by The Angst Girls
---

Lots of angst and lots of sex, including one instance of nonconsensual sex. (In other words, rape.) If you find that disturbing, don't read any farther!! We had a blast writing this, and (we dearly hope) all die-hard P/K and angst-addicts will have a blast reading it! Paramount owns the Universe, but we write better stories. This is for the BLTs list only! Don't archive or post, except for R'rain.

---

A few hours after the end of "Investigations". . .

"So, I'd like to apologize to anyone I might have offended. Especially Commander Chakotay. I gave him a pretty hard time." The blue eyes danced with amusement. "Not that it wasn't a certain amount of fun, mind you!"

"Computer, halt playback." Tom Paris sighed as he stared at his reflection in the observation port, ghostly against the velvet blackness of the starfield beyond.

What on earth had possessed him to say such a thing? In less than two dozen words he had announced to the entire crew that Chakotay had been kept in the dark, drawn into the Captain's deception as easily as a child. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut, Tom thought wearily. He'd spent the last ten weeks honing his already considerable ability to show a facade that had nothing to do with reality.

No, the problem was the resentment he felt for Chakotay. It had been building for weeks, as Chakotay proved how easily he could be convinced that Tom Paris should never have been allowed back into a Starfleet uniform. And then the caution that usually guarded Tom's speech had been swept away by the sheer relief of being back on Voyager - back home, alive and well. He had never allowed himself to think about the possibility of failing in his mission, but he hadn't expected to survive it, either. For weeks, his dreams had been filled with images of his own death: Cullah shoving his roken body into an airlock, Seska laughing as she fired a disruptor.

But he had made it back to Voyager, against unbelievable odds. And then he had given in to the sudden temptation to get back at Chakotay for the weeks of disapproval and contempt - especially the condescending show of patience when he'd made his token attempt to find out what was 'bothering' Paris.

Of course the first officer was mad as hell. He had good reason to be angry at the Captain and Tuvok, in Tom's opinion. He'd been surprised, himself, when the Captain instructed him not to discuss the plan with Chakotay. But she had taken Tuvok's advice on the matter and Tom had decided it was better not to question her. It was obviously a very sensitive subject.

But following orders was one thing, and joking about it in public was quite another. His impulsive comments on Neelix's show only added to Chakotay's humiliation, and complicated an already difficult relationship. Tom regretted the words almost as soon as they were spoken. He remembered his last conversation with Neelix before leaving for the Talaxian convoy. Maybe he really didn't want Chakotay's respect, if he kept sabotaging every chance of earning it.

"No," Tom said to his reflection. "I didn't mean what I said to Neelix. I do want a home, and a family, and friends, and I'm not going to let myself throw away my chances any more. I want Chakotay's respect, too. I have to apologize, for real this time. And I'd better do it soon, before I lose my nerve."

He turned from the observation port, already dreading the conversation but determined to go through with it. "Computer, location of Commander Chakotay?"

"Commander Chakotay is in Holodeck Two."

"What program is running there now?"

"Program Paris Three."

Sandrine's. Perfect - he was going to Sandrine's anyway. He didn't want to intrude on one of Chakotay's private programs, but if he was at Sandrine's he must be willing to be around other people: the French tavern program was always set to public access, these days. Sandrine's had been embraced wholeheartedly by the rest of the crew, a fact that still gave Tom a small thrill of pride.

He kicked his boots into a corner and stood in the alcove where his clothes were stored, pulling off his uniform and glancing at his choices. Not much left; the duffel he'd taken to the Talaxian convoy was long gone, of course. He'd settled on a pair of loose black pants and was hunting for a shirt to go with them when the door chime sounded. He answered without thinking, hoping as he spoke that he hadn't just invited the Captain in to see him half-dressed.

But it was Harry, and the sight of him warmed Tom, as it always did. Deceiving Harry had been the hardest part of the last two months; the spectre of losing Harry's friendship had tormented his days as surely as the fear of death had haunted his nights. Harry had not given him time to worry, though, once he was back on Voyager: Tom had woken in Sickbay to find Harry already there, relieved beyond words to have his best friend back safely.

"Not ready yet?" Harry asked. "Hey, Tom, if you're too tired, just say so. You've been through a lot the last few days."

"I'm not tired," Tom assured him. "I just got a little distracted, lost track of time." He finally located a dark blue polo shirt under a stack of towels and hauled it out.

Harry came through the room and leaned against the wall of the alcove, arms crossed. "Have I had a chance to tell you yet how happy I am you're back?" he asked with a grin.

"Once or twice." Tom's eyes lit with humor. Four or five times was more like it. "Keep it up, my ego's not big enough yet."

Harry smiled. "I'm so glad you're back. I really missed you." Then his expression sobered. "Tom. . . there's something else I want to tell you, too. I'm really sorry I didn't figure out what was going on."

Tom tugged the shirt over his head. "Not your fault, Harry. Don't you realize, that was why I kept avoiding you, giving you the cold shoulder? You were the only person on board I didn't think I could fool. I didn't want you to ask me what was wrong so I wouldn't have to lie to you. More than I already was, anyway."

"Thanks," Harry said softly. Tom put a hand on his shoulder as they crossed the room. Harry settled himself on the sofa. "So what got you distracted?" he asked idly.

There was no answer for a moment, as Tom fished under an easy chair for a pair of shoes. "Thought I got the place cleaned up before I left," he muttered, and looked up at Harry with a rueful expression. "Well, Chakotay, to be honest," he said. "I think I owe him an apology for what I said on Neelix's show this afternoon."

Harry nodded. "I wasn't going to say anything - not tonight, at least. But I do think - well, you went a little too far. It can't be easy for him, knowing the Captain didn't trust him enough to bring him into the plan. Now everybody on the ship is speculating about whether he did or didn't know."

"It was a stupid thing to say," Tom admitted. "I know that. And I really am sorry. I just hope he'll give me a chance to say so before he starts chewing me out, not that I don't deserve it."

"Don't be too hard on yourself." A hint of distress crept into Harry's voice. "You did risk your life, you know."

Tom lifted a shoulder slightly, an uncertain gesture. His eyes were suddenly far away, and Harry wanted to kick himself. Tom didn't need to be reminded how close he had come to dying.

He continued in a lighter tone. "And Chakotay gave you a pretty hard time too."

"No kidding!" Tom snorted. "He'll probably find an excuse to keep it up for a while, too."

Harry laughed. "He probably will. You'll survive. Come on, let's go. B'Elanna's waiting for us."

---

"So, I'd like to apologize to anyone I might have offended. Especially Commander Chakotay. I gave him a pretty hard time." The blue eyes glinted with malicious humor. "Not that it wasn't a certain amount of fun, mind you!"

For the first time in his life, Chakotay was getting drunk.

Never before had he wanted so badly to escape from his own life and the burden of his tormented thoughts: not when his father was murdered by the Cardassians, not when he resigned the Starfleet commission he had attained by turning his back on family and culture. At both of those points in his life, purpose had driven him past despair. Now, he had no purpose. A first officer was nothing if his captain did not trust him.

Chakotay sat in a dark corner of Sandrine's, brooding over the events of the last thirty-six hours. The holodeck was crowded with off-duty crewmembers, but he sat alone, surrounded by a cloud of hostility even the mind-blind could sense. He hadn't come to Sandrine's for company, but because it was the only place on the ship he could get a drink - real alcohol, not synthetic.

Meditation had failed to calm him, and a grueling workout in the ship's gym had tired him physically but left his mind free to dwell on the anger. Rage boiled up inside him, as uncontrollable as hot lava ready to explode from a volcano, so painful that he now sought oblivion, even if it would only last a few hours. Sandrine had brought him shot after shot of whiskey until he growled at her to leave the bottle.

It was hard to say who he was the most angry with, not that it mattered. Kathryn Janeway, his captain, to whom he'd sworn his loyalty, pledged his honor. . . he'd given her his heart, damn her, but she refused to see it.

Tuvok and his damned Vulcan superiority, assuming the traitor was a Maquis without evidence or reasonable cause for suspicion. He had poisoned whatever trust Janeway might have had in her first officer, put her in the position of relying solely on his own reading of the situation. When had a Vulcan ever been able to accurately assess an emotionally volatile situation? On a ship as vulnerable and isolated as Voyager, betrayal from within was as volatile as you could get. A powderkeg, waiting to be set off.

And Tom Paris. . . Chakotay felt a snarl disfigure his face as he thought of the man responsible for the humiliation he suffered now. Of course he'd been following orders; Chakotay had no doubt of that. Or else the Captain had promised him something for his cooperation. Paris looked out for himself, like the mercenary he once was; he would never agree to risk his own safety without hope of some gain.

Chakotay could almost have forgiven the deception - tried to accept Paris for what he was - if not for his taunt on Neelix's show. In a few short sentences he had advertised to the whole crew that Kathryn Janeway had no confidence in the man she should have been able to trust with her life.

Kathryn. . . Chakotay's heart turned over at the thought of her. He knew the two of them had been the subject of gossip on Voyager for months. He tried not to mind it; the crew had few diversions and the speculation was mostly friendly. The most popular version of the story was that he had been in love with Janeway from the moment he laid eyes on her.

That wasn't quite true. From that first day he had been in awe of her, aware he had encountered someone whose force of will was even greater than his own. Then the tiny, seemingly fragile woman with steel in her voice had ordered her officers to destroy the Caretaker's array, accepting a lifetime of exile to save a race of people they barely knew. With that order, Kathryn Janeway had captured Chakotay's respect forever.

And she had willingly shouldered a yoke of responsibility that would have crushed most people. From that day, Chakotay had wanted to help her carry that burden. And despite his misgivings about Starfleet, and the Federation - even about Janeway; her original mission had been to arrest him, after all - Chakotay found he could not refuse, when she asked for his help. He did not want to refuse.

Love had come later. Chakotay could not have said exactly when his feelings changed: from respect and admiration, to deep affection, and finally a searing combination of love and desire that took his breath away when he allowed himself to think of it. It might have been the dozenth time he saw her standing resolute before an enemy. It might have been the hundredth time he saw her standing exhilarated before the vast starfield displayed on the viewscreen of Voyager's bridge.

Chakotay was abruptly brought back to his surroundings by the sound of scattered applause. He looked up, warily. Tom Paris had just entered the holodeck, Harry and B'Elanna in tow, and the dozen or so crewmembers present welcomed him with smiles and handshakes and pats on the back.

Chakotay turned away from the infuriating scene, his chest burning with renewed anger. The conquering hero, he thought bitterly. Always the center of attention, good or bad. He wanted to force the arrogant expression from Paris's face, shake him until his teeth rattled in his skull. . . wanted to hurt him. Badly.

The realization brought back a hazy memory, one Chakotay had not thought of in more than a year: the Maquis, and a mission to liberate an interrogation center. Tuvok and Seska had not been the only false allies on his ship: the mission had been a set-up; the prisoners they hoped to rescue were long since dead. One of the other ex-Fleeters had sold out to the Cardassians, and twelve of Chakotay's crew died in the resulting ambush.

Now he drew in an agonized breath, remembering how fury had blinded him to everything but the desire for revenge. He had killed the traitor with his own hands, strangled him to death and broken his neck and continued beating the lifeless body for the sheer satisfaction of feeling bones crack under his fists. It had taken three people to pull him away. Afterward his crew had regarded him with caution, almost with. . . respect.

Chakotay shuddered. Fear of provoking a killing rage was not the sort of respect he wanted. . . the memories consumed him so completely he did not even notice when Sandrine replaced his empty bottle with another. Games of pool were concluded and the holodeck began to empty as Chakotay sat unconsciously clenching one fist, the other wrapped tightly around his shot glass.

Respect. Love. He could have survived without the latter, if only he had the former. He would never have it now. Not from the Starfleet crew whose trust he had tried to gain, not from the Maquis crew who had seen one too many times how he could be deceived. Not from Kathryn Janeway.

Chakotay closed his eyes in anguish, feeling the familiar ache of desire in his groin, helplessly imagining a pale, slender body in his arms, matching his passion with her own. Tendrils of silky hair curling against his shoulder. His own love reflected in those beautiful hazel eyes.

Then he saw her eyes turning amused and contemptuous, laughing at his arousal, his desire. . . his humiliation. Chakotay groaned softly. It was too much. Kathryn's scorn was more than he could bear; the universe could not be so cruel. Voyager's safety was all that mattered to her; surely humiliation had not been her intent.

Chakotay knew whose intention it had been. His rage flared higher when he realized Paris was still here in the holodeck, brazenly knocking balls around the pool table though everyone else had left, mocking the first officer with his presence. Was it another jab, another attempt at insolence, forcing Chakotay to walk past him to leave, presenting himself as a target once more?

Chakotay tore his eyes away from Paris, pouring himself another shot with shaking hands. He would not lose control, would concentrate instead on Kathryn, Kathryn and the traitor he had killed, and the feel of flesh yielding, bones breaking, and a soft body under his hands writhing in pleasure, twisting in pain, and sweet release from the pressure building in his groin and pounding in his skull, and he would ignore Paris walking toward him with a faint expression of disbelief as he surveyed the wreck of a first officer so drunk he could barely lift his gaze to the blue eyes laughing, nervously but laughing at him. . .

"Having fun, Chakotay?" Tom ventured.

Chakotay pushed himself from the table with a roar, throwing himself at Paris in a full-body tackle that carried them halfway across the room, and the other man's head hit the ground so hard he could hear it. Then he raised his fist and struck savagely at the face he despised, over and over, forcing the imagined smile from Paris's mouth.

Paris began to struggle, raising his arms for protection, his hips grinding against Chakotay's groin as he tried desperately to free himself from the heavy weight pinning him to the ground. The sensation nearly brought Chakotay to climax and his last shreds of awareness fled as he grabbed Paris by one arm and flipped him over onto his stomach, nearly wrenching his arm from the socket in the process. Paris thrashed wildly beneath him, nearly throwing him off, and Chakotay clenched his fist in the other man's hair nd pounded his head against the deck until he lay stunned and unmoving.

Chakotay tore at Paris's clothing, yanking the loose trousers down past his hips, and shoved his own garments down with equal force. Then he slammed his erection into Paris's body, thrusting deep into the unwilling flesh, his hands digging so deep into Paris's shoulders he could feel bone under taut muscles. Paris cried out from the pain, his voice rising to a hoarse scream, and Chakotay thrust harder, deeper, inflamed by the harsh sounds and the feel of the body he had penetrated - hot, tight, quickly becoming slick with blood.

Then the orgasm hammered through his body with the force of an exploding warp core. He collapsed onto Paris's back and lay prone, gasping for breath, dazed and oblivious to his surroundings. A low moan roused him and he stared at the man lying beneath him, forehead pressed against the deck, face covered with blood.

An uncomprehending urgency gripped Chakotay. He rose quickly, wiping at himself roughly with the dark cloth of his shirt tail. Then he fastened his clothing and stumbled out of the holodeck and into the deserted corridor.

---

Tom lay half-conscious on the deck. It was hard to stay awake; shock threatened to drag him down into a black void. He could see Chakotay's face looming over him, feel the other man's heavy frame pinning him to the ground, and the fierce pain of his body being torn apart. . . the memories brought a sickening sense of familiarity, and he pushed them away with an effort.

He felt vaguely that he should do something - get up, if he could, or call for help - but he hurt so much he could not bring himself to move. Instead he held very still, taking slow, shallow breaths. He knew from bitter experience that the pain would soon begin to subside. The trembling would stop, the weakness would pass; he would be able to stand and drag himself away. No one would have to know what had happened, if he only lay quietly for a little while.

It was over now, he was alone, it was over, he was alone. . . he repeated the words like a mantra, his mind slowly clearing as the minutes passed.

Then his commbadge chirped, the sound so startling in the silent holodeck that he pulled in a sharp, frightened breath.

"Kim to Paris."

Silence. He could not move.

"Tom, is everything okay? The computer says you're alone in the holodeck and Chakotay's back in his quarters. Did you talk to him already?" A pause, and Harry's voice grew concerned. "Tom, are you all right?"

With an agonized groan Tom pushed himself onto his side, reached for his commbadge and choked out Harry's name.

Harry reacted instantly. "Tom!" He heard the hiss of a door opening as Harry ran from his quarters. "Hang on, Tom. I'll be there in a minute."

Tom let out a ragged sigh. Harry was coming. Harry would help him, take care of him, but. . . he could not let anyone see what had happened, even Harry, especially Harry, and he was lying on the deck with his naked, bruised body exposed for anyone to see. Panic filled him, and he managed to reach down and pull his trousers back up to his waist. The movement released another surge of pain, and Tom pressed his face against the deck, trying to stifle a moan.

The entrance to the holodeck hissed open a few seconds later. Tom heard quick steps and Harry's voice, rough and strained.

"Oh my God, Tom. . . " Harry dropped to his knees at Tom's side, and Tom nearly wept with relief to see him. Then Harry put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, instinctively.

"It's all right," Harry soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you. Hold on, Tom. I'll get you to Sickbay right away."

"No," Tom gasped, before Harry could open the comm channel. "No Sickbay. . . "

"But you're injured, you need to go to Sickbay--"

"No! I don't want anyone else to see." Tom was desperate. The need to hide himself, to take cover, was so intense it blocked out every other thought. "Harry, please, just help me get back to my quarters."

Harry hesitated, and Tom stared back at him helplessly, knowing Harry's concern was justified and unable to think of any other way to convince him. After a long moment Harry gave a reluctant sigh. "Okay," he said. "It's late, we can probably get to your quarters without anyone seeing." There was a turbolift station right next to the holodeck entrance, and Tom's quarters were a few doors from a lift.

Harry helped him struggle to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist for support. Tom leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain, and they set off for Tom's quarters.

---

As they exited the lift on deck four, Harry was already sure he should have tried harder to get Tom to Sickbay. He could feel a tremor running through his friend, and the tensed shoulders told him Tom was in more pain than he wanted to admit. Why was he so afraid to let anyone see what had happened? What the hell had happened?

They reached Tom's quarters, finally. No one had seen them; at this hour gamma shift was on duty and most of the alpha and beta shift were asleep. When the door hissed shut behind them Harry could feel Tom relax slightly.

They crossed the room to the seating area, and Harry eased Tom into a chair. Tom leaned back, visibly shaking from the effort it had taken to walk the short distance from the holodeck. "Don't move," Harry told him, and headed for the bathroom.

He would let Tom rest a few minutes, Harry thought, as he dampened a washcloth with warm water. Maybe Tom needed a little privacy to calm down and gather his thoughts. Then he might agree to go to Sickbay.

He returned to the main room a few minutes later, towel and washcloth in one hand and a regenerator from the bathroom medkit in the other. "Okay," he said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the low table in front of Tom. "Let me clean up your face."

Harry had to force himself to stay calm as he carefully swabbed at Tom's face. These weren't just a few bruises from a bar fight; whoever had done this to Tom had been savagely angry. The skin had split over his eyebrow, and blood from the jagged cut had dried on his forehead and cheek. Underneath it his right temple was swollen and badly bruised. More blood trickled from the left corner of his mouth. Tom sat silently as he worked.

"What happened after I left the holodeck?" Harry asked cautiously. "Did you get to talk to Chakotay?"

Tom's eyes closed briefly, and he shook his head. "He left before I had a chance."

"And someone else came in, and you got in a fight? Is that why you don't want to go to Sickbay?"

"It was my fault," Tom said softly.

Harry was incredulous. "Your fault? Somebody beat you up and left you passed out in the holodeck, and you think it's your fault? Tom--" He trailed off at the haunted look in Tom's eyes.

"I provoked it," he said miserably. "Please, Harry. Let it go. The other person. . . won't report it."

Harry frowned. He couldn't believe Tom had really started a fight. But the atmosphere on Voyager had been tense lately, and it was possible someone held Tom responsible for Michael Jonas's death. Maybe it had only taken one flippant remark from Tom to set off some hothead - exactly the sort of thing Tom would blame himself for. "Who was it?" he asked finally.

"Don't ask, Harry," Tom said wearily. "Please, just let it go." His expression of resignation shattered Harry's enforced calm. After everything Tom had been through for Voyager - risking his life for the ship, damn it - this was the thanks he got! And he accepted it, as though he deserved nothing better. Harry's anger burned hotter at the thought.

Then he realized Tom was watching him, waiting for a response. The sadness in his eyes was more than Harry could bear. He swallowed hard. "Okay," he said, his voice rough. "I won't tell anyone, Tom. I promise."

Tom's relief was unmistakable. Harry sighed and picked up the regenerator. Tom leaned forward to give him a better angle, and his jaw tightened at the movement.

Harry felt a flicker of alarm. "Tom, are you hurt anywhere else? You didn't get kicked in the ribs or anything, did you?" Tom shook his head numbly, but Harry wasn't convinced. "Will you let me have a look?" he asked gently.

Tom hesitated a moment. Then he stood, slowly, lifting the edge of the shirt to expose his midriff, and Harry pulled in a sharp breath of dismay. Tom's ribcage was lined with bruises, dark against his fair skin.

"Oh hell. . . " Harry breathed, glancing up. Tom was staring dully across the room, avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. No wonder Tom had seemed to be in pain walking back from the holodeck, but he hadn't said a word. . .

"All right," Harry said finally, keeping his voice steady with an effort. "Let's get these taken care of." Tom stood silent and unmoving as he carefully healed each bruise with the regenerator.

When that was done he checked Tom's back - only a few faint bruises there, he discovered with relief - and gently felt all along Tom's ribs for breaks. There weren't any, thankfully, so he let Tom sit down again and went to work on his face.

When all the injuries had been healed, Harry put away the medkit, got Tom a glass of water and a painkiller, and replicated a cold pack for the swelling on his cheek. Then he hesitated - he wanted to do more, but what Tom probably needed most at this point was to get some rest. He sat back down on the coffee table, searching Tom's face. "Are you going to be all right? I'll stay with you, if you want. I could sleep on the sofa."

Tom shook his head a fraction. "Thanks, Harry, but. . . I'll be fine. I need a little time alone."

Harry held back a sigh. Tom didn't look fine, not by a long shot, but Harry didn't have the heart to contradict him. "All right," he said softly. "I'm right down the hall. If you need anything, call me, no matter how late it is." Tom nodded assent, and Harry left quietly, his heart aching.

---

The door closed quietly behind Harry. Tom let his breath out unsteadily and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, squeezing the cold pack so hard his knuckles turned white.

Part of him desperately wanted to call Harry back, to allow himself the care and concern Harry would give unstintingly. But an older impulse prevailed, an instinctive fear of letting anyone see him as he was now, frightened and in pain, weak from a beating. He had been hurt like this before, and the worst times had been when he could not hide, so that one assault led to another, and another. . .

No. . . Tom drew a shaky breath. It was safer to be alone. He would deal with this by himself.

The painkiller Harry had given him was starting to take effect. His thoughts had seemed frozen in shock just a few minutes ago; now they were spinning out of control.

He had been in the holodeck, playing pool, waiting for the place to clear out. Glancing surreptitiously in the first officer's direction, his apprehension growing as he took in the scowl, the bitter expression, the bottle of whiskey being rapidly consumed. Then Sandrine's was empty and he had put down the pool cue and approached the commander's table. Affected a casual air to hide his nervousness.

Then the other man had exploded out of his chair and thrown him halfway across the room, and he had hit the ground so hard he nearly blacked out. He had struggled, desperately trying to shield himself from the blows rocking his skull, and then he was face down on the deck, bucking against the other man's weight, hearing himself scream as pain ripped through him.

Dear God, not again. Not here. Not now.

Tom felt sick, his stomach heaving, and without conscious thought he was on his feet, stumbling to the bathroom and bending over the sink as he retched violently, bringing up the ugly remains of Neelix's welcome- home dinner. Then his knees gave way and he sank to the floor, pressing his forehead against the cool hard surface of the cabinet.

"God help me," he whispered. "What am I going to do?"

He sat unmoving for a long moment. Take it slow, he thought finally, one step at a time, and that advice sounded so much like Harry that he had a hysterical urge to laugh.

He clung to that thought. What would Harry do?

Harry was always very practical. The first thing to do was to finish cleaning himself up.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering strength, and stood unsteadily. He ran water into the sink to get rid of the mess, rinsed out his mouth, and closed the bathroom door. Locked it, though he knew the door to his quarters had also locked when Harry left.

Then he kicked off his shoes and pulled the shirt over his head with a grunt of pain. Stepped out of his trousers and shorts and shoved the clothing into the matter recycler. He never wanted to see those garments again. Then he forced himself to look down.

Harry had taken care of the bruising along his ribs, but there was a spongy, swollen place on his hip where Chakotay's weight had ground the edge of his pelvic bone against the hard surface of the deck. Another massive bruise marked the front of one thigh, from the impact of Chakotay's knee as the two of them landed awkwardly on the ground. His legs were stained with dried blood and semen. His anus burned and throbbed, as though his insides had been scraped raw.

Tom began to shake, leaning heavily against the sink, struggling for control. After a moment he straightened up. He had seen this before; he had even seen worse. He knew what to do. He found the medkit Harry had stowed neatly in the cabinet, pulled out the regenerator, and went to work.

A shower next, as hot as he could stand. He reached into the stall and turned on the water, setting the spray and temperature to maximum. Then he stepped in. Tears sprang to his eyes at the pain as the needle-sharp spray stung his abused body like a lash. He stood there for long minutes, too drained to move, letting the hot water carry away the blood and filth. After a time he washed himself thoroughly. Shut off the water and found a towel.

The rest of his evening routine was simple and he walked through it, only vaguely aware of cleaning his teeth, checking the closet for a fresh uniform, and instructing the computer to wake him thirty minutes before his shift. He normally woke on his own, only using the computer alarm as a backup, but he thought he might need it this time. If he ever got to sleep.

Now go to bed, said the voice that sounded like Harry. Rest, even if you can't sleep. He obeyed, crawling between the covers and curling onto his side with the blankets pulled up around his shoulder. The soft mattress cradled his battered frame. He lowered the lights and lay staring into the dark.

---

There was nothing left to do now but face the truth.

He had been raped by the first officer. The one man who was genuinely respected by every member of the crew, Starfleet and Maquis alike, despite the fact that the two groups still regarded each other with caution and wariness.

If the rest of the crew found out, it would tear the ship apart. It would not matter if there was medical evidence, or if he refused to press charges. Those members of the Starfleet crew who hated the Maquis would have yet another reason to make their lives difficult. The Maquis would be defensive and angry, already shamed by Seska's deception, Michael Jonas's betrayal. Tensions would rise and resentment and mistrust would fester until they erupted into open conflict. The ship was far too vulnerable to survive that kind of stress, lost as they were in unknown territory, harassed by enemies and always short on critical resources.

He could not even allow the Doctor to learn his secret. Tom knew the Doctor would respect his privacy, but regulations demanded that incidents of violence be reported to the Captain, and DNA evidence would identify his attacker beyond any doubt. If that happened, the Captain's trust in her first officer would be destroyed, with no hope of recovery. Janeway would suffer, then, without the support of the man she had grown to rely on so greatly. And it was all too clear that losing the Captain's trust was the one thing the first officer could not bear. It would destroy him, and without his quiet influence - his finger on the pulse of the crew - misunderstandings would flare, resentments deepen. The situation would spiral downward; more slowly, perhaps, than if the crime was known to all, but the end result would be the same. Only Tom's silence would protect the rest of the crew.

The old instinct to hide, to shield himself from view, had been the right one, though now the reasons were different. Back in prison the slightest sign of weakness attracted the most predatory inmates; he had quickly learned that he was in greatest danger of another assault while recovering from the last.

Vulnerability was not so dangerous here; on Voyager there was one person who would never hurt him, never take advantage of him. Suddenly Tom was pierced with the memory of Harry carefully cleaning the blood from his face, and the warmth of Harry's hands on his body as he gently felt for broken bones. The longing to give himself into Harry's care swelled until it was almost unbearable.

No. . . he could not ask Harry to share this. He had to be strong enough to deal with it alone. There was no other way to protect the crew, to protect the Captain.

Everything depended on silence. His silence and Chakotay's, and Tom knew instinctively that Chakotay was unconscious of his actions. Despite Chakotay's Starfleet training, despite his time in the Maquis, Tom knew his reverence for peace was genuine. In his right mind, the first officer would be horrified by the thought of forcing himself on another.

But Chakotay had not been in his right mind this evening. Anger and humiliation had blinded him to everything but the desire for revenge, and drunkenness had stripped away his self-control, even his awareness of who he was and what he was doing. Tom had very little doubt that Chakotay had blacked out the entire incident. He would wake in the morning with no memory beyond the dark corner of Sandrine's where he had blotted out his misery with shots of whiskey. He would be disturbed at not remembering how he had gotten back to his quarters, but that would be all.

Everything would be. . . all right, if Tom kept silent. Somewhere deep inside, a voice told him that this was wrong, that he had no right to decide what the Captain did and did not know about what happened on her ship. Dishonesty had cost him dearly before - his career, and self-respect, and the respect of people whose opinions mattered to him - and it would again. He would still be Voyager's senior pilot, but that was all. He would never again feel a thrill of pride at knowing Kathryn Janeway trusted him. And he would never be able to respect himself again.

