buy it. Do you really want to have
to listen again to how many giga-quads of data his program has, and
how many doctors' experiences went into programming him?"

Tom groaned. "I guess not. I suppose we'd better go to work."

Finally showered and dressed, Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim were
ready to face their day. "What'll you be doing today?" Harry asked.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Still another day of swarming over that wreck,
looking for something salvageable. I don't know why the Captain and
B'Elanna think a pilot can help them over there. I didn't even
recognize the conning station until B'Elanna told me that's what it
was. I think those aliens must have had tentacles or something."

"Want to trade places?" Harry asked.

"Why?" Tom asked suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Realigning sensors. I don't think Tuvok will be satisfied until I've
crawled through every Jefferies tube on this ship."

"Forget it, Harry. I've seen enough Jefferies tubes, thank you very
much."

"Well then, get over to your alien wreck and stop whining!" As they
left Tom's quarters, Harry swatted Tom on the ass.

---

Tom had his tricorder operating as he entered the huge echoing
compartment that B'Elanna swore was main engineering. He didn't see
how she could tell that; most of this technology was so different from
their own it was virtually unintelligible. It was certainly
incompatible with theirs, so why anyone thought there would be
anything useful was beyond him. Overdosing on optimism, that's what
he'd tell them if they asked him.

Plus they had to work in these damn environmental suits. Tom hated
enviro suits. He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever worn one of
these things without getting an itch somewhere he couldn't reach.
B'Elanna was circling toward him, and he decided to practice telepathy
on her, silently urging her to give up and call it a day.

"No power signatures," B'Elanna said.

"There haven't been any power signatures for the past two days," Tom
said impatiently. "Why would today be any different?"

She sighed. "I suppose you're right." She began to close her
tricorder, but suddenly peered at it closely. "Wait a minute! That
wasn't there a minute ago!"

"What wasn't?" Tom looked at his own tricorder, and saw it too.
Something in here had just powered up. B'Elanna was turning around in
a circle, watching her tricorder readouts, but Tom was scanning the
room visually, so he saw it first.

It was a piece of equipment connected to the upper wall, with a sort
of tube attachment, and it was moving now, pointing down, seeming to
be tracking -

Tom shouted, "Hey!" and grabbed B'Elanna around the waist, pitching
her out of the room and diving after her.

He just had time to think - if that turns out not to be a weapon,
B'Elanna's going to rip my lungs out for manhandling her like that -
when he was shot in the back.

B'Elanna lay on the floor of the alien vessel, stunned for a moment.
Then she sat up, and pushed Tom off her legs. He was unconscious.
B'Elanna looked close. Still breathing. And his enviro suit was
undamaged; what was that thing that hit him?

She keyed her communicator. "Torres to Voyager. Medical emergency.
Beam me and Lieutenant Paris directly to Sickbay." And she heard the
whine and saw the golden flecks, and then they were back on the ship.

Kes was hurrying toward them, calling, "Activate Emergency Medical
Holographic Program."

Now the Doctor joined them, as B'Elanna struggled to her feet, and Kes
and the Doctor were moving Tom to a biobed.

"What was it?" the Doctor asked.

"Some kind of stun weapon, I think," B'Elanna answered. "You can see
it didn't damage the suit."

"Yes, I can see that. Help me with this, Kes." And Kes and the Doctor
went to work.

After putting up with B'Elanna's hovering for a few minutes, the
Doctor testily suggested that she report to the Captain. B'Elanna
left, looking back over her shoulder worriedly.

That gave the medical team a brief reprieve, but B'Elanna was soon
back, with reinforcements. This time, Captain Janeway was with her.


"What can you tell us, Doctor?" the Captain asked.

"Well, since I was allowed to work in peace for at least a few
minutes, now I have some answers for you," the Doctor replied with his
usual lack of tact. "As Lieutenant Torres suspected, it was some sort
of stun weapon. More powerful than a phaser set on stun; I assume the
aliens who invented it were larger and stronger than humans. Still
nothing serious, just - "

The door opened and Ensign Kim barreled into the room. "I just heard -
how's Tom?"

The Doctor sighed. "As I was telling the Captain and Lieutenant,
Mister Paris was stunned by an alien weapon, and is currently in a
light coma - "

"A coma!" Harry exclaimed.

"A LIGHT coma," the Doctor repeated. "Except for some very minor
fluctuations in his brain patterns, the lieutenant seems uninjured. I
predict that he will awaken naturally, tomorrow, perhaps the next day,
maybe even late this evening. There is really no need to panic."

"Can't you wake him?" the Captain asked.

"I could," the Doctor said, and turned away as if the conversation
were over. Realizing that she was still waiting, he turned back. "I
could," he amplified, "if there were a reason. There is no reason to
wake the lieutenant. Allow him to heal naturally, his body needs the
rest."

The Captain nodded. "Very well. And you're sure there's no problem?"

"No, I am not sure, Captain. Doctors never are. There seem to be no
problems at this time. Now, if you'll excuse me - "

Harry stepped forward urgently. "Can I see him? Just for a minute?"

The Doctor smiled slightly. "Of course, Ensign. Just for a minute."

Harry approached the biobed, frightened, but Tom did seem to be
sleeping peacefully. Tom had told him, several months ago, about an
alternate reality that Tom had lived through, a reality in which Harry
had died, leaving Tom alone. He hadn't wanted to tell Harry the story,
but Harry had insisted - when a Q suddenly appears in your bed, a guy
has a right to know what it's all about. At the time, Harry tried to
imagine what it would be like to live without Tom, but the thought had
been too awful, and he pushed it away.

But now, thank Tom's overworked guardian angel, things seemed to be
all right. Tom was merely, well, call it asleep. A Light Coma, the
Doctor said, that didn't sound bad.

Tom looked younger, he always did when he was asleep. So sweet and
innocent, so beautiful. The dark gold hair was tousled, the blue eyes
veiled. Harry leaned down and kissed Tom gently on the lips. He half
expected Tom to waken at his kiss, since Tom's love for him always had
a fairy tale element for Harry. Too good to be true, and he wanted it
to be true, he wanted to live happily ever after with Tom, on Voyager
or on earth, wherever they wound up.

Harry gently stroked Tom's cheek. Looking at him, it was hard to
believe all the man had been through, Star Fleet officer, Maquis
rebel, Federation prisoner, and now full circle to the fleet that had
abandoned him as thoroughly as he abandoned it. And part of a Star
Fleet family. If they ever did make it back to Federation space, if
Tom's Star Fleet commission was reactivated, Tom and Harry had every
intention of asking for spousal collocation, even if that caused old
Admiral Paris to be carried off in an apoplectic fit. Harry wasn't
going to let Tom get away, ever again.

Behind him, the Doctor cleared his throat. As if the Emergency Medical
Holographic Program even had a throat to clear. The Doctor's
programming was replete with such instants of non- verbal
communication, and if he came across as somewhat irascible, well,
perhaps the programmers were smart; nobody tried to pull a fast one on
the Doctor, not more than once.

Harry said, "Just a minute, Doc," and kissed his lover once again.
Then he turned and tried to smile. "Can I stay here until he wakes
up?"

The Doctor frowned. "You'd be wearing yourself out to no purpose. Get
some sleep, Ensign. Doctor's orders."

So Harry left.

---

Harry ate a quiet dinner with B'Elanna, and B'Elanna was kicking
herself for not seeing that weapon on the wall, or not recognizing
what it was. He tried several times to get her to stop blaming
herself, but finally let her talk herself out.

After dinner, he puttered around his quarters for a while, and then,
by force of habit, went down to Tom's quarters and went to bed. Harry
lay in the bed alone, feeling very lonely. He'd been sleeping here for
months now, but not alone. Oh, sometimes they'd been working different
shifts, and he'd go to bed alone, but then he'd wake up in the middle
of the night and there Tom would be, so nice and warm.

Harry sighed. Just a day or two, the Doctor said, and then everything
would be all right. Tom had lived without him for ten months in that
other reality, how had he stood it?

Harry grabbed Tom's pillow and hugged it tight; it smelled vaguely
like his lover, and that was comforting. Funny to think how much he'd
changed since reporting aboard Voyager. He used to be a real flannel-
pajamas kind of guy, and here he was naked in another officer's bed,
missing him.

And the fortune teller was right, Harry realized suddenly. He hadn't
thought about her for months. It had been right before graduation, and
a bunch of cadets were out on the town, on a pre-commissioning bash.
They'd danced and had dinner, way too expensive, and in some dark
little joint where one of the guys promised great drinks there was a
fortune teller.

Of course, all the soon-to-be officers wanted their fortunes told, not
that any of them really believed that stuff, of course not. It was
just a lark. Senior Cadet Sophie Winthrop in particular wanted her
fortune told; she'd just broken up with her fiance, and when the
fortune teller promised her four husbands and one child, she beamed
with satisfaction.

Harry's fortune was told last, and the old woman seemed to be
impressed by what she claimed to see in his palm. "Oh, this one will
go the farthest and climb the highest," she exclaimed. The other
cadets were amused by the prediction; with their minds firmly set on
their careers, they assumed that she meant Harry would go the farthest
in Star Fleet. They had called him Admiral Kim for the rest of the
night.

The old woman wasn't through, though. She peered closely into Harry's
palm, and said, "What a beautiful lover, and how much you are loved! I
envy you, young man." And of course, Harry had been teased
unmercifully about that, too. But when Libby came up and took his arm,
saying, "Come on, Harry, the party's moving," the old woman had looked
at Libby with a puzzled frown.

Well, now that made sense, too. Wrong lover, Harry thought. What a
beautiful lover, and how much you are loved. . . And that turned out
to be true, as well. He wished the old woman had warned him to be on
the lookout for a male ex- convict, though. Then it might not have
been such a surprise.

---

Late the next day, Commander Chakotay stopped by Sickbay. People had
been stopping in all day, asking about Lieutenant Paris, so the Doctor
immediately said, "No, Commander, he has not woken up yet."

Chakotay said mildly, "Just stopping to check. The Captain's starting
to worry."

"Really, Commander," the Doctor said testily, "the Captain knows it's
much too soon to start worrying."

---

He was awake. Didn't want to be, so he wasn't going to open his eyes.
Shit, what a headache! Ooh, Tommy, that stuff ain't synthehol!

He must have had a real snootful, because he didn't even remember
getting into the hooch. But what else could it be? Hope he didn't have
way more than his share, or Joe-Bob and Pedro would be really mad at
him. It was their still, after all, lovingly tended in the woods out
back of the honor farm. Well, J-B was a reasonable guy, when Pedro was
around to keep his temper in check, so if he could only survive this
headache -

But it was a real doozy, despite all Joe-Bob's talk about pure corn
elixir, and centuries' old family recipes, that stuff has a real bite
to it!

There was a groan from the bio-bed, and the Doctor and the First
Officer whirled around.

"You see?" the Doctor said. "Nothing to worry about."

Chakotay walked over to the bio-bed. "Paris? Are you awake?" Voices.
And lights. There was a faint medicinal smell to the overprocessed
air. Must be the infirmary. But someone was asking if he was awake,
and that voice sounded familiar. Surely not - ?

Oh, just shoot me now!

Tom opened his eyes cautiously, but the light was too bright, and he
shut them again. Then he opened them again, but everything was all
blurry. There were two people beside him, looking down at him. One of
them moved closer. Still pretty blurry, but he could make out the
general outline, and the face markings - it was the Big Guy all right,
and what was he doing here?

Tom spoke, in a croaky whisper. "Chakotay? Did they get you too?"

Chakotay and the Doctor exchanged a puzzled look.

The Doctor approached from the other side of the bed. "Mister Paris?
How many fingers am I holding up?"

The lieutenant stared in concentration, and then reached for the hand
in front of him. He missed, but grabbed it on the second try and
pulled it closer to his face. "Three," he said at last.

The Doctor gently removed his hand from Tom's grasp. He had been
holding up two fingers.

Tom didn't recognize the voice. Must be a new doctor. MISTER Paris,
how polite. That wouldn't last long.

He gestured for Chakotay to come closer. "Chakotay - did you catch the
spy?"

Chakotay was puzzled. "Of course we did. Don't you remember?"

"But I didn't know about it!" Tom said. "Do you think I would have
flown right into a trap if I'd known?"

Now Chakotay was really puzzled. Of course he flew right into a trap,
that had been the whole point, to catch the spy, and it had been
Chakotay who had been left in the dark on that little operation, and
it still rankled when he thought about it.

"They were waiting for me, they knew I was going to be there," Tom
rambled on, while the two men listened with growing concern. "If it
had just been the latinum, I could have talked my way out of it, but
they waited until after the transaction, and there I was with a hold
full of proscribed weapons, and suddenly the sky was full of Feds."

The Doctor said, "Now, Mister Paris, you need to rest - " but Chakotay
waved urgently at him, because he wanted to hear this. Tom wasn't
talking about the Kazon and the Talaxian convoy, not at all.

"The Feds knew you'd be there?" he prompted.

"They were tipped off," Tom said with a sigh, "and I never knew how
that happened. My lawyer had a crazy story, but it just doesn't make
sense."

"Go on," Chakotay said impatiently.

"Well, he got some old college buddy drunk, the guy's an intell weinie
for Star Fleet, and this guy claimed that the tip came from the
Cardassian ambassador. But that's crazy, how could he have known?"

Chakotay took a step backwards. Oh, he knew how the ambassador could
have known, oh shit!

Tom's vision was clearing gradually. "Hey, did you get some new
equipment? Wait a minute - this isn't the infirmary."

A stranger in blue said, "This is the sickbay aboard Voyager."

"Aboard what?"

The stranger looked over at Chakotay who was dressed -

Tom said in a suspicious, frightened voice, "Chakotay, what are you
doing in that uniform?"

"I'm serving in Star Fleet," Chakotay said calmly. "And so are you."

Oh, this was just too weird! "What is going on?!"

The stranger in blue, a doctor apparently, said, "Mister Paris, what
is the date?"

"The date? How the hell would I know? If the schedule's been changed,
the guard'll tell me about it."

The doctor guy sighed. "What is the date - approximately?"

"It's four-seven-three. . . ." Tom waved his hand vaguely, and added,
". . . something-something."

That didn't seem to satisfy them.

"Wait! I know. The Padre was along this wing a couple days ago, and
Wednesday is his day for our wing, so it's Friday, right?" He smiled
triumphantly, glad he'd figured it out.

Tom looked at the two men, who were exchanging worried glances, and
said in a small voice, "Saturday?"

---

Tom lay on the biobed, sulking. They were making him stay here in
Sickbay, even though he didn't feel sick at all. He knew there were
things they weren't telling him.

The Doctor, who turned out to be a holographic projection, of all
things, and not a human doctor at all, had told him that he had lost
almost two years of his memory, that he was onboard the Starship
Voyager, with a field commission of Lieutenant. It didn't seem
possible.

And what was Chakotay doing here? The Doctor had just said it was a
long story, and they'd get into that later.

The doors swished opened and a young woman appeared. Blonde, cute -
elfin, that's the word. Not bad! Definitely not bad at ALL! He smiled
at her, his Melting Smile. "Hello!"

And she smiled back, she was really pleased to see him. "Tom! You're
awake!" So she knew him, too. Tom supposed everyone on the ship would
know him. It was kind of scary.

The young woman came over to the bed, smiling warmly. Funky ears, Tom
thought, as she said, "We were starting to worry! I'm so glad to see
you're all right."

But then the Doctor program stuck its head out of the office, and said
briskly, "Kes, could you come in here, please?" And the young woman
left. Tom sighed.

Now the Doctor was in his office, consulting with the Captain and
First Officer. "It appears that Mister Paris has lost almost two years
of his recent memory," he reported. "As far as he knows, he went to
sleep in the penal settlement, and woke up aboard Voyager. Naturally,
he's very confused. And very suspicious. Suspicion is apparently a
survival mechanism in a prison environment."

Captain Janeway chewed her lower lip. She remembered very well the
young smart aleck she'd first met in New Zealand. Tom had come so far
since then. Were they going to have to go back and start all over
again? "So, Doctor, how would you assess his fitness for duty?"

"Assuming he retains his piloting skills, I would rate him as fit for
duty. It's his personal skills that worry me at the moment."

"Explain."

"I'm not sure that I can," the Doctor admitted. "I don't want to say
'feral', that would be putting it too strongly. Paranoid? But
paranoids imagine enemies, and I don't think Mister Paris is paranoid.
But experience has taught him to be suspicious, and the experience
that taught him to trust us has been forgotten."

Janeway sighed. "Will he recover his memory, do you think?"

"Uncertain," the Doctor told her. "The human brain does not store
information like a computer memory core. It is more diffuse, and -
fortunately - more redundant. It may be that some pathways have been
disabled, that they will recover, or the brain may simply reroute. He
could recover his memory tomorrow. On the other hand, the two years
may be lost for good."

"So he recognizes no one but me?" Chakotay asked.

"That is correct. And he remembers quite clearly that you dislike and
distrust him."

Chakotay winced. "Wait till he finds out about Seska!"

"What about Seska?" Janeway asked.

The first officer hesitated for a moment, then he said, "When Paris
first recovered consciousness, he thought he was in the prison
infirmary, that I had been captured too. He told me that his lawyer
had heard that the tip to the Federation about his Maquis mission came
from the Cardassian ambassador."

The Captain's eyes widened, but she said only, "Ouch!"

Chakotay added, "What's really making me feel guilty right now is that
when he was captured, I was sure he took a dive. I remember telling
everyone in my squadron that he'd probably been a plant all along. But
then when they sent him to maximum security, I figured, no, he must
just have been incompetent. But it wasn't him, was it? It was me."

Janeway patted his arm. "She fooled us all, Chakotay."

---

Tom was lying down, eyes closed resolutely, trying to sleep. If he
wasn't allowed to do anything, might as well conserve his strength.

