This takes place shortly after Investigations. I know, that episode aired eighteen months ago -- this took a while to hatch! For CKC, whom I dearly love, and whose discerning comments made this a much better story! Any flaws that remain are mine, of course.

Paramount owns everything Trek, the lucky stiffs. I'm just borrowing them.

This is for the BLTS list and R'rain's archive, only. Not to be posted to any other list, archived at any other site, printed except for one personal reading copy, or sold in any way whatsoever.

He had been inching his way toward this day for months, Harry reflected as he paused to scan his surroundings. No, maybe 'crawling' was a better word. Well, whatever. Progress had definitely been slow.

Until now, he thought hopefully, looking across the clearing at his companion. Tom was bent over a bed of moss, scanning it closely with a medical tricorder. For weeks Harry had been trying to work up the nerve to admit his feelings to Tom, and this mission was the perfect opportunity. The amazing biodiversity of this lush world meant that their assignment to collect samples of natural antiviral organisms was little more than an excuse for a camping trip: five days hiking through an exotic, lovely rainforest, picking up specimens here and there. Five nights under the stars.

Harry was firmly resolved that if Tom was willing, this mission would mark the beginning of their life together.

He grinned to himself slightly, a blush warming his face. Was it possible Captain Janeway had sent them off together for this very purpose? Tom's one semester of biochemistry hardly made him the most qualified member of the crew to collect pharmaceutical samples, and the Captain's explanation for sending Harry had been equally vague. "To assist Lieutenant Paris," she had said. Well, Harry thought wickedly, she didn't say exactly how. And though it probably wasn't what the Captain had in mind, he was fairly sure that one of the things Tom needed was him.

The first clue had come months earlier, the night Harry walked into Sandrine's - the real Sandrine's, on Earth. He'd known he'd be a stranger to the Tom in Marseilles, but he still expected to find the confident, resourceful man he knew on Voyager. Instead he found a lost soul, bitterly unhappy, trying desperately to deaden pain with drunkenness. A man who needed so badly to have someone call him 'friend' that he had given his life for a near-stranger.

For Harry, the entire alternate-reality experience had been a turning point. He had realized, sorrowfully, that it was time to let Libby go. Voyager had been given up for lost; he was dead, as far as his life on Earth was concerned. He would always love Libby, but he wanted her to be happy, not to waste years waiting for a man who might never return. And, once he had accepted that and mourned the loss of what might have been, it was time to put grief aside and make his peace with the life he had now.

Harry found his thoughts turning to Tom Paris.

He had admired Tom from the first day they met. Tom was exactly what Harry wanted to be -- smart and funny, talented and self-assured. Never flustered, never shy, and always able to make the dice roll in his favor no matter what chances he took -- for himself or for Voyager. He had rescued Chakotay in the Ocampan underground while the entire planet crumbled around them. He had flown Voyager through conditions the Starfleet manuals said no ship could survive. Harry envied Tom's daring and nerve. He never seemed afraid to break the rules.

It was tempting to think of Tom as larger than life -- too independent to be concerned by his loner status on Voyager, too self-sufficient to need friends or affection. Harry knew that wasn't true, though; the more time he spent with Tom, the more he could see tiny signs of vulnerability and an aching need to be loved. All carefully hidden, as if Tom fully expected that any overtures on his part would be rejected, and it was better if he seemed not to care.

Over time, hero worship became respect and affection deepened into love. But somehow, Harry could not bring himself to tell Tom how he felt. Some days he doubted even he could get through Tom's defenses; other days he was simply baffled by Tom's behavior. Tom had started to behave very strangely: getting into trouble, starting fights, showing up late for duty. Harry tried not to press him about it, at first; Chakotay was being enough of a nuisance in that respect. When he finally became worried enough to corner Tom and try to find out what was bothering him, Tom laughed it off, and avoided him afterward. It was as if he was slipping away, out of Harry's reach.

When Tom left for the Talaxian convoy Harry had been unable to say how he felt, unable to do more than hug his best friend and try not to break down in tears. That night he faced a bitter truth, the bitterest he had ever known: he loved Tom, with all his heart, and he was going to spend the rest of his life wondering if Tom would have left Voyager if he'd known.

Thank God it hadn't worked out that way, Harry thought fervently. His joy and relief when Tom was rescued from the Kazon had left him literally trembling, gripping his console for support and hoping no one on the bridge would notice his hands shake. In the week since, Harry had felt torn in pieces -- bursting to tell Tom how he felt, embarrassed by his failure to speak up earlier, and strangely glad for the experience. Perhaps he understood Tom's fear of rejection a little better now.

He forced his attention back to the present when Tom rose, sealing a specimen pouch and stuffing it into his backpack. "The light's going," he remarked as Harry joined him near the moss bed. "Ready to call it a day?"

"I'm ready," Harry answered. His stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. Tom shouldered his pack and they made their way back to the glade where they had set up camp that morning.