At the thought of the Captain, Tom's throat tightened, and tears stung his eyes. She deserved better than this from him, deserved an officer who had the good judgment and compassion not to taunt a man whose world had been shaken. She had a right to demand his honesty, and now he could not give it.

---

Harry arrived on the bridge a few minutes early for his shift. He hadn't slept - well, who could, after seeing Tom lying, battered and bruised, on the deck? A familiar flash of rage burned through him. He closed his eyes as he felt it consume and fill him completely. Then it died down enough for Harry to bank the anger inside himself, allowing it to grow hotter and feed upon itself until it flared again, repeating the process over and over. Fury had blazed in him during the long, sleepless night. His friend, his best friend, had been attacked and injured. He should be enraged.

Harry had tried to talk with Tom earlier, but Tom wouldn't let him into his quarters and refused to meet him for breakfast. All Tom would say was that he'd meet Harry on the bridge, and Harry knew there was nothing he could do to help Tom right now. He hated feeling so helpless. Most of the time he could focus his anger, channeling it into purposeful activity - both mental and physical. But not this time - Tom had prevented it. So here he was, exhausted and furious, waiting impatiently at his station for Tom to arrive, to reassure himself that Tom was fine.

The Captain and Chakotay walked out of her ready room and took their seats. Harry sighed. It was obvious that Chakotay was still angry about being left out of the Captain and Tuvok's scheme for flushing out the traitor. The Commander's chin was up, his back stiff, and he didn't glare so much as bore a hole through everyone he looked at. The Captain looked slightly flustered, or perhaps embarrassed - Harry wasn't sure which. Either way, she was doing her best to ignore the Commander sitting beside her.

Harry glanced at the time. If Tom didn't get here soon. . .

The turbolift door slid open and Tom stepped out and walked quietly over to the conn. Tom looked at his feet, not even meeting Batehart's eyes as he relieved him, then slid gingerly into his seat.

Harry stared. He couldn't help it. This Tom wasn't the Tom he'd accompanied to Sandrine's last night, a man full of jokes and barely suppressed relief at being back safe on board; he wasn't even the dazed and bewildered Tom Harry'd helped back to his quarters early this morning. This man resembled Tom superficially, but that was all. It wasn't as if Tom was a mess, as he'd been during the deception. Tom's uniform was spotless, his chin smooth and his hair neatly combed, but his face - Harry felt his rage dissolve into fear - Tom's face was still and calm and filled with unimaginable pain.

The Captain's voice cut the silence.

"Late night, Mr. Paris?"

Startled, Harry dragged his attention from Tom. What did the Captain know? Did she notice the change in Tom? From the look of good humor on her face, apparently not. Tom swiveled around and smiled at her. The smile did not reach his eyes, which were dark and lifeless.

"Just celebrating the return of the prodigal, Captain," Tom replied easily.

Chakotay snorted, not looking up from the padd he was studying intently.

Harry saw Tom glance over at the Commander. Tom's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded once before turning back to his station, for all the world, thought Harry, as if that brief exchange confirmed something.

The shift was quiet, and, as he performed the familiar routines of his station, Harry divided his attention between watching Tom and speculating about Tom's attacker. When he could no longer stand to look at Tom sitting silently before him, Harry would run through the crew roster, trying to imagine who among those one hundred forty-odd beings would attack the man who had risked his life to save the ship. By the time he had finished, Harry had no firm answers, but there were several crewmembers whose names sent up warning signals in Harry's mind. Mainly Maquis, his mental list also contained one or two Federation types who had loudly voiced their resentment of Tom's field commission and standing with the Captain. They would bear watching. . .

Harry was delighted when he and Tom were relieved for lunch together. He waited at the door to the turbolift while Tom confirmed the current course with his relief. As Tom crossed the bridge, Chakotay quickly rose and joined them. Tom didn't look at either of them; he just stared at the blank door until it slid open, then waited for Chakotay and Harry to enter.

Harry stood against the wall, but Chakotay planted himself at the front of the lift, forcing Tom to brush past him. Slowly, carefully, Tom backed himself against the far wall, his eyes still fixed on the deck. Chakotay turned to face him, his broad back blocking Harry's view.

"One word of warning, Lieutenant." Chakotay spoke very quietly, but the threat, and hurt, in his voice was obvious. "You may have had the Captain's permission to slack off during your little charade, but if I find you out of line again, I'll have you in the brig so fast you won't know what hit you." His tone turned icy. "Do you understand me?"

Tom replied so softly that Harry couldn't hear what he said.

Chakotay took a step toward Tom and bellowed, "Do you understand me?" His voice echoed painfully in the small lift.

Tom's reply was still quiet, but immediate. "Yes, Commander."

Chakotay turned and the door opened. He left without another word.

Harry's gaze followed the Commander. He directed the lift to the mess hall, then shook his head.

"Chakotay's still really angry. . . It's too bad you didn't get a chance to apologize to him."

"Yeah," rasped Tom, doing a very poor imitation of his usual smart-ass expression. "I'll just have to keep my nose clean for a while. . . "

Before Harry could reply, the lift door opened, and Tom almost bolted into the corridor. They were at the mess hall before Harry caught up with him.

"Hey, wait a minute. . . " Harry said, catching Tom's arm. Tom stopped abruptly and Harry, carried forward by his momentum, bumped into him. Tom turned, arms raised, as if to ward off blows. Then he paused, breathed deeply, and let his arms fall.

"Don't do that, Harry."

"Sorry. . . "

Harry thought furiously as they filled their trays and made their way to a corner table. As long as Harry had known him, Tom had never been frightened of taking anyone on -- in a fair fight. But the way he put the lift wall to his back earlier, the way he instinctively protected himself now. . . Harry felt the slow burn of anger begin again in his gut. For all Tom's protestations that there had only been one assailant, Harry was beginning to wonder if perhaps several crewmembers had ganged up on him. It would make more sense, and explain the extent of Tom's injuries.

They settled in at the table, chuckling when they noticed each other suspiciously eyeing the food on their trays.

"You know," said Tom, suddenly sobering, "I even missed Neelix's cooking. . . "

Harry's insides twisted - a new sensation that often accompanied thoughts of Tom, of Tom leaving Voyager, of Tom dying on that damned Kazon ship. . .

"Tom," he said quickly, trying to push past the weight that suddenly appeared in his chest, "about last night - are you sure there weren't several. . . "

Tom shook his head grimly. "No. Only one, Harry."

"I just thought that you're. . . you've fought before. . . " Harry remembered Tom's casual references to quick and dirty fights in prison. "You can protect yourself. . . "

Tom's fleeting look of horror was gone so fast that Harry almost wondered if he had seen it. Almost. He knew his friend. He knew how good Tom was as covering up things that bothered him. It must've been one hell of a fight. . .

Tom shrugged, his casual attitude hastily donned. Harry could see where it didn't quite fit, but he couldn't draw Tom's attention to it - it wasn't, Harry thought ruefully, like telling a guy his fly was open.

"I was taken by surprise," was all that Tom volunteered. Then he turned his attention to his food, smearing it all over his plate, not even trying to eat any.

They sat in silence until it was time to return to the bridge.

---

"Damn, damn, damn, damn. . . " Harry cursed the gods of tardiness - not that such petty, mischievous gods cared whether they were cursed by ensigns on starships. But Harry did not want to be late this evening, and now he was. By a full fifteen minutes.

He put on an extra spurt of speed, ignoring the startled looks of other crewmembers as he dashed down the corridors. Tonight was his regular bi-weekly workout with Tom in the gym at 2000 hours. Harry'd tried to talk Tom out of it - after last night's attack, Tom should have been taking it easy, but Tom insisted. And now Harry was late. . .

"Damn."

Panting, Harry careened into the gym and dashed into the locker room. Tom was leaning against the lockers, legs and arms crossed casually, half-smiling as Harry entered. But Harry could see the tension around his friend's eyes, in the set of his jaw, along his shoulders and down his arms.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry began, "but B'Elanna really wanted to get those systems upgraded. . . "

"Hey, don't worry." Tom quirked an eyebrow and his smile widened. "We all know what B'Elanna's like when she's in slave-driver mode. I just figured something came up and you'd let me know when you could make it."

"Of course I'd make it!" Harry was almost indignant that Tom would doubt it - but then, Harry had noticed that, while Tom truly seemed to enjoy their friendship, he never expected anything from Harry.

Tom flushed faintly. "Thanks, Harry. For. . . " He closed his mouth and all the life suddenly drained from his eyes. "For everything."

A shard of concern pierced Harry. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"I'm fine." Tom crossed his arms again, almost hugging himself, and stared at the deck.

Harry remained silent and still, watching Tom. His friend was internally struggling with something, that much was clear. However, how Harry could help, what he could do to ease Tom's distress, wasn't clear at all. He waited, hoping that Tom would be honest with him.

Tom looked up, as if he could read Harry's thoughts. "Okay," he said quietly, "I'm not so fine, but" he continued before Harry could interrupt, "I think. . . I'd like things. . . us. . . to go on normally. Just having a routine helps me stay focused, and gives me something to think about. . . "

Other than the attack, Harry finished silently as Tom's voice trailed off. "I can understand that," Harry said, his voice as soft as Tom's."Just make sure you don't overdo it."

Tom nodded and shrugged off his uniform top, then pulled the turtleneck over his head. Harry's eyes widened - livid bruises marked Tom's shoulders. Four ovals ranged along the front of each shoulder, one larger oval was visible on each scapula. Fingerprints. . . Where someone's hands had held Tom still while another struck him? Smoldering anger, now his constant companion, sparked and flared through Harry.

"Harry? What is it?" Tom stared at him, concerned, and Harry almost laughed at the thought that Tom was worried about him.

"How many were there?" Harry asked. Tom looked confused for a moment, then his face shuttered closed as he understood.

"One, Harry." Tom's voice was flat. "Like I told you at lunch."

"Then why. . . Why the bruises?"

"What?" Tom looked bewildered. "What bruises?"

"On your shoulders."

Tom looked down at each shoulder and his face paled. "Shit." He sat down heavily and shivered once, as if he wanted to wriggle out of his skin. "A regenerator, Harry. . . I need one. Now." He didn't even try to hide the panic in his voice.

There was an emergency medkit in the locker room, stocked with just enough equipment to treat bruises, scrapes and minor cuts. Harry opened it and grabbed the regenerator, then ran it quickly over Tom's skin. Tom shuddered, his flesh quivering under Harry's ministrations. The bruises yellowed, dimmed, and gradually disappeared.

"Are. . . are they gone?"

"Yes."

Harry put away the regenerator and medkit, then sat next to Tom on the bench. He studied Tom's averted face for a moment.

"Why didn't you notice the bruises this morning?" Harry spoke very quietly.

There was no answer, and Harry was going to ask again, but Tom raised his hand before Harry could open his mouth.

"I didn't look in the mirror. I didn't want to see. . . I thought I'd taken care of them all. . . "

"All? There were more?" Harry felt sick at the thought. "You should have gone to sickbay, Tom. What if you were bleeding internally? What if you had broken a rib, or punctured a lung?"

Tom flushed. "They were just bruises, Harry. . . "

But Harry wasn't done yet. "You didn't know that - you couldn't be sure! Dammit, Tom, you still could have a concussion or other injury and you should. . . "

"Harry. . . " Tom's voice held a note of warning.

Harry looked at his friend and stopped. He knew that look on Tom's face - stubbornness mixed with a plea for understanding. Tom was not going to change his mind about this.

"Okay," Harry said reluctantly. "No sickbay. But if you feel at all ill. . . "

"I promise I'll let you know." Tom got up from the bench and lay his hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment. "Thanks, Harry."

"Yeah."

"Honestly, Harry, I didn't need to go to sickbay. I just needed to be. . . "

Tom stopped, but Harry knew what he was going to say. 'Alone.'

And for some reason that hurt him far more than he could explain.

---

Harry's hurt gradually faded over the next few days. Tom seemed to welcome his company and didn't push Harry away, although Harry was careful not to crowd Tom. But he didn't like the changes he saw in his friend. Tom was too quiet, too carefully attentive, too. . . too much not Tom Paris. There was no spark of mischief, no wry twisted humor, no fire in him now. The fight had knocked the life out of Tom, and left only his body and intellect behind.

Harry wondered if he'd ever see his friend again.

---

Right now, Harry didn't want to think about dying. He didn't want to think about Vidiians, or being sucked out into space, or jumping through a phase shift clutching Sam Wildman's baby. He didn't want to think about weird. He just wanted to sit quietly, maybe play his clarinet or listen to some music.

But he couldn't sit. He wandered around his quarters, idly fingering a piece of music, a padd, a little clay sculpture B'Elanna had bought on shore leave. She had given it to Harry with a smirk, explaining in graphic detail the types of sexual prowess it was supposed to guarantee. Harry liked it despite her comments.

His quarters seemed strange, and yet not. They were his quarters, after all. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. . .

The door chimed.

"Come in."

"Harry?" Tom hesitated at the doorway. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I was just going to play a bit." He gestured toward his clarinet.

Without asking, Tom sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the table. He leaned back and sighed.

"It's good to see you, Harry," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well, it's good to be here." Harry picked up his clarinet and limbered up his fingers on the keys. He felt more settled now, more focused.

"You know, when B'Elanna reported that you were. . . " Tom's voice trailed off. Harry was glad. He didn't want to hear Tom say the word. "Anyhow," Tom continued, his voice lightening, "when the doctor said you were back, I was so relieved."

Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to hide a grin. "So was I. . . "

Tom laughed and clasped his hands behind his head. Delighted, Harry let his grin spread over his face. Tom was here, in his quarters, laughing, relaxed. Harry raised his clarinet to his lips. No doubt about it, these were his quarters.

Nothing was missing now.

---

"Harry, stop hovering," snapped Tom. "I don't need you to stare at every bite I eat."

"I'm not. . . " Harry began.

"Yes, you are," Tom grumbled.

Silent, Harry just stared at his tray. I'm not, because you've only eaten a couple of bites the past three days. . . he thought.

"How can anyone eat this. . . stuff?" Tom poked at his food.

Harry took a big forkful of something green and lumpy, put it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed deliberately.

It had been this way the past few days, since shortly after Harry had crossed over to this Voyager. Tom complained if Harry spoke, if Harry was silent, if Harry looked at him, if Harry looked away. At one point, Harry wondered grimly if Tom was going to gripe if he breathed. It was so unlike Tom; he had never made demands on Harry. In a perverse way, Harry was thrilled - Tom had never relied on him this much before, never sought him out so frequently, never seemed to need Harry's company as much as he did now. But it was also wearing and tiresome.

And then there was Chakotay. . . Harry sighed.

"What have I done now?" Tom's voice was petulant.

"Nothing."

There was a pause and Harry looked up. Tom was looking at him, brows raised, his mouth quirked in a half-smile.

"Sorry. I'm being a jerk again. I didn't mean to ruin your lunch. What if I replicate us dinner tonight? My treat. . . "

"Sounds good."

"And I promise to eat something."

"Sounds better."

They returned to the bridge together. Tom grew quieter when they entered the lift, but otherwise seemed fine. Back at his station, Harry ran through another series of the diagnostics B'Elanna wanted. The afternoon was quiet - no sign of Vidiians or Kazon or anyone else who would like to pound Voyager. He glanced at Tom, then back at his station readouts. Wait a minute. That was interesting. . .

"Captain, there is a gaseous cloud ahead. . . " Harry provided the location, and the Captain and Tuvok discussed the merits of plowing through it versus going around. Tuvok wished to err on the side of caution, while the Captain, as usual, wanted to stick to their course as much as possible. Finally, she turned to Chakotay.

"Commander, what is your recommendation?"

Chakotay paused, almost as if he was startled at the question, then allied himself with Tuvok and opted for safety. He reminded the Captain of their recent brush with the Vidiians, and the destruction of their ships. For a moment, Harry could feel all the eyes on the bridge on him.

The Captain nodded. "You have convinced me. Mr. Paris, take us around. . . "

Tom plotted a course, then softly announced the new heading. Before he even had time to enter the coordinates, Chakotay spoke.

"Mr. Paris, would you explain why you are taking us that way? It would be far quicker to go. . . " Harry tuned out the Commander's voice at that point. All he could see was Tom's rigid back and neck, all he could hear was his own heart beating double-time. Damn him. . . calling Tom on a piloting decision again.

Tom had turned toward Chakotay and was speaking, still quietly, but with an underlying weariness in his voice that told Harry just how much of a strain this was.

". . . avoid the gravitational field that would place stress on the systems currently under repair. . . "

Tom finished his explanation and waited, motionless, his eyes focused on the deck at the foot of the Captain's chair.

Finally Chakotay shifted in his seat and nodded, his face dark. "Proceed."

Harry released the breath he was unconsciously holding as Tom turned back to the conn and set the new course. At least Chakotay had agreed with Tom this time. Harry remembered yesterday, when the Captain had been in her ready room and Tom had made a course correction. Chakotay had over-ridden Tom's decision, only to concede that it was necessary twenty minutes later, when they came too close to a neutron star's gravitational well for comfort. When she arrived on the bridge in the middle of their bumpy correction, the Captain began chewing out Tom. Chakotay stopped her and acknowledged that he was responsible for the decision. The Captain's eyes widened as she looked from Chakotay to Tom and back again, but she merely nodded and took her seat.

The remainder of the shift seemed interminable - Harry found himself glancing at Tom every few minutes, wondering what his friend was thinking. At one point the Captain, stretching her legs, wandered over to the conn and rested her hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom kept his head down and nodded stiffly as the Captain exchanged some pleasantry, and Harry saw her eyes narrow as she looked down on Tom's blond head. An almost inaudible sound drew Harry's eyes to the Commander -- his eyes were shadowed, his face thunderous as he glared at the two figures at the helm.

At last it was over, and Harry waited until Tom was relieved. After witnessing the way Chakotay looked at Tom there was no way Harry would let them be alone in the lift together. But Chakotay remained on the bridge as they left, and Harry could see Tom visibly relax when the lift doors closed.

"Dinner in an hour?" Tom asked.

Harry nodded.

Exactly one hour later, Harry stood outside Tom's quarters and rang.

"C'mon in," Tom called.

"Wow - this smells good." Harry walked over to the table where Tom was setting out heaping plates. "Hey, how'd you know I like moussaka?"

Tom gave him a withering glance. "Only because you've mentioned it at least a dozen times in the past month."

Harry opened his mouth, stopped, closed his mouth and thought for a moment. "Oh. . . yeah."

"So. . . Let's eat."

They ate silently for a few minutes, then Tom stopped, his fork half-way to his mouth. "I think I'd better slow down," he said, putting his fork back on the plate with a grimace.

"Stomach shrunk?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Tom leaned back, his face catching the light -- dark circles were visible beneath the thin skin under his eyes. Harry felt a pang of concern.

"How are you sleeping?"

For a second, Tom looked startled, then his expression grew blank. "Okay." Harry waited. Tom flushed slightly. "Enough that I'm not endangering the ship, Harry. You know I wouldn't do that."

"I know, but. . . " Harry hated to bring it up, but he knew he had to. ". . . but you need help, Tom. It's been almost two weeks." He held up his hand before Tom could protest. "I know that's not much time to come to terms with what happened to you, but talking to Kes or the doctor would probably speed up the healing process. . . "

Tom took a deep breath. "Thanks for the advice, Harry, but I'll be fine. I just need some time."

Harry didn't press the topic further. He knew it wouldn't do any good. But there was another stress in Tom's life, and Harry thought that perhaps it would help to talk about that, instead.

"Well, having Chakotay question your piloting doesn't help any." Harry ventured quietly. "It's too bad you didn't get a chance to apologize."

"Yeah." Tom picked up his fork and prodded the food on his plate.

"I thought that Chakotay would get over his resentment by now. . . "

Tom shrugged. "It takes time. . . He was pretty humiliated."

"Yeah, but. . . I don't know - somehow I always thought that Chakotay, of all people, would be able to understand both sides of an issue. And it wasn't as if it was your decision to exclude him. . . "

Tom dropped his fork with a clatter and stood. "Listen, Harry, can we change the subject? I don't really want to talk about the Commander when I'm off duty."

"Okay." Harry watched Tom pick up his almost full plate and dump it into the recycler. "I just thought you might want to talk about why Chakotay's been so down on you. . . "

"Well, I don't." Tom sat back down, slumping in his chair as if exhausted.

Harry pushed away his irritation and his plate and leaned forward. "Hey, I'm your friend, remember? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just thought talking might make you feel better. If it doesn't, then tell me, and we'll talk about something else." Harry paused, an unwelcome idea intruding. "Or I can leave, if you'd rather be alone. . . "

"No," Tom interrupted. He leaned forward, mirroring Harry's posture. "I'm sorry. . . " He grimaced. "I seem to be saying that a lot to you lately. I'm sorry for griping at you, I'm sorry for making you worry, I'm sorry. . . " Tom stopped abruptly, rubbed his hands roughly over his face and sat back, frowning. "Ah, hell. Harry, you're my best friend. I guess I got scared when I thought you were. . . lost, and that's made me anxious about you. . . "

Tom sighed and continued, his voice soft. "I've always been able to handle everything that happened to me by myself, without any help. But now. . . now I can't do that any more."

Harry clasped his hands tightly. He could hardly believe it -- Tom actually admitted that he needed Harry to help him through this. A feeling of fierce protectiveness awoke in Harry, generated by the knowledge that Tom was enduring something so painful he could not bear it alone. Harry promised himself that he would help Tom and make things right again.

"You don't need to do this alone, Tom. I'll be here, whenever you need me. I'll do whatever it takes to help you through this." Harry spoke slowly and distinctly, as if his words had to pass through some barrier to reach Tom, as if he were taking an oath.

Tom nodded once, and Harry could see him swallow hard. "Thanks."

Harry echoed his nod, feeling almost ridiculously solemn, wondering why this seemed so important to them both. Then he met Tom's eyes and his breath caught in his lungs. He, Harry Kim, had just been given his best friend's absolute trust. And he accepted that trust without reservation.

---

As soon as the shuttle returned to Voyager from the Drayan moon, the Captain was up and out of her seat. "Good job, Mr. Paris."

"Thank you, Captain." Tom remained seated, his hands hovering over the controls.

Janeway paused at the shuttle hatch, then turned back to face him. "Tom, you did an excellent job getting us down in one piece. As to what happened there. . . " She shook her head, her mouth twisted into a wry grin. "There are still things about Tuvok I didn't know. Who would have expected him to feel so. . . protective of those - well, I'm still going to call them children."

Tom returned her grin. "I've never really pictured Tuvok as a father, but now I think I can."

The Captain nodded, then raised her eyebrows. "Coming?"

"I'd like to check that starboard stabilizer. It feels a little sticky," he replied, turning back to the controls. Liar. . .

"I'm glad you spotted that," she said. "We can't afford to have any more shuttles out of commission. I'll see you back on the bridge when you've finished your analysis. . . "

Tom's eyes followed her retreating figure. Coward. Liar. She trusts you, and you reject that trust every day, every second you keep silent. His hands began to shake and he squeezed them tightly between his thighs, rocking slightly. If you told her now, she just might forgive you - you could plead shock and fear and. . .

"No." He spoke the word aloud, trying to quell those inner voices that clamored to be heard. "No. You've made your decision, Paris -- now stick with it. Deal with it. Bear it, dammit!"

Why now? I was fine for three weeks -- well, not fine, but okay. . . Why has everything come back now?

Tom knew these doubts were triggered by the time he'd just spent with the Captain - working together, trusting each other implicitly, almost reading each other's minds as they took the shuttle down to rescue Tuvok. But Tom also knew he could not be trusted, should not be trusted. He was a liar, an officer who had deceived his Captain by the simple expedient of not telling her about something that had happened on her ship. And he was a coward, because he would not be responsible for tearing the crew apart - the crew that had begun to take the first tentative steps toward working together. Their only chance of getting home in one piece was to become one crew, loyal to one Captain. Anything that distracted them, that split the crew apart, would condemn them all to a lifetime of wandering, at best, or death, at worst.

He squeezed his eyes shut, caught between the battle of the guilt of silence and the pain of knowledge, enveloped by the sense of being slowly torn in two. It had felt that way when the Commander pounded into him -- flesh and muscles wrenched apart, ripping, tearing; veins and arteries ruptured, spilling his blood. . .

With a gasp, Tom hit his commbadge. "Paris to Kim. . . "

"Kim here." Harry sounded confused and a bit worried. "What is it, Tom?"

"Ummm. . . " Tom had no idea what to say. Calling Harry had been instinctive, a gut-level reaction to his panic. But now that he could hear Harry's voice, could think clearly again, he knew that talking to Harry would not provide an answer to his dilemma. "It's not important. Paris out."

With a sigh, Tom turned back to the controls. The stabilizer's response time was off - he didn't lie to the Captain about that. Forcing all other thoughts from his mind, he concentrated on documenting his concerns about the shuttle equipment.

Focusing helped him calm down. By the time he had finished his report, Tom felt reasonably normal - at least as normal as he ever felt now. When he stepped into the lift, however, his stomach tightened with a familiar sense of dread. Another shift to finish under the Commander's watchful eye.

Tom sighed. It was the only expression of distress he would allow himself in the lift; an expression he could not even permit while on the bridge - Harry would hear and worry.

And he didn't want to drive Harry away by making him worry too much.

The lift stopped and he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped forward, heading for his station.

"Mr. Paris."

His head whipped around at the icy tone - the Commander had risen and intercepted him. Tom stopped in his tracks, standing just short of attention. He knew his face was a blank and he fought to keep it that way, fought to keep his breathing slow and easy, fought to keep his muscles relaxed. There was no need to panic; the Commander was just going to flay him with words. Again.

"How long does it take to travel from the shuttlebay to the bridge, Lieutenant?" The Commander ostentatiously checked the time. "Forty minutes? Or were you taking the scenic route?"

"There was a problem with the shuttle stabilizer." Tom struggled to keep his voice level, keep the bone-crushing weariness from showing. "I explained to the Captain. . . "

The word inflamed the Commander. "The Captain? The Captain said nothing to me about the shuttle stabilizers. The Captain said nothing to me about you taking a holiday before you deigned to return to duty! The Captain. . . "

"The Captain," said the Captain's husky voice in steely tones, "would like to see the Commander in her ready room. Now."

The Commander's face darkened, but otherwise he was absolutely still for several heartbeats. Tom hardly dared breathe for fear of shattering that brittle calm.

Suddenly the Commander shuddered, then slowly backed away from Tom, his eyes never leaving Tom's face. Finally he broke eye contact and strode stiffly into the ready room, the door closing quietly behind him.

Tom released his breath, which sounded painfully loud in the strained silence on the bridge. His legs shook, his hands quivered, and he wondered briefly if he would ever be able to swallow.

Oh, please. . .

Tom didn't have the faintest idea to whom that appeal was directed. Then he glanced up at ops. Harry's worried face caught and held his eyes - and Tom knew who he was entreating for help and support. He managed to smile at Harry and was rewarded with the sight of relief washing through Harry's open countenance.

That sight was enough to steady his nerves and calm his heart. Tom quickly relieved Batehart and made a few minor modifications to their course, allowing the concerns of the helm to capture his thoughts.

After fifteen minutes the Commander was still with the Captain, and Tom began to wonder if they were just discussing Tom's delay in returning to the bridge. Could the Captain be telling the Commander to lay off Tom? He brightened momentarily at the thought. Or could the Commander be telling the Captain. . . What if his memories of that night returned, and he was informing. . . No, he thought. You're just being paranoid. He didn't remember - he probably never will remember. Calm down and fly the ship.

Fifteen minutes later Tom was sure they were discussing ship's business - there was no way they could be discussing him for this amount of time. Could they? He shook his head and forced himself to replot their course, concentrating fiercely on devising the most straightforward path to their goal.

"Mr. Paris. . . "

Tom was so immersed in piloting the ship that the Commander's sudden appearance beside him made him jump.

"Sir." He didn't meet those dark eyes staring down at him, but he could feel them, like a weight upon his soul.

"Mr. Paris," repeated Chakotay, his voice soft but still pitched to carry to the entire bridge. "I would like to apologize for insulting you. I made an inaccurate assumption. The Captain has taken full responsibility for not informing me of your whereabouts, and commended your attention to detail with regard to the shuttle repairs. I concur with her assessment."

Surprised, Tom glanced up. Chakotay, apologizing? To him? Suddenly Tom wanted to giggle, to laugh, to scream hysterically. . . Oh dear gods, what a joke. . . He hastily buried the impulse and looked at the Commander's face - the glare that had marred his features when he looked at Tom for the past weeks was absent, replaced by his usual calm expression.

"Thank you, Commander." It was all he could say.

"In addition, the Captain has brought to my attention the fact that I have been. . . " Chakotay paused, and Tom could see one muscle working in his jaw. ". . . treating you unfairly since the business with Jonas and Seska. I was. . . angry and embarrassed for a variety of causes - none of which were your fault. And yet I have tried to make things as difficult as possible for you. I would also like to apologize for this."