But he opened his eyes when the doors swished open, and hurried
footsteps approached the bed. "Tom! Kes said you were awake - oh, I'm
so relieved!"

Excitable kid. An ensign, human of oriental ancestry, smiling all over
his face. Tom felt a momentary warmth, it was nice to see that someone
was so glad to see him. But then the kid seized his hand, and kissed
it.

Tom grabbed his hand back indignantly. "Hey! What's the big idea?" The
kid stopped short, looking at him in astonishment, and Tom added, "And
just who the hell are you?"

The warm brown eyes got very wide. The ensign asked softly, "Don't you
recognize me, Tom?"

Tom felt obscurely guilty. Hell, it wasn't his fault he couldn't
remember. He said, "That Doctor says I've lost some memory. He says
this is Voyager, and I'm the pilot?"

The kid nodded, looking sad. "That's right, Tom. Lieutenant Tom Paris.
I'm Harry Kim. And, since you've forgotten, I'm your best friend."

---

The Captain held the meeting in the Conference Room. Also present were
the First Officer and Security Officer. Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres
were there, more as Tom's friends than as Operations Officer and Chief
Engineer. Because the meeting topic was not shipboard operations, but
the matter of Tom Paris. The Doctor attended as well, on the Emergency
Medical Holographic Channel.

"I have briefed him on the Caretaker, and the circumstances that
brought Voyager to the Delta Quadrant," the Doctor informed the group.
"I must say he took it rather well. Unfortunately, he still seems to
be thinking more like a convict than a Star Fleet Officer."

"What do you mean?" Tuvok asked, instantly alert at the prospect of a
convict onboard the ship. Of course, he'd always been aware of the
lieutenant's past, but in his experience, Lieutenant Paris had always
behaved like a Star Fleet officer, except for the memorable occasion
when he had received specific and secret instructions not to.

"Well, for instance," the Doctor said. "He asked me to list for him
the major factions onboard the ship, and wanted to know which faction
he was a member of."

The Captain was fascinated. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him," the Doctor said with finicky precision, "that though the
crew is a mixture of Star Fleet and Maquis, there are no factions per
se."

Chakotay said, "And did he believe you?" Sometimes, when in a self-
doubting mood, he wondered about the faction question himself.

"Indeed he did," the Doctor said. "Because I'm the Doctor, and medical
personnel are non-aligned - 'Everyone knows that'." He saw their
puzzled looks and explained, "That's a quote from Mister Paris.
Another example of prison- think, I'm afraid. Anyway, to prove my
point about the lack of factions, I did inform him that his two best
friends were Ensign Kim, Star Fleet, and Lieutenant Torres, Maquis. He
was most surprised and interested. I would suggest that the Ensign and
the Lieutenant would be the most suitable people to integrate Mister
Paris back into the ship's crew."

"I don't know, Doc," Harry said sadly. "I may have screwed things up
with that hand-kissing business."

The Doctor smiled proudly. "I believe I fixed that for you, Ensign.
When Mister Paris mentioned it, I told him that it was a cultural
expression."

Harry murmured faintly, "Oh, us hand-kissing Orientals. Right." Then
he looked up and asked in alarm, "Does that mean I'm going to have to
start kissing people's hands? I'd really rather not!"

"Don't worry, Mister Kim. I told Mister Paris that only the excitement
of the moment brought out your cultural expression. But I believe I
should warn you. Considering his experiences in prison, I do not think
that Mister Paris is ready to be told the true nature of your
relationship."

Harry sighed. "No. I got that. When he pulled his hand away - " He
thought of something, and said urgently, "Doctor, you haven't released
Tom from Sickbay yet, have you?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I need to get my stuff out of his quarters!"

---

Tom sat on the biobed. He was supposed to be getting dressed, but he
was still staring at his uniform. He'd known, because they'd told him,
that he had a Star Fleet field commission, but when Kes said she would
get his clothes, somehow he had subconsciously been expecting a grey
prison jumpsuit. Now he was reverently stroking the Star Fleet
uniform, and trying not to let himself get too excited.

He felt like a kid again. Eight years old, and hearing Grandma's
stories of space exploration. That was before reality set in, the
reality of expectations he could never live up to, back when all he
could see was the adventure, not the burden of living up to five
generations of Star Fleet legend.

Those expectations had subtly tainted his career, even before the
accident. He remembered how excited his classmates were on their
commissioning day, ready to go forth and begin the adventure, even
Grady Martin, who was graduating way down near the bottom of the class
and gotten assigned to an old tub doing Earth sector milk runs. But
Grady was the first in his family to join Star Fleet, and you could
see that his folks were just about to burst with pride.

Meanwhile, Tom was feeling sullen, despite plum orders to the Exeter,
and determined not to say anything when Dad (who of course would be
giving the commencement address) frowned slightly and said, "Third in
the class? Surely if you'd studied just a little harder. . . " Grandma
had frowned and said warningly, "Now, Gene - " but the day had been
blighted.

Now, it seemed, he was not merely out of prison, but totally free. The
Delta Quadrant! That's about as far away as you can get from the
people likely to say, "Any relation to Gene Paris?" in a tone of voice
that implied - Surely not!

But then Tom reminded himself that this was a Star Fleet ship, after
all, and even the Captain turned out to be one of Dad's proteges, so
it wasn't as if he'd actually gotten completely away. Still, she'd
given him a field commission, so that must mean something. Telling
himself sternly not to get his hopes up, Tom stood up and began to
dress.

---

He was just checking his appearance in the mirror when the door
swished open, and two officers came in. One was that Ensign Kim, who
was apparently his best friend, and the other was a woman. A
lieutenant, small, dark and fierce, not entirely human.

He smiled at them tentatively. "Hello - Harry," he said, remembering
at the last moment that the kid was his friend and would probably
object to being referred to by rank. "And - is it Lieutenant Torres?"

The woman said, "Oh, Tom! I'm so sorry! We should have left sooner!"
and hurried up and threw her arms around him.

Tom looked puzzled, and Harry rolled his eyes. "She's been like that
ever since you got zapped by that alien stun weapon. Would you tell
her it's all right?"

"Sure," Tom said, his arms around the woman, thinking, she really
feels good! "But, if she feels the need to be comforted -"

B'Elanna pulled back, and stared suspiciously into his face. "The
Doctor said you'd lost some of your memory. Does that mean  you're
back to being a pig again?"

"Huh?" Tom was lost.

"Well, we're your friends, and we're not going to let you be a pig, so
there!"

"Uh, okay - whatever you say."

"Come on, guys," Harry said. "Lunch."

As they left Sickbay, B'Elanna asked, "Should we warn him about the
food?"


The mess hall was like no Star Fleet mess hall Tom had ever seen.
Instead of a dignified place with discreet replicators on the wall,
this place had an actual kitchen, with odd mixtures bubbling over open
flames. While not precisely regulation, Tom couldn't help thinking
that it sure looked cheerful.

"Tom! There you are! Sweeting said you were up and about!" This came
from an odd creature. Short and stocky, with hair like a horse's mane,
and muttonchop whiskers, dressed in the most appallingly garish
clothing. Whoever it was came bustling over, and he too enveloped Tom
in a hug.

Tom was thinking - these are the touchiest people he'd ever met! First
Harry kissing his hand, B'Elanna hugging him, and now this guy. Even
the Captain, when she was filling him in on the situation, had patted
him on the shoulder several times.

The Paris family was never much for touching. Tom had grown up with
the suspicion that when someone touched you, they either wanted to
hurt you or fuck you, and boy, prison had borne out that suspicion in
spades! (Except that in prison, there were also those who wanted to
both hurt you AND fuck you, but no sense dwelling on that right now -
)

But these people seemed to mean no harm, so Tom hoped he'd get used to
it.

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good now - " He stopped, wondering what this
guy's name was.

"Neelix," Harry supplied.

Neelix stepped back and looked at Tom with concern. "Ah, yes, Kes told
me about your memory. Well, don't you worry about a thing! We'll get
it back, just wait, we'll find those lost memories. And I know just
the thing! We picked up some lovely fish on Povren Five - I'll do a
fish casserole for tomorrow. Brain food, you know, but you have to
watch out because they're awfully bony. . . "

Still talking, Neelix bustled back to his kitchen.

Tom looked at his two new friends, and they just chuckled. "He's like
that," B'Elanna told him.

"Okay. But, uh, what is he?"

They filled their trays, and found a table by the window. Tom didn't
recognize any of the food offerings, so he just took what the others
did. It tasted - odd. He sneaked a glance around the room, and
everyone else was eating the stuff, so it must be okay.

"Neelix is a Talaxian," Harry was telling him. "Indigenous to the
Delta Quadrant. He joined the crew shortly after we arrived here,
serves as cook, guide and morale officer."

"Morale officer!" Tom asked.

"Self-appointed," B'Elanna explained. "We kind of humor him. His
information about the quadrant really is valuable. And Kes  loves him,
so we try to be patient."

"Kes!" Tom couldn't believe it. "You mean that little blonde honey in
Sickbay - with this guy?!"

B'Elanna ruffled his hair, and Tom tried not to flinch. "Hey, hot-
shot, didn't anyone tell you love is blind?"

Tom sighed. "Well, shit. I'd kind of hoped that she - oh, well." He
looked around and then lowered his voice. These were his best friends,
so they ought to know. "Hey, guys, tell me something." The two leaned
forward. "I'm kind of, well, horny. So what I want to know is - do I
have a girlfriend?"

Harry blundered to his feet. Seeing Tom staring at him in surprise, he
held up his cup. "Anyone else want a coffee refill?" When they shook
their heads, he went over to the coffee pot.

Tom turned to B'Elanna. "Did I say something wrong?"

B'Elanna wondered how to handle the question. Oh, hell, just lie.
"Sometimes Harry misses his girlfriend back on Earth."

"Oh." Tom was relieved. He was glad he hadn't put his foot in it
already. But he thought he'd better make sure. "So - you're my friend,
but not my girlfriend, right?"

B'Elanna sighed. "Right. Oh, I've overnighted at your place a few
times, if that's what you mean."

"Oh!" Tom brightened up. "But - we're not a couple, or anything?"

"No." B'Elanna felt like she was in deep waters now. "Oh, not that
you're not good, Tom. Let's face it, you're very, very good. But you
don't love me, and I don't love you. We're just really good friends.
And I keep thinking that I will find someone to love someday,
something really legendary, one of those love of a lifetime things,
like - " She stopped, appalled. She'd almost said 'like you and
Harry'!

After a moment of awkward silence, she said, "Well, you know."

Tom didn't, but said, "Sure."

Returning from the coffee-pot, Harry was giving himself a stern
lecture. You should be thankful, he was saying to himself, that Tom is
all right, that he's not dead, and not still in a coma. But, oh, he
just looked so beautiful sitting there, kind of bewildered, and Harry
wanted so badly to take him into his arms, to rain fierce kisses on
those lovely lips, to tell him how much he was loved.

Patience, Harry. Take it easy. Remember what the Doctor said, he's
still thinking like a convict. And remember what Tom told you about
prison, he doesn't want that from you, not yet, he'd think you wanted
to abuse him. Easy, hands off -

Harry sighed. He rejoined his friends at the table. "Coffee's not half
bad today," he said. "So. What's the agenda?"

"Well, the Captain wants me to retake the flight quals," Tom said.
"Wants to make sure those memories didn't get fried. Understandable, I
guess. That's on for tomorrow. She said today could just be for
orientation."

He looked around the room. "It's so weird," he said softly. "I know
I've been on this ship for over a year, I really do believe you. But
it's kind of hard to grasp. To me it feels like I was working on small
engine maintenance yesterday."

Harry slapped the table. "Hey, I've got an idea. Come on, Tom, we'll
show your magnum opus - this will convince you that you've been here
on Voyager!"

The three stood up. "Where are we going?" Tom asked.

"Holodeck Two," Harry answered.

"Oh, I get it," B'Elanna said approvingly.

As the three friends walked down the corridor, they met a stunning,
statuesque redhead in science blue. She gave Tom a dazzling smile, and
he blinked in surprise. "Oh, hello, Tom," she began warmly.

Before he could say anything, B'Elanna said shortly, "Word with you,
Jenny," and waved at the other two, "You guys go ahead, I'll catch
up," and hustled the woman around a corner.

Tom followed Harry, looking over his shoulder, wondering what that was
all about.

Around the corner, B'Elanna grabbed the taller woman by the collar,
lifted her up and slammed her up against the wall. "Listen, Delaney,"
she snarled, "what do you think it would feel like to have your
intestines wrapped four times around the warp core?"

Jenny Delaney could only croak.

"Because if you screw things up for Harry, we're going to find out,"
B'Elanna promised. "Got that?"

Jenny nodded.

B'Elanna put her back down. "Good," she said. "Just so we understand
one another."

---

Magnum opus? Tom was just wondering about that when the holodeck doors
drew back with a heavy hiss, and there it was - Sandrine's! His home
away from home, where no one asked, "Any relation to Gene Paris?"
because nobody here gave a rat's ass about Star Fleet, or family
legends.

Tom grinned with delight and entered slowly. "How on earth did this
get here?"

"It's your program, Tom," Harry told him. "You designed it."

Tom was slowly turning in a circle. He'd always enjoyed holoprogram
design, thought he was pretty good at it, too, though Dad always
snorted that it was a waste of time. But this was definitely better
than anything he'd ever done. His magnum opus indeed.

Tom sighed happily. He was starting to think he was going to like the
Delta Quadrant.

---

Tom knew he should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, with the flight
test and all. But he was just too excited. The change in his
circumstances was just too immense.

Earlier, he'd been studying the specs on Voyager, and B'Elanna and
Harry had been amused at his delighted exclamations. But really! Such
a sleek little beauty, and they were letting HIM fly it! Incredible.
Captain Janeway must be an amazing woman, to give a guy a second
chance like his. Second chance, hell, more like third or fourth!

Now he was roaming his quarters, finally alone. He'd forgotten how
luxurious Star Fleet staterooms were. All this room for him! And look
at the size of that bed. And, best of all, a door that locked from the
INSIDE!

Calm down, Paris, he told himself. It can't be this good, something's
got to be wrong, something you haven't been told. Oh, he'd heard all
about the Kazon and the Vidiians, but that was nothing to worry about.
That was just like Dad having to deal with the Cardassians, and
Grandma flying against the Romulans. Always an enemy somewhere.

But within Voyager itself, were things really so good, that a mixed
crew of Star Fleet and Maquis would get along, like Harry and B'Elanna
got along, and more incredible still - that they would all seem to get
along with HIM?

It didn't seem possible.

And appearances can be deceiving. He sure knew that. Like New Zealand.
. .


. . . .He'd been in a daze on the flight to the penal settlement,
everything had happened so fast. Less than a year ago, he'd thought
his life was completely screwed up; when he'd been kicked out of Star
Fleet, the sentence handed down, and seeing Dad turn and walk away
without a word or a backward glance - he remembered thinking, well, at
least it can't get any worse than this.

But of course, it could.

And it did.

Joining the Maquis had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to
use the only skill he had, the only one that counted anyway. He said
to himself, at least I'm a good pilot, you've got to admit that. But
when he was captured so easily, he started to wonder if even that was
true, though what even the best pilot could do when he was one ship
against twenty -

He'd hardly paid any attention at the trial, it must have been
frustrating for his poor young lawyer - court-appointed though he was,
the guy was dedicated, and full of indignation at the sentence.
"Maximum security?" Claude had almost screamed. "Eight years in
maximum security?! Surely, your honor realizes the injustice of - "

The judge had interrupted wearily, "Save the histrionics, counselor,
my hands are tied, and you know it."

Claude had told Tom indignantly, "Don't give up yet, we'll appeal,
we'll take this to the press - "

And Tom had asked dully, "Why? Why bother?"

So here he was on his way to eight years in maximum security, and the
ocean they flew over gradually gave way to land, and Tom looked out
the window and thought in astonishment - why, it's beautiful!

Appearances can be deceiving -

Tom's first clue that New Zealand might not be so beautiful beneath
the surface came when he was checking in. He had a whole list of
offices to go to during the check-in process, and a bored guard to
escort him on his rounds.

One of his first stops was at the chaplain's office. The sign on the
door said, "Father Jeffrey Markham". The guard tapped on the door,
saying, "Padre? New check-in." And a hoarse voice said, "It's open."

Tom entered slowly. He still felt very self-conscious in this grey
jumpsuit, still expected people to ask, "Any relation to Gene Paris?"
The man at the desk was studying a PADD. With that beak of a nose and
the white hair wore unfashionably long, he looked like a tired old
eagle. The eyes were still sharp.

Then Father Markham looked up at Tom, and his eyes widened, and he
breathed, "Oh, dear God!", like he was praying or something. Tom just
stood there, not knowing how to respond, and the chaplain collected
himself and stood up and gestured Tom to take a seat. "Sorry," Father
Markham said. "It's just that - you're awfully young, aren't you?"

"Twenty-seven," Tom said.

"Really? You look younger."

"I feel a hell of a lot older," Tom said. Then added, "Whoops. Sorry."

Father Markham laughed. "Think nothing of it - " he looked down at the
PADD Tom handed him, "Tom Paris. Trust me, I hear much  worse than
that every day."

After a brief discussion, Tom had continued with check-in. But he
encountered the padre later that day. It was after the check-in at
medical, and now he was supposed to go meet the Warden. He and his
guard were told to take a seat, the Warden was currently occupied, and
from the inner office, Tom heard the distinctive hoarse voice of the
chaplain exclaiming, "Are you OUT of your MIND?"

Faintly he heard the response. "Nothing I can do about it. Since that
terrorist bombing on Mars, all convicted Maquis are to be sent to
maximum security. That was legislated by the Federation Council, and
there are no authorized exceptions."

