by Pennhothwen
---

Author's note: Takes place after the "Chute".

I really loved this episode because it gives some insight into Harry and Tom's relationship, away from the interference of other crewmembers and without a crutch like a holodeck program (i.e. Captain Proton). And the way they look at each other in this episode. . . wow. Not to mention the sleeping in each other's arms. . .

Now, I've always thought that if anyone belonged together (slashily speaking), it would be these two. So here goes. My first slash fic, and it's a Tom Paris/Harry Kim pairing.

Anyway, POV is Harry's at first, then Tom's, and continuing in turns.

(Incidentally, if you don't already know, the factoid-mention of Harry's Academy roommate's sexual preference is authentic. Find it in the book "Pathways", written by Jeri Taylor.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Star Trek, in all its various incarnations, is owned by Paramount and Roddenberry (or whatever). Anyway it sure doesn't belong to me, even though I wish it did. So don't sue me, because when I say I own nothing, I REALLY REALLY mean it. =^)

---

"So what do you say, let's go blow a week's worth of replicator rations?"

He stood there smiling at me, forgiveness written openly on his sweet face. I gazed at him, trying to accept that he still cared about me, even after I had almost killed him - after I had wanted to kill him. Oh, God. How could I? My best friend. . . and more than that. . . but it was better not to think about that, especially now. I shook it off.

"Okay. What was for dessert again?" I made myself smile at him. It took all my self-control not to respond when he put his arm around me. 'Just a friendly gesture,' I told myself. 'He's your friend - and that's all you can ever hope for.'

"Cherry pie," he was saying. What? Oh yes. . . I remembered: the meals, the desserts we had imagined, to keep ourselves going in that hellhole. What had I said? Fudge ripple pudding.

"What happened to the pudding?" I retorted, as we walked around the corner, en route to the mess hall.

"Yeah, we can have that too, whatever you want, Harry." He was still smiling.

God, did he have to keep his arm so close around me? It was hard enough not to think about him when we were twenty feet apart, with my console, the bridge railing and the presence of ten other on-duty officers separating us. Oh, Tom. If only you knew. . .

---

I told myself that I was just trying to show Harry that I forgave him, but I must have been overdoing it, because he was starting to tense up. Not that I could blame him, after what we'd just lived through. Still, I didn't want to add to his troubles, so I took my arm off of his shoulder, as much as it disappointed me. He seemed relieved: it was probably the right thing for me to do anyway. We stepped into the turbolift, and I spoke. "Computer, mess hall."

"Computer, belay that."

I looked at Harry in surprise. Why didn't he want to go to the mess hall? He looked nervous.

"Um, I was thinking, Tom, why don't we just go to my quarters? If we go to the mess hall Neelix will just try to stuff some leola root stew into us - he'll probably say how good it would be for us, after all we've been through."

Harry smiled weakly, giving a nervous little laugh. "And if we just go to my quarters, we can avoid the whole hero's-welcome-back thing we'd get in the mess hall." He paused and his eyes fell. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and regretful. "I for one don't feel like much of a hero right now." He looked up at me hopefully.

I started to agree without thinking about it, but - wait a minute - his quarters? 'Oh, no,' I thought. 'Just what I need - Harry, alone with me, in his quarters. . . how the hell am I going to keep myself from telling him everything?' But it was too late to say no; Harry had seen me nod.

"Okay then, " he grinned. It was good to see him smiling. "Deck fourteen."

---

As we walked into my quarters, I glanced at Tom's face. He looked lost in thought, and I hoped it wasn't because he suspected my motives for bringing him here. But who was I kidding, my motives weren't innocent.

On the turbolift, a thought had come to me: I had begun to realize how close 'd come to losing him, first when he's gotten stabbed, defending me, and then when I'd gone mad and nearly finished the job. I was starting to come to a decision: it was time to tell him. Who knew when he might be taken away from me forever? I couldn't take the chance that he'd never know. . . could I? 'No, no - this is nuts,' I thought. 'He'll never understand, I can't tell him. There's no way he feels the same way! If I tell him now - '

Tom brought me out of my reverie. "So, buddy, you mind if I use your bathroom to tidy up a little? Maybe take a quick sonic shower? I don't know about you, but that Akritirian prison left me feeling a little grimy, to say the least."

"Sure, of course. Take your time," I replied, struggling to fend off the mental image of Tom naked in my bathroom. . . no use. I sighed. At this rate, I'd be confessing everything by the time we were done with the appetizers.

"Everything okay?" Tom was standing in the bathroom doorway, shirtless. Oh no. "You seem a little upset," he added, with that classic Tom Paris 'you-can-tell-me' look in his eyes.

