"I loved you, you know."  Harry said quietly, eyes lost, as if staring at a distant dream.Tom felt suddenly as if every particle of his body was frozen.  His heart stopped beating for a moment, as the two thoughts warred desperately.  He loved me.  And: Too late."Harry, I--""No."  Harry lifted a hand, forbidding the next words.  "I won't do this.  I've tried loving you, and nothing will change the fact that you just can't be faithful.  I thought I could change it, change you, make you so happy you wouldn't need to play those games any more."  His hand touched Tom's still face gently, loving the soft skin, the clean planes of bone and flesh across cheekbones, the faint scrap of a beard, not even stubble yet.  <Last time,> he thought, and let the hand linger.Tom's eyes closed in pain.  He tentatively reached his own hand to hold Harry's to his face, turning to rest his lips against the palm.  "Please.  Let me have a second chance?"  A second hand joined the first on his face."Love, what would you do with it?  I've given you your chances.  I *warned* you what would happen.""I didn't realise, I didn't...  I don't know..."  there was a long silence, Tom racking his brain for anything, anything at all that would stop this nightmare, but there was nothing.  Just a great, grey emptiness, that seemed to open up, taking him in, falling so far into it that nothing mattered any more.  <I did this to myself.  Oh God.  What am I going to do?  Oh holy god.  What am I going to do?  He can't make me leave.  I don't want to leave.>  He was shaking his head, trembling with shock and panic.He looked up to meet Harry's calm dark eyes.  That was the worst part. He looked so disappointed.  He could see the things he had damaged.  The hope, and the faith, and the love he had treated too lightly.  He had *known*, even as he flirted with the others, had known that it *did* really matter. That each little bit of time spent away from Harry really *was* more than was right, especially the way he was spending it.  All the times when the words woke with him in the morning, 'you're going to lose him', and those which finished the day, 'thank God, another one through safely without getting caught.'.  He'd known.  He'd just never dared to ask himself why - why he did it, why he wanted to wreck his happiness, break his heart, nor had he had the strength to stop himself.So now Harry would leave.  The one person who meant more to him than any other living.  He'd sabotaged himself, setting himself up for this abandonment.  He leaned into the gentle hands cupping his cheeks, and felt the tears drip between them, the liquid pooling in the hollows of Harry's finger joints then slipping through to fall away. He couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only iterate and reiterate, dumbly, "He's really done it.  He's really going.  I did this.  What am I going to do?"One hand shifted, brushed lightly over the bridge of his nose, smoothed an eyebrow while a stray thumb lifted away a tear.  "I'm sorry, Tom," the voice was a thread, and Tom wanted to reach out and make it whole - make Harry whole again.  Wanted to not hear the tiny voice of relief hidden away inside him saying 'at last, at last he's going to go, now I know, now I don't have to worry about when it's going to end any more; now...'  The hand under his eye curled, the back of his fingers resting against just in front of his ear, one finger stroking comfortingly.  As if it was Tom that deserved sympathy, pity.  He swallowed painfully and forced his eyes open."Let me stay?  Please?"Harry just watched him, remotely, measuringly.  What good was it to relent, if this happened again, and again.  He couldn't bear it any more.  Tom's eyes met his, pleading with every fibre, bleak and dry with pain.  There was no attempt to charm, or excuse this time.  No joke, or teasing attempt to make Harry feel that he was the one overreacting.  Here was Tom.  Just Tom, stripped of every charade, every game, the sophistication and artifice, every pattern and mask that had first made him so attractive.  And Harry rediscovered that what he had always known was true.  That no matter what, he loved Tom Paris.The blue eyes wavered and fell before his gaze, and he learned something new.  That the confidence that had so drawn him, the brightness that shone wherever Tom walked, was a way to mask the fear that he didn't - couldn't measure up.  Not just to the standards that his family, or Starfleet made.  