"Well, stand by for trouble, then, Sidney! Think, man! You take a boy
that young and that good-looking, and you stick him in there with the
lifers and the murderers, and what do you THINK is going to happen?!"

Tom held very still, not allowing himself to shiver. The guard was
smiling. . . .


Sleep, Tom! You've got to get to sleep!

He finally stopped pacing and picking over his unfamiliar belongings,
and put himself to bed.

Such a big bed! Of course, it was standard Star Fleet, something he
once wouldn't have thought twice about. But after the penal
settlement, it was luxury undreamed of.

Lotta room for just one guy, though.

Tom laced his fingers behind his head, and pondered. No doubt about
it. He was definitely horny. He decided that must be a good sign. It
wasn't too long ago that he'd sworn that once he got out of prison, he
was never going to let anyone touch him, ever again.

So, consider the possibilities. Kes was taken. That redhead who'd
seemed so friendly in the corridor, when he saw her later at dinner,
she'd refused to meet his eyes, and hurried out of the mess hall. And
then there was B'Elanna, who said she'd overnighted at his place a few
times. B'Elanna, who said he was 'very, very good.' Tom grinned to
himself. That sounded promising.

He wondered how to approach her. He thought back to what used to be
his standard moves. But those moves seemed pretty hokey now (though
they'd certainly worked well back then - ), only suitable to the Young
Flyboy, Golden Boy, a Paris of The Parises. The Tom Paris pre-Caldik
Prime.

Tom recalled some of his earlier encounters - Susie, Rikki - and
wrinkled his nose with distaste. God, what a jerk! How could women
fall for that line of bullshit?

He knew without trying that it wouldn't work with B'Elanna. Fierce,
beautiful B'Elanna. But what had worked?

Then Tom had a bright idea - I'll just ask Harry! Harry had been his
best friend for the whole trip, surely Harry would know. Tom thought -
I'll ask Harry tomorrow, and drifted off to sleep. . .


. . . .The sun was fierce, but the shade was dense, and Tom was taking
a break. An unauthorized break, and an even more unauthorized
libation. Pure corn whiskey, distilled the old fashioned way.

"Y'see?" Joe-Bob said, leaning back against a tree, and waving his
chipped mug. Joe-Bob was a lumbering bear of a man, usually
goodnatured. But he had a touch of grizzly in him. "Life ain't so bad,
now is it? Here we are, takin' a break, just like Kentucky gentlemen."

Tom shot him a skeptical look, the best he could do with one eye
swollen almost shut. Large inmate population, small medical staff, so
the doctor was mainly concerned with the serious injuries. Or the
injuries that would leave scars. Mere bruises were left to heal
naturally.

Joe-Bob pointed to Tom's eye, and asked, "Mixed it up again last
night?"

Tom nodded and sighed. "Gracci decided he wanted a little action. He
looked worse, but they fixed his nose and jaw." He frowned into his
mug of whiskey. "What's with me, J-B? Am I leading them on or
something?"

Joe-Bob frowned. "Now, no need to go blaming yourself. 'S not your
fault you're so damn purty."

Tom glared at him.

Joe-Bob nodded. "You know what I mean. Usually, it's the littler guys
that get most of that crap. Now, you're good sized and strong, so in
the gen'ral way of things, you'd only have to worry about the real
bruisers, the guys who spend three, four hours a day in the weight
room. But purty as you are, lot of the guys not much bigger'n you want
to have a try at it. That's why you gotta fight all the time. But it
sure ain't your fault."

Tom thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, but you're one of the
biggest guys here, and you're not hitting on the little guys."

Joe-Bob laughed, and the ground almost shook. "Shee-it! I don't dare
look funny at another man, kid, Pedro would whip my butt good!"

Tom chuckled at the idea of wiry little Pedro whipping Joe- Bob's
butt. But if J-B wanted to pretend to be henpecked, Tom wouldn't argue
with him.

Joe-Bob and Pedro were an odd couple. Joe-Bob actually had a wife, out
there somewhere - running a restaurant at Jupiter Station, he said.
She visited about once a year; said it was her duty. Pedro's wife had
divorced him without a word when his twenty-year sentence was handed
down.

But now the two men were the poster boys of monogamy. There were other
such couples in the settlement, lifers and hard-timers who were in for
the long haul. J-B and Pedro were definitely the happiest convicts Tom
had ever seen.

A few nights ago, he'd gone into the vid room, thinking the room was
deserted, some old classic was running unwatched with the sound turned
off. But then Tom saw J-B and Pedro in a chair in the corner. They
didn't see him, they didn't see anything but each other. Pedro sat in
Joe-Bob's lap, and Joe-Bob's giant paw was surprisingly gentle as he
stroked Pedro's cheek, and Pedro said something softly in rapid,
liquid Spanish, and then they were kissing. Tom quietly backed out of
the room.

As he walked back to the cell-block, he was surprised to feel a sharp
stab of jealousy. Not that he was interested in guys, hell no! He
hadn't been before, and the crap he'd had to put up with here sure
hadn't changed his mind. But that kind of devotion, that would be
nice.

Tom used to think he had a way with women, that he could have any
woman  he wanted. That's what he thought before he was kicked out of
the Fleet, and Rikki suddenly turned into an iceberg. Once he was no
longer A Paris of The Parises, she wasn't interested. Looking back,
Tom realized that every woman he'd ever been involved with had seen
him as a career stepping stone, or a sex object. Perhaps once he
wouldn't have minded being a sex object, but these days - Tom
shuddered.

He'd sworn off women, he decided, women and men, they could all just
forget it. He was starting to think about monasteries, and hermitages.
. . .

---

Harry was waiting for him when Tom left the flight simulator. "How did
it go?" he asked. Tom was ridiculously pleased to see Harry there,
worrying about him.

"Oh, I aced it, of course," Tom said, trying to sound nonchalant. But
he couldn't hold back the relieved grin, because really, who knew what
memories he might have lost?

"Attaboy!" Harry responded, and slapped him on the back. "Now maybe
you can eat some lunch, with the butterflies evicted."

They headed down the corridor, Tom protesting, "I was NOT nervous,
those eggs were WEIRD!"

"The eggs are always weird, Tom. Get used to it."

Standing behind Harry in line at the mess hall, Tom wondered about his
sudden fascination with Harry's hair. It just looked so nice and
shiny! So soft! Tom was wondering if it would feel more like satin or
silk, when he suddenly realized that his hand was half raised. What,
was he going to pet the kid, or something? Get a grip, Paris!

He lowered his hand. What's with me, he wondered, do I want to know
what shampoo the kid uses? He shook his head, as if to see if he was
still suffering from stun aftereffects.

Tom poured himself some coffee, and watched what Harry was selecting
for lunch, picking the same things. He supposed he would get used to
the food in time. Then they took a table by the window.

Tom looked around, and no one was within earshot, so he leaned over
the table to talk confidentially. "Hey, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Wonder if you could help me out."

"I'll sure try." Harry smiled fondly at Tom, trying not to look too
doting, trying not to be too obvious in his adoration.

"B'Elanna says she's spent a few nights at my place. Do you know
anything about that?"

"Ye-es," Harry said, thinking - in fact, I was there. We all had a
wonderful time. Painfully, he remembered a particularly delightful
combination that B'Elanna had called a Paris Sandwich, in which both
Harry and B'Elanna had taken Tom simultaneously, driving him delirious
with pleasure. Oh, he'd give anything - ! Harry cleared his throat
uncomfortably, and said, "What about it?"

"Well, how did I - you know - invite her? If you know," Tom added
doubtfully, wondering how frankly he had discussed this with Harry.

Oh, Harry knew all right! He had been sitting right there when Tom
took B'Elanna's hand and invited her to join them in shedding their
clothes and having a wonderful time. But this was not an occasion
where honesty would be the best policy.

"I think it was, uh, pretty direct," Harry replied. "You know
B'Elanna, well, I guess you don't, but she's not one for hinting
around. So if you're wondering how to ask her, I'd say to just ask
her." All the while thinking, ask me, ask ME!

"Oh." Tom thought about it for a moment. "Okay, I'll give it a try."

And Harry thought, just let me get to her first.

---

That afternoon, Harry invented a problem in one of his Jefferies tubes,
and hurried down to Engineering. B'Elanna looked up from her consoles
and smiled. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Gotta talk to you," Harry muttered mysteriously, pulling B'Elanna
around a corner and away from Lieutenant Hogan's hearing.

B'Elanna was puzzled. "What is it, Harry?"

"Just wanted to give you a heads up. I was talking to Tom at lunch,
and he's planning to proposition you."

Now she was indignant. "What?! Well, don't you worry, Harry. He won't
get past first base with this girl!"

But Harry shook his head. "That's not why I told you, B'Ela. I don't
want you to turn him down."

"What? Do you mean you want me to have sex with Tom - without you
there?" He was nodding. "But, Harry, I'd feel like I was helping him
cheat on you!"

Harry felt a sociological interest in B'Elanna's protest. "You mean,
it's okay as long as I'm there?"

"Well, yeah. Because then we're not sneaking around and lying."

Harry sighed. "But this won't be sneaking around and lying, either,
now will it?"

"Yes, but. . . . Oh, I don't know, Harry! It just feels strange!"

"Look, B'Ela, he's not cheating on me - remember, he barely knows me."

B'Elanna looked up sharply at the catch in Harry's voice. He turned
away, and fidgeted with a handy console. She put her hand on his
shoulder. "Harry? What is it?"

When he looked up, she saw there were tears in his eyes. "I wouldn't
ask you to sleep with him if you didn't want to," he said haltingly.
"And if you don't want to, just say thanks but no thanks. But at least
turn him down nicely." She was still looking an inquiry at him, and he
went on, "It's just that - I keep thinking - he's all alone, on a ship
full of strangers, and he thinks it was just a few days ago that he
was treated so bad. . . I want so badly to comfort him, to love him,
to show him how much - but I can't because it would only scare him and
hurt him more."

B'Elanna asked softly, "Harry, are you asking me to be your proxy?"

"Something like that," he admitted.

She thought about it, and then nodded decisively. "All right then. But
if Tom gets a night with me, then you will, too."

And that made him smile. B'Ela and her sense of fairness!

---

Tom was pacing the corridor. The computer had told him that B'Elanna
was in the holodeck, so he could go right in, it was his program after
all. That's what he'd do, just go right in and ask her.

But he was still out in the corridor. Be direct? That's what Harry
said. Easy for him to say, Tom thought. He was trying to remember an
occasion where he'd been direct with a woman he was interested in.
Couldn't think of any.

Of course, the guys at NZPS knew all about being direct - to them it
meant pushing a fellow down and pulling his clothes off. Tom doubted
that's what Harry meant. No, verbally direct, that was the thing. Not
vulgar or anything, just a polite, unambiguous statement of interest
in another's body. Piece of cake. Wasn't it?

Taking a deep breath, Tom entered Sandrine's.

B'Elanna was practicing pool shots when Tom came in. Here it comes,
she thought. This should be interesting.

Tom saw B'Elanna with the pool cue, and thought, hey, we can start up
a game, and kind of work around to it. But that, of course, was his
old standard operating procedure. Not direct at all. So he said
awkwardly, "Hey, B'Elanna, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, Tom." If Hogan or Carey had been present, they would have been
astonished to hear the softness of her voice. She was remembering what
Harry had said - all alone on a ship full of strangers, and trying to
imagine if she'd joined Voyager's crew alone, without a contingent of
fellow Maquis. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like.

The two friends and strangers sat at a table, and Sandrine brought Tom
a beer without asking. He looked puzzled. B'Elanna chuckled. "You
programmed her," she said.

"I guess," he said, and then tried to begin. "You know, B'Elanna, I've
been thinking about what you said earlier. About the fact that you and
me, once or twice - "

He was staring at his beer, fidgeting with the coaster, and seemed
incapable of continuing.

B'Elanna was astonished. She remembered when she first met Tom, after
the battle with the Kazon and the destruction of the Maquis ship, when
the two crews had been combined. She'd called him a pig, and meant it.
That insufferable cockiness! And this was what had been underneath all
along?

Finally, she had to put him out of his misery. She leaned over and
took his hand. He looked up. "Do you want to spend the night at my
place, Tom?"

All he could do was nod, and she stood up and led him by the hand out
of the room.

B'Elanna was wondering - why did I say my place, rather than his? But
she knew why. She had gradually come to think of Tom's quarters as
Tom and Harry's. And it just wouldn't feel right.

But there wasn't much time for speculation, because as soon as the
doors closed behind them, Tom grabbed her. It took her by surprise for
an instant; he grabbed her from behind and fastened his lips onto her
neck, then turned her around and attacked her lips while lowering them
to the floor.

B'Elanna laughed breathlessly. "Slow down, Tom, we've got all ni -
MMMMPH!" And then she gave up all efforts to try to pace the
encounter.

Tom was like a starving man, devouring her lips and eyes and ears,
groaning into her ear, "Oh, God, it's been so long - !"

And of course, he thought it had been.

He had unzipped her jumper and was impatiently tugging it off, and she
helped him out as best she could, which wasn't much since she was
pinned beneath him. But he finally got it off, and her boots too, and
she tried to sit up, to remove the turtleneck and bra, but he wasn't
letting her sit up, he just pushed up the offending garments and
latched onto her breasts, squeezing and sucking them, almost painfully
hard.

B'Elanna was clutching him to her eagerly, stroking his hair and
lightly scratching his back, thinking - the boy must have some Klingon
blood in him! She was having sex without taking the lead, and it was a
marvellous change of pace.

Tom continued kissing her while unzipping his own uniform and pushing
it down impatiently, and she felt his erect penis on her belly as she
wrapped her legs around him, pushing eagerly against him.

Only one flimsy garment now stood between them, and the panties were
quickly demolished and Tom thrust into her with such force that she
came immediately.

He laughed to hear it, and raised himself up onto his elbows, sliding
his hands under her, cradling her head and kissing her, hard and
gentle, and he thrust into her again and again, bringing her
triumphantly back to another orgasm before he shouted against her lips
and felt his own release.


Then he sat up and looked around them, and said sadly, "Oh God, I'm
sorry!" B'Elanna sat up too, asking in astonishment, "Sorry for what?"

Tom looked embarrassed. "I didn't even let us get all the way
undressed! Jeez, I've still got my boots on! Not very romantic, is
it?"

But B'Elanna laughed. He just looked so CUTE, with his uniform jumper
around his ankles! "Well, Tom, what you lacked in romanticism, you
made up in - ah - fervor. Now!" She gave him a stern look. "As I was
saying, before I was so RUDELY interrupted, we do have all night."

Then she grinned at him, and Tom replied with a relieved smile, as she
removed her turtleneck and bra.

"Boots off, Mister!" she told him. "Time for a bath."

---

Harry watched Tom and B'Elanna leave Sandrine's from a table in the
corner, feeling bereft. He asked himself - it's what you wanted, isn't
it? And he supposed it was, but he was suddenly very frightened.

What if Tom never got his memory back? Or worse, got it back, and
decided that he still preferred B'Elanna? Harry remembered the several
nights the two men had spent with B'Elanna, only now he was
remembering  how much fun Tom and B'Elanna had together, forgetting
for the moment  the fun that he and B'Elanna had, and the perfectly
exquisite fun that he and Tom had. He shivered.

What if Tom didn't want him anymore? Now he was remembering the time
he rejected Tom, trying still to be faithful to Libby, and the pain
he'd put Tom through and how angry at him B'Elanna had been.  What
could he do? How could he get him back?

Could he live without Tom? Live on a ship with his good buddy Tom
matched with B'Elanna, and not Harry's lover anymore?

Don't even think about it!

Harry went back to his quarters, and put himself to bed. He couldn't
sleep. He hugged his pillow sadly. Then he had a thought. A really
dumb thought, but still.

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris."

"Lieutenant Paris is on level four, compartment D28."

Yep. B'Elanna's quarters all right.

Harry got out of bed, taking his pillow with him, and went to the
door. He looked both ways, and the corridor was deserted. Feeling like
a very foolish criminal, he crept two doors down the hall, and let
himself in to Tom's quarters. He still had all the lock combos.

Breaking and entering! Wondering how he'd explain it if he got caught,
Harry crept over to the bed, and took Tom's pillow, replacing it with
his own. Then he crept back to his own quarters.

And Harry went back to bed, hugging Tom's pillow, thinking - I'm
really pitiful! - but still feeling comforted somehow.

---

"A bathtub!"

B'Elanna nodded smugly. "One of the advantages of cosying up to a
department head."

"I'll say!" Tom looked like a kid at Christmas.

B'Elanna smiled fondly at him, saying, "Get on in, flyboy, and we'll
wallow in decadent luxury." As the tub filled with water, B'Elanna
reached to the very back of the closet, pulling out a jar. "My secret
vice," she said, pouring something into the water, and the water
filled with bubbles.

B'Elanna sank into the tub, and Tom spread his legs to make room for
her, and she leaned back against him, using his knees as armrests.
What a lovely easy chair he made!

She said lazily, "Just don't let any of my crew know about my fondness
for bubble baths, or I'm afraid I'd have to kill you."

"Oh, my lips are sealed," Tom assured her, but his lips were most
certainly not sealed, because they were roaming her shoulderblades,
and his tongue kept escaping.

His hands were kneading her breasts, much more gently than before, and
she stroked his arms and legs, feeling guilty for enjoying this so
much.

But then she remembered she had Harry's proxy, so maybe it was all
right. "Hey," she said, "ready to try out the bed?"

And the bed turned out to be just as nice as the floor.

---

Tom lay in the bed, arms around B'Elanna, thinking how nice this was.
He'd forgotten for a while that sex wasn't always about power and
dominance, that sometimes it could be purely recreational. B'Elanna
sure seemed like a nice person. He wondered why they weren't actually
a couple. Maybe they would be now. Since he didn't have a girlfriend
already, why not?


