by Bruce

---

Setting: Umm. . . the day after the episode "Author, Author"?

Warning: This story presents two men in a romantic relationship. Read no further if that offends you.

Archive: Permission is happily granted to Paris/Kim Slash Fic and PKElite to archive this story. Other friendly folks may save a copy for their individual enjoyment. Please do not archive elsewhere or repost without permission from the author. Thank you.

Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to Paramount. No money is involved in this fan fiction, nor is any copyright infringement intended.

Feedback: Constructive criticism and comments are both welcome.

Author's note: Many thanks to Michael for his support throughout the creation of this story.

Technical note: To determine the day of the week for a date in the future, go here.

---

The rainbow streaks of warp-shifted stars moved past the viewport. The only sound was the low rumble of the engines, the quiet whistle of the ventilation system, and his breathing.

With a click and whirr, the desktop LCARS terminal came to life, the screen rising up into position. The chronometer counted up to 05:30 hours. The lights slowly brightened to half-intensity, and the opening clarinet solo from George Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" began to play over the speakers.

He groaned quietly and rolled over. "Computer, I'm up." The computer acknowledged with its two-note beeps and began its morning ritual. The music volume lowered. "Good morning," intoned the female voice, chosen because it was that of the computer's creator. "It is stardate 53951.2, Wednesday, April 19, 2378."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretched his arms over his head, and yawned. "You have three low-priority messages waiting. Reminders for today include: find a present for Naomi Wildman, upgrade the memory of console three in the astrometrics lab, and complete repairs to the bridge transporter-override circuit."

Slowly walking to the sink, he blinked and looked into the mirror at his naked form. A year ago, he never would have considered sleeping without pajamas or shorts and a t-shirt. Fivve years ago, he still slept with an eye mask, a holdover from his academy days. After splashing cool water onto his face and rinsing his mouth out, he looked at himself again. The face was a bit older and wiser, but still youthful. The body was taking on more muscle definition. Black patches of hair marked his armpits and between his legs.

His dark brown nipples stood out against the golden skin of his chest. Another yawn blurred his thoughts, his right arm unconsciously rising to scratch the back of his neck, the left hand rubbing his taut belly.

He stepped to the sofa and picked up the clothes he had set out the night before. He pulled on the gray running shorts, then the loose purple short-sleeve top. Short socks and running shoes followed. On his way out the door, he picked up a towel and draped it over his shoulder. "Computer, unoccupied mode," as the doors whooshed shut. The lights dimmed, the music stopped, and the desktop terminal closed itself.

Harry Kim punched up the program on the corridor panel and stepped through the doors. The holo-simulation was of South Carolina, the home of his early teens, before Julliard and Starfleet Academy. It was late summer. The sun angle indicated late afternoon, so there was plenty of shade along the road.

Leaning against a tree, he stretched his calves, thighs, and arms. Muscles became prominent as he flexed, tensed, and relaxed. His body loose, he began to run.

Warm yellow light played over the bright green fields where tobacco once grew. Cattle quietly grazed in the soft breeze. One looked up to watch the handsome young man run by. A mile done, his breath was coming louder, but evenly. Perspiration lightly beaded on his forehead. He moved in and out of shade as he passed stands of trees.

He found his stride in the second mile. Perspiration dampened the collar of his shirt. He squinted when he entered bright, sunny areas on the deserted highway. The simulation was not totally accurate; the American South can be blazing hot on summer afternoons, and the coastal states have stifling humidity. Harry had programmed the temperature and humidity to be a bit more temperate, but not "perfect" as the rest of the ship was. For some reason, making his body work a little harder always felt good - especially when he was done.

When Ensign Kim was first setting up the program, Tom couldn't wait to get his hands on it. He tried to "tweak it," as he put it: birds chirping, neighbors waving, antique automobiles gently swerving to give a runner right-of-way. But Harry wouldn't let him. He tried to explain that even in the twenty-fourth century, rural South Carolina was still a quiet place. And in the heat of the afternoon, even the birds sought shelter. No, this was the way Harry wanted it: a peaceful reminder of the best of when he was home on Earth. The one homage to Tom was the inclusion of that curious cow - a now-funny reminder of a bad joke Paris had played on him in the Fair Haven holosimulation.

Ensign Kim now had to breathe through his mouth more. His legs and arms glistened with sweat, and the back of his T-shirt and shorts were soaked and dark. Noticing one particular farm house as a landmark, he knew he was nearing the four-mile mark. For the sake of variety, he turned onto a side-road he'd not used before. The landscape took on a gentle undulation, and he had to work hard on the uphill parts.

Harry became aware of . . . something different. He kept running, but slowly began to feel . . . what? Being the engineer and scientist that he was, he ran through a mental checklist: there was nothing programmed in to the simulation he didn't put there - well, unless Tom had hacked in. He'd gotten plenty of sleep the night before; it had been an uneventful week aboard Voyager . . . So, what was it? He was not prone to paranoia. And yet he was reminded of the the warning that all captains gave their crews, usually to no avail: When you encounter anything out of the ordinary, don't wait - report it! But he had nothing to report.