Dinner was a relaxed and pleasant meal. Starfleet field rations were satisfyingly ordinary compared to some of Neelix's more creative concoctions, and even better eaten in the flickering light of a campfire. When they had finished Tom pulled out his tricorder and began to tally their findings. Harry got up, gathering the food wrappings and pushing them into the fire with a stick.

"Fifteen new antivirals," Tom said after a moment. He glanced up at Harry. "Not bad for the first day. The Doctor ought to be happy." "Are you sure they're all distinct species?" "I think so." Tom bent over the tricorder again, studying the readings. Harry took a deep breath and knelt behind him, resting his hands carefully on Tom's shoulders. Tom went very still at his touch. Don't pull away, Harry prayed silently, and he leaned closer, gathering Tom into an awkward embrace. He could feel the taut muscles under his hands, rigid with surprise, and he hugged Tom harder. If only Tom would trust him now...

After a long moment Tom turned to him, eyes burning with painful hope. "Harry..."

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," Harry whispered back. "Do you mind?"

"Mind?" Tom repeated in disbelief, his voice catching.

Harry's heart leapt. "I'll take that as a no," he said, halfway between laughing and crying for joy. He took the tricorder out of Tom's hands, laying it aside, and slowly pushed Tom to the ground. He ran one hand down the side of Tom's face, looking lovingly into those blue eyes, now bright with emotion. Tom was staring up at him, caution warring with desire.

Harry leaned down, his lips barely touching Tom's. "I love you," he whispered. "It took me a little while before I was sure, but - I love you." He slowly pulled open Tom's uniform and began to undress him with gentle hands.

In a few minutes their clothes lay tangled together near the fire, and Tom was looking up him in amazement. Harry stretched out next to Tom and began to stroke him. Gently, almost languidly, running his hand across Tom's chest and down his side. So much to explore...

There was no hurry. He could feel Tom's uncertainty, but he was not concerned. He knew he would have to take things slowly; Tom had not felt wanted or loved in a very long time. It would take him a little while to get used to it.

Tom's throat closed up and his heart began to pound as Harry caressed him. Slow spirals, collarbone to hip and back again, never ending, and Tom felt himself trembling in response. He could not remember the last time anyone had shown him such tenderness, and the realization brought tears to his eyes.

His eyes filled, and Harry leaned down to kiss his eyelids and cheekbones, and then, very gently, his lips. Tom shivered and put his arms around Harry, drawing him close, and he could feel Harry smile against his mouth as he wrapped his arms around Tom in return. Harry continued his gentle caresses, his hands tracing patterns across Tom's shoulders and down his back.

Tom began to relax, then, sinking into Harry's arms, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder. Dear God, this felt so good, just being held. He had not known -- had not let himself know -- how badly he needed this tenderness, how starved he was for warmth and affection.

He let out a small moan, as Harry's hands moved lower. Harry had known, somehow.

Tom woke at dawn, blinking drowsily as the morning sun began to light the sky. For a moment he was astonished to find himself in Harry's arms; then the memories of the previous night came flooding back. They had spent hours exploring each others' bodies -- hesitantly at first, then joyfully, giving and receiving pleasure far into the night.

He lay quietly for a time, scarcely able to believe this turn of events. He remembered his first day on Voyager, when he had tried to walk away, one step ahead of the inevitable rejection. Harry had stopped him, offering a friendship he wanted so badly it hurt. From that moment he had known he would go through fire and water for Harry Kim. And, over time, he had realized his feelings for Harry ran much deeper than friendship. But he had been careful to keep it hidden; telling Harry would only make things awkward between them, strain their friendship. For months after they were stranded in the Delta Quadrant, Harry had clung desperately to his hopes of returning to Earth and Libby - and just as it seemed Harry was starting to accept the possibility of decades on Voyager, the time stream incident had sent him back to the Earth in another reality to remind him what he was missing. Tom had resigned himself to the fact that Harry was his good friend and nothing more.

So when had Harry decided he loved Tom? More to the point, what did Harry see in him that was worth loving? Tom wanted desperately to believe his good fortune, to accept Harry's declaration of love and return it. He did trust Harry's sincerity, but there was a great deal Harry didn't know about him.

Tom shook his head unconsciously and Harry stirred at the movement, smiling to find himself waking in Tom's embrace. He tilted his head to meet Tom's eyes and drew him down for a kiss, winding one hand in Tom's hair. Tom pulled back after a long moment. "I thought last night might have been a dream," he said with a trace of humor. "I guess not."

"A good dream, I hope?" Harry asked mischievously.

"The best. Absolutely the best. If it was a dream, I hope I never wake up."

Harry grinned. "It was better than a dream, Tom. It was real." He ran his hand down Tom's chest, patting the springy blond hairs in passing, and stroked Tom's side.

Tom caught his hand and leaned down for another kiss. "If we get started on that again, we might as well give up on the antivirals," he said with a grin.

"Fine with me," Harry answered cheerfully.

