by CKC
---

"I felt a great melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world."

---

When Voyager suddenly emerged from a wormhole that unexpectedly appeared between Earth and Mars, seven years after disappearing in the Badlands, it caused planetary alerts, a fleet deployment, and mass hysteria.

What a homecoming.

Of course, once Voyager was officially identified and the Captain spoke with Starfleet headquarters, everything went back to normal, at least planetside.

On board it was another matter. The crew's excitement couldn't be suppressed, and on the bridge everyone save Tuvok had a grin plastered on his or her face.

And I swear that even the corners of his mouth curled up a millimeter.

B'Elanna'd been unnaturally quiet and still during the entire trip. During the short hops we took while we tested the pathfinder, she'd lean over me and tell me exactly how to pilot the ship. But this time, once we were through, she let out one whoop, pounded her fist once against a bulkhead, and said "I knew we could do it," before her entire body started shaking. The Captain hugged her tightly for a moment, until she quieted.

"Welcome home, everyone," the Captain said, and my stomach did a flip-flop.

Home. . . I felt the half-forgotten dread that once accompanied every thought of home. Then I got a grip on myself. For me, home was here, on the ship, with Harry, and I didn't have to give a damn about the Admiral.

That thought made me feel a little better 'til I remembered who and what I was when we left DS9 seven years ago. Jeez, the newsvids were going to have a field day with my story - "Court-martialed traitor returns" - and poor Harry'd receive all the fall-out. I almost wished we hadn't made it back.

Understandably, we weren't allowed to dock yet. First, Customs wanted to run a series of high-res scans and hand searches of the ship. Immigration insisted that we all undergo thorough physicals and that all children born on the voyage and non-Federation individuals on board be processed and approved for planetside visits. And Starfleet ordered a detailed debriefing with each crewmember, an investigation of all former Maquis, and a review of all field commissions. They also informed us that no crew or passenger manifest would be made public 'til all family members of deceased crewmembers had been informed.

That afternoon, the Captain called me into her ready room.

"Mr. Paris, once Starfleet releases the crew manifest to the news, reporters will probably seek individual interviews with crewmembers and dig around to flesh out their backgrounds." She glanced sharply at me. "I know you're concerned about publicity regarding your. . . former life. We have, with Starfleet's approval, simply listed you as Lieutenant T. Paris."

"We'll do everything we can to ensure you're paroled, Tom," she continued. "I've spoken to Admiral Sanchez, and he's already contacted the Warden. You'll have to be patient and allow us to work through channels."

"Thanks, Captain." I'm afraid my smile wasn't up to its usual standard. It sounds stupid, but during all the excitement of testing and then using the pathfinder, I really hadn't given much thought to what would happen to me when we returned. The court martial and prison seemed so long ago, and I was such a different person now - the fact that I was back to Thomas Eugene Paris, Traitor, was just beginning to sink in.

She sat down, gesturing to me to sit as well. She looked tired and worn. Perhaps it was the light, but I didn't think so. Seven years of making tough decisions shows.

"The fact that you were assigned to Voyager as an observer was not known outside Starfleet and the Prison Administration. Therefore, it's relatively simple to gloss over your name. I know a reporter will put two and two together at some point, but I hope it will be after your parole, and after Starfleet authorizes the crew to tell about our journey publicly. Then perhaps there will be some balance to a story."

I nodded, my throat dry. "In a lot of ways, the publicity'll be harder on Harry than me. I mean, I've already been through that circus twice - there isn't much more for them to say about me. But to have Harry dragged into it isn't fair."

"Then we'll have to do our best to prevent someone making the connection until the excitement about our return dies down. It won't be pleasant when it happens, though."

"After what we've been through the past seven years, I'm sure Harry and I can handle a little publicity." I wished I felt as confident as my words. And I wished that publicity'd be the worst of our problems.

We were allowed to call loved ones, relatives and friends from the ship, of course. Unlimited time - very generous of Ma Bellecom. As soon as we went off duty, Harry rang his parents. I heard the first few words of their conversation, wonderful words that showed very clearly the difference between being part of a family and being part of a Starfleet dynasty. Then I left him alone with them. Partly because of my natural tact and partly because I didn't want to listen to how Harry told them he was involved. . . he was exclusively. . . he was living with me. I knew, I just knew, that Harry's parents would hate me.

So I left a message for my father. Two words. "I'm back."

Two hours later I returned to our quarters, and Harry was saying goodbye to his mother. I waited 'til he terminated the call, then walked up behind him and wrapped my arms 'round his chest.

"How is everyone?" I nuzzled under his ear, on that sensitive spot that always makes him melt.

He shrugged and nodded his head, but didn't say anything. Then his chest heaved once, and I knew he was trying not to cry.

"Oh, love. . . " I turned him around and searched his face. His eyes, those dark eyes that I never tire of looking at, were glistening with unshed tears. I hugged him and held him close. "They're all right?"

"Mom and Dad are fine. Grandma died two years ago."

"I'm sorry. . . "

"'S okay." He blinked back his tears. "Mom said she was ready to go, and died peacefully." He took a deep breath. "And Libby got married four years ago, and has a little boy."

"I hope she's happy." I meant it. How could I be jealous of Libby? She'd loved Harry, and he'd loved her. I loved Harry and he loved me. She and I had something in common, we shared a connection. But now the hard part. I had to ask. I had to know. I tried to keep my tone light, but it sounded strained, even to me. "What'd they say when you told 'em about us?"

He sniffled and squeezed me tightly.

_Oh, damn. . . _ I thought. _Don't tell me they're Traditionalists. . . _ Several crewmembers agonized about telling their parents they were involved in a same-sex relationship - one of the many, many things that were condemned by Traditionalists. It'd taken Jenny Delaney six years to come to terms with the fact that she wasn't interested in men - despite the fact that she'd slept with just about every one on board - and now she and Henley were very happy together. But Jenny was in tears the night before our journey, (was it only last night?), longing to see her parents, but afraid they'd reject her because her lover was a woman.

I couldn't understand it. Harry'd taught me that the important thing was to love someone and to be loved in return. Our bodies don't matter except as a way to show a part, a little part, of that love. If I'd've heard myself saying this when I first arrived on Voyager, I'd've laughed, or, more probably, simply not understood. But now it's as obvious to me as breathing.

I guess I've changed a lot in seven years.

Harry must've felt me go tense, 'cause he gave me one of his special tender kisses, the kind that make my knees shake. He drew back when he always did - just before I collapsed onto the deck. Then he grinned.

"They were delighted to hear about us, and as soon as we get leave, we're going to visit."

"They were delighted? Really?" I didn't bother to hide my skepticism. We sat on the couch and I clasped his chin and turned his face toward me. "And what'd you tell them? Did you actually say that your lover's an ex-Starfleet Maquis convicted of terrorism with only a field commission and nine months left to serve on his sentence?" I shivered. Saying the words somehow made everything worse - real, and terrifying.

"Well, I didn't go into details," he said defensively. "I said you were originally an observer who proved himself to be an able officer and the best damn pilot in both Quadrants, and that we just needed Starfleet's confirmation of your commission. . . "

"Great," I said. "When I'm hustled off the ship and back to Auckland in chains, you can watch the newsvid coverage and tell your parents the whole story. That should make pleasant dinner-time conversation."

"Tom, you are not going back there. The Captain promised. . . "

"To do everything she could to help me. . . us," I interrupted. "But don't get your hopes up. The Captain has some clout, but whether it's enough to get pardons for all the Maquis and parole for me. . . " I shrugged, desperately trying to hide my fear, the one fear I could never overcome - that we might be separated, and I'd have to go back to living life without Harry. The thought was horrifying. Auckland was hell, but for me, any place'd be hell without him. We both knew I needed him that much. . . And I wasn't the same person as I was before. I'd gotten soft from loving Harry so much - I didn't know if I'd survive prison now.

"You know that if the Captain can't help, I'll do anything to get you out of prison - even if it means going begging to the President of the Federation, or, " he smiled, "getting B'Elanna to help me engineer a daring jailbreak." He stroked my face gently, like he'd do when I had nightmares. Soothing caresses that never failed to comfort me.

"I know." I leaned against him, just enjoying the closeness, the feel of his muscular arms around me. It was the part of loving I wouldn't've understood seven years ago - and it was only because of Harry's acceptance and perseverance that I understood it now.

---

Fate bound me to Tom, although it took me a while to realize the fact. I had been Tom's friend since we met on DS9, where he'd rescued me from that Ferengi in the bar. I knew he thought of me as his friend ever since he'd walked into Voyager's mess and saw the First Officer and Doctor telling me about him, and I'd joined him for dinner anyway. Like I said then, nobody tells me who to be friends with.

Over the next two years, we reached an easy give and take relationship. I'd do anything to help Tom, and it was obvious he'd do the same for me. We hung out together, even double-dated with the 'delicious Delaneys' a couple of times. I bored him by talking about how much I missed Libby, he irritated me by pretending that nothing much mattered to him - it was a good friendship.

And for a long time that's all I thought it was. Even after the Tom from the other reality sacrificed himself in order to help me return to Voyager, even after our Tom - my Tom - supposedly left Voyager to stay in the Delta Quadrant and I thought I'd never see him again, even then I assumed we were just friends.

Our time together in prison changed that.

I understood, or thought I understood, why he claimed me and hit me after I slid down the chute, why he ordered me around in front of the other prisoners.

He was trying to protect me from them, and I would go along with anything he said; after all, he was the expert, he'd been in prison before. Maybe not exactly like that one, but he certainly knew how to handle the others, how to stake a claim. That's why I was so surprised when he got stabbed. That wasn't supposed to happen - Tom was too smart, too savvy to let someone inside his guard.

Suddenly, I was the one who had to take charge and be responsible - not only for myself, but for Tom, as well. My emotions swung from one extreme to another. I was terrified - terrified he'd die and leave me alone, terrified I wouldn't be able to protect him. And I was angry that he was fallible. He had made a mistake, and now I was expected to fix it.

My options were limited. Other prisoners had already claimed our space, and I needed to find somewhere Tom could rest. So I took him to the only other person in that hellhole I could communicate with: Zio.

We struck a bargain, and I fulfilled my part. I did it to save Tom's life.

There was no question in my mind that I did the right thing, but I still resented his weakness. Dammit, Tom wasn't supposed to be frail! He was supposed to find a way out of there with a quip and a sneer - not leave me to barter for his life with a madman. Even at the time I knew I was being unfair, blaming Tom for circumstances he couldn't control, but I didn't care.

And then Tom looked up at me, his face as open and trusting as a child's, and asked me not to leave him. Suddenly everything I had done to keep him alive and safe became worthwhile. For a few short hours, we lay together quietly, holding hands. I was satisfied to be there with him, I wanted nothing more from life than to touch him and to care for him. If he had asked, I would have told him how I felt, what I wanted. But he fell asleep, and I held my tongue.

That peace didn't last for long. Tom was weakening and Zio knew it. He goaded me, and I could feel the confusion building again, the sense of being out of control, of holding onto my sanity by my fingernails. My bitterness and indignation resurfaced, and I thought how like Tom, to burden me with the obligation to stay with him - an obligation that could get us both killed.

Then he pulled apart the pipe that was our only hope.

I finally exploded, almost killing him. Only the fear in his eyes stopped me - fear of me. I'll never forget that look - the memory of it will haunt me until I die. It ripped through my gut like a blade and laid me open. But I didn't have time to think about the kind of monster I had turned into - we were pushed out of the shelter into the open, the vultures were circling. I could only try to protect Tom for as long as possible and then die with him.

I was tiring when the Captain slid down the chute and rescued us. Another quarter hour and my guard would have faltered - we would have been torn to pieces. The next few hours were a blur - crouched over Tom in Neelix's ship, too worried about him to move away, but too confused to help tend him. In sickbay, having the implant removed, then waiting on a bed while the Doctor and Kes performed surgery on Tom. I was too tired to sleep, too tired to think. All I could do was wait to hear that Tom would be all right, and remember everything that had happened. Then the Doctor and Kes bent over me again, exchanging quiet comments. The Doctor briefly exclaimed over some of my injuries, and Kes gently stroked my face while he treated me.

The Captain and Chakotay came to check on us, and the Doctor motioned them into his office. As they talked, their voices a murmur, they glanced at me. I wasn't surprised - the Doc was telling them the sort of information that commanding officers should know. It was easy to read their expressions, though, and I turned away. I had made a conscious, rational decision. I didn't regret it. I would not allow it to affect me.

After all, we were alive. Prostituting myself to stay that way hardly mattered.

---

Early the next morning after our arrival home, Pacific time, Starfleet arrived. Voyager was honored; we rated four Admirals. Harry and I were back on duty when they were piped on board, and my heart sank when they entered the bridge. Well, not at the sight of the other three, but there he stood, ramrod straight, square-jawed, steely-eyed. Admiral Paris. My father.

I wanted to puke.

I didn't, thank the gods, but I did stand ramrod straight and looked over his left shoulder as he passed. He didn't spare me a glance - I was just part of the bridge scenery. I might as well've been a chair, or a station, or the last pole of the railing. Certainly not his son, whom he hadn't seen in over nine years. In a Starfleet uniform. At the conn. With lieutenant pips on his collar.

No surprises there.

The Captain followed behind him, and I glanced at her face. She was obviously shocked at his reaction, or lack of reaction, and stared at the back of my father's head like he was some monster. _Shit,_ I thought, _I could've told you that, Captain._

I looked over at Harry. He was scowling, and jerked his head in the direction of the ready room, where the Admirals and the Captain had retired.

I shrugged and tried to smile, but it just wouldn't come. Even after nine years, the bastard could still hurt me. Then Harry gave me a look of such love and compassion that I had to concentrate on not jumping over the Ops station and hugging him so hard it squeezed the breath from his lungs.

We waited. There wasn't much to do in orbit but sit at our stations, stare at the Earth below us, and try not to fidget and jitter. Or to think about returning to prison.

When we were relieved for lunch, Harry and I ran down to the mess, where there was almost a riot over the food - real, honest-to-gods Earth food brought up by freighter transport. Fruit - oranges, apples, kiwi, pomegranates - vegetables, breads - I thought I'd die when I bit into a fresh wheat roll - cheese, pasta, meat. . .

We picked up as much food as we thought we could eat and retreated to our quarters. They'd originally been my quarters. When Harry and I decided to make our relationship permanent, he moved in here, and his quarters were reassigned to one of the growing families on board.

Sharing quarters wasn't easy at first. I had to learn to keep my things picked up, more or less, and Harry had to learn to live with a little disorder. But, like all committed couples, we ironed out compromises for the important subjects and ignored the rest, and now those two rooms were home, a product of both of us.

The only thing we hadn't resolved was the question of marriage. Harry'd asked me to marry him many times, but how could I allow him to marry someone who could end up in prison again? I knew what that would do to his career. . .

And what if he wanted to leave me? How could I bear to hear him ask for a divorce? It wasn't that I didn't want to marry him - staying with Harry forever was my dream, but dreams seldom come true, and I didn't want to jinx what we already had. It broke my heart, but I told him 'no' so many times that he finally took the hint and stopped asking.

We dumped the food on the table and sat side-by-side, as usual. We like sitting side-by-side. It's bad enough to be apart from Harry while we're on duty - there's no reason to make it worse by placing a table between us at home. Besides, if we want to kiss, or share some food, or just cuddle, the table'd get in the way.

So we sat side-by-side, sharing the meal we'd brought.

Harry bit into a muffin and sighed. "I've forgotten how good food can be . . . " He offered me a piece.

"Carrots and nuts - this is great. . . "

We polished off the food without saying much, just sharing something especially delicious. When it was finished and we cleared the table - I'd forgotten how tangy oranges smelled, and how the scent lingered - Harry checked the time.

"Before we get back," he said, turning serious, "I wanted to tell you that your father is probably the biggest jerk in the universe! I couldn't believe he ignored you on the bridge! And he never acknowledged your call last night! What an. . . "

"Harry, Harry," I interrupted, "you're preaching to the choir. But you'd better keep it to yourself anywhere outside of here. He'd have your hide if you even hint how you feel."

"Don't worry. I won't let him know I think he's the most. . . " He stopped and gathered me close, and I relaxed in his strong arms. "Actually, I don't care what he is, but he hurt you, and that's what makes me livid."

"Don't waste your energy hating him, Harry. He's not worth the bother."

"Well, I think I'll hate him until you get your parole and commission. After that, he can burn in hell for all I care! But," he continued before I could interrupt, "he won't suspect a thing. And now we've got to get back."

Harry's defense made me feel better, but I was glad he was willing to temper his anger with sense. I hoped I could follow my own advice. Every night he'd call his parents and spend an hour or two talking to them. I'd disappear and let them talk in peace. On some level, I guess I didn't want to talk with them until my future was decided. I didn't want to get my hopes up about belonging to a family and then have them disappointed in me.

I'd already done that.

The entire crew spent hours catching up on the events of the past seven years - the truce with the Cardassians and extension of Federation space (including Chakotay's home planet), the tensions with the Klingons, which hadn't yet toppled over into war, the Borg threat. Voyager appeared on the news. The story of the pathfinder still hadn't been made public, so there was a lot of speculation about where the wormhole'd appear next. A bunch of anti-space travel Traditionalists said Voyager's appearance was an ill omen, which really irritated the Captain. The crew was usually described vaguely as "heroic," or "valiant," but, so far, Starfleet hadn't released the crew manifest, and, although there were rumors about the Maquis on board, none of the stories mentioned me. But the thought of returning to prison still haunted me.

I've heard that people sentenced to death get all wrapped up inside themselves - distracted and forgetful - kinda like they're already separating themselves from the world. I guess that was what was happening to me. I'd be doing something - talking, or writing a report, or even eating - and suddenly my throat'd squeeze shut, and my chest'd burn, and I knew I'd go back to prison and never see Harry again. Sometimes Harry'd have to touch my arm to bring me 'round, and once the Captain had to repeat an order three times before I heard her. I was lucky - she seemed to understand why I was so inattentive.

I even spent half-an-hour deciding how I'd kill myself if they sent me back to Auckland. Then I thought of Harry, and I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't cause him that pain. I'd just have to find the strength to endure somehow.

The days crawled by, even though they were filled with appointments, interviews, debriefings, examinations, and searches through the entire ship. I could handle the appointments and interviews. The exams, with a human doctor - our Doctor was being evaluated for sentience (as if he were less sentient than anyone on the ship) - were unpleasant, but nothing compared to the ones in prison.

The searches were awful. We had to be there, watching, as strangers poked into everything, turned over our clothes, peered in drawers, and generally made us all feel violated. Even the Captain looked flushed and embarrassed when she returned to the bridge after her quarters were searched. Spike Wildman asked why they couldn't scan the ship, and the Captain'd patiently explained that since we'd been in an uncharted area of space, with new life forms and all, the scanners didn't know what to look for. So we had to put up with the hand searches.

