by Anonymous
---
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, B'Elanna, Tom, the Holodeck or
anything else here, they're all Paramount's. (But what fun we
could have if I did own them . . .)
Rating: This is purely fluff, and G rated fluff at that! There is
implied m/m relationships, so if that doesn't tickle your fancy, go
read something else since this little piece, tame as it is, isn't for
you.
---
Not so very long ago, he used to sit next to me like that; pressed close
with our shoulders just touching, his face turned to mine so he could
watch me speak and listen to every word I said. We were so close I could
smell his cologne mixed with the indescribable musky scent of Tom Paris.
No one smells like he does. His face would be next to mine, I could see
the laugh lines at the corner of his mouth and the grey flecks that
sparkled in his otherwise sky-blue eyes.
Now he sits with her and I sit on the other side of the Holodeck, alone.
He didn't even look at me when he walked inside.
I sound bitter and that's so unlike me. I've always been the one
to see the glass half full. Ever since I was a child, I was the big
brother who could make Bethanie laugh, or the little brother who could
melt Lizzie's heart. It was my unofficial role in the family, making
sure everyone was cheerful. It was so easy to slip into that role again
here with the new adopted family Voyager provided, cheering Tom up
whenever he was down. Only this time, a smile from Tom wasn't just a
simple gesture, it was the highlight of my day.
Making Tom smile became a fixation. If it meant acting a little more
stuffy than I normally would, just to see that look of pained amusement
cross his face, or if it meant remembering every single chirpy clarinet
piece I've ever played, just to play for him, then the smile he gave
me would be worth it. I used to live for that smile.
I still do.
When he first arrived on Voyager, Tom looked so unhappy. I know he was
having nightmares, but he wouldn't let me close enough to comfort him
the way I really wanted to. If only he'd look at me as something more
than a friend, not just a buddy to hang around with and to take his mind
off more important matters.
I know that's not really all I was to him; I was his first and most
important friend. I was the one who stuck by him when everyone else wanted
nothing to do with the 'prison scum'. Tom needed me then. I was
more than just a buddy, I was more than a friend, but I was still not as
much as I needed to be.
I'm really beginning to hate that word. Was. A word so full of
regrets and slowly dying dreams. I try to be happy for him, to let the
warm glow his smile gives me be enough. . . But sometimes it's just so
hard to ignore the tightness in your chest and the burn in your heart that
won't leave you alone, no matter what you do or how much you cry.
It used to be easier when it was the two of us. I can't say I ever
really believed it would be more than what it was. But when we were alone,
it was still easier to pretend. From the first moment I met him he was my
everything.
It was in a shitty little bar on Deep Space Nine owned by a Ferengi whose
name I can't remember. I was in way over my head and he came to my
rescue like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment he appeared I
couldn't take my eyes off him. Love at first sight, or so the saying
goes.
I guess it really was infatuation that first day, he was so good looking,
so confident and sure of himself. At least that's how he appeared. And
I had a girlfriend back at home that I had no intention of being
unfaithful to.
Then things changed. I got to know the real Tom Paris, the one behind the
mask he wears for the crew. I found out about his past and still I refused
to lose faith in him. Perhaps I should have known then that it was more
than friendship and a healthy dose of lust.
When we first got lost in this backwater corner of the galaxy I had him
all to myself for a little heavenly while. Despite all the pain and grief
those first few months on Voyager brought, they were still some of the
happiest times of my life. I had Tom and he had me and I could look at him
without aching to touch him and wanting to scream with the knowledge that
I couldn't.
Then things changed. I changed. My priorities shifted to Tom, always Tom.
I'd give up my life for him and it's all for purely selfish
reasons. I couldn't live without him, I wouldn't be able to make
myself go on if he wasn't alive. And so if it came down to a choice,
I'd exchange my life for his in an instant.
I kept him alive in the Akritarian prison by prostituting myself. I used
to shy away from thinking about that simple fact, the memories that can
still make me feel like I'll never be clean, never wash away the
sickly smell of stale sweat and semen. But for him I'd do it all over
again if it meant his life.
Would she do the same?
It hurts to watch them together but I do so anyway. Gods it hurts so much
and there's not a damn thing I can do about it, simply because it
matters to me more that he's happy than that I am. He has B'Elanna
now and I've never seen him so relaxed and carefree. I never would
have guessed it when we first came on board. She couldn't stand him; I
was the one mediating their childish bickering through meals of inedible
Lunch a la Neelix or pool matches at Sandrine's. When they first
started spending so much time together I tried to ignore the jealousy, but
now it breeds inside me like some hideous parasite. I look at B'Elanna
and I hate her, even though she's my friend, because she has Tom's
heart and that's something I want so badly, yet can never have.
If only we weren't stuck out here in no man's land. There are only
so many people on the ship. I've met every single one of them and none
of them captured my heart, mind and body the way Tom did in just one
meeting. If we were at home, I could leave, apply for a transfer and get
the hell away from Tom Paris. Instead I'm stuck on this damn ship for
god only knows how long, stuck on the same duty shift, on the same bridge
crew, the same senior staff. Seeing him each day is like being rubbed over
with sandpaper, and the worst of it is, he's totally oblivious.
When he looks at me, what does he see? Good old Harry Kim? His buddy
who'll never let him down, who'll play pool at all hours of the
night and laugh at his bad jokes? Does he even see me at all anymore?
They're leaving now, together, hand in hand. I can't watch him
kiss her, I can't stop the images that haunt me of the two of them. .
. together. It should be me; I need it to be me!
---
They didn't notice the fact that the beach resort was empty apart from
the solitary figure near the bar, too absorbed in each other to notice, or
to care.
---
"Computer, run program Paris Omega."
It's pathetic really, but the program Tom no longer seems to care
about is the one that I can't leave behind. It was his baby, and now
it's my only peace.
"Harry? Mon petit?"
Sandrine, with her French charm and a glass of holographic wine.
Just like always.
"You are here alone once again?" she asks. "Where is
Thomas?" Her smile is gentle, curious, and I can't help but smile
at her.
"Tom won't be coming to Sandrine's any longer," I say,
and for the first time I accept that as the truth.
---
End
|