"Ensign Kim, I'm shocked," Tom said, in mock-serious tones. "Business before pleasure. The sooner we round up another fifteen antivirals, the sooner we knock off for the day."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Why didn't you say so before? Let's get to work!"

The second day went by quickly. Tom set a brisk pace and by unspoken consent they treated the day as duty time, focusing on the mission. It was almost like a rehearsal for when they went back to Voyager, Harry thought. If they occasionally caught each other's eyes and smiled -- well, hopefully that sort of thing wouldn't cause too much of a commotion on the bridge.

Harry was almost giddy, despite being short on sleep. He had finally told Tom how he felt -- an accomplishment in itself -- and he had every hope Tom would eventually feel the same way. He had been cautious, but Harry had expected that. He would be patient while Tom got used to the idea that Harry loved him. They had all the time in the world; he couldn't imagine anything changing his feelings for Tom.

After the evening meal they stretched out beside the fire. Harry pulled Tom into his arms and kissed him gently. "I can hardly believe this is real," he said contentedly. "I've been trying for weeks to tell you how I felt."

"It's kind of a surprise to me, too," Tom said lightly. "Not that I mind of course, but ... well, I suppose it's incredibly egotistical to ask you this, but what made you decide to tell me that you ... you..."

"That I love you?" Harry finished gently. His expression sobered. "It was when you left for the Talaxian convoy. I felt so guilty, Tom. I'd been trying to figure my feelings out for months -- letting go of Libby, and realizing how I felt about you. But I let you leave without saying anything."

"I'm glad you waited," Tom said honestly. "It would have been harder to go through with it if I'd known."

Harry kissed him again. "I felt even worse when you got back and I realized what you'd been doing."

"Putting myself in danger, you mean?"

Harry hesitated. "That too, but I also felt bad that you had to let everyone misjudge you again."

Tom frowned slightly. "What do you mean, again?"

"What about Caldik Prime?" Harry asked quietly.

Tom pulled back, searching Harry's face. "What about it?"

Harry met his gaze seriously. "I've been wondering about Caldik Prime for a long time. You told me it was pilot error, but now that I know how good you are at the helm, it's really hard to believe. You always beat the odds. You've flown us through situations most other pilots wouldn't even dare to try." He paused, searching Tom's face. "What really happened, Tom? Were you covering for somebody else's mistake?"

Tom stared at him in such shock, Harry was sure he had guessed the truth. Caldik Prime couldn't possibly have been Tom's fault! "Tom, you can tell me," he urged. "You shouldn't have to take the blame for something you didn't do. And you can't get anyone else in trouble, as long as we're stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant."

Tom groaned and pulled himself away from Harry. "Oh God, Harry," he said miserably. "I wish you hadn't asked, I wish ... this could have lasted a little longer."

Harry felt a prick of worry. "What do you mean?"

Tom's shoulders sagged. He rolled away from Harry, coming to rest a few feet away with his elbows on the ground and his forehead in his hands. "It was worse than pilot error," he said finally. "It was negligence."

Harry's stomach plummeted at Tom's words. "What..."

"I wasn't fit for duty, Harry. I shouldn't have been flying at all." His voice was ragged with misery. "I'd been up most of the night ... drinking. With my co-pilot, Duwa. She and her partner had a horrible argument and she needed to talk. We were still hung over when we reported for duty."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "At first I told myself the accident wasn't my fault. I told myself I couldn't have reacted any faster even if I hadn't been up half the night getting plastered. I almost believed it, too -- for about three days. Then after the memorial service I went back and checked my reaction times on all the flight simulations I'd logged in the last year.

"I should have been able to land that shuttle, Harry. I would have, if I hadn't been nursing a hangover. Three people died, and it was my fault."

Tom fell silent and Harry stared at his bowed head, too shocked for words. Part of him cried out that Tom was punishing himself unfairly. In the middle of a crisis like that, anyone could have hesitated for a moment, surely!

But another part of him was absolutely appalled at Tom's confession. Going on duty when he knew he wasn't fit, taking the helm when he knew his reaction time would be slow -- even if it hadn't been the direct cause of the accident, it was an unbelievably irresponsible thing to do. Of course he had always admired Tom's willingness to take chances, but ... that was because Tom always won. Or so Harry had thought. Dear God, wasn't killing three people enough to curb Tom's wild streak?

After a long silence Tom looked up, a faint shadow of hope in his eyes. Harry was silent, paralyzed by horror and disapproval.

They stared at each other for several moments. Finally Tom looked down, seeming to accept Harry's censure. He rose quietly, taking one of the bedrolls to the other side of the fire, and lay down with his back to Harry.

Harry sat by the fire, watching Tom's still form. An hour earlier, Tom had been his lover and his closest friend. Now, Harry wondered if he was either.


The third day was absolute hell. Tom took the lead as they hiked through the rainforest and Harry stumbled after, trying to ignore his pounding headache. He'd never been good at going without sleep, and this was the second night in a row he'd only gotten a few hours. He had spent most of the night thrashing about in his bedroll, hearing Tom's voice over and over in his head, and his own silence echoing so loudly he thought he would go deaf.