But to his own standards.Harry smiled.  Perhaps this could be salvaged after all.  "Tom?"His friend looked up again for a moment, eyes bleak.  He shrugged and stepped away from the comfort of Harry's touch.  "I'm so sorry.  I don't know... I don't know what else I could have done."Harry grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Brusque and hard, letting go after a moment.  "Said thanks but no thanks?  Walked away.  Called me to rescue you.  Tom, don't pretend.  This isn't a soap opera where you can make grand gestures,  and find happily ever after. This is real."You could have *thought*.  You could have wondered why you were in this relationship.  Tell me that, Tom.  Why were you in this relationship? Why are you leaving this relationship? Because I'm still here, loving you, but you're vanishing out of it."Tom couldn't find the words, and Harry shook his head, opening his mouth.  He wanted to say it, even if Harry could no longer believe him, but it seemed too late.  He barely heard the words as Harry went on, saying things that weren't true, horrible things."...some kind of easy lay?  Maybe I read it all wrong? You just knew I'd put out for you anytime you were lonesome?  What is it about me?  Am I so impossible to live with?  Do you dislike me so much you have to rip me apart every time you get bored?  Just passing through my ass on your way to the most notched bedpost in the galaxy?" The anger grew, acrid and overpowering, losing the reasoned, loving arguments that he had planned. The loving acceptance, the tolerance that he thought he could bring to this were gone, lost like the falsehoods they were in the face of his pain and fury. He was a fool, seventy times seven a fool, and all his oldest fears fed gleefully on the misery in him."No. No, no, no,."  Tom shook his head desperately.  It didn't matter what Harry said about him, he deserved it, all the contempt and ridicule and despite that Harry could muster.  But Harry himself *had* to believe in himself.  Otherwise nothing was worth anything any more. His hand lit over Harry's mouth, closing off the words.  "Don't.  It's me.  I mean, it's my fault.  Don't think it was you, ever.  I'm just not good enough a person,"  he shrugged again, as if to dismiss himself from reality, from consequence.  "I'm sorry.  I should leave.  I'll...I'll collect my stuff sometime when you're out."He took a slow step away, and a second.  Every moment he hoped, somehow, that Harry would say, no, wait, Tom.  Maybe we can work something out.  But the words never came as the door closed behind him.===================================================="..going to go! Get back!  Paris!""Stand clear!""help me!""coming around again!  Captain!  I have him in range!""On my command -- -- -- Fire."<blam><thud>"...hull breach imminent in decks seven through twelve. bridge integrity compromised...""--overwhelmed!  Captain, I can barely cope with the casualties I already have - if Mr Paris...""casualty himself, Doctor...""...is he?" -- -- "Ninety percent-- cranial.. Immediate--" -- -- -- "Tom, tomtom, I didn't know...back.  Please?  don't go..."Where were the words coming from?  Tom stared upwards at the vast, empty grey space.  The sky was smooth and cloudless, flawlessly slate coloured, dark and starless. Slowly he remembered how to turn his head, and though neck muscles protested, he rolled his head from one side to the other as he lay on the hard, black rock. As far as his eyes could see, an unchanging, unbroken landscape all around him."-- Tom, please..."--Harry's voice?  He looked around wildly, jolted out of lethargy.  He could hear muffled sobs, a baritone voice more dear to him than anything breaking with unhappiness.  Me again.  I've broken his heart again.  I'm sorry Harry, he called into the emptiness, but it sucked the words away as if they had never been spoken.  I love you, he tried, but it too vanished in the vacuum.He turned full circle, unexpectedly standing, no intervening motion, horizontal, vertical, trying to find any clue as to his whereabouts.  Harry, I want to come home, he whispered brokenly, brushing unexpected tears from his face.  Where are you?"Tom, hold on, we'll be there soon."*His* voice again.  He started walking.  Perhaps he could get out, or it would give him something to do.  The ground under his feet crunched, and he realised it was sand now, grey, but lighter than the dull matt of the sky above him. He walked until his calves ached at the odd shifts of the fine, shimmering stuff underfoot.damn but it hurt.  "I know, I know it does.  Just hang on, just a little longer, for me Tom?"He heard me?  Harry?"yes Tom?"Love you."I know."Sorry.  He looked around again, back at the faint line of footprints in the sand, wondering who made them, where he was going, and if, perhaps, he could find him, and they could walk together in this loneliness.  Harry.  Perhaps it would even be Harry.  Just a dream one, that would be all right.  Just a small dream.  It had to be unreal.  He was imagining Harry's voice, it was the only explanation for the softness of his tone.  If his imagination was feeling this communicative, maybe he could ask it some questions.  Did he really love me?  Why am I so terrified of him really loving me?Because then you'd have to let down all the walls.  That wasn't the Harry voice.  It sounded like Ricky, not long before she told him that Paris or no Paris, she wasn't prepared to wait for a man who pushed her away every time she got close to him.  He'd pushed before she could find out how worthless he really was, before she could leave him.  Better to think he was a commitment-phobe than know he was a failure. And that was *before* everything had started to go so very bad.He rubbed at the back of his head.  It almost felt like sunstroke, the throbbing there, except it built and built.  It drove him to his knees,and further, where he pressed his face into the rough sand, feeling each individual grain sticking to his skin, pushing harder and harder into the tiny crystalline granules, and prayed for it to stop, oh it hurt too much to live, make it stop.  His breaths were ragged and rough, catching in almost sobs that echoed in the muffled silence.  The pain had gone, and it was quiet again, except for his whimpers.  Even though he was kneeling still, he was moving, the world unbalancing itself around him, swaying invisibly.Har?  You still there?"Always, sweetheart."The voice still sounded like tears, and he didn't want Harry to cry.  Not ever again, not over him.  Sweetheart? he wondered.  I thought you didn't love me any more.  Maybe you do love me a little bit then.  He let out a deep breath, and was surprised when he didn't bother breathing in again.  This must be a dream then, or I'd be dead, he mused. Or maybe it's real, and I can leave, I can finally leave, and he thought with relief of the silence and the forgetfulness, the barren, unhurting chill of death. Mine now, he thought, reaching out with glad release, dropping the burden, his shoulders imperceptibly loosening, the hairs on his arms lifting and tightening.It was turning into a noisy dream though.  And a lot more physical than most, and not in a good way.  There was something heavy on his chest - when did he lie down?  and a sharp rhythmic pain there.  And someone was crying and yelling, don't you dare, don't you dare, oh don't you *dare* die on me Tom Paris, and Tom's world sharpened into reality.Something over his face.  Hands on his body.  Pain, and noise, and people.  What...?  He wanted to open his eyes, but only one responded, slowly, flinching at the glare beating down until he realised it was only standard lighting ...  the whine of the EMH... it started to make a kind of sense.  I did something stupid again, didn't I?He had had no idea that he had spoken out loud until a pair of lips brushed gently over his forehead.  "You didn't mess up, love.  You did just fine.  You've got to get better so we can have that party in Sandrine's."  A bleary, blue eye stared up uncomprehendingly, and then a smile so happy that Harry could forget all the rest, lit Tom's face."Me?  'Love'?"  was all he could manage, but Harry understood."yes.  I'm not letting you get away from me that easily Paris." He smiled, but the smile slipped at the corners, not quite fitting with his eyes, and the fear and grief lurking in them.Tom tried to lift a hand, but it didn't want to move."Keep still, love.  Keep still."  A warm hand rested on his forehead, threading carefully through his hair.  "I love you.  I love you."A week later, Harry carried Tom back to his quarters because the transporters were still off-line.  Tom didn't care.  Somehow everything had been shorn away by the attack.  All that mattered was Harry, making Harry happy again.  Seizing the day.To Harry, all that mattered was that Tom had died, and was alive again, had been lost and was found.  