And what am I supposed to say to that? "No problem, Commander, and, by the way, you want to apologize for attacking me as well, which you don't remember?" Hell. . .

Tom swallowed and managed a smile. "Apology accepted, Commander."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Chakotay nodded and returned to his station.

Now what? Tom thought. You feel better, Commander - you've apologized, you can forgive yourself. But will I ever be able to forgive you?

---

"Are you sure you want to go in?" Harry looked at Tom as they approached the holodeck.

Tom nodded, his face pale.

He's looked washed out since the fight, thought Harry.

The door opened and Tom took a deep breath, then walked deliberately into Sandrine's.

Harry still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but Tom had insisted. He had to be seen at Sandrine's - after all, it was his program. And, he had carefully explained to Harry, people were asking why Tom wasn't there at the pool table, in his usual spot. He had to return.

But only Harry knew how difficult that first visit was on Tom.

Even with Harry's promise not to leave him there alone, it had taken Tom half-an-hour to walk from his quarters to the holodeck. There was always someone to greet as they passed, a thought he had to share with Harry while standing still, a brief detour to stare out the viewport. . . Harry pretended not to notice how Tom's hands shook as they walked down the corridor that led to the holodeck. He briefly rested his hand on Tom's shoulder and Tom had given him a brilliant smile in return. Then Harry ignored how his hands shook.

As he got their drinks from the bar, Harry dragged his thoughts away from that smile and followed his friend's figure as he racked up the balls at the pool table. This was better - this was how it was supposed to be. Tom was teasing B'Elanna and Jenny Delaney, just like he always did. Then Tom leaned forward and carefully made his first shot, grinning widely as the balls broke.

He straightened up and looked around, and Harry could see the momentary panic cross his face until he spotted Harry at the bar. Tom's obvious relief when he caught Harry's eyes made Harry suddenly burn with the need for vengeance - he wanted to hurt whoever it was who had harmed Tom, hurt them bad.

Harry grabbed the drinks and joined them.

---

Tom made another minuscule, totally unnecessary course correction in their orbit and settled back in his seat to brood.

Only to do the same thing thirty seconds later.

I've got to stop this.

He glanced over at Ops, where a somber Ayala stood. Not Harry. Harry was in some damn alien stasis unit, battling for his life, instead of being where he was supposed to be, on the bridge, where Tom could see him and be reassured that Harry was safe. . .

Tom glanced at the time. Three long hours ago, he and Harry had been together, relaxing in Harry's quarters. Harry had played his clarinet, and they had joked about Sue Nicoletti. . .

But I'm not really interested in her. Why did I say that to Harry? Why? Tom knew the answer, if he wanted to admit it. It was simple -- he loved Harry's reaction whenever Tom mentioned yet another woman's name. He loved the way Harry would don his long-suffering face and roll his eyes and sigh. He loved to tease Harry. He loved to think that he, Tom Paris, was able to make Harry laugh. He loved. . .

Tuvok entered the bridge, and all eyes followed him as he walked over to the Commander. Tom waited, almost breathless, as the two men exchanged a nod.

"Status, Mr. Tuvok?"

"Mr. Kim is still alive in stasis. One of the original inhabitants died fifteen minutes ago, while Lieutenant Torres was trying to sever the optronic pathways. The Captain and Lieutenant Torres are attempting another method to rescue Ensign Kim and the others."

Tom turned back to the helm, wondering why the controls were suddenly blurred. His gut twisted, and he took a deep breath, trying to suck air into his leaden chest. The last thing he wanted right now was to be sick all over the helm - the Commander would relieve him of duty, and then he'd have to wait this out without anything to keep him occupied.

This can't happen. . . Harry can't die. . . A bitter cold enveloped him and Tom shuddered at the thought of trying to exist without his friend. How will I get through this without him? What will I do?>

The next instant, Tom felt his face blaze. Gods, how selfish can you get, Paris? We're talking about Harry's life, dammit! Not just the pathetic aftereffects of some. . . some stupid. . . incident that lasted a minute. . . He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by insistent memories, which seemed to grow more vivid at the prospect of losing his only support.

No. Tom forcibly pushed aside the memories. I can deal with it alone, if I must. But to lose Harry. . . No more pool games. No more impromptu concerts. No more best friend.

The Captain will find a way to save him. She must. Tom trusted the Captain - if she said she would get Harry out of stasis without killing him, she would do it.

His stomach settled, and he blinked rapidly. He was not getting all teary-eyed over Harry. He blinked again. Well, maybe just a little. Hey, if Harry wasn't worth getting a bit teary-eyed over because he was in mortal danger, then what kind of friend was Tom? He finally gave up and rubbed his eyes, scrubbing away the tears before anyone else saw them.

And he waited.

---

Tom stood before the door to Harry's quarters. He reached for the chime, then paused. Harry had been rescued an hour before and the doc had pronounced him fit for duty after a good night's sleep. When Tom heard the news that Harry was safe, he was glad he was sitting down - he suddenly felt so weak with relief he wasn't sure his legs would bear him.

But now he hesitated. As much as he wanted to see him, what if Harry needed to be alone after that bizarre ordeal? What if the doc had given him a sedative and he was sleeping peacefully? What if. . .

Tom turned and stepped away from the door, only to hear his commbadge chirp.

"Kim to Paris."

"Paris here. What is it, Harry?"

"I. . . I just wondered if you were doing anything." Harry sounded more diffident than usual. And very, very lonely.

"No - in fact, I was just on my way over to see if you wanted company."

"I'd like that." Tom could hear Harry smile.

With an answering grin of his own, Tom counted to thirty, then hit the chime on Harry's door. It wouldn't do to appear too anxious to see Harry.

The door opened and he could see Harry standing by the port. He's safe. Heart beating a little faster, Tom stepped in, still grinning, and crossed the room.

"Hi, Tom." Harry's face was in shadow, but he sounded strange -- shy and self-aware and happy and sad, all at once.

"Harry, it's good to see you," Tom said, allowing his relief to color his voice. Who was he kidding? He was delighted to see Harry. Without thinking, he draped his arm over Harry's shoulders, as he'd done so many times before. Harry's flinch startled him, and he quickly pulled away.

What's the matter?

"Are you all right?"

Harry turned toward the port and shrugged. "Yeah. Thanks for coming. I didn't want to be alone, but Sandrine's. . . "

"I know. It can get a bit intense at times."

Harry whirled around. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way. . . "

Tom looked at his friend. "I didn't take it that way. Don't worry. I can talk about Sandrine's without. . . " He wanted to finish the sentence, but his throat closed up and he couldn't. Damn. . .

Harry shook his head and gently laid his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Without remembering? Not yet, Tom. Maybe not ever. But I'm here for you. . . " He suddenly flushed, grimacing as if in pain, and his fingers tightened. Tom could read that look and finished Harry's thought, as Harry had finished his.

"But you almost weren't, were you? You were almost killed in there." He shuddered once at the thought and briefly closed his eyes, only to feel himself quickly pulled into Harry's shaking arms and as quickly released.

Harry moved over to the sofa, and gestured Tom to the chair. Tom watched as his friend passed a trembling hand over his face and then leaned forward, staring at the deck. It must've been hell for Harry, he thought. Stuck in your own sub-conscious. It'd be hell for anyone.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head, looking uncomfortable. "Maybe later. Right now everything is too. . . fresh."

Tom nodded sympathetically. He knew what that was like.

"The Captain was really kicking herself for allowing you and B'Elanna in there in the first place," Tom said when Harry remained silent. "She said that she should have used the doc instead. . . "

Harry's words suddenly tumbled out - "It showed us inside ourselves, that was the worst part." Tom shut up and listened. "Everything I thought about myself, all my dreams, and hopes, and fears, and desires. . . " Harry's voice grew thick. "They were all turned upside down. And now I don't know who I am or what I want. . . "

Then he began to sob, and it was the most heartbreaking sound Tom had ever heard. Somehow, he didn't remember how, Tom found himself sitting next to Harry, his arms wrapped around his friend, Harry's head on his shoulder, murmuring comforting words into the thick dark hair that was so soft against his cheek. Gradually Harry's sobs abated, but Tom kept up the steady stream of words until Harry pulled away, his head still lowered so that Tom couldn't see his face.

"Harry," he said, keeping one hand on Harry's back. Somehow it seemed important to maintain that physical connection. "Look at me." When Harry looked up, Tom was appalled. Those were the eyes of a man who had seen his own doom - knowing and hopeless. Tom knew he had to speak, although he had no idea if his words would help.

"Whatever you learned about yourself in that place, you're still Harry Kim, Ensign on Voyager, Ops officer, senior bridge staff, kick-ass engineer, talented musician, and my best friend. Those things will never change."

Harry's face relaxed a little, and Tom continued.

"And isn't it possible that you only saw what it wanted you to see? A distorted reflection of the real you?"

"No." Harry whispered, shaking his head, his gaze again fixed on the deck. "No. If I'm really honest, it was right. It showed me me. Now I know who I really am and what I really want. . . And it terrifies me. . . "

"Harry." The other man continued shaking his head, the gesture now meaningless, and Tom felt the prickle of fear down his back. "Harry." No response, just that damned shaking.

Fighting down panic, Tom grabbed Harry's chin, stilling the movement and forcing him around. Harry's face was shuttered, his eyes dim. Tom had to try to reach him again. "Harry!"

Then Harry's eyes cleared, and Tom almost gasped with relief.

"Listen, Harry, I'll help you any way I can, okay? You can call me in the middle of the night to talk. You can tell me anything, and I'll listen without making a smart-ass comment.

"We'll get through this, Harry. Together." Tom paused, struggling with himself; knowing that he had to say this to Harry, but to admit it out loud. . . He took a deep breath. "Because I still need you to help me. I'm terrified of trying to get through this alone. Please, Harry."

Harry nodded and leaned back against Tom's arm. He looked up at Tom and nodded again. "That's why I had to come back. You still need me. And now I need you, and so. . . "

Tom didn't reply. It wasn't necessary. He just settled himself comfortably against Harry, drawing his friend closer, then shut his eyes. Harry shifted slightly then was still. When Tom opened his eyes a little later, Harry was asleep. Tom closed his eyes again, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face.

---

Harry stared down at his dinner and shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Tom, don't. . . "

"But the look on the Captain's face, Harry," Tom whispered across the table. "When Tuvix blurted out 'sex' at the staff meeting? I thought she was going to slice him in two with those death beams coming out of her eyes!"

"Tom. . . " Harry chuckled despite himself, then took a deep breath and tried to smooth the smile from his lips. "It really is serious. If we can't find a way to separate Tuvok and Neelix. . . "

"I know, Harry." Tom nodded, somber again. "I'm sorry, but it was funny, and I didn't dare crack a smile then."

"Yeah, otherwise, you'd have been on the receiving end." Harry smiled and turned as Kes and Tuvix entered the mess hall. Both men watched, amused, as Tuvix cleared everyone out the galley and began to restore order.

Harry's attention was divided between Tuvix, that unexpected individual who was somehow familiar, yet very strange, and Tom. Tom had laughed. Eyes alight with humor, Tom had cracked a joke. Harry felt like cheering - his friend was returning, little by little, day by day. It had been a long five weeks. The longest five weeks Harry had ever remembered.

Now Tom could visit Sandrine's without hesitation, although he still relied on Harry to be there with him. He had tried to go once on his own, and Harry recalled the shame and humiliation in Tom's voice when he had called Harry from right outside the holodeck and admitted that he couldn't go in without Harry. Of course, Harry had immediately put down his clarinet and run to the holodeck, to encounter a scarlet-faced Tom pacing outside the holodeck door.

Back in Tom's quarters, it had taken Harry hours to convince his friend he wasn't a worthless coward. Harry hadn't begrudged the time or the effort, because eventually Tom had admitted that Harry was probably right - he, Tom, wasn't completely useless. Tom had half-smiled as he said it, a tentative, fleeting smile that made Harry's heart ache.

"No, you're not completely useless," Harry had agreed, returning the smile.

Tom had blushed and shrugged. "Thanks, Harry."

The ache in Harry's heart moved lower.

---

"Mr. Paris - I mean, Tom," said Tuvix, walking out of the mess hall with Tom, "would you like a game of pool later?"

"Sure." Tom smiled. He liked Tuvix - the man had a way with him, combining controlled enthusiasm and intellectual brilliance in a weirdly familiar package. "Let me see if Harry can come." Tom called Harry, but his face fell when Harry said he wanted to practice his new clarinet piece instead. "Maybe another time?" He shrugged at Tuvix.

"At the risk of sounding exclusive - I wanted to have a game with you, not Harry." Tuvix stood still, looking at Tom with those enormous eyes.

Tom hesitated, searching the other man's face. All he saw there was kindness and friendship. But to go to Sandrine's without Harry. . . He nodded slowly, his mouth dry. "I guess so."

"Shall we meet at Sandrine's?"

"No," Tom interrupted Tuvix before he lost his courage and changed his mind. "I'll come by your quarters at 2100 hours and we can go together. Okay?"

"Twenty-one hundred hours," Tuvix agreed, then turned and walked down the corridor.

"I can do this," muttered Tom as he returned to his quarters.

Three hours later, he was surprised at himself. He could do it. He was doing it. He had met Tuvix at his quarters and together they walked into Sandrine's. Tom had been so interested in what the other man was saying that he hardly realized they were inside until Tuvix had handed him a cue and asked Tom to break.

That was easy.

When Tuvix continued to win, when the Commander asked to join them and stood next to Tom, even then Tom felt fine. He was proud of himself - he even managed to make a joke about Tuvix's prowess at pool. It was only when Kes arrived and Tuvix went to join her that the tension returned, starting as a tiny finger of cold in the small of his back.

He watched the Commander circle the pool table, thoughtfully contemplating his moves, completely unaware of what had happened there seven weeks ago. . .

Panic seized him by the throat and choked him.

Hastily checking the time, Tom mumbled some excuse about meeting Harry and bolted from the holodeck, ignoring the Commander's puzzled look.

Harry? where are you?

Tom almost ran to Harry's quarters, only to find them empty. Feeling ashamed - here he was, a grown man, checking up on the whereabouts of his friend because he got spooked -- Tom checked with the computer. Harry was in sickbay, working with the doc.

With a vague prick of foreboding, Tom returned to his quarters.

---

Harry looked over at Tom as he sat at the other end of the couch, leaning forward, staring at the deck. After dinner, which remained uneaten, Harry had offered to play Tom the piece he'd been working on. But when they got to his quarters, Harry really didn't feel like playing any more.

Tom looked like hell.

Harry felt like hell, but Tom looked so fragile - as if a stiff breeze could pick him up and smash him against a wall, shattering him into tiny shards.

Tom sighed and shook his head.

"He asked me to help him, and I didn't say a word." His voice was flat, but Harry could hear the self-loathing buried beneath the splintering control.

"Nobody did, Tom."

"He stood there and asked in the name of friendship, Harry. . . Some friend I am. . . "

"In sickbay, Tuvix forgave the Captain and everyone else, Tom. I think he knew there was no other way."

"Did you see her eyes afterward?" Tom looked up, his own eyes reflecting his agony. "Did you see her face? She did what no one else would do. She took responsibility for her decision, no matter what the price! Even though it tore her up inside, she did it without a word of complaint. . . "

"She's the Captain," replied Harry quietly, beginning to understand where this was going. "That's her job."

"And she can only do her job if we support her, if we take responsibility for our own actions! If we're as honest with her. . . " His voice trailed off and his shoulders slumped.

"Are you going to tell her?" He kept his voice soft - questioning, not judging.

Tom paused, then shrugged. "I don't know. I should, but. . . "

"But the same reasons that kept you quiet in the first place are still valid, aren't they."

One slow nod. Then another, faster.

"Do you want to tell her?"

"Yes."

"Because she's the Captain and should know about the attack, or because you need to confess that you've kept it a secret from her for so long?"

Tom flinched at Harry's words, and Harry wished he could have found another way to get his point across to Tom. "I don't know. . . " he whispered.

Harry slid along the couch until he was sitting next to Tom. He draped his arm over Tom's shoulders, feeling the tiny tremors that shook his friend. "Would it help if you told someone else?"

"I. . . I don't know," Tom repeated.

Harry leaned closer, his chin almost touching Tom's shoulder. "Would you tell me?"

Tom turned, his face a breath away from Harry's.

"I want to tell you, Harry, but I can't. . . If I tell anyone, it has to be the Captain." He spoke so softly that Harry could hardly hear him. Harry tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.

"It's okay, Tom. I understand." He gave Tom's shoulders a squeeze, and then ran his hand over Tom's back, comforting, relaxing. Tom sighed and slumped tiredly against Harry.

Harry rubbed Tom's back for a long time.

---

The atmosphere on Voyager was quiet and subdued in the days following the Captain's decision to separate Tuvix. It seemed to Harry that everywhere he went, there were hushed conversations and bewildered expresssions.

But he was surprised to find little disagreement among the crew. In fact, soul-searching might have been the best description for the prevailing mood. Almost everyone on board seemed to be making an honest effort to examine their convictions about the moral issues the Captain had faced, to express their beliefs openly and listen carefully to others. No one had an easy answer, and all opinions were treated with respect. For once, there was no division between Starfleet and Maquis.

It was an important step forward for Voyager, and Harry found himself becoming cautiously optimistic about their future. Perhaps if there were no other crises for a while - nothing else to awaken old animosities - they would be able to move forward and make themselves into a united crew.

---

In the meantime, Voyager was badly in need of supplies, and stopping at a space station or inhabited planet to trade for them was risky. They were still uncomfortably close to Vidiian space, and had to assume that word of their location might get out.

But Neelix knew of an uninhabited, M-class planet not far off their present course. They would be able to fill the cargo bays and take shore leave at the same time. It was a beautiful planet, he assured the senior staff, with no large predators and an astounding array of edible fruits and vegetables.

The prospect of shore leave cheered everyone. Even Tom seemed interested, Harry noticed with pleasure, and the possibility of spending a few hours with him away from the ship filled Harry with secret, guilty excitement. Even if they weren't able to go down together, he was sure a little time away from Voyager would be good for Tom. Aside from the brief shuttle trip to the Drayan moon, he hadn't been off the ship since the attack.

By the time Voyager arrived at the planet, Chakotay had finished reworking the duty schedules, assigning each person eight hours of food-gathering and eight hours of shore leave, while still keeping a minimum number on board.

Harry's scans showed nothing dangerous on the surface. "It's summer in the southern hemisphere," he reported, "and the weather on the larger continent should be beautiful - sunny and warm. The most numerous lifeforms are birds and insects, small primates in the forests and some herd animals like miniature antelope out on the plains."

"Excellent, Mr. Kim," the Captain responded, and Harry smiled to himself, knowing her praise referred more to the content of the report than his performance in giving it. "Lieutenant Tuvok, you have the bridge. Have everyone scheduled for shore leave and food-gathering during this shift report to the transporter rooms."

"Acknowledged," Tuvok answered, and the Captain got up, stretching, and looked at Chakotay with a smile.

"Commander, I believe I'll exercise Captain's privilege, and join you with the first group going down for shore leave."

Chakotay smiled broadly, clearly pleased at the gesture. "That's wonderful, Captain. I have a perfect spot already picked out - the river valley where we'll be gathering supplies has some magnificent views of the mountains."

"I can't wait to see it," the Captain said warmly, and turned to Tom at the helm. "Mr. Paris, would you like to join us? I'm sure it's going to be lovely."

Harry watched as Tom looked up with a slight grin. A faint look of wariness crossed his face as he took in the first officer's suddenly rigid posture, and Harry could see anger flaring behind Chakotay's determinedly neutral expression.

"Sounds like the Garden of Eden," Tom said lightly. "But no bars, no gambling, no women? Thanks very much, Captain, but I think I'll stay here and help Tuvok mind the bridge, if it's all the same to you."

The Captain laughed in spite of herself, but Harry thought she looked slightly disappointed, and wondered if she had hoped her invitation might ease the lingering tensions between her first officer and senior pilot. But she didn't force the issue.

"All right, Mr. Paris," she said, amused. "I'm sorry we won't be stopping at Risa any time soon. Feel free to join us if you change your mind." Tom nodded, and she turned to Chakotay with a bright smile. "Shall we go, Commander?"

---

The first sign of trouble came five hours later, with an urgent call from Ensign Wildman. "Wildman to Voyager. We have a medical emergency. Transport Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay directly to Sickbay."

Harry leapt to his controls, quickly located the two comm signals, and completed the transport in a matter of seconds. Tuvok notified the Doctor. Harry took a deep breath, his heart suddenly pounding, and glanced in Tom's direction. Tom stared at him, stricken, and Harry shook his head helplessly. There was no reassurance he could offer.

---

Reports from Sickbay trickled in over the next few hours. The Captain and first officer were in critical condition, kept alive only by life support. Their nervous systems were ravaged by a virus the Doctor could hardly isolate, much less control or cure. Wildman's team had quickly identified the carrier, a mosquito- like insect whose tiny bites had probably gone unnoticed. But finding the source of the infection was little comfort to those waiting for news from the Doctor.

Late in the ship's evening, the call came from Sickbay. Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay were close to death. The Doctor was preparing to put them in stasis. It was the only option left; they would die within the hour if nothing was done, and every treatment he had attempted so far had failed.

No one dared to speak after the Doctor closed the comm channel. Harry felt sick, his stomach churning with apprehension, and Tom had gone very pale.

Tuvok was the first to break the silence. "Lieutenant Paris, Ensign Kim, you have both been on duty for nearly sixteen hours. Call your replacements to the bridge and take your sleep periods. I will expect you back at 0800."

Tom scarcely seemed to hear him, and Harry acted for them both, paging Batehart and Ayala. The two arrived quickly and Harry headed for the lift. Tom followed numbly.

"Deck four," Harry ordered, and turned to his friend. "They're going to be fine," he said, putting conviction into his voice. "Now that the Doctor has them in stasis he can take as long as he needs to find a cure. He'll figure it out. I know he will."

Tom met his eyes unhappily. "I hope you're right."

---

The next seventeen days were a time Harry knew he would never forget, as long as he lived. . . the most agonizing weeks he had ever experienced.

Voyager remained in orbit around the planet where the Captain and first officer had been infected, and the Doctor and Kes worked round the clock, searching for a way to eradicate the virus. For everyone else, time slowed to a crawl, its passage marked by the Doctor's daily reports.

There was no good news. Every attempt to control the virus under laboratory conditions failed, and the Doctor's experimental treatments grew more complex, his research advancing into areas no one on board fully understood, not even Kes. Instead she concentrated on monitoring the patients in stasis.

As the days went by, Harry's apprehension grew. He could not imagine continuing a seventy-year journey without Captain Janeway. She was Voyager's heart and soul and conscience; her conviction and determination drove the ship as surely as the warp engines.

And, Harry feared, her death would destroy Tom.

After Tuvix's separation, Harry had let himself hope that somehow Tom would be able to break his silence, to trust Captain Janeway enough to share his secret. The knowledge that he had lied to the Captain was a constant torment to him, and Harry felt sure Tom would willingly accept any punishment, any censure, if only he could ask the Captain's forgiveness for the sin he felt he had committed.

Now that possibility was becoming more unlikely, day by day. Harry could see Tom die a little more every time the Doctor reported another dead end, another failed experiment.

While he was on duty, Tom kept his attention on the helm with a single-mindedness that bordered on the obsessive. From his station at Ops Harry could see him running diagnostics, calculating course changes manually, diligently screening spectral analyses sent up from Stellar Cartography. Anything to keep himself fully occupied with his duties.

Away from the Bridge, however, Tom withdrew. He sat through every meal silently, staring at his untouched plate without seeming to notice it was there. He stayed away from Sandrine's, missed his regular workouts with Harry, shook his head wearily when Harry suggested impromptu concerts. And Tom found no refuge in sleep, Harry knew, watching the circles under the other man's eyes grow as dark as bruises.

Harry was at a loss. Tom was slipping away, before his eyes, and no one else cared. Tuvok ran the ship with tight-lipped efficiency, but even in the best of times he was unsympathetic to personal problems. B'Elanna would have been concerned, but she was nearly as frantic as Harry. Chakotay and the Captain were her mentors, the only two people on Voyager she looked up to. She was barricaded in Engineering, working twenty hours a day and searching for distractions to fill the other four.

And Kes and the Doctor were fully occupied. Everyone on board was distressed by the situation; emotional needs would have to wait until the crisis was over. Tom wasn't bleeding - physically injured - so Harry knew there was no help for him in Sickbay.

Except that Tom was bleeding, Harry thought grimly. . . bleeding to death emotionally. And all Harry's efforts to staunch the wound were futile.

---

On the seventeenth day, the Doctor admitted something close to defeat. There was only one place Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay could survive: on the planet that had infected them. He had exhausted all other options.

The two officers' stasis tubes were beamed to the surface and stimulants administered remotely. Apprised of the situation, the Captain gave command of the ship to Lieutenant Tuvok and ordered him to set course for the Alpha Quadrant. Survival gear was assembled and transported down. Then Voyager quietly left orbit and the crew began an unspoken countdown to the moment, thirty hours later, when real-time communication with the planet would be lost.

Harry waited for that moment with increasing anxiety. The loss of Captain Janeway was the most terrible blow Voyager could suffer, the one loss he was not sure they could survive. Even the tiny thread of connection offered by voice communication was a small comfort. At the same time, he knew this was the moment Tom had been dreading, and part of him simply wanted it to be over. He wanted this awful time to be finished, irrevocably in the past, so that Tom could grieve and then, please God, recover and move on. Harry could not bear to see him suffering much longer.

They reached the voice-communications perimeter at the very end of alpha shift. The Captain's message was brief. Silence settled over the bridge when it was over.

Harry quietly broke the connection. Kathryn Janeway's presence in their lives ended with the last faint hiss of static from the comm channel. Across the room, Tom stared unseeing at the viewscreen, his back tense and rigid. Harry knew he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Tuvok sat in the command chair, grim and motionless, for a full minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, his orders terse. "Alpha shift is relieved. Mr. Batehart, continue our present course. Increase speed to warp eight."

Harry turned his station over to Ayala, who was ready to relieve him, and Batehart stood politely waiting for Tom to yield the helm. But Tom still sat unmoving, staring at the viewscreen. Harry took a few steps toward the helm. "Tom," he said softly. "Let's go. We're off duty now."

Tom turned at the sound of his voice, and Harry held back a moan. Tom's expression was bleak and filled with pain, his eyes haunted. "We're off duty," Harry said again, quietly.

Tom rose, finally, and turned blindly toward the turbolift. Harry followed, ordering the lift to deck four, and watched Tom uneasily. He stood silently, his face now devoid of emotion, gaze turned inward as if he was alone. When the lift stopped he exited, slowly, glancing in both directions as if trying to remember the way to his quarters. Harry followed him down the corridor and into his cabin.

When the door closed behind them Tom went quietly to the observation port. He hesitated a moment, then braced his hands on the bulkhead and leaned his forehead against the clearsteel port, his face lined with pain and his breath coming in short, hard gasps. His body shook with the effort to hold back the grief threatening to overwhelm him.

Harry stood behind him, unsure if Tom knew he was there. He felt tears starting, and moved closer to Tom, wrapping one arm around Tom's back and resting his forehead on Tom's shoulder. Tom could not allow himself to cry, but Harry could. He wept for his friend, for himself, and for his inability to make things right - to bring back the Captain and ease Tom's guilt and protect him from ever being hurt again. The only comfort he could offer was to be there, with Tom, in his sorrow.

After a long time Harry quieted, his tears blotted against the fabric of Tom's uniform. Tom had gone still, leaning heavily against the bulkhead as though he could no longer stand without support, and the tremors running through him told Harry he was near collapse.

Harry's grief receded slightly. He had to take care of Tom now; Tom had no one else.

"Come and lie down," he said gently, and led Tom into the other room. Tom followed silently, passively as a child, and Harry sat him down on the edge of the bed and knelt to remove his boots and socks. He unfastened the uniform top and helped Tom stand again and step out of the jumpsuit. Then he pulled the edge of the turtleneck up and Tom raised his arms, letting Harry tug the shirt over his head. When it was off Tom stood naked except for a pair of shorts.

Harry stifled a gasp at the sight of Tom's body. He was rail-thin; he had lost weight, far more than he could afford to, far more than Harry had expected. He had known Tom wasn't eating, but all his concern had been for Tom's emotional state. He hadn't realized how physically debilitated Tom was becoming.

He pushed those thoughts away with an effort. Tom needed rest more than anything else. "Lie down now," he whispered, and pulled back the covers. Tom crawled into bed, curled on his side, and Harry sat down on the edge of the mattress. A backrub would help Tom sleep, he thought, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Roll over onto your stomach, okay?"

Tom opened his eyes and Harry saw a trace of fear in them. His shoulder had gone stiff and tense.

"It's all right," Harry said reassuringly, baffled at Tom's reaction. "I'm just going to give you a backrub so you can get to sleep."