What the hell is wrong with me? Harry asked himself in frustration. I tell Tom I love him, I ask him to trust me -- even when I know perfectly well that's the hardest thing in the world for him to do! Then I bring up his worst nightmare, and as soon as he tells me something that isn't easy to hear, I lose it. He needs my understanding, damn it, not my judgment!

But... God help me, what do I say to him? I don't know if I can understand.

It hurt to admit it, but the thought of what Tom had done made him nearly sick with revulsion. How could he possibly have gone on duty with a hangover? Harry thought despairingly.

Realistically, he knew Tom had changed since that time. He still took chances, but only when it was absolutely necessary, and his fearlessness had saved the crew, not put them in danger. Voyager would have been destroyed a dozen times over if Tom had been the type to panic during a difficult situation.

But that didn't change the past. Harry didn't know how to reconcile his feelings for Tom with the knowledge that the person he loved could ever have done something so careless.

"Damn you, Tom," Harry muttered aloud, but Tom was two hundred meters ahead, too far away to hear. He was searching out antivirals with weary persistence, and the sight of him nearly broke Harry's heart. He rubbed his eyes, sighing with fatigue, and flexed his aching muscles. He had work to do; he had to keep his attention on his duty.

Tom was managing to concentrate on the day's work, but only by deliberately driving himself to exhaustion. He had been awake the entire night -- reliving, over and over, the awful moment when Harry's love turned to disgust. It was dawn before the pain finally faded to a dull, aching resignation. He tried to tell himself it would have happened sooner or later, but that thought gave little comfort. He would have given almost anything for another night in Harry's arms. One more night of feeling wanted; one more night of feeling cherished, and cared for, and loved.

He shut his eyes hard against the sting of tears and forced his attention back to the matter at hand. The tricorder was showing a densely wooded area a kilometer away with a high concentration of airborne spores, often a sign of plants with antiviral properties. Better check it out, he thought. He turned and caught Harry's eye, indicating the direction they would need to take, and set off determinedly, with Harry trailing after.

As they walked the forest grew heavier. The ground was thick with undergrowth and the trees crowded closer together until an impenetrable canopy of leaves and branches shut out the sunlight completely. The woods were filled with small sounds -- a breeze stirring the leaves overhead, the cry of hunting birds far in the distance, and the rhythmic chittering of some cricket-like insect. Harry struggled to focus as his tricorder flashed readings: there were so many varieties of plant and animal in this small area, he could barely make sense of the data. Tom stood just ahead, also checking his tricorder readings carefully.

"This is great," Harry offered tentatively. "I bet we'll find as many antivirals here as we have the last two days combined."

Tom glanced at him, his expression carefully neutral. "The Doctor will be pleased."

Harry winced. He hadn't said a word all day that wasn't related to the mission, and Tom probably thought he wanted to just carry out their assignment and pretend nothing had happened between them.

"Tom," he started awkwardly. "We need to talk." But Tom wasn't listening. His tricorder was pointed off to Harry's left and he was staring hard at the readings. Suddenly he dropped his pack and threw himself at Harry in a full-body tackle that carried them both two meters from where Harry had been standing. Harry landed with a jolt that drove the breath from his lungs and Tom fell on top of him with a sharp cry. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw a small lizard-like creature clinging to the back of Tom's thigh, withdrawing a needle-sharp claw from his leg. As he watched, too stunned to move, the reptile raised its other claw and stung Tom again.

With a surge of adrenalin Harry scrambled to his knees and struck the creature barehanded, knocking it away from Tom. Then he snatched up his fallen tricorder and brought it down on the tiny squirming animal, pounding at the small body over and over until it lay crushed and unrecognizable among the fallen leaves. The tricorder housing caved in with the force of his blows.

He turned to Tom, panting with exertion and the violence of his emotions. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Harry..." Tom gasped. He lay where he had fallen, eyes wide and breathing hard. Harry threw the ruined tricorder aside and scooped up the one Tom had dropped, falling to his knees at Tom's side. His hands trembled as he reprogrammed the tricorder for a medical scan. "Oh no," he breathed as the readings began to display. The creature's venom was poisonous, and it was already moving through Tom's body toward his vital organs. Even if Harry had been prepared to amputate a leg to save Tom's life, it was too late. Dear God, and they had left the medkit at the campsite.

Harry snapped the tricorder shut and shoved it into his belt. "Tom, we have to get away from here, there might be more of those things hiding in the brush. I'll help you, okay?"

Tom nodded, his face tight with pain. Harry hated forcing him to move, but they had to get out of this forest and back to camp, and then contact Voyager.

He pushed that thought away with an effort. "All right," he said, trying to sound confident. "Let's go."

He drew Tom's left arm around his shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Tom's waist, pulling Tom up with him as he struggled to his feet. Tom leaned on him heavily but seemed able to support most of his own weight, and they set off.

