by Nikita
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Disclaimer: Star Trek and all characters, technology, plots, etc. belong to Paramount. This Fanfic is for entertainment only, no profit is being made on it.

Warning: Slash. This means m/m romance, relationship, sex. Reader Discretion advised.

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I'd told Tom that we'd take things at his pace.

And we did. We lived together as a family just as we had for over a year. We worked, we took care of Kate, we made dinners, watched vids in the evenings. Held hands, hugged, even kissed. Tom would touch me, sometimes. Caresses and gentle explorations. It was sweet and romantic.

And also terribly frustrating.

He would touch me, but I couldn't touch 'him'. He drew the line at my kissing him and light touches on his arms. Any other touching crossed the lines. Once, in the heat of a passionate make out session, I forgot myself and ran a hand down his chest to his groin while kissing him. He freaked. Jumping backwards, he shoved my hands off of him and sat back in the couch breathing hard. I was immediately apologetic and I tried to soothe him. Big mistake. I reached out in trying to apologize and calm him, he jerked back from my touch like I burned him.

I apologized again. Then 'he' apologized. "No, Harry, it isn't your fault. It's 'mine.' I'm sorry. I just can't. . . " We had both been in tears. Tom for feeling ashamed and scared, me for feeling unwanted.

I know I'm not. Unwanted that is. He loves me. Enough to try with me. He tries so hard. I know that he wishes he could touch me. That he longs to give me his body just as I offer him mine. But he can't. And no matter how much I tell myself that I 'am' wanted, no matter how much 'Tom' tells me I'm wanted. I still feel dirty, impure, like I want something I can't have. I shouldn't 'need' this so much. I should be satisfied with just 'being' with him. Talking, laughing, living together. This should be enough. I shouldn't feel so empty. I shouldn't feel this overwhelming desire to just grab him and hold him and 'make' him want me back. Make him submit to my touch, make him ask me. . . beg me to make love to him.

I shouldn't feel that. It's horrible. I'm horrible. But I do. . . I do want to do those things. Because as nice as everyone thinks I am. As kind and sweet as 'sweet little naïve Harry' seems to the outside world. I'm not. I'm a man and I have urges and I want Tom so bad it hurts. Enough that I have stopped seeking his touch, his private time because it will inevitably lead to some form of intimacy. . . some form of longing and passionate urgency that will also be inevitably denied.

So I keep myself busy. Help Kate with her music, with her homework and her science project. Clean the house, work on extra research at home. Stay late at the lab if I know Kate won't be home. Go out with an old academy friend for a few drinks after work. Everything, anything to keep from being disappointed and from seeing the hurt look on Tom's face when he once again fails to overcome his damage.

And he is. . . damaged. From prison. They raped him, horribly. Forced him to perform acts at the threat of a homemade knife. Forced him to submit to violent acts. . . often repeatedly by many prisoners at once.

He showers. Alone. He once admitted to me that he couldn't even shower with B'Elanna. He tried once or twice, but he ended up shaking and jittery until he had to jump out and dry off in another room. He told me this, late one night, after we had given up for the night and decided to just talk.

He can't keep his back to a crowded room. Not completely. He needs to have his back to a wall if it is crowded with men or if it is a rowdy busy crowd. He can be jumpy, not that he shows it to others. To the outside world, he is calm and laid back. Entertaining and funny, never a care shown, except to me.

He functions well. Hides it well. Except to me. He is damaged, but he functions quite well without me. Which leads me to think maybe he doesn't need me at all. . . Maybe it is me that is hurting him. Trying to force him to be with me in a way he just can't. Probably not ever. He was fine before I unburdened myself on him. Told him, while drunk, that I was in love with a man. Then later told him it was him.

Until then, he seemed fine. Depressed over B'Elanna and the baby, but fine. He probably would have started dating women again. Moved on and found another wife. Someone he 'could' be with. Someone he could share 'everything' with.

Am I being self-pitying? Probably. But I think that there is quite a bit of truth in what I've said. I won't dump him. Not with him thinking it is 'his' fault. Thinking that I'm dissatisfied with our love life and just leave him. He'll hate himself, and that is 'the' last thing I want. I love him. Completely. Enough that I want him to realize that he can't be with me on his own. Let him realize he needs to dump 'me' and find someone he 'can' be with.

So I isolate myself. I free him to find someone at work, after hours, in the park with Kate. Let him have time to think, time to find someone new. And then it'll be okay. I'll hurt. Terribly, but I'll be okay because he'll be happier. Happy.

He will.

It'll be fine. Truly.

---

Always busy. Always working. Does he think I'm stupid? Does he think I can't see through his little ploys? He's uncomfortable with me. Uncomfortable with me in bed. I'm a freak. I know it. I can't relax in bed with him. But what he doesn't know was I often couldn't with B'Elanna, either.