. . . . "Knock, knock, anybody home?"

Tom looked up and smiled. "Come on in. I'm decent." Tom liked
Wednesdays because those were the days the chaplain came by, and he
was fun to talk to. There weren't really a lot of interesting
conversationalists in prison; even the nicest of them usually weren't
very bright.

Father Markham used his own keycard to deactivate the field, and
stepped into Tom's small drab cell. Tom greeted him with, "You know,
Padre, you're lucky priests and doctors are officially non-
combatants. There's a lot of guys in here who would find that dress
rather fetching."

The priest glanced down at his cassock, and smiled slightly, saying
only, "I've been here a long time. All the guys know me, and I think
we get along pretty well."

He sat down on the bunk opposite Tom. "So, how's it going, Tom?"

"Oh, same ol' same ol'. Nothing ever changes."

"No fresh bruises," Markham commented.

"For a change and knock wood!"

The priest leaned forward. "Tell me something, Tom. When you arrived
here, you were the first of the Maquis sent to maximum security under
the new law. But there are quite a few of them here now, and I don't
see you hanging around with them. Why is that?"

Tom just snorted. But the chaplain was waiting for an answer. "I just
wasn't with them for very long. None of these guys knew me when I was
in the Maquis, and they do know I was Star Fleet before that, and Star
Fleet is the enemy."

Markham nodded comprehension. "And the prisoners who came from Star
Fleet - "

"Know that I was in the Maquis, and ditto ditto."

"That does rather isolate you, doesn't it?"

Tom hunched his shoulders and tried to look indifferent. "Hey, I'm
used to it."

"And then the general prison population, the basic civilian thieves
and murderers, of course you wouldn't fit in there, either."

"Yeah. You know all the gangs, I suppose? The trusty over at the
infirmary suggested I link up with one of them, to get some
protection, but - " Tom looked away, and finally said, "I just don't
want to do the kind of stuff you've got to do to get in."

"The kind of stuff that's done to you?" the chaplain asked gently, and
Tom nodded.

Father Markham fell silent, staring into space, and Tom asked, "Why
the third- degree?"

He looked up, surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grill you.
It's just that we got a new prisoner in today who reminded me of you."

That was interesting! "How so?"

"Oh, he's really not like you at all. Only - so young." The chaplain
sighed. He added thoughtfully, "I wish I could get the Federation
Council to tour this place. It's easy to pass Draconian measures when
you don't have to look at the people affected by your cruelty."

Tom was amazed to hear a prison official, and a priest no less,
criticizing the Council. "What's the new guy in for?"

"Same as you. Maquis. Even younger, though. Only eighteen, for
heaven's sake! Maybe you knew him? Willem Bentinck?"

Tom whistled. "Billy the Kid? Got caught?!"

"Oh, so you do know him."

"No, but I know of him. I kind of thought he was a myth, actually.
They say he started flying raids on the Cardassians when he was
fourteen."

"Well, I hope he won't have a bad time of it, but I'm quite worried,
Tom. He's rather small, and almost as good-looking as you. Weedy
little kid, but really rather pretty, poor boy."

Tom thought about it. "Well, I guess the Maquis will try to look out
for him. The real Maquis, you know."

Markham looked up with interest. "Real Maquis?"

"Oh, you know what I mean - the freedom fighters. Some of the guys who
join are really just crooks looking for a good deal. I can tell within
a week whether a new Maquis prisoner is a real Maquis or not. They
hang together. The other kind just fade into the general population,
because that's really where they're from."

"Interesting! I'll have to start paying more attention, see if I can
tell them apart. Well, I hope you're right, and the Real Maquis look
after this boy. And I'd appreciate it if you'd kind of keep an eye on
him, too."

"Me!" Tom laughed, but it was an ugly laugh. "Hey, I have enough
trouble protecting my own ass. Not a whole hell of a lot of success at
it, either."

Markham sighed. "I know. It's just - oh, I don't know. You seem to
have a mental toughness that I don't sense in this kid. It's like,
well, he's not used to losing, and he just can't believe it."

Tom folded his arms. "Well, I guess losing does constitute a specialty
of mine."

"That's not what I meant, Tom, and you know it.". . . .


B'Elanna was surprised that Tom was such a restless sleeper. He hadn't
been before, at least not the few nights she'd spent with him. Of
course, on those occasions, the three of them had pretty much worn
themselves out. She'd have to ask Harry about it tomorrow.


. . . .Just flashes. Confusing images.

That made no sense.

An outdoor scene, flashing past so quickly that no details could be
discerned.

A quick glimpse of hard cold tile.

A noisy crowd in a stark dining hall.

- and a body on the floor.

Lying crumpled, face down, positioned too uncomfortably to be alive.

A hand shaking a shoulder, saying, "Hey, man - " and the body flopped
over like a rag doll.

And shouting.

Somebody was shouting.

Was he shouting?

And a tall, thin old man in black, shaking his shoulders, saying,
"It's too late, Tom, it's too late!". . . .


Tom had rolled over for about the eighth time, and B'Elanna was
thinking, he sure is a difficult cuddle!

And then Tom sat bolt upright in bed, and shouted, "Medic!"

He was half-way across the room before she realized he had moved, and
then he stopped, as suddenly as a frozen holoprogam. He slowly turned
around, turned completely around reviewing his surroundings, and then
looked at B'Elanna.

"It was a dream," he said softly.

She was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees, thinking - god, he's
beautiful! Like those old statues they tried to interest her in back
in Art Appreciation class, as if anyone could care for a bunch of old
marble. But replace that marble with flesh and blood, and B'Elanna
realized she could appreciate it very much.

"I gathered," she said. "What was it about?"

"I don't know, exactly." He returned to the bed, and sat on the edge.
"Someone was dead. I felt like I should have done something or didn't
do something - I don't remember."

She moved closer, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Was it - that
accident? You know, the one that got you kicked out of Star Fleet?"
She spoke hesitantly, knowing that Tom didn't like to talk about the
accident.

He shook his head. "No. That's not part of the memory I lost, worst
luck. No, that was noisy, confusing, chaos. This was just a dead body.
On the floor. Real quiet, no muss, no fuss. I just caught a glimpse,
and I can't remember - "

"Maybe you should talk to the Doctor."

"No!" He saw that she was surprised at his vehemence. "It's just - not
enough. Earlier, I thought I had a returning memory, and I went and
told him about it. I was real excited, you know?"

"And?"

"He wasn't impressed. Said nothing proved the memory was from the gap.
We haven't really nailed down where the gap starts, you know - every
day is pretty much the same in prison. But I knew it was a recovered
memory. It was something I didn't know before and then it was just
there, it was so obvious to me. He made me mad."

"He's not the most tactful person in the world," B'Elanna agreed.
"Well, what was the recovered memory?"

Tom hunched a shoulder. "Let's drop it, can we? It was really -
embarrassing, and I went and told the Doctor about it, and he didn't
even care and I'm sorry I told him."

"Okay. Come back to bed."

And Tom sank gratefully into her arms, and tried not to think about
dead bodies or any of that other stuff.

---

Voyager cruised uneventfully, and Lieutenant Paris was at the
controls. He was doing an exemplary job, Janeway thought to herself.
But it was sure quiet today. She tried not to look over at Ops. Harry
seemed so sad, it was almost painful.

"Quiet today," Chakotay said, voicing her thought. "Where's all the
conning chatter?"

The lieutenant spun around. "What? What's that mean?"

Janeway smiled at him. "It's nothing, Tom. It's just that you're
usually quite a conversationalist."

"Oh? I am?" He thought about it. Thought seriously. Apparently he
wasn't behaving the way he was supposed to. "Well," he said at last,
"I'll try to think of something to say."

Janeway walked down to the Conn, and patted him on the shoulder. "Give
it time, Tom. You're doing fine."

He turned back to his post. Conning chatter? Flying the ship was easy.
But all this other stuff was getting pretty complicated.

Like this morning, with B'Elanna. After they had showered and dressed,
he'd asked her, "You're sure we're not a couple?"

She had smiled sadly, and said, "I'm sure, Tom."

"Because you want one of those Love Of A Lifetime things," he said,
sounding cynical, even to his own ears.

Her chin came up. "That's right. What's wrong with that?"

"How do you know that kind of stuff even exists? I think songwriters
and poets made it up. Something to sell to people."

B'Elanna bit her lip. "Oh, no, Tom. It's real. I've seen it."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "There was this guy I knew. A real smart aleck, lady's
man. Always ready for a good time, but never serious about anything.
Until he met the love of his life, and you could SEE it, see it in his
eyes, in everything about him, he just seemed to SHINE, it was inside
him - " She turned away from him, and when he took her shoulders and
turned her around, he was surprised to see that her eyes were full of
tears.

"This guy," Tom asked softly. "What happened to him? Is he still
alive?"

And she had cried out painfully, "I DON'T KNOW!"

Must have been someone she knew in the Maquis, Tom thought. Back in
the Alpha Quadrant, and Maquis don't exactly have the longest
lifespan. But why did it seem to upset her so much, if it wasn't her
guy?

---

"Come in."

Lieutenant Paris entered the Ready Room slowly. On the upper level,
Captain Janeway turned from the replicator with two cups of coffee and
saw him standing just inside the door. It came to her in a flash - he
thinks he's in trouble.

So she said immediately, "You're not in trouble, Tom. Come up here and
have a seat."

He sat down on the sofa, and took the cup of coffee she handed to him.
First time a skipper had ever served him coffee. "Sorry," he said.
"It's just, I guess I was thinking about getting called to the
Warden's office."

She laughed. "Well, just keep telling yourself that I'm not a prison
warden."

He smiled at her, a surprisingly sweet smile. "I'll have to remember
that."

"I just wanted to talk to you a bit, see how you're doing."

He stared into his coffee. "I don't really know how I'm doing, si -
ma'am." They'd warned him that the Captain preferred the more old-
fashioned mode of address. He'd have to practice that. "It's weird,"
he went on. "All these people who know me, and I don't know them, and
they expect me to do certain things, and act in certain ways, and I
just don't know what's expected of me, I guess."

"I know it must be difficult for you," the Captain said. "But the good
news is that you're among friends." He looked up at her in genuine
surprise. "It's the truth, Tom. When you came aboard as an observer,
I'll admit I worried about you. So many of my officers held your past
against you. And then when we added the Maquis to the crew, that was a
problem for you too. But you overcame that. You earned these people's
trust and respect, against incredible odds. And now they simply want
to help you, and they want to earn your trust and respect."

It was warming, to think that he had won these people over, and now
they wanted the chance to win him over. He wondered how he had done
it. He couldn't imagine how he had even begun.

"I'm really trying, Captain," he said at last. "It's hard for me - to
trust people. I guess it always was, really, and then with the
accident, and then prison, it just reinforced that I can't count on
anyone but myself."

He looked out the window, and gave a strange laugh. "Oh, who am I
kidding? I'm the person I trust the least." He looked back at the
Captain, his father's protege, and saw genuine concern in her eyes. He
said again, "I really am trying."

She stood up and gave him another one of her signature shoulder pats.
"Well, don't stop trying, Tom. And we'll keep trying too."

As he left the Ready Room, she thought - Oh, Gene, when you turned
your back on that boy, did you even realize what you were throwing
away?

Of course not. Gene Paris was never much good at what he called
contemptuously, 'the touchy-feely people stuff'. "You take care of all
that, Lieutenant. Handle things your own way, just keep the crew's
personal problems out of my office." It had seemed like a good idea at
the time, the Captain keeping the desk cleared for the big issues. But
what, she wondered, was it like growing up in a home like that?

Captain Janeway sighed and thought - the boy who fell off the
Christmas card. The Christmas after the Caldik Prime accident, the
Christmas holo which the Paris family sent to all their friends was
short one player, it was just Gene and Silvia and the girls, and the
absence of Tom was never even remarked upon. It was as if he had never
existed.

And Janeway had no idea what had ever become of Tom until that day in
the office of the Commissioner of Federation Prisons, when she and
Admiral T'vek had gone to discuss a mission to the Badlands, and an
old man had stormed into the office shouting at the Commissioner,
calling him a murderer. An angry old priest in a threadbare cassock,
named Father Markham. . .


. . . Willem Bentinck was eating at a table in the corner. Tom looked
around, wondering why the kid was alone. Must be the lack of Maquis
here. Not good, Tom thought, something should be done about the kid's
schedule.

He took his tray and sat down across from the legendary "Billy the
Kid." Padre was right, he thought, small and cute, the kid's an
accident waiting to happen. Curly brown hair, peachy skin, full lips.
He might look a bit more masculine when he grows up - if he gets the
chance.

The young Maquis looked up in surprise when the older convict joined
him, but didn't say anything.

"Tom Paris," Tom offered.

"Willem Bentinck."

A real chatterbox apparently. "Heard of you," Tom said.

"Yeah?"

"You're kind of a legend with the Maquis."

Willem thought about that. "You Maquis?" he said at last.

"Yeah. Sort of. Got caught a lot sooner than you, though."

That seemed to wake the boy up. A Maquis. That's different. "Yeah?
Where did you operate? Who did you serve with? Kill many Cardassians?"

"Whoa! It's a one paragraph story! I joined the Maquis, got sent on a
supply run, and got caught - never had time to kill any Cardassians,
hell, I didn't have time to unpack."

"Oh. Tough luck." Willem seemed to lose interest. Never even killed
any Cardassians.

This kid sure wasn't easy to talk to! "So," Tom said, "what do they
have you assigned to?"

Willem shrugged indifferently. "Work detail C-6, they said. What
difference does it make?"

C-6! Oh, shit! They were really throwing the kid to the wolves! "It
makes a lot of difference," Tom told the newcomer. "And that's really
a pretty lousy detail. Got some bad actors in there. We need to see
about getting you reassigned."

Willem just said, "Whatever. Doesn't matter to me."

Tom didn't answer, but thought, oh, it will, kid. Believe me, it will!

Tom's crew had laundry detail that week, and Tom often thought the
prison used such primitive techniques just to be aggravating. He
didn't mind so much on garden detail, there's something about a hoe,
and dirt. But washers and driers, and folding - what a bunch of crap!

Tom was delivering linen to the infirmary when Willem was brought in.
The trusty looked up from the desk and sighed. "Looks like the
welcoming committee got a little out of hand."

That was one way of putting it.

Tom hadn't thought they'd move so fast. He felt a bit guilty, not sure
what he could have done, but still feeling that he should have done
something. That afternoon, he took his free period, and went to see
Olsen.

The scheduler looked up from his computer terminal with a bored sigh.
"What?"

"Just wanted to talk to you," Tom said pleasantly. "About the new kid,
Bentinck."

"So? What about him?" Olsen swivelled his bulk around to face Tom, and
chewed on a toothpick.

"He's having a pretty rough time in C-6."

"So?"

"So, it could be a problem for you. He's just a kid, and pretty famous
among the Maquis. If word got out about the way he's been treated
here, it could make things unpleasant."

Olsen snorted. "What do I care about what a bunch of Maquis think?"

Tom shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. But there's a lot of sympathy to the
Maquis position out there; could make a political ruckus."

"And if it does? They can the warden. No skin off my nose."

"Look," Tom said, "how can it hurt to move him over to F-5? Joe-Bob
keeps his crew in line. Then there's no big ruckus, everybody's
happy."

Olsen reached up and grabbed Tom by the chin. "Hey, pretty boy," he
said, "it would take more than that to make me happy."

Tom hesitated. Then he sighed and thought, what's one more dick in the
overall scheme of things? So he knelt in front of Olsen and asked
coyly, "Like what, exactly?"

"Now, that's more like it!". . .

---

Tom woke up with a start, and sat up in bed.

He remembered now. Voyager. He was on the Starship Voyager in the
Delta Quadrant, and Olsen was thankfully on the other side of the
galaxy. And Willem?


Tom shook his head. He couldn't remember.

He checked the time. Need to be getting up pretty soon anyway. Star
Fleet Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris! Ha! Take that, Dad!

Tom had slept alone last night. Apparently, B'Elanna was determined
that they weren't going to be a couple. He would have to try to be
patient.

He got up and showered and dressed, still thrilled at the uniform. He
thought he looked pretty damn good in it, too.

As Tom left his quarters, he was surprised to see B'Elanna leaving the
quarters two doors down. She looked surprised to see him, too.
"Morning, Tom," she said. "Lots to do today." And she hurried off down
the hall.

Tom stood in front of the door to Harry's quarters, thinking, well,
this is a new plot twist! He was surprised when his hand when to the
lock, and moved automatically, entering in a code. The door swished
open. Hmm. Those memories must still be in there somewhere.

Tom entered Harry's quarters, not sure why. Was he mad at B'Elanna?
She said she and Tom weren't a couple. Looks like she meant it.

Tom walked softly through the front room, toward the bedroom. Harry
was asleep. He slept naked on his stomach, on the wildly disordered
bed. Tom thought viciously, not as innocent as you look, are you, kid?
And wondered why he was angry at Harry.

But something twisted in his guts, as he looked at his sleeping
friend, looking so young and vulnerable, and what he felt was
overwhelming sadness. He wanted to cry for some reason, and it scared
him.

Tom backed soundlessly out of the bedroom and left the quarters in a
hurry.

---

The Engineering crew noted that their chief was distracted today.
Trying to work up a fuel consumption schedule that would get them
through the dilithium- starved space that Neelix told them was up
ahead, B'Elanna kept thinking back to last night.

Poor Harry! She'd had to do everything, and she tried to give him a
good time. But he'd come inside her calling out Tom's name, and then
just curled up in her arms and cried and cried.

Doc's got to do something, she thought, jabbing impatiently at her
console. Surely he can do something to get Tom's memory back. Electric
shock, or something.

---

Tom was jumpy. It had been a strange day. But he couldn't quite put
his finger on what was strange about it. Quiet watch on the bridge,
nothing much going on.