They staggered into camp an hour later. Tom had gone deathly white, his breath rasping against his throat. The long hike had taken every last ounce of his strength, and Harry was nearly carrying him by the time they arrived.

At the campfire Harry kicked out one of the bedrolls and lowered Tom to a sitting position, supporting Tom's shoulders as he lay back with a stifled moan. Harry scrabbled through the pile of supplies in search of the medkit. "Thank God," he muttered when he finally found it, shoved under the first day's batch of antiviral samples.

"You're going to be fine," he said anxiously, passing the medical tricorder over Tom's chest. A real medcorder, the kind that gave treatment recommendations as well as bioreadings. He frowned over the treatment list, hypospray in hand. Painkiller, tri-ox compound to help his breathing, and ... the last line of the display read 'Antidote Unknown.'

Harry sat back on his heels in shock, suddenly so numb that the tricorder almost slipped from his hands. A surge of helpless terror overwhelmed him. Tom was going to die. Slowly and painfully, on a nameless, uninhabited planet, and the last thing he would remember was how his best friend had hurt him. The one person he should have been able to trust.

Then a fierce determination seized Harry, gripping him more strongly than the fear. He was not going to let Tom die, damn it. He was not going to let that happen!

With shaking hands he dialed the hypospray to the first medication on the tricorder's list, and bent over Tom. "This will make you feel better," he said, steadying his voice with an effort. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to take good care of you."

"I know," Tom said weakly. His eyes were glazed and widely dilated, skin pale and damp with sweat. Going into shock, Harry realized belatedly. Keep him warm, keep his extremities higher than his heart... Harry's first aid training quickly asserted itself. He gave Tom the other hypospray, slid one of the backpacks under his knees, and covered him with the other bedroll.

Then Harry turned to his next priority: calling Voyager. He sorted through the jumbled pile of equipment until he found one of the locator beacons and set it to broadcast an emergency signal The signal would only reach halfway to the asteroid belt Voyager was mining for dilithium crystals, but he would work on extending its reach after he had done all he could for Tom.

Harry could tell Tom was more comfortable once the tri-ox and painkiller had taken effect. His labored breathing grew quieter and he relaxed, no longer holding himself tense against the pain. Harry refilled the canteens from the nearby stream and helped Tom take a drink, though he couldn't persuade him to eat. Then he built up the fire against the lengthening shadows and set to work on the locator beacon. Tom fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was delicate, painstaking work, the sort of work Harry knew he was good at -- most of the time. It was harder to focus on re-routing microcircuitry when his best friend's life hung in the balance. Best friend and lover, best friend and the man he owed his life to several times over...

No, Harry told himself fiercely, don't think about that. Not now. Tom needs me too much to get distracted by guilt. If I let him down now I'll have the rest of my life to feel guilty.

At the moment, that seemed like a very real possibility.

Five hours later, Harry stopped to stretch and rub his sore neck. The modified locator beacon was finally done; he switched off the first beacon, hooked its power cell into the second, and turned them both on with a sigh of relief. The enhanced signal should reach all the way to the asteroid belt Voyager was mining; with a little luck, it might even penetrate the communications bandwidth distortions within the field. At the very least Voyager would pick up the message as soon as they started back for the planet, instead of twelve hours into the trip.

Tom was still asleep and Harry checked his condition with the tricorder. His temperature was slightly elevated, other lifesigns stable; the two small wounds on his leg were swollen and probably painful, but the poison seemed to be lying dormant in his body.

Harry's stomach twisted in shame as he stared at the medcorder's schematic of the twin sting marks. If only he had reacted more quickly, he might have been able to get rid of the creature before it stung Tom the second time. Or if he had really been paying attention, he would have noticed his tricorder's hazard warning before the creature jumped in his direction. Instead Tom had had to knock him out of the way and take the poison himself.

Harry swallowed a painful lump in his throat. There wasn't a great deal of difference between going on duty tired and bleary-eyed because you'd been out late with a friend who needed to talk, or because you'd had an upsetting conversation with your lover and couldn't sleep. Harry had known he was distracted, but it hadn't even occurred to him to suggest they skip a day's work. He was a Starfleet officer; he would have felt he was shirking his duties.

But he was human, not a machine. It wasn't realistic to think he would be able to function well when he was exhausted. He should have admitted it earlier. He had been irresponsible.

Another bitter truth.

Harry leaned forward, gently taking the hand lying limp on Tom's chest, and brushed his fingers carefully along Tom's cheek. "I understand now, Tom," he whispered. "And I still love you. I always will."

Harry woke at dawn, knowing before he opened his eyes that Tom was much worse. He had spent the night curled protectively around Tom, arm circling his chest; now he could feel heat radiating right through the layers of Tom's uniform. Harry pulled himself away from Tom carefully and sat up, reaching for the tricorder.