I was shaken. "Uh, no, everything's fine. Go ahead and take your shower, I'll have the risa beans ready by the time you're done." Again I tried and failed to keep myself from thinking of my best friend naked.

'This is wrong!' I thought, mentally berating myself. 'He's your friend, he trusts you! How can you betray him, thinking things like that?'

But he just grinned. "Okay then. And don't overdo it! They're better rare than well-done," he called as he disappeared back into the bathroom. I heard the sonic shower whirring into action as I programmed the recipe into the replicator.

Pacing the floor, I attempted to get my thoughts in order. Was I going to take a chance, and tell him how I felt? Or was I just going to take the coward's way out, and keep the conversation within the safe, comfortable confines of the friendship that had come to mean more to me than anything else in my life? No. It was time.

Tom came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. "Ah, that feels better. Hey Harry, you mind if I borrow something to wear? I just don't want to put my smelly uniform back on. . . " He trailed off as he saw the look on my face. "Harry, what is it?"

I shivered, unable for a moment to make my vocal cords work. "Ah. . . I. . . " I couldn't tell him. Not like this, with him just standing in the middle of my floor with nothing on except a towel! "N-nothing," I stammered. "It's nothing."

He looked skeptical. "Come on, Harry. I know you better than that. You've been acting strange since we got back." He walked to where I stood, putting his hands on my shoulders. A rush of dizziness swept over me. "Harry, I told you, I forgive you for what you did. Or almost did - whatever." His voice grew softer. "It wasn't your fault." His eyes were so kind, so understanding. . . I could look into those eyes forever. . . No! I tore myself away from him with an effort.

"Tom, I said it's nothing, and that's all I'm going to say." I took a deep breath. "You can borrow clothes if you want, you know where they are." I waited for him to say something, to move toward my closet, anything, but he just stood there. Finally I looked at him. "What?" My voice sounded harsher than I had intended, but I didn't dare soften it. I was taking the easy way out and I hated myself for it.

Confusion flitted over his features, followed by anger. "I just don't get it, Harry. I thought we could trust each other. If you can't even tell me what the hell is bothering you, then I guess I was wrong about that. And I don't want to burden you with my presence. Computer, site-to-site transport. Beam me directly to my quarters."

I stared dumbly as he dematerialized, tears filling my eyes. I cursed myself silently as I wept. Coward.

---

"Well, Thomas Eugene Paris, it's official. You're a complete moron," I said out loud. "You had the perfect chance to tell Harry how you felt, and you blew it, just like you've done with every other good thing that's come along in your life. You blew it."

I stared at myself in the mirror, wearing nothing but Harry's towel. "And you took his towel, too. What kind of friend are you?"

Disgusted with myself, I got some clothes on and left for the mess hall. Self-loathing not withstanding, I was hungry, and if I couldn't spend my replicator rations with Harry, I didn't feel like I deserved to use them at all. Leola root stew would do, and even that was too good for a moron like me.


I walked into the mess hall, hoping it would be empty except for Neelix. No such luck - there were at least twenty people in there, and damned if they weren't all staring at me. I sighed as they started crowding around me.

"Hey Tom, glad to see you're okay. The Doc had us worried, said you'd been stabbed?"

"Tom, how are you feeling?"

"How's Harry doing, Tom?"

They were just trying to be nice, but it was driving me nuts.

"Uh, I'm a little tired, maybe the inquisition could wait until I've had something to eat?" I tried to sound lighthearted, and mostly pulled it off.

The crew murmured agreements and greetings as they drifted back to their own business. Relieved, I sat down in the far corner, as far away from humanity as I could get. Neelix, though, was not one to be put off.

"Tom?" he inquired as he approached. "Is everything all right? Can I get you something?" He did look genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, everything's. . . fine. Whatever you've got is fine, Neelix, just make sure it's hot," I mumbled, hoping I sounded like I meant it. I guess I didn't, because when Neelix came back with my leola root stew, he sat down and fixed me with a sympathetically prying gaze.

"Now Tom, you know I'm the morale officer, and if something's bothering you, it's my job to see that it gets straightened out! So why don't you just let it all out, I'm all ears. Let Neelix take care of it, whatever it is. What do you say?" He waited expectantly, hands folded on the table.

'Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have someone to talk to about this,' I thought.