At least we were allowed to dock after the searches were over. That made it easier to transport food and supplies, and it was a lot easier for the personnel who had to come on board every day.

For me, the debriefings were the worst. My father wasn't there - as my father, he couldn't sit on the board investigating my actions and record. That regulation was supposed to prevent a parent favoring a child. Yeah, sure. As if he'd favor me. I found it ironic, but I was glad he wasn't there. They were grueling enough without him.

Everything I'd done for the past seven years was curried through - logs, reports, commendations. I spent two days answering their questions, explaining why I did this and not that, why I laid my life on the line for these people, and I tried to make them see that these people were everything to me, and that they, the Captain, Chakotay, B'Elanna, and especially Harry, had given me a life. I poured out my guts to them, and they looked at me blankly as if I was speaking nonsense and made notes on their padds. By the time they dismissed me, I was positive I'd have my field commission revoked and then be dragged back to prison.

B'Elanna told me she'd rather face the Vidiians than the boards again, and I knew how she felt.

I was miserable to live with after my last debriefing, but I thanked the gods for Harry's optimism. It wasn't just blind faith that "things would work out;" it was quiet confidence that I'd be paroled or pardoned and granted my commission. He never stopped telling me how much I'd changed, and reminding me of the Captain's support and trust. His words helped, butI couldn't sit still. I already felt condemned. I moped and jittered around our quarters for a while 'til he ordered me to lie down for a backrub. That felt good, and I relaxed a little. Then the backrub led to other things, which also felt good, which finally led to sleep.

The next morning, eight days after we returned to Earth, the Captain announced that all the former Maquis and I were to assemble outside the conference room. The various boards were to make their recommendations regarding our status and commissions. She gave no hint that she knew the results of their decisions, and I wondered if they'd even bothered to tell her.

We huddled together like refugees, adrift and scared, but trying to encourage the others with a smile or quiet word. B'Elanna wasn't still for a moment - she bounced around the room 'til I thought she'd careen off the bulkheads.

Then Chakotay arrived with his usual air of quiet confidence, and we suddenly felt better. Even B'Elanna sat down. The man could calm a room of hyperactive three-year-olds, and had. No wonder the Captain relied on him so much, both professionally and personally. Once I'd settled down with Harry and he'd settled down with the Captain, we'd become friends. Now he circled the room with a smile and a word of encouragement for every one of his former crewmembers.

When he reached me, he frowned and laid his hand on my shoulder. "She'll put her career on the line to see you free," he said.

"I know." I met his eyes. "And I can never repay what she's done for me."

He smiled unexpectedly. "I think you have, Tom. You've become what she. . . what we both knew you could be." He gave my shoulder a squeeze and moved on before I could answer.

The door to the conference room opened, and Chakotay was called first. He entered, head up, calmly awaiting whatever judgment they gave. There was a man whose friendship and respect meant something.

B'Elanna came over and sat next to me, and we talked about the past week. I was sure she'd be pardoned. Besides being a damn good Chief Engineer, she'd taken the concept behind a child's toy we'd seen in the Delta Quadrant and created, almost single-handedly, a device that not only created wormholes, but allowed the beginning and end of the wormhole to be determined. It'd taken her six months of almost continuous work. The first time we'd sent a probe into the wormhole created with the pathfinder and the probe'd emerged exactly where we'd planned, we all knew we'd get back to the Alpha Quadrant soon.

The room slowly emptied. B'Elanna was called toward the end, and there were only four of us left. Then three, then two, then me.

I couldn't think, I couldn't plan, I couldn't hope. I just waited.

Finally they called my name and I walked into the conference room. I felt sick with dread, but at least I'd know my fate in a few minutes.

They sat behind the table, all eight of the board of inquiries members. The Captain sat at the end, and she glanced up at me with the ghost of a smile. I relaxed a fraction, and my stomach settled enough so that I wasn't afraid I'd puke all over the board when they announced their decision.

"Mr. Paris," began Admiral Sanchez, staring balefully at the padd before him, "before reaching our decision, we consulted with Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay. . . "

_Commander?_ I thought, my ears pricking up. _He made it. . . _

". . . several of your former instructors at the Academy, the board responsible for your court-martial, your legal defense team, and the authorities at the Auckland Federation Penitentiary." He looked up, stern and unforgiving.

"There was certainly a wide variety of opinions regarding the suitability of you being reinstated into Starfleet. The opinions were more uniform, however, regarding the usefulness of returning you to serve out the remainder of your prison term." My heart sank, and the blackness that hung over me began to deepen. Back to prison. . . How could I ever tell Harry? That is, if they'd even give me a chance to tell Harry before dragging me away. . . Admiral Sanchez continued, and I forced myself to hear the worst.

". . . President has agreed to expedite your pardon. . . "

_Pardon? Far better than parole. . . _ I think my mouth dropped open then because the Admiral stopped speaking and frowned.

"Mr. Paris, are you listening?"

"Yes, sir!" I straightened to attention.

"At ease. . . Lieutenant."

This time I managed to keep my mouth closed, but my thoughts whirled, and I must've looked as stunned and confused as I felt.

"Admiral." It was the Captain. "I don't think Mr. Paris has quite comprehended the results of the board's recommendations."

"I agree with you, Captain," he said, and he chuckled. "Mr. Paris, in light of your behavior and actions for the past seven years, the board has recommended that you be pardoned for your conviction of terrorism and reinstated in Starfleet, with the rank of lieutenant."

I hardly heard his words - it was his chuckle that convinced me he was telling the truth.

I locked my knees - I was damned if I was going to collapse in front of the entire board - and stammered "Thank you, Admiral." Then I turned to the Captain. Her smile threatened to split her face in two. I returned it, not caring how goofy or half-witted I looked. "Thank you, Captain."

"Your reinstatement is effective immediately, and the paperwork for your pardon should be completed tomorrow," she said. "So there is no reason why you can't begin your leave on Wednesday. I believe you and Lieutenant Kim have plans?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then before you are dismissed, Mr. Paris," the Admiral said, looking around the table at the row of smiling faces, "and although it is irregular, I would like to shake your hand." And he leaned over the table, hand out.

I grasped it, glad I could hold on to something since my thoughts seemed to be slipping away uncontrollably. "Congratulations, Tom," he continued. "You never heard me say this, but I'm glad to see you prove your old man wrong."

I moved around the table like an automaton, blindly shaking outstretched hands, wishing I could think of something, anything else to say other than "Thank you." When I reached the Captain, not even that was enough, and I hoped she could read the gratitude on my face and in my clasp.

"Harry's waiting for you," she said softly, and as soon as I was dismissed, I was out the door like a shot.

The corridor was choked with former Maquis members and their families and friends. Jenny and Henley were kissing in the corner - Megan and Jenny had pleaded with their parents 'til they agreed to meet Henley, and Jenny was quietly optimistic that they'd be accepted. I searched for a moment, then spotted the familiar black head and gold shoulders against the far wall. Harry was scanning the crowd, brows drawn, jaw tight.

"What did they. . . " he began as he caught sight of me. I didn't care that we were both on duty and in uniform - I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him over and over, my hands stroking his shoulders, back and neck. It was all right - we would always be together now.

He pulled back and gazed at me. I smiled, and the worry drained from his face. "Good news?" he murmured.

"The best. Pardon, commission," I blinked hard to stave off the tears that threatened, "and, most importantly, you." And I kissed him again, lingering for a moment on his lower lip.

"Tom, Harry. . . " A hand landed on my shoulder and I released Harry's mouth.

"Congratulations, Commander!"

He grinned. "Same to you, Lieutenant. . . "

The conference room door opened and the Captain emerged. A cheer went up 'round the corridor and she stood, smiling, while we all shouted and whooped.

"Hey, Chakotay," I said when the cheering finally died down. "What. . . "

But he was already half-way to her, those broad shoulders moving smoothly through the crowd. Her face lit up when she saw him, her hand came to rest on his biceps. It wasn't a caress - never in public, never on duty - but it was as intimate as a kiss.

"Tom. . . " Harry pulled me back against him and nuzzled my neck. "When will your pardon come through?"

"Tomorrow. The Captain said we could go on leave Wednesday. . . "

He hugged me, then chuckled. "Heads up - commanding officers approaching."

We parted, but I kept hold of his hand behind my back. I needed to keep contact with those strong fingers that could tease such pleasure from me.

"Congratulations again, Mr. Paris. . . and Mr. Kim." The Captain grinned, then leaned forward and winked. "Don't forget to tell Harry what Admiral Sanchez didn't say."

"Captain, I never got the chance to properly thank you." I leaned toward her, our faces a whisper apart. "Warn the Commander that the very next time I see you off duty, I'm gonna give you a hug and a kiss you won't forget."

"I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant," she murmured, and chuckled at the look on my face.

The Commander broke in, eyebrow raised. "The Captain and I are hosting a small dinner party tonight - officers' mess, 2000 hours. We'd like you both to be there."

Of course we accepted.


The party was a rousing success. The food and drink were brilliant, Admiral Sanchez repeated to Harry what he hadn't said to me, and when I finally got the Captain into a quiet corner, she returned my kiss with such enthusiasm that I was worried - 'til I saw Chakotay grin over her shoulder. Even the Doc joined us. He'd been declared a sentient being - big surprise there.

Starfleet had agreed to download him into a computer at Headquarters, and he hoped to continue practicing medicine as well as provide a testing ground for further experiments in holographic mobility and sentience development.

Then we went to our quarters, where I could be alone with Harry, and that was the best part of the day.

---

Once we were released from sickbay, Tom and I went to his quarters for that celebration dinner we had talked about for so long. He'd flung his arm around my shoulders as we walked - a warm, brotherly gesture that I'd always cherished. Tom would often clap his hand on my shoulder, or give me a pat on the back, and I liked to think that he drew as much strength from our contact as I did. Thistime it seemed he was trying to communicate comfort or companionship, or perhaps gratitude. _He's your friend,_ I thought, ignoring the tingle his warmth sent through me, _he's trying to help you._ His words about what he remembered certainly comforted me as well as disturbed me, and I tried to believe that everything would return to normal soon. We didn't eat nearly as much as we thought we could that night. I guess our stomachs were still shrunken from our days without food.

As we ate, Tom talked about a holoprogram he was writing, and some changes he wanted B'Elanna to make to the thrusters, but I couldn't bring myself to say much. I wanted to talk about prison, about our friendship, but I knew that if I did, I'd end up telling Tom what had happened. And I didn't want him to know. So I just nodded and kept silent.

Tom's earlier cheerful calm gradually changed, and he grew pensive. I wondered if he'd ask about what happened after he was injured, but he didn't. When we finally pushed our plates away and sat back, he spoke softly, staring at the table.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? I'm the one. . . "

"Harry," he leaned forward and stared at me, his eyes shadowed, "it was just like Auckland. Put a bunch of guys together in a room, and they'll eventually wind up doing the same things: fighting, preying on the weak, amassing power. And no one's immune. Even if you don't mean to be that way when you first arrive, after a while it starts to look. . . normal. You slip into the habit. You find yourself doing things you never thought you'd do. . . "

I blushed. I couldn't help it - his words hit too close to home. _Take it easy,_ I reminded myself, _he doesn't know what happened. He's speaking about himself._

"Don't feel guilty - you hit me because you had to, to convince the others that you were a fighter," I protested, then struggled on, trying not to allow the memories to surface. "And after you were injured, we fought because of the clamp. The Doctor said that was the reason! You'd never have done it without the clamp. . . "

He shifted in his seat and looked out the port. "Harry, one thing I learned in prison was you can never say 'never.' Circumstances change, we change . . . " His voice dropped to a whisper. "And then you wake up one day, look in the mirror, and see the face of the person you despised most. . . "

I didn't understand him. He hadn't done anything to be sorry about, unless. . . A voice inside me suddenly spoke. _Unless he wanted to fight me, or claim me. . . _ I pushed the thought away. _Don't be stupid! He's your friend - he doesn't want to fight you, or call you his. . . _

Ignoring the voice, I decided that Tom's depression was due to stress -being in prison again brought back memories of his earlier experiences. I nodded to myself, pleased with my assessment. _That's it. It's stress. In a few days, he'll feel better._ We were alive, we were back on Voyager. All we needed to do was concentrate on getting back to normal. I kept that thought firmly in my mind as I said goodnight and went back to my quarters to bed.

But the other thoughts kept sneaking in while I slept.


The Captain stopped by the next morning. I wasn't doing much - I'd tried to practice, but my fingers were especially clumsy, and I had put down my clarinet in favor of a novel I'd started a month before and never finished.

"How are you doing?" she asked. She sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her. "Have you been having any residual effects from the clamp?"

"Not that I know of," I said, sitting down carefully and putting on my best hearty manner. "I feel fine, Captain. I've already had two breakfasts this morning, and I'm sure I'll be back to normal in no time."

She flinched slightly, and I wondered if I was overdoing the heartiness. "Harry," she leaned forward and touched my arm, "is there anything I or the crew can do to help you?"

"No," I replied. "I really am fine. The faster I get back to work, the better."

"And what about Tom?"

Her question took me off guard. I hesitated, afraid to even frame the thought "What about Tom?", when it occurred to me that she was just asking if Tom would find work helpful. "Probably. He was kind of upset last night, remembering Auckland. Work might help him forget."

"I hardly think that's likely." She gave me a sharp look, assessing and judgmental, and I didn't know what to make of it. "Especially in light of what happened there."

I wasn't sure what she meant, so I just said "I guess so."

She stared at me for another moment, then leaned back into the couch and looked out the port. I knew what was coming before she said it.

"Harry, the Doctor said you showed evidence of injuries from sexual activity and infection from that activity. Did the other prisoners. . . "

I broke in before she could finish. "I wasn't raped, Captain." Something had happened to my throat, and I had trouble getting out the rest of my sentence, but I had to tell her. "After Tom was stabbed, I needed to find a safe place for him to stay. So I traded myself for a quiet corner."

Her eyes widened, but I looked away before I could interpret their meaning.

"And for food, and for water, and for a clean cloth I could use for bandages." I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "It was my decision, Captain - no one forced me to do it. It was the only thing I had to bargain with, so I did. I don't regret it. It helped keep us alive."

She was silent for a long time. Finally I glanced over at her. She wasn't crying, but only just. I'm glad she didn't - I don't think I would have been able to continue if she had cried. "Harry, I'm sorry that you were placed in that situation." She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "It may have been your decision, but you may find it as difficult to deal with as a rape. Would you like to speak with Commander Chakotay. . . or Kes?"

"No. I don't want to talk about it. It's done."

"Well, if you change your mind. . . "

"Thank you for your concern, but it's not necessary."

"Does Tom know?"

"NO!" I grabbed her hand, not caring that she was the Captain. "And I don't want anyone to tell him!"

"But Harry, he'd understand why you did it - probably better than anyone else on board."

I hesitated, caught by her implication. Did she mean. . . I shoved the thought away - it was not possible that Tom. . . _No! She just means that he was there with me and has been in prison before. He knows the stakes._ It was tempting, however, to tell him. I imagined standing before him, confessing what I'd done to keep him safe. He'd look at me, his eyes opaque and unreadable. A flash of disgust would cross his face and he'd turn away, glancing over his shoulder. "Whore. . . " Then he'd leave, and I'd be alone.

No. I didn't dare tell Tom about it.

---

My pardon arrived the next afternoon, signed by the President, with all sorts of official seals over it. The Captain called me into her ready room and delivered it, along with her congratulations. I stood for a moment, staring at the datachip in my hand. My pardon. My freedom. My new life. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I just thanked her and returned to my station, nodding to Harry as I passed Ops. He grinned back at me.

We returned to our quarters once we were relieved of duty that evening, and I found a message waiting for me. From my father. Harry draped his arm over my shoulder as I played the message, trying not to look too obviously worried.

The Admiral looked older, of course. I hadn't really looked at him on the bridge, but now, facing me on the screen, I could see the flesh around his mouth and nose beginning to sag, the wings of white at his temples. But the expression in his eyes was the same as I always remembered - no, he hadn't lost any of his vigor or authority over the past nine years.

"I would like to congratulate you on your pardon and commission, Thomas," he began. "I am pleased that you are finally behaving as a Paris, and I look forward to hearing of your travels. I am hosting a reception on Wednesday evening, and will expect you at 1900 hours. Dress uniform."

He nodded and the message ended.

"That was it?" Harry was outraged, and paced the room. He always does that when he's upset. "After nine years? 'Finally behaving like a Paris?' Congratulations and be at my party on Wednesday? He didn't even ask if you wanted to be there! And he only called after your pardon came through. . . " He paused. "Wednesday? Tomorrow? But we're supposed to visit my parents. . . "

"Don't worry. C'mere."

I grabbed him 'round the waist with one hand and set up the recorded reply with the other. I faced the screen, still holding tight to Harry.

"Thanks for your congratulations, Dad. I'll have to miss the reception, though. I have other obligations. Perhaps another time. Bye." I sent the message and then gave Harry a quick kiss. "That should hold him."

"How do you know? What if he orders you. . . "

"He won't. Obligations are sacrosanct to him. And besides, it always worked before."

"What do you mean?"

"It's the old using honey to catch flies trick, Harry. I could generally get around the Admiral if I smiled and agreed with him." I shrugged. "I just didn't want to."

"Always the rebel, eh, Paris?" A wry grin twisted his mouth.

"Yeah. Well, after watching all those people fawning over him, I couldn't stand to be another toady, especially to my own father. We didn't agree very often, and I'd tell him so. Since he only likes people who agree with him, he didn't like me. And since he didn't like me, he wasn't going to waste any time on me." I grabbed my bag. "And speaking of wasting time, I don't want to waste any more talking about the Admiral. Let's pack and get some dinner. We have to be outta here early."

"I want to call my parents first." Harry hesitated, glancing at me in that appraising way he has when he wants me to do something I'm not keen on. "Will you talk to them, Tom? Just to say hello? I know they really want to meet you. . . "

"Sure." I wanted to meet Harry's parents now I was sure I wouldn't humiliate Harry by being hauled off to prison. If they were anything like Harry, I'd be a lucky man.

The connection went through in a moment. Harry said "Hi, Mom. I've finally managed to coerce Tom into saying something. . . " and he grabbed my hand and dragged me in front of the screen.

I'd seen a still picture and a short vid of Harry's parents when we'd first landed in the Delta Quadrant. Harry'd shown them to me one evening when he was really depressed. His mom was petite, but you could tell Harry got his good looks from her. They shared the same thick hair, flat cheekbones, and sculpted lips. His dad was tall and broad-shouldered - the parts that Harry inherited - with brown hair and plain features. They were laughing and holding hands, and I remember wondering at the time what it'd be like to have parents like that.

Now it looked like I'd find out.

His mom looked the same as her vid - but her smile was sweeter than the one I'd seen so many years ago, and she made quick little gestures, each beautiful in itself. I guess she saw my discomfort - I felt like I was twelve and asking a girl to dance for the first time.