Tom was burning up. His temperature was dangerously high, other lifesigns barely readable as the toxin overwhelmed his system, and he was becoming seriously dehydrated. Harry repeated the doses of tri-ox compound and painkiller as the tricorder directed, adding another shot to bring down the fever. After a few minutes Tom slowly opened his eyes. Harry bent over him.

"How do you feel?" he asked gently, putting a hand on Tom's forehead.

Tom stared up at him, barely able to speak. "Hot," he whispered finally, and stopped for breath. "Hurts..."

"I know," Harry replied softly, feeling as though an iron fist had grabbed hold of his heart. "Hang on, Tom. Voyager will be back for us soon." He reached for the canteen. "Let me help you drink some water, okay? That might make you feel a little better."

Tom nodded again. Harry slid an arm under his shoulders and held the canteen to let Tom take small sips of water. He was almost too weak to swallow, choking and coughing several times; Harry held him until he caught his breath, urging him to continue until he had swallowed a few ounces. Then he lowered Tom carefully back to the ground. The effort had clearly exhausted him.

Harry bent over him again, cupping his cheek gently. "Tom, I'm so sorry about what happened the other night. I love you, no matter what you've done..." He trailed off. Tom was past understanding. As Harry watched, Tom's eyes closed, and he lost consciousness again.

The fourth day was one Harry knew he would never forget as long as he lived: the worst day of his life.

Tom's fever continued to rise, the heat so intense that Harry had a terrible vision of his body melting like wax. By mid-morning his clothes were soaked through with sweat. Harry peeled them off, all but the shorts, and tore the gray turtleneck apart to make cold compresses for Tom's face and chest. He kept a light sheet pulled up to Tom's shoulders. It was irrational, he knew, but it worried him to leave Tom exposed to the wilderness around them.

Tom drifted in and out of consciousness, no longer aware of his surroundings or Harry's presence. There were frightening periods of delirium when he cried out incoherently, arms raised to protect himself from dangers Harry could only imagine. Each time Harry held his hands and spoke soothingly, but it was clear Tom could neither hear nor understand.

In the calmer periods, when Tom had lapsed back into unconsciousness, Harry dribbled water into his mouth from the canteen, slowly enough to let the liquid slide down his throat without choking him. Despite his best efforts, Tom became more and more seriously dehydrated as his fever climbed.

All though the long, terrible day, Harry sat by Tom's side, counting the hours, watching Tom's bioreadings on the tricorder, and feeling the weight of his guilt heavy on his chest.

Finally the sun began to set. The shadows lengthened and the air cooled. As darkness fell, Tom's temperature leveled off and slowly, almost indiscernibly, began to drop.

Harry's relief was short-lived. Once the fever broke Tom's temperature fell drastically. Within an hour he was shaking with cold. Harry wrapped him in both of the bedrolls and built the fire as high as he dared. Then he stripped down to his shorts -- the better to share his body heat -- and slid under the covers with Tom.

He wrapped his arms around his best friend, holding him tightly against the chills racking his body. Tom seemed so fragile, so vulnerable -- as if the fever had consumed him, burning away the flesh, rendering his bones insubstantial.

They lay together for hours, and Harry could tell without the tricorder that Tom was getting weaker. His shivering subsided, not because he had grown warmer but because he no longer had the strength. His heartbeat slowed and his breathing grew labored, and Harry knew, finally, that Tom was going to die. He was responsible. He would never be able to forgive himself.

His eyes filled with tears and he kissed Tom, touching the dry, cracked lips as gently as he knew how.

Then, in the silence of the forest night, his commbadge chirped.

The two men were beamed directly to Sickbay as soon as Voyager came into transporter range. Harry materialized with Tom cradled in his arms, unconscious and struggling desperately for breath. He lowered Tom onto a biobed the moment the transporter released them and stepped back as the Doctor and Kes began their frantic efforts. Neither spared the slightest attention for Harry's state of undress.

Then Captain Janeway arrived and drew him away to the Doctor's office. Someone brought a robe from his quarters; Harry pulled it on, awkwardly, unable to tear his eyes away from his closest friend, lying helpless and near death.

Tom moaned as Kes snaked a tube down his throat and Harry's face twisted in misery. If the Captain guessed his feelings were more than concern for a friend, she kept silent.

Several hours later the Doctor closed his tricorder, looking over at his waiting audience with a pleased expression, and Harry knew Tom would be all right. He let his head drop against the glass window of the Doctor's office, vision blurring with tears, so weak with relief he could barely stay upright.

Captain Janeway put an arm around his shoulder and led him to Tom's side, standing with him while Doctor explained the treatment. The Captain listened for them both; all Harry could absorb was that Tom was going to live. He would be unconscious for a day or more, while his body recovered from the ordeal, but eventually he would be all right. Harry had never been so thankful in his life.

Then the Doctor moved Tom to a bed in the wardroom where he would rest more comfortably. Harry pulled a chair to the side of the bed and remained there, waking and sleeping, for the next two days.