After a moment Tom nodded slowly and rolled over, his head turned in Harry's direction, quiet but watchful. Harry began to rub gently, his heart aching for his friend. Tom's shoulderblades were sharp under Harry's hands, his ribs prominent, the shorts loose around his waist.

Harry shut his eyes against the sting of tears, moving his hands gently across Tom's back - soothing, comforting, allowing them to say what he could not. He loved Tom, with all his heart. There was no point denying it any longer, no point trying to stay faithful to Libby. He had known for weeks, since the alien stasis device had trapped him in his own subconscious. He loved Tom with a desperation he had never known before. And Tom was suffering.

Harry lost track of time as he worked over Tom's back and shoulders, his gentle touch easing from a massage to a caress. Tom's eyes drifted shut and the tense muscles relaxed, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, and the grief and sorrow on his face faded to exhaustion. Finally Harry thought Tom would be able to rest. He let his hands slow and drew the covers up to Tom's shoulders. "Try to sleep now," he whispered, and turned to go.

"Harry. . . " Tom's muffled voice drew him back. "Please. . . stay with me."

Harry stood motionless for a long moment, hardly daring to believe what he had heard. Tom wanted him, needed him. . . and he wanted to love Tom so much it hurt.

Tom lay waiting, eyes closed, and Harry shook himself out of his shock. "Of course," he heard himself answer. "I'll stay with you, Tom." Of course he would stay with Tom. Forever, if Tom would let him.

Harry undressed quietly, with a strange feeling of unreality, and eased himself under the covers. Then he put his arms around Tom, holding him gently. He seemed so vulnerable, so fragile, Harry thought his heart would break.

Tom held himself still for a few seconds, then slowly let himself sink into Harry's arms. Harry drew him a little closer and silently took a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Tom," he said quietly. "Please tell me. What happened that night at Sandrine's?"

Tom's eyes opened and he stared at Harry, pain filling his face again. Long seconds passed as Harry held his breath. Finally Tom whispered, "It was Chakotay."

Harry was appalled. "Chakotay? Chakotay beat you, and left you there bleeding?"

Tom shut his eyes hard. He had to force himself to speak. "He raped me."

---

"Oh God. . . " Harry breathed. Horror filled him completely. How could Tom have borne this alone for so long?

Finally he understood why Tom had insisted on silence. In the atmosphere of tension and mistrust that had poisoned Voyager two months earlier, a charge of rape against the first officer would have torn the crew apart.

"I waited until everyone was gone so I could apologize," Tom said softly. "As soon as I went over to his table he jumped up and threw me across the room. I hit my head, hard. Almost passed out. He hit me. . . kept hitting me. I tried to get away, but I couldn't. Then he pinned me down on my stomach. . . "

He broke off, shaking, and Harry held him tighter, his throat burning with unshed tears: he understood why Tom had hesitated, earlier, when Harry told him to lie down on his stomach. And he knew, now, how Tom had gotten the bruises Harry had seen on his shoulders, the day after the attack. Chakotay's hands, pinning him to the ground, holding him down. . .

He had to say it, had to share Tom's pain in whatever way he could. "And then he raped you," Harry finished, his voice ragged with anger. "And left you there bleeding. And spent the next two months pretending nothing happened."

Tom shook his head slightly. "He doesn't know about it, Harry. He wasn't himself that night. I don't think he even knew what he was doing. . . while he was doing it. He doesn't remember."

Harry was silent a moment, taking that in. "I understand why you couldn't let the rest of the crew find out about this," he said softly. "Starfleet and Maquis would have been at each other's throats in a minute flat. But, Tom. . . you could have told Captain Janeway."

"No," Tom said softly. "She depends on Chakotay, Harry. I couldn't take that away from her. I was. . . too ashamed of myself."

"It wasn't your fault! She wouldn't have blamed you!"

"She should have." Tom's voice was harsh with self- condemnation. "I should have realized how drunk he was, how humiliated by that whole thing with Seska, and thinking I was insubordinate, and finding out the Captain didn't trust him with knowing about the plan. . . and that stupid, idiotic thing I said on Neelix's show. If she found out what he did she'd never be able to trust him again, about anything, and I couldn't do that to her." His voice broke. "I couldn't do it. So I lied. Just like Caldik Prime."

"Tom, don't say that," Harry pleaded. "I don't know about Caldik Prime. . . but this time you did what you thought was best for the crew. You were protecting all of us. The Captain would have understood."

Tom made a strangled sound. "I know," he choked. "Now I'll never be able to tell her how sorry I am." He broke down, burying his face in the pillow. Harry held him as he wept, too exhausted to hold back this time, his body wracked by deep, uncontrollable sobs.

Harry felt a prickle of tears as well and forced them away, his chest aching with conflicting emotions. He had never felt such helpless anguish as he did now, and at the same time such fierce protectiveness and determination. Tom needed him, desperately, and Harry knew he would do anything, anything to help.

It seemed to Harry as if an eternity passed before Tom cried himself out. When it was over he lay silently in Harry's arms, too drained to move or speak, his entire body trembling with the violence of the emotional storm he had just endured.

Harry ran one hand along Tom's shoulder, soothingly, and then reached up to gently brush his fingers along Tom's face. Oh, God, he was so beautiful, even now, though his face was haggard with sorrow and fatigue, his eyes dull with pain. He had chosen to bear this pain himself rather than inflict it on another.

Harry would not allow him to suffer alone any longer.

He let his hand rest on Tom's cheek, feeling the warmth along his palm. Tom looked up, meeting his gaze, and Harry took a deep breath and leaned forward to kiss him gently. The salty taste of tears met his lips, and he felt a familiar stirring in his groin.

After a few seconds Tom pulled back, and Harry held his breath as Tom stared at him. But there was no alarm, no aversion in his expression, only a faint look of surprise. "Harry," he whispered, almost inaudibly. "I never realized. . . "

Harry stared back, so full of emotion he could not speak. Finally Tom leaned toward him, hesitantly, and Harry's heart leapt. Closing the small distance between them, he kissed Tom again, and the joy he felt when Tom responded was so intense he felt drunk with it, intoxicated with love.

They clung to each other, finding strength and solace in the closeness, and Harry ran his hand across Tom's chest and down his side. He was seized with the desire to hold and caress every part of Tom's body, to soothe the pain and ease the sorrow and show Tom how much, how very much he was loved.

His hand slid past Tom's hip, feeling the edge of the bone under the thin material of his shorts, and Tom's arms tightened around his back, pulling him closer. He gasped at the sensation of Tom's body along the full length of his own, chest and belly and thighs, and the feel of Tom's erection against his aching groin. He pressed closer, shifting urgently to bring the pressure of Tom's body against himself, and moaned aloud at the exquisite agony.

Then in the midst of arousal, Harry heard the voice of caution, his own second nature. What was he doing? Tom's last sexual encounter had been a rape, a violent, traumatic experience. He needed care and tenderness. He needed Harry's love, not his uncontrolled passion.

With a groan Harry pulled himself away, searching Tom's face for a sign of fear or shock. There was only bewilderment in his expression.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that. . . "

Tom's face changed, and he stared at Harry, astonishment giving way to comprehension and then such deep affection Harry's heart skipped a beat. "It's okay," he whispered back, a tiny smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "I want to be with you. I want to be close to you."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, anxious, and Tom nodded.

"I'm sure," he answered, his voice shaking slightly. "Not. . . that way. Not inside me. But I do want to make love with you."

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. There were no words for everything he felt at that moment - relief, and gratitude, and joy. Tom trusted him, and with that trust he would be able to help Tom - to heal his wounds, and erase the scars, and make him whole again.

Tears stung Harry's eyes, and he pulled Tom closer and kissed him, gently at first, then harder as Tom pressed himself against Harry's throbbing erection. He began to move his hands down Tom's chest and belly, feeling the taut muscles under the skin, and Tom's hands moving in tandem on his own body.

Then he gasped, as Tom slid one hand under the waistband of Harry's shorts and let his fingers graze Harry's erection - gently, teasingly - before closing over it firmly. Harry felt Tom's mouth against his own, curling into a smile at his reaction. Tom ran his other hand up Harry's chest, his palm warm against Harry's ribs, and flicked his thumb across Harry's nipple - gently at first, and more firmly as it grew hard.

Harry writhed against Tom's body, panting and sobbing with arousal as Tom's hand brought him closer to release, and when the moment came he cried out incoherently, suspended between one moment and the next, a split second that lasted for hours as he trembled with the pleasure he had waited for so long.

Tom pulled Harry into his arms, and leaned his forehead against Harry's as his ragged breathing evened out and his racing heart slowed its pace. When Harry could finally open his eyes, Tom was there, watching him with infinite love and tenderness.

He gazed back at Tom, smiling tremulously, his heart full to overflowing. Once again Harry could find no words to express the depth of his emotions. . . and he thought with vague amusement that if speech was beyond him, action would have to suffice. With that thought, he met Tom's lips gently and kissed him, bringing every ounce of his passion to the task.

Tom shifted hungrily against him, and Harry gently eased Tom onto his back, watching his reaction carefully as he settled himself on top, weight on his elbows. Tom's erection throbbed against his groin as he leaned down and pressed his lips to Tom's shoulder, nibbling and kissing his way across Tom's collarbone, and down to the left nipple, already taut against his chest. He grazed it with his tongue, taking the sharp point into his mouth, and Tom moaned, quivering with the sensation as Harry moved from one to the other and back again.

Then Harry shifted himself to one side, running his free hand down to Tom's waist, and pulled tentatively at his shorts. Tom gasped and raised his hips, allowing Harry to pull the shorts off altogether. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Tom lying in his arms, eyes closed and head tilted back, flushed with arousal. Completely exposed, and trusting arry just as completely.

Harry brushed his hand against Tom's sensitive nipples, earning another gasp, and ran his palm slowly across Tom's body. Chest and belly, hips and groin, caressing him as he went, feeling Tom's need intensify until he shivered uncontrollably with desire at the lightest brush of Harry's fingers.

Finally Harry allowed himself to touch Tom's erection. He was so hard the delicate skin felt like silk drawn over steel. Tom cried out when Harry's fingers closed around him gently, and Harry felt something close to wonder that he had been granted such a privilege.

He began to stroke Tom in an ancient rhythm, bringing him to a fever-pitch of arousal while Tom moaned and arched his back and thrust himself harder into Harry's hands. Then Tom gave an inarticulate cry and reached blindly for Harry, and Harry held him tightly in his arms as he came, buffeted by the intense waves of pleasure surging through him.

When it was over Tom fell back, completely spent, short of breath. Harry let him rest, using the discarded pair of shorts to mop the semen from his chest and abdomen. They would both be a bit sticky in the morning, but he was too tired to get out of bed now. . . and the prospect of taking a shower with Tom was not unwelcome.

Harry smiled a little at that idea as he pulled up the covers, wrapping them both warmly, and curled protectively around Tom. "Go to sleep now," he whispered.

Tom sighed in contentment, winding one arm around Harry's back to keep him close. Then he drifted into an exhausted sleep. Harry lay awake for a long time, eyes open in the darkened room, watching over him.

---

Harry opened his eyes and looked around the room, ghostly in the starlight. He was in Tom's quarters, in Tom's bed, his arms still around his friend. The friend who had turned into lover overnight. Harry had never felt so content.

Softly, he ordered quarter lights. He didn't want to waken Tom; after his emotional breakdown last night, Tom was going to need all the sleep he could get. Harry just wanted to see Tom - to view the warm body resting limply in his clasp. His head resting against Tom's back, he kissed the sharp shoulderblades, breathed a blessing down the bony spine, counted the ribs beneath the tightly stretched skin. Tom remained asleep, and Harry felt the urge to see more of his prize.

He gently released his grip, keeping one hand on Tom, and slid down the bed, his hand trailing along Tom's flank. He cupped his fingers around Tom's rear, then slipped his hand over the prominent hip bones and ran his fingertips over Tom's soft cock and balls, remembering how different they had looked just last night - a difference he, Harry Kim, had caused. Harry suddenly couldn't swallow, overwhelmed by the gift he had been given. Slowly he eased himself around the sleeping man, and allowed his hands to brush through the hair on Tom's abdomen and chest. He touched the nipples buried in the hair as if he were expecting a benison, then, finally, allowed himself to look Tom in the face.

Dear gods. . .

He hadn't expected to feel pain. Love, yes. But not that soul-piercing, all-encompassing slash of pain that threatened to send him reeling out of control. With a fingertip, he traced the tear stains up Tom's thin cheek, brushing over the fair eyelashes that rested against it. Down the straight nose, across those finely molded lips, then up and through the tousled hair.

As gently as he could, Harry kissed Tom's forehead, furrowed even in sleep, and settled in beside him. Tom stirred enough to allow Harry to draw him close. As Harry's arms clasped him, Tom's lips curved up into a whisper of a smile, and he murmured soft nonsense under his breath.

Harry brushed a kiss against those inviting lips, just because he had to, and closed his eyes.

---

Tom felt empty. No, not empty, he thought, still sleepy. More like. . . I'm all light and bouncy and free. . . The weight that had burdened him for what seemed like forever was gone. No, not gone, he corrected himself again, but it's changed. I don't feel. . . He frowned. I feel. . .

Then he remembered last night. Harry. Him. What they did.

His eyes flew open.

Harry lay beside him in the bed, still asleep. He lay on his side, facing Tom, just the tips of his fingers touching Tom's outstretched hand. The sheet covered them both to the waist, the stark white contrasting with Harry's honey-colored skin. Tom's eyes traveled up that smooth torso and over those broad, strong shoulders to Harry's face, relaxed in sleep. He remembered kissing those full lips, running his fingers through the heavy, dark hair, stroking that warm skin. . .

Tom smiled as he felt a twitch in his groin. That felt good. He hadn't enjoyed that sensation since. . . He froze in the mental equivalent of standing in the middle of a minefield with one leg raised, waiting to be blown to bits. No! I won't let it ruin this. This is Harry. My friend. Lover? The man who gave me back myself. . . > He took a deep breath and stepped around the pit of darkness in his soul toward his friend.

Using one fingertip, Tom traced the back of Harry's hand, up his arm, over his shoulder and under his jaw. Harry didn't stir, so Tom continued up the side of his face, over his smooth forehead, down the strong nose and over the soft lips, parted slightly. He could feel Harry's gentle breath on his finger, and teased his mouth with the tip until a tiny smile curled the corners.

Then Harry opened his eyes, and Tom fell headlong into those bottomless depths.

"Good morning," Harry said with a tentative smile, and he kissed the tip of Tom's finger.

Tom inhaled sharply, and welcomed the spreading warmth in his groin. All because of Harry, all for Harry. . .

"Yeah, it is. . . " he replied, and leaned forward to capture Harry's mouth with his own, kissing him gently, completely.

Harry responded for a moment, then froze and pulled away slightly. "Tom, are you sure you're all right with this?" he said, searching Tom's face.

Tom closed his eyes. He was afraid Harry would view this as a rejection, but the pain had returned at Harry's query, and he had to hide it from him. He felt Harry's hands cup his face, felt Harry lean his forehead against Tom's. Reaching out blindly, he drew Harry close, savoring the strength in his friend's body.

"Last night was the first time I didn't have nightmares since that night," Tom whispered. "Last night was the first time I enjoyed my body since then, the first time I could touch myself without remembering. You gave that to me, Harry - it was your gift to me. Thank you." His arms tightened as he continued. "When the nightmares come again, and I can't touch my body without flinching, I'll still have the memories of your touch, and how good it made me feel."

Harry shifted in his arms. "What do you mean, when they come again? You won't be bothered by nightmares now that we're together, I won't allow it. You've conquered the memories, Tom. We've conquered them. And that's an end. . . "

Eyes still shut tight, Tom shook his head. "Not conquered, Harry. Just beaten back for a while."

"You don't know that. . . "

"Yes, I do. . . " Tom sighed. "Take my word for it."

"But Tom, you. . . "

Tom opened his eyes and stared at Harry, wanting him to understand without having to say the words. "I know."

"You might think that, but. . . "

I don't want to do this. I hate doing this. "Listen to me. I know, because this wasn't the first time I was raped."

"What!" Harry jerked his hands away and sat up. For a fraction of a second, Tom was terrified that Harry would leave him. Then Harry reached for him with a horrified "I didn't mean to. . . "

Before Harry's fingers could touch him, Tom scooted back across the bed and clasped his hands around his bent legs, resting his chin on his knees. This would be easier to say while he was sitting alone, without human contact. Alone. Like he had been for so long. Harry's misery was plainly written on his face. Oh, Harry. . . You're so innocent. It's one of the many things I love about you.

"Prison," Tom said grimly, slamming into the expected wall of rage. "Third day. Sixth day. Eighth day. Eleventh day. Thirteenth. . . " He noticed the tears welling in Harry's eyes and his rage melted. "Oh hell, it doesn't matter. . . "

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Of course it matters!" Harry's tears dissolved in the face of his anger. "You were hurt! You were hurt and I wasn't there to help you! I wasn't there, Tom! They. . . " Harry choked a little, then continued. ". . . They hurt you! And I. . . " His voice trailed off and he stared at Tom, the tears returning.

Oh gods, I don't deserve him. . . Tom closed his eyes briefly and gathered his strength. "Harry, even though I could have used a friend in prison, I wouldn't have wanted you there. They would have done the same thing to you, and I couldn't have stood that." He reached out and laid his hand on Harry's leg. "I got over it. I can get over it again. It's just going to take some time."

"Tom, if you had told me sooner. . . " Harry twined his fingers with Tom's.

"I wanted to, believe me. But I know you. . . "

"And you knew I'd never be able to keep it a secret," Harry finished, nodding his head with a frown.

"So I couldn't tell you. You know that." He squeezed Harry's fingers. "You know it."

"I wish I could have done something. . . "

Tom's heart ached for Harry. The guy was so young, he wasn't used to hearing about this sort of horror - although, since Harry'd been on Voyager, he'd endured so much. Tom knew from personal experience that it was often more difficult to watch the pain of someone you. . . were attached to, than to bear it yourself. "You did. You were always there for me. You listened and put up with the crap I dished out without complaining. You watched over me, and made me feel safe again. You did. . . " He stared at the sheets, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "You did more than I ever expected."

Harry slid over beside Tom and wrapped his arms around Tom's shoulders. "But not as much as I wanted to do. Not as much as I will do, if you'll let me."

Tom gave a shaky laugh and leaned into Harry's strength. "If you're not careful, I'll get spoiled and expect this kind of treatment all the time."

Harry just held him tighter.

---

Harry didn't reply because he was busy making a vow. As long as he was alive, he'd take care of Tom. He'd do anything to keep Tom safe.

Safe! Harry thought, wanting to break into hysterics. Instead, he shifted slightly to allow Tom to cuddle closer. Tom had thought he was safe here on Voyager, after prison, after the Kazon -- and then he was attacked. In Sandrine's - his own creation. No wonder he couldn't let down his guard - there was no place to run, no place to hide. Sitting on the bridge every day under the Commander's watchful eyes. . . Well, he won't have to worry about that anymore. Harry shivered, appalled that he could think that, and held Tom even tighter.

"Feels good," murmured Tom, almost molded against Harry's chest.

"Yeah." Harry brushed a kiss against Tom's hair and felt a quiver run through his friend's body. "Is it too much? Should I stop?"

Tom made a funny little noise, almost a strangled laugh, and trailed his fingers down Harry's thigh. "Only if you want me to die from wanting you."

Harry couldn't quite decide what to do next - the urge to pin Tom to the bed and cover him with kisses warred with the need to fight everyone who had ever hurt Tom. His mind counseled caution so he wouldn't raise unwelcome ghosts, yet his heart tried to persuade him that Tom needed to know just how much he was wanted and loved. As he vacillated, Tom took matters into his own hands, stroking Harry's awakening erection. It was all Harry needed to make him decide.

With a sigh of relief and arousal, Harry lay back slowly and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. Maintaining his gentle grip, Tom scooted down beside him, until they were lying side by side on the bed.

Harry claimed Tom's lips but did not hold him tightly - Tom could leave his arms if he wished to. He rocked his hips and groaned as Tom tightened his grip, increasing that glorious friction. Tom's erection bumped his stomach.

"No. . . " Harry rasped, reaching out blindly. "Together."

Tom slowed his movements and allowed Harry to curl gentle fingers around his erection. He hissed and flexed against Harry, then paused, panting. Harry waited, watching the blue eyes darken, trying to hold himself still. Then Tom kissed him again and began to move deliberately, carefully pressing himself against Harry. His touches grew more confident, and Harry returned them gratefully. Caresses turned to strokes, strokes to kneading, kneading to clasps. Fingers tightened, almost painfully, as lungs struggled for breath, muscles tensed beneath sweat-sheened skin.

There was a pause -- then one cried out in pain, in joy, joined immediately by the other, voices entwined like the bodies on the bed.

Harry kissed Tom's damp forehead and held Tom's trembling body in his arms. Everything would work out, now that they had each other. They had been through the worst - what else could happen? Now they could look forward to the future.

---

Even though he was in the middle of running yet another diagnostic for B'Elanna, Harry looked up from his station, his gaze automatically traveling to his lover's blond head in front of the viewscreen. It had been too much to hope that once Chakotay was gone from the ship, Tom would be able to heal in peace. Harry had cherished that dream for almost two weeks after they first made love. Tom had seemed more animated and more relaxed than he had been in months. He had started to eat properly again, putting on some sorely-needed weight, and his sleep was deep and restful. Even though he mourned the loss of the Captain, as had the entire crew, Tom was beginning to seem himself again.

Harry sighed, and glanced over at the Captain's chair. After three weeks, he no longer flinched at the sight of Tuvok sitting there, but he didn't think he would ever become accustomed to seeing anyone other than Captain Janeway in that place. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

His eyes were drawn back to Tom, silently piloting the ship, and he assessed the lean form. Strange how one person can hold my happiness in his hands. . . Harry had given Tom his heart, although he suspected that Tom didn't really believe that Harry was serious. It wasn't that Tom was unresponsive - in the privacy of his quarters, he had matched Harry passion for passion, giving and receiving joy equally. It was just that every time Harry said "I love you," Tom would blush and look away, or shrug and lower his eyes. And Tom had never said it back. Harry wasn't particularly worried about that - he knew Tom loved him every time Tom cried out his name as they were making love, every time Tom looked into his eyes, every time Tom's eyes searched for Harry when he entered a room.

Tom's love wasn't the problem. Harry's entire world, public and private, had turned upside down, and he knew he was shifting, adjusting, trying to fit himself into the new configuration. The absence of the Captain and the Commander left holes that needed to be filled. His love for Tom and Tom's for him filled the empty places and spilled out into the narrow band of normalcy that held him together. Duty and responsibility had always kept Harry Kim focused, but now those foundations of his life seemed secondary to what he felt for Tom. He was adrift in this chaos of emotions and circumstances, struggling to keep both Tom and himself from being swept apart.

And Tom had started having nightmares again.

Tom had warned him that they would return, although Harry had refused to believe it. No, he had stupidly thought, this would be different. He had been so sure that his love would banish all the blackness from Tom's past, and they would live happily ever after. If someone had asked him, Harry would have staked his life on it. Dammit, why wasn't it enough? Harry was startled by his sudden burst of anger that quickly dissipated into sorrow. There wasn't going to be any happily ever after, it seemed.

Tom didn't trust him.

Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out as the pain of that thought sliced through him. Tom didn't trust him. . . After all he had done for Tom, all he would do for Tom, Tom wouldn't tell him about the nightmares. . .

How can I help him if he doesn't trust me?

Awakened from sleep every night the past week, Harry had listened as Tom whimpered and then cried out, soothed Tom when he writhed in agony. But when he had asked Tom point blank about them, Tom had just shrugged and refused to answer, despite Harry's pleas.

Harry glanced over at his lover again, remembering the soft words Tom had murmured to him that morning. Words that Harry had placed in a protected place in his heart so that they would never, ever be forgotten. "I always feel safe when I'm with you. . . "

And when I told him I loved him, he looked at me so sadly, as if I had disappointed him or something.

"Torres to Kim. Harry? Where are those figures?"

Harry pursed his lips, annoyed with himself, and responded. "Coming right up, B'Elanna."

He concentrated on the read-outs at his station, studiously avoiding Tuvok's search-light gaze, even though he could feel it boring through him. And he promised himself that he would not look at Tom while they were on duty. It was too distracting.

---

That night, Harry pulled Tom tighter into his embrace and kissed the short, tickly hairs at the base of his neck.

"You taste good," he murmured, not really caring if Tom heard him and responded. It was true, regardless.

Tom snuggled closer. "There speaks a man with experience. You've tasted most of me." His tone was light.

"Like you haven't done your share of tasting, Tom." Harry gave Tom a quick squeeze.

"Gotta keep up with you, Harry."

Harry just chuckled and kissed the nape of Tom's neck again. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

Only to open them again as the bed shifted.

"Tom?" His voice was muzzy from sleep.

"Just going to pee, Harry. Go back to sleep."

"'Kay. . . "

Harry turned over, falling into darkness again.

---

The alarm went off. Still warm and comfortable, cocooned in the blankets, Harry turned and reached out for Tom. His questing hand encountered. . . nothing. The other side of the bed was cold.

"Tom?"

Silence.

"Tom?"

Harry scrambled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. It was empty.

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris." He ignored the note of panic in his voice.

"Lieutenant Paris is in his quarters."

Harry took a deep breath. Okay. Tom went back to his quarters sometime after I fell asleep. But why?

Harry washed and dressed quickly, then walked briskly to Tom's door. Once there, however, he hesitated. He wiped his damp palms on his thighs and took a deep breath. He had the feeling that whatever Tom's reason for leaving, it would not make him happy.

He hit the chime and waited. After a few seconds, he hit the chime again, this time calling out "Tom? It's getting late. . . "

He was just about the start pounding on the door when it slid open, revealing the darkened room. Tom's voice, rather husky, said "C'mon in, Harry. . . "

"Are you all right?" Harry stepped into the room and paused, trying to find Tom in the darkness.

"Yeah." There was a movement in the shadows by the bedroom door. "Oh, sorry. Computer, quarter illumination." Tom was leaning on the doorjamb, dressed in his boxers, rubbing his eyes, hair wild. "I must've slept through the alarm. Thanks for waking me."

"Tom. . . " Harry made an effort to keep his voice quiet and calm, and not scream like he wanted to, "when did you leave?"

"After you fell asleep."

"Why?"

Tom shrugged. "I didn't want to keep waking you up, Harry. And don't say I don't, 'cause I know I do."

Harry took a moment to calm and center himself. It would do no good to lose his temper with Tom, or burst into tears.

"Listen, I don't mind you waking me up when you have a nightmare. I like holding you, and it's not too much to do for the person you love." Harry stared at Tom, standing silent in the doorway. He ignored Tom's flinch at the word 'love,' and continued.

"You could have told me that you wanted to sleep alone. When you suggested that we stay in my quarters last night, I thought that meant you wanted to share my space, as well as me sharing yours. I never thought that you said that just so you could leave. . . " Harry paused, his voice quavering. Tom remained still and silent, eyes downcast, as if Harry's words were a punishment to be endured. Harry's throat closed in and he choked, the massive weight on his chest suffocating him. Nothing he said was getting through to Tom and it terrified him.

"I. . . I was afraid that you'd left me. . . " Harry shut his eyes and willed the tears already starting down his cheeks to evaporate, disappear, something other than humiliate him in front of Tom. But he couldn't stop them from falling, so he turned and stumbled to the door.

Strong arms caught him from behind and pulled him tightly to a warm body. Soft lips feathered kisses along his neck, just above his uniform collar. Harry stood, trembling slightly, in that clasp, torn between burying himself in Tom's clasp and tearing free. He compromised by standing stiffly in Tom's arms.

"I'm sorry, but I thought it was for the best." Tom's voice was quiet in his ear, and Harry frowned at his hoarseness, as if Tom had been shouting throughout the night. Screaming alone, facing his nightmares alone. . .

"How can it be for the best when I can't be with you? How's that supposed to help anything?" Didn't Tom understand how important this was for both of them? Were all Harry's words for the past three weeks worth nothing?

Tom was silent for a long moment. "It's habit, Harry. Hide when things go wrong. . . "

Harry turned in Tom's arms, his face mere centimeters from Tom's, and his long-suppressed anger at his own helplessness, at Tom's damnable stubbornness, suddenly erupted. "Then it's a habit you're going to break. We're in this together, Tom. You hear me?" Somehow during the course of his words, his hands grasped Tom's arms, fingers pressing into the flesh. Tom flinched and tried to pull away, but Harry held him tighter. "I'm not letting you run away! I love you, dammit!"

Tom's lips were pressed together, the skin around them white. He was breathing hard, almost gasping for air. Then he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Is this how you show your love? By forcing me to stay with you?"

Harry's head jerked back, as if Tom had struck him across the cheek, and his hands flew to his face, hiding it from Tom's sight. "Oh my god, oh no, that's not what I meant. . . " Never in his life had Harry wanted a spatial anomaly to appear and swallow him up, but now that was his dearest wish. He was utterly and completely ashamed of his behavior - bullying Tom, hurting Tom - in the name of love.