"Tom, I'm so glad to get a chance to finally talk with you." She grinned and darted a glance at Harry. It looked like a wicked glance, but surely his mother wouldn't. . . "Harry's monopolized you shamefully for the past week. I'm looking forward to spending some time with you, so I can find out what mischief my son's been up to in the Delta Quadrant. . . "

"Mom!" Harry whined, red-faced, sounding like he was fifteen.

I just stood there stupidly - I was not expecting Harry's mom - his mom, for gods' sake - to tease him and banter with me like an older sister. Weren't moms supposed to be loving and serious and all that stuff?

She suddenly sobered. "I'm sorry, Tom. I got carried away. Harry," she turned to him, and I could see the love in her eyes, "I'm sorry for embarrassing you. Please forgive me."

"Of course," he said with a laugh. "I should know better than to take you seriously."

"Oh, thanks very much," she replied, her sarcasm peeking through, but I could see relief there, as well. "Tom, will you forgive me, too?"

"Sure, Dr. Kim." I grinned. If this was a sample of Harry's family life, it was going to take some getting used to - but I liked it.

"Uh uh. Dr. Kim only appears at the University. My name is Grace. And thanks for the forgiveness." She flashed me a quick smile and looked off screen. "Here's Sam. He'd like to say hello."

Harry's dad appeared and smiled. Had I really said his face was plain? When he looked at Harry, it shone with love and pride. "Hey, son. Tom." Then he beamed at me the same way, and I felt like the universe was smiling at me. He wrapped his arm around Grace and continued, "Thanks for taking good care of Harry. I know he's thirty now," and he shook his head, a shadow passing across his face, "but to me he's an enthusiastic twenty-three, fresh out of the Academy and as naive and gullible as a schoolboy."

"Well, he's a lot less gullible and only a little naive, but still enthusiastic," I replied. "And he's taken as good care of me as I have of him."

"Good." Sam nodded and beamed proudly at Harry. "Now, your transport arrives at one, and we'll meet you. . . " The rest of our call concerned the logistics of our journey.

"Harry," I said, once we'd terminated the call, "you've got to be the luckiest guy alive!"

"Why? 'Cause I nabbed 'hotshot Paris'?" He grinned and I poked him.

"Well, that too. . . " He poked me back. "Your parents - they're wonderful!"

"Yeah. I like 'em. Tell you what," he said as he opened his bag and started packing, "I'll share them with you."

"Thanks. I'd like that."

We sat with B'Elanna at dinner, as we had for the past seven years. It felt weird to think we wouldn't be doing it any more. B'Elanna had already been offered a senior position in Engineering R&D at Starfleet headquarters, and was trying to decide if she could stand being around all those uniforms every day, even if she did get to play with lots of neat equipment. She'd managed to contact her mother, but her mother wasn't particularly interested in her half- human daughter. B'Elanna was leaving on the morning transport, though - she'd located some distant relatives of her father's, and they'd invited her to stay for a week.

"What are you going to do for the second week?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Probably bum around. Maybe look up a friend or two from the Academy. . . "

"Come stay with us," he said impulsively, taking her hand. "My parents would love to meet you, and there's plenty of room. . . "

"Harry, your parents are going to have enough to cope with having Paris there." She continued, ignoring my "Hey, wait a minute!", "and I'm sure they want to spend time with you, not the ragtag collection of friends you've picked up throughout the galaxy."

"Shut up, Tom," Harry said as I opened my mouth to reply. "Listen, I won't press you, but leave me your address, and I'll give you mine, and you can decide later. Okay?"

She reluctantly agreed. I secretly hoped she'd come and stay - B'Elanna was the closest I'd ever had to a sister, and I was going to miss her like hell. If she came to visit, I'd get a chance to trade a few smartass comments - Harry was no good at that kind of stuff - although I was beginning to wonder about Grace.

We were up early and on the transport while I was still half-asleep. Harry always teases me about not being a morning person, but at least we were a third through our journey before I began to get bored. Harry, being wide awake, had been bored from the beginning. No, that wasn't fair - we were both too excited to be bored.

Our transport arrived on schedule, and as we waited for our connections, I was glad to see we weren't recognized as Voyager crew. Our names and pictures hadn't been distributed to the newsvids yet, so we could travel undisturbed. And, in my case, with my reputation still intact. We saw B'Elanna off to Sri Lanka. She gave us each a hug before she left, and after she boarded her shuttle, Harry turned to me.

"I've never seen her so frightened before."

"You think it was fear? Or desperation? After being blown off by her mother, this is her last chance to find a family."

"Yeah." Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned.

"Well, we've got one waiting for us. Come on."

We boarded the shuttle to Wright-Patterson Spaceport, where Harry's parents had insisted on meeting us. We'd offered to take a cab, but they wouldn't hear of it. I fidgeted during the flight - I don't like being a passenger, and I stared out the port, trying to concentrate on what little I could see of the landscape. Harry nudged me and laughed - I was moving my hands and fingers in the air in front of me, unconsciously piloting the ship.

"Habit." I tried to sound calm and unconcerned, but then my leg jiggled uncontrollably.

"They like you already, Tom," he said softly. "They'll love you once they meet you." Dear Harry - he knew how much I wanted to be part of a family, and how I worried I wouldn't be accepted. "Just like I do," he continued, giving my knee a pat.

---

In the weeks that followed our rescue, I felt that everyone who knew - the Doctor, Kes, the Captain and Commander Chakotay - was watching me, waiting for me to explode, or disintegrate, or have a breakdown. Even B'Elanna's attention raked over me from time to time, but she never said anything. She was unusually kind and gentle with me, though, as if she suspected something.

At first, I managed to forget what had happened for minutes at a time. This gradually increased to hours, and then days. Occasionally the memories would rush back, and I'd spend a day or two struggling to suppress them again. Sometimes they would be triggered by a dream, or a sound, or a smell. Or by a look - especially a look from Tom. We'd be sitting in the mess, or on the bridge, and Tom would turn and glance at me. And all I could see was him lying on that metal deck, deathly pale, his face glistening with sweat, his eyes pleading. . .

Sometimes I thought he was pleading for me not to hurt him, sometimes I thought he was pleading for forgiveness for hitting me, sometimes I didn't know what he wanted and I felt the confusion and anger tickle at me again.

I was sure Tom hadn't noticed what was happening until one evening when we were sitting with B'Elanna in Sandrine's, having a drink and watching the Captain beat the Commander at pool. The Captain pulled off a particularly neat shot, and we were laughing at Chakotay's rueful expression when Tom turned back to the table, glanced at me and turned solemn.

The sounds in the room grew muffled, then changed into harsh voices raised in anger. The room transformed from the smoky, dim comfort of Sandrine's into deep shadows and glaring lights. Tom lay dying before me - he was dying and I couldn't help him. My heart pounded, my mouth was dry, and I was frozen in fear.

Then a hand touched mine. "Harry?"

I blinked.

"Breathe, Harry." Tom's soft instruction grounded me, and I gasped for air.

"It's okay," he continued quietly, "you're okay. It's just a flashback. You're safe." I clasped his hand and took another breath, then looked at him.

His hair was slightly ruffled, his face flushed. And his expression was so concerned, so gentle, I wanted to reach out and touch his lips, smooth his cheeks, feel the flutter of his lashes against my fingers. Instead, I fell into his eyes for a long moment, breathless again from the possibilities I found there. Perhaps. . .

A shout and a peal of laughter severed our connection. Tom released my hand and turned away again, grabbing his glass. But his hand shook, and he grimaced at his glass before setting it back on the table.

I turned to B'Elanna. She was laughing at the Captain's winning shot, and I was grateful that she hadn't noticed my abstraction. I needed to get Tom alone, though. I had to talk with him, and find out how he felt, what he felt.

"Well, gotta run." Tom abruptly stood and smiled down at us. "See you both at breakfast." He was gone.

I couldn't believe it. He left. Here I was, thinking that we had just shared something, and he gets up and runs. I must have sat there with my mouth open, because B'Elanna nudged my arm.

"Hey, Starfleet, you okay?"

"Okay? Uh, yeah." I looked at the table, at the place where Tom had been sitting. It was as empty as my heart. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lied. What else could I do? I couldn't force him to love me. I couldn't go up to him and demand to know why he looked at me as if he wanted me, and then walked away. I couldn't tell him what I had done, what I would do for him. He was my best friend, and if he wanted to remain just friends, then I would have to accept it.

But, oh gods, it hurt like hell.

---

They were waiting for Harry at the 'port gate. We walked down the ramp, and I was trying to quiet the butterflies in my stomach when Harry shouted out "Mom! Dad!", snatched my hand and broke into a run.

Harry barreled through the gate and dropped my hand, grabbing the small, smiling woman who held her arms up to him like a child. His mother, Grace. Sam threw his arms around them both and they stood there, just holding each other, silent. My mouth went dry. Watching their joy, I felt alone. Apart. My parents'd never hugged me like that, even when I was little. Then Harry held out his hand and they were hugging me, and I was welcomed into his family.

Harry gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Thomas Eugene Paris, the love of my life. . . "

Sam squeezed my shoulders. "Good to meet you, Tom."

I glanced down at Grace and felt a chill trickle down my spine. For a second, her face was solemn, and there was caution in her eyes. As if she knew all about me. . . Then she smiled with such warmth and kindness I knew I must've been mistaken.

"Tom, welcome to our family." She reluctantly released Harry and sniffled. "Damn," she murmured with an apologetic grimace, "I promised myself I wouldn't cry. . . " And she burst into tears.

And so we hugged all over again, this time with Grace and Harry crying and Sam's eyes glistening. I wanted to cry, I could feel the lump in my throat and the burning in my chest, but I didn't. I don't cry very often. Harry says it's because of my "up-tight, stiff-lipped, damned, by-the-book Starfleet family." He's probably right.

Eventually everyone calmed down and we piled into a groundcar and set off. I looked around at the scenery for a few minutes - after all, it was Earth - and admired the delicate green of April's new leaves and young grass. Then my attention gravitated toward the controls. Although she was on autopilot, I could tell she was a sweet little transport, and I studied the controls out of the corner of my eye.

The trip passed quickly, and within half-an-hour, we turned out of the main traffic lanes. I suppose because I'd never lived any place for more than a year or two, I'd never thought about what Harry's home looked like. If anyone'd asked, I would've guessed that they lived in a flat in one of the self-contained new towns. Someplace modern and convenient. We wound through a stand of trees, some very old by the look of them, across gently undulating lawn, and crested a slight rise. I must've made a noise when I saw the house, because Sam and Grace chuckled.

"Unusual, isn't it?" Sam said.

I just stared. The house sprawled across the lawn, and yet seemed part of it, disappearing below the ground in some places, and peeking above it in others. Trees and shrubs played up the different levels, and seemed integral to the landscape, not imposed on it. Beyond the house was a small lake, with an island in the middle and a dock on the near shore. Beyond that the land rolled away into the distance, all green and brown. It was the most beautiful home I'd ever seen.

"It's old-fashioned, I know," continued Sam, "but it's been in our family for almost a hundred years, and we like it."

The transport moved around to the rear and settled itself into an enclosed bay. I remembered the old-fashioned term - "It's a garage."

We went in, and, if anything, the house was even more beautiful inside than out. Not ostentatious - after living in Admirals' quarters, I could write a treatise on elegant, uncomfortable furniture - but lived in and comfortable. Harry looked around. "You haven't changed much."

"Not out here," said Grace. "But we did change the rooms around after Grandma died, and after we thought you were. . . " She paused briefly, and Harry patted her shoulder. She looked up at him and blinked back more tears. You could see the love in her eyes. "Now, come on. I'll get you two settled." We trailed behind her down the corridor. It was half buried in the ground, with windows and skylights unexpectedly, but perfectly, placed. After Voyager's functional utilitarian design, this was a visual treat.

"Sam took Grandma's rooms for his office, and I. . . " She stopped and took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and glanced back at Harry. I could see how those years of grief, when she thought Harry was dead, had bowed her beneath their weight. It seemed that she'd only survived by strength of will. Harry's unexpected re-appearance was still so recent that she wasn't used to the idea of him being alive, and she had to constantly remind herself not to grieve, not to be bent by sorrow.

"I wanted to be near you," she continued, "so I converted your rooms to my study. And we made another guest suite overlooking the water. That's where we're putting you both." She slid open a door.

Our room was great - an incredible view over the lake, lots of sunlight, and a bed as big as Nebraska. And in the corner. . .

"My clarinet!" Harry lifted it from its stand and stroked it reverently.

"I couldn't bear to part with it," said Grace simply. "Now I'm glad I didn't." After kissing Harry quickly and touching his cheek, she left us to settle in.

"Harry," I said, falling backward onto the bed, "I think I'm in love with your mother."

He grinned, replacing his clarinet on the stand. "Yeah. You aren't the first one of my friends to say that - just the first one of my lovers."

"You make it sound like I'm one of a long line," I laughed.

"Harry Kim, Playboy of the Delta Quadrant. . . "

He flopped down on the bed beside me. "Well, all you need to make a line is two points - Libby and you." He drew his hand down the side of my face. I kissed his fingers as they passed, feeling the familiar stirring in my chest. There were times I loved Harry so much I thought my love would burst from my heart and shatter me into a million fragments. It frightened and elated me, and I couldn't imagine my life without it.

Then he stroked my throat, and the stirring moved lower. That was also familiar, but. . .

"Hey, gorgeous," I said, pleased my voice was still steady, "your parents are waiting. Let's hold that thought 'til later."

"You're right." He rolled off the bed. "C'mon."

"Nah. You go. I'll be along later." Harry deserved some time alone with his parents without me tagging along.

He stood still for a moment, then grabbed my hand and hauled me upright. "Thanks for being thoughtful," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around me.

"But we come as a set, remember? I know it might get a little boring, but I want you to be there. . . "

We returned to the living area, and spent a relaxed and amusing hour talking. I wasn't bored at all, especially when Sam started telling stories about Harry's childhood and Harry kept rolling his eyes and saying "Please, Dad. . . " He's so damn cute when he blushes.

Finally Grace suggested we take a walk. It was wonderful to walk with Harry in the sunshine back on Earth. We circled the house, Grace and Sam pointing out new plants to Harry, then strolled down to the lake. The lake was completely ringed by daffodils, white and yellow and cream blooms bobbing gently in the light breeze. It looked like something out of a travel holo.

"Hey, who put the boat in?" Harry asked, clattering out onto the dock.

"Jamie always comes the first of April and puts it in," replied Sam, following him. "He checks out the island and. . . " He stopped abruptly.

"Dad, it's okay," Harry turned and threw an arm over Sam's broad shoulders. They stood side-by-side, heads bent toward each other, black hair and brown, mirroring each other's stance. As with Grace, the years of pain had left their mark on Sam, and he was still not used to the idea of Harry being alive and by his side.

"The boat was always Harry's responsibility," said Grace quietly. She stood beside me, her eyes fixed on her son and husband. "The first three years we thought Harry was lost, Sam wouldn't hear of using it or moving it. Then he allowed his nephew Jamie to go out in it one day, and I knew he had given up hope that Harry was alive." She shook her head and sighed. "Hope. It's a strange emotion, full of contradictions. Despair and desire, pain and longing." She glanced up at me, her eyes flickering over my face. Then she slipped her hand into mine. "You know what I mean, don't you, Tom." It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it all the same.

"Yes."

I remembered, all too well, clutching hope to me, like a person caught in powerful currents grasping flotsam. I'd been caught up in a flood of circumstances, largely of my own making, swept away from everything I knew, struggling just to stay alive, thrashing around wildly in the maelstrom. Then, unexpectedly, something nudged me, stayed beside me, and gave me a point of reference in the chaos that was my life. Harry.

I kept expecting him to leave me, to tell me he couldn't be my friend anymore - because of his career, or his morals, or something. But he didn't, and then I found myself hoping for things I thought could never be.

Grace squeezed my fingers, as if she could read my thoughts. "The Kim's are very good at bringing out the best in people," she said.

"I'll bet Harry was the kind of kid who was always bringing home injured animals."

She smiled and shook her head. "No. He'd take them to the vet. Once I asked him if he wanted to try to tend to a baby robin we'd found in the garden, and he gave me the most incredulous look and said, 'That would be foolish, Mom. It needs the best possible care - I'd just kill it trying to play doctor.' So we took it to the vet, as well." She paused. "It wasn't false modesty on his part. He knew his limitations, and didn't want to cause further pain by pretending otherwise."

I nodded. "He's not afraid to try something new, but if there's someone more qualified to do the job, Harry's the first to acknowledge it."

"Just like his father."

Our heads turned toward the two figures on the dock, now relaxed and laughing at some shared joke.

"Sam's a family member as well as a brilliant engineer," she continued, "and he hated the socializing and politics that his position required, so he became Research Chief, instead."

"Family member? His position? I don't understand. . . "

Grace laughed. "So Harry's still ashamed of us. . . Sam's a great-grandson of Harriet Kim and was Senior Vice President of KimCo, until he requested a transfer."

"KimCo?" I was stunned. "As in Sam Kim, Harry Kim?" Everyone knows KimCo - the corporation founded by Harriet Kim that, in the late twenty-first century, launched the first weather-control satellite, and now, as a quasi-government institution, launches, maintains and improves the weather-control systems around Earth and dozens of other planets. "No wonder Harry always said he liked weather! But he never mentioned anything. . . "

"He never would. He was afraid he wouldn't be judged on his own merits, that people would do him favors, or pretend to be his friend, because of his family, rather than himself."

That struck home. I thought I could write the book on being befriended, or sucked up to, because of my family - whose son I was. But being the son of an Admiral was small beans compared to being a family member of KimCo. No wonder Harry understood me so well, no wonder our friendship was so important to him. That sneaky little. . .

"Don't be angry with him, Tom."

"I'm not. I can't be angry at Harry for more'n thirty seconds, anyway. But. . . you're still a professor of music history?"

She nodded. "You're safe there. Harry doesn't mind people knowing that." Her face clouded briefly, then she tugged me forward. "Harry!" she called.

"I've got to finish a paper, and Sam's got to submit some new specs. Why don't you take Tom over to the island or out to the orchard?"

I waited 'til we were alone in the middle of the lake, Harry rowing with practiced ease, before I spoke.

"KimCo, eh?"

"What?" Harry slewed around to stare at me. "Did my mother. . . "

"She revealed your darkest secret, Harry Kim," I intoned solemnly. "She told me everything."

"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't say something earlier. . . "

"It's too late, Harry." I managed to hit just the right note of injured trust.

"Tom, listen! It didn't matter in the Delta Quad, and then things happened so quickly. . . " He stopped abruptly. I glanced at him, trying not to let the corners of my mouth curl into a grin. He narrowed his eyes, then smacked an oar into the water, sending up a shower of chilly - no, damn cold - water over me.