Harry seemed quiet. But maybe he was just a quiet kid. It was so
frustrating not to KNOW - not to know what these people were really
like, how he was supposed to interact.

Tom sat down at his desk and switched on his computer terminal.
Probably too much to hope that he'd kept a diary. He scanned the
files. No, nothing like that. Well, what can the files tell me about
myself?

Well, this is weird. Poetry. Gobs and gobs of it. Tom scrolled through
the poetry directory, wondering - since when did I like poetry?
Tennyson, and Browning (both Brownings), and Byron, and some Andorians
stuff, lots of stuff he'd never heard of.

Tom opened a file. "Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above
thee,/ Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!"

Hmm. He opened another one. "Oh! What are thousand living loves to
that which cannot quit the dead?"

This is definitely strange, Tom thought. Did someone die? Is that what
they're not telling me?

He looked up at the top level directory, in case he'd accidentally
accessed someone else's files. No, these were his, all right. And for
some reason, he had kept pages and pages of incredibly mushy poetry.

Let's see, what else have we got? Well, this must be a misfile. What's
Harry's service record photo doing here?

Aha! Here's something that should tell me a few things - a copy of my
service record.

Tom opened the file. It contained his personal copies of all the
service record entries made since the mission began. First up was his
field commission. Tom read Captain Janeway's words of praise, feeling
warm and proud. Doin' good, Tommy.

And here were several more commendations. Seems like all he had to do
was get out of Dad's shadow, and he'd turned into a fairly decent
officer. That was nice to know.

What's this? Warp TEN?! Well, isn't that wild? Tom read the
commendation carefully. Sure enough, looks like he broke the warp
threshold, but something was wrong with the technology, they couldn't
use it. Tom didn't feel too disappointed. So far, he was liking the
Delta Quadrant a lot better than the Alpha Quadrant.

But now what? On report? Running a gambling operation?! Tom looked at
the report, and saw the note at the top, indicating that if had been
removed from his official record several months after it had been
filed. And he had apparently kept his personal copy of the report,
with a note of his own - "Ha- haa!"

And then a whole sheaf of other report chits, numerous late for watch
notations, and - striking a superior officer! All deleted from the
official files.

Then he came to the commendation, and it all fell into place. Going
undercover, the report said, pretending to be a malcontent to flush
out a spy. A spy on Voyager, who had been feeding information to -
Seska?

Wait a minute! He read the report more thoroughly. Ses- ? A
Cardassian? SESKA?!

Tom shut off the computer with a shaking hand. Seska was a Cardassian
infiltrator? He was remembering now, his lawyer telling him what the
drunk college buddy had said.

And what he was feeling right now was cold, unforgiving rage.

---

Thank goodness, this awful watch is over! Harry wondered what was
going on. Tom was angry, it was obvious to everyone, but he could also
tell by the puzzled glances that no one else knew why, either.

He joined Tom in the turbolift, almost afraid of him, and the first
officer joined them. "Deck six," Tom said, and Chakotay added "Deck
four."

Then Chakotay turned to Tom, and asked, "Would you care to talk about
it?"

"About what?" Tom stared straight ahead.

"About whatever's eating you," Chakotay said impatiently.

Tom slewed around to face him, narrowed his eyes, and said
imperiously, "Hold!"

The turbolift stopped, and Harry thought - uh-oh!

"Well," Tom said bitterly, "it's just a small matter of what you folks
haven't been telling me. About a Maquis who wasn't really a Maquis, a
Bajoran who wasn't really a Bajoran, and a new Maquis recruit who was
set up for maximum security - " he was edging closer to Chakotay, and
getting louder, " - because YOU couldn't tell a CARDASSIAN from a
Bajoran!"

Chakotay looked away. "We were going to tell you, Tom, but we wanted
you to get a little distance from it."

"A little distance? Like a little time? Seventy years, or so? Do you
have any idea what prison was like, Commander? Any IDEA?!"

He was almost out of control, he was shaking with rage, and his hands
were up - and he was surprised when Harry grabbed him by the shoulders
and slammed him back against the wall, saying, "Resume!"

Tom was staring open-mouthed at the suddenly mature and determined
young ensign, as the turbolift slid to a stop, and Harry said, "Your
floor, I think, Commander."

Chakotay paused. "Sure you can handle it, Ensign?"

"I'm sure," Harry said without hesitation.

It was frustrating for Tom; he could break Harry's hold easily, but it
would also break Harry's arm. He wondered why it mattered, as the
first officer stepped off the turbolift, and they continued to deck
six.

"You want to go back to the brig, for real this time?" Harry asked.

Tom just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He was
furious. At Chakotay. At Harry. And at himself. Because for some
reason, he was getting an erection.

The lift stopped again, and Harry took Tom's arm, and propelled him
out, saying, "Sandrine's. Beer. Come on and calm down."

And Tom let himself be led off to Sandrine's.

Sandrine brought them both a beer, and Harry leaned forward, and said,
"Okay. Now tell me what that was all about, because I don't get it."

Tom sighed, and told Harry, about the mission to resupply the Maquis
munitions, and how he'd been chosen because he was a new face, Star
Fleet wasn't on the lookout for him, and Chakotay had argued against
it and been overruled. But someone had talked, and Tom was caught, and
set to New Zealand for eight years in maximum security.

And he told Harry what his lawyer had learned, that the tip had come
from the Cardassian ambassador. Harry's eyes were wide and astonished
at this new piece of information. He thought about it for a few
minutes, and then looked up in surprise.

"But Tom, you must have known this before."

"What?"

"I mean, when Seska first left here. You knew then that she was
Cardassian, and you must have known what that meant, but you never
said anything about it then."

Tom sat back in astonishment. That hadn't occurred to him. He must
have known.

He shook his head. "I don't know. It just doesn't make sense."

---

Tom leaned on the bar, letting himself be soothed by the ambiance.
Sandrine smiled at him, and he winked back. Harry had talked with him
a while longer, and then left, to work on some reports. Probably ought
to shove off myself, Tom was thinking, when someone came up and took
the stool beside him.

He turned to look. An ensign, Star Fleet, brown hair - Tom groped for
a name, but he hadn't met this guy yet, at least not since waking up
in Sickbay with his memory fried.

"Hello - ?" he said.

"- Batehart," the man replied, looking at him curiously. "Is it true,
then? I heard something about you losing your memory."

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Not all of it. Just the last couple years. It's
pretty weird."

"I can imagine!" Batehart said sympathetically. "Well, I guess that
explains it."

"Explains what?"

"About Harry Kim. I've been hearing a lot of music through the EPS
conduits - wondered if you guys broke up."

"Not at all," Tom said, puzzled. "He was just in here, I get along
with him just fine."

"Yes," Batehart said with a meaningful look. "But he's not sleeping at
your place anymore, is he?"

Tom just stared at the man, wondering if he could possibly mean what
it sounded like he meant. And then Batehart took his hand.

Batehart said softly, "Because if you guys have broken up, I thought
there might be a vacancy. I've always thought you were pretty hot."

Tom jerked his hand away roughly and jumped back, overturning his bar
stool. He backed away from Batehart, staring at him in astonished
anger.

Batehart's shoulders slumped. "Well, I guess not, huh?"

Tom left the bar without another word.

---

Starship doors do not slam. But it seemed to Harry as if the door
slammed open, when Tom stormed into his quarters.

For one thing, he didn't buzz at the door. Harry's first warning of
Tom's arrival was the swish of the door and Tom's impetuous entry. And
he was looking up into the face of his furious friend.

Harry was puzzled; weren't we over this? Or is it something else?

"Just tell me one thing," Tom said, his voice shaking. "What have you
got on me?"

"What?! Tom, what are you talking about?" Harry rose from his chair,
and instinctively moved back.

"You know damn good and well what I mean! Ensign Batehart was just
coming on to me in Sandrine's - since 'you guys broke up'!  So I want
to know what kind of hold you've got over me, getting me to  put out
for you!"

Harry was horrified. "Is that what you think? That I'd blackmail you?"

He saw the fury in Tom's face abate slightly, replaced by puzzlement.
"Well, what else could it be? This is a Star Fleet ship, dammit,
Captain Janeway wouldn't put up with physical assault, and anyway - I
could take you out, kid. So how else would you get me to allow you - "

He broke off and turned away.

Harry was sure his heart was breaking. That Tom could even think that
he would Trying desperately not to break down and cry, he said sadly,
"You liked it, Tom. Really."

Tom turned to face him again, fear and denial in his eyes.

"It's true!" Harry cried. "And I never took any advantage of you! I
'put out' for you, too!"

"I don't believe you!"

"Oh?" Harry turned away and walked into the bedroom. A moment later,
he returned, and handed something to Tom. Tom looked at it, and it was
a jar of lubricant.

When he looked back up, he saw that Harry had shed his robe and
pajamas. And now his naked friend was getting down on his hands and
knees.

"Harry, no!"

Harry looked over his shoulder at him. "Why not? You used to like it."

Oh, he couldn't believe it! It just wasn't possible! But it was
definitely true that he had an almost painful erection.

In a daze, Tom dropped to his knees behind Harry. He lightly stroked
Harry's ass, and then inserted a finger carefully into his friend's
anus. He expected Harry to jerk away from him, but he didn't. The kid
was serious!

He looked down at the jar in his hand, and realized that he was
unfastening his trousers. Surely he wasn't going to -

But apparently, he was.

As he thrust into Harry, Harry cried out in pain. Alarmed and
defensive, Tom said, "I've never done this before."

Harry gave an odd laugh, and said, "Oh, yes you have!"

"But I don't remember!"

Then Tom was past talking. He was fucking Harry in the ass, and Harry
was letting him do it! Had he been the one to start this? What was the
Tom Paris of the memory gap like, anyway? The kind of guy who would
abuse a friend for his own pleasure?

Oh, this felt good! Sorry, Harry, but it really feels great! And then
he was coming, thrusting deeper into his friend's body, feeling the
great waves of pleasure as he collapsed on Harry's back.

Still in a daze, sated, happy and guilty, Tom trailed his lips across
the back of Harry's neck. Harry was crying.

Tom lay on Harry's back, watching a tear track slowly down his
friend's face. He'd really done it.

And he'd really liked it, too.

Tom's hands were clutching Harry's broad shoulders, and he was almost
overwhelmed by the need to kiss the young man. To turn him over, hold
him pinned beneath him, and kiss and lick and suck and bite. And not
stop - until Harry admitted, admitted out loud that he belonged to Tom
Paris.

Tom jumped back in horror. Was that really what he was like? Was he
like the guys in prison, only worse? He backed away from Harry, biting
his lip in shame and disgust.

His friend lay prone on the floor, a white liquid leaking from his
soft young ass, and Tom thought - I did that to him, to my friend, and
what kind of guy am I, anyway?

He patted Harry awkwardly on the back, saying hoarsely, "Uh, thanks,
Harry. And sorry."

And he hurriedly stuffed his penis into his trousers, fastened them
back up, and stood up and almost ran out of the room.

Harry slowly and stiffly got up off the floor. God, he was sore. But
he couldn't help feeling a little hopeful. At least Tom still wanted
him. Now if he would only remember how not to be so rough.

Maybe it would work. Maybe Tom would love him again soon.

---

Tom was pacing his quarters. He wondered what he'd turned into in the
past several years. A Henderson?

But Henderson at least didn't pick on his friends, he screwed Tom
precisely because he didn't like him, because he resented what he saw
as the rich admiral's son with every advantage. But Tom had gone and
selected his friend for abuse, and what did that say about him?
Nothing good, surely.

And he'd always kind of considered himself a nice guy. Maybe not the
best in the species, or the wisest or the strongest, but he'd never
deliberately gone out of his way to hurt anybody.

Not that he remembered, anyway. . .


. . . .Father Markham was in the dining hall, talking with Tom and
Joe-Bob, when they saw Willem enter. "So," he asked the two men,
"how's Billy doing?"

"Not too bad, I think, after that first business," Tom said. "I talked
Olsen into switching him to F-5."

"You did? Well, splendid!"

The padre looked so genuinely pleased that Tom didn't have the heart
to tell him it had cost a blow job.

"Yeah, just splendid," Joe-Bob grumbled. "So now he works with me. The
sanctimonious, bluenosed, holier-than-thou little prick!" Seeing the
others looking at him in astonishment, he said, "Turning up his nose
at some of the best corn whiskey ever distilled, and giving me a
lecture to boot!"

Tom was worried. "Oh, J-B, you don't think he'll report you, do you?"

But the chaplain wasn't concerned. "The powers that be have so much
practice overlooking that still that I don't think there's really
anything to worry about."

Tom was watching Billy move through the chow line. "He's kind of hard
to get to know," he complained. "Suspicious, kind of sullen - "

Markham laughed. "Sound familiar?"

Tom looked up at him in surprise. "Oh, come on! I was never that bad!"

Father Markham just patted Tom on the shoulder, and moved on to other
tables, visiting his difficult flock.

Billy joined them at the table, sitting down with a monosyllabic
greeting. The meal shifts were staggered, and this shift was almost
Maquis-free. The suspicious young man had realized that Tom and Joe-
Bob meant him no  harm. But it was still hard for him to talk to them,
a non-Maquis, and a barely-Maquis ex- Star Fleet mercenary.

Joe-Bob didn't have much conversation to offer, either. This time of
year, the topic uppermost in his mind was the state of the corn crop,
which he didn't think would interest the young tee- totaller.

So a silence fell on the table. Tom was staring off into space, not
really thinking about much of anything, when Billy said, "Tom?"

He snapped back to the here and now. "What?"

"These guys. The ones that want - you know?"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "You talking about the butt-fuckers?"

Billy blushed. "Yeah. Them. How do you handle them?"

"You avoid them whenever possible. That's what you do."

"And when you can't avoid them?"

"Then you try to fight them off."

Billy sighed. "I've been to the Infirmary three times already."

"Tell me about it," Tom said bitterly. "I've lost count. Had four
different types of VD."

Another silence fell over the table. Tom offered up a confession.
"Actually, if it's one of the bigger guys, I don't even fight
anymore."

Joe-Bob looked up at him in surprise. Tom wouldn't meet any eyes.
Looking down at his tray, he continued, "I figure I'll fight if I
think I can win. But if I know I'm going to lose anyway, and fighting
just means it's going to be rougher

" He stopped talking and stirred his coffee almost obsessively.

Billy thought about it. "But you're a lot bigger than me," he said
sadly. "There's hardly anyone here I can fight off!"

"You stick with the Maquis, kid," Joe-Bob said. "Safety in numbers."

"The real Maquis," Tom added. "Not the guys who are the crooks and
pirates that got caught working with the Maquis."

This last piece of advice didn't sit well with Billy. "If a man joins
the Maquis, he's on my side," he said positively. "I'm not going to
ask why he joined."

Joe-Bob just grunted, and said bluntly, "Then some of the worst actors
in this joint are 'on your side', kid. I wouldn't put too much stock
in that."

Billy said stubbornly, "I never had any trouble with any Maquis on the
outside."

"That's because on the outside, you were a big hero," Joe-Bob told
him. "In here, you're just the flavor of the month."

Tom winced at Joe-Bob's bluntness, but hoped he was getting through
to the kid. But from the mulish glint in Billy's eyes, he doubted it.

Billy looked like he wanted to continue to argue the point, but they
were joined by Pedro. Pedro sat down with his tray, and looked at them
all sadly. "Very soon now," he told them softly, "I must kill
someone.". . . .

---

The staff meeting was getting testy. Torres and Neelix were having a
disagreement, and for once, Neelix was sticking to his guns.

Torres sat back with her arms folded, glaring. "That dilithium that
Tuvok and I found six months ago should last us for over a year.
That's at speeds of warp nine and below. But if you just want to blow
it all in one wild binge - "

Neelix turned to the Captain. "Captain Janeway, please for once would
you consider my advice! The Empty Quarter isn't empty! There are few
stars and few stable settlements. But there's lots of interstellar
dust and debris, and an inordinate amount of sentient debris, if you
know what I mean! This is the hideout for all manner of rogues and
cutthroats. It isn't practical to go around it, it stretches too far
in every direction. But I STRONGLY suggest that we maintain top speed
through this region, and resupply our dilithium on the other side."

Torres leaned forward. "But at warp nine point five, we'll be using
dilithium at unacceptable rates - "

Tom tuned out the argument. No one was asking for his opinion, not
that he really had one. Valid arguments on both sides, and he'd just
sit back and see who won.

He'd been watching the crew for undercurrents, trying to assess his
standing among them. He had thought he knew, he was a lieutenant, a
pilot, assigned to the Conn. But now he was wondering if he had some
status higher than your average conning officer. Why else would Harry
let Tom treat him like that? Voluntarily, without complaint?

But Tom had been watching closely today, looking for any evidence of
unusual deference toward himself, and he hadn't noticed any. Which
made Harry's behavior inexplicable.

Could the kid just be a masochist? Well, that was unlikely, not if
he'd passed the Star Fleet psych eval.

Tom had trouble meeting Harry's eyes, but whenever he did, he could
see that Harry didn't seem to be upset about what Tom had done. He
seemed pretty much the same as always, with that cute little smile,
friendly, kind of shy -

Tom felt a stirring in his groin, and forced his attention back to the
discussion. Stop thinking about Harry, you're not going to do that
anymore!

But he did.

He just couldn't seem to help himself. After several nights of tossing
and turning, Tom got up in the middle of the night, and crept into
Harry's quarters. The lights were dimmed, and Harry was asleep.

Tom watched the young man sleep for a few minutes, trying to make
himself leave. But then he said, "Hey, Harry."

Harry woke up. He saw Tom, and his eyes lit up. "Tom!"

Tom half turned away. After a moment, he said, "Harry. You know the
other day, when you let me - " He couldn't finish the sentence.