"Then what did you mean?"

"That I want to help you and be there for you. . . That I want you to trust me enough to tell me what's bothering you. . . " Harry mumbled from behind his hands.

Fingers clasped his wrists and tugged his hands away from his face. Harry shut his eyes tight.

"Harry, look at me." Tom's voice was implacable. Harry shook his head. "Please." The tone softened. Harry kept his eyes closed. A gentle kiss was placed on each eyelid. "Please, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes slowly, looking anywhere but at Tom's face.

"Look at me, Harry."

His eyes met Tom's.

Oh, hell. . .

"Harry, I know you're worried about me, and that's made you protective." Tom's mouth twisted into a hint of a wry smile. "I kind of like that, in some ways. But right now I've got to sleep alone." He hurried on before Harry could protest. "I'm sorry if it hurts you. It hurts me, but it's something I've got to do. But," he gently stroked Harry's cheek and leaned in for a soft kiss, "if you'll let me, I still want to be with you whenever we're not sleeping."

Harry's hands crept up Tom's arms, but this time their touch was tentative, as feather-soft as his voice. "Why can't you trust me?"

"It's not you I don't trust, it's me." Tom's gaze slid away, to somewhere over Harry's left shoulder.

"You? What do you mean?"

"Harry, you stood by me when I was a wreck after the Commander's attack, even when I refused to tell you what happened. When I did tell you, you believed me without question." Tom paused, his face flushing. "You didn't run away. Even when I told you about prison. . . "

"I'd never run away, Tom. I love you."

"Yeah, well, I guess I've never been loved like that before, and it's kind of hard to get used to. . . "

"Get used to it, Tom," Harry said with as much conviction as he could convey.

Tom's blush deepened. "But there's still a lot you don't know. . . "

"I don't care."

"You will care, Harry, believe me. This is different. These nightmares can't be made better with a kiss." He pulled away and moved back toward the bedroom. "It's late. I've got to get dressed."

"Tom!"

He turned.

Harry remembered something Tom had said three weeks before. "Are the nightmares about Caldik Prime?"

"Yeah," he sighed as he disappeared into his bedroom. "Go get some breakfast, Harry. I'll see you on the bridge."

"But, Tom. . . "

"Please."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then walked out of Tom's quarters without another word. He went straight to the bridge - if Tom thought he could eat with his stomach tied up in knots, he was sorely mistaken. What the hell is so different about what happened at Caldik Prime? Why would he think that if I know about it, it will change how much I love him? Harry was shaken to the core by his encounter with Tom. Shaken and frustrated and, most of all, frightened.

---

Suppressing a sigh, Tom turned over and crawled out of Harry's bed. He had wanted to leave after Harry had gone to sleep - to just disappear in the darkness like a shadow of a dream. But Harry lay in the bed looking at him, eyes unreadable, face implacable. It was obvious he wasn't even trying to sleep. Hell, thought Tom, if he were any more awake he'd be bouncing off the bulkheads. Tom glanced at the time. Late. He had to go if either of them was going to get any rest at all tonight.

"G'night, Harry. . . " he said softly, trying to take the sting out of his actions by gentle words. It was a futile gesture, he knew. He'd tried the same thing for the past four nights, and each time Harry had simply turned over, his back to Tom, silent. And every night Tom had crept out of his lover's room, feeling guilty and ashamed.

And he would continue doing the same thing every night for the foreseeable future. It was the only way he could keep Harry's love.

It sounded silly, he knew. How could making Harry angry at him allow him to keep Harry's love? Sometimes he doubted the wisdom of his chosen course and wondered if his relationship with Harry wasn't fated to blow up in his face, like all his other relationships. It was a definite possibility. Why couldn't he simply tell Harry about Caldik Prime and get it over with?

Because, he reminded himself savagely, Harry isn't a fool. He can understand when I was a victim, and pity me, but not. . . And then the wisdom of his actions returned to him. The nightmares will pass, and you'll return to Harry's bed to sleep all night. It's worth having him angry, rather than having him despise you. Just remember that when you want to soothe his hurt and give in to him. Imagine the look on his face if you told him. . . > Tom shivered. The problem was, he could imagine the look of shock and horror that would cross Harry's face. In Harry's eyes, coldness and abhorrence would replace warmth and affection; Harry's mouth would no longer smile at him, no longer welcome his kisses. Words of love would be suffocated by words of hate. Tom knew how it would be; he had seen it happen with crewmates, friends, and family.

And he was too weak and cowardly to allow it to happen with Harry. He needed Harry like he'd never needed anything else in his miserable life. He would give up flying, he would give up his life for Harry.

He trembled as he slipped out the door and into the corridor. It's not that easy, is it? You're not going to be grounded or die for Harry. The razor-sharp voice in his head mocked him, as it did more and more frequently these days. Oh, no. Sacrificing yourself, your life, your career, would be far too simple. The truth will strip away all respect, all friendship, all love. . . He will finally understand exactly who and what kind of man you are.

Tom made it just inside his quarters before he fell to his knees, the pain he had struggled to suppress filling him, overwhelming him. And that was the way it should be.

---

Harry heard Tom pause after he got out of bed, and he wanted, with all his heart and soul, for Tom to crawl back into bed with him. But then he heard Tom's retreating footsteps, and the door opened and shut.

Tom had left him again, and Harry briefly wondered how the pain of that fact could grow greater each night. Four nights ago, after they had made love, Tom had slipped out of bed, put on his clothes, and left, and Harry had thought the agony almost unbearable. Yet every night it hurt more and more, until Harry thought he might go insane.

Why can't I let this go? he wondered bleakly, huddled in a corner of the bed. Why can't I accept the fact that Tom doesn't want to tell me about it and go on?

Harry knew the answer. If Tom remained silent, then his secret would become a barrier to their complete trust and love. Tom obviously felt that telling Harry the truth about the incident would somehow affect Harry's love for Tom. Harry didn't believe that for a moment, but that wasn't the point - Tom believed it.

Knowing the answer, however, didn't make the fact of Tom's desertion any easier to bear.

We can't continue this way, Tom,> Harry thought. I'm so afraid this will tear us apart. It was bad enough to let go of Libby, but I don't know how I can ever let go of you. . . But if you can't trust me, then I'll have to. . .

"No!" He sat up, hugging his knees, rocking back and forth amidst the tumbled sheets. "No, I need you, I want you, I love you. . . " he murmured, repeating the words over and over.

As he had the past four nights, he prayed for strength to find a path that would lead them both to safety through this hell.

---

The day passed slowly, like the last day of school before a long-awaited holiday. Harry concentrated on his duties, only allowing himself an occasional glance at Tom across the bridge. Harry hurt. His eyes stung from crying and from lack of sleep, his body ached from tension, and his heart. . . I won't think about it. . .

He and Tom had dinner together, as always, and he managed to eat half of Neelix's creation before pushing the tray aside. Tom smiled wryly and did the same. They didn't talk much - there wasn't much to say that they hadn't said many times before. Harry simply savored his time with Tom. He didn't know how long it would last - he couldn't see any way out of their dilemma that didn't involve pain for one or the other. He would store up his memories of Tom now, so that if anything happened he would at least have them as comfort. And he would give Tom some memories, too. He could do that. Trading a glance, they left the mess hall and walked companionably to Harry's quarters.

As soon as the door to his quarters closed behind them, Harry was all over Tom, nipping and biting and sucking every centimeter of exposed flesh he could find. Tom raised his hands to Harry's face, and Harry turned his attention to them, anointing palms, wrists, backs and fingers with his kisses.

"Harry, wait. . . Harry, hold up. . . " Tom laughed, even as he tried to kiss Harry back.

"No," murmured Harry against Tom's wrist, pushing up the sleeve of Tom's uniform to find that delicate spot. . .

Tom gasped.

Found it, thought Harry. It stilled Tom just long enough for Harry to pull down the fastener on the front of Tom's uniform and push the top over Tom's shoulders. Then Harry ran his hands beneath the pullover, brushing his fingers through the curls on Tom's chest until he found nipples. Tom groaned as Harry teased him, and when Harry pulled up the shirt and added his tongue to the work his fingers were doing, Tom's knees buckled.

Half-carrying him, Harry stumbled over to the couch. Tom landed heavily, and Harry followed him down, only losing contact with Tom's nipples for a moment. Tom tried ineffectively to undo Harry's fastener -- every time his fingers began to tug it down, Harry increased his stimulation until Tom's hands jerked away, fingers flexing helplessly in the air.

Once Tom had given up trying to undress Harry, Harry could use one hand to unfasten the remainder of Tom's uniform, exposing Tom's bulging underwear. He caressed the bulge, feeling warm flesh firming beneath the thin cloth. Releasing Tom's reddened nipples, Harry replaced his hand with his lips. The cloth grew damp as his tongue traced Tom's erection, moving down to gently prod his balls.

Tom cried out, a long string of nonsense, and bucked his hips against Harry's mouth. Harry held his hips gently, allowing Tom some freedom of movement, but maintaining control. With his teeth and thumbs, he pushed the cloth out of the way, groaning in anticipation as Tom's erection sprang free. Oh dear gods, how can I give this up? Then he slowly, very, very gently, engulfed his lover.

Hands tangled in his hair, but they did not seek to control the pace. Fingers rhythmically tensed and relaxed against his scalp, encouraging but not directing as he kissed and sucked and teased. Then, sooner than he would have expected, the hands released him and clawed at the couch, fingers digging into cushions until the knuckles were white. Tom arched up into his mouth, gave a strangled cry, and orgasmed.

Harry held Tom until he relaxed, then scooted off the couch to kneel beside it. Tom was gorgeous - flushed and sheened with sweat, his pullover rucked up under his arms, chest heaving - his half-clothed body somehow even more enticing than when he was naked.

Although, Harry thought, getting him naked now would be a good idea.

"C'mere," Tom rasped, his hands reaching for Harry, who went with them willingly. Tom kissed him, softly and thoroughly, then pulled back a breath. "What was that about?"

"You object?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"No," Tom replied, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "I just didn't expect it."

"Good."

Harry stood and held out his hand. Tom took it and hauled himself up, threw an arm over Harry's shoulders and nuzzled his neck. "Let's take this to the bedroom. I have some business to finish." He stroked Harry's groin, which was bulging painfully in his uniform.

They stumbled into the bedroom and tumbled on the bed, arms and legs tangling. They fit so well together that Harry could hardly tell where he ended and Tom began. He knew that if he thought about it for long, this fact would break his heart. So he ignored it. Tom was stripping him, and he was tugging and pulling at Tom's clothes, trying to finish what he had started. Finally they were both naked, squirming against each other in the bed, reveling in the taste, the scent, the comforting and arousing feel of flesh and muscle and bone.

Then Tom took charge, rolling Harry onto his back and straddling his thighs. Harry reached for his lover, only to have his hands pressed firmly onto the mattress. "It's my turn now," Tom whispered, his voice husky. "I want to do everything. I want to make you so happy. . . "

Harry inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, fighting against the tears that suddenly pricked. Happy? Oh, Tom, of all the words to use. . .

"Let me make you happy, please, Harry. . . " Tom pleaded.

Harry's eyes sprang open as anger replaced despair. "Happy?" He struggled to sit up, leaning back on his elbows. "Happy?" It took all his control not to scream the word. "You know how you can make me happy, Tom, and it has nothing to do with this," he gestured toward his rapidly dwindling erection.

Tom slid off Harry's legs and scooted against the wall, arms clasping his legs as he had done before, when he had told Harry about prison. It was a protective posture, which spoke of pain and a deep and abiding hopelessness, and it melted Harry's anger and tore at his heart.

"I can't. . . " Tom's voice sounded raw, like scraped and oozing flesh.

Harry knelt before him, hands resting on his thighs. He took a deep breath and tried to quell the panic that threatened to unravel what little remained of his composure. The man who was his life, his soul, sat before him, and if he wanted to keep Tom safe and with him always, he would have to tread surely, and very, very lightly.

"I love you." He spoke with absolute conviction.

Tom shivered and shook his head.

"I love you," Harry repeated and moved forward slowly. He placed a gentle hand on Tom's knee, rubbing it like he would a baby's head, over and over. "I'll always love you, no matter what happened in the past, and no matter what happens in the future. You have to believe me."

"I want to. . . " Tom's face was a study in misery.

"Tom, have I ever lied to you? Ever?" Tom shook his head again. Harry slid forward until he was sitting beside Tom, their arms and legs touching. "I can't lie to you, not even about little things. How could I possibly lie to you about something as important as loving you?"

Tom sighed and let his head flop back against the bulkhead. "Listen. I believe you love me right here, right now. But you won't love me when you know everything about me. . . "

Harry bit his lip and took a deep breath. What the hell does he think love means? That it's a reward for good behavior? The rightness of that statement startled him. If he can only expect love when he's been good, then of course. . . Pieces of the puzzle of Tom's past, so long overlooked, began to fit together and to make sense. Harry's own actions, good and bad, lay exposed before him, like a map of his psyche. More importantly, Harry could see that there was a path through this dilemma. It was narrow and treacherous, but now that he could see it, he could lead Tom, and they could pass through the danger together. Harry took a deep breath.

"Tom, we've all done things in our lives that we wish we could undo. Things we're ashamed of, or feel guilty about."

"Not you, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Yes, me. I've done my share of stupid things."

"Such as?" Tom looked curious.

"Such as the time when I discovered that I loved this guy who had a 'past.' Not that falling in love with him was stupid," Harry hastened to say, "but my response to his honesty was." Tom blushed at his words, but remained silent. Harry carefully took Tom's hand in both his own. His voice was very gentle. "This courageous man had been through hell and back several times, and he'd even been attacked by someone he should have been able to trust. When he told me about the attack and still trusted me enough to love me back, I thought. . . " It was Harry's turn to blush. "I thought that my love would be enough to let him forget about the past and skip blithely into our future together.

"When he was honest with me and told me that he would still have nightmares about what had happened, I was angry at him because I wasn't enough." Harry looked away when Tom's fingers tightened on his. "I stupidly thought I could work the magic that would erase his past, heal all his wounds, and fix everything. I had no idea of how he struggled with the memories every minute of every day, but I still resented the hold they had over him.

"He gave me everything I wanted, and more, except one thing, a secret he wanted desperately to keep. I ignored everything he'd given me and was consumed by what he wanted to hide. I allowed the knowledge of that one secret to jeopardize our relationship. He tried to find a solution to keep us together, but I didn't see it that way - all I could see was that I couldn't have all of him. I was so stupid, so greedy, that I was close to losing him. Then, once I let go of my selfishness, I finally saw how brave he really was." Tom made a small sound of surprise. Harry raised their entwined hands and kissed Tom's fingers.

"Despite my stupidity, he still loved me, and I realized that love was not a reward you get for being good. It's not a prize for being perfect. It's a promise to cherish and protect and honor the person you love regardless of what they have done.

"That's how I feel about you, Tom. What happened in your past is in the past - there's nothing we can do to change it. But I still love you. And if you do something stupid in the future, I'll still love you." Harry leaned his head against Tom's shoulder. "I'm sorry I made things more difficult for you."

---

Tom held Harry's hand and felt the comforting weight of Harry's head on his shoulder. Those two points of contact helped ground him, for he was reeling from Harry's words and overwhelmed by his confession. Tom blinked and squeezed Harry's fingers.

I could say nothing, and he would still love me. But I would know. . . Tom screwed up his courage and decided. I can't keep anything from him any longer.

He kissed the top of Harry's head, then gently released him, breaking their connection, and moved further down the bed.

"Harry, there's no comparison between what you've done and what I did, but thank you for your trust. That's the greatest gift you could ever give me. . . " He paused for a brief moment, then plunged ahead, afraid of losing his nerve if he didn't say the words now. "I have to be as honest with you as you've been with me. I have to tell you exactly what happened at Caldik Prime." Tom swallowed, suddenly aware of the staccato beat of his heart. "No matter what the result."

"When I graduated from the Academy, I knew I was the best damn pilot in Starfleet, if not the galaxy." He glanced at Harry, glad to see the ghost of a smile on his lover's face, an answer to his own wry grin. "I didn't care if other officers had been flying ten times as long as me - I was convinced that I was better than any of them. And I was certain that the laws of physics simply didn't apply to me. I could push the envelope and get away with it. No matter what I did, how much I danced along the edge, I was charmed and lucky."

"Once I was assigned to the Exeter, a rivalry developed between me and Ensign Bet'hlath. He was good - looking back, he was a better pilot than me in some ways. But I didn't see that then. All I could see was that he was trying to take something from me, and I wasn't going to let him do it."

Tom lowered his eyes and stared at the sheets. The stark white was neutral, nonjudgmental; it was safe to look at as he continued, keeping his voice calm and detached. "We kept trying to outdo each other. He'd complete one dangerous maneuver; I'd up the ante and do another. Of course, the Captain knew nothing of this, and our friends kept trying to talk some sense into both of us. But we didn't listen. . . "

He paused, the memories crowding close. He shut his eyes, but the images that appeared in the darkness caused him to open them again. "I was piloting the shuttle, taking three of those friends to the base at Caldik Prime. It was a milk run, mindless, easy." He shrugged. "Too easy. So I decided to make it more interesting."

It was difficult to keep his voice dry and impersonal now. Try as he might to keep it steady, a tremor crept in. "More interesting meant bettering Bet'hlath's last effort - he performed an Aldrin in a shuttle. I decided to do a Yeager. . . "

He heard Harry's gasp and it shot into him like a dart, freezing his blood. He nodded, knowing he had lost Harry's respect and love with those few words. "Yeah. Pretty stupid, huh?"

Harry took a deep breath. "A Yeager in a shuttle? Tom, you know that's impossible. . . " His voice trailed off.

"Of course I knew it was impossible," Tom replied. "For anyone but me. I was so sure. . . " He stopped abruptly and glanced at Harry's pale face. The look of anguish in those eyes struck him as surely as any blow, and he lowered his head in shame. "It didn't work. I thought I could compensate. . . I tried to. . . " He choked and struggled to finish. "I did everything I could think of, but we went down, and three people were killed. At the funerals, I saw their parents and lovers and friends crying over them. And I knew it was all my fault. They were dead and I was alive - I might as well have taken a knife and slit their throats with my own hands. . . " Keeping his head down, he felt the horror of his own actions, and the chill of abandonment began to descend, as he knew it would. "It was so unfair - they were dead because of my damnable pride and stupidity. And then I compounded my sins by lying, and the captain believed me, and told me not to blame myself. . . Until I couldn't live with my lie and finally told the truth. And then he hated me. . . They all hated me. . . I deserved their hatred, for what I did, for what I was. Now you know the whole story."

He waited. Convinced that Harry would leave him now, Tom steeled himself for the inevitable. The only question in his mind was whether or not he would be allowed to say good-bye. He offered up a brief prayer to that effect.

The first sob startled him into looking at Harry. Tears filled Harry's eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Oh, Harry. . . Don't cry - I told you you'd hate me when you found out. . .

Tom drew back a little. He wanted to grieve again for those lost lives, and for Harry's lost love. It had been too good to last - he knew that. He couldn't help it. He had wanted to keep Harry's love more than anything else. Now it was gone.

Harry scrubbed his fists into his eyes like a child, then turned wide eyes on Tom. "How. . . how could you hold this inside all these years?"

He reached out, his hands trailing over Tom's shoulders and down his arms. Harry's touch was like fire and ice, burning and chilling him at the same time, and Tom wanted nothing more than to throw himself into Harry's strong clasp, but he held still. Harry was confused. . . Harry wasn't thinking straight. . . Harry couldn't mean. . .

"Tom, I told you I would always love you, no matter what. . . Didn't you believe me?"

Then Harry slowly leaned forward, his hands cupping Tom's face, and kissed him. Tom closed his eyes and trembled at Harry's gentle caress on his cheeks, at the soft warmth of Harry's lips against his, but most of all, at the import of Harry's quiet words.

Harry still loved him.

"I thought you would leave. . . " he whispered, his hands sliding up Harry's arms to rest on his shoulders.

"Leave?" Harry said, his voice husky, "Why would I want to leave?" He pulled Tom close, pressing their bodies tightly together, and murmured, "I love you. . . "

Tom was undone. All his carefully erected defenses crumbled, laying him open to Harry's love. He was in Harry's arms, and he felt as if he had finally arrived home after a long, exhausting journey.

He knew that Harry was talking, speaking soft words that gently insinuated themselves into his consciousness, words that he had dreamed of hearing, but never expected to hear. Harry spoke of love and trust, of joy and hope, of forever and always, and Tom believed every word, because he had laid himself bare to Harry, and Harry still loved him.

It was yet another gift from Harry. Like a greedy child, Tom clutched Harry's gifts to his heart and knew that no matter what happened in the future, they would be all in all to each other.

Harry fell silent, and Tom treasured the feel of Harry's breath against his cheek. He turned and Harry captured his mouth in a long, thorough kiss that left them both panting. Tom looked at his lover, frowning at the shadows he saw in Harry's eyes.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Panic hovered at the edge of his voice.

"Nothing's wrong." Harry's gaze slid over Tom's face. "It's just that earlier you said you wanted to make me happy. . . " He blushed.

"I did," Tom nodded, "and I still do." He held Harry's face in his hands and kissed him gently. "Tell me how to make you happy."

"Make love to me," Harry whispered.

"Yes. . . " began Tom, but Harry interrupted him.

"I want you inside me. . . "

Tom searched Harry's eyes, seeing only love there. He could feel the pulse pounding in his head, throbbing just beneath the skin, and his vision darkened. He was afraid. "I can't," he replied softly, shaking his head. "Don't ask me. . . "

"But I am asking," said Harry, placing his hands on top of Tom's. "I'm asking you to give me this gift of love. I love you, I trust you, and I want to share myself with you." He rubbed Tom's hands, now chilled from fear. "I've wanted this for so long."

"But. . . " Tom tore his eyes from Harry's face. "But what if I hurt you?" he rasped.

"You won't. We'll take it slow." Harry stroked the side of his face. "Look at me, please." When Tom finally glanced at his lover again, Harry smiled. "You won't hurt me. I believe it -- now you must believe it, too. Please, Tom, you can do this. . . We can do this. . . "

"What happens if I forget myself?" Tom's voice rose, and he felt his self-control begin to slip. "What if I become like them, like Chakotay, like. . . -- if I don't stop when you want me to? If I can't stop. . . " He was panting, moving restlessly, eyes darting toward the door, looking for escape. . .

"Tom!" Harry's voice was commanding, compelling, and Tom froze, listening. Harry's hands moved over his shoulders, stroking and soothing, as he continued. "You're not like those others. You won't forget yourself. I'll be there with you, and we'll do this together." Harry slid closer, his breath tickling Tom's ear. "No one will be hurt - not you, not me. We'll be joined together with love. Will you try, Tom? Will you try to do this with me?"

Tom nodded, unable to speak. He turned and kissed Harry desperately, purging his fears with one soul-searing connection. He would do this for Harry, give this gift to Harry, no matter what the cost. He would trust Harry, as Harry had trusted him.

Their kiss changed from desperate to passionate, Tom following Harry's lead in their lovemaking. Slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, they lay back in the bed, still kissing. Their hands remained at their faces, caressing cheeks, necks, and all those tender places so often overlooked in the rush to move downward. Harry moved so that their bodies touched, but did not rub himself against Tom, and Tom, in turn, waited for Harry to set the pace.

After what seemed like forever, Harry's hands trailed down Tom's arms and over to his chest, teasing and tickling. Tom mirrored the movements, gasping as Harry stroked his fingers over Tom's belly, coming to rest on his erection. Tom did the same. Harry's hands stilled, and he looked into Tom's eyes.

"You need to prepare me now. Use your fingers first - start with one and keep adding until I'm ready."

Tom nodded, mouth dry. Harry turned to the nightstand, where he retrieved a container. Tom shook his head.

"Not yet, Harry. I want to. . . " He couldn't continue. Harry gave him a tender look and seemed to understand. He rolled over onto his stomach, spreading his legs and lifting his rear into the air.

Oh, gods. . . Tom's heart was pounding double-time - could Harry hear it? Let me make this everything he wants. He gently stroked Harry's rear, caressing the firm cheeks and thighs, watching as Harry's muscles quivered and jumped at his touch. Harry murmured something into the mattress. Tom kissed each cheek, never ceasing his strokes, and tasted Harry's flesh. Harry moaned.

He dived deeper, using his hands to open Harry to his gaze. When he swept his tongue up and down, Harry shuddered and cried out softly, pleading with Tom for more. Tom explored his lover, drawing pleasure from the noises Harry made, until Harry's voice took on an edge of desperation that made Tom pull back.

Harry whimpered as Tom moved away, keeping only a comforting hand on Harry's hip. He found the container and opened it, coating one finger liberally. He didn't enter directly, however; no, first he teased and tormented, circling and rubbing lightly, until Harry's breath grew ragged. Only then did he slide it inside, marveling at the feel of being inside his lover, at Harry's obvious enjoyment of the act. He stroked and twisted it for a few moments, then added another finger, repeating the motions that drew the strongest response from Harry. When he tried a third finger, Harry hissed, and he pulled out hurriedly.

"No!" cried Harry, his hand reaching back to Tom. "Don't stop. . . "

"Shhh," said Tom, trying again. This time Harry groaned and pushed back against him.

"Hurry. . . "

Trembling, not quite believing that he was going to do this, Tom greased his erection and, for good measure, added more inside Harry. Harry shifted beneath him.

"On our sides, to make it easier," he gasped, and allowed Tom to place him on the bed. Tom spooned up behind Harry, his hands busy positioning his lover and himself. Tom's erection was so hard it hurt.

Finally they were lined up to his satisfaction, and he nudged himself against Harry. He could feel Harry's muscles tense, then relax, and he pushed forward, surprised to feel himself slip a little way inside. Harry tensed again, and Tom responded, over and over, until Tom's belly rested against Harry's ass.

"Yes, Tom. . . " Harry breathed.

We've done it. . . Tom's mind registered the act, but he barely believed it. He was inside Harry, doing that -- and Harry was enjoying it. . . Then Harry pushed back against him, and Tom sobbed once, beginning to understand why Harry wanted this connection, this sharing.

They were making love.

He started moving, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that Harry easily matched. Within a few minutes, they speeded up, and Tom reached around to stroke Harry's erection.

Harry called his name, moving his hips faster against Tom, and moaned almost continuously as they thrust against each other. Tom felt the heat coiling in his gut and begin to spread throughout his body, and he knew it wouldn't be long. He leaned forward and kissed Harry's shoulder, licking along the shoulder blade and using his tongue to define the smooth tendons on the back of his neck. Suddenly Harry stiffened and cried out, his body pulsing and throbbing in Tom's clasp, around Tom's cock. Tom threw his head back and thrust his hips forward, star bursts blinding him. He came, calling Harry's name.

Later, he had no idea how long, he moved and slipped out of Harry, groaning as he did so. The sense of loss was painful, but the knowledge of what they had shared more than made up for it. The bed dipped, and he heard Harry go into the bathroom and return a moment later.

"Turn over, Tom," said Harry gently, and when Tom complied, Harry knelt beside him. "I'm just going to clean us up," he explained, and Tom felt a warm washcloth wiping him.

"Harry. . . " He reached out and clasped Harry's arm as his lover rose. "How did you know what to do. . . "

Harry sat back down and leaned forward, kissing Tom gently. "I didn't. But I wanted to share this with you, so I did some reading, and asked the Doctor about the mechanics. . . "

Tom's eyes widened. "You mean you were a virgin?"

Harry nodded and pulled Tom's arm over his shoulders, leaning against him. "It was everything I wanted, Tom. Everything I dreamed. It was perfect."

"Perfect. . . " whispered Tom. He shut his eyes tight and buried his lips in Harry's thick hair. "Perfect. . . "

And Harry kissed away the tears that fell down Tom's cheeks.

---

Chakotay woke with a start in the middle of the night, his pulse racing and his breath coming in short hard gasps as though he had been sprinting. Another dream, the third in as many nights. This one had been so vivid he had almost felt it was real.

The dreams had been coming to him intermittently for several weeks, beginning soon after Voyager had left New Earth. At first, he had simply woken in the night, his usually sound sleep interrupted by a vague sense of uneasiness which faded quickly once he was awake.

Then he had slowly started remembering fragments of the dream: each time, it became slightly more distinct. He was back on Voyager. In the holodeck, at Sandrine's. He was angry at someone, angry about something, but he could not remember what. Then Tom Paris arrived, and his anger found a focus.

Tonight the dream images had been even clearer. He had watched Paris at the pool table, nursing a bitter sense of hatred, and was shocked to recall that he had actually wanted to hurt the other man. More than that; in his dream he had wanted to kill Paris, had felt a lust for revenge burning in his heart, had imagined himself striking the younger man and savagely beating his head against the hard deck until his skull shattered.

Chakotay sat up in bed, drawing an unsteady breath. He thought he had put this anger behind him, thought he had forgiven Kathryn for her decision to exclude him from the plan to identify Voyager's traitor. He had not forgotten the unresolved issues, but in the wake of recent events, they had receded in importance. The plot to uncover Seska's spy seemed as though it happened years ago. His life was here now, on New Earth. With Kathryn.