"Harry!"

"You. . . " He mock glared, then laughed. I shook the water out of my hair. "You want to go get changed?" he asked.

"No." I wiped the drops from my face. "I want you to show me around, and tell me stories about when you were a kid, and maybe, just maybe, kiss me in the sunlight."

"Okay," he agreed, grabbing the oars and rowing us around to the far side of the island.

It was late afternoon when we finally returned to the house. We'd spent most of the time wandering around the island, and then through the orchard on the other side of the lake. Harry told me a few stories about his adventures with his cousins Peter and Jamie, and we laughed over some of Jamie's exploits - mild by comparison with anyone else, but outrageous when compared with Harry's sweet nature. We hiked over to the local 'ruin.' In reality, it was just a house that'd burned down years ago, but Harry and Jamie had explored the charred foundation and rubble as youngsters.

"Our parents had forbidden us to play here, but Jamie insisted," he said, wading through the tall grass that partially hid the destruction. "I was so petrified at being found out I almost ran back home and confessed!"

"Did you?"

"No, but for a week afterward, every time Mom or Dad spoke to me I had this overwhelming urge to tell them what we had done."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, they would have been upset, but Jamie's parents would have hit the moon! They are. . . were. . . pretty strict with him. So I didn't say anything."

"So you just suffered in silence, as usual. Are you sure there aren't martyrs in your family?"

"Shut up," he said with a grin, and grabbed my shoulders.

"Make me."

It was a dare he never failed to take. We kissed in the sunlight, breathing the fresh air of Earth; two men whose scars, like those in the landscape surrounding us, were slowly being covered over and healed by time.

There was no one in the living area when we got back to the house, so we went exploring and found Grace in her study. Harry looked around critically and said, "I like it." I stood there with my mouth open.

It was a large room, filled with musical instruments. But not just any instruments.

"Guitars. . . " I breathed.

Vintage electric guitars. . .

They filled the walls, stood in racks on the floor, leaned against the desk. I bent over the one lying on the desk. "Fender Stratocaster, white." I looked at the strings - something was different. "It's strung upside down. . . " It couldn't be. . . "Hendrix?"

"One of the ones he didn't smash or burn. Go ahead," Grace offered. "Pick it up."

I touched it reverently, then lifted it, holding it awkwardly.

"It takes some getting used to," she continued. "I just restrung it, so it should play all right."

"I can't play left-handed."

She took the guitar, nodded to Harry, who flipped a switch on an antique amplifier, and gave an experimental swipe over the strings. She grimaced, adjusting the pegs 'til it was in tune. Then she played the opening riff to "Purple Haze."

"Wow! That sounds like the original!"

"You're a historian, as well as a pilot?"

"Nah." I touched the neck, tracing the Fender signature on the head. "I just like the period. Movies, cars, music. . . "

She put it down and turned to one hanging on the wall. "See if you recognize this one. . . " It was a black Fender Stratocaster, early design, maybe mid-1950s. Well used.

"I'll give you a hint. It was called 'Blackie.'"

I racked my brains. That sounded familiar. . . "God."

"Got it in one!" she grinned. "Clapton played it on stage for years. And this one," she pointed to a Gretsch Chet Atkins semi-acoustic in a stand, "was Eddie Cochran's original, which he modified with a Gibson pick-up and Bigsby tremolo arm."

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you in here," muttered Harry darkly. "Now I'll never see you. . . "

"Don't be ridiculous," said Grace. "And don't be jealous because Tom and I share an interest."

"It's okay," I said, laughing. "After all the times I've said exactly the same thing when Harry and B'Elanna'd get together and talk engineering, it's nice to be on the receiving end for a change."

"B'Elanna? The B'Elanna Torres who invented the pathfinder?"

"Has Starfleet made that public?" Harry looked at me, his concern obvious in his eyes. If Starfleet had released the information about the pathfinder, the crew manifest was also public information, and the news about my past would probably break soon. We still hadn't decided when to tell Harry's parents about my past - but this might force our hand. I should've said something earlier, but I really wasn't in a hurry to make them ashamed of me.

"No," said Grace, "but Starfleet R&D and KimCo work closely together. This information was passed on to Sam's unit, and we talked about it, but only within the family."

"It's the same B'Elanna," replied Harry, mollified, and I relaxed a little. "She's been a good friend practically since we got on board."

"When Sam heard about the pathfinder, he was so excited! It was all he could talk about - except you." She looked at Harry fondly.

"B'Elanna's visiting some distant relatives." Harry frowned. "Didn't she seem apprehensive to you, Tom? You know, worried about how she would be accepted? I wonder how she's doing. . . "

"All right, all right," said Grace. "Call her tomorrow and invite her to visit. Your father would be delighted, and I'd love to meet her."

The evening passed quickly. Dinner, conversation, and finally, after Harry and I were both caught stifling yawns, bed.

---

I wanted to love Jessen. She was intelligent, kind, witty, and beautiful, and she made her preference for me clear very soon after the Enaran delegation arrived. I enjoyed her company, but. . .

But I had already lost my heart to another. Even if he didn't want me except as a friend, even if he continued to flirt with practically every woman on board, even if a wonderful woman made her interest in me plain, it was too late. I loved Tom.

When the delegation left, I was sorry to see Jessen go, but more because she was a distraction than because I had any feelings for her stronger than friendship. Now there was nothing to keep my mind off Tom except for my work.

So I worked long hours, trying to lose myself in exhaustion. The only way I could sleep was to work until I dropped, and sometimes even that was no use and I'd lie awake in my bed, thinking about holding Tom's hands, or even, when I was feeling particularly daring, of brushing a kiss across his cheek. My thoughts never went further than that - kisses could remain symbols of love, but more. . . well, those ideas started to encroach into the dark area inside me that was established while we were in prison. An area of festering pain and shame I tried to keep separate from the rest of me, and especially from thoughts of Tom.

For all that people joke she's only interested in engines, B'Elanna was the only one to see, or at least acknowledge that I wasn't driving myself to exhaustion for Voyager's sake. We were sitting together having dinner in the mess late on beta shift, having worked eighteen hours straight. I stared at the tray of cold food Neelix left for us, starving, but unable to swallow anything - nothing could get past that huge lump in my throat. It seemed a permanent fixture, and I wondered if the Doctor would find it there if he examined me. Surely something that big and hot would show up on a scan.

"Hey, Harry," said B'Elanna, grimacing as she took a bite of dinner, "you gonna eat, or just sit there looking like you're gonna fall asleep in your food?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That's not what you said an hour ago. 'I could eat three of Neelix's dinners,' were your exact words." She leaned forward and suddenly covered my hand with her own. "What is it, Starfleet? You haven't been the same since you and Paris returned from that prison. . . D'you want to talk about it?"

"No."

She paused. "Have you spoken to anyone about prison?"

I nodded. "The Captain knows. I told her what happened. And the Doctor and Kes and Chakotay know. . . a little." I sighed. "There was the physical evidence. It was pretty obvious. . . "

Her hand tightened on mine. "Were you raped, Harry?" she asked softly.

"No." I shook my head. "I traded it. . . me. . . for a safe place to stay after Tom got knifed."

"You traded. . . " Her voice trailed off in the way that meant she understood.

"Strictly business. After my boots were gone, I didn't have anything else."

"Don't you think you should talk with someone about it? I'm not a counselor, but. . . "

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

"Like hell you are, Mister!" Her sudden anger surprised me. "You're driving yourself to exhaustion, you haven't smiled in weeks, and you and Tom act like strangers! I've half a mind to drag you off to sickbay right now and have the Doc put you on medical leave. Or call the Captain and tell her just what you're doing. . . "

"No, B'Elanna, please! I'm fine - I just have a couple of things on my mind."

"Not a chance, Harry." Her anger seemed to subside as fast as it had appeared. "Like I said, I'm not a counselor, but you need to talk to someone. Either me or Chakotay, or Tom."

"Tom? Tom doesn't know about it!"

"Well," she cocked her head to one side and looked thoughtful, "he's been in prison before, and from a few things he's mentioned, it's possible that something similar may have happened to him."

"You're kidding." Even as I said the words, I remembered what the Captain had said right after we had been rescued.

"Why would I joke about something as horrible as that?"

"But he's never said anything to me." I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.

"Perhaps he doesn't want to talk about it - like you don't want to talk about it."

"But. . . " I felt my face grow warm. "There are. . . other reasons why I can't talk to Tom about it, even if he's been. . . " I stopped. No. It wasn't possible. I refused to even think about that possibility. Tom was too smart and too clever to allow that to happen to him.

B'Elanna was looking at me, eyebrows raised. "I see. . . Well, who's it gonna be, Starfleet?"

"You, of course," I sighed, trying not to sound too ungracious.

"Well, there's no time like the present. I'm certainly not going to sleep tonight, and you probably need to get this out of your system before you can rest. C'mon."

We sat on the couch in B'Elanna's quarters. She held my hand, silent and still, while I told the entire story. I couldn't look at her face as I spoke, I just stared at our intertwined fingers. I told her every detail- my desperation when Tom was stabbed, Zio's offer, my acceptance, and then all the pain, all the humiliation, and yet all the satisfaction that I was doing something to help Tom.

By the time I had finished, I was sobbing on her shoulder and she was stroking my hair. My tears were as much from relief at finally telling someone as from remembered hurt, and she kissed my cheek when I finally sniffled and pulled away.

"You'll be all right, Starfleet. Not today or tomorrow, but soon."

"Thanks. I do feel better." I didn't really, but I was glad to have finally told someone what it had been like.

"That's a lie," she said calmly, "but it's good to hear you say it. And maybe in a month or two, you really will feel better."

"Maybe. . . " I wasn't sure how long it would take me to recover from this. If I could.

"And now about that other problem," she said, leaning back on the cushions, a smirk twisting her mouth.

"What do you mean?" Suddenly I had trouble swallowing - the lump was back.

She sighed. "I mean," she said with exaggerated patience, "how you feel about Tom. You love him, don't you?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Have you told him?"

I shook my head.

"Because you're uncomfortable thinking about Tom and the. . . physical side of lovemaking." Her voice grew very gentle. "Because of what happened."

"In part," I choked out. "But recently he's been avoiding me. I thought I saw. . . " I remembered that night in Sandrine's. "I thought maybe he felt the same way, but then he started pushing me away. . . " And I couldn't help the tears that trailed down my cheeks again.

"I see." B'Elanna drew me into her arms. "I think you should tell him, but not quite yet. You need to get yourself together first. Start eating and sleeping, and doing something other than work. Get your strength back - get yourself back, and then, when you're feeling like Harry again, tell him."

I followed her advice and, in a month or so, began to feel better - more like Harry, as B'Elanna said. The Captain, Chakotay, the Doctor and Kes did not watch me as closely as before. B'Elanna still kept an eye on me - I could feel it - but she was apparently satisfied with my progress, because she didn't mention it again. Only Tom seemed unaffected. He kept his distance, coolly friendly.

The days after we encountered Captain Braxton and found ourselves orbiting Earth in 1996 were hectic. Tom, of course, was tapped for the away mission. His knowledge of the period was detailed, but relatively narrow in scope. If it concerned cars, movies, or music, he could bore you for hours on the subject. I wasn't so sure how he'd fare in other areas where his knowledge was more piecemeal.

I could hardly believe it when the Captain gave me command - but then I was too busy to be shocked or to think of anything other than Starling and the mission. It wasn't until the away teams returned to the ship and reported that I became disturbed by Tuvok's and Tom's constant mention of Raine Robinson.

She was like the heroine in a holoromance - a beautiful, intelligent young woman who encounters mysterious travelers and, at the risk of life and limb, helps them do whatever it is they're supposed to do to defeat the bad guys. The travelers are suitably grateful, and one, the handsome, dashing, reckless one, falls in love with her. . .

It was all I could do not to make a jealous spectacle of myself.

The three of us, Tom, B'Elanna and me, sat together at dinner that evening, as usual. Except that Tom was even quieter than he had been the past several weeks, staring blankly at his dinner tray.

"At least you weren't captured and tied up by the idiot brigade," groused B'Elanna, giving Tom a nudge.

"Huh?" He looked up at her as if he'd forgotten where he was.

"Paris," B'Elanna's exasperation was plain, "it's generally considered polite to at least acknowledge your dinner companions."

"Polite. Yeah." His unexpected sarcasm was grating. "Sorry if I missed a chapter in the Klingon's guide to manners. . . "

Before B'Elanna could say anything, or take a swing at him, I broke in.

"There's no need to be even ruder. She was just trying. . . "

"I know what she was just trying, Ensign, and I don't want to hear about it!"

"Listen, Lieutenant." B'Elanna was half out of her seat, her face darkening in anger. "I don't know what your problem is, but we don't have to take this treatment from you. Even if you'd've liked to've stayed on Earth longer. . . " She broke off and sat down abruptly, her eyes wide. "It was her, wasn't it?"

My heart sank at the miserable look on Tom's face. It was true. It was her. Raine.

He nodded, but didn't speak.

B'Elanna glanced at me, then turned back to Tom. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. . . "

He flushed and stared at the table. "'S all right." He shrugged. "We were only there two days. Not much can happen in two days, can it?"

"Did you fall in love with her?" B'Elanna's voice was very gentle. I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

"No." He paused, and I inhaled. "But I might've if. . . " My lungs stopped working again.

"If you'd've been able to stay longer," she finished for him.

"Maybe. . . " he sighed, then shook his head. "No. That's a lie. It never would've happened." I exhaled noisily.

"Are you sure?" she asked. I glared at her, wishing with all my heart that she would shut up and leave well enough alone. After all, he said he didn't love her. . .

"Yeah. 'It was a long time ago, in another country. . . and besides, the wench is dead.'" His voice and words were harsh, in contrast to the sorrow on his face. Then he looked up at me, and my chest grew tight. There was pain in his eyes, and longing, and I wanted more than anything in the world to comfort him. I reached for his hand, but he drew back and shook his head once. "I think I need some time. . . " I wasn't absolutely sure, but I thought that message was for me. If so, I would honor it. If Tom needed more time, I would give him more time.

I wish I had realized how difficult it would be.

I tried to give Tom what he asked for, but it was driving me insane. I was obsessed with him. I found myself looking for him everywhere, tagging along after him like some lonely puppy, and even wearing the most revealing clothes I had when we were on the holodeck together. Mesh shirts, tank tops, shorts. . . Megan Delaney commented on my nice butt, but Tom was just cool and friendly, and treated me exactly as he'd treat a younger brother.

So I thought he had changed his mind and there was no hope for me. I tried to forget him, which led to that dreadful episode with Marena and Tuvok. It wasn't until it was over that I realized I still loved Tom, despite all my efforts.

I wanted to scream.

Instead I kept pestering B'Elanna, tracking her down and pouring out my heart to her. I was sure the last thing she wanted was to hear my lovesick whining, but she kept her temper, and was even kind to me. I think she was both embarrassed and feeling guilty for the way she had practically ravished Tom after Vorik's Pon farr sent her into hormonal hyperdrive. She told me that Tom had been really understanding about the whole business, but she just wanted to forget it. That made me feel a lot better. I didn't want to fight a half-Klingon for Tom, especially not one of my best friends.

We were in her quarters one evening, and I was complaining, as usual. "At least he used to touch me! Now he never puts his arm around me any more, or pats my shoulder, or anything!"

She put down the tricorder she was repairing and turned to me. "Tell him how you feel."

"But. . . " The thought suddenly frightened me. "But what if he just wants to be friends? What will I do then?"

"You'll go on exactly as you are now."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Listen." She came over and sat beside me on the couch. "Sometimes you have to take a chance and try for something you want. It's not like we're safe at home, Harry. We've got a long journey ahead, and terrible things can happen to people you care about. . . " She paused, her face clouding.

I remembered all the times I had almost lost Tom. How could I bear the idea of never telling him how I felt, of never knowing for certain how he felt about me - if he. . . if he. . . "I don't know. Tom's been so distant since we were in prison."

"I'll admit that Tom isn't the same as he used to be. . . Well, maybe it'll help him to know you love him. It couldn't hurt."

I thought about it for a while. "What'll I say?"

"How about 'I love you?'"

"Torres. . . "

She sighed. "Okay. What about 'Let's take friendship a step further.'"

"Oh, please. . . Have you been talking with Megan and Jenny?"

"Yeah, right. We trade girlish secrets on the holodeck. . . "

"Come on, B'Elanna. . . "

"Hey, you don't like my suggestions, find your own words."

"I will."

I was still trying to find those words as I stood outside Tom's door. My mind was a blank, my throat was dry, my stomach was in knots and I had no idea what I was doing. I hit the buzzer.

"Harry?" For a second, Tom's surprise at seeing me was obvious.

"I need to talk to you." I waited, but he just stood there, his face now impassive. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah." He paused, then stepped back quickly, moving to the port. Half in shadow, he crossed his arms protectively across his chest. "Whaddaya want?"

I stood by the door, looking at him, just glad to be near him for a while I guess I stood there longer than I realized, because Tom suddenly turned away, facing the port. "Go on. I thought you had something to say." He spoke casually, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and down his spine.

I walked up behind him. He flinched when he heard my steps and his head suddenly bowed, his shoulders slumped. I wanted to put my arms around him, to draw him close to me and ease his hurt somehow, but I held my hands at my sides. I'd have to convince him how I felt with words before I could show him how I felt with actions.

"I've considered you my friend almost from the moment we met, and you've always treated me as your friend. Over the past few years, I've learned I could trust you with my life. Time and again you've helped me, in this reality and. . . and in that other reality. You even gave up your life to return me to Voyager. . . "

I paused, remembering the look of trust and camaraderie in the other Tom's eyes before he died. I swallowed hard and continued. "I had to return. . . to you. I need you. . . " He looked out the port and I could see him tremble. ". . . and you're the only person on board who needs me - me, Harry, not Ensign Kim. A lot of other people could do my job, but only you. . . "

He turned and took two steps away from me, then stopped. "Don't say it." His voice was rough.

"Why not? Why shouldn't I tell you how I feel? I've told you so many other things that aren't half as important. Why should I keep quiet?"

"Because some things shouldn't be said." His voice was flat, unequivocal.

I knew what he was trying to do - what he had done since we had met. Cover up his feelings. Hide his emotions. I also knew that we had to tell each other everything, reveal everything, and open up to each other in a way we had never done before. I couldn't tell Tom how I felt until he knew everything about me, including what I'd done for him. . . no, for us.

"Tom," I moved to face him, "we've shared too much not to share the truth."

He looked up at me. "You don't want to know the truth." He tried to maintain the mask he wore so often when we first met, but it kept slipping, or perhaps I was just better at seeing through it. Pain flickered across his face, then was suppressed.

It hurt to have him push me away, but I wasn't about to give up yet. "I do. Even if it's not pretty, even if it's something you want to hide, I want to know the truth. And I want you to know the truth about me."