Those two days were a mixture of relief and sorrow that Harry would remember ever after as his last step into adulthood. Relief - profound relief -- that Tom was alive. Sorrow, as Harry accepted that the price of love was the certainty of loss. It was something his younger self had never given serious thought, when he had been with Libby. Someday he would lose Tom to death -- one of their deaths. In the meantime, he would love.

The last truth. Not so bitter, after all.

There were other things Harry had to face, as he sat by Tom's bedside hour after hour. One was the possibility that his reaction to Caldik Prime had hurt Tom so badly he would pull away, pretend there was nothing between them to shield himself from yet another rejection. The thought of having wounded Tom in that way was agonizing, but for himself, it seemed little more than he deserved. If Tom was through with him, perhaps it would be best to accept that quietly. The thought filled him with bleak despair.

A sudden realization shocked Harry nearly to tears. This sense of unworthiness was what Tom had lived with every day since Caldik Prime. No wonder he had seemed to expect rejection, weighed down by guilt as he was. Harry had escaped the same sentence by the narrowest possible margin.

Harry was too honest to suppose, even now, that he truly understood what it took for Tom to live with his guilt. But it was enough for him to make a promise: somehow, he would help Tom find some peace of mind over Caldik Prime. He had carried the burden alone for too long.

It was late on the second evening, and Tom was still unconscious. The Doctor was unconcerned, assuring Harry that Tom was sleeping normally and his body simply needed the rest. But Harry could not relax until Tom woke. He was lost in thought, thinking about what he would say, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Captain Janeway.

"Captain," he whispered, acknowledging her presence, and she held his gaze with a serious expression.

"Harry," she began in a low voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, please. But - I have a strong impression that you and Tom may need to..." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "May need to work out some issues when he wakes up. Am I correct?"

Harry met her eyes uncertainly. Her expression was concerned and understanding, as if she knew he had been hoping for the last thirty-six hours that no one else would be nearby when Tom finally woke up. He nodded, briefly. He was so very tired.

The Captain patted his hand reassuringly. "I thought that might be the case." She glanced over at Tom sleeping quietly. "I asked the Doctor if Tom could be moved, and he said yes. The toxins in his system have been neutralized; he's just sleeping off the ill effects now. If you want to take him back to his quarters, you may."

Harry stared at her, not sure what he was hearing. Finally it sank in: the Captain understood exactly what his feelings for Tom were. "Have I been that obvious?" he croaked.

She gave him an affectionate smile. "Not obvious, but to someone who cares about you both -- yes, I can see how you feel about him. And I think Tom feels the same about you."

Harry closed his eyes, struggling for control as the guilt threatened to overwhelm him again. He loved Tom, but he had hurt Tom badly.

"I love him," he said miserably, "and I don't know if he'll believe me, after what happened. Not because of this," he raised a hand, indicating Sickbay and Tom's injuries with a vague gesture, "but ... something else."

The Captain slipped an arm around his shoulder. "Tell him how you feel," she advised. "Tell him now, and keep telling him until he believes you. You and Tom can make each other very happy if you try. Don't let anything get in the way of loving each other. It's too precious a gift to waste."

Harry turned, then, and felt the Captain's arms go around him as he buried his head in her shoulder for a moment, shutting his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. "I won't," he said, his voice breaking. "I won't waste it."

The Captain held him, rubbing his back, and Harry rested in her arms for a few minutes until he felt strong enough to control himself again. He sat up, allowing the Captain to squeeze his hand one last time, and stood to draw the covers away from Tom. Then he slid his arms under Tom's shoulders and knees and lifted him carefully. The Captain tapped her commbadge.

"Janeway to Transporter Room Two. Lock onto Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Paris and beam them directly to Mr. Paris's quarters."

Sickbay faded from view as they materialized in Tom's quarters. Harry crossed the cabin to Tom's bedroom and laid him carefully on the bed, covering him with a blanket. Then he loosened his robe and stretched out on his side next to Tom. Opening the front of the blue Sickbay pajamas, he laid one hand on Tom's chest to feel the slow, steady heartbeat within.

Consciousness returned, slowly, with memory lagging behind. He was warm, and comfortable, and vaguely aware that this was a great relief. His body felt stiff and heavy, as though he had been asleep a very long time. Something had happened, some sort of crisis. He could not quite remember what.

Tom opened his eyes, finally, and let out a quiet sigh of appreciation. Yes, these were his quarters, he was safe in his own bed, and - Harry lay next to him, asleep, one hand resting gently on Tom's chest. Tom felt a sudden pang of concern. Harry appeared exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and a faint, worried frown etched into his forehead even as he slept.

The sight of him jarred Tom's memory, bringing back confused impressions: Harry's arms wrapped around him as he lay trembling from cold and pain. Heat and thirst so intense, he had imagined Voyager was burning up in the corona of a sun. Harry supporting him in the forest as he struggled to keep moving, sharp pains lancing through his right leg.