That's right. Even with women, I am sometimes intimidated, tense, troubled by memories. That day that Harry was accidentally jumped on by B'El? I was freaked out, too. She startled me. And when she got me into bed, she wanted it rough. I managed to give it to her. . . and after a while I enjoyed myself, too. But it was never easy. . . effortless. I had to work on my responses.

The only thing that saved her relationship was that she wasn't a threat to me. Oh, she could hurt me physically. Probably beat the crap out of me, and kill me. But what I mean is. . . well; she didn't have the equipment to 'truly' hurt me. The way I couldn't bear to be hurt in again. No matter how much she bit and clawed, I knew that she wouldn't throw me down and bend me over. Nor would she force me to my knees and hold my head still. Forcing me to suck.

Not that Harry would either. But. . . the threat is there. He has the 'potential' and he definitely has the equipment. And 'that' is what eventually stops me.

I hate it. It's not his fault. It's mine. I have the problem. I love him, I find him sexy, I want him, but I just CAN'T.

But if I don't soon. . . I'll lose him. I already have. I have to get over this problem of mine. . . and fast. Or he'll be far away. Gone physically as he already seems emotionally.

God. I need help.

---

I think my plan worked. He's seeing someone. Yesterday afternoon I couldn't think of a good excuse I hadn't used too often already, so I came home. Steeling myself for any possible awkward dealings with Tom. . . I found myself quite alone. Kate was at the baby-sitter's until one of us picked her up and Tom was. . . gone.

I went and got Kate, took her for a little trip to the park. She was so happy. I realized that no matter how much I've been helping her in school and with her music. . . I'd been neglecting her at playtime. So I played. In the sandbox, on the jungle gym. Pushed her on the swing. All the things I haven't really done since I was little.

She loved it so much and we laughed so much I nearly forgot Tom's absence. Nearly. Kate hadn't a clue where her daddy was and just shrugged when I asked her if he'd told her when he'd be home. We cleaned up and made dinner, just as I was setting down a big bowl of pasta, Tom came home.

He looked tired. Drained, but also. . . a little. . . I don't know. . . calmer? Happier? Relieved? I'm just not sure. He seemed happy to see Kate and me. But he picked at his food, his mind a million miles away.


And now? Two weeks later and the same ritual happens two to three times a week. I come home a little late. . . no Tom. I pick up Kate, spend time with her, and make dinner. He comes home just at meal time and usually picks at his food. I know this because I come home at the same time everyday now.

I'd think he was drinking and depressed except he's always sober and despite his lack of appetite most evenings, he seems calm and happier. That's why I think he's got a girl.

Obviously he sees her after work. They go out, eat dinner and he scurries home just in time to 'eat' with us so as to avoid suspicion.

Well it isn't working. Because I'm damned suspicious. And jealous. I admit it. I know I wanted him to go and meet someone. But, Gods. . . it hurts. Bad. I love him so fucking much that I can't stand it. . . watching him fall in love.

I have to do something. I won't interfere. I'll work late again. So I don't have to see it.

But that would hurt Kate. . .

So I alternate between working late some nights and going home early on others. Kate is happy because I get off on Wednesdays and Fridays when she gets off of school. We go out and do things. Just the two of us.

And this works out fairly well. . . for awhile. But before long, the tension when all three of us are home rises to a point where I hide out in my room when Tom comes home.

Kate becomes unhappy.

I'm already unhappy.

Tom? Tom's got a fucking girlfriend. Haven't you heard?!

---

I came home after a particularly trying day. I was tired: emotionally and physically drained, and hungry. For the first time in a long while.

Entering my home I find Kate and Harry sitting at the dining room table. Obviously I just missed dinner. Kate is still picking at her remains, but Harry stands up when he hears me enter the room. His eyes flicker on mine momentarily before he brushes past me. Empty plate in his hand.

"Hi, Har. Kate. What's for dinner? " I sit down tiredly.

"Lasagna! " Kate proclaims; the tomato sauce staining her shirt is testimony to how much she liked it.

Harry sets a plate down in front of me along with a beverage.

"Thanks, Harry. Looks good. Did you guys already finish? " I ask this even though it is obvious. I'm desperately hoping he'll sit back down and talk to me.

"Yep. I'm going to go work a little in my room. 'Night." He leaves without looking at me. Kate stops smiling, her eyes dropping down to her plate.

I sigh and pick up my fork. So much for my giant appetite. The food is delicious and I force myself to concentrate on that. Kate is kicking her chair irritably.

"What's the matter Katydid? " She kicks the chair harder. "Kate. " I say warningly.

"Why don't you and Harry talk anymore? " I'm startled that she noticed. I guess I really ought to realize how smart and observant she really is. I sigh again and try to answer.

"We talk. I don't know. . . It's a grown up thing. Don't worry, Kate. Everything's okay." She doesn't believe a word, but jumps down and runs to play next door at her friend's.

I finish my plate and clean up our dishes. I walk to my office, where I usually am during the evening these days. As I reach the doorway, though, I stop. Turning I march to Harry's room. I've had enough of this. Time for this to get out and in the open.