"About you?" He laughed harshly. "You're an open book, Harry. You've nothing to hide." Then his brow furrowed and he glanced at me uncertainly, as if he'd just thought of something.

I stared at him, my throat stopped by another lump. How could I tell him my secret? But how else could I convince him to tell me the truth? I remembered his face in my dream - the look of disgust and contempt that accompanied my confession. I wavered, wishing there was a way I could bury my secret and never resurrect it. But it had to be said.

"I would do anything to keep you safe, Tom." My face grew warm, and I wanted to look anywhere but in his eyes, but I had to maintain the connection between us. He looked confused at my blush, but stared at me steadily. "When you were stabbed in prison, I took you to Zio. I had to find a place for you to rest, and our spot was already taken. So I made a bargain with him." I stopped. I couldn't look at him anymore, so I stared at the deck. "In exchange for a safe place, food, water and bandages, I'd. . . "

I couldn't say it.

"You'd what, Harry?" His voice was gentle.

I took a deep breath, then blurted out "I'd let him. . . fuck me."

Silence.

"Oh, Harry," he finally said, almost whispering, "welcome to the brotherhood of prison whores. . . "

"I don't regret it," I hurried to add, looking up at him. "I'd do it again in a second if it would keep you safe. . . " My voice trailed off. He was pale, and a sheen of sweat beaded his forehead.

"Oh shit. . . You did it for me. . . I didn't ask you to do it!" His voice quickly rose from a whisper and he practically spat out the words. "I didn't want you to do it!" He stopped and closed his eyes. "I wish you'd've just let me die."

"It was my decision! I made the choice to do what Zio wanted - it wasn't your fault."

"Like hell it wasn't! You did it for me!" He glared at me.

"I did it for us - because I love you." The words had slipped out unbidden, but now they were said. I could not take them back. I didn't want to.

He opened his mouth, then shut it and took a step toward me. I thought for a moment he was going to kiss me, but his eyes narrowed and he grimaced. "Get outta here," he said, then practically bolted into his bedroom.

"Tom. . . " I followed him. "Leave me alone!"

"Listen to me!"

"Harry. . . please. . . " He sat heavily on his bed, his head cradled in his hands. "Please don't do this to me. . . "

"I'm not doing anything except telling you I love you."

"I know what you're doing," he said. "But you're asking me for something I can't give."

"Why can't you give it?" I knelt on the deck in front of him. "Why can't you love me?"

He swallowed hard and looked at me. My heart skipped a beat - I was falling into blue upon blue upon blue. . . I could see his love there.

"Harry, I do. . . care for you," he gritted. "But. . . " He made a choppy gesture connecting us, then severing the connection.

"It's the physical side of lovemaking that's the problem," I said, echoing B'Elanna's words of so many months ago. "Don't worry. That's not what I want. It's not important. . . "

"It is," he interrupted, raising his hand. "Yeah, I know some people are satisfied with love without sex. And I've done the sex without love. But believe me, no matter what you say now, you'll eventually want both love and sex. . . "

"But, Tom. . . "

He ignored me and continued. "And after prison, I could never have sex with a man. . . "

I knew he wasn't talking about our time in the Akritirian prison. "Tell me."

"Tell you what? About being beaten up and handed 'round my second night there? About begging the doctor to let me stay in the infirmary just one more night so I wouldn't be. . . so I wouldn't. . . " His voice caught, and the pain in it sliced through me. I wanted so much to touch him, but I stayed motionless.

"I fought at first, even though they still. . . But," he sighed, and his voice became bitter, "they wore me down. After two months I gave in, and let'em do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't beat me. I hated it, but at least I wasn't getting bones reset every other day."

"I'm sorry. . . " I sat back against the bed, close to his leg. "Zio wasn't gentle, but he didn't beat me. He liked to try a. . . variety of positions, though." I tried to keep my voice steady, but I couldn't help a slight quaver at the memories. "And a variety of partners for me."

"I'm sorry. . . " His hand rested lightly on my shoulder, and his leg pressed against my arm. "I got passed around, too, but most of 'em were pretty catholic in their tastes - as long as I bent over and didn't scream, they were happy. So I shut my eyes and let 'em fuck me."

I didn't say anything - what else was there to say? I rubbed my cheek against his hand, still resting on my shoulder. It felt so right to be there with him, sitting beside him, touching him. I turned my head a little and brushed my lips across his fingers. He squeezed my shoulder, then moved his hand up to stroke my hair. I leaned my head against his knee and sighed in contentment. Tom might not be able to love me - not yet - but he had said he cared for me. His words gave me hope.

We must have stayed there for quite a while, Tom gently stroking my hair, me leaning against him. Finally I shifted my position slightly and groaned.

"What's the matter?"

"I think my rear's fallen asleep," I said, getting up on my knees and rubbing my backside.

"Poor Harry." Tom sounded amused for the first time that night.

"It's okay." I grinned at him, still on my knees, still rubbing my rear.

"Harry. . . " He leaned forward and looked at me, suddenly solemn. "I'd like to. . . I want to. . . " He grimaced in frustration. "But I can't!"

So there was more. I put my hands on his knees and met his eyes. We were so close to finding each other - I wouldn't allow him to run away. "Tell me why."

He pulled me up beside him on the bed. "At least sit where you'll be comfortable." I sat quietly waiting. It wasn't going to be easy listening to what Tom said - but I had to know, and he had to tell me. With a sigh, he glanced at me, then stared at the deck. "One of the things I hated most about prison was the way it turned ordinary people into predators. Someone who wouldn't hurt a soul outside, would turn into a monster, scanning the newbies and softies for someone alone and vulnerable. Then they'd move in, gain their trust, and hand 'em over to one of the bosses to use."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Yeah. A guy, Finch, came up to me in the cafeteria during my first meal. We got friendly, and he said he'd show me around." He laughed, harsh and rasping. "Oh, he showed me around, all right, like a choice cut of meat. I met every one of the bosses that night without realizing it - and he delivered me to the highest bidder the next night. As soon as I was released from the infirmary, I found him and asked what the hell was going on. He said that handing me over bought him another week of peace, not to mention fifty credits, and that if I was smart, I'd start doing the same thing. . . "

"But you didn't. . . " My question hung in the air.

"No." I could hardly hear him. "I couldn't. Not 'til I saw you come down the chute." He paused. "Then I turned into that. . . thing. But I didn't want to sell you, Harry. I wanted you - for myself." His voice broke and he turned away.

I laid my hand on his shoulder. "Can't you see? You didn't turn into a predator. You claimed me because you love me - that's not the same as what Finch did to you."

"But it is," he whispered. "I wanted to own you, heart and soul. I wanted to shout out he's mine and no one can ever have him, and I wanted you to admit it to the world. . . "

"I'm yours, Tom. You own me, heart and soul. And I'll admit it to whoever you want me to. . . "

He wavered, his eyes full of uncertainty and doubt and hope, as if he wanted to believe me but couldn't. Not yet.

I continued. "I love you freely, of my own will. And. . . " I leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear, "I would love, one day, to hear you say that you are mine. That I own you, heart and soul. And that you'll admit it to the world. . . "

A powerful tremor shook him, and he turned his head enough to brush his lips against my fingers.

"Tom?" I had to wait for his acknowledgment and agreement before I could touch him further. Otherwise, I'd be as guilty of coercion as those prisoners. I waited, breathless, my heart pounding, for him to push me away or gather me close.

He slid his hand over mine and twisted around to face me. "I'm yours. . . " he began, his voice barely audible. "You own me. . . " He didn't get any further because I leaned forward, my mouth a breath away from his.

"Tom?" I whispered again, our eyes locked. He hesitated, then touched his lips to mine.

I was expecting comfort and companionship from Tom's kiss, but not passion - not after what we had both endured. I thought, if I thought of it at all, that passion might surface later. I was totally unprepared for the burning want that raced through me as our lips opened in welcome. I craved him and needed him, and desired his touch and his pleasure. This was not a subject that could be discussed. It was not open to debate. I would have Tom or die.

When we finally pulled apart to breathe, I had my legs thrown across his, our bodies pressed close. I looked at his face, and saw my desire reflected there. He wanted me as much as I wanted him - and the thought made me lightheaded. I gently traced the outline of his lips, his cheekbones and jaw, his straight nose. Fragile features, (handsome features, my passion echoed), that housed the spirit of the man. He mirrored my gesture with a look of such tenderness I wondered why my heart didn't burst from joy.

He clasped my hand and brought it to his lips. "Please touch me," he said, and kissed my palm. I gasped as my body shook from his kiss, then slowly, carefully, allowing him plenty of time if he wanted me to stop, unfastened his uniform top and pushed it over his shoulders. His shirt followed, and at my "Please. . . " he did the same for me.

We lay back, facing each other, and I gave in to the urge to run my fingers through the soft curls on his chest. His breaths deepened as I stroked him, and he shuddered when I caressed his nipples, groaning deep in his throat. I continued, his growing excitement fueling mine.

Suddenly he pushed my hands aside and kissed me again, his fingers roaming my chest. I squirmed and moaned as he teased me, those clever hands granting me pleasure I had never dreamed. His hands moved to my waist, but did not stray further down, and I gradually realized that I wanted - needed - him to put his hands there. I moved my hips, trying to push against him. I was desperate.

"My trousers. . . " I managed to say as I caressed his face and shoulders. He smiled at me and kissed his way down my chest, pausing at my waist to unfasten the remainder of my uniform and push it over my hips. I writhed as my erection sprang free, and shivered as the cool air hit it. He paused, and I could hear his labored breathing. Then he slid up to face me, his cheeks flushed, shame clouding his eyes.

"What?" I couldn't believe he had stopped his wonderful work.

"I can't take you in my mouth. . . " he mumbled, his eyes lowered.

"Oh." I remembered choking when Zio had. . . "It's fine, love." I took a deep breath and stroked his hair. "I've got the same problem."

"Oh." He relaxed under my touch. "Speaking of problems," he said, glancing down at his tented uniform, "could you. . . ?"

"My pleasure," I replied.

We quickly became tuned to each other, hands mapping the other's body carefully. After our prison experiences, however, there were certain. . . areas that we were sensitive about. The slightest tension or flinch caused an immediate withdrawal and apology, followed by a caress in a 'safe' area. Tom joked that we should draw guidelines on each other - "kinda like the neutral zone."

I laughed, but couldn't understand how he could joke when I felt like I was going to explode. "Tom, shut up."

"Make me." He rubbed his erection against mine, grinning when I gasped.

I grabbed his face and kissed him, licking and sucking and nibbling until he frantically writhed against me. I finally released him and he landed on his back with a "Whoosh!"

"Don't dare me again, Paris," I said, mock glaring at him. My gaze moved lower. "You poor thing. . . " I took him in hand and stroked gently.

"You're in as bad a state as I am," he breathed, returning the favor.

We were both so excited that it didn't take long - I orgasmed, calling his name, and a moment later Tom shouted out "Harry" and came in my hand. We lay side-by-side for a moment, catching our breath. Once my heart slowed down, I pulled him to me and held him close.

"See, you can do it. . . "

He snaked his arms around me and nestled his head on my shoulder. "You never take no for an answer, do you?"

"Not when it's someone as important as you."

"I never thought I'd be grateful for your stubbornness, but I am. And for your honesty, and for what you did for me in prison. . . "

"I owed you, and I always pay my debts."

He paused, his face clouding. "Is this part of that payment?" he asked slowly.

"No. This is because I love you." My heart almost stopped at the look of love in his eyes.

---

We slept late the next morning, and I woke to the wonderful sight of Harry, lying next to me in bed, sunlight streaming over his body. His hair tumbled over his forehead, his mouth soft and relaxed in sleep, his skin flushed apricot - he was an altogether delicious picture, definitely not to be resisted! I didn't even try.

Sliding along the bed, I kissed his shoulders, his smooth chest, down the length of his torso, my lips just barely touching his warm skin. He shifted a little, but remained asleep. I lifted his hand and nibbled on his fingers, kissing each fingertip and biting gently on the sensitive muscle at the base of his thumb - the mound of Venus. Aptly named, I always thought.

His breathing grew ragged and he let out a soft moan. I worked my way to his wrist and up the tender, silky flesh on the inside of his arm. It was an easy transition to the flat muscles of his chest, then his soft throat. . .

Suddenly his arms wrapped around me and he rolled over, pinning me beneath him. I laughed as he grinned down at me. Harry's one of those fortunate people who wake up immediately - none of this dozing business for him - and he'd often surprise me by responding enthusiastically a second after being fast asleep, especially when we were first learning to love each other.

"Hey, handsome," he said, and dipped his head for a kiss. Like everything he does, Harry's kisses are thoughtful, gentle, and single-minded. He's the most thorough person I know - once he's made up his mind to master a task, nothing'll shake him off 'til he's completed it to his satisfaction. It's not unusual for me to come just from one of Harry's kisses. He says the same thing about me, but that's because he's such a romantic.

By the time we finished our kiss, I was writhing beneath him: hot, bothered, and more than a little desperate. He knew exactly how frantic I was and started nipping his way down my throat and chest. I could feel every movement he made, every time he brushed against me, every puff of breath on my skin, and all I could think about was release, the sweet release that only Harry could provide.

I tried to rub against him, but he pulled away and shook his head. "Not yet, Tommy-boy. You haven't suffered enough for waking me up." I groaned. Harry could make me come in an instant, but he could also gauge my excitement and prolong my agony 'til I thought I'd have a stroke. But when he'd finally grant me release, there were no words to describe the sense of completeness, of the overwhelming rightness of our love.

Now, however, all I could think about was touching him, bringing him joy, until we were both spent. I reached for him, but he pushed my hands away. It seemed Harry had other ideas.

"How do you like this?" He tickled the inside of my thighs. I jumped and my cock twitched uncontrollably.

"I like it. . . " I managed to say, keeping my hands at my sides with an effort.

"And this?" He tickled the tops of my thighs, his hands brushing my balls. The room darkened, and I thrust my hips forward. I could feel the heat spreading from my groin, tightening the muscles in my arms and legs, and I was ready. . .

"Uh uh, Tom," he breathed into my ear. "Wait. . . " He gently pinched the head of my cock, giving me a few seconds to regain control. When he knew I wouldn't come immediately, he let go and pushed my legs apart, climbing between them. "Tom?" he asked, as he always did, and I nodded, as I always did. Although we both knew the answer, the question had to be asked. We'd both fought the demons of our pasts for a long time before we could love each other this way, and we'd no desire to resurrect those memories.

Harry grabbed the lubricant and slowly spread it inside me. I closed my eyes, awash with warmth and pleasure. It wasn't necessary for Harry to prepare me, or for me to prepare him any more - we fit each other perfectly without it. It was a private ritual now, a symbol of our mutual trust and surrender. Like all rituals, it was more important now that it wasn't necessary than when it was the only way we could manage to connect with each other

Harry shifted and withdrew his fingers, and I raised my ass while he slid a pillow beneath me. Then, trembling with need and want and anticipation, I brought my legs to my chest. He held my hips and entered me in one movement, and the world held its collective breath. I love that second after he thrusts into me, when the shock of his entry catches in my throat and makes my heart pause, when I can't breathe, or move, or experience anything other than Harry inside me. He paused, then began to move, and I shuddered at the overwhelming feeling, wrapping my legs around him, drawing him closer. If there was any way I could open myself to Harry completely, any way to share one self with him, I'd do it without a second thought. I'd told him that before, and he'd echoed my words, then added, "We'll just have to do our best with the tools at our disposal. . . "

I'd laughed when he said that. Once an engineer, always an engineer.

Now he stroked deep inside me and I forced my eyes open. I wanted to watch him, even though I knew what he would do an instant before he did it. I wanted to see him breathe deeply and close his eyes, then lift his chin and swallow hard. I wanted to see his torso flush, and watch him bow his head for a moment before he opened his eyes and showed me his desire in their depths.

I traced the muscles in his throat when he threw back his head and bit his lip. Then he leaned forward and touched my lips. I suckled on his fingers, wrapping my arms around him as he lay across me. My hips moved faster of their own accord, matched by Harry's thrusts. My cock was sandwiched between us, pressed tight by our bodies, sliding in time with our movements. The room darkened, reflecting the darkness in Harry's eyes, and the connection between us burned. Harry's movements grew jerky and uncoordinated, his slippery grip on my arm tightened, his fingers tensed and trembled in my mouth. I couldn't tell where I ended and Harry began, what was his and what was mine. Suddenly he plunged deeper than before, buried his face in my chest and cried out softly, his hips bucking rhythmically against my ass. I couldn't stand it - the feel of him inside and outside, his heat, the sounds he made, all sent me flying in a heart-stopping explosion in, as they said in the 1960s, glorious Technicolor.

We lay together, gasping, our heat gradually transmuting to sated warmth. After a few minutes, Harry wriggled against my chest, then raised himself slightly to stare at me. He looks ravishing after sex, all tousled and flushed, his eyes unfathomable black, his lips soft. I locked my legs around him, wanting to keep him inside me for as long as possible, but he finally softened and slipped but, tickling me where his damp cock lay on my ass.

"Mornin', gorgeous," I said, pulling him up for a kiss.

"So much for my early morning workout," he replied when I released him.

"You complaining?" I ran my hand down his back and over the velvety skin just below his waist, and he sighed.

"No. Just wondering how I ever managed without you."

"You didn't. Like I didn't manage without you." I gave him a smack on the butt and slid out from under him when he jerked back in surprise. I love the guy with all my heart and soul and would rather die than lose him, but even the 'Voyager love-birds' (as Neelix christened us) can only stand so much romance. "C'mon, Lieutenant Kim. Time to hit the shower."

It wasn't a shower, though. It was a huge bath.

We finally emerged, rather sodden, an hour later.

I got a chance to take out the groundcar, and it was as sweet a transport as I'd suspected. We spent the afternoon cruising the area where Harry grew up. Harry showed me his high school and the library where he'd hang out (no malls for this kid). It was a pretty area, with gentle rolling hills and lots of open land, limestone cliffs and deep ponds.

I almost told Grace and Sam about my past during dinner, but something - maybe just the fact that I liked the way they smiled at me and accepted me - kept me from blurting it out. I could imagine how they'd look at me once they knew.

After dinner, Grace and I cleared up, and Harry disappeared to call B'Elanna. He was worried about how she was managing in a group of strangers, family or not. I was worried, too. What if these people didn't know anything about Klingons? What if they rejected B'Elanna - like her father and mother did?

Both Harry and I joked about our tendency to feel 'protective' of B'Elanna, although she needed as much protection as a full-grown Siberian tiger. Well, physically, at least. Emotionally, she was far more fragile than she'd ever admit, and we'd listened and comforted on many occasions.

Of course she'd done the same for us, especially during that horrible time before Harry and I found each other. I missed her, even though it'd only been two days, and hoped she'd agree to visit.