But Harry just said, "Sure, Tom." And rolled over onto his stomach.

And Tom used his friend again, hating himself, unable to stop.

---

"Well, I don't like the way he's treating you, and I'm going to tell
him so!"

Harry leaned across the table urgently. "B'Elanna, don't you dare! Let
me handle this my own way, I like to think I know what I'm doing."

B'Elanna glared at him. "And what are you doing, exactly?"

"Well, what I'm NOT doing is rejecting him. Lord knows, he's had
enough of that in his life."

Harry stared out the window for a moment of silence, thoughtfully
sipping his coffee. Then he saw the B'Elanna was still watching him
skeptically, and he went on, "I can still remember when we checked
aboard. Me from a close, loving home, and him straight from prison,
and whatever the hell he'd had before that. It didn't take a
counsellor to tell he'd never had much in the way of moral support in
his life. I remember, right after we got underway, he came into the
mess hall, and I was sitting with the First Officer and Doctor - from
the original crew, remember? - and I knew he could tell we'd been
talking about him. And him trying to pretend that it didn't matter,
that he didn't care - "

Harry choked for a moment, and then stared fiercely at B'Elanna.
"Nobody should ever have to be that alone, B'Elanna. NOBODY!"

B'Elanna's eyes softened. She leaned over and patted Harry's hand. "I
just hope he starts appreciating you pretty soon, Harry."

---

. . . Tom leaned on his hoe, ready for a break and a chat as the
chaplain approached. With his dusty cassock and straw hat, he looks
like he was bringing the Word to the Heathen, Tom thought. Hey, he
probably is.

"How's it going, Tom?"

"Oh, can't complain."

He, could of course, but what was the point? Last night, Gracci had
been coming on to Billy, who was looking about ready to check into the
psych ward, so Tom did an intercept. Not sure why. It wasn't his
problem.

Once the two men were alone, Gracci had smiled meanly, and said,
"You've been playing hard to get for a mighty long time, Paris." And
things got rather - unpleasant.

And then this morning, Billy had confronted Tom, angry at him! "What
did you do that for? I can take care of myself!" - when a blind man
could see that he really couldn't.

Tom and Father Markham nodded a greeting to Lewis, the honor farm
supervisor, as he rode regally by on his new Morgan horse.

As he passed from view, Tom said, "Boy, I'd sure like to thank whoever
thought to get Lewis that horse. Now that he can play plantation
massa, he's a lot easier to get along with."

Markham chuckled. "We all have our little foibles, I guess." He cast a
twinkling eye over the corn field. "Hmm. This must be the most
lovingly tended field on the whole farm. I wonder what excuse Lewis
will come up with this year for the poorer than expected corn crop."

"Worms?" Tom suggested.

"That was last year. A blight the year before that."

"Nothing wrong with reusing an excuse, I guess," Tom said. "Joe-Bob
has already started filching corn from that bit across the path - it
was planted first."

The chaplain chuckled. "Oh well, I suspect Lewis could report the corn
was stolen by Romulans and the warden would buy it. Anything for a
little peace."

"Amen to that!" Tom said, rather bitterly. After a pause, he added,
"Padre, I'm worried about Billy."

The priest turned to look at Tom, nodding in agreement, "I am too."

"Is it my imagination, or is he about ready to crack?"

"I don't think it's your imagination, Tom. But I don't know what to do
about it."

The chaplain thought for a moment, and sighed. "I've talked a lot with
Billy, and perhaps I'm reading things into what he's said. But he was
a predator, and it meant a lot to him."

Tom protested. "Oh, come on! He was fighting to protect his home!"

"Oh, I'm not saying that Billy didn't have a legitimate grievance
against the Cardassians. After all, they massacred most of his family.
But I think that over time, that became an excuse, to fly and fight
and kill. Haven't you noticed that he measures a man's worth by how
many Cardassians he's killed?"

Tom nodded. He had noticed that. Hadn't thought much about it.

"He took too much pleasure in his lethality," Markham said. "I think
it made him feel - safe. Of course, he's lost that now. And hasn't
found anything to replace it with."

"I wish - " Tom said, and then stopped.

"Yes?"

"Well - I just wish I liked him more," Tom said guiltily.

The priest raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, I really feel sorry for him," Tom went on, "and I try to look
out for him because you asked me to. But the truth is - well, I just
don't like him very much."

Father Markham sighed. "And I suppose you're blaming yourself for not
liking him more?" Tom nodded. "But why should you? The truth is, he
isn't particularly likeable. I suppose the same could be  said for
most people who allow themselves to be consumed by a cause.  It's
certainly nothing for you to feel guilty about."

He stared at the ground for a minute, lost in thought. Then he looked
up and smiled. "Well, I guess all we can do is keep an eye on him."

As the priest started to move on, Tom said, "Padre?"

Markham looked back. "Yo."

"Why does Pedro keep saying he has to kill someone soon?"

Markham's eyes clouded. "Oh. So that's how he's going to handle it?"
He sighed. Tom was still looking at him inquiringly,  so he explained.
"You know, Joe-Bob didn't come here on a life sentence."

"He didn't?"

"No. He had a ten year term. But then, about six years ago, one of the
lifers had a disagreement with him. The man was too smart to try to
take on Joe-Bob, but dumb enough to take it out on Pedro. Messed him
up pretty bad. Joe-Bob killed him."

Tom's eyes were wide. "So that's why he's now serving life?"

"Right. Well, Pedro's got a twenty year sentence. Which will be up
pretty soon."

"You're saying that Pedro's going to kill someone so he can STAY
here?"

"That's what it looks like. I guess from his point of view, what else
can he do?"

The priest shook his head sadly, and moved on. Tom went back to his
hoeing, thinking of Pedro, and the concept of deliberately seeking out
a life sentence in order to remain with your lover. . .

---

"So, how's Tom doing, do you think?" The Captain threw the question
out at the end of a long discussion with the First Officer about
supply issues. Neelix had won the debate, and Voyager was flashing
through the Empty Quarter averaging warp 9.7. The senior officers had
just determined that they wouldn't have to make any stops to resupply
food, and were feeling satisfied with their situation. They were
rewarding themselves with coffee on the upper level of the Ready Room.

Chakotay leaned back into the sofa. "Well, that's a hard one, Captain.
I wish I knew. Some days seem to be better than others. Harry and
B'Elanna are doing the most work with him, and B'Elanna tells me that
things are going - oh, as well as can be expected, I guess."

Janeway nodded. Sometimes friends can do more than superior officers.

"But tell me something, Captain," Chakotay went on. "Since we've been
revisiting the Tom Paris of two years ago, I can't help but wonder -
why on earth was he the person chosen to help  you on the Badlands
mission?"

"Oh, he wasn't. No, he was a last minute substitute. Admiral T'vek and
I had an entirely different observer in mind, and went to the Bureau
of Prisons with that plan. The observer we chose was someone with much
more detailed knowledge of Maquis activity, and had been captured more
recently. A young pilot - did you know him? - Willem Bentinck?"

To her surprise, Chakotay threw back his head and roared with
laughter. When he was finally able to speak, he gasped, "Star Fleet
never ceases to amaze me! You thought Billy would HELP you? What did
he do,  spit in your eye?"

When he looked at her, he saw that the Captain looked surprised and
saddened. "Oh, Chakotay. Didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"Willem Bentinck is dead."

---

Several times a week, Tom would creep down the hall to Harry's
quarters. He had finally convinced himself that Harry didn't mind. But
he still wondered why. For the most part, though, he tried not to
think about it.

B'Elanna was getting more and more disapproving of the whole
situation. She was taking Harry to task now, at a table in Sandrine's.
"How can you let him use you like this?" she wanted to know.

Harry just shrugged.

"Has he even had the decency to stay the night? Give you a kiss? Has
he ever done anything to - uh - fulfill YOUR needs?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Then WHY," B'Elanna cried in exasperation, "are you putting up with
it?"

Goaded, Harry snapped, "Because it's the only time he ever touches me,
okay?"

B'Elanna sat back, saddened. "And this is good enough for you?"

"I guess it will have to be, won't it?"

---

Just back from Harry's room, Tom was fighting guilt feelings. Look, he
was telling himself, if he didn't want you to do it, he'd say so,
wouldn't he? Nobody would just take something they didn't want if they
didn't have to. Would they?

Finally, he fell asleep. . .


. . . Tom sighed. He'd been alone in the bathroom, but no longer. He
turned from the row of sinks, and picked up his toothbrush. "Oh, hi,
Henderson," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was just on my way
out - "

Henderson blocked the door. He was half a head taller than Tom, and at
least sixty pounds heavier. He was also a dimwitted bully, and Tom was
his favorite target.

"Oh, not so fast," Henderson said softly. "Why don't you keep me
company for a while, hmm?"

Tom gave a resigned sigh, and asked, "Front, or back?"

Henderson patted his face with sarcastic approval. "Isn't that a good
boy? Back, today, I think."

So Tom turned away and unfastened his jumpsuit, pushing it down, and
getting down on his hands and knees. Then he just closed his eyes
tight and tried to tune out.

It hurt like hell, of course. It always did with Henderson. That's the
way the guy liked it. Tom tried not to cry out. He didn't want to give
him the satisfaction.

"Well, hello! Isn't this nice?"

Tom opened his eyes. Oh, shit. Gracci. The newcomer grinned at Tom,
and said to Henderson, "Me next, okay?"

"Sure," puffed Henderson. "But if you're in a hurry, the kid gives
great head."

"Oh, I'm in no particular rush," Gracci said. He unfastened his
trousers and began to stroke his penis, watching Henderson taking Tom.
Tom closed his eyes again.

Henderson was gasping, obviously near the end, and Tom was thinking,
okay, almost half-way home, when a new voice was heard.

"What the devil - ?!"

It was a hoarse, distinctive voice, and Tom thought, oh, no! And
opened his eyes to see Father Markham staring at them in dismay.

Gracci had already made a quick fadeaway, and Henderson said, "Oh, hi,
Padre," just as he came into Tom's anus. Then he hurriedly stood,
tucked himself back in, and left the bathroom.

Tom wished he were dead. He pulled his jumpsuit up over his ass and
fastened the waistband, feeling Henderson's semen making a sticky
trail down his thighs. He was fumbling behind himself, trying to find
the sleeves, but they continued to elude him, he was too upset and
humiliated to work slowly, and finally he just gave up, kneeling on
the floor, weeping bitterly.

Because it's one thing to know you're a whore. But it's quite another
thing to demonstrate that fact in front of the one man left in the
galaxy whose opinion still matters to you.

"Hey, Tom!" Father Markham said with concern. "It's not your fault!"
The chaplain knelt in front of the young convict and put his arms
around him. "It's not your fault, it's all right, Tom."

And Tom cried himself out on the chaplain's shoulder, feeling
comforted. He didn't really believe him, though. When things went
wrong, it WAS his fault. That was too deeply ingrained in Tom's
beliefs for him to shed it now. If only his own father had been so
forgiving.

Gradually, Tom began to calm down. And became aware of something.
Father Markham - had an erection.

Tom pulled away, and looked inquiringly into the chaplain's face. The
priest blushed, and said sadly, "I'm only human, Tom. And you're just
so beautiful. Sorry."

"Oh, hey, no," Tom said. "It's okay. Why don't you just let me - " And
he reached for the priest's groin.

Markham jumped back. "Tom, no!"

"No, really," Tom told him. "I wouldn't mind. Honestly. I LIKE you."

"Tom, I CAN'T! I'm a priest, I took vows!"

"Not even a blow job?" Tom asked sadly.

Markham tried to smile. "Not even a blow job."

"Well, that really stinks," Tom told him. "Here I've got to put out
for all these jerks that I can't stand. And I really like you, and I
wouldn't mind doing it with you."


Markham sighed, "Oh, Tom, if only - " He bit off the rest of the
comment, and stood up, offering Tom his hand, and helping him to his
feet. "Don't blame yourself for this, Tom. Truly, none of it is your
fault.". . . .


. . . Tom woke, and sat up with a start.

Another recovered memory, and one he certainly wasn't going to report
to the Doctor.

Tom shivered. He was remembering now, the way he'd treated Harry
earlier in the evening, the way he'd been treated back then, and made
a solemn resolution - I'm not going to do that to him anymore. And
this time, I mean it.

---

Something was wrong with Harry, but no one knew what it was. When
B'Elanna asked him what was wrong, he shrugged her hand off his
shoulder and refused to answer. Captain Janeway started a roundabout
conversation in the mess hall, and he said he had to go realign his
sensor arrays, and left in a hurry. Playing pool with him at
Sandrine's, Neelix commented that it sure looked to him like SOMEBODY
needed a  morale officer, and Harry replied with such uncharacteristic
savagery that  Neelix was almost quiet for the rest of the game.

Tom was puzzled, too. He'd stopped abusing the kid, so why didn't he
relax? Maybe he just needed time to convince himself the abuse was
really over. But meanwhile, Harry got quieter and quieter, and the
circles under his eyes darkened.

Harry was waiting for Tom to come back. To want him again, and touch
him again, and hold him. But the days passed and Tom didn't come back.
Finally, Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

---

The door buzzed at Tom's quarters, and Tom called out, "Come in."

Harry entered. Tom looked up from his chair, concerned by the tightly
controlled emotions he saw. "What is it, Harry?"

"Don't you want me anymore?" Harry blurted desperately.

"Hey! Don't worry, Harry, I'm not going to do that anymore, so you can
just relax - "

"WHY?" Harry cried out. "Tom, please!" He fell to his knees in front
of Tom and began to kiss his legs.

Tom was astonished. "Hey, Harry, what are you - "

But then he couldn't finish the question. Harry had opened Tom's robe
and was stroking his penis, and Tom was getting an erection, he just
couldn't help it.

Harry smiled in satisfaction, and said, "I know what you like, Tom,"
and bowed his head and began to lick Tom's erection. Tom lay back in
the chair, breathing heavily, wondering what was going on, until he
couldn't think any more, he could only feel.

He could feel Harry sucking his penis, his hands gently cradling his
balls, and stroking his thighs. Where did the kid ever learn to do
this, he was wonderful! Tom stroked Harry's head, moaning happily and
caressing that silky-fine black hair, lost in the waves of sheer
pleasure until he came into Harry's mouth.

Tom gasped, "Oh, Harry!" And Harry smiled, and moved up Tom's body to
kiss him on the lips.

Tom accepted it at first, and kissed Harry back, in a daze, thinking
how good it felt, until Harry's tongue entered his mouth.

And Tom tasted his own semen, and his mind was flooded with memories
of countless unwilling blowjobs, being pushed onto his knees by
unfeeling convicts, and he jumped to his feet, crying out in
revulsion, "NO!"

He pushed Harry away in blind horror, exclaiming, "UGH! That's
disgusting! Get away from me!"

By the time he got himself back under control, and looked around,
Harry was gone.

---

. . . It had to happen eventually. Billy had put his trust in a Maquis
who wasn't a "real" Maquis once too often, and suffered the
consequences. He'd been bleeding from the anus when he was brought
into the infirmary. The doctor on duty considered it all fairly mild,
as rapes go, and missed or ignored the signs of mental trauma. So
Billy was treated for the physical symptoms, and released to return to
the cell block.

Tom tried to talk to Billy, but Billy wouldn't talk to Tom. Tom did
keep trying, not sure what to do, how to get through to the kid,
watching as day by day, Billy seemed to be fading away - and within a
week, he was gone.

It was Pedro who found the body, early in the morning. . .

---

Things were obviously percolating toward some sort of crisis, but
Captain Janeway didn't know what to do about it. Poor Harry was
looking like some sort of concentration camp victim, and Tom looked
brittle enough to break under a sharp glance. But he wasn't willing to
talk to her.

When she called him into her Ready Room, and asked him what was wrong,
he snapped at her, "Look, I'm doing the best I can, all right?  Maybe
it's not good enough - would that surprise you?"

And to her surprise, he turned and left without waiting to be
dismissed.

Janeway said, "Computer, no interruptions," and went to the upper
level of her office, spending a precious ration on a cup of coffee.
She sipped it thoughtfully, staring out the window at the onrush of
alien stars, wishing she had a direct pipeline back to Earth.

She didn't want to talk to Gene Paris. Keep those personal problems
out of my office, he'd said. But she'd give anything for just one
consultation with an old priest that she'd met, only once, at the
Bureau of Prisons.


. . . As the shuttlecraft headed for the Headquarters of the
Federation Bureau of Prisons in Leavenworth, Kansas, Captain Janeway
looked over at her travelling companion, wondering if Admiral T'vek
was as serene and untroubled as she appeared. The Vulcan looked
younger than Janeway, but was actually not all that much older. And it
was her kinsman who had disappeared into the Badlands.

T'vek looked at Janeway and nodded gravely, as if Janeway had spoken
aloud. "He is still alive, Captain," she told the human. "Or T'Pel
would have known."

Janeway hadn't thought of that, the renowned Vulcan bond. She felt a
weight slipping from her shoulders.

But then T'vek said, "He lives - so far. My mother's own brother, and
it was I who convinced him to return to Star Fleet, to bring his
knowledge back to where it was needed most. Yes, I feel the
responsibility of that, and can only trust that you will retrieve him
unharmed."

"I'll certainly do whatever I can," Janeway assured her. "Tuvok - is
my oldest and most trusted friend."

The two women had spent the last three days studying profiles of all
Maquis captured during the past six months. T'vek seemed satisfied
with the selection of Bentinck, but Janeway wasn't so sure. The boy
sounded like a fanatic to her. But he also sounded like their best
bet.

As they entered the reception area of the Commissioner's office, they
found someone there ahead of them. Janeway looked curiously at the
pacing old priest as T'vek approached the receptionist, saying,
"Admiral T'vek and Captain Janeway. I believe we're expected?"