I knock on his door. "Harry? Harry, I need to speak with you. It's important. " There's a long silence, he opens the door finally, his eyes look a little puffy. Was he crying?

"I'm busy, Tom. Can it wait?"

"No. This is important." I brush past him and into the room. His room is messy, unusual behavior for the always neat Mr. Kim. I smooth his comforter a little and sit down next to a pile of padds.

He stands at the door; obviously wishing I'd give up and go away. Not gonna happen.

"Harry, please close the door and sit down. We need to talk." No one is home, but I don't want to run any chances that we'll be interrupted soon. And maybe he'll be less inclined to run.

He shuts the door a little louder than necessary and sits in a chair. I straighten my back and decide to face this head-on.

"What is it, Tom?" He isn't looking at me. He seems resigned.

"I want to know why you've been avoiding me lately." He keeps his head down.

"Never mind. I know why. You've been avoiding me because you're unsatisfied with our love life. Right?" I'm struggling not to cry. This is even harder than I thought.

His head whips up. "Tom! No." He shakes his head vigorously.

"Harry. Don't lie. I love you, but I can't stand it if you lie. I know you're lying because 'I'm' not happy with our sex life either."

His cheeks flush and his shoulders slump. In a small voice he finally opens up, "I know. That's why I've been giving you space. That's all. I wanted you to have some space. I didn't 'want' to avoid you."

I'm confused now. "Why did you think I needed space? You've been really patient with me Harry. Unbelievably patient. I'm the one with the problem. I was hurt that you were avoiding me. I know I'm not enough for you. . . "

Harry stands up. "No, Tom! I'm not enough for you. Not 'right' for you. You just needed to find a woman, that's all. I stepped back so you could move on. And I'm happy for you. I am. No matter how I have been acting. . . I am happy for you. "

All right, now I'm really confused. "What are talking about? "

"I know you found someone. You've been late getting home and not eating. I know you're out dating someone. I just wished you'd come out and say it, Tom. I'm a grown man. And now. . . you wanted to talk to me in order to break up with me, didn't you? Well don't worry,I found a place already. I can move out next week. We'll have to find a way to break it to Kate, but- "

After the first sentence I'd been stunned. Too stunned to stop his babbling. Finally I found my voice and interrupted him. "Harry!" I bellow.

He sits down and snaps his mouth shut.

"Harry. I am NOT seeing someone else. Well, actually I am- "

He nods miserably.

"I'm seeing a therapist."

Harry's eyes are going to pop right outside his head. I swear.

"A. . . what?"

"A therapist. He's a guy, by the way. And he's been helping me. . . with my problems. I didn't tell you because. . . well, you were never home. And I was a little ashamed, I guess. But I'm not now. I'm so glad I went to see him. The first couple of sessions were hard. . . really hard to make myself go. And every session is hard work. . . but I'm doing pretty good, I think. Dr. Jessov thinks so, too. He says I'm making good progress."

Harry's now doing the imitation of a fish. A pretty good one, his mouth working open and closed with no words coming out. He looks pretty cute; I kiss him on the mouth.

"So, what's this stupid crap about you moving out? You found an apartment?" He nods, closing his mouth, but his eyes are still a little wide.

"Well, I won't put up with that, Har. No bachelor pad for you. I love you, Harry. I want you to marry me." I pull out the ring I bought this afternoon. I hadn't had a session today; I'd gone shopping.

I hold it out. "Will you? Please? I know I'm not too great of a catch, but-" Harry grabs my hand with the ring.

"Shut up, Tom. I love you. Yes."

I'm crying. Paris men don't cry. . . unless they really love someone. I kiss the hand holding mine and then pull the ring out of our joined hands. My hands are shaking, but we manage to get the ring on his finger. He's crying, too now. I kiss his cheeks and then his lips. He presses closer. We haven't touched in so long. . . I'm pretty sure I won't be backing out this time.

I push that out of my mind, I remember what my therapist said. . . just focus on your feelings, on the moment in front of you. Don't worry about the past or the future. I rub his back and his hands tentatively settle on my shoulders. He knows better than to touch anywhere else. I feel a stab of guilt at that. . . I decide I'm ready for more.

"Harry?" I whisper, "touch me. . . it's okay." He doesn't react right away. He's as afraid as I am of crossing the line and ruining the moment. Slowly, finally, he relaxes his arms and caresses my back. We kiss and touch, finally removing our tops and finally. . . the rest of our clothes.

Harry is letting me lead again, and I do. . . for a while. Then I settle back. "Touch me, Harry. Love me."

He gently traces my face, trailing a finger down my throat. My chest. . . down to my cock. He strokes me. I groan with desire. Begging for more. His fingers trace my length slowly, teasingly. I touch him in return. Finally we begin to move together, rubbing each other. . . his fingers slide around my waist. . . touching my buttocks, rubbing them, kneading them. . . For the first time ever, I let a man touch me there without fear.

Harry wouldn't hurt me.

He loves me.

And I love him.

Together. . . we'll find our way.

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End