'Maybe. . . ' I took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. "All right, I could use a friend right about now - but you have to promise me this doesn't go beyond your ears. You see, Neelix. . . "

---

I sat in my quarters, still teary-eyed. The beans were done - replicators don't notice whether you're happy or not, they just make what you tell them to - so I tried some of them. I knew I had to be in need of food, I hadn't eaten a square meal in who knows how long - among other things, the clamp had kept me from being able to accurately judge the passage of time. But I couldn't bring myself to concentrate on eating. All I could do was keep replaying the conversation Tom and I had just had.

Why hadn't I been able to tell him?

"What's wrong with me?" I moaned. "Why didn't I say it? 'Tom, you're more than a friend to me.' What's hard about that? It would have been so simple to just say it!"

Well. . . maybe I was being too hard on myself. It wouldn't have really been that simple. There still would have been confusion, misunderstanding, probably pain: it wouldn't have been simple at all.

"Ok. So maybe it wouldn't have been the way I hoped. What am I going to do now?" I sighed, collecting my chaotic thoughts from the random corners of my anxious mind. I had to make a decision - and soon. It was getting late, and I wanted to have this out with Tom before we had to endure eight strained hours on-duty together tomorrow morning.

---

Neelix just stared at me.

I stared back, hoping he didn't think too badly of me. It was starting to sink in that I had just told someone - a real-person-someone, not a holographic Sandrine - the way I felt about Harry. Out loud.

I broke Neelix's gaze and glanced around the mess hall. Thankfully, most of the people that had been in here when I arrived had cleared out. The few that lingered were on the other side of the room. At least people on this ship still knew how to tell if a conversation was private, even if they did gossip about it later.

"Well. . . Tom. . . " Neelix faltered. "That's quite a. . . dilemma you've got there." He paused. "Uh, do you have any idea how Harry feels about this? No, of course not, sorry. That was the point, wasn't it? He doesn't know how you feel. Well. . . " He glanced at me, flustered. "Well to tell you the truth, Tom, I never thought of you as the type of person who. . . would ask for my help, in a situation like this. But - but, you have asked, and I want to help, if I can. Have you tried, uh, finding out how Harry might feel about this kind of relationship?"

"Yeah, kind of. His roommate at the Academy was gay, and Harry was okay with that. . . of course, Harry was with Libby back then, so, that doesn't help me much."

Neelix brightened. "Well I would say it helps a lot! At least you know Harry won't think any less of you for the way you feel, right? Even if he doesn't return those feelings."

I considered this. It was true, Harry wasn't the kind of person to be judgmental in any way. I'd been afraid of losing his friendship, and that's why I hadn't told him while I was in his quarters that night. But now I could see that that was an irrational fear, and my resolve to remedy the situation grew stronger. I stood up, speaking with renewed conviction.

"Neelix, you're right. I'm going to tell Harry how I feel. Right now."

"Good for you! Uh, good luck, Tom! I'm sure everything will be fine!" Neelix called after me as I stepped onto the turbolift.

I strode down the hallway toward Harry's quarters, mentally steeling myself for the leap of faith I was about to take. At least I was pretty sure he wouldn't hate me, even if he wasn't interested. But oh, gods, how I prayed he would be.

---

I paced the floor of my room, torn between following Tom to the mess hall (which seemed the logical place for him to go, since we hadn't gotten around to eating), or just going to bed. I was so tired - but I couldn't stand the thought of just letting it go, and having to see him awkwardly first thing in the morning.

I checked the chronometer, and was startled to see that it was nearly 2200 hours. How had it gotten so late? Had I been agonizing about the situation for that long? I was sure it had been no later than 1900 hours when Tom left.

I sighed. He probably wouldn't even be in the mess hall anymore. I had missed my chance. . . No! I was not going to accept defeat, not by something as trivial as a clock. This was more important than observing etiquette: late or not, I was going to resolve this. I'd made up my mind; I was going to go to his quarters if he wasn't in the mess hall. Sure, it was late. But Tom would just have to deal with it. And I had a feeling he'd be awake, anyway.

Resolutely, I marched to my door, planning what I'd say when I got to Tom's quarters. The door slid open, and I was so intent on my rehearsal that I walked right into the person who had been just about to ring the chime. Tom.

He caught me by the arms, saving me from tripping over him. "Easy there, buddy! Slow down!" he exclaimed. His grip softened as he added, "Can we talk a little? I just--"

I interrupted him. "Actually, Tom. . . I was on my way to see you." I glanced down the hall. "It's late, I don't want to disturb my neighbors. Will you come in?"

"Of course," he murmured. As he let go of me, his hands trailed down my arms, making me shiver.

'Oh, Tom. Why'd you do that, it only makes things worse,' I thought wretchedly. 'How am I going to make it through this?'