We'd just finished cleaning up when Harry stuck his head around the doorway. "Mom, I need you to convince B'Elanna it's all right to come and stay."

She nodded and said "So it's time to bring out the big guns," and followed Harry out the door.

In a minute Harry returned, his eyes clouded and that tiny crease between his brows that meant he was upset.

"Everything all right?"

"Well," he leaned against the table, "they are trying to be kind, but B'Elanna says she feels as if everything she does appalls them, or offends them, or confuses them."

I winced. "That must be driving her nuts."

"Yeah. She looked a little desperate. Well, if anyone can convince her to come, it's Mom."

Grace appeared again and glanced at the clock. "You two still standing here? Bert and Betty and the kids should arrive in half-an-hour. Go get changed, or washed, or something."

Harry looked down at her and crossed his arms. "Well?"

Grace raised her eyebrows. "She's coming on Saturday. You'll pick her up from the 'port." She slowly shook her head. "I'm disappointed you doubted my powers of persuasion."

"I never doubted you, but tell us the truth. What did you say about Tom and me to convince her?"

She looked offended. "Harry Kim! I'm surprised. . . "

"Mom. . . " Harry warned.

She pursed her lips and snorted. "You're no fun. I just said that I needed some female company. Between the two of you and Sam, I'm completely outnumbered."

"Like that's ever stopped you before," Harry teased, and gave her a quick hug. "But I'm glad she's coming. You'll like her."

"I'm sure I will."

Harry's Aunt Betty, Uncle Bert and cousins Peter, Jamie and Sami were due soon, so we had a quick wash and brush. Sam had told us that morning that, although everyone in the family wanted to see Harry, they had asked for a few quiet days with him first. So only Sam's older brother and his family were visiting tonight. Sami and Peter had come home for the weekend just to see Harry. Jamie lived nearby. A 'Welcome Home' party was planned for Sunday, when Harry could see all his other relations. I was glad B'Elanna would be here then - she and I could stick together while Harry saw his family. I didn't mind going to the party, especially because Harry was looking forward to it, but it'd be easier to be with another outsider.

Bert looked like Sam - tall and broad shouldered, but with dark, almost blue-black hair. Betty was tall as well, with blonde hair arranged in a knot the way the Captain used to do it before Chakotay convinced her to wear it down in a ponytail. They were delighted to see Harry, and kindly polite to me.

"Hey, Harry!" shouted a chorus of voices, and Harry flung himself into what seemed like dozens of arms.

"Leave it to you to finish the Academy and go haring off into adventure with a capital A," said a clear treble voice.

"Kind of hard to believe, isn't it?" Harry partially released his hold and moved toward me. "Tom, these are my cousins Sami, Jamie and Peter."

I sized up the three of them as we shook hands. Sami was all of twenty, and stunning in the dark Kim way. She'd turn heads where ever she went. Jamie was Harry's age, Peter mine. Jamie was a fraction taller than Harry, Peter a bit shorter. They all three shared the same round face and thick black hair. Jamie's wasn't cut regulation like Harry's or short like Peter's, but hung down his back, tied at the nape of the neck, and his eyes weren't the usual Kim black, but a clear blue. They narrowed a little, and I smiled to myself. He was sizing me up, as well.

"So you're the one who's been cooped up with Harry on Voyager for the past seven years," Jamie said, nudging Harry and grinning. But his eyes weren't smiling.

"Best seven years of my life," I said flippantly. Then I caught a glance between Sami and Peter that worried me - as if what I said confirmed something. They seemed friendly, though, so I tried to shake off my apprehension and join in the fun.

We spent a couple of hours sharing stories. Everyone was anxious to hear about our time in the Delta Quad, and we gave them the 'suitable for public discourse' version. There were certain episodes that were still too painful for us to talk about, and others that would've hurt Harry's family if they knew about them. Harry and I'd already agreed which subjects were not to be discussed. But that still left a lot of stories to tell, and the evening passed quickly.

Peter was a musician, and he and I talked with Grace about her collection of guitars. The rest of the family shared the Kim talent for engineering. Sami was studying quantum field mechanics and propulsion systems at the University of Delhi. Jamie was on Sam's design team at KimCo. They were both especially interested as Harry explained some of the fixes and work-arounds Engineering had managed to come up with to keep the ship going so far from home.

"Sounds like your crew had its fair share of miracle workers," Sami said.

"Well, B'Elanna could keep the engines going with a piece of wire and some spit," I replied. "She created the pathfinder from bits of junk and a few wrecks we'd cannibalized."

"Was she really Maquis?" asked Jamie, frowning. "I heard a rumor to that effect from our Starfleet liaison."

"She was," Harry said, leaping to her defense. "But that was a long time ago. For the past seven years she's been Starfleet, and she's proved herself time and time again. . . "

"Hey, calm down!" Jamie raised his hands and glanced at me. "I don't care if she's a convicted murderer - she got you home."

It was a good thing I was sitting down, 'cause I felt the blood drain from my face. Did they all know about my past? Was that why Peter and Sami looked at each other earlier, why Jamie glanced at me right before he said 'convicted murderer'? I didn't dare look at Harry, though - I'd managed to keep on my 'company face,' but he'd see right through me.

Harry'd continued talking about B'Elanna, but I could hear the strain in his voice, and knew he understood my sudden silence. After a few minutes, though, I felt calm enough to rejoin the conversation.

The question remained. When was I going to tell Grace and Sam, and all of Harry's family, exactly who and what I was? And how would they take the news?

When they left, everyone gave Harry another hug and kiss. I was absurdly touched when Peter and Sami hugged me, too. Then Jamie shook my hand briskly, with a wariness in his eyes I didn't like. "It's been interesting meeting you, Tom." His voice was cool and assessing.

Beside me, Harry suddenly went still. Peter put a hand on Jamie's shoulder and stepped forward, as if he were trying to get between Jamie and me.

"Harry, we're all very happy to see you and Tom together."

"Good," said Harry, looking straight at Jamie. "'Cause Tom and I come as a set." And he grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me to him and kissed me.

When he finally let me go, I was breathless and flushed, and everyone was smiling except Jamie. He was just standing there, looking confused. I was touched by Harry's kiss - I never expected him to claim me so decisively in front of his family. And I was proud of him, too. He really took the wind outta Jamie's sails.

---

Although we didn't make a public announcement or anything, it was impossible to keep our happiness a secret. The rest of the crew seemed to approve of our relationship, and both Tom and I received many pats on the back, digs in the ribs and 'You're a lucky guy. . . ' And that was from the women!

I wondered if our friendship would change, but I didn't need to worry. Tom was still a smart-mouth, always stirring things up and teasing everyone in sight, including me. I enjoyed his teasing not just because it was Tom teasing me, but also because he would apologize so. . . thoroughly once we were alone.

We didn't have a lot of time alone, though. A few days after our first night together, B'Elanna walked up to us in the messhall and slammed her tray down on our table. We looked at her, puzzled. "Mind if I join you?" she snapped, hands on her hips.

"Sure," said Tom, glancing at me wide-eyed. "We'd like that. . . "

"Oh good. . . " She dropped into her chair, picked up her knife like a bat'leth and glowered at her food. B'Elanna certainly has a way with sarcasm.

"So, what's up in Engineering?" asked Tom. Under the cover of the table, he ran his hand along the side of my thigh and into my lap. He could feel what was up in Engineering, but he didn't even crack a smile as he looked calmly at B'Elanna.

"Harry, by the look of things," she replied just as calmly, not even reacting when Tom choked on his dinner.

"Well, that's true," I said, flushing. "But can you blame me? I'm sitting next to the handsomest guy on the ship."

She snorted, then suddenly grinned. "Nah. I'm sitting with the two handsomest guys on the ship. And believe me," she leaned forward, "you're both leaving behind a trail of broken hearts."

"Including yours?" Tom was joking, but B'Elanna's silence and sudden interest in her dinner tray were more eloquent than any words. I nudged him, and he shut his mouth.

I reached over the table and laid my hand on top of hers. "B'Elanna, why didn't you tell me? All those evenings we were together - you didn't even drop a hint."

She sighed. "You two had enough problems to overcome. You didn't need any others. And it really wouldn't have made any difference - everyone can see that you're meant for each other."

"I'm so sorry. . . "

"Don't be." She leaned back and gave us the same appraising look she uses when evaluating a piece of equipment. "I couldn't've made up my mind between the two of you, anyway. What I'd really like is to take bits and pieces from each. . . "

"Such as?" Tom grinned, enjoying himself, now that he knew that B'Elanna wasn't dreadfully unhappy - just prey to regrets.

"Well, since you asked. . . Harry's lips and hair. Your eyes and hands. Harry's engineering skills and intuition. Your daring and sense of humor."

"Sounds to me like she's really thought about this, Harry. I'm gonna start worrying about a 'transporter accident' or something similar, cleverly designed to keep the bits she likes and trash the rest."

"You could write a holoprogram for her. . . Hey!" I rubbed my arm where she'd smacked me. "We're just trying to be helpful."

"Yeah, right."

We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Tom asked "Why were you so angry when you came in?"

"I don't know. No, that's not true. I haven't seen much of either of you the past week, and I feel. . . "

"Neglected?" I finished.

"Left out?" echoed Tom.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Well, it's not the first time."

"We've been selfish, Tom."

"You're right, Harry. B'Elanna, how 'bout meeting us at the resort this evening?" He gave her his famous 'babe-killer' smile, and laughed when she punched his arm. "Was that a 'yes'?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now, listen. I have this little wager with Nicoletti. . . "

I sat back and watched the two of them conspire. B'Elanna's admission had taken me by surprise - I guess I'd been so involved with my own problems that I hadn't noticed her interest in either Tom or me. Well, I had noticed her interest in Tom, but when she said that it was just from the hormone mixup, I believed her. And as for her being interested in me. . . Well, I loved B'Elanna as a sister, but I'd already given my heart to Tom for safekeeping. That didn't prevent us from remaining close friends, however. And we'd have to make sure she didn't feel pushed aside - I, for one, didn't want an angry half-Klingon feeling resentful.

We had a wonderful time at the resort together, and B'Elanna gave us each a hug when we left. Tom draped his arm around my shoulders as we walked back to his quarters.

"Think she'll be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "And don't even think of asking me to share. . . "

"The thought never even crossed my mind!"

"Well, it crossed mine, and you can just forget it - I'm not the sharing type."

"I love it when you get possessive," he murmured as we walked into his cabin. "It makes me feel all tingly. . . "

"Shut up, Tom."

"Make me."

When I had finished 'making him,' Tom rolled over and groaned. "Damn, you're good. . . " His voice sounded raspy, but the words were clear. I glanced at the time. Good. An hour and twenty minutes had passed before he could manage to put together a coherent sentence.

I wanted to try for an hour and a half the next time.

I know it sounds as if 'the course of true love ran smooth,' but that wasn't exactly the case, especially physically. We had our share of adjustments to make, and even argued occasionally. The most difficult part of our relationship, however, was making love, and we had to struggle against our pasts to claim every additional centimeter of flesh.

At first, we could only face each other and touch each other with our hands.

An unexpected touch on a bare back or rear made us flinch and blush. It was embarrassing and humiliating to react that way to your lover, but it was something we shared, a common problem.

Sleeping together was also a problem. We were fine facing or on our backs, but spooning and feeling a penis against a naked rear would launch me from the bed and make Tom flip on his back and scream. One night, after waking up in a heap on the deck three times in an hour, I was ready to admit defeat and sleep in my own quarters. But Tom decided that all we needed were briefs, and he was right. Somehow that thin layer of cloth made all the difference.

Gradually we grew bolder and more confident, or perhaps it was just that the number of good memories while making love was replacing the horror. One morning, about two months into our relationship, Tom was kissing me down my chest. He knew from the start exactly what to do to excite me, and I was already anxious for him to grab my erection. I expected him to stop kissing me just below my navel - that was pretty much our line of demarcation - anything much lower started a panic attack. But he continued a little lower, slowly, as if testing the waters. Suddenly, he kissed the tip of my penis, then moved back to my stomach. I raised my head and looked at him, surprised. He glanced at me, then, very deliberately, licked its length and kissed the tip again.

I let my head fall back on the pillows and groaned. It felt incredible - Tom kissing me there - and I hoped that he might be able to do it one more time before memories returned.

"Harry," he whispered, his voice thick, "can I. . . ?"

I think I said yes. He understood what I meant, at least, and gently nibbled and licked and played with me until I thought I'd crawl out of my skin with pleasure. I tried very hard to keep still and not thrust up at him, but it was so difficult. He could tell that I was struggling, though, and I heard him chuckle. Without warning, he took me entirely into his mouth and I couldn't help myself - I thrust up and screamed his name as I orgasmed, feeling as if my heart or my brain would burst, or perhaps both.

By the time I caught my breath and collected whatever pieces of my mind I could find, he had slid up next to me and was holding me close.

"How did. . . How could. . . " My tongue wasn't working yet, so I closed my mouth.

He could read the question in my eyes and smiled. "I wasn't sure I could til I tried. You tasted so good, and felt so good - it wasn't anything at all like. . . before. And then when I saw that you were trying to keep still so I wouldn't get upset, I knew I had to have you. . . "

"All I can say is, 'wow!'" I snuggled against him, feeling guilty that I had enjoyed something I couldn't give. "You were so brave."

He laughed. "Harry, that's the funniest thing you've said in a long time! We've fought Vidiians and Kazon and lord knows how many other beings, we've been hurt and seen friends killed. . . " His arms tightened around me. ". . . and you think I'm brave because I can suck dick!"

"I don't care. I still think you're brave." I raised my eyes to meet his, and he turned serious. "I don't think I can. . . "

"It doesn't matter, love. This isn't a test. If it happens, then it happens, but I really don't care." He smiled at me wickedly. "You do such wonderful things with your hands. . . "

His words made me feel a little better, but I vowed that I'd return the favor soon.

Two weeks later, I rolled away from Tom and buried my face in the pillows, trying to hide my tears. I couldn't believe my cowardice - I was so humiliated.

"Harry," he sighed, his voice fiercely patient, "it's not your fault. You can't help it if you keep having flashbacks."

"But. . . but I should. . . " I couldn't force out any more words, and lay there, miserable.

"You should what? You should be 'better' by now? You should be 'over it?' You should be 'back to normal'?" I just nodded. "Bullshit!" He knelt over me and kissed away my tears. "You shouldn't be anything but honest with me. How can I enjoy something that you're not enjoying?"

He slid down beside me. "You've tried every night, love. It's gotten to the point that I dread making love, 'cause you'll be so miserable if you can't suck me."

I winced at the word 'dread.' It was true, however, and I'd felt that way as well - wanting to do this, but still feeling queasy at the thought. "But you can. . . " I hated the whine in my voice, but I couldn't help it.

"Yeah, so? You can play clarinet, and I can't. I can suck dick, and you can't." He stroked my hair and gazed at me. "I've had a couple of years to try and get my head together about what happened to me, and even then, it took a while in a great relationship before I could manage. In a couple of years, you might feel differently, or you might not. It doesn't matter to me. It's supposed to be a way of showing our love, not a test of our love, or any other shit like that."

He nuzzled my neck, and nibbled my jaw for a moment. As I relaxed a little under his attentions, he kissed his way up my cheeks, over my forehead, and down my nose. He said he liked mapping my face with his lips - although he'd rather die than admit it, Tom's an incurable romantic, and constantly finds ways to please and delight me.

"Now, my sweet Harry," he murmured, "would you please touch me? All I need is a little touch from my Harry in the night to make me feel loved and cherished. Sometimes I wonder how I'll survive this happiness. . . "

Of course I touched him, and I think I enjoyed it more than he did. I did my best to make him feel good, and his reaction helped lessen the sting of my failure. Tom always makes me feel desirable and capable of pleasing.

Eventually we graduated from wearing briefs when we slept, and Tom suggested we issue invitations and have a 'brief burning' ceremony on the holodeck. I thought it was a good idea, but made a suggestion of my own about exactly what else we could do to celebrate, and illustrated it with a 'brief' demonstration. Tom agreed that my idea was better, or at least more fun, so we went to bed.

Tom insisted that, since the entire business was my idea, I would go, or rather come, first. I didn't argue - he was kissing me and rubbing against my groin, and I was about to ignite with wanting him. He pushed me on my back and licked his way down my body, and all I could do was moan and writhe beneath him. He took me in his mouth and gently fondled my testicles. It was amazing. . . It was wonderful. . . My heart battered against my chest, and I couldn't remember how to breathe.

Suddenly I knew what else I wanted. I wanted it now, and I wanted it from Tom. All I had to do was convince him I was serious.

"Tom," I croaked, then tried again. "Tom!"

He looked up, then released me. "You okay?"

"Yeah. . . " I tried to focus - I had to tell him that this was what I needed. "Tom, please. . . fuck me. . . "

"Harry. . . " He scrambled up the bed and held my shoulders. He peered into my eyes, solemn. "What'd you say?"

"Are you deaf or just dim?" I was really getting impatient. "I said I want you to fuck me!"

"Hey, wait a second. I'm just making sure, that's all. . . " He kissed my cheek. "I mean, I wasn't expecting it. . . "

"I wasn't either, but I want you inside me. . . "

"Well. . . " He took a deep breath and snagged the lubricant from the nightstand. "This works for jerking off - I'm sure it'll be fine. . . "

And he scooted back down the bed. "Tell me if you change your mind. . . "

"Just do it!" I didn't know why I was so desperate for this - five minutes ago I would have been appalled - but now I knew it was what I wanted to share with Tom, what I wanted to give him.

With infinite care he pushed a finger inside me. I jerked and shuddered at the sensation - more intimate and exciting than anything I'd ever felt. He paused and I rotated my hips, trying to take in more of him. My erection was almost painfully sensitive.

"Hurry. . . " I wasn't going to last long.

"You've gotta be patient - I'm not gonna hurt you," he muttered, then added another finger.

I couldn't speak any more. I was simply trying to maintain enough control not to come right then and there. He must have decided I was ready, because he pulled out his fingers, and I started to roll over.

"No. Lift your hips up." He tucked a pillow beneath my rear, and slowly stroked my erection once. "Put your legs over my shoulders. I want to see your face. . . " His face was flushed, his eyes dark, and he was so handsome it excited me even more, if that was possible.

Then he was slowing pressing into me. I gasped - he felt even better than I had dreamed. Warmth spread up my torso, enveloping me, caressing me. Or perhaps it was Tom. His hands held me gently, stroking and fondling me. My skin leapt and jumped at his touch.

The room darkened. Tom stopped moving, and I felt him pressed up against me.

"I'm in you. . . " There was awe in his voice.

More. More. My mind rang with the word. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist, lifted my hands and beckoned him toward me.

He leaned down and kissed my chest, wrapping his arms around my neck. "Oh gods. . . I love you."