And he had long since accepted Paris's role in the situation. The man could hardly be blamed for following orders; whatever else he thought of Tom Paris, Chakotay could not deny that his loyalty to Kathryn Janeway was genuine. She had arranged his release from prison, renewed his commission, allowed him to fly again; he could hardly be expected to protest her orders. Even orders to deceive a superior officer.

Until tonight, Chakotay had ignored the dreams, but the violence he had imagined tonight was too disturbing. He lay back in bed, resigned to the inevitable. He did not want to re-open old wounds, for himself or for Kathryn. But he needed to talk with someone, and he suspected that this time his spirit guide would not have the answers he sought.

---

Despite his resolve, Chakotay waited until evening before broaching the subject. Kathryn spent most of her days in the lab, so engrossed in her research that she often worked through lunch and had to be dragged away from her computer at sunset. He told himself that he waited simply to have her full attention, ignoring the voice that told him Kathryn would have put aside her work if she knew he was troubled.

She listened quietly as he described the dreams, hazel eyes shadowed as she watched him in concern, and he felt an unfamiliar sense of shame. He had always prided himself on being a peaceful man - a gentle man from a gentle people, he had told Kar and the other young Kazon. To find himself wishing violence on another - even unconsciously - was deeply unsettling.

"At the end of the last dream," Chakotay began haltingly, "I overpowered him, and. . . hit his head against the deck until he was unconscious."

"Unconscious?" Kathryn asked softly. "Or dead?"

Chakotay looked away miserably. "I don't know for sure; the dream ended at that point. But, yes - in the dream, I was violent enough to kill."

"And what do you think it means?" she asked carefully.

He closed his eyes in anguish. "I wish I knew! I suppose it means I haven't forgiven Paris for his part in the deception, but I don't understand why. He was only following orders. Following them with a great deal of relish," he added bitterly, "but in spite of everything I do recognize that Paris has enough self-discipline to behave himself when it suits him. He had nothing to gain by antagonizing me."

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Nothing to gain, and a great deal to lose. Tom has been trying to gain your respect, over the last two years. Didn't you realize that, Chakotay?"

He stared at her. "I have a hard time believing it."

Kathryn regarded him consideringly, but did not respond directly. "Let me ask you another question. Why do you think Tom participated in the deception?"

Chakotay frowned. "As I said, he was following orders. He's loyal to you, I'll give him that much."

She shook her head. "He volunteered for the mission." Chakotay's expression reflected his disbelief. "I'm quite serious. He wasn't even the first person I thought of for the job."

"Who was?"

"B'Elanna, actually. Everyone knew she and Seska had been friends, and she had a difficult time adjusting to Starfleet again. But before I could approach her, Tom came to me and volunteered. He knew about the problem - the transmissions we detected included data about his warp ten flight, so he was the first person Tuvok ruled out."

"He volunteered?" Chakotay repeated, still unconvinced. That wasn't the Tom Paris he knew - or thought he knew.

"He volunteered," Kathryn said firmly. "He knew the risks, Chakotay. It was very close to being a suicide mission - Tuvok told me he estimated Tom's chances of survival were less than ten percent. He volunteered because the ship was in danger. And I trusted him to put Voyager's safety ahead of his own."

Chakotay sat silently, feeling shame well up in him. How could he have misjudged Paris so badly? He looked up at Kathryn, imploringly. She seemed to read his mind, and she had the answer. She took his hand carefully between both of hers.

"I think the person you're really angry with is me," she said gently, "but it was safer to be angry with Tom. I know I caused you a great deal of pain. I can never change that, and it troubles me greatly."

"Kathryn--" he started, but she shook her head.

"I have to be honest with you, Chakotay. I would do the same thing again, given the same circumstances."

He frowned, and she squeezed his hand. "You must see that my concerns were valid. We had a traitor on board, and we knew that Seska was involved somehow. You disobeyed orders, once, in order to deal with Seska yourself. I could not take the chance you would do that again. There was simply too much at stake."

His defenses crumbled, finally. "I know," he said unhappily. "I regret that more than I can say. You had good reason to wonder about my loyalty."

"No," she answered firmly. "Loyalty to Voyager sent you out to try to handle Seska on your own. I questioned your judgment in that matter, yes - but I never doubted your integrity. Not for a second."

Chakotay held her gaze, searching her face for a long moment. The bitter sense of betrayal that had poisoned him on Voyager was finally gone. He could accept that Kathryn still disagreed with his earlier decision to sacrifice himself to stop Seska; he was willing to concede that his judgment faltered where Seska was concerned. It did not matter. Kathryn trusted him; she had always trusted him.

Kathryn patted his hand gently. "My dear friend," she said affectionately. "Sleep well tonight, Chakotay."

---

Tom kept his attention focused on the conn, even though he could feel Harry's eyes on him, a subtle warmth on the back of his skull. He liked it when Harry looked at him. Actually, he loved it. Even the thought of Harry's dark eyes caressing his face and body made his knees weak and did very peculiar things to his gut. Not to mention the area a little lower.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Tom heard a muffled sound from behind. Ah. Harry understood exactly why he had to move, and was trying not to laugh. Tom was glad that Tuvok was in the ready room and off the bridge - he didn't take kindly to officers giggling while on duty, particularly bridge officers.

It had been different with the Captain. . . Tom shook his head slightly. He would never think of Tuvok as the Captain. Only one person would ever hold that rank in his mind, and she was six weeks behind them, marooned, stranded on a planet with. . .

With an effort, Tom consciously relaxed his clenched fingers. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. The Captain. . . She had managed, somehow, to cut through the solemn silence of command protocol with her enthusiasm, charm and obvious concern for the welfare of her crew. The atmosphere of the bridge, while never informal, had been comfortable. Officers could make comments and suggestions without fear of being slapped down, and the Captain would periodically walk from station to station, offering encouragement and praise, along with a friendly pat on the shoulder or back.

She'd made mistakes - Tom knew she wasn't a saint - but she was the best Captain he'd ever hope to serve. Still, he had lied to her. And now there was no way to make it right. He'd have to live with that knowledge the rest of his life; knowledge that he had deceived the one person who had believed in him when no one else had, who had trusted him with her ship, and who saw him as a reformed man, honestly trying to redeem himself. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

It galled. It hurt. Try as he might to hide it, the guilt from his deception had lodged deep within, a black place that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. It colored his days and nights, followed him as he worked, dogged his footsteps as he relaxed, even filtering his pleasure with Harry with its cloudy haze.

And when he wasn't being dragged down by the blackness, he was angry. Angry at Chakotay, at himself, at the damnable series of events that led to. . . Tom pushed away the thought; this was no time to indulge in introspection. He was on duty, and was bound to give his full attention to piloting the ship.

He could feel Harry's eyes still on him, and Tom knew that Harry saw everything inside him: guilt, regret, anger. Harry understood. That thought both pleased and hurt Tom. For Tom, sharing himself and all that was within him with Harry was one of the most profoundly satisfying elements of their relationship. To have no secrets, no dark corners that he had to hide from his lover. To be completely and utterly himself. And yet. . .

And yet it was this very openness that wounded Harry. Because there were dark places that Harry could not yet heal, places that might never heal. Harry was, by his very nature, a fixer, a doer, a person who could take a pile of shattered remains and, from them, piece together something that was better than new. As he had done with Tom, by loving him. But there were still those broken places inside Tom that Harry wanted to make right.

Harry would try everything in his power, Tom knew, to do what he could for Tom. Everything in his power, and then some. For Harry, failure in this matter was not an option, and he would readily sacrifice himself if he thought it would help Tom. It was Harry's over-riding protectiveness that Tom both loved and feared; he feared it only because he would rather die than see Harry come to harm, especially on his behalf.

The worry of it made Tom frantic.

---

Intellectually, Harry knew that the action he was contemplating could be considered, well, not exactly suicide, but A Very Bad Career Move. He didn't give a damn.

He paced a circuit around his quarters, from door to desk to port to couch to door again, over and over. He was furious. No, he was past furious - the rage burning inside him was so intense, so primal, he wondered why he didn't just burst into flames on the spot.

Glancing out the port, he briefly saw his reflection in the clearsteel panel, overlaid with the sight of all those millions of stars that surrounded their tiny ship. Behind him, he caught a glimpse of Tom's gold head, leaning back on the couch, and his anger blazed.

This time as he approached the couch, he met Tom's eyes and tried to convey the depth of his rage through that one look. Tom's eyes widened, but he did not look away. Instead, he just sighed.

"If you keep up this pacing, you'll wear a path in the carpet," he said calmly, and patted the seat next to him. "Sit down, and we can talk. . . "

"There's nothing to talk about," Harry snapped, turning to continue his circuit.

"Yes, there is."

Harry completed two more turns around the room before he planted himself squarely in front of Tom and glared at him.

"Harry, I know why you're angry. . . "

"Oh, good. Lieutenant Paris scores a ten on the perception meter. . . " His voice was harsh, but he did not resume his pacing.

Tom rose and stood before Harry, but he didn't reach out to touch him. "Listen, Harry. I was just as excited as you about spotting the Vidiians this afternoon, but. . . "

"But what, Tom?" Harry interrupted. "You were excited, but you were going to let Tuvok just pass them by without a word? Lose the only chance we have of getting back the Captain?" He turned and started around the room again. "I thought you'd be the first person to back me up! I thought you, of all people, would want to find a cure for the Captain! In the corridor, even a Maquis told me I was right. . . "

Harry spun around on his heel and strode over to Tom, almost shaking from his frustration and anger. "Instead, you stayed silent when I called Tuvok on his decision - you even shook your head at me to back off! Why, Tom? Why?"

"Because I didn't want you to get into trouble," he replied quietly. Before Harry could speak, he continued. "I want the Captain back every bit as much as you do - maybe even more. But you know Tuvok. Once he's made up his mind, confronting him about it in public makes him dig in his heels. We have to. . . "

"We have to what? Tell me, Tom," Harry said abruptly.

Tom raised his hands. "I will, if you'll give me a chance. We have to approach him calmly and logically. We need to get together a delegation from the crew, and poll the officers. . . "

Harry leaned forward, his face a breath away from Tom's. "There's no time!" he rasped. "We don't have time for delegations and polls.Every second we leave this takes us another second away from the Vidiians and the Captain! We have to act now!"

"Then at least let me talk to Kes," Tom pleaded, resting a tentative hand on Harry's arm. "She's closer to Tuvok than anyone else on board. Maybe she can talk some sense into him. . . "

"Fine. Talk to Kes." Harry jerked away from Tom's touch and walked stiffly to the port. He stared out blindly, only realizing that Tom had come up behind him when Tom's hands crept around his chest.

"I know why you're so upset, Harry," he whispered into Harry's ear. "And I really appreciate it. But we have to handle this carefully, or Tuvok will never listen."

Harry leaned back into Tom's warmth and heaved a sigh.

"I'm just so worried about you," he whispered, and shivered as Tom kissed his neck.

"And I'm so worried about you," Tom replied. "I don't want you court-martialed over this, and Tuvok would do that if you push him too far."

Harry nodded and turned in Tom's arms, reaching around his lover to hold him close.

"Go, talk to Kes," he murmured. "See if she can help."

Tom kissed him lightly. "I won't be gone long. Promise." And he hurried out the door.

And I'm not counting on Kes, Harry thought as he watched his lover leave. Tom was Harry's responsibility, and Harry was damned if a cold Vulcan or the threat of a court-martial were going to change that. Tom needed the Captain, and he was going to get the Captain, no matter what Harry had to do in order to achieve that goal. He ran his hands through his hair and straightened his shoulders.

It was time to go talk with Tuvok again.

---

B'Elanna dropped into the chair and took a long swig of her drink. That was better. . . She sighed and looked around Sandrine's, not really surprised to find it almost filled. The crew, without exception, were ecstatic about returning for the Captain and Chakotay, and their uncontained joy spilled over into off-duty carousing and raucous partying.

She smiled to herself as the Delaney sisters swept up Geron between them. They'll have him for lunch, she thought, and only leave his uniform behind. Other crewmembers paired off, and she watched them all with an unusual feeling of indulgence. Of course they need to play, after all they've been through. . .

Turning her head, she noticed Tom and Harry sitting at a table in a corner. Their heads were bent close together, and they were deep in conversation - a serious one, by the look of things. B'Elanna took another drink and watched the two men thoughtfully.

Those two had been in each other's pockets since. . . She thought back. Since Tom had returned from the Kazon mission. Harry had been devastated when he thought that Tom was leaving the ship for good. He hadn't said much, but it was obvious that Tom's departure had been hard for Harry to accept. And then when Tom had returned. . . She smiled as she remembered the look on Harry's face.

Across the room, Harry's hand crept out and covered Tom's, and they exchanged a look that, had she been the recipient, would have sent B'Elanna into a hormonal frenzy of immense proportions. So that's how it is. I thought it might be. . .

B'Elanna was pleased

---

"I am glad we're going back for them," protested Harry, his hand still resting on Tom's, his drink forgotten in front of him. "I'm just worried about you."

"There's no need, Harry." Tom shrugged, but he turned the hand resting beneath Harry's and laced their fingers together. "I'm fine."

"Now, maybe," said Harry, "but what happens when you have to look at the Captain every day?" He lowered his voice. "Not to mention the Commander. . . "

"I'll deal with that when it happens."

Harry paused, glancing down at their joined hands. "Tom," he began quietly, "I'm only bringing this up because I care about you. I don't want you to end up the way you were right after. . . "

"Not a chance," ground out Tom, his fingers tightening on Harry's. "There's no way I'm going to let that bastard get to me like that again."

"Tom. . . " Harry winced at the pain in his fingers - Tom's grip was like iron. "Tom, loosen up a little - circulation is good."

Tom stared blankly at Harry for a moment, then spread his fingers wide. "Sorry." He grabbed his drink and turned to survey the room. "It's just that it makes me so. . . so. . . " His hand curled into a fist, and he pounded the table once, making Harry's drink slosh.

Harry watched his lover. For the past two weeks, ever since they had received the anti-viral agent from Denara Pel, Tom had had these moments of anger - almost of rage. They were brief, but intense, and Harry kept a close eye on Tom while they lasted. So far, Tom hadn't shown any desire to hurt himself or others, but Harry knew how seldom Tom allowed himself to feel anger -- real anger, not just irritation - and he understood how unprepared Tom was to deal with it on a fundamental level.

"Tom," Harry ventured quietly, laying a hand on Tom's arm, "you could tell the Captain. . . "

Tom shook his head, still staring out over the room.

"Think about it," Harry continued when it became obvious that Tom wasn't going to respond. "It isn't too late to. . . "

"Don't!" Tom hissed. He turned, eyes burning. "You're not playing fair, Harry. Don't do this to me."

"I don't have to play fair. The man I love is hurting, and I'll do anything in my power to help him, even if he gets angry at me."

They stared at each other for a long moment, blue eyes and black, until the blue ones dropped.

"I'm not angry at you," said Tom softly. "I know what you're saying is good advice, but. . . "

"But you've made up your mind, and it's going to stay made up." Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Right?"

Tom nodded, looking ashamed. "It's what I've always done," he said with a half-shrug.

"That was before you met me."

With a grin, Tom replied. "And that's supposed to change how I handle things? Feeling confident, aren't we?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and returned Tom's grin. "Yeah."

Tom wrapped both hands around his drink and stared down into the glass. "You're right, you know. It's what I did before I met you. But now. . . "

He looked up at Harry again, love and desire and fear and hope all warring on his face. Harry wanted nothing more than to grab him and kiss away all his fears and ignite his desire and. . .

"Tom, Harry, what're you two doing hiding in a corner?" B'Elanna stood before their table, glass in hand, grinning down at them. "C'mon, Paris. How about a game?"

Feeling foolish, Harry glanced over at Tom. He was blushing. "Uh, I don't think so. . . "

B'Elanna leaned forward, her grin fading. "It'll do you good, Tom. You two looked like you were either going to fight or. . . " Her eyebrows raised.

Tom's blush deepened, and Harry felt his own face grow warm. He touched Tom's arm. "Why don't you play, Tom. You don't want to get rusty."

With a quick glance at Harry, Tom nodded. After B'Elanna led him to the pool table, Harry let out a shaky breath. Well, he'd introduced the topic of telling the Captain and Tom hadn't bitten off his head. Almost, but not quite. Right now, that was good enough for Harry. He still had four weeks in which to convince Tom that telling the Captain wouldn't bring down destruction on the ship or crew.

Or on Tom himself.

---

Harry squirmed on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching fistfuls of the sheets. He was going insane, he decided, then became absolutely convinced of that fact. Tom's teasing, his kisses and light touches and now his fingers twisting inside Harry, were going to either kill him or drive him mad. Harry really didn't care which, at this point. He just wanted Tom to give him that little bit more. . .

He raised his legs onto his chest, silently begging, pleading with his body since his voice didn't work. Tom kissed the backs of his thighs, coming closer. . . closer. . .

Harry groaned as Tom's mouth trailed across his cheeks instead of where he wanted it - needed it - the most. Those fingers continued to work their magic, making Harry gasp and shiver and burn, all at once. He cried out once, when Tom stroked him there, and Tom's chuckle penetrated the haze that surrounded him.

Vague ideas of revenge flitted through the fog that had set up housekeeping in his mind, but every time Tom twisted his hand, Harry lost his train of thought. Nothing else existed except him and Tom, and the wonderful things Tom was doing to him.

Finally Tom leaned over and kissed him, and Harry responded, putting in all his love and need into that one kiss. Tom broke away roughly, his hand shaking as he caressed Harry's legs and chest. Then the fingers slid out, and Harry waited impatiently for Tom to return to him.

There. Harry took a deep breath, holding himself still, and relaxed. Tom entered slowly, as if trying to draw out the sensations for as long as possible. Harry didn't care - it could last a lifetime as far as he was concerned. Or longer - a lifetime with Tom inside him wasn't nearly long enough. The warmth of his lover settled against Harry, and he sighed. Their bodies were joined as close as they could be, but this was only a faint reflection of the way their hearts dovetailed together. Not a glimmer of daylight could be found between the two halves, because there weren't two any more, only one.

Tom began to move, rocking his hips just enough to send frissons through Harry, enticing him to abandon his stillness. Harry moved blindly against his lover, so lost in sensation that he never wanted to be found. He welcomed the pressure, the heat, the breathless anticipation of the inevitable. His entire body vibrated with the tension coiled in his gut, his chest, his throat, his. . .

Then Tom jerked and thrust, his half-strangled cry a call for Harry to join him. And Harry did so, gladly.

---

Gotta move, Tom thought groggily. Squashing Harry. He shifted and felt Harry shiver as he withdrew, then collapsed on his side, arms blindly reaching for his lover. He pressed himself close, Harry's sweat-dampened skin warm to his touch, Harry's chest heaving beneath his fingers.

Gradually their heartbeats slowed, their breathing calmed, and Tom drew the sheet over their cooling bodies. Harry twisted slightly and looked at him, a faint smile on his lips.

"Thanks. . . "

"What for?"

"For loving me. . . "

"Oh, like that's so difficult to do." Tom grinned. Harry returned his smile, then sobered.

"Is it difficult for you? Making love to me?" he asked carefully.

"No. . . " Tom began, then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Because you ask me to do it, and you. . . " He paused, then closed his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You enjoy it so much. . . "

"I do," Harry breathed into his ear. "I love having you inside me because I love you. And because you have always been gentle and kind and concerned about my comfort." Harry laid a hand on Tom's cheek and turned his face. Tom could see the love and concern in Harry's eyes, and he held their gaze almost fiercely. Dark memories gathered in the shadows of his heart and mind, but he refused to acknowledge them, instead striding away to the bright place where he kept thoughts of Harry.

"How could I do otherwise?"

Harry kissed him, and Tom chuckled to feel himself become aroused. Around Harry, he felt like he was fifteen - nothing but raging hormones and throbbing cock - and yet he knew that he would still love Harry even if they could never touch each other again.

"But do you enjoy it?" Harry asked quietly, his hands stroking Tom's arms and chest. "You do it for me, but does being inside me bring you pleasure?"

Tom choked, surprised at Harry's question. "Harry," he said after a moment, "you know it does. I like everything we do. I mean, I get off, don't I?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not what I meant. You can do the same by using your hand, or. . . "

"Shit!" Tom pushed away and sat up, cold to his heart. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Jerking off in your ass? Is that what you think of me?" He swung his legs around, trying to slide off the bed. Two hands gripped his shoulders firmly, fingers digging in. With a strangled scream, Tom lunged off the bed and bolted across the room. He had to leave -- now. In his haste, he stumbled in the doorway and landed in a heap in the living area. He scrambled toward the door, heart pounding, eyes blind with terror.

"Tom."

He bumped into a warm body where there should have been a door and recoiled, tripping again and landing on his rear.

"Tom!"

The voice, his voice, penetrated the layers of fear, and Tom looked up. Harry was standing in front of the door, eyes wide, face pale. He slowly dropped to his knees in front of Tom. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and he brought them to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Tom," he said roughly. "I didn't intend to cheapen your feelings - I just wanted to know how you felt about what we're doing. And I didn't. . . " His face grew visibly paler, the black hair slashing across his forehead a shocking contrast to his pallor. "Oh gods, I didn't think when I touched you. . . I just wanted you to listen to me -I didn't want to remind you. . . " His voice trailed off and he just stared at Tom, his entire body pleading for understanding.

Tom swallowed hard, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, I didn't mean to go running off. . . " He looked at himself, sitting there naked. "And I'm glad you stopped me before I left. . . " He didn't smile. Neither did Harry, but the tension between the two men lessened.

"Harry," he ventured after a long moment of stillness, "I want you to believe that being with you. . . " He struggled to keep his voice steady and tried again. "When I'm inside you. . . It's like nothing I've ever done, or felt. . . It's so good, Harry, so right. . . " The weight in his throat and on his chest stopped him from saying anything further, but he hoped it was enough.

Harry favored him with the ghost of a smile. He was still pale, although some color had returned to his face. "That's how I feel, Tom. It's the way we're supposed to be together."

"But don't you ever want. . . " Tom lowered his gaze, staring intently at the carpet. "I mean, if I could. . . Would you want to be inside me?" He winced as his voice broke on the last word.

At that, Harry scooted forward and wrapped his arms around Tom. "Of course I would. If it's possible -- when it's possible for you to want it, too. Until then, I want us to be together whatever way we can."

Tom held on to his lover, stroking Harry with trembling hands. He wanted so much to share himself with Harry - to permit that last, most intimate act - but he couldn't. . . He just couldn't. . .

"I wish. . . " he whispered. "I want to, but. . . "

"Shhh, it's all right," Harry murmured into his neck. "It isn't important, Tom. Really."

Tom didn't say anything, but he knew it was important. It was a part of himself he wondered if he'd ever be able to share with Harry. . . and all because of him. The Commander.

Chakotay.

Tom closed his eyes and let the anger fill him.

---

One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours, more or less, until the Captain and Chakotay were back on board. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His fingers tightened on Tom's, and he leaned against his lover, sighing as Tom's arm slipped around his shoulders. It had been a long day on the bridge, and he was grateful to be back in his quarters with Tom.

"All I'm saying is that you've got to seriously consider it, Tom." He tried to keep the weariness from his voice, but Tom had heard it - he could feel his lover tense against him, then relax. This is new, he thought.

"I am, Harry."

There was something in Tom's voice Harry hadn't heard before - a certain reluctant acknowledgment of necessity, rather than reflexive denial. Harry snuggled closer and decided to press a little harder. After all, he didn't have a lot of time to convince Tom before they returned, and strong-arm tactics would have to take the place of subtle diplomacy.

"She gave you a chance when she brought you on Voyager, and when she gave you the conn. You took that chance and turned it into a new life." He paused, remembering. "We know what would have happened if you hadn't gotten that chance."

"Yeah, I know. . . " The pain in his voice tore at Harry's heart. "I'm grateful to the Captain. I owe her everything I've got, including you," he said, squeezing Harry's shoulders. "But this is going to put her in a damnable position! After three months away from her ship, she won't be able to trust her XO, she'll have to deal with crew factions, and. . . " His voice dropped into a whisper. "And she won't trust me anymore. . . "

"She will, Tom." Harry turned and cupped his hands around Tom's face. "She'll understand why you didn't tell her, and she'll trust you even more because she knows you had the good of the ship at heart."

Tom closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, I lied to her, and she'll never forgive me for that. . . " His eyes flew open and Harry flinched at the pain in those blue depths. Tom's mouth twisted. "They never forgive you if you lie to them. . . I know that, Harry."

"We're not talking about what happened after Caldik Prime, Tom. You were young and inexperienced, and hadn't proved yourself. Not like here, not like the way you've proved yourself to Captain Janeway. She knows you couldn't do anything to endanger the ship or the crew - that's why she chose you to infiltrate the Kazon. . . "

"She chose me," interrupted Tom, "because I was the biggest screw-up in the crew, and the most likely to bail."

"No!" Harry wanted to scream in frustration. "She chose you because she could trust you completely! She knew that you'd sacrifice yourself to save the ship, that you'd die letting everyone think you were a traitor rather than let her down." Harry stopped - the memory of almost losing Tom was still too fresh to be contemplated with equanimity.

"And if I tell her?" Tom's voice was soft in his ear.

Harry took a deep breath. "Then you'll see that I'm right. The Captain will have to decide what to do about the Commander, but she'll forgive you, and, most importantly, you'll forgive yourself."

"Oh, Harry," Tom murmured, "that sounds so good. . . "

"It will be, if you only trust yourself. You know you've got to do this, Tom."

With a sigh, Tom sat back on the couch and ran a hand over his face. "But I can't just dump this on her lap as soon as she steps onto the bridge."

"I'm not saying that you have to catch her as she steps off the lift. Give her a day or two to settle back into the routine, and then tell her." Harry kissed Tom's cheek. "There's no rush. Tell her when you're ready, but remember, I'm not going to let you wait forever."

"We'll see," Tom said, putting a stop to the conversation with one of his special Paris turn-Harry's-knees-to-jelly kisses. Harry didn't mind. Despite Tom's casually uncommitted words, he knew Tom would tell the Captain.

They had won.

---

Chakotay fell into bed with a groan at the end of his first day back on Voyager. Every muscle ached with fatigue, but it was more than the physical effort of packing up the entire camp in one day. The real strain was emotional - leaving a planet he had grown to love, a wild place where he had felt at home. Leaving behind the life he and Kathryn had been building together.

In its place he had duty. Endless responsibilities, constant danger, and the discouraging task of trying to unite the two halves of the crew despite their mutual distrust. Voyager had not been a happy ship when he and Kathryn had left it, ten weeks earlier, and to judge by the bridge crew, things were not much improved.

B'Elanna, Kes and Neelix were happy to see them both. Chakotay was sure of that much. And Tuvok was pleased to have the Captain back, if not overjoyed to see the first officer.

Tom Paris, though. . . Chakotay frowned. Voyager's pilot had welcomed the Captain back on board with what seemed like genuine relief, but his interactions with the first officer had been terse and uncomfortable. Not insubordinate, but Chakotay sensed hostility and anger Paris could not quite conceal.

Even Harry Kim's demeanor had been somewhat strained. Correct, but distant and formal, where he had once been open and relaxed. Of course, he and Paris were close friends, and Chakotay understood now that he had treated Paris unfairly after the Kazon mission. He had hoped to apologize, to make amends, and he was still determined to try - but if Paris's anger had not cooled in three months, it was probably going to be difficult.

Chakotay took a deep breath and let it out again. Welcome home, he thought resignedly, as he drifted off to sleep. . .

. . . Chakotay pushed himself from the table with a roar, throwing himself at Paris in a full-body tackle that carried them halfway across the room, and the other man's head hit the ground so hard he could hear it. Then he raised his fist and struck savagely at the face he despised, over and over, forcing the imagined smile from Paris's mouth.

Paris began to struggle, raising his arms for protection, his hips grinding against Chakotay's groin as he tried desperately to free himself from the heavy weight pinning him to the ground. The sensation nearly brought Chakotay to climax and he grabbed Paris by one arm and flipped him over onto his stomach. Paris thrashed wildly beneath him, nearly throwing him off, and Chakotay clenched his fist in the other man's hair and pounded his head against the deck until he lay stunned and unmoving.

Chakotay tore at Paris's clothing, yanking the loose trousers down past his hips, and shoved his own garments down with equal force. Then he slammed his erection into Paris's body, thrusting deep into the unwilling flesh, his hands digging so deep into Paris's shoulders he could feel bone under taut muscles. Paris cried out from the pain, his voice rising to a hoarse scream, and Chakotay thrust harder, deeper, inflamed by the harsh sounds and the feel of the body he had penetrated - hot, tight, quickly becoming slick with blood.

Then the orgasm hammered through his body with the force of an exploding warp core. . .

Chakotay woke with a shout, clawing at the tangled sheets. "Oh, spirits," he moaned aloud. "Please, no more of this!"