He was already speaking as the door closed behind us. "Look, Harry, I know I was a little abrupt earlier. I didn't mean to be angry with you. If something's bothering you, and you want to keep it to yourself, who am I to argue? I mean, I don't want to make you feel any worse about it, whatever it is. . . " He looked away and paused for a moment before continuing. "Besides. . . I have something I need to tell you. I just hope it won't affect our friendship. . . I. . . Having you as a friend means a lot to me, Harry, and I don't want to lose that."

He looked at me. The battle between hope and despair played out silently in his blue eyes: the eyes of the man I loved.

Hope - hope of what? What the hell was he trying to say? Dared I dream that he might be feeling the very same doubt and desire that I was?

I suddenly realized that he was waiting for me to respond before he would say anything else. I searched for words that would encourage him, without giving myself away too soon. Good manners came to the rescue.

"Uh, Tom, have a seat, would you like something to drink? I mean, you haven't had anything for dinner, have you?" I asked. At least the role of good host was a comfortable one. But I resolved not to hide behind it: I was going to tell him how I felt; this wasn't going to turn into a nice, safe little chat about nothing. But God, I was terrified.

He lowered himself onto my couch. "Well," he grinned (how much more beautiful could he get?), "I did have some delicious leola root stew in the mess hall. But I suppose some spinach and pear juice would be nice, thanks."

I replicated it for him and handed him the glass. His fingers brushed mine as he took it, and my heart leapt as our eyes met for a single, fleeting moment. He stared at me, then shook his head as if to rid himself of a useless thought. "Harry," he began - but I cut him off.

"Listen, Tom. There's something I have to say to you too, and I'd feel better if you'd just let me say it." I paused to check his reaction: he was regarding me with something between disbelief and delight. I took a deep breath and spoke. "You're my best friend. I don't want to lose that. But you deserve to know this: I. . . have feelings for you that go beyond friendship." There. I'd said it. Relief washed over me, and I felt a little dizzy, but definitely better.

He was still staring at me. Was it a good thing, or a bad thing, that he looked so incredulous? "Tom? Aren't you going to say something?" This didn't look like it was going too well. I hoped he would at least let me down easy. But he didn't say a word. He stood up - and took my hand.

Oh, my. "Harry. . . I wish you'd let me finish what I came here to say."

His voice was low and soft: it gave me chills. And did he have to hold my hands like that? So gently, as if he feared they would break at his touch. His thumbs traced little wandering circles over the back of each hand. . . how could he expect me to concentrate at all? I tried to refocus my full attention on what he was saying.

" I came here tonight because I have been trying to find a way to tell you this for a long, long time. Nothing matters more to me than you, Harry. . . " He dropped his gaze from my face to my hands, lifting them to chest level. Then he spoke again, so softly that I could barely hear him. "I love you."

For a moment, I was unable to comprehend. Then he lifted my hand to his mouth and began to kiss my fingers, softly, longingly. That broke the confusion. Tom loved me.

Tom loved me, nothing else could ever matter. I withdrew my hands from the embrace he held them in, and reached up to touch his face. "Tom, why didn't you tell me before now?" I whispered. Tears were filling my eyes, but I didn't care. I wanted him to know how much this meant to me.

"I -- I didn't know how you'd react, I couldn't bear to. . . lose you, if you didn't want. . . Harry, please don't cry, it will be okay," he murmured, and pulled me into his arms.

We stood there in each other's arms for a moment, while I summoned up the courage to say what I needed to tell him. "Tom, I love you too," I mumbled against his shirt. I don't know why it took so much to tell him, especially after he's just said the same thing to me, but it did.

And he heard me.

He pulled away from me, just enough to look at me. His face was so close to mine, I felt his breath across my lips as he spoke. "You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that. . . and how long I've wanted to do this."

For one glorious, everlasting moment, the only thing in the entire universe that mattered were Tom's lips on mine. Slowly I responded, opening my mouth, letting him enter. It was completion, the homecoming of the other half of my soul.

Finally, it ended. Tom gazed at me, smiling, his beautiful eyes filled with love. I said the only thing I could think of: "Computer, dim the lights."

"Time for bed, Harry?" Tom's voice had regained a bit of the mischief that had been missing for so long.

"Absolutely," I replied, a grin coming unbidden to my lips.

"Well then, I should go," he teased.

"Oh, no you don't." I took his hands. "Tom. Stay."

He regarded me, still smiling. "Of course I will, Harry. But remember. . . "

"What?"

"We do have the early shift tomorrow. . . "

Well, we were going to be late.

---

End