I pulled him closer and thrust my hips toward him. He took the hint and began moving. My penis rubbed against his stomach, and it was only a few minutes before I teetered on the edge of the cliff, ready to hurl myself into the void.

Then Tom shouted and I felt him pumping into me and that launched me out into nothingness. The pit of my stomach lurched, and the fire that was centered in my groin flashed through me. I cried out his name and clutched his shoulders, succumbing to the encroaching darkness.

I felt him stir against me, and before he could withdraw I tightened my legs around him. "Stay with me," I whispered.

"Always. . . "

After he finally slipped out, he scooted up beside me and kissed me.

"You are so brave. . . " His eyes shone with unshed tears, and I almost cried from loving him so much.

"Nah," I said when I could speak past the lump in my throat. "I just wanted you in me more than anything. . . "

"It's more than I can do. . . "

"No guilt, Tom," I chided. "Remember what you told me - this isn't a test."

"Yeah, but. . . "

"No buts. No apologies. No regrets." I stroked his cheek and kissed the tip of his nose. "If it happens, it happens. I'm content with what we have."

For once he accepted my words with no further argument, and we spent the next months sharing what we could - joyfully, and without reproach. We both realized that time was our strongest ally, and that, if we were patient, we would heal enough to share everything.

Within six months, we did share everything.

And it was even better than we had hoped.

---

We left in plenty of time to meet B'Elanna's transport because Harry fidgeted 'til I hauled myself up out of the couch and agreed to go. He always wants to leave at least fifteen minutes before we have to, and always drags me along with him. So, as usual, we were early. We hung 'round the gift shops in the 'port, looking at the little ceramic models of Voyager (the suppliers moved quickly) sitting in rows beside the piles of miniature robotic Tribbles (robotic since the real Tribbles are still banned from Earth), and the racks of shirts embedded with holographic pictures of local scenic spots and 'Greetings from Earth' on the back.

The transport arrived on time, and within a few minutes B'Elanna loped down the ramp, through the gate and into our arms. She buried her face in my shoulder and I could feel her trembling. Harry glanced at me over her shoulder and frowned, and we held her for a long moment. I couldn't believe it - B'Elanna accepting an embrace - a public embrace?

Finally she took a deep breath and stepped back. "Hey, Harry. Tom."

"It's good to see you, B'Elanna," said Harry, and he put his arm over her shoulders. She sighed and leaned against him.

"I've missed you, Torres," I said, and took her hand.

"You guys. . . I've really missed you, too. . . "

Then a tall woman with a headcam ran up to us and said "Lieutenant Torres, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Voyager. . . "

A man appeared beside her. "Can you describe the pathfinder for us? We'd like to know. . . " Then three or four more newsvid reporters gathered around us. "Is it true that you were Maquis?" "Are you going to remain in Starfleet?"

B'Elanna scowled at them, snapped "Under orders from Starfleet, I have no comment on any technical matters. And I invoke privacy."

Harry and I kept hold of her and hustled her out of the 'port and to our transport. I took off like a bat outta hell, even though the reporters wouldn't follow us - B'Elanna'd invoked the name of Starfleet and the legal right of privacy. If the reporters wanted a story from her, they'd have to go through channels.

It looked like we weren't being followed, but I kept checking, just in case.

Obviously Starfleet had released the crew manifest and technical report, and some enterprising reporters had tracked down B'Elanna - not surprising, since she was the heroine responsible for our return. What really worried me was that the reporters now had my picture. And the rest of the story'd be sure to follow soon. And then Harry's parents would find out. . .

Cursing under my breath, I slaved the transport to the local traffic grid and dragged myself back to the present.

". . . and then I tried to be interested in the local agricultural practices, but when I suggested that surely it would be more practical to develop an automatic irrigation system, they were deeply offended. And it wasn't just that one incident - I was accidentally offending or insulting them all the time!"

Harry kept his arm around her and we talked it through. There really wasn't anything else she could've done - she'd tried her best to get along, but it wasn't to be. Finally, she calmed down and looked out the ports with interest.

"This is pretty countryside - it's spring, right?"

"Yeah. Wait'll you see the daffodils at Harry's house. . . " I shot him a glance. "And Harry, don't you think it's time to tell her?"

Harry flushed and nodded and B'Elanna perked up.

"Tell me what?"

"About my family."

"You mean about your family being the Kim's of KimCo? I already know. Your mother told me."

"She what!"

"She told me. She said it wouldn't be fair not to say anything after you invited me, and that you were embarrassed about it, so she told me."

She shrugged. "I don't know why that would embarrass you, but it's no big deal. After all, Paris is an Admiral's brat, so why shouldn't you be the cadet of a Federation dynasty?"

Harry was getting more and more embarrassed, but I could see the smirk hiding in the corners of B'Elanna's mouth. Gods, it was good to have her back.

I gave Harry's leg a squeeze and winked at her. "I just stay with him 'cause of his connections. Sam even outranks my father with Starfleet. . . "

"You guys. . . " Harry pursed his lips and punched us both as we laughed. "Dammit, one day I'll get you both!"

"I look forward to it, Harry, 'cause then I'll know we've corrupted you completely."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to look disgusted, but only achieving mild distaste. "Let's change the subject. B'Elanna, how was your trip?"

She sat back with a sigh. "What a mess! Reporters everywhere, with their damn cams and questions. . . Just my luck to travel the day Starfleet releases the crew manifest and technical reports. . . "

Suddenly Harry turned somber and took my hand. "The vids, Tom. . . "

"Yeah, I know." I tried to be casual, but it sounded forced, even to me. "It's only a matter of time before the story of Tom Paris hits the news. Guess I should warn your parents when we get back."

"I'll tell them, Tom."

"No. It's my life. I'll tell 'em." I gave his hand a squeeze. "Just let me choose when, okay?"

Harry nodded, and there was an uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sorry, Tom. . . " B'Elanna really did sound sorry.

"For what? You aren't responsible. I knew that as soon as Starfleet released the crew manifest it'd only be a matter of time."

"But. . . "

"They're gonna find out, B'Elanna. There's nothing you can do to change that." I looked out the port, unable to meet her eyes. "And, in some ways, I'd rather it happen sooner than later. I don't like waiting for bad news - I may as well get it over with."

"We, Tom. It's always going to be we." Harry clasped his hands behind my neck and leaned against me. "You're not going through this alone - remember that."

"Yeah, Paris." B'Elanna slid over to my other side and actually wrapped her arms around me. I was so touched at her gesture that I didn't even make a wisecrack about her becoming soft in her old age. "Don't you dare try to crawl into a hole and hide, 'cause Harry 'n' I'll find you and hide with you."

All I could do was mumble "Thanks" and hold them close for a minute.

Then B'Elanna wriggled and grinned. "Could you see the ol' Tom Paris getting all teary-eyed over a hug from me and Harry?"

"The ol' Tom Paris wouldn't've gotten teary-eyed at a hug from you, Torres - he'd've gotten a raging hard-on." I leered at her and she laughed. "And as for Mr. Kim, here, the ol' Tom Paris would've thought 'Nice kid, lookin' for a big brother.'"

"Instead," she said with a gleam in her eyes, "you're my big brother and you get a raging hard-on from Harry."

"Damn right, and long may it be so," said Harry, poking her arm.

I looked out the port. "Okay, kiddies, let Unca Tom go - I've gotta bring this baby home." I didn't have to, of course - the autopilot'd direct her all the way to the house, but I needed to do something or I'd turn into a sobbing mess. That'd ruin my hard-earned reputation as a smart-ass.

B'Elanna's reaction to the house was everything we could've hoped. She gasped, stared wide-eyed at Harry, muttered a few choice words under her breath, and generally behaved exactly as I had. I felt a lot better.

Grace and Sam welcomed her warmly, but not too enthusiastically, as if they knew she needed some emotional space, and B'Elanna gradually relaxed around them. We got her settled in her room, and all trooped back to the family room where we found Peter, Jamie, and Sami. Harry did the honors.

"I'd like you to meet B'Elanna Torres, the Chief Engineer and miracle worker of Voyager. My cousins Peter - ace drummer and composer; Jamie - design genius; and Sami - up and coming propulsion expert."

They shook hands. B'Elanna wore her usual scowl as she sized them up. Peter and Sami weren't bothered by it, but Jamie was obviously not used to being scowled at. Especially by a beautiful woman. He tried turning on the charm, but stopped in five minutes when he realized it wasn't working. Then he tried jokester, but that lasted only two minutes. Finally he settled down and asked about the pathfinder.

"Well, it all started when Tom and Harry were on shore leave on Denebethias. Tom bought a toy in the marketplace for Spike Wildman. You could instruct it to move from one location to another and it would simply disappear and then reappear where you'd instructed it. The Denebethians are technologically sophisticated, but they tended to spend most of their efforts on developing toys or little useless things. . . " Her low opinion of the Denebethians was obvious, and Harry and I smiled at each other. We'd had this discussion before.

It wasn't long before Sam joined B'Elanna and the others in the corner of the room; B'Elanna narrating the development of the pathfinder with comments from Harry, and Sam and Harry's cousins listening raptly, asking occasional questions.

I was the outsider. . . again.

I glanced over at Grace, who was watching them with a tiny smile pressed to the corners of her mouth. She looked at me and the smile disappeared. "What is it, Tom?"

I didn't think I was so easy to read and it disconcerted me, but I decided this was as good a time as any to tell her the bad news. "Can we talk privately?"

She led me to her study. "Take your time," she said, gesturing me to a chair. "They won't even notice we're gone."

I nodded, my stomach churning. It was bad enough to know I'd screwed up big time, but to tell Grace, whose opinion I valued for her own sake, as well as Harry's, was really tough. There wasn't a damn thing I could do about it, however - she had to be told. I didn't want to look at her and see the disappointment in her eyes, so I stared at the carpet.

"I know Harry told you I had a field commission until Starfleet confirmed it, but he didn't tell you why. . . "

"Tom. . . " Her voice was gentle. "Sam and I know about your past."

I raised my eyes. She had the same tiny crease between her brows that Harry has when he's worried, the same calm solemnity. "How'd you find out?"

"When Harry first told us your name I remembered the stories on the newsvids."

I flushed. "I thought maybe you knew something." She raised her eyebrows. "It was the way you looked at me for a second when we first met."

"I was worried," she admitted. "I hadn't seen you and Harry together yet, and I didn't realize how much you love him and how good you are for him - although I should have trusted Harry's instincts about people."

I sighed. "I'm sorry. It's going to be hard on Harry."

"Harry is remarkably resilient, as you know. He loves you; he'll manage." She paused. "And we're all allowed to make mistakes."

"Little ones, yeah, but mine are whoppers."

The corners of her mouth turned up a fraction. "We're even allowed to make whoppers. Of course we have to pay for our mistakes, but the payment doesn't have to last your entire life, or prevent you from finding happiness."

"That's not what a lot of people say. . . "

"True, but did you ever notice that when someone makes a huge mistake, all of a sudden it's 'Forgive me this,' and 'Forgive me that?' I believe that you are allowed happiness if you've made a mistake, even if it is a whopper." She leaned forward. "You've paid and, more importantly, you've changed. You're not the same person now. You've learned and grown, and found love. You'll still make mistakes, but different ones, less serious ones. And the people who love you now will still love you when they find out what you have done many years ago."

Her words made sense - Harry'd tried to tell me the same things, but Grace spoke as if she understood from the inside, as if she'd been through the fire and emerged tempered - hardened, but also flexible, able to bend with circumstances. Which was absurd, I told myself. What would she understand about being responsible for killing people, about being a traitor?

"Who else knows?"

"The entire family. I didn't know when or if the newsvids would put out a story, so Sam and I decided to inform them right away."

That explained the looks between Peter, Jamie and Sami. "And how'd they take the news?"

"Pretty well. There were one or two comments, but they were from people I expected to react that way. The rest of the family is willing to accept you for Harry's sake, if nothing else."

"Jamie isn't. . . "

She sighed. "Jamie and Harry have always been very close. I think Jamie feels very protective of Harry. . . "

"And I'm not the kind of lover he thinks Harry deserves," I finished, nodding.

"That may be what he thinks now." She smiled. "But it will only be a matter of time before he and the rest of the family love you for your own sake, as Sam and I do."

I really couldn't help it - the knowledge that I hadn't screwed everything up was too overwhelming. The tears came and I couldn't stop them. Grace came over and put her arms around me and let me sob. She stroked my hair and murmured those silly phrases we all say when we want to comfort someone, and I didn't even mind crying in front of her.

Finally, when I'd cried myself out, she kissed my cheek and said, "Remember, Harry loves you, and you've got a family and a place to belong. Now let's go see if they've managed to talk about anything other than the pathfinder since we've been gone."

They hadn't.

I sat next to Harry. He glanced at me before returning to the conversation, but his hand crept over and snagged mine, and he squeezed my fingers gently. I briefly wondered how I'd managed to deserve someone like him, then decided that there wasn't any sense in wondering - I'd just accept it and thank whatever gods were responsible for my good fortune.

Sami and Peter both included me in the conversation - I guess as long as Harry was happy, they'd be happy. But even Jamie seemed friendlier. Maybe Harry's claim on me last night impressed him. Maybe he was bowled over by B'Elanna. Maybe someone sat him down and told him to mind his own business. Whatever the reason for his change of heart, Jamie went out of his way to ask me about the problems I encountered while piloting through the wormhole, and listened attentively as I answered.

Finally B'Elanna stood and stretched, a sinuous, cat-like movement that always made me wonder if she had any bones. Jamie gaped.

"Sorry - I'm getting cramps from sitting." She smiled apologetically. "First the transport, and now here."

We went for a walk. Sami and Peter excused themselves - they both had work to do - but Jamie joined us. Harry, B'Elanna and I were still getting used to the idea that we could open the door and go outside - although we went planetside as much as possible during our journey, there were long weeks, and occasionally months, when we were stuck in the ship. And although I love creating programs for the holodeck, they aren't the same as reality, though they can come damn close. But you know they aren't real, despite the best programming in the universe. This was real.

Harry rowed us over to the island, and after wandering around, B'Elanna wanted to try her hand at rowing. We sent her and Jamie out in the boat; one, because neither of us wanted to get wet, and with B'Elanna learning to row, we would, and two, because Jamie obviously wanted to be with her. And I got the feeling he was interested in more than her technical knowledge.

We sat on a comfortable bench facing the orchard. B'Elanna and Jamie were splashing and shouting in the water below us. The orchard undulated beyond them, and past that were the rolling hills that made the area casually beautiful. Harry laid his head in my lap and closed his eyes as I stroked his hair.

"How'd she take the news?" he asked.

"Okay. She'd already figured it out, and everyone in the family knows."

He smiled slightly. "I thought that was a possibility. Don't worry, the family's pretty good about accepting people for what they are. I guess with so many eccentric family members, they have to be."

"Oh, great. I'll just be one of the ones that everybody looks at indulgently and patronizes at family gatherings."

"No, you'll be one of the ones that everybody looks at with pride and dances with at family gatherings."

I laughed. "Well, I suppose it's possible. . . But dances?"

"Yeah. The Kim's may be good at science and engineering, but most of them can't dance worth a damn. As soon as word gets out that you're a good dancer, your card will always be full."

I'm always amazed that he knows exactly how to make me feel better. "That's fine, as long as you save me a slow dance. I wanna hold you in my arms and show the world what a lucky guy I am."

"Sounds good to me. . . "

A scream and a splash interrupted us. We ran down to the shore and were greeted by the sight of B'Elanna standing in the boat, hands on hips, smiling, as a thoroughly soaked Jamie hauled himself up on the far shore.

"You okay, Jamie?" Harry called.

Jamie rolled onto a clump of daffodils and dragged himself onto the grass. He collapsed on his back and howled. It took us a second or two to realize that he was howling with laughter.

"He's all right," Harry answered himself, and turned to B'Elanna. "What happened?"

"None of your business, Harry," she replied, her eyes sparkling. "Let's just say that Mr. Kim will think twice about testing a Klingon's reflexes."

"Ah. Courtship," I murmured to Harry, and he nodded, his eyes half-closed appraisingly.

"Could be. . . "

"No 'could' about it. Definitely courtship."

"I'm not going to argue with you about it - you're the master."

"Just remember that in bed. . . "

He didn't bother to answer; he just swatted my ass.

Eventually B'Elanna rowed over and fetched us, and we met Jamie back at the house, where he was lounging in a pair of Sam's sweats and drinking coffee, recovering from his 'accident.' He'd already wrangled a dinner invitation, and during the meal it was obvious he was smitten with B'Elanna. She seemed to reciprocate, but was a bit more subtle - and that was fun, watching B'Elanna be subtle. She did it very well, and Jamie was just unsure enough of her feelings that he concentrated on her almost exclusively. After dinner, we drifted into the family room, Jamie quickly sitting down beside B'Elanna. Sam turned on the news.

I stared at a picture of myself taken eight years ago - defiant, belligerent, rebellious, and terrified. A reporter's voice began in mid-sentence. ". . . after the court-martial, and after being repudiated by his family, Paris spent a few drunken months in Marseilles before joining forces with the Maquis. . . "

"Excuse me. . . " I think I said. Then I left the room. I only stumbled once that I remember, but I know Harry called out my name. He was probably gonna follow me, but Grace said "No, Harry. . . "

I started down the corridor to our bedroom - I wanted a refuge and that was the only place I could think of.

"Tom, wait."

I stopped, but didn't turn around.

"I must talk with you," she said. "Here." She handed me a jacket and I dutifully shrugged it on. "C'mon." She took my hand, like a child, and led me from the house.

We walked in silence around the lake and through the orchard, the long shadows of the trees sprawled across the ground. I didn't realize where we were going 'til we waded through the tall grass and I spotted a tumbled and scorched wall.

I turned to her, waiting for her to explain. She didn't look at me, but stared at the ruins, her face blank. Her sudden tears surprised me - I suppose 'cause she appeared so calm otherwise. They spilled down her cheeks and dripped off her jaw, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I was thirteen when I first popped black beauty." Her voice was as calm as her face. "It was spectacular, and the first thing I wanted when I came down was to go back up again. So I stole a family heirloom and traded it for more beauty. I stole from neighbors. I stole from our closest friends, the Kims.

"My parents were frantic. They tried every kind of rehab for me - medical, spiritual, anything they could think of. But I didn't want to be rehabbed. I just wanted more beauty.

"Then my boyfriend, Bolton, and I wandered into a jewelry shop and on an impulse, I jumped the counter, pushed aside the old lady who owned the shop, and grabbed a handful of necklaces. We traded them for beauty, and popped it right away in an alley. When we finally crashed and made our way home, I learned that the old lady had hit her head when she fell and bled to death before anyone found her." She paused. "I killed her."

She hesitated on those last three words, and her face paled. Oh gods. . . I knew exactly what she was feeling - the black knowledge that she was responsible for ending a life. . . or three lives. . . I took her hand. It was cold.