He sagged against his raised knees, burying his head in his arms. Why, why was he dreaming of such violence and hatred? Certainly, he had some misgivings about trying to approach Tom Paris, but to imagine beating the man to a bloody pulp, inflicting on him the worst possible violation of human dignity. . . these were not his feelings. He was a little wary of Paris; knew he did not understand the man well, knew he needed to bridge the distance between them. But he did not hate Paris. He did not want to cause the man pain. These were not his feelings.

They were his memories. The thought came unwanted and unexpected. Chakotay felt a cold weight against his heart, and suddenly he knew. . . the dream was not a fiction, not an expression of buried anger. The dream was a memory of a crime so appalling he had not been able to consciously acknowledge it.

He thought of himself as a man of peace, a man who prized gentleness over force. He could not have done such a vile, despicable thing. . . then he shuddered, violently, remembering the Maquis traitor he had killed in a fit of rage. The memory brought with it a horrifying sense of certainty that what he had just experienced was no dream.

Now that the possibility had been raised, Chakotay could never be sure it was not true.

But there was one person who could be sure.

---

Tom woke with a start as the door signal in his quarters rang in the middle of the night. He'd been only half asleep, restless and uneasy about the prospect of reporting the assault to Captain Janeway. Only Harry's presence had calmed him enough to fall asleep at all.

The door chime rang again, insistently, and beside him Harry stirred and rubbed his eyes. "What is it?" he murmured.

Tom shook his head and stumbled out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and stepping into them quickly. "Come in already," he growled, rounding the corner into the other room. Harry was a step behind him. When the door hissed open, Tom pulled in a sharp breath, and felt Harry lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

It was Chakotay. The first officer stood in the doorway, a shadow in the dim light from the corridor, no longer the calm, self- assured man they knew. He was distraught, with haunted eyes and an expression of anxiety, almost pleading, on his face. Tom felt his stomach twisting - the visceral reaction of mingled fear, anger and dread he had suffered for weeks following the assault.

Chakotay took a deep breath. "Paris, I need to talk to you," he began, and then caught sight of Harry at Tom's side. His eyes widened and he looked from Tom to Harry and back again, taking in the darkened bedroom and their barely-dressed state. Chakotay shook himself visibly and tried again. "I need to talk to you. Alone, if you don't mind."

Tom's anger rose a notch. "No, Commander," he ground out. "Not unless this is ship's business. Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Harry."

Chakotay hesitated a moment, the lines of misery on his face deepening. Then he bowed his head. "All right," he said quietly, and looked up again to meet Tom's eyes. "All the time Kathryn and I were on New Earth, I had nightmares," he began, haltingly. "About you. In the holodeck. At first they were hazy, then each one became a little clearer. I was angry with you, so angry I wanted to. . . " Chakotay's voice sank to a whisper. "Wanted to hurt you. And I did. Each time I woke, I had been hitting you. Beating you, as hard as I could." He paused, waiting for Tom's reaction, his expression imploring.

Tom folded his arms, his right hand clenching into a fist against his ribs. "Go on," he said tersely.

Chakotay's eyes closed in pain. "I thought the dreams were symbolic. I was angry with you, after the Kazon mission. But tonight, the dream went farther, and it seemed so real. It was real, spirits help me! It wasn't a dream at all, was it? It was a buried memory."

"Yes." Tom's response was brutally short.

Chakotay sagged against the wall. "What. . . what did I do to you?" he whispered.

Tom took a step toward the first officer, holding himself tense against mounting rage. "You held me down," he said, his voice low and harsh. "You beat my head against the deck until I nearly passed out. Then you ripped off my clothes, Commander, and you raped me."

Chakotay moaned aloud, a sound more animal than human. The color drained from his face and he swayed unsteadily. In the corner of his eye Tom saw Harry leaning forward, expecting the first officer to collapse, ready to break his fall. But then Chakotay straightened, his eyes wild. "I have to tell Kathryn," he breathed. "Oh, spirits. . . I have to turn myself in."

Tom let out a strangled cry as his rage and anger boiled over, shattering his fragile control. With one swift movement he pinned Chakotay to the wall, his forearm pressed threateningly against the other man's throat.

"No way in hell," he warned, his voice grating. "Don't ever think I did this for you, Chakotay. The Captain depends on you, and the crew has enough problems without giving Starfleet and Maquis another reason to hate each other. I did it for them and I did it for her. I don't care if the guilt eats you alive."

Chakotay stared back at him, too horrified to speak, and Tom leaned closer. "You and I and Harry are the only people who know about this. We're the only ones who will ever know, or - so help me God, Commander - I'll come after you myself." He pressed savagely against the other man's windpipe, consumed by rage for every abuse he had suffered. Never again, never again. . . he pressed harder, and Chakotay struggled for air, his breath rasping against his throat.

"Tom." Harry's quiet voice cut through the red haze of his anger, and a strong hand closed gently over his wrist. He turned almost blindly in the direction of Harry's voice, and his fury began to die when he met Harry's steady gaze.

After a long moment he released Chakotay, backing away abruptly, and the first officer sagged, dragging in deep shuddering breaths. Then he straightened, seizing Tom's right hand in his own. He pulled Tom closer until they stood chest to chest and held their clasped hands up between them.

"On my father's spirit," Chakotay said. His voice was hoarse, but he met Tom's eyes steadily. "I will do as you ask. You have my word. On my father's spirit."

---

Chakotay left quietly, head bowed, and the door slid shut behind him. Tom stood motionless, staring in shock at the place Chakotay had been. Harry wrapped an arm around him as he began to shiver violently.

"Tom," he said softly, and Tom turned toward him, his eyes bleak and horrified. "Let's go back to bed." It was the only thing he could think to say. He had promised he would be there for Tom, no matter what; he would not torment Tom further by questioning what he had just done.

He drew Tom away from the door and Tom allowed himself to be led back into the bedroom. Once there he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and bent double, face in his hands. "Oh God, Harry," he said brokenly. "What have I done?"

Harry knelt in front of him, taking his lover's hands in his own. "It's not too late," he said urgently. "We can go talk to him. You can still tell the Captain, if that's what you want."

"How can I?" The words were torn from Tom's chest. "How can I possibly tell her - that about the man she just spent three months alone with? How can I tell her I've been lying to her all this time?" He choked on a sob. "My God - I can't even do it to him. He's in love with her."

Tom leaned into Harry's shoulder, tears welling in his eyes. Harry held him tightly as he cried - quietly, hopelessly. There was nothing Harry could say to soothe his anguish, nothing he could do to change what had just happened. He ached to be back in bed, to wrap his arms around Tom and hold him gently, for Tom to feel the warmth and comfort of his body.

Tom grew still, and Harry gave him a final squeeze. "Come back to bed," he whispered. Tom nodded wearily and Harry pulled him in under the covers. Tom lay on his side, his back to Harry, as if unable to accept the comfort Harry offered.

Harry curled up behind, wrapping one arm protectively around Tom's chest, and lay awake with him the rest of the night.

---

Tom stared out into the familiar shadows of his darkened room, feeling Harry's breath on the back of his neck, Harry's arm around him. For once, Harry's closeness did not awaken his desire, but the warmth of his concern and the steady beat of his heart against Tom's back were comforting.

Of course, he was the last person in the universe who deserved any comfort, Tom thought bitterly. He had been close, so close to taking his courage in hand and confessing everything to Captain Janeway. Then, in a moment of fury, he had thrown it all away - all the effort it had taken to get to that point, all the soul- searching, all the support and counsel Harry had offered.

And there was no turning back. He wasn't only lying to Captain Janeway now. He had forced Chakotay to swear himself to silence as well. And he had hurt Chakotay, deliberately, telling him about the rape. . . he could have lied about that just as easily, spared the man the guilt he was undoubtedly feeling now. Another reason to be ashamed of himself. Even Chakotay's actions had not really been deliberate, drunk as he was that night.

The leaden weight of guilt sat heavy on his chest. Tom felt Harry brush a kiss against his shoulder, as though he could sense what Tom was feeling, and the guilt doubled and re-doubled until he could scarcely breathe. He had lied to Captain Janeway about the assault and Harry loved him anyway. He had admitted the truth about Caldik Prime and Harry still loved him. Now he had dragged Chakotay down with him and Harry was still there, loving him as if he was worthy of it. And Tom let him.

Tom drew an agonized breath. He would never be worthy. He would never be the kind of person who deserved Harry's love or Kathryn Janeway's trust, and he had just proven that he was too much a coward to give up either.

All he could do now was try to repay them both - to be the kind of officer Captain Janeway could rely on, to be Harry's friend and lover and keep him safe so far from home. And never, never allow himself to forget that he did not deserve what he had.

---

That night, Chakotay considered suicide.

It was the only punishment severe enough for what he had done, a crime so abominable he could hardly force himself to say the word.

Rape. He had raped Tom Paris.

Paris had taken the brunt of all the anger and resentment he felt toward Kathryn after the Kazon mission, and the violence had done him lasting harm. Chakotay recognized all too easily that the rage he had witnessed was fueled by an almost intolerable burden of pain and humiliation.

And guilt. Chakotay realized now that the difficult decision Paris had made to stay silent, to hide the crime from the Captain, must have destroyed the younger man's peace of mind. His loyalty to Kathryn Janeway was not the shallow expression of self-interest Chakotay had imagined; he had been prepared to die for the crew when she asked him to do so. Keeping the truth from her must be tearing him apart.

The realization of the pain he had inflicted made Chakotay sick with self-loathing. Sacrificing his own life seemed the only way he could possibly atone for what he had done. The phaser was already in his hand before he realized that killing himself was, quite possibly, the only thing he could do to hurt Tom Paris more than he already had.

Paris would hold himself responsible for Chakotay's death, for the sorrow his death would cause Kathryn, for the loss to the crew. Chakotay's pain would be finished, and Paris's guilt would push him over the edge. The younger man was already close to breaking, Chakotay feared, remembering the feverish intensity of his rage this evening.

He lowered the phaser, shame flooding him. Paris had endured his pain for months; might, perhaps, bear the emotional scars all his life. By the spirits' grace, at least it seemed that Harry Kim was there for him, as friend and lover. He was not completely alone. But Chakotay would rather die than cause him further pain - which meant he would have to live with the anguish he felt now.

---

The bridge was quiet the next morning. The Captain was in her ready room, catching up on the ship's logs for the past three months. Tuvok had the bridge. Chakotay had gone to Engineering, saying he wanted to review the current state of ship's systems with B'Elanna.

Tom barely noticed the first officer's departure. His thoughts felt sluggish, and keeping his attention on the helm was an effort. Last night's anger had deserted him, and the crushing sense of guilt had faded to a dull ache. He felt numb with fatigue.

His commbadge chirped. It was the Captain. "Mr. Paris, may I see you in my ready room?"

Tom's heart skipped a beat. What could she want? Had Chakotay. . . No. Tom shook himself. Chakotay had sworn himself to silence. The Captain would never know about the assault. He'd gotten what he wanted, he thought bitterly. If he felt awful about it, it was only what he deserved.

"Mr. Paris?" the Captain prompted gently. Tom flushed and tapped his commbadge to respond.

"Sorry, Captain. I'll be right there." Wildman came down from her station to take the helm, and he headed up to the ready room. The Captain called for him to enter as soon as he pressed the door signal.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

Kathryn Janeway looked up from the stack of padds on her desk and smiled warmly. "Yes, Lieutenant. Come in. Sit down."

He lowered himself to a chair, uncomfortably aware of the Captain watching him thoughtfully. "You look tired, Mr. Paris," she said gently. "Is everything all right?"

Tom's breath caught in his throat. Don't do this to me, he thought imploringly. He could not bear to have Kathryn Janeway worried about him; he did not deserve it. "I'm fine," he said faintly, and the Captain gave him a look of concern. "It's been a long three months," he added. "I'm really, really glad you're back." He tried to ignore the barely-perceptible note of desperation in his voice.

Janeway smiled slightly. "I'm glad to be back," she said softly. "Actually, the last three months are what I wanted to talk to you about. I've been reading Tuvok's log entries and your name comes up often. You took on quite a heavy load of responsibilities while we were gone."

Tom frowned slightly. "I only did what needed to be done."

"I know. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate it." Her smile was gently amused. "Knowing Tuvok. . . I suspect he may not have thought to tell you what a fine job you were doing."

Tom dropped his eyes, his throat tightening. "Thank you, Captain," he said softly. The door signal sounded then, giving him a chance to regain his composure.

"Come in," Janeway called. It was Chakotay, and he entered the room hesitantly, eyes down, silently offering Janeway the padd he held. "I've reviewed all ship's systems with Lieutenant Torres," he said quietly. "We're in good shape; she's done an excellent job."

"I'm glad to hear it," Janeway said carefully. She tried to catch her first officer's eye, but he avoided her gaze. The Captain looked baffled, and slightly hurt. "I'll have a look at these results then," she said finally. "You're dismissed, gentlemen."

Tom felt a growing sense of apprehension as he followed Chakotay back to the bridge.

---

After five days, Tom no longer wondered if Chakotay would break his vow, but he began to wish the first officer were better at disguising his feelings. He and Harry may have been the only ones who knew the cause, but it was obvious to the entire bridge crew that Commander Chakotay was extremely depressed.

No wonder the Captain kept Chakotay in the dark about the Kazon mission, Tom thought with exasperation. The man couldn't act worth a damn, and the Captain seemed to be increasingly alarmed by his apathy and preoccupation.

He was in his quarters, dressed for a workout and searching for the datachip that held the exercise program he and Harry had planned to use that evening. The door signal rang. "Yeah," he said distractedly, slamming the desk drawer shut and glancing around the room. The chip had to be here somewhere; they had used it the previous week. He turned, and found Chakotay waiting quietly just inside the door.

Tom felt his muscles tense. "Commander," he said stiffly. Chakotay met his eyes uneasily, but did not speak. "Something I can do for you?" Tom asked pointedly.

Chakotay's shoulders sagged, and his expression was almost beseeching. "Can we talk, Tom? Please?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. Chakotay never used his first name. He wasn't going to play this game, whatever it was. "We don't have anything to say to each other, Commander."

"I do," Chakotay said pleadingly. "I know this might not mean much to you, Tom, but I need to tell you how desperately sorry I am about. . . what I did to you. I. . . wasn't myself that night." He swallowed hard, and Tom felt the familiar, searing sense of rage start to burn in his chest. Was this nightmare ever going to end? How long would it be until a day went by that he wasn't forced to think about the assault?

"What I did was reprehensible," Chakotay continued unhappily, "and if there was any way I could possibly make you know how much I regret it, how badly I feel. . . "

His words were like a match on dry tinder. "How badly you feel?" Tom repeated in disbelief, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Let me guess, Commander. Is it anything like having your superior officer beat you senseless and rape you? Is it anything like having to lie about it to the Captain to keep the peace for the rest of the crew? Is it anything like finding out Voyager isn't such a safe place after all?"

Chakotay's eyes widened at his last sentence, and Tom's rage overwhelmed him. "God damn you, Chakotay! Do you have any idea what you've done? I can't even let. . . " His fists clenched at his sides. "I can't. . . Not even Harry can touch me like that. . . "

He choked off the last words, shaking with fury, and Chakotay took a step toward him. "Tom. . . " he whispered. "I am so sorry. . . "

Tom gave him a look of pure hatred. "Get out," he grated. "Get out, and stay away from me."

Chakotay closed his eyes, his misery palpable, and nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," he said, almost inaudibly. Then he turned and left the room, defeated.

---

Harry knew there was a problem the moment Tom walked into the holodeck. His eyes were smoldering and every muscle was tense. "What's wrong?" Harry exclaimed.

"Chakotay," Tom ground out, his voice thick with rage. "He just came to my quarters. Wanted to talk. Wanted me to let him apologize." There was a bitter edge of sarcasm on the last word.

Harry frowned, not sure what to say. "He must feel guilty, don't you think?" he asked finally.

Tom's face darkened. "I don't care!" he snapped. His right hand clenched into a fist and he struck out fiercely, pounding the holodeck wall. "I don't care! It's too fucking late for him to feel guilty!" Each word was punctuated with a thump on the wall.

Harry let out a breath in dismay. Tom had spent so many years avoiding anger - denying it, suppressing it, telling himself it didn't matter when people hurt him - that he was almost powerless to control himself when the rage finally became overwhelming. Trying to calm him down would only make it worse; he needed to work off the anger somehow.

"All right," Harry said sharply enough to get Tom's attention. "Stop punching the wall! Computer, initiate privacy lock and begin program Security SD-1. Two opponents. Skill level six for Lieutenant Paris, skill level three for me."

Frequent practice sessions in self-defense - unarmed, hand-to- hand combat - were required for all Starfleet personnel, and SD-1 was the standard training program. Thick padded mats appeared on the decks and two holographic opponents materialized with an electric-sounding sizzle, taking up defensive postures.

Tom's eyes narrowed in anger and he threw himself at the closer opponent, tackling the holographic figure and beginning a savagely effective flurry of blows. Then Harry's opponent feinted to his right, and his own skirmish began.

Hand-to-hand combat at level three was not overly taxing for Harry - he was proficient enough, actually, to practice at level four - so he was able to keep an eye on Tom while holding his own opponent at bay. Within three minutes Tom stood scowling over an 'unconscious' opponent, and Harry heard him call for another at level seven.

This time the program produced an opponent half a head taller and ten kilos heavier; Tom had to work twice as hard just to stay on his feet. Harry sparred lightly with his own opponent for more than twenty minutes while Tom fought a vicious, punishing brawl.

Finally Harry heard a body hit the mat, and glanced over his shoulder to see Tom bent over, hands on his knees, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. The holographic opponent lay sprawled on the deck.

Harry dodged a blow from his own opponent, called "Freeze program!" and turned to his lover. Tom was sweaty and disheveled, but it seemed to Harry that the fire had burned itself out. His eyes were wide, but his face held only fatigue. The anger had vanished as quickly as it had come.

Harry stood with a hand on Tom's shoulder as he caught his breath. Finally he straightened up. "Feel better?" Harry asked softly, and Tom swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Let's go get cleaned up."

---

Tom was quiet and thoughtful as they walked back to his quarters, and Harry wished briefly that he knew what Tom was thinking. But - he admitted to himself, slightly embarrassed - most of his attention was on trying to keep his hands off Tom until they were safely back behind closed doors. Tom was so beautiful he could hardly stand it - his face flushed with exertion, his hair tousled and dark gold with sweat.

When the door closed behind them Tom let out a small sigh and headed for the bedroom. "Guess I better hit the showers," he said with a rueful grin.

Harry followed him, pleased and relieved to see that Tom's mood had apparently lightened. "Why don't you let me give you a hand?" he asked, smiling innocently.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't I think of that?" he said with a smile. He lifted the edge of his sweat-soaked T-shirt, pulling it off over his head, and Harry moved closer, running his hands up Tom's back, tracing the taut muscles under the skin. Then he pressed his hips up against Tom's groin to let Tom feel his erection - already hard, and growing harder by the second. Tom gasped, and Harry snaked a hand down his spare frame, inside the loose sweatpants, and brushed his fingers lightly along Tom's erection.

Tom let out a moan and sank to his knees next to the bed, panting with arousal. "Like that?" Harry teased gently, kneeling beside him.

Tom made a sound that was half chuckle, half groan, and wrapped his arms around Harry, kissing him fervently. Harry caressed the back of Tom's neck with one hand, leaving the other where it was doing the most good. Tom grew larger and harder in his grip.

After several minutes Tom tore his mouth away from Harry, gasping for breath. "Oh God," he said urgently. "Harry, I. . . I want. . . " He broke off in mid-sentence, closing his eyes, his expression uncertain.

Harry held him tighter, feeling his lover trembling against him. "What do you want, Tom?" he asked softly, pressing his forehead against Tom's."Anything. . . "

Tom squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "I want. . . to be inside you," he whispered hoarsely, the words torn from his chest. "Oh, God, Harry. . . I want to be inside you."

"Tom," Harry choked. He had given himself to Tom often since that first cherished occasion, but this was the first time Tom had been able to ask for what he wanted. . . the first time he could remember Tom asking for anything for himself, ever.

He fastened his mouth on Tom's again. "Yes," he breathed against Tom's lips, "please, Tom, I love you so much, I want you in me so much. . . " Tom shivered at his words and Harry tightened his arms around Tom's lean torso, bending to lick teasingly at Tom's nipples. Tom quivered and gasped at the sensation.

"Right here," Harry murmured, with a final nibble. "Right now." He slipped off his shoes, pulled off his shirt and lowered his pants, sliding out of them deftly. He wanted Tom to feel his entire body, wanted to feel Tom's heat all along the length of his own. Tom quickly squirmed out of his own clothes while Harry reached over, snagging a small container from the nightstand. He opened it and leaned down, gently coating Tom's erection with the slick gel, while Tom's hands tightened convulsively on his shoulders. He held firmly to Tom's hip as he worked; if Tom began to thrust now he would climax immediately. Harry wanted this to last.

When Tom was ready Harry turned and dropped to his hands and knees. Tom stroked his hips and thighs and prepared him for penetration gently, his hands warm and loving. Then he leaned down, his chest against Harry's back, his erection pressing urgently against Harry's rear.

Tom entered slowly, and Harry moaned and arched his back at the pressure and fullness. This was Tom, inside him; they were joined, one body to another, and Tom had asked to share this closeness. Harry let out a sound, a sob mixed with joyful laughter.

Tom's left arm tightened around his waist and his right hand gripped Harry's aching erection, pumping him slowly with the same deliberate care he had used to enter Harry's body. Harry rocked his hips and thrust himself harder in Tom's hand, desperate to feel friction against his tantalized nerves.

Taking his movements as encouragement, Tom increased his pressure, moving rhythmically in Harry, and against Harry, his breath quickening and his body trembling uncontrollably. Then Harry felt Tom starting to come, letting out an agonized moan. The pressure in Harry's groin built higher and higher until he thought he might explode, and kept building until he felt he would go mad without release. He came with a shout, the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating through him until he collapsed weakly to the ground.

It seemed an eternity before he could think coherently again. Tom lay on top of him, breathing heavily, his face against Harry's back, and Harry could feel tears trickling past his shoulder. He moved, gently, and Tom let him roll over until they lay face to face. Harry eased Tom onto his back and held him gently, kissing his eyelids, licking away the tears that spilled over onto his cheeks.

"Don't cry," Harry murmured. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Tom nodded shakily. "I know," he whispered. "It's just. . . sometimes I can hardly believe this is real. I don't deserve you."

Harry bent over his lover. "You know what I think?" he asked softly. "I don't think anyone has ever loved you enough. Not like you should be loved. Not like I do."

He kissed Tom, tenderly, and then put his head on Tom's chest, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat and the slow, even breaths as Tom fell asleep.

Finally they were making some progress. Tom was starting to heal. Everything was going to be all right.

---

A week later, Harry began to wonder if he had let his optimism run away with him again.

Then he reproached himself for being impatient. Tom was going to be all right, eventually; Harry believed that with all his heart. It was just going to take a little longer than he'd hoped.

Tom's moods continued to be volatile and unpredictable. The Captain's presence was a constant reminder of the lie he now felt could never be undone. He was haunted by guilt at having betrayed her trust, and his savage self-recrimination tore at Harry's heart.

At other times he was gripped by the almost uncontrollable fury Harry had seen on the holodeck. It seemed to Harry that the latest confrontation with Chakotay had shattered something in Tom - cracked open a hidden reservoir of anger he had never allowed himself to acknowledge or express. Anger over the way his father had abandoned him after Caldik Prime, over the abuse he had been subjected to in prison, and most of all, anger at Chakotay.

Even the sight of the first officer was enough to kindle Tom's rage. From his station on the bridge Harry could often see tiny, unmistakable signs that Tom was fighting to remain calm. At the end of each shift he dragged Tom to the holodeck or the ship's gym to work out. Swimming, running, self-defense practice. . . wearing himself out with physical exertion seemed the only way Tom could rid himself of his anger.

But it did seem to work. That - and the fact that Tom was finally acknowledging his feelings openly - was enough to keep Harry hopeful.

---

When the distress call came from Seska, Voyager's senior officers were dismayed, but no one was surprised. Harry did not believe for a minute that protecting her child was Seska's only reason for contacting Voyager. With Seska, there was always a hidden agenda, an invisible noose waiting to tighten around the necks of those she considered enemies.

Thirty-six hours after Seska's message was received, Harry knew his suspicions had been completely justified. But there was no time for self-congratulation. Harry and the rest of Voyager's crew were stranded on the barren, rocky world

---

The planet Hannan bore a certain resemblance to ancient Terran myths about hell.

During the day, the searing white heat of the sun baked the rocky soil until it was like iron, with barely enough moisture to support small patches of stunted brush. At night, the temperature fell below freezing, and cold winds blew across the empty terrain. The stranded crew sought shelter in the caves. There was almost nothing edible to be found; the only source of water was a cactus-like plant with moist, spongy flesh. It tasted of bile.

When the sun finally set on the second night, Harry let himself collapse to the ground in a quiet corner of the cavern. He was hungry and thirsty, exhausted and sore from the miles he had hiked with the foraging teams. But the physical discomfort was nothing. Fear and sorrow filled him with unbearable pain.

Tom was lost.

There were three possibilities. The first was that Tom might have reached the Talaxian convoy unharmed, might be on the way back with help this very minute. It was the only possibility Captain Janeway would acknowledge, but Harry knew how faint a hope it was.

The other two prospects were far more likely. Tom's shuttle might have been destroyed in the firefight. . . or he might have been captured by the Kazon.

Three days earlier, Tom's death would have been the most excruciating loss Harry could imagine. Now, he almost hoped for it. A quick death would be merciful compared to the misery the Kazon would inflict on any member of Voyager's crew. For the one who had derailed their last attempt to capture the Federation ship. . . Harry knew, with cold certainty, that Tom would not be allowed to die. The Kazon would keep him alive, and his suffering would go on and on. . .

Harry bit his lip, his stomach twisting in pain, and buried his face in his arms to hide his tears. Images assailed him. . . Tom being beaten, bones snapping like twigs. Tom being tortured.

Tom screaming in agony.

Harry moaned.

---

Tom was at the helm of the Cochrane, with seven Talaxian patrollers in formation just behind. Finally, finally he was on his way back to Kazon space to retake Voyager. To save Harry.

The past two days had been filled with interminable delays. Hours spent drifting in space, just out of the Talaxians' comm range, while he frantically patched together the shuttle's battered systems. Hours spent pacing the docking ring of the lead freighter in the Talaxian convoy, waiting for additional ships to arrive. More hours waiting while extra armaments were installed on the new ships and Major Paxon painstakingly briefed each crew on the plan of attack. Tom's nerves were strung so tight he had to restrain himself from shouting at Paxon to hurry. He couldn't risk offending the Talaxians; this wasn't their fight, and they were Voyager's only chance.

For two days he had not eaten or slept, had scarcely noticed hunger or fatigue. Now he welcomed the anger he had tried so hard to control during the last ten days. Anger was his strength. The Captain was depending on him; Harry needed him. He would not allow either of them to be lost to the Kazon. He would die first.

---

Harry started as a hand touched his shoulder gently. He looked up, wearily.

It was Chakotay. The first officer crouched beside him in the shadows. His face was lined with fatigue, but the dark eyes were filled with compassion. He knew what Harry was going through. He was the only one who did.

"If anyone could get a shuttle through that battle zone, it would be Tom Paris," he said softly. "He'll be all right. He'll be back with help, and we'll be off this world before we know it."

The words were conventional, almost prosaic; to anyone listening, they were merely words of encouragement offered by an experienced officer to a younger one. But Harry could hear the unspoken shades of meaning. There was no doubt in Chakotay's voice, no misgiving. He believed Tom would do everything in his power to help his crewmates.

Harry had just heard Chakotay's apology.

---

The battle to retake Voyager was swift and satisfying. When it was over Tom was back at the helm, grimly plotting a course to the planet where the Kazon had stranded the crew.

Half the job was done, but he could not rest until he knew Harry was safe. . . Harry, and the Captain, and everyone else he cared about on Voyager. He was so close. Every muscle in his body vibrated with tension. The force of his own anxiety could have powered the ship.

Two hours later they were in orbit, scanning for lifesigns. Tom could feel his hands shaking as he brought Voyager to the surface. In minutes the crew was boarding through the cargo bays. Captain Janeway strode onto the bridge and Tom gave Voyager back into her keeping. Then Harry appeared, safe and whole, and Tom's heart nearly burst with gratitude and relief.

---

Captain Janeway relieved the senior staff as soon as the ship was safely away from the Hannan system. Voyager would accompany the Talaxians back to the convoy, traveling in relative security for a few days.

Tom pulled Harry into a bearhug the moment the lift doors had shut. Harry was silent, his face buried in Tom's shoulder, and Tom could feel him shaking, trembling violently as he struggled not to break down in the lift. "It's okay," Tom whispered, "hang on, we're almost to my quarters."

They exited the lift and a few steps later they were home, safe in the familiar, blessed privacy of Tom's quarters. Harry's knees started to buckle as soon as they passed through the door. Tom caught him, put Harry's arm around his shoulder and led him into the other room.