Everything else was trivial.  When Tom had been dying, it was Harry he had screamed for, no one else.  Harry he had spoken words of love to until he drowned in the blood.  He looked at his Tom, and tried not to shiver at the slight fragility of the man lying on the bed so acquiescently.  Not interested in moving, lacking the energy or the will to do anything but breathe.  As he watched, the one blue eye opened again.  Perhaps, in a few weeks, the doctor would be able to regenerate the missing eye, lost when a piece of flying console sliced through his temple.  The terrible scars it had left.  He tried not to see them, and it was easy, because what he loved was there still, the soul of the man behind the frame that no longer had the quick grace he had thought was so essential a part of his Tom.He was next to the bed in a moment, gently scooping up the frail body in his arms, enfolding him closely.  "My Tom.  How are you feeling, my own?""Shitty."  Tom smiled lopsidedly up at him.Harry laughed, as he was supposed to, and kissed him lingeringly.  When they broke they were both breathing quickly, and Tom's eye had closed."Har?""Yes, love?"Tom gave a quick smile at the endearment.  "I want a mirror."  His voice still slurred, the scars around his mouth and cheek pulled too painfully to move them much; his brain still repairing damaged pathways."Vanity, thy name is Paris." Harry smiled, making no move to do as he was asked."Harry.  I want to know."He leaned forward, dropping what was meant to be just one kiss on the forehead, instead segueing into a long trail of sweet touches over marked and smooth skin alike.  "You don't need to."  he said, moving back just far enough to meet Tom's eye.  "You're looking kind of battered around the edges, but pretty much the same as ever.  Need a little weight on your bones, a lot more energy, but you're here.  you're alive, and you're mine, and you're beautiful, and I love you."He blushed, but was firm.  "Harry, I want to know."There was a testing silence, then Harry got up without a word to fetch a mirror from the bathroom.  He held it in front of Tom, knowing without trying that Tom's hands could not yet lift it for himself.  The silence lengthened."Oh dear."  Tom said finally, and in a moment, Harry lowered the mirror to the floor and abandoned it to cuddle his Tom close."If I don't have two eyes I can't fly," he added vaguely.  "It's the parallel vision that gives the illusion of depth to the two dimensional image your eyes actually receive you know.  Oh dear."  He tucked his face into Harry's shoulder, and without ceremony, wept.  "I didn't think I'd lose the conn.""Shhh, shhh, you haven't lost it, I love you, I promise it'll be fine.""Fine!?" he exploded, wrenching away from the comforting chest."*Yes*, fine.  The doc's going to do reconstructive surgery on your face when you're stronger, and once that's all done," <When you've *got* an eye socket again,> "He'll regenerate your eye.  It'll take time, but we've *got* time, thanks to you, your flying.  You think the captain's going to let that kind of skill get away from her bridge?"Tom smiled, half heartedly.  "Let me see again," he whispered after a long moment where they rested against each other, soaking up the presence and the warmth, the love that beat between them.Harry gave it to him, setting it on his knees, angled so they could see themselves.  Tom looked deeply at it.  Harry's body, looking so unexpectedly big and sturdy against him, folding protection and adoration around him like a blanket, full of comfort.  Himself, torn and ruined, the one good eye peering through the morass of twisted bones and ridged skin. Mouth pulled sidewise into a kind of snarl, one corner of his mouth perpetually open, the saliva slipping away from him in disgusting runnels.  He shook, and Harry's arm tightened.A voice said softly into his ear, "I don't see it.  It doesn't matter.  I love you, whether you are like this forever, or if you had never been injured.  Shhh.  I feel it, calm down.  It's okay.  I love you."Tom shook his head, buried in the well of Harry's neck.  "Don't understand.  I don't understand.  I might as well be dead.  I wish I were.  Oh God.  I wish I were.  And I couldn't screw up anymore.""Oh my baby, you'd break my heart.  Shhh." and he murmured and whispered and stayed, until Tom had nothing left except belief.=================================  denique, hic sum, hic manebo - finivi