"I was arrested the next morning. The trial humiliated my parents, but they were there every day. And beside them were the Kims. I was found guilty of manslaughter, and Bolton was an accessory. I was sentenced to two years in the Youth Correctional Facility. I was fourteen.

"I behaved myself in Youthcorr. They weaned me from beauty, and I continued my studies. My family visited, and so did a few friends. But the person who came to see me almost every day was Mother Kim - Hannah Kim, Harry's grandmother. I asked her why she was bothering with me, a convicted killer, and she told me I'd made a mistake, and must pay for it and learn from it. I would have to endure much, but I would also be rewarded for my new self, the self that learned and drew from my experiences.

"I didn't believe her. I would nod and pretend to understand, but in my heart I knew I was a loser - an addict, thief, and killer whose life would never amount to anything. Why would I deserve any happiness after what I had done?

"When I was released, my parents tried to pretend that everything was fine. But I knew better. When Bolton showed up, I went back to him. Within a week, I was back on beauty - it was what I deserved. Everyone knew I'd been an addict. I might as well be one again. This time I didn't steal - I sold myself. Bolton pimped for me. He found big guys who liked it rough and who were willing to pay to beat me up as well as screw me." She barked a laugh. "He told me it was because he loved me - he wanted to make sure I had enough beauty to make me happy. . . "

She paused for a moment, then leaned against me, as if she was exhausted.

All I could do was hold her gently, amazed at her confession. How could this kind, gentle, amusing woman be telling me this? How could she trust me? But who else would understand what it was like?

She took a deep breath and continued. "My parents found out, of course. I'd come home after midnight, scratched and bruised and reeking of sex. They forbade me from seeing Bolton again, but I'd just climb out my bedroom window and sneak back in again before morning.

"One night my father caught me returning. That evening he confronted Bolton, and told him that he'd turn him over to the police if he ever saw him with me again. I was livid with my father - wasn't this what I deserved? I tried to get out every night for a week, but my parents watched over me and wouldn't let me go. When I started going through withdrawal again, I screamed and cried and told them I hated them, but they would just hold my hand or tell me they loved me. It was two weeks from hell for me - I can imagine it was worse for them.

"One day after I was through withdrawal, I spotted Bolton in the garden. I felt as if I was seeing him for the first time - he didn't care about me - just the money I could bring him. I snuck out to see him and told him I was off beauty for good. He laughed and told me I'd be back on it soon - I was too weak to stay clean for long.

"And then he said I'd always need him, that he controlled me. I was an addict, a convicted killer - I had no future except with him. For a moment I believed him, but then I remembered how my parents had taken care of me, and how they kept telling me they loved me. And then I began to understand what Mother Kim was saying - I could change, I could reach for some happiness. I didn't have to live out the rest of my life in misery.

"I said that to Bolton, and he laughed again, and called me a stupid slut. When I went back into the house, he shouted that I'd be sorry. But I ignored him and spent the evening with my parents, just enjoying their company." She paused, a tender smile ghosting her lips for a second before her face crumpled.

"That night, I woke up half-suffocated from smoke. I clambered out through the window and stood here in the garden and watched the fire fighters battle the fire until someone - I found out later it was Mother Kim - wrapped me in a blanket and took me to her house. I must have been in shock, because it wasn't until I was in bed, drinking a glass of warm milk that I asked if my parents were there, too. Mother Kim kissed me and said 'They are dead, child.'"

I closed my eyes at the surge of pain. To have endured so much, so young. . .

"The next few months were hard: the funeral and Bolton's trial and conviction. Through all of it the Kim's stuck by me - Mother Kim, her husband, Young, Bert, and especially Sam."

She shook her head slowly. "She was right. I paid, I learned, I changed, and in the end I know I am respected in my field, and I am loved by a warm, generous, honorable man."

I nodded. "As I am."

"It will not be easy for you and Harry, especially for the next few weeks, but the publicity will quickly fade, and you will still have each other. And you must remember that, once you are considered family by the Kim's, they won't ever abandon you, no matter what you have done."

"I know." I remembered all the times that Harry'd stuck by me, even when I was being a jerk - or worse. "I mean I know that about Harry, but I didn't realize it was a family trait."

She smiled slightly. "It is, and both you and I have reason to be grateful for it."

"Does Harry know about all this?"

"I told him before he left for the Academy."

That explained why Harry didn't give up on me when pretty much everyone else but the Captain had. And why he was able to love me.

"Thanks for telling me," I said, and hugged her tightly. I was grateful she'd shared this with me, and I knew it wasn't easy for her to speak of it. "I don't feel quite so. . . alone."

"You aren't." She took my hand, and, with one last look at the ruins, we slowly walked back to the house.

Harry, Sam, B'Elanna and Jamie were still in the family room when we returned.

"Hey Tom, I think you should see this," Harry said, and pulled me down beside him on the couch. "There was more after you left, so we recorded it."

I leaned against him, conscious of how much of my present happiness I owed to his acceptance and perseverance - it's more than just physical closeness. I'm his, heart and soul, as he's mine. And I'm grateful.

Harry started up the recording and draped his arm over my shoulders. Captain Janeway's face appeared - she was obviously responding to a reporter's question.

". . . placed himself in danger time and time again to save the ship or a crewmember. He did this voluntarily and without hesitation. Whatever he was before arriving on Voyager, Lieutenant Paris has proved himself to be a superb pilot, a responsible and excellent officer, and a trusted friend. I know I can always count on him to perform his best - and that best is truly remarkable."

Harry squeezed my hand. Then the cam panned over to Commander Chakotay. He leaned back and gave that familiar half-smile. "I concur with the Captain, and I'm personally grateful to Tom. Even before I was a member of the crew, he risked his life to save mine. I've considered him one of my closest and most valued friends for several years now."

"Jeez. . . " I was blushing - I could feel it. It's one thing to know that your Captain and XO appreciate you, but it's another to hear them say it on the news.

Tuvok was next, and then Neelix. I was beyond embarrassed now, fighting a lump in my throat and burning eyes. Then B'Elanna appeared. . .

"B'Elanna?" I turned to her, and she actually blushed.

"They cornered me on the transport, so I decided to help out. . . "

I turned back to the vid, where her image was speaking. ". . . kept me from dying, even though prison was his worst nightmare. And you won't find a better pilot, or a better friend, in the galaxy."

"Is there any more?" I croaked as her image faded, blinking like hell to keep from crying.

"Don't you want to hear what Carey and Ayala and Heron and Henley and the Delaney's have to say?"

I shook my head, suddenly as hot as if I'd been plunged into boiling water. I couldn't believe that my friends would do this for me. Oh gods, I was gonna cry. . .

I dashed out of the room for the second time that evening and stumbled blindly into our bedroom. Harry caught up with me a few seconds later, holding me tightly while I sobbed. I don't know how long we sat on the bed, arms wrapped 'round each other, but when I couldn't cry any more, Harry wiped my face and kissed me.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Jeez, Harry, I don't think I've cried this much in my whole life. . . "

"Maybe you needed to," he said.

"Maybe, but I wish it wasn't in front of so many people."

"It's okay - they're all family."

We went back to the others once I'd calmed down and washed my face. I felt kind of embarrassed - I mean, imagine a grown man crying 'cause his friends were being nice - but Harry was there with me, and no one, not even Jamie, made a crack or comment.

Jamie left about eleven, and Harry and I trooped into B'Elanna's room after their twenty minute goodbye in the garden.

"Well?" I asked, sprawling on her bed.

She peered out of the bathroom, hairbrush in hand. "Well what, Paris?"

"Well, what's the status of the warp core?"

She grinned and disappeared into the bathroom again. "Just fine, thanks very much."

Harry sat beside me. "Jamie likes you, you know," he called. "I've never seen him so polite and well behaved."

We could hear her snort, and she walked into the bedroom. "Gimme a break. He's one of the few nice guys who also understands what I'm talking about when I discuss my work. And. . . " she grinned, "he likes Klingon opera. . . "

"Okay, Harry," I said, propping my head up on my hand, "d' y'wanna toss to see who's gonna be best man and who's gonna be maid of honor?"

"Jamie's my cousin - I get dibs on best man. But don't worry, Tom," he ruffled my hair, "you'll look ravishing in pink tulle and bows."

I smacked him. B'Elanna rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "You two are a little premature, not to mention immature." She pointed to the door. "Now, out!"

"Yes, ma'am." We hopped off the bed and scuttled out the door. "'Night, B'Elanna. . . "

"'Night. . . Besides. . . " We paused as she peeked 'round the doorframe. ". . . we might decide to have a Klingon wedding. . . " And she gently closed the door, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Harry and I discussed B'Elanna and Jamie as we got ready for bed. We both agreed that things were promising, but that it was far too early to be sure. They'd have time together at the party tomorrow, and then we'd see.

Then Harry kissed me. "Enough about them," he murmured. "Let's see what I can do for you. . . "

"And vice versa," I added, running my fingers lightly down his chest. He shivered and grabbed my shoulders, then pulled me down onto the bed on top of him.

"Hey, handsome. . . " He ground his hips against me, our already hard cocks pressed together. I gasped and laughed, excited and delighted. Harry still surprises me, hiding romance and passion behind his quiet exterior.

We stroked and caressed, each touch warmer and wilder, until he spread his legs and cupped my face in his hands.

"Please. . . inside me. . . "

How could I deny him? I prepared him carefully, watching him respond to my touch and his face reflect a little of what he was experiencing inside. When he was a hair from exploding I pulled out my fingers and replaced them with my cock.

I like to enter him with one long, gentle stroke - never stopping 'til my thighs rest against his ass. He groaned and shuddered, and his breaths were as ragged as mine. The tightness, the pressure, the heat, all combined with the knowledge that Harry and I are connected, never fails to make me pause and savor the moment.

Then he wrapped his legs around my waist and I began to move, withdrawing almost entirely, then plunging back full length. I always want to stretch it out for as long as possible, waiting for that final, incredible moment when he and I share each other completely. . . heart and soul. . .

He reached for me blindly and I fell into his arms. He called my name - I practically came from that alone - and I kissed his chest. I wrapped my hand around his cock and pumped him. He came almost immediately, and as he clenched around me I felt myself fall over the edge. But it didn't matter 'cause I was falling with Harry, and we passed unscathed through all the light and heat. Together. One.

Sometimes I can't believe my life - it's like something out of a romance vid. If I had to watch it, I'd probably gag. But I like living it, now I'm with Harry.

And I never gag.


Jamie was back again early the next morning (surprise, surprise). For a while I wondered if he'd fit into our threesome - we'd gotten so close over the past seven years. But he was intelligent, quick to understand, and possessed of a really wicked sense of humor. He occasionally glanced at me sharply, but I tried not to let it bother me.

I was nervous about the party. Would the other relatives who didn't like my past be there and make a fuss? How'd Harry react? Would I be stuck on my own since B'Elanna and Jamie seemed to be inseparable?

I needn't have worried. The first thing we saw as we walked into the KimCo reception room was a banner across the far end: 'Welcome Home Harry, Tom and B'Elanna.' There was food (good food) and drink and a band and round tables with real cloth tablecloths and comfortable chairs. . . It was even better than some of the diplomatic receptions I'd attended.

"Wow! Some spread. . . " I murmured to Harry.

"Are you kidding?" he grinned. "Wait'll you see a wedding reception."

Then he was caught up in the arms of various relatives. I tried to back away and give them some room, but somehow I got caught up too. It was all hugs and smiles and kisses and introductions and congratulations and 'We're so proud of you and Harry and B'Elanna. . . ' When I finally emerged, feeling rather giddy, someone pushed a drink in my hand. It wasn't alcoholic, or at least, not much. I was glad - after seven years of synthehol, I'd lost my drinking edge, and didn't want to embarrass myself by puking or passing out.

Jamie appeared beside me and steered me over to a table. "Grab something to eat quickly," he said. "Dancing's going to start soon, and Harry says you're a good dancer. You'll never get a chance to eat once the word gets out."

"Where're Harry and B'Elanna?"

Jamie shrugged and laughed. "B'Elanna's been captured by the entire design department. I'll rescue her later. Harry'll surface sometime- just ask him to dance if you want to talk to him without being interrupted."

I planned on doing that anyway.

We both filled our plates and returned to the table. The food was incredible, and I tried to make polite conversation. After all, Jamie was Harry's cousin, and if Harry liked him, I'd like him. Even if it killed me.

Suddenly Jamie put down his fork and regarded me solemnly, the way Harry sometimes does. It felt weird to have anyone but Harry look at me like that, especially someone with blue eyes. I tried to continue eating, but my fork paused half-way to my mouth, and I knew I couldn't swallow. I put it down and waited.

"Harry and I've been as close as brothers since we were children," he began. "In a lot of ways, I was closer to Harry than to Peter. He was always everything I wasn't - kind, and thoughtful, and, well, perfect."

I nodded. "That's Harry." I leaned back. "And then I come along, and I'm not perfect. Not even close."

"Yeah. And I get all bent out of shape about it, like I'm in charge of his life. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand. A lotta times I wonder how he manages to put up with me. But he says he loves me, and Harry's honest, so I have to believe him. And," I met his gaze, "I know I love him - so what can I do?"

"Keep on loving him," he said with a slight smile. "I've never seen him so happy and content. And," he suddenly looked wicked, "you've done wonders for his sense of humor."

"Thanks, I guess." I didn't say it, but I really appreciated Jamie's support, even if it was a bit belated.

We talked a while longer, and I began to like him for himself and not just for being Harry's cousin.

"Uh oh," he muttered, as the band began a dance tune. "Here come the troops. . . "

"Tom?" An older woman with beautifully coifed hair and a stylish dress held out her hand. "I'm Cousin Nita. Care to dance?"

Of course I danced with her. I don't think I sat down for two hours as I passed from aunt to nephew to niece to third cousin four times removed. Finally I saw Harry and excused myself, dashing over to catch him before he disappeared into the crowd again.

"Hey, gorgeous. . . Wanna dance?"

"Isn't that what you've been doing for the past couple of hours?"

"Yeah, but not with you. C'mon." I led him out onto the dance floor and wrapped my arms 'round him. I was gonna slow dance with Harry no matter what music the band played. To my surprise, they played something romantic and dreamy, and we swayed together, just enjoying each other's presence.

I felt a poke on my arm and opened my eyes. B'Elanna and Jamie were smiling at us.

"Like the music?" Jamie asked. "I asked for it specially."

"Thanks," I said.

He laughed. "Not for you guys. For us. . . " And he led B'Elanna away.

We finished our dance, and when yet another cousin asked me to dance, Harry grabbed my hand. "Not a chance, Deanna. Tom's worn out. You'll have to wait for the next party." We sat - well, I collapsed - at a table, and spent the rest of the evening talking quietly and visiting with more family. And no one said a word about my past.

Our two weeks with Harry's family passed quickly and then it was time to travel to San Francisco for reassignment. Both Grace and Sam assured me that this was now my home, and I was to consider it as such. And they told B'Elanna she'd always have a home there, too.

All three of us wiped away tears as we waved goodbye to Grace, Sam and Jamie at the 'port, and B'Elanna didn't even get angry when some jerk made a comment about 'Klingon's gettin' loose.' I just dropped a hint with a 'port official that the jerk looked just like a known smuggler, and was really pleased to see him ushered into an exam room. It'd take an hour for him to be thoroughly searched. Serve him right.

The trip to San Francisco didn't take long, and we were settled in our new quarters by the evening. The Captain and Commander Chakotay left a message for us to contact them as soon as we were in town, and we arranged to meet for dinner the next day.

We spotted them as we walked into the restaurant. The Captain looked fantastic - two weeks of relative calm had made a difference, and Chakotay looked even more relaxed than usual. We talked about our leave, and teased B'Elanna about her conquest. Then the Captain leaned back in her seat and grinned.

"I've just received word about my next assignment." We shut up and listened. "Chakotay and I will be assigned to the 'Hawking,' a newly designed mid-sized scientific vessel. She's still in dock, and won't be ready for another three months, so we'll have time to learn her specs."

We were loud in our congratulations - a scientific vessel was perfect for the Captain, and where ever she was happy, Chakotay was happy.

"The best part," the Commander said, interrupting us, "is that we have a free hand in choosing our crew. We'd like all three of you to join us, if you will." Our collective jaws dropped, and he continued. "B'Elanna, we know R&D asked for you, but Admiral Sanchez thinks you might be better suited for this assignment, especially since our first task will be to refine and stabilize the pathfinder so it can be fitted on all ships. It's a top priority assignment."

"Tom," he turned to me, "it's not the type of piloting you've done for the past seven years, but the pathfinder testing could be tricky. Since you were the first to pilot through the wormhole created by the pathfinder, and your piloting skills are highly regarded by Starfleet, the Admiral believes you should continue working with B'Elanna on it.

"And Harry, you are doubly important to us. We'd like you to work closely with B'Elanna on the pathfinder project, as well as continuing at Ops. And besides," he glanced at the Captain, who was grinning broadly, "somebody has to keep these two in line. . . "

We accepted right then and there, with no hesitation. How could we pass up an opportunity like this? A Starfleet top priority project? A chance at piloting a new vessel? It was a plum assignment, and it was ours.

My father even called and congratulated us.

I wasn't really surprised when, two months later, Jamie Kim was assigned to the Hawking's crew as the pathfinder's civilian design specialist. I figured he'd find some way to be near B'Elanna.

When Harry found out, though, he almost went through the deck. He called Jamie and tore him off a strip, accusing him of using KimCo influence to get the assignment. Jamie let him rant for a while, then spoke up.

"Listen, Harry, I didn't get the family to influence Starfleet. After you left, I spent a month in the lab, working on modifications and improvements I thought might work. B'Elanna had given me a pretty good working knowledge of the pathfinder, so I took that and went with it. Sam thought I was onto something, and he's the one who contacted Starfleet. When they offered me the job, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven! I'd be involved with the most exciting technology in the past fifty years, and I'd be on the same ship with you and Tom." He blushed. "And B'Elanna."

So the four of us ended up on the Hawking, and our three year mission's almost complete. The modified pathfinder is small, stable, and one hundred percent reliable, even in the middle of spatial anomalies, ion storms, charged particle clouds, etc. Starfleet will add them to all new ships and retrofit all older ships, as well. They'll also be available to other Federation and ally ships. As Admiral Sanchez said, "This will revolutionize space travel."

B'Elanna and Jamie were married last year. Harry was the best man, and I was the 'bridesguy,' as Jamie called me - Harry kept saying he was disappointed I wore trousers rather than pink ribbons. I think his sense of humor's coming along nicely. As soon as we get home, the family's planning their wedding reception. I can't wait. I've been re-thinking this marriage business. After seven years together, Harry and I are still firmly committed to each other. So I've decided that after the toasts and before I get hauled away to dance, I'm gonna ask Harry to marry me in front of everyone.

It's okay - they're all family.

---

End