by Nikita
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Author's Note: Thanks to those at the Paris/Kim Slash Party group who liked the first story and asked for more. . . The Harry angst continues and will be eventually solved in the next installment. The title is the REM song that just kept playing in my head as Tom's voice. Not songfic in the slightest, though. Just used the title.

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"How is he?" I'm well aware that my voice is panicked and that the others are staring at me with varying degrees of shock and pity, but I can't help it. Protests, calming words, pleas to stop. . . meaningless words when I need answers.

Harry collapsed in his room and was immediately beamed to sickbay thanks to the medical monitoring set up in his quarters. B'el commed me right after it happened and I managed to make it to sickbay in record time. Problem is - the doc isn't answering me.

"Goddamnit! How IS he? Is he all right?" Hands clutch at my shoulders, struggling to hold me back, but I'm like an animal, tearing through them, trying to see into the isolation area. All I see is a sea of uniforms and solemn faces. The doc's back is to me and I wish he were human so I could punch him - strangle him, beat him. . . make him FEEL my pain. Feel my frustration and anger because he won't fucking ANSWER me!

"Tom! Tom! Calm down!" The others shout and try to get my attention, distract me from my goal. I ignore them completely.

And that's why I never feel the sedative that Kes slips me. One minute I'm finally making progress, wrenching the mass of limbs around me towards the isolation room and the next, the world tilts and swirls and goes black.

---

"Tom? Can you hear me?" The soft calm voice in my ear is soothing as I struggle to remember what happened. My eyes are like lead, but I manage to lift them and wince at the glaring light above me. Sickbay.

"What happened?" My voice is weak, but Kes hears me and leans closer, blocking out the harsh glare above me. Her face is concerned, but she smiles reassuringly.

"It's okay, Tom. We gave you a sedative to calm you down. Harry's-"

"Harry!" I suddenly remember my panic and try to get off the bed only to find myself restrained.

Kes sighs and holds a hand out to placate me. "As I was saying, Harry's stable, Tom. He had a setback and the Doc needed to work on him for a while, but he's resting comfortably."

I lay my head back and close my eyes. Time for some acting, if I don't calm down right now, I'll never get to see Harry. Opening my eyes, I present a far more patient and reasonable face to Kes.

"Thank you. Can I see him? I'd rest much better seeing him for myself. I'll be quiet."

Kes knows full well that it's an act, but I've proven my ability to control myself. "I'll ask the doctor-"

The Doc comes up from behind her with an aloof and self-righteous look upon his face, but once he looks down at me, his features relax a bit. "If you promise to be VERY quiet and not lose your temper. . . you can see him, lieutenant." He shuts off the restraining field and leads me to the isolation chamber.

Harry is lying very still in the bed, his face gray. I wouldn't recognize him if I wasn't getting used to seeing him like that. This time it looks worse, though. The diagnostic panel's readings aren't good. I quickly check all of them before sitting down beside him. I wish I could touch him, but the field separates me.

I don't notice the others leaving, giving me privacy, my eyes are focused on his chest, which is slowly rising and falling.

"Oh, Harry. . . "

---

A week passes. A fucking week! Before the doctor manages to pull off yet another miracle in keeping death at bay. Harry is in and out of consciousness - never truly coherent. He calls for his mother at one point and I nearly lose it again. Tales of dying soldiers calling for their mothers as they die are clear in my mind.

I shush him and talk to him. About little things: like what Neelix made for dinner last night, what the latest gossip is on the captain and Chakotay. I talk and talk. . . until I'm hoarse and then I talk some more. When the doctor finally turns the isolation field off, I take his hand. It's cold. Far too cold. I rub it gently between my hands and relish in the contact. He sleeps more peacefully now.

Kes boots me out of sickbay to clean up and grab a bite to eat before shift. I leave, but as I leave, I kiss his forehead. He's getting better and will soon be back on his feet. It's likely the last chance I'll get to do that. Awake once more and in control of his faculties, he'll push me away again. As he's done every day since that night I crossed the line.