The young man sighed with relief, and said, "Yes, sir!" and stood to
usher them into the presence.

The priest called out, "Tell him Father Markham is still here and
ready to stay until hell freezes over! And that I have it on the
highest authority that will never happen!"

They entered the office, with Captain Janeway looking back over her
shoulder.

"Oh, don't worry about him," the Commissioner told them both hastily.
"He's the chaplain out at New Zealand, shows up here fairly regularly
to complain about the treatment of prisoners. I'll talk with him
shortly. Now, I understand you are interested in recruiting one of our
prisoners for a mission?"

And the two Star Fleet officers sat down and began to fill the
Commissioner in on the problem, a missing Maquis ship, an undercover
Star Fleet officer, and the need to recruit someone with knowledge of
Maquis operations. They discussed their decision, why they believed
that Willem Bentinck was the man for the job.

The Commissioner leaned back with a frown, and considered the
proposal, but they were interrupted by a commotion from the outer
office. They heard a faint protest, "You can't go in there," as the
door was flung open, and the prison chaplain stormed into the room.

"Oh, so now you have a use for Willem, do you?" Father Markham
shouted. "Well, that's just too damn bad! Because Billy's dead, and -
" he leaned over the desk until he was nose to  nose with the
Commissioner, " - I warned you that something like this  would
happen!"

T'vek blinked. "How did he die?"

Markham pointed at the Commissioner. "He killed him," he said bluntly.
"And - Admiral T'vek, isn't it? With a seat on the Federation
Council?"

T'vek nodded.

"Well, then, Admiral, you killed him too."

T'vek said stonily, "Elucidate."

"Well, Admiral, your Council passed a law to send all Maquis to
maximum security. And your hyena here carried out your wishes. Now
maybe you get a kick out of throwing young boys to a pack of starving
wolves, just to see what happens. I'll tell you what happened to
Willem. For some reason, after about the fifth or sixth rape, the kid
just sort of lost the will to live. Would you call that illogical?"

T'vek was silent.

"We found his body this morning," Markham said. He had lost the manic
energy that had led him to force his way into the office. He spoke
quietly now. "He drank about half a bottle of drain opener."

T'vek turned to the Commissioner. "Please retrieve a list of all
Maquis currently incarcerated. We must make another selection."

Markham stared at her in astonishment. "Why, you cold-hearted bitch -
!" he began, but Janeway put her hand on his elbow and shook her head.

The Commissioner and the Admiral moved to the computer terminal and
began to work. Markham studied Janeway for a moment, and then pulled
her to one side. "Captain," he said urgently, "I have a nominee for
you."

"You do?" Janeway looked at him in surprise.

The old priest nodded. "I'm assuming you'll be offering early release
in return for assistance?"

"That's right."

"Then I have the perfect candidate. The man was in the Maquis for only
a short period of time, joined because he was simply at loose ends,
doesn't have a great deal of loyalty to them or their cause, I think
he would be willing to help you."

Captain Janeway wondered why the priest had done such a sudden about-
face, and was now willing to help them. But she nodded and said, "I'm
listening."

Markham said urgently, "Convince them that the man they want is Tom
Paris."

"Tom Pa - " Janeway stopped, staring at Markham in astonishment. "Tom
Paris? Gene Paris' son? Admiral Paris' son?"

"That's the one."

"Oh, my goodness! So that's where he wound up!"

"Didn't you know?"

She shook her head.

"Did you even care enough to wonder?"

Now she met his eyes, glaring. "Gene never said - it seemed a
sensitive subject - look, who are you to judge?"

He smiled sadly at her. "Did you think I was judging you?"

Something in the way he spoke gave her a chill. She shook herself
sternly and tried to bring the conversation back on track. "So you
think he would be the best man for the job?"

He nodded. But then he looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's wishful thinking
on my part. Tom really needs to get out of that place." He saw that
she was looking at him curiously, and added, "He causes fights, you
know."

"Now, wait just a minute!" Janeway said. "I don't need a man on my
ship who starts fights!"

"I didn't say he starts fights, I said he causes fights," Markham
replied. "Why, right after he reported in, there was a fatal stabbing
over who was going to get to rape him first."

The Captain's eyes were huge. "How long has he been in prison?"

"He's served a little over one year on an eight year sentence,"
Markham told her.

"And you're afraid that - like this Billy - ?"

But the priest shook his head. "Oh, no, Tom won't commit suicide. He's
a lot tougher than Billy was. No, I have no doubt that Tom will
survive, because he's a survivor. However - " he looked into Janeway's
eyes, trying to impress upon her the urgency of what he was saying,
"if Tom serves out his full term, I don't think either of us will like
the man who is released when his time is up."

Janeway broke eye contact, fidgeting irritably. "Look, I'm trying to
get my Security Officer - and my friend - back. Do I really have the
time to take on this reclamation project of yours?"

Markham shrugged sadly. "Perhaps not. I suppose that's the way it's
always been for Tom, you Star Fleet officers have always been too busy
to take the time for him."

Janeway turned away, but her mind revisited the Al Batani, and the
vids from home that stacked up, unanswered, because the Captain was
too busy. She looked up, and nodded decisively at Father Markham, and
then went to join the Commissioner and the Admiral, who were studying
the list of Maquis prisoners. . .

---

Tom woke up with a start and a shout, and sat up in bed.

He tried to say something, croaked hoarsely, and then said, "Computer,
quarter lights." The computer responded with dim lighting, and Tom
looked around, reminding himself once again - I'm on Voyager, we're in
the Delta Quadrant.

So that's what had happened to Billy.

He closed his eyes, but the memory was behind the eyes, and was still
there. Then he thought, uh-oh, and bolted out of bed, just making it
to the bathroom before throwing up.

And then he just sat on the floor, feeling an almost intolerable wave
of depression. The chaplain's voice was ringing in his ears - "It's
too late, Tom! It's too late!"

Too late.

He stood up and shuffled to the replicator, ordering a glass of water.
Then he sat on the sofa and thought, though he didn't want to. If he
only had about a liter of J-B's whiskey, he'd chug the whole thing
right now, to turn off thinking.

Tom had stopped telling the Doctor about recovered memories. The first
several he'd carried down to Sick Bay like trophies - see, my memory
is coming back, I'm getting better. But that damn hologram had been so
unimpressed, saying only that it could possibly be a recovered memory.
So Tom resolved not to even bring it up again until he had an actual
post-prison memory. No way the Doctor could challenge that.

Not that he particularly wanted to tell the Doctor about this one. It
was pretty grisly.

It was affecting Tom now with the freshness of a recent event,
undimmed by the passage of over a year. The boy's body had already
been cooling when it was found on the floor, half inside the janitor's
closet, the dropped bottle of drain opener searing a large ugly spot
on the floor.

And Billy's face - !

Tom had crouched by the body, before it was carried away, thinking - I
tried to help him. I really tried to help him.

Maybe he shouldn't try to help people anymore. Tom thought - I'm not
exactly a good luck charm. And felt a faint flicker of deja vu at the
thought.

He wasn't sure he wanted to get any more memories back. So far, it
looked like he was maintaining an unbroken record - of failure.

Failure as a Star Fleet officer, failure as a Maquis, even failure as
a Federation prisoner - how much lower can you get than that?

He checked the time, and saw he'd have to be getting up in about an
hour. No sense in going back to bed.

So. What should he do now? He was back in Star Fleet, on a lost ship,
holding down an important job. Was he going to screw up again?

Hey, flying he could do. It's the other aspects of living he seemed to
have trouble with.

Maybe he should just keep his distance. Yeah, he could do that. Just
be professional, but don't let anyone get too close.

It sounded horribly bleak. Tom tried to look on the bright side. Look,
he had that Sandrine's holoprogram. He could just hang around there,
schmooze with Sandrine, play pool with Gary, flirt with Rikki. And the
good news was that he couldn't hurt Rikki - she could always be
reprogrammed.

That way, everything would be nice and safe.

So why was he so depressed?

Those words keep echoing in his ears - "It's too late, Tom." And maybe
it was too late. Maybe he just had something missing in him, and there
was nothing to be done about it.

Maybe so.

But something else the chaplain said. He'd told Tom that Billy's death
wasn't his fault. Good old padre, always finding excuses for Tom. . .


. . . Tom had been crouched on the floor, even though the body had
been carried away fifteen minutes ago. He felt a shadow, and looked up
to see Father Markham, bending down looking concerned. "This wasn't
your fault, Tom."

"I tried to help him. I really did try to help him," Tom said, in a
bewildered voice.

A warm hand was on his shoulder, and the priest said, "But you can't
help someone who won't let you help him."

---

Tom entered the Mess Hall, still listening to the chaplain. "It's too
late." But then again, "you can't help someone who won't let you help
him."

He got some biscuits and coffee, and sat down by a window. After a few
moments, he realized that B'Elanna had joined him. "Oh!"

"How are you doing, Tom?" she asked cautiously.

Cautiously! He looked up at her in surprise. Tom recalled his first
remembered meeting with B'Elanna, and how impulsively she flung
herself into his arms, and how positively she'd said, "We're your
friends."

"Oh, I'm fine." He knew he was presenting a blank face to her. That's
how he wanted it.

"Well, okay. But - if you ever need anything - "

"Sure." He smiled at her mechanically, and headed off to work.

Can't help someone who won't let you -

On the bridge, he saw it again, wary caution from all hands, so
different from their first open acceptance of him. Was this his doing?

And Harry! From their first meeting, Tom had admired the golden tone
of Harry's skin, and now he seemed washed out, almost old, and those
warm brown eyes that had beamed at him in Sick Bay were watchful and
wary.

Remembering how he had pushed Harry away in disgust, Tom flushed,
ashamed of himself. He tried to listen to Rollins' turnover on conning
conditions, and went to work.

It was a long watch. Fortunately, Harry was busy today - a close
encounter with a quasar had scrambled some of his sensors, so Harry
was on and off the bridge all day, putting his equipment to rights.

Tom kept thinking - can't help someone who won't let you - And
wondering if he'd totally blown it with everyone he now knew.

---

That evening Tom went to Sandrine's. And the place was full of people!
He wanted to shout at them - get out, this is my program, get out!

But he didn't. A few days ago, Captain Janeway had mentioned to him
how nice it was for the crew to have a place to go after hours, and
what a good job he'd done on the program. It wasn't his program
anymore, Tom realized, it belonged to the ship.

So he wandered back to his quarters.

He tried to settle down, even read some of that poetry he'd stored in
his computer files. But he kept hearing, Can't help someone -

Finally, he got up and went down the hall to Harry's quarters. But
Harry wasn't there. Must still be working on his sensors. Tom left a
message for Harry to come see him, and went back to his quarters.

He was really getting into this poetry stuff, when the door buzzed.
Tom looked up. Good lord, it was after midnight. "Come in."

It was Harry. "You left a message for me to stop by?" he asked. He
looked cautious, but there was something behind it. Tom suddenly felt
very warm.

Here was Harry, after a sixteen-hour day, coming right over because
Tom asked him to. After the way he'd been treated, too. And now Tom
had no idea what to say. "Yeah. I wanted to talk to you." Tom fetched
them both coffee, and moved to the sofa.

Harry sat down, and waited quietly.

The silence stretched out, and Tom looked up, looked into Harry's
eyes, completely tongue-tied, but so glad to see Harry sitting there.
Finally, he said faintly, "Help me, Harry."

"Of course," Harry said immediately. "How?"

"I don't know!" Tom was agitated. "I don't understand what's wrong
with me, I don't know what the problem is - just - I want to let you
help me."

He put his hands over his eyes, sure he was screwing this up.

But Harry pulled his hands away, and held them for a few moments. Then
he gently brought Tom's hands to his lips.

"I'll help you, Tom. I'll do whatever you say."

Tom was trembling. He was confused and frightened. "Did I used to be
yours?"

"You said you were," Harry answered. "And I know that I'm yours."

"Look, do you want to fuck me?"

Harry almost laughed. This sounded so familiar to him. So he said,
"Would it make you feel better?"

And Tom answered, just as he had before, "I don't know. It might."

Harry stroked Tom's cheek, and said again, "I'll do whatever you say."

Tom nodded decisively. "Let's do it then."

He stood up and headed for the bedroom. He wasn't sure what this was
supposed to accomplish. But he'd abused Harry, and it only seemed fair
to let Harry abuse him. Maybe that would make him feel better.

Harry followed slowly. Something seemed wrong about this. He wasn't
sure what. Tom had shed his robe, and was lying on his stomach on the
bed. Harry looked at Tom, his beautiful lover, and felt a quick catch
in his breathing. To touch him again!

He shed his clothes, and got onto the bed beside Tom, slowly running
his hands over Tom's shoulders. The feel of Tom's skin under his hand
- oh, he was so perfect! Harry leaned over, and kissed Tom's neck.

Tom sighed. His eyes were closed. He was waiting, figuring that it
would hurt, but that was all right. He was giving up, that's what he
was going to do, and let Harry do whatever he wanted with him. It was
only right.

But Harry was not immediately seizing the opportunity to use his
friend. Tom wondered why. He felt Harry's hands roaming his back, and
Harry's lips were moving gently over his throat. And now Harry was
lying on top of him, and Tom could feel Harry's erection against the
small of his back.

This would be okay. He liked Harry.

Harry was lost in the feel of it. To finally touch him again! He
wanted to touch Tom everywhere, taste the warmth of his skin, and love
him. He breathed softly in Tom's ear, "My angel."

And then he just burrowed his face into Tom's neck and closed his
eyes, hugging Tom.

This was making Tom nervous. It wasn't at all what he expected, and it
was making him feel kind of strange. He had the feeling this was
something other than a simple payback, but he didn't know exactly what
it was.

Why didn't Harry just go ahead and do it?

Now Harry was stroking Tom's ass, reaching between his legs to fondle
his balls, and Tom shivered. Any time now, he figured. Light fingers
caressed his anus, and he screwed his eyes shut tight, and waited.

And then there was a sudden movement, and Harry had rolled off of him
and lay beside him. Tom raised his head. "What?"

"Tom, I can't."

Tom was puzzled, and a little bit offended. "What do you mean you
can't? Jeez, Harry, you're hard as a rock!"

Harry was lying on his side, facing Tom. "I can't because I know you
don't really want it."

"So what?" Tom was now on his side as well, wondering what on earth
the problem was.

"Tom, I can't - not when - oh, I'd feel like I was raping you!"

Tom flopped over on his back with a sigh. Nothing ever seemed to work
right for him. The guys he couldn't stand would fuck him without
batting an eye, and the ones he liked wouldn't do him. "Harry, really.
It's okay."

"No. It's not okay."

"Look. I treated you pretty bad, okay? Can't I make it up to you?"

Harry thought for a moment. "You want to make it up to me? Okay, then
come over here."

Tom rolled over toward Harry. He didn't know what Harry wanted, but
he'd do it, and then they'd be even.

"Closer," Harry said. "Put your arms around me, yes, like that."

Harry wrapped his arms around Tom. Tom was a bit frightened now, he
was naked in Harry's arms, with his arms around Harry, and Harry
twined his legs through Tom's, and Tom thought he'd never been this
completely in contact with another person. And then Harry kissed him.

For a moment, Tom felt a flicker of anger. Jeez, here Harry wouldn't
fuck him, and now he's expecting from Tom an even greater intimacy.
Even Henderson never expected Tom to kiss him!

But then Tom remembered how badly he'd treated Harry, and how he'd
told himself he was going to make it up to the kid, so if this is what
he wants - Tom kissed Harry back.

Harry felt purely happy. This is the ticket, start easy, don't just
jump right in, let Tom know that everything is okay. His lips moved
against Tom's, and Tom was kissing him back.

Harry was in heaven. In heaven with his angel.

As he kissed Harry, Tom had to admit that it felt pretty good. He was
feeling Harry all over, pressed against him, smooth and warm and
comforting, and Harry's hands moved gently on his back and shoulders
and hips as his lips continued to caress Tom's.

At first Tom wondered how long they were going to do this, where it
was leading, but gradually, he lost track of time. Harry seemed
perfectly content to continue kissing Tom indefinitely.

And then Harry pulled away a little, so he could look at Tom, and he
gently stroked Tom's face, running his fingertips lightly over Tom's
eyebrows, cheekbones, lips.

He was smiling at Tom, and Tom looked into those gentle, dreamy eyes,
and finally comprehended the scope of the problem. He thought with
dismay - the kid's in love with me!

He felt a flash of anger, anger at himself, at the Tom Paris of the
memory gap, wondering, Jesus, Paris, couldn't you even keep this sweet
kid from falling in love with a loser like you?

His arms tightened around Harry as he felt a wave of fierce,
protective tenderness, and Tom kissed Harry gently on the lips, seeing
at last the full equation.

Sorry, oh jeez, kid, I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do about
it, so we'll just have to do the best we can - I can't help it, I love
you too.

Who knows how long they kissed? They were still kissing when they fell
asleep.


. . . . Life at NZPS had suddenly gotten very eventful. First there
was Billy's death. Lot of questions, big ongoing investigation. How
had the kid gotten the closet open?

And this time, the authorities were also investigating the rape. Tom
thought that was pretty funny, all things considered. But the suicide
of a teenager that many considered a war hero had apparently lit a
fire under the Warden's ass, and he was pulling out all the stops.

Of course, all the inmates knew who raped Billy - it was Morris, a
thief and a pirate who had helped the Maquis in the past, when the
compensation was adequate. But by the time the authorities got someone
to cough up a name, it was too late for Morris, too.

Shortly after dinner, Morris' body was found in the library. His
throat had been slit. But this incident didn't even require
investigation, Pedro was so eager to confess. He pushed through the
crowd of guards and medical personnel surrounding the body, saying
proudly, "I did it! It was me!" They turned and stared at the beaming
convict, and quickly verified that he was telling the truth. Pedro
hadn't even tried to cover his tracks, his fingerprints and DNA were
all over the weapon and the crime scene.