He lowered Harry gently onto the bed, stretched out at his side, and took him into his arms as the tears began.

Harry pressed his face against Tom's chest and cried, his wrenching sobs tearing at Tom's heart. Tom stroked the dark hair, rubbed Harry's shoulders and whispered soothing words, over and over. After a long time the sobs died down and Harry grew quiet, his chest still heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Tom kissed his forehead lovingly. Then he put one finger under Harry's chin, tipped his head back, and kissed him gently on the lips.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here now. I'm safe. We're both safe." Harry nodded convulsively, and Tom held him closer. "Did you think I was dead?" he asked gently.

Tears came to Harry's eyes again. "Oh, God," he wept. "I hoped you were dead. I hoped you died quickly. I thought you must have been caught by the Kazon. I was afraid they were torturing you."

Tom's blood ran cold as he realized the misery Harry had been through, imagining himself terrified that Harry had suffered a similar fate. "Harry," he said brokenly. "Oh, Harry. . . I'd have done anything to spare you that."

Harry nodded again, unable to speak, and they clung to each other desperately.

After a long time Harry began to shiver with cold. Tom pulled away and kissed his forehead again. "Let's get you more comfortable," he murmured, sitting up slowly.

Tom undressed his lover with gentle care, covered him with a blanket, and brought a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean Harry's face and hands. Harry was pale under the gray dust of Hannan, eyes shadowed and lips cracked from thirst.

Tom went to the replicator and got a mug of hot chicken broth for Harry to drink before he fell asleep completely. Then he helped Harry sit up, steadied the mug for him as he drank, and tucked him under the covers again.

Harry's eyes were drifting shut as Tom stood and kicked off his boots. "What did you all find to eat on Hannan, anyway?" he asked idly as he undressed, not really expecting an answer but wanting to lighten the mood. "Looked like a desert from the sensor readings."

"Eggs," Harry mumbled drowsily. "And worms. Neelix made omelets. . . "

Tom broke out in surprised laughter. Then he crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around his lover.

"The scary thing is, I believe you. . . "

Harry's lips curled into a faint smile as he fell asleep.

---

Harry woke slowly, some hours later. His first conscious thought was remembering that Tom was safe. He reached across the bed, searching for Tom's warmth, but he was gone. Harry opened his eyes.

Tom sat at the foot of the bed, utterly still, staring at the vastness of the Delta Quadrant through the observation port.

Harry watched him quietly for several minutes. Earlier in the evening Tom had been filled with tense, brittle energy; running on adrenalin and not much else, Harry suspected. Now he seemed drained, exhaustion evident in the bowed shoulders, the hollow eyes. Harry hesitated. He did not want to disturb Tom's solitude, but he looked like he needed to rest, badly.

Harry sat up slowly, not to startle his lover. "Tom?" he asked softly. "Come back to bed, okay?"

Tom turned, and the bleak unhappiness in his face made Harry's stomach twist in pain. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

Tom stared at him a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was edged with misery. "Harry. . . do you think the Captain would forgive me, if I told her now?"

Harry leaned forward, cupping Tom's biceps in his hand, feeling the tense muscles under his fingertips. "Yes," he said, putting all the conviction he could muster into his voice. "She'll understand, Tom. Don't be afraid to trust her."

Tom's eyes closed, and Harry saw his jaw tighten in pain. After a long moment he drew Tom back, gently urging him to lie down, and wrapped his arms around Tom's shoulders.

Tom lay with his face pressed into Harry's chest. There was a long silence, and then Harry heard Tom's muffled voice.

"I am afraid." A pause. "I don't know what to do."

Harry's heart ached. He held Tom tighter.

---

Bridge duty was painfully slow the next day. B'Elanna had asked to take the warp drive offline to repair damage done by the Kazon. Voyager crawled along at impulse, paced by the Talaxian patrollers.

Tom had to fight to keep his eyes open and his attention fixed on the helm. The stress of his two-day marathon had caught up with him; he felt numb, almost dazed with fatigue. He knew the Captain would excuse him from duty if he explained, but he couldn't stand to take advantage of her trust that way. . . and he was loathe to show any weakness in front of the first officer.

By mid-shift, though, he had to concede it might have been worth it to get away from Chakotay. The commander kept trying to draw him into conversation with unnecessary questions about the nav systems and approving comments about Tom's ability to keep a steady course despite the damage Voyager had sustained. Tom was too weary to respond with more than the barest courtesy, and he wished fervently that Harry was there to run interference. But Harry had gone to Engineering to assist with repairs.

Finally the long day was over. Tom released the helm to Ensign Batehart with a sigh of relief. He had almost escaped into the turbolift when the Captain called him back.

"Mr. Paris, may I have a word with you, before you go?"

The reluctance in his own voice dismayed him, but he was too tired to control it. "Of course, Captain."

He followed Janeway into the ready room, and she waved him toward the sofa under the observation port. He sat stiffly, not wanting to relax. The Captain paused at the replicator. "Something to drink, Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine, Captain," he said automatically. "Thanks anyway."

The Captain gave him a careful look, raising one eyebrow. "Two mugs of hot chamomile tea," she instructed, and two white stoneware mugs sparkled into existence. She carried them over to the sofa and handed one to Tom. "I know you prefer coffee," she said with a trace of humor, "but I don't think you need a stimulant right now. A good night's sleep would be better."

"I'm fine," Tom repeated dully. "Really, Captain. I'm just a little tired."

"I know," she said softly. "And I'm not going to keep you long. Tom. . . I just want to tell you how thankful I am to have you as one of my officers. Your devotion to Voyager has gone far beyond the call of duty."

Tom flushed. This was the last thing he deserved to hear from Kathryn Janeway, even if she didn't know it. "It wasn't just me, Captain. The Doctor helped, the Talaxians, Lon Suder. . . "

"And you couldn't have done it without them," she finished. "I know. I've expressed my thanks to the Doctor and Major Paxon, and when we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, I'll make sure Mr. Suder's family is told of his sacrifice. But I wasn't only referring to this last incident. You've risked your life for Voyager many times over, and you've never given me less than your best effort."

She leaned forward, meeting his eyes seriously. "I know it was hard for you at first - not fitting in with the Starfleet crew, or the Maquis, either. It took a long time for people's attitudes about you to change. I didn't realize until after we had set the undercover plan in motion that I was asking you to jeopardize the acceptance you worked so hard for. And despite the personal cost, you agreed to the plan without hesitation." She rested her hand gently on his. "Your loyalty and commitment mean a great deal to me, Tom. Thank you."

Tom could feel guilt rising in him like a tide, choking off his breath, crushing his chest with pain. Tell her, Paris. Tell her now. She deserves to know the truth. . . He stared at the Captain helplessly, unable to speak. Her expression grew compassionate.

"I don't think either of us would have guessed we'd be having this conversation three years ago," she said softly. "You've come a long way, Tom."

Not far enough. The inner voice mocked him bitterly. "I. . . don't know what to say, Captain," he managed. "Thank you."

She smiled, handling his discomfort with her usual grace. " "'Thank you' will do nicely, Lieutenant. Now go, and get a good night's sleep tonight. I'll see you tomorrow at 0800."

---

Tom crossed the bridge quickly, avoiding Chakotay's nod and Ayala's friendly greeting. He fled into the turbolift and the doors slid shut, mercifully shielding him from view as he struck the bulkhead in frustration and self-loathing. You fucking coward, he screamed internally. Pathetic, miserable excuse for an officer, you could have told her, you could have had this over with, and instead you let her go on thinking you deserve to wear this uniform. . .

He sagged against the wall of the lift, face pressed to the cold metal surface, his stomach twisting in pain. After a long moment he realized the computer was asking for a destination. Harry. . .

"Hold for destination," he told the computer, voice shaking. He hit his commbadge. "Paris to Kim."

There was a pause. "Kim here." He sounded distracted, and Tom realized he must still be in Engineering.

"Harry. . . I. . . just wondered if we were still working out tonight."

"Sure, but. . . " There was another pause, and Tom heard B'Elanna snapping out orders in the background. "I can't get out of here right away. If we don't finish the realignment now we'll have to re-do the whole day's work. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay. . . " Tom repeated mechanically. "No problem, Harry. Come find me when you're done."

"I will. Kim out." The channel closed, and Tom searched the blank walls for an answer. Just go to the holodeck and work out, you idiot, the inner voice told him savagely. Can you do that by yourself or do you need Harry there holding your hand?

Tom clenched one hand into a fist and struck the wall again. It hurt, but not enough. "Deck six."

---

Tom detoured to his quarters just long enough to change into workout clothes. Then he headed down to the holodeck, frustration and anger mounting with every step.

In his heart, he knew he had to tell Captain Janeway the truth about the assault. He could not live with himself any longer; he owed the Captain the truth, no matter the consequences. Harry knew it; Tom knew it too. And he had just wasted the best chance he would ever have to ask the Captain's forgiveness.

But how can I tell her now? he thought furiously. After that whole long speech about loyalty and commitment and great personal cost? 'Sorry Captain, guess you were wrong about me. I'm not so committed after all.' Damn it, can't she see she just made it harder for me?

He stormed into the holodeck. "Computer, initiate program SD-1, skill level six, one opponent." The holographic opponent appeared instantly. Tom threw himself at it, striking mercilessly, and the figure collapsed under his ruthless assault in seconds.

"Reset at level seven," he snapped, and the opponent flew to its feet. Tom attacked it again. This time the match lasted all of five minutes before Tom stood panting over the opponent lying motionless on the deck.

"This is too fucking easy," he growled. "Reset, level eight, safeties off." The opponent leapt up, and Tom charged it again. The holodeck rang with the force of his blows, but the voice in his head was the only thing he heard. You want to tell her the truth, Paris? the voice taunted. You want to make it easy? All you have to do is screw up again. Screw up big-time. Kill a few more people. Then she won't have any trouble believing you could've lied to her for five months.

Tom stumbled, moaning. "I can't. . . I can't do that. . . " He regained his footing with difficulty, barely avoiding a brutal kick aimed squarely at his head. He had lost the advantage; he was on the defensive now.

The voice changed. He heard quiet tones, ringing with authority, saw trust and belief in the eyes of someone he respected, felt the quiet concern of a hand squeezing his arm, a hand gripping his shoulder. Your loyalty and commitment mean a great deal to me, Tom. . . The accident was a terrible tragedy, Ensign, but you mustn't blame yourself. . . You've never given me less than yourbest effort. . . You're the finest pilot I've ever had on the Exeter. If you couldn't bring that shuttle down safely, no one could. . .

He backed away from the opponent, fists clutched to his head. "Stop," he cried brokenly. "Captain, please, I don't deserve this, I lied to you. . . " The holographic figure advanced on him menacingly, and Tom felt a blow rock his skull. "How can I make it right, how can I show you how sorry I am?" He threw up an arm to protect himself. The opponent struck another punishing blow.

---

Harry left Engineering as soon as the warp coil realignment was finished. Tom was in the holodeck, according to the computer, and Harry went there directly, not bothering to stop and change clothes. Tom had sounded stressed over the comm line, and Harry wished he hadn't been off the bridge all day. After Hannan, it was difficult to let Tom out of his sight.

The lift let him out at deck six. Harry stopped in front of the holodeck entrance and started to key in Tom's privacy code, glancing at the display for the program parameters.

"What the hell!" he exclaimed. Tom was running SD-1 at level eight, with the safety protocols off. Harry keyed in the last digits of the code and entered the holodeck at a run.

Tom was at the far end of the room, his back against the wall, cornered by a holographic opponent gone crazy. As Harry watched in stunned horror, the burly figure smashed a fist across Tom's face, hammered the other into his abdomen, and fastened one hand viciously around Tom's throat, beginning to strangle him. Tom clawed at the iron grip, unable to free himself.

The sound of Tom's choked breath jolted Harry from his paralysis. He ran toward the two struggling figures, screaming "Computer, end program!" The holographic opponent dissolved, and Tom fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Harry skidded to a halt at his side.

"Tom. . . " he moaned. "Oh, God, what were you doing?" He wrapped his arms around Tom's shoulders, supporting him as he drew in rasping, painful breaths. Tom's face was bruised and swollen; blood trickled from his nose and mouth. Harry held him closer, stroking his shoulder, his cheek against the top of Tom's head. "What happened?" he whispered, as much to himself as to Tom.

"It hurt," Tom gasped. "I lied, and it hurt so much, I had to. . . and. . . Harry?" He trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm here," Harry said soothingly, his throat aching. "It's all right. . . ." His stomach twisted in anguish as he pieced together the implications behind Tom's broken words. Dear God. . . this hadn't been an accident or a computer malfunction. Tom had set himself up for this, had allowed himself to be beaten to a pulp. As if he deserved it. As if he needed it.

Harry's throat burned, and his eyes filled with tears. Tom was going over the edge.

---

Harry waited a moment for Tom to catch his breath, then called for transport. The holodeck faded around them, and Sickbay appeared in its place.

He stood, carefully guiding Tom to his feet and helping him onto a biobed. The Doctor emerged from his office at the sound of their materialization in Sickbay. His expression became concerned when he saw the blood and bruises on Tom's face. "What happened here?"

Harry hesitated. "He had. . . an accident in the holodeck." His eyespleaded with the Doctor to accept that answer for the time being, and the Doctor studied him for a long moment, raising one eyebrow. Then he turned to his patient. Tom was huddled on the biobed, lying on his side with his arms wrapped around his body, as though he were cold.

Harry paced anxiously while the Doctor took a series of tricorder readings. "Well, Mr. Paris," he said finally. "You may wish to thank the deity of your choice that you have such a hard head. No concussion, and these cuts and bruises look worse than they are." The Doctor picked up a regenerator and began healing Tom's injuries with an expert touch. When he was done he caught Harry's eye questioningly.

"Can I talk to him alone?" Harry asked. The Doctor nodded his understanding and retreated to his office. Harry bent over the biobed and gently brushed the hair away from Tom's forehead.

"Tom, it's Harry," he whispered, and Tom slowly turned his head and looked up at him. "What happened?" Harry asked quietly. "What was it that hurt so much?"

Tom stared at him for a long moment, his eyes filled with misery and confusion. "The Captain," he whispered. "She called me into her ready room. To. . . thank me for saving the ship."

"But Tom. . . " Harry said achingly. "You did save the ship."

Tom continued as if he hadn't heard. "She told me she appreciated my loyalty." His voice broke on the last word. "How much she appreciated having me as one of her officers. All I could think of was how wrong she was, how horrified she'd be if she knew the truth." His voice was ragged with pain, and he closed his eyes. "It was just like Caldik Prime."

Harry's heart sank at the mention of the accident, and he stroked Tom's cheek soothingly. "How was it like Caldik Prime?"

"Captain Paolucci. . . " Tom whispered. "Telling me the accident wasn't my fault, that I shouldn't blame myself. Telling me I was a good pilot, the best he'd ever had on the Exeter. . . "

"That was what made you admit you'd lied about the cause of the accident?"

Tom nodded slowly. "I had to tell him the truth. I couldn't live with myself until I did."

"And hearing the same thing from Captain Janeway made you feel the same way."

Another slow nod. Tom's voice was barely audible. "I can't stand having her believe I'm something I'm not. But she still needs Chakotay, Harry. . . she trusts him, now more than ever. If I tell her the truth she'll lose that."

Harry let out a slow breath. There was nothing he could say; it was the same dilemma they had struggled with weeks ago. Tom could not bring himself to make Captain Janeway's situation more difficult than it already was, no matter what it cost him.

Harry looked down at his lover. Tom's eyes were closed. He was tense and still, as if bracing himself against terrible pain. Harry knew he would endure it, until it destroyed him.

A wave of fear washed over Harry at that thought. He had promised himself he would keep Tom safe, and he had exhausted every option he could think of.

Except one.

He bent and kissed Tom gently. "Stay with the doctor," he murmured, and left Sickbay.

---

Tom scarcely noticed Harry's departure. Memories of the Exeter and Caldik Prime assaulted him. . . the pervasive guilt he had felt after filing the false reports; the shame, after Captain Paolucci had praised his frantic efforts to save the doomed shuttle. . . and the sickening realization that the cost of sacrificing his integrity was self-respect and peace of mind.

He had sworn he would never put himself in that position again. . . but here he was, withholding the truth from a commanding officer he would have died for. And - the thought came slowly - this time, his guilt was doubled. He had forced Chakotay into the same situation, forced him to lie to someone he respected and live with the knowledge that her trust was unjustified. He had even done it deliberately, knowing full well how an honest man would be tormented by the deception. As Tom was himself.

I had to protect the ship, and the Captain, but. . . what I did to Chakotay was because I hated him. His breathing was ragged and shallow and his chest felt crushed with pain. That's as bad as what he did to me.

He sat up unsteadily. He had to talk to the Captain.

---

Chakotay was in his quarters reading reports when the door signal rang. "Come in," he called, laying the padd aside. It was probably Tuvok, coming to update him on the progress of repairs being made to systems damaged by the Kazon.

The door slid open, and Ensign Kim stood on the other side, eyes burning with tightly controlled anger. He came into the room with two brisk steps, enough to allow the door to close behind him.

"We have to talk," he said bluntly.

The first officer regarded him in some surprise. He had never seen Harry Kim so determined, had never heard the quiet young man address him as an equal. But it didn't take a genius to guess what Harry wanted to talk about - and in that matter, there was no rank.

"What is it, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"This situation has gone on long enough. Too long. You have to tell the Captain about the assault."

Chakotay closed his eyes briefly, acknowledging the stab of guilt the ensign's words caused. "I wish I could." He opened his eyes again, fixing Harry in his gaze. "You must believe me, Harry. I want to, badly. But I gave Tom my word. I can't break it."

Harry clenched a fist in frustration. "Then you have to talk to Tom. Convince him to let you out of your promise, or persuade him to talk to the Captain himself. I don't care what you say, you just have to talk to him!"

"I did try to talk to him," Chakotay said softly. "He made it very clear he didn't want to talk to me."

"Then try again!" Harry cried out. "God damn it, Chakotay! It's killing him!"

Chakotay looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I just found him in the holodeck looking as bad as he did when you got through with him." Harry's voice was taut with fury. "He's so torn up with guilt over lying to the Captain, he was letting the self-defense program beat him into the ground."

Chakotay felt a cold chill in his pit of his stomach. Oh, spirits. . . he was responsible for this. What could he possibly say - to heal, this time, instead of hurt?

"All right," he told Harry quietly. "I'll try again."

---

Kathryn Janeway was indulging in a late-night cup of coffee in her ready room - a reward, she told herself, for plowing through a small mountain of reports. The door chimed, and she sighed, hoping the mountain wasn't going to get any higher.

"Tom! This is a surprise. Aren't you off duty?" She waved him to a seat, but he remained standing.

"Can I talk to you, Captain?" His voice was strained.

"Of course, Tom. What is it?" He hesitated, and Kathryn looked at him closely. He was distressed by something, that much was clear - distressed, or in pain. His eyes were haunted, his face pale. "Tom?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "I. . . there's something. . . something I have to tell you. . . " He stopped, and Kathryn felt her heart contracting in empathy. He was obviously struggling with something terrible, but what?

"It's about. . . the Kazon mission," Tom went on, haltingly, and Kathryn saw him clench his hands to still their shaking.

"It's all right," she said reassuringly. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Tom stared at her helplessly. "I. . . have to. . . " He stopped again, and in that moment the door chime sounded.

Kathryn frowned. "Not now," she called, impatient, but her comm badge chirped immediately.

"Kathryn, it's Chakotay. Please, it's important."

Tom's eyes widened, and Kathryn's confusion increased. "All right," she said finally.

Chakotay entered quietly, followed by Harry Kim, and Tom grew even more pale. Chakotay met her gaze briefly, his face lined with sorrow, and turned toward Tom. His eyes were compassionate.

"Tom. . . I am sorry."

Tom shivered once, and went still. "I am too," he said quietly. Then he turned to Kathryn Janeway, straightening his shoulders, his face tense and determined.

"Captain, I have to report an assault. . . "

---

It was over.

That was the sole thought that rang in Tom's mind as he and Harry walked down the corridor, side by side.

It was done.

What happened now was out of his hands. He had broken both his vows - the one to himself and the one to Chakotay - and he knew he should feel regret, or shame, or guilt. He didn't.

Just relief.

It was finished.

He glanced down. Their feet, his and Harry's, ate up the deck, their boots moving forward in perfect synchrony. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Tom stared at their feet. He hadn't looked at Harry's face since they had walked out of the Captain's ready room. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to speak those words. . .

"Captain, I have to report an assault. . . "

He broke his stride, hesitating for a moment, remembering the look on the Captain's face, on Chakotay's face, as he spoke. It was so damned unfair; for a momentary lapse, Chakotay would bear the scars for the rest of his life, and the Captain. . . Tom sighed. It would be a long time before the Captain would be able to trust the Commander unreservedly. As for himself, well, somehow he had found Harry during all this. Despite Tom's pain and humiliation, Harry had come to him and stayed with him, through the anger and tears. . . Tom felt breathless at the wonder of it all.

Harry's hand touched his arm briefly, but Tom shook his head. This was not the moment to touch, not in the way that Harry's touch always affected him. There would be time for that soon, when they were alone.

They made their way to Tom's quarters by unspoken consent. Not until they were inside, the door closed behind them, did he look up at Harry's face.

There was only love and pride shining there. Slowly, never losing sight of Harry's eyes, Tom stepped into Harry's outstretched arms. This was right. This was where he belonged. He breathed in Harry's scent - clean and crisp, like the air at the beach - with a tang that was unmistakably his lover. With a sigh, he ran his hands up Harry's back, over the strong shoulders and into his hair, burying his fingers in the heavy thickness. With a grin, he proceeded to demolish Harry's carefully controlled hair.

Harry chuckled in return, then cupped his hands on either side of Tom's face. He leaned forward and kissed Tom gently, a mere brush of lips on lips. It was an affirmation and a declaration, and far, far more than Tom ever expected. Harry's strong, capable hands slid to his shoulders, caressing the curves before trailing down Tom's back, coming to rest on his rear.

Tom groaned and pressed himself closer, then claimed Harry's mouth in a kiss that spoke of love and passion and thanks. His hands, meanwhile, stroked the planes of Harry's body, soothing and possessing the warm flesh. Tom realized, dimly, that they were both still clothed in their uniforms, and that this should not be so.

Breaking off their kiss, he led Harry into the bedroom, stopping before the bed. Slowly, tentatively, as if he were doing this for the first time, Tom peeled Harry's clothes from him, revealing golden skin and long, smooth muscles. Harry stood still beneath his ministrations, only his heaving chest and an occasional ripple of tension through his body betraying his arousal. When he had stripped Harry completely, Tom allowed himself another kiss - this one chaste and tender.

He encouraged Harry toward the bed, and his lover obligingly lay back, waiting for his direction, still and silent. Harry's erection bobbed gently, and Tom could almost count Harry's heartbeats from its movements. His eyes raked up and down the long body, over the strong legs, along the firm torso, across the broad shoulders, up to Harry's face, calm and loving and so handsome it made Tom's heart lurch and pound in his chest.

Reverently he knelt beside Harry, allowing his hands to retrace the path of his gaze. A flush stole over his lover, and Tom could see the pulse fluttering in his neck. Kisses to his lips, his chin, his nipples, like tiny prayers of thanks, were strung along that golden skin. Tom was drawn down the flat stomach, pausing to breathe a benediction to his navel. Down further, and the muscles jumped and twitched at the brush of his lips. Then he gently kissed the tip of Harry's erection and was rewarded with an almost-silent cry of need.

He held Harry's hips firmly and licked him from base to crown. Again and again he painted Harry with his tongue, until his lover was quivering and gasping beneath him. Only then did he engulf Harry with his mouth, tightening his grip on Harry's hips to keep him from bucking up convulsively. A moment, two, and Harry cried out in completion while Tom savored his lover.

Harry's hands clasped his, and Tom was urged upward. He slid up to Harry's mouth, recapturing it with his own. Their kiss began lightly, a slippery caress of soft warm lips, then gradually deepened until Tom felt he was drowning, pulled down by the fierce tug of unreasoning desire. A gentle clasp held him suspended above the dark flow, muscular arms that he would trust with his life kept him from being swept away by the inexorable wash of possession. There would be no taking here, only giving. He was safe. He was loved.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Clever fingers unfastened his clothes and he shivered as they were slowly removed, cloth gliding over skin, until he lay bare before his lover, body and soul. He looked at Harry, whose fingertips began to move lightly over him, as if he could read Tom's heart through his flesh. They stroked, they glided, trailing across sensitized skin until Tom bit his lip to keep from crying out at the bright pain that pierced him. It grew stronger, filling him with heat and a brilliance so intense he wondered why his body didn't glow. It seared him, that internal inferno, consuming the darkness hidden inside. Anger for past hurts was slowly eaten away, turning black and crumbling into ashes. Humiliation fluttered briefly, then, in a flash, ignited. Guilt smoldered, steaming, until it suddenly exploded into a myriad of tiny fragments, which in turn crumbled into dust. Then all the ashes, the dust, the blackness, dissolved, leaving him clean and whole and renewed. With a gasp, Tom opened his eyes.

He knew what he must have.

Harry was following his fingers with his mouth, leaving faint trails of moisture over Tom's skin. Frantically Tom grabbed Harry's hands, stilling them, and tugged his lover up to face him. Harry looked at him questioningly. Tom opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Harry waited, a slight frown on his lips. With a frustrated shake of his head, Tom knew he would have to show Harry what he needed. He kissed the palms of Harry's hands, drawing a circle on the warm flesh with his tongue, then drew his knees up to his chest slowly, deliberately.

Harry's eyes widened, surprise and shock warring with desire in their dark depths. Tom guided one of Harry's hands to the back of his thigh, sliding it up and down in tiny movements before releasing it. Harry added his other hand and maintained the caresses, bringing them closer and closer to Tom's rear as he leaned forward and kissed Tom. With a groan, Tom surrendered to Harry's kiss, to the maddening movements of his hands, to the desperate need that made his chest heave and his skin warm and slick with sweat.

He let go of all pretense of control and lost himself in sensation, both wanting it to continue forever and wanting it to finish now. He felt every errant breath of air across his flesh, every brush of Harry's fingers and body against his, magnified and intensified.

Finally Harry reached his goal, and Tom quivered at the gentle touch. Harry paused, his fingertip resting lightly against Tom, until Tom groaned again and shifted his hips. A quick reassuring touch on Tom's thigh, another pause, and then the fingertip returned, cool and slick. Tom waited, eyes on Harry's solemn face. Harry reached out his free hand and Tom clasped it between his, cradling it to his chest. Only then did Harry move his finger, circling and pressing, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from Tom. Harry continued his tender exploration of Tom's body as Tom shifted and squirmed beneath him. Biting back on the urge to tumble into pieces right there, right now, Tom moaned and shivered as Harry added another finger, twisting and pushing.

Tom had never done this before - never felt this burning need to give himself completely, without reservation, without holding back any part of himself. There was nothing to hide anymore; Harry knew everything and still loved him. He was worthy of Harry's love, worthy of Harry.

He met Harry's eyes, immediately understanding the question in them. With the sense of releasing a massive weight, Tom nodded and let go of Harry's hand. Harry quickly prepared himself, then knelt close and placed himself against Tom. Another nod, and he pushed forward.

Tom breathed deeply and relaxed. This was nothing like any other time - no pain, no humiliation, no rage. . . Only sharp pleasure and a deep, aching love for the man above him. He opened himself, accepting Harry and all that he offered gladly. With a sigh, Harry continued until his body was pressed close to Tom's, and Tom thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as his lover's face, dark with passion. He lifted his hand to Harry's mouth, tracing the full lips, then dragged his finger down Harry's throat and chest.

Tom shifted his hips, silently urging Harry to move, welcoming the slippery gliding within him. He lifted his rear, encouraging more, and Harry complied, thrusting harder and deeper. The sensation of possessing and of being possessed was powerful, more powerful than he could have ever imagined.

Harry's breaths were coming in gasps - he was close to the edge. Tom clasped his erection, wanting to join Harry as he climaxed, but Harry knocked his hand away and leaned forward, resting on one forearm. He stroked and pumped Tom firmly, requiring his surrender, maintaining a demanding pace until Tom felt his body tense and ignite, muscles jerking, hips bucking. He heard Harry's cry of completion through the thick haze that dulled his hearing and shrouded his sight, felt Harry quiver and thrust into him over and over.

Blindly he pulled Harry down onto his chest, both sets of lungs battling for air, both hearts pounding a primal rhythm. He ran his hands down Harry's damp back, the muscles jumping at his soothing touch. He kissed Harry's forehead, willing his lover to look at him. Harry raised his head and opened his eyes. He looked dazed and sated and Tom could not imagine life without this man - beside him, inside him, any way he could have him.

"Harry," he whispered, and those dark eyes focused on him.

Tom paused at the edge of the precipice, then leapt into the void, sure that Harry would catch him.

"I love you."

He held his lover close and breathed a prayer of thanks.

---

End