---

I wake to a dreadful pounding in my head. My arms and legs move sluggishly as I try to sit up without opening my eyes. Where's my medicine? I reach out for it where it should be, on my bedside table, but end up knocking something metal down to the floor with a crash.

"Mr. Kim! Calm down, you're in sickbay." The doc's voice makes me snap my eyes open, which I instantly regret. The light makes the headache unbearable. I groan and clutch at my eyes.

"I'll give you something for the pain, just hold still. . . "

Ten minutes later I'm tucked into bed in a propped up position, lights dimmed and headache beginning to dull. I gratefully lean back into the pillows and cautiously look around. There's a chair by my bed with a padd on it. I can tell it's Tom's - it's scratched on the corner, where he once dropped it. I stare at it as I listen to the muted sounds of sickbay.

I wish he were here. And yet I don't. It's so hard to look at him lately. To want to apologize for my behavior and yet knowing if I do. . . he'll want more. He'll start hanging around me all the time - talking and smiling. All the while, trying to cheer me up - cheer the dying person up with nonsensical bits of gossip and distracting jokes.

I'm so tired of that it makes me sick. I want him to be normal - treat me normal. No. . . that's not true. I want him to look at me like he did that night. I want him to touch me again, kiss me. . . I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him as tight as I can. . . bury my face in his neck and breathe him in.

I want so much. . . and it's useless. Because, as this latest little sickbay escapade proves once more. . . I'm dying. And it's simply too late. . .

---

Tom visits and I struggle not to let my mixed feelings show. Still, I'm relieved when B'Elanna drops in, even if she does make an awkward visit. I watch Tom from the corner of my eye and I feel bad. He really ought to spend time with B'Elanna on his own. Or go play some pool. My mind made up, I interrupt a rather lengthy report on the engines' status.

"Hey, B'El, will you do something for me?"

She looks startled, but nods a bit anxiously. I usually hate it when people look desperate to do something, anything, for me like this, but for once I'm taking advantage of it.

"Take Tom to the holosuite and dance with him a bit. He needs to get out of this musty old Sickbay for a while. Play some pool for me. Put your drinks on my tab."

B'El glances over at Tom before nodding. "Sure, I'll take care of him. But you save your own credits, Starfleet. You'll need them when you're better so you can buy us all a round together."

I shrug, but thank her. I hate how he looks at me - like I've betrayed him. He stares at me with an open mouth, only reacting when B'El tugs on his hand, pulling him towards the doors.

"What-? No, I don't want to go play pool! Harry-"

I smile and wave him towards the door. "I want you to, Tom. Go, have fun. I'm going to take a nap. I'm tired."

He leaves, but his eyes stay on me all the way out of the room.

I feel guilty and not at all happy with my little martyr act. . . but it really is the best. For both of us. He'll see.

---

Shift over. I all but run to sickbay to visit Harry.

He's being released this afternoon and I plan to be there to escort him back to his quarters. I'm feeling so damned optimistic, I don't recognize myself. The Doc is cautious not to raise our hopes. . . but he thinks he's come across a promising line of research after this last scare. I know better than to hang my hopes on this, but I can't help nourishing this little grain of hope, which is threatening to turn into a giddy sense of anticipation.

Sickbay's blissfully quiet as I head towards Harry's bed. No Harry. I stifle a surge of panic and ask the computer for his whereabouts - his quarters. Should have known. He was so damn anxious to get out of sickbay he skipped out without me. No problem, I head over to his quarters.

No answer. I ring the chime three times before I'm ready to request an emergency beam in. Harry answers with a weary sigh, "I want to be alone, Tom. I'm tired."

"I understand. . . I just - I just wanted to walk you home. . . and I wanted to make sure you were all right. . . "

"I'm fine. Thanks. I'm going to take a nap now, okay?" The door closes and my shoulders slump a little, the wind taken out of my sails. Still. . . there's hope and it's enough to keep me going.

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End