Tom stood in the hall, watching Pedro being hustled away for
questioning. Pedro winked at Tom as he went by.

So, Tom thought, looks like he got his life sentence.

The next day, Tom was working on small engine maintenance, thinking
about Billy, and Pedro and J-B, when a shadow fell over him. Looking
up, he saw a female Star Fleet captain.

And that's how he met Kathryn Janeway, Admiral Paris' protege, Captain
of Voyager, and she wanted his help on a mission.

Tom couldn't believe his luck. Finally, the dice rolled his way! About
time!

That afternoon, he took his free period and hurried down to the
Chaplain's Office, eager to tell Father Markham about the change in
his circumstances.

But the door was open, and a stranger was opening boxes. The stranger
was a plump brown-haired young man in a priest's cassock, and he
looked  up with a smile at the convict who had skidded to a stop just
inside the door.

"Hello. I'm Father Jordan. Can I help you with something?"

Tom stared at him. "Where's Father Markham?"

"Father Markham has been transferred. I'm the new prison chaplain. How
can I help you?"

"Oh," Tom said blankly. "Oh, I just wanted to tell the Padre that I
was - leaving."

"Well, congratulations!"

Tom backed out of the office and left, feeling rootless and adrift.
Padre was gone. Well, Tom would be gone soon, too. . .

. . .. Hong Kong Spaceport. Tom had been through here a few times
during his brief Star Fleet career. Left from here to join the Exeter,
in fact, as a new- minted ensign. And now he was back in a Star Fleet
uniform, though without any rank insignia.

HKS had always been a bustling place. Tom had found it rather
exhilarating, the noise and the controlled confusion, the people of
all species coming and going from all sectors. But it was a bit
overwhelming, after the deceptive tranquility of the penal settlement.

One thing to be grateful for, he wasn't in handcuffs this time. The
guard had taken them off before they exited the shuttle, which was a
courtesy Tom had to appreciate. Still, he'd have the guard along to
ensure that he did get on the transport to Deep Space Nine.

The turbolift took them to the upper level, and they were in the
departure area, a huge, echoing canyon of a place with moving walkways
taking travellers to their transports.

"This way," the guard said.

But Tom stopped, staring at the back of a tall, thin whitehaired man,
dressed in black. "Padre?"

Father Markham turned around. "Tom!"

"Yeah, it's me," Tom said, "going to Voyager.  I stopped by your
office - "

The priest smiled at him. "I had heard, Tom. Sorry I wasn't there to
say goodbye, but things got kind of rushed - it was either this ship,
or another one in six months."

"Where are you going?"

"Maleta Quarantine Station. They need a new chaplain."

Tom gaped at him in horror. "Maleta! But - no one who goes there can
ever leave again!"

Markham shrugged. "Well, unless they find a cure."

"Can't you - turn down the assignment?"

"I requested this assignment, Tom."

Tom was silent.

"I'd been at New Zealand for fifteen years, Tom. Time to move on to
something new."

Tom gave a half-hearted laugh. "But isn't this a little drastic?"

"Oh, you know what they say - desperate times call for desperate
measures." Markham saw that Tom was looking puzzled. "Maybe I'm
looking for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? For what?"

"Don't you know?"

And to Tom's astonishment, the priest pulled him into his arms, and
kissed him passionately. "I do love you, Tom. God forgive me, but I
do."

The crowd flowed around them, a few sparing a curious glance at the
young man in a Star Fleet uniform being embraced by a priest.

Father Markham pulled back, still holding Tom in his arms, and said,
"And there's something I want you to remember. I know you don't
believe it right now, but remember it anyway. You deserve to be loved,
Tom. You really do."

And he kissed Tom again.

The guard was starting to get impatient, as a trilling sound drew
Markham's attention to the card in his hand. He pulled away from Tom
with visible reluctance, and looked at the card. "That's my flight.
Have to go." He looked long into Tom's eyes, and said, "Good luck,
Tom, and remember what I told you."

The priest hurried away, Tom calling after him, "Goodbye, Padre - " .
. .

---

Tom woke up the next morning wrapped up in Harry. The two men lay on
their sides with their arms around each other, legs entwined. He felt
a momentary shock, and also a brief flicker of familiarity. But both
of these were quickly overwhelmed by the intensity of the love he
felt.

He took a moment to study the sleeping face of the sweet boy who loved
him, and then he pulled Harry closer and kissed him.

Harry woke up kissing Tom. He'd gone to sleep kissing Tom. Maybe
they'd just kissed all night.

His arms tightened around Tom, and he chuckled sleepily. "Oh, you feel
so good!"

Tom said softly, "It's my day off."

"Mine too."

"Got anywhere to go?"

"Nope."

"Good!"

After a long moment of kissing, Harry asked in a whisper, "Do you
remember me, Tom?"

"No," Tom admitted, kissing Harry again. "But I love you anyway. Hey,
you want to fuck me?"

Harry laughed. "I always want to fuck you, Tom." Again Tom felt that
brief flicker of familiarity, and then Harry added, "But why don't you
do me first?"

Tom had never felt so cherished and so trusted. After the way he'd
treated Harry! He said, "All right."

Tom had to rummage around in the nightstand for the lubricant. (He'd
found it on the table when he was first released from Sick Bay, and
wondered what it was for.) Turning back to the bed, he saw that Harry
had rolled over on his stomach, waiting for him with a slight smile on
his lips.

Tom rejoined Harry on the bed, stroking him almost reverently. It felt
so good to touch him, the faithful friend that even Tom himself could
not drive away. Tom leaned down and kissed Harry on the back of the
neck.

He nuzzled the shiny black hair, so soft, and began caressing the
smooth golden shoulders, pleased to hear Harry's contented sigh.
Moving down, he marvelled at the softness of the skin on Harry's
tender young ass. He parted the cheeks, and gently fingered Harry's
anus, feeling Harry quiver beneath his touch. Remember his earlier
roughness, Tom felt a stab of guilt, and leaned down to plant a
remorseful kiss on the tight pink bud. Then he probed gently, first
with his tongue, then with a lubricated finger, and Harry was moaning
now.

Tom couldn't remember ever having an erection like this. He took his
place between Harry's legs, sliding up and down Harry's ass, until
Harry finally gasped, "Inside me, Tom!"

So Tom slid into his friend and lover, not surprised that it felt so
good, but surprised to realize how much Harry was enjoying it. There
was a rhythm to this, he realized now, and it seemed like the most
natural thing in the world, as he slid in and out of Harry, feeling
the warmth and tightness and glorying in the sounds of pleasure Harry
was making.

"Hey," Tom gasped, "I think I've got the hang of this!"

"I think so, too," Harry managed to say.

And then there were no more words, just the connection and the
pleasure and the love.

After what seemed like an eternity of connectedness, Tom finally
reached the pinnacle, and shot into his love, going deeper and deeper
with each thrust, as Harry writhed beneath him. And then Tom collapsed
on Harry, hugging and kissing him, and finally whispering, "Your
turn."

He moved off his friend, and lay down beside him, tingling with
anticipation. It was the oddest feeling - Tom couldn't remember a time
when he'd ever wanted it, not up the ass, not from a guy! But he was
sure wanting it now, wanted it desperately. He closed his eyes in an
ecstasy of surrender, feeling Harry's hands and lips moving over his
body. And now Harry was pushing into him, Harry was inside him! Harry
was accepting him, and Tom shivered. And it felt good! Tom had never
imagined that it could actually feel good, but this felt simply
wonderful!

He was moaning beneath Harry, and Harry was moving inside him,
stroking him inside and out, and how could he NOT have known that
Harry would be wonderful?

And then Harry was coming, shouting Tom's name, calling him his angel.
And Tom thought he would pass out from sheer love.

Harry lay panting on Tom's back, and Tom said, "Harry, don't leave."

Harry said softly, "I'll never leave you, Tom."

"I mean, stay right there."

"Okay." Harry began to lazily lick at Tom's throat and ear, but froze
in astonishment at Tom's next words.

Tom whispered, "There was a cave."

Hardly daring to breathe, Harry whispered back, "That's right."

"And - a fire."

"Right. There was a fire in the cave."

"And. . . stone checkers? And - oddly shaped fish?"

Now Harry was whooping with joy, hugging Tom so hard that Tom wondered
if he was going to squish.

"Tom! You REMEMBER!"

"Kind of. Yeah!"

Harry moved off Tom's back, and sat up, pulling Tom into his arms and
kissing him exuberantly. "Oh, Tom - this is great! Do you think we
should tell the Doctor?"

Tom said, "Well, let's think about it. It's our day off. I could spend
it down in Sick Bay undergoing tests and enjoying the Doctor's
scintillating personality. Or," he pushed Harry down on the bed and
landed on top of him, "I could spend the day naked in bed with Harry.
Which option do you think I'm going to pick?"

"No contest," Harry admitted.

"Right." Tom kissed Harry hard on the lips. "Anyway," he added, "I'd
just as soon wait until I get  back some memories where I'm wearing
clothes."

"Good point."

And Tom sank into Harry's arms, and gave himself over to exploring his
wonderful new love.

---

Several hours later, Tom sat up, and said, "Want to hit the shower?"

"Why not?"

As the two men got out of bed, Tom looked around the room, and said,
"Oh, man!"

"What is it?"

"I keep getting things back! Remembering things that happened. It
really feels weird."

Harry hugged him hard. "I'm so glad, Tom."

Tom smiled at him. "Yes - but I loved you even before I remembered
you."

Then he looked up and laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, Harry, the desk!"

Harry laughed too. It had been several months ago, and Harry had been
working on a report, sitting at the computer, brushing off Tom's
coaxing to come to bed. After a while, silence fell, and Harry worked
steadily - until suddenly the computer was shoved aside, and Tom
jumped up on the desk, sitting facing Harry with his legs spread. He
was completely naked, and challenged Harry, "Ignore me now!" But Harry
had just said, "Okay, I give up," before burying his face between
Tom's thighs.

Tom was looking around the room with astonishment. Finally he said,
"Harry, is there any spot in this room where we DIDN'T do it?"

Harry had to think long and hard. Then he said, "That chair over
there, and the patch of floor right in front of the door."

The next thing he knew, he was seated in the chair, legs spread, and
Tom was kneeling in front of him, gently licking his penis.

Tom was enjoying the taste and the texture, and the feeling of Harry
shivering and moaning. Why did he ever think this was disgusting? It
was the most beautiful thing in the world, loving your lover.

He gently licked and sucked Harry's balls, ran his tongue up and down
the length of Harry's erection, and swirled his tongue around the tip.
Then he sucked Harry's penis into his mouth, and just held it there
for a moment, enjoying the warm throbbing.

Tom felt almost grateful now to the convicts who had forced him to
learn this, how to give such pleasure to his love. He was sucking now,
sucking hard and deep, and Harry was thrusting up into his mouth, but
Tom could handle it, he was really good at this, he thought proudly.
And now Harry was coming, convulsing beneath Tom's head, and Tom was
determined  to capture every drop.

Then Harry just lay back gasping, finally managing to say, "Oh, MAN,
Tom!"

Tom grinned at him, and said, "Okay, next stop," pulling him to his
feet and hustling him to the spot by the door, the only spot left
unsanctified. And Harry leaned against the locked door as Tom entered
him from behind, laughing and crying at the same time.

Finally, the two men lay entangled on the floor, and Tom said, "Now, I
think we were on the way to the shower - "

---

Later, clean and dry, they lay peacefully together on the sofa, Tom
leaning back into Harry's arms, and Tom said, "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm remembering a lot of stuff, but the angel reference still escapes
me."

Harry laughed self-consciously. "That's not the fault of your memory,
I never told you about that." And he told Tom about his resemblance to
a stained-glass window from Harry's childhood, and how Harry had
secretly thought of Tom as his 'fallen angel'. "No wings," he
explained.

"No wings?" Tom asked. "Are you sure? 'Cause I'm flying now." And he
reached up to caress the nape of Harry's neck, and Harry chuckled and
leaned down to kiss him.

---

The doors to the turbolift opened, and the two officers stepped off
onto the bridge. Tom looked around, a slight smile on his lips, and
when he saw Tuvok at Tactical, his smile widened, and he exclaimed,
"Chief Inspector Tuvok and the testimony of the dog!" The Captain and
First Officer turned around to stare at Tom, and Harry said happily,
"Hey, Tom's memory is coming back." Janeway beamed at them. "That's
wonderful news."

Tom stared at the Captain.

"Tom?"

"Oh, sorry - I just remembered the first time you gave me the Conn."

Tom slowly walked down to the lower level of the bridge. He stopped
suddenly, staring at the floor beside the Conning station, and
whispered sadly, "Stadi."

He looked up again, and his eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "Tuvix!"

Janeway keyed her communicator. "Lieutenant Rollins, Crewman Ayala,
please report to the bridge."

She turned to Harry. "You and Lieutenant Paris are relieved of duty
for the day. I suggest you take Tom on a tour of the ship. Might as
well get this over with."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, and went over to Tom, and took his hand.
"Come on, Tom - we'll take a stroll down memory lane."

The word spread quickly through the ship, and as the two officers made
their tour, hand in hand, it was like a reunion. Tom stopped often to
laugh at old jokes or gasp at old tragedies. In Engineering, after
receiving a suffocating hug from B'Elanna, Tom exclaimed, "There were
two Voyagers!"

He remembered now, the near-destruction of the bridge, the near
disaster as the ships approached annilation, before the Vidiians
attacked, and the other ship self-destructing to save them.

In the Mess Hall, Tom scowled jokingly at Neelix, and exclaimed, "Hair
pasta!" And Neelix just said, "Now, now - you must admit, I've never
served it since."

Wherever they went, there were smiles and shared memories, until they
came to the Cargo Bay. And here Tom stopped and moaned aloud. This
memory  was his alone, the other time stream - and Harry's funeral. He
hadn't cried then, but he was crying now, tears streaming down his
face  at the memory of that life without Harry, and he turned to his
best friend and pulled him into his arms.

Harry, of course, had no idea what memory was affecting Tom so deeply,
but it didn't matter. He would just go along with Tom, supporting him
and loving him.

In Nav Forward, the tiny instrument-filled compartment in the front of
the ship, Tom stopped again. He stepped forward and looked out the
thick window, remembering again his despair when he thought that Harry
didn't love him.

"Computer, privacy lock."

"Tom?"

Tom turned to Harry, and advanced on him ominously. "I bawled my eyes
out over you in here, and now I'm going to fuck your brains out."

"Oh," Harry said agreeably. "Okay." And he immediately began
undressing.

So Tom took Harry, and Harry took Tom. And then they lay naked on the
floor with their arms around one another, watching the onrushing
stars, as Voyager continued toward a home distant beyond imagining.

---

Tom leaned on the bar in Sandrine's waiting for Harry. A sensor
malfunction had sent Harry back to duty soon after their ship's tour,
and Tom thought with resignation, those sensors are almost as bad as a
baby!

He looked contentedly around the room, sipping on a beer, remembering
now that B'Elanna had thought he was a pig, and Captain Janeway was
really a dynamite pool player.

"Uh, Paris?"

Tom turned. It was Chakotay.

"Yeah, Commander?"

"Tell me something," Chakotay asked. "If you remember now - why didn't
you say anything about the tip to the Feds when Seska  first left
here?"

Tom thought about it for a moment. Then he said, "Well, there just
didn't seem much point to it. Sure, she fooled you, but she fooled me
too, and a lot of other people. Even Tuvok, and hell, he's sort of
telepathic. So I didn't really see the need to stir that up. Besides,
I kind of like the Delta Quadrant. And I wouldn't have gotten here
otherwise."

Chakotay started to say something else, but stopped as he watched
Tom's face light up. Turning, he saw that Harry Kim had just entered.

Tom said, "Excuse me, Commander," and went to join his friend. He
passed a table where B'Elanna was having a drink and playing cards
with Hogan, and she looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye, and
said, "You're shining again."

He stopped short, and turned to her. "Me? You were talking about ME?"

She nodded and he grinned at her, and then joined Harry at a table in
the back.

Sometime later, Captain Janeway slid onto a barstool beside the First
Officer. "Buy a lady a drink?"

He smiled at her. "Of course."

"So," the Captain asked, fishing for her olive, "I guess all's well
that ends well?"

"Looks like it."

Then Janeway looked up and laughed, turning to Chakotay and saying,
"Maintaining good order and discipline IS the First Officer's
responsibility."

He turned around and chuckled too. Tom Paris had Harry Kim pinned
against the wall, and was kissing him with enthusiastic thoroughness.
Harry's face was flushed and his eyes unfocussed. His mouth was open
to receive Tom's tongue, and Tom's hips were moving sensuously against
him.

Chakotay realized with shocked amusement that, barring rapid
intervention, the young ensign was going to have a very public orgasm.
He walked over to the two young men, and said apologetically, "Uh,
Paris? Hand-holding in Sandrine's is one thing. But if you're going to
undress him, take it back to your quarters."

Tom tore his lips from Harry's and said breathlessly, "Aye, sir!" He
turned back to Harry, and said sternly, "You heard the man, Ensign.
Commander's orders - I am to take you back to my  quarters and undress
you."

And Harry said adoringly, "Oh, aye-aye!"

---

Tom lay in bed with Harry, naked in his best friend's arms. They had
fulfilled their orders to the utmost of their ability.

It still seemed incredible to Tom, and he was still having trouble
believing it, believing that everything could turn out so well.

And as he smiled into Harry's loving eyes and leaned down to kiss him,
he thought for the first time that maybe Padre was right. Maybe, just
maybe, he really did deserve this.

---
"I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch
wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever
and for ever when I move."

Alfred, Lord Tennyson
"Ulysses"
---

End -- Tom, Dick and Harry series