The memories became clearer the farther back he went. He and Harry had made love, and all that night he had positively ached with happiness. Then Harry had asked about Caldik Prime. He remembered confessing the shameful truth, and the misery of knowing that not even Harry could understand it or accept him afterward. That pain was still with him.

But here was Harry, at his side, looking as though he had been awake all the long hours Tom lay unconscious. Now that Harry knew about Caldik Prime, how could he possibly still want Tom for his lover?

And... Tom wondered suddenly why he was in his cabin. If he'd been that sick, the Doctor would have insisted on keeping him under observation until he regained consciousness -- unless Sickbay was filled with other, more seriously injured patients. But surely Harry would be on duty if Voyager had suffered any kind of disaster. What was going on?

Thoroughly confused, Tom began to reach for the comm controls on the bedside table. Harry started awake at his sudden movement and sat up, looking down at Tom with a worried expression. Tom's throat closed up as he looked back at Harry, reading anxiety and hope in his friend's eyes.

Harry found his voice first. "Tom? Are you all right?"

Tom nodded, slowly, and Harry's eyes filled with tears. "I was so afraid I'd lost you," he whispered. "When you told me what happened at Caldik Prime, I couldn't understand at first. Tom, please forgive me. I love you. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the universe."

Tom stared up at him for an endless moment, so shocked he could hardly breathe. Harry still loved him; it was more than he deserved, more than he had dared to hope for.

Long-suppressed emotions struggled for expression. Tom fought to control the deep sobs racking him, but he was too drained from his ordeal on the planet. Harry held him close, his quiet voice soothing. "It's all right," Harry said softly, over and over. "I'm here now, and I love you, and I'll never leave you."

Finally Tom quieted, and Harry leaned down to kiss him. Tom responded urgently, drinking him in like a man dying of thirst.

Harry loosened one hand from behind Tom's back, caressing his jaw, and throat, and chest, and rubbing his fingers teasingly across Tom's nipples until he gasped for breath against Harry's mouth. Then Harry slid his hand farther down, inside the Sickbay pajamas, loose around the slender body. And lower, until his hand closed firmly around Tom's waiting erection. Tom shuddered with the sensation, his eyes tightly shut. Harry bent his head down to nibble Tom's shoulder, and lick at his nipples, and gently kiss the delicate hollow place at the base of his throat, all the while stroking Tom until he was rock hard and straining for release.

Then Harry paused and moved back up to fasten himself on Tom's mouth, kissing him deeply as they writhed against each other. He tightened his hold, then, and Tom's body went taut as he came, shaking convulsively in Harry's arms. A gasping sob escaped his throat and Harry held him tightly.

They lay together quietly. When Tom's ragged breathing evened out, Harry kissed him, pouring all his love into that gentle touch. Tom's eyes opened and he stared at Harry in wonder for a moment. Then he smiled and murmured, "I want you inside me, Harry."

Harry felt a surge of emotions -- love and amazement and gratitude. Tom trusted him to do this. Even after the misery he had given Tom by his own failure of understanding, Tom trusted him enough to let him in, body and soul. Harry had never been given such a gift before. He would not let Tom down again, as long as he lived.

Harry shuddered with the strength of his resolve and realized he was holding Tom so hard, they were both finding it difficult to breathe. He tore himself away from Tom and reached over to the drawer in the bedside table. The first thing he found was a small bottle of massage oil. Harry smiled -- that would come in handy later, as well as now. He planned to caress every precious inch of Tom's body until Tom felt Harry's love wrapping around him like a second skin, as close as his own breath.

With a final kiss, Harry wiggled out of his robe and shorts, then carefully undressed Tom and turned him over onto his belly, catching his breath at the sight of the pale golden body, the taut muscles and narrow hips. He let one hand roam freely down Tom's side as he leaned down to kiss him -- the tip of his ear, the back of his neck, the angles of his shoulderblades, the middle of his back. So beautiful, all so beautiful.

Then he loosened the top on the small bottle of oil, coated himself liberally, and squeezed a small amount into his hand. Tom began to tremble in anticipation as Harry prepared him with infinite care.

When he thought Tom was ready -- more than ready, by all indications - Harry eased himself inside, gasping at the feeling and the force of the love he felt. Tom moaned, softly, and Harry slid a hand under his belly. He was hard again. Harry grasped his erection, stroking it slowly, and leaned his cheek against Tom's shoulder as they both trembled with arousal.

Finally Harry could wait no longer. He began to thrust, slowly and deeply, into Tom's body. It was almost unbearable, this feeling of union, of connection. After the emotional turmoil of the past three days, Harry was too exhausted to hold anything back. He came quickly, crying out incoherently as waves of pleasure rocked him. Tom trembled beneath him as he too reached climax.

When it was over they lay motionless together -- hearts racing, breathing heavily, thoroughly sated. Finally Harry eased himself off Tom's back and held him close, profoundly grateful. Tom was alive, and had forgiven him. He had not lost his lover or his best friend. And he was never going to hurt Tom again.

The seventh day would be joy. And all the days after.

end