At that moment, he came across the first hint of evidence - a sound. A second set of footsteps behind him. How far back, he could not tell. Was it an echo? No - their rhythm didn't match his.

Curiosity got the best of him. He glanced back over his left shoulder - nothing. Facing front and grimacing, he tried again, looking over his right shoulder. He saw a form, about fifteen yards back, just behind a curve in the road. This perplexed him so much, he forgot to look ahead again. His toe caught an uneven spot, the knee twisted, and he flew into the ditch, rolling once and coming to a stop against the fencepost.

The first sensation was that his lungs had stopped working. His chest wouldn't move. Only a squeak escaped his lips. He forced his eyes open and determined that he was, indeed, still alive. The wind must have been knocked out of him. Another moment passed, and he forced out a low, ragged moan. His lungs ached, and they sucked in tiny gulps of air.

Suddenly, his view of the sky was blocked.

"Oh, god, Harry! Are you okay?!"

What the hell?

"Harry . . . it's me. Tom. Can you hear me?"

Tom?

Ensign Kim blinked slowly. What was that dull throbbing? Ah - his entire left side.

". . . ow. . . "

"I'm so sorry I made you trip," Tom pleaded as he moved to check Harry for any dislocations or breaks. "Does this hurt?"

Did it hurt? It all hurt. Everything hurt.

". . . ungh. . . "

"Damn! I am so sorry, Harry. God, what was I thinking?" Tom looked up at the artificial sky, perhaps looking for help, perhaps looking out for the lightning bolt of retribution to strike him down.

"Tom. . . " Paris' gaze instantly returned to his friend's face. "Yes, Har? What is it?"

"What the hell are you doing in my holoprogram?"

Tom was speechless for a moment. A blush rose in his cheeks. Avoiding the question for a moment, he worked a bare arm under Harry's neck to slowly raise him to a sitting position. His ministrations were greeted with another rough grunt. Tom took that as approval. If Harry had screamed, he'd have needed immediate transport to sickbay.

Harry inhaled deeply, and exhaled again. He raised his eyes, gazing through his hair, sweat-soaked and disheveled across his forehead.

"I asked you a question."

Tom looked away for a moment, blew out a laugh, shook his head, smirked, and looked back at his best friend.

"Well, Har, I wanted to see how you'd progressed on this program."

Harry's eyes didn't blink. They bored into Tom's skull. He didn't buy it. "And . . . I haven't seen you in a while. I missed my friend."

Finally, Harry blinked. Really, it was more of a wince. He attempted to shift. His movement brought slicing pain from his right knee. Through gritted teeth, he stifled a scream.

"Whoa! Whoa, there, my friend. Let's take a look at that," Tom said, smoothly making the change from friend to medic, in spite of the fact that he, too, was in running shorts and a tank top, rather than his uniform. His fingers gently began feeling down Harry's right thigh, moving down to the knee. Harry's twitch told him all he needed to know. "Yup, that needs some work."

"Is it broken?"

"I don't think so. But you can't walk, and it'll be sore for several days, I'm sure. But first, we have to get you to sickbay." Tom pressed the communicator badge in his pocket. "Paris to the Doctor."

"Sickbay here."

"Doc, I need transport to sickbay for Ensign Kim. He has an injured knee."

"Understood."

Moments later, they materialized on the floor of sickbay. The holodoctor was already clucking as he ran his medical tricorder over the patient.

"Uh, Doc . . . I'd like to take care of this, if you don't mind."

After a raised eyebrow and a sigh of disgust, the holodoctor withdrew to his office.

Tom, still in his running gear and covered in perspiration, although not as much as Harry, grabbed a hypospray from a cart and injected a painkiller into the hurt knee. Then, surprising both men, he scooped up his friend and placed him gently on a biobed. An awkward moment passed and they looked at each other, surprised. Then Tom disengaged to reach for a medical instrument.

"You missed me, huh? Seems to me you found me. If you'd missed, I wouldn't be here now."

Tom didn't look up, but kept running the instrument over the knee, the strained tissue reknitting itself inside Harry's leg. "I wasn't spying.And I didn't mean to cause your accident. I was trying to catch up with you, but as a surprise."

"I hate surprises. And this one was a doozy, Tom."

Their eyes locked again. Though his face still showed discomfort, Harry managed a slight smile at his friend. Tom remained silent.

"I understand. You're married. The baby's due in a couple of months. You don't have time to play pool or Captain Proton, or reconstruct Fair Haven."

His glance fell upon the healer's hand - still on his thigh. It simply rested there, but the touch seemed to grow warmer.

"Harry . . . I -"

Tom leaned in, pressed his lips against Harry's, and then he disappeared through the doors and into the corridor. Harry remained motionless, his eyes shut, his lips still slightly parted from the kiss.

---

End