by Rachel Martin
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Posting: Freely post, link and archive. Posted to ASC 3/15/99. Posted to PKSP 3/17/99. Posted to PacKage 4/8/99.

Disclaimer: The Star Trek universe is the property of Paramount/Viacom. This story is my property. I'm making no money off this.

Feedback welcome.

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Tom paid the pilot and jumped off the commuter shuttle. Watching its departure, he wondered again why he was going to spend the entire two week break at his parents' house.

Why hadn't he gone with his classmates to Mexico? Hell -- staying in the dorms now seemed preferable.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and picked up his carryall. He knew why he was home. He wasn't going to ostracize his mother for living with his father. Besides -- things weren't actually awful between himself and the old man these days. Tommy boy was doing what the Admiral wanted, attending the Academy, getting decent grades. Now that he lived in a dorm most of the year he wasn't even around to get into confrontations with the guy anymore. Yeah. Things were okay between them. And even if they weren't. . . he couldn't very well break his mother's heart by never coming home again. Unfortunately he loved her.

In the deepening twilight, Tom trudged up the walkway from the shuttle dock of the Paris estate to the front entrance of the imposing house. He had left the Academy many hours after dismissal, working up the resolve to go through with this visit, and knew guiltily that by now his mother probably thought he'd chickened out.

From a distance he recognized several of his father's aides milling about the front door. Could the Admiral be far behind? Tom suddenly decided not to immediately test the truce. He did a right-face and skulked along the shrubbery until he could duck through a side door and make his way to the kitchen. His father rarely graced the kitchen with his presence. In consequence it was one of Tom's favorite locations. His mother seemed to hang out in the kitchen as much as he did. It had not yet occurred to him that the attraction was his own company. Tom's burgeoning ego still had a few blind spots.

"Tom!" His mother jumped out of a chair as he pushed open the kitchen door. He dropped his carryall and unselfconsciously went into her arms. She looked happy and -- mysteriously -- slightly guilty. "You're really here! I was afraid you'd changed your mind."

"Couldn't stay away," he said, and thought: From you. He gave her a noisy sloppy kiss which caused her to duck protestingly out of his arms. "Is the old man going out tonight? I saw the goons out front."

Again the guilty flash. "Oh, did I forget to mention yesterday, we have company."

"Company" meaning dignitaries, diplomats, Starfleet brass and the like. Visitors were as integral to the Paris residence as the Parises themselves, and that was just the way Tom liked it. Few opportunities for cozy dinners en famille, thank the gods. "Who's it this time?"

"A Mr. and Mrs. Kim. Civilians. Government contractors. And their, uh, son."

"The Kims? Weren't they just here?"

"No, that was a different bunch. Your father says Kim is the most common family name in Korea. Maybe in all the Asian States, I don't know. Anyway, come along and do the necessary."

Tom had, of course, impeccable manners. It was that or suffer dismemberment at the Admiral's hands. Nevertheless, following his mother into the living room, he stumbled into her back and stopped cold to stare at an elderly Asian couple and what appeared to be their party doll. A pubescent boy wearing a white t- shirt groaning at the seams and a pair of jeans that strained across his ass and crotch. If the kid got a hard-on those pants were history. His shiny black hair flopped in bangs over his eyes and fell sensuously halfway down his back. He had the big brown eyes of a Disney character. Bambi Does Bangkok. Tom sneaked a peek at his stonefaced father. The old man completely failed to demand the usual obeisance from his wandering son. In fact, in the face of this outrage, Tom was not registering at all on the Owen Paris scale.

The granny said sweetly, "Oh, you must be Tommy!"

Since it was socially unacceptable to slug old ladies, Tom simply extended his hand to the old bat, who ignored it and patted his cheek. Desperately he turned to the geezer, who accepted his pro-offered hand and remarked, "You're the one in Starfleet Academy, aren't you? This is our boy Harry. Harry, say hello to Tommy."

Harry-the-hooker looked up from under long-lashed doe eyes and said sweetly, "Hi."

"Hi," Tom said hoarsely, cleared his throat and said firmly, "Hi."

Granny picked up a light coat which Gramps gallantly helped her into. She said, "Well, now that you're here, I suppose we'll be on our way. You boys have a nice time tonight."

"Excuse me?" Tom said.

"Excuse us," Mrs. Paris said charmingly, seizing Tom's arm and hustling him into the kitchen. She shut the door behind them and held her hand up warningly as Tom opened his mouth. "Now you just listen to me a moment, Thomas Eugene. The Kims are major contractors to Starfleet Material Command and they're going back to Seoul tomorrow and your father and I have got to entertain them this evening."

"And I have to entertain the kid? Ma! I just got in! I was gonna call Gina!"

"She hates you. Look, how difficult can this be? He's twelve, thirteen. Take him to a holoshow. Pizza on me."

"Ma! I can't go out in public with that kid! He looks like a hustler!" Mrs. Paris tried and failed to stifle a giggle. "I can't believe his grandparents let him dress like that!"

"They're his parents."

"Jesus! You gotta be kidding! They gotta be a hundred years old!"

"At least," Mrs. Paris agreed gravely. She switched to wheedling. "Come on, Tom, please, as a favor to me? It's not like I won't pay you back. Come on. You'll have fun!"

"Fun? What's fun about babysitting? You know, this is why the girls moved out."

"They got married, Tom. Now come on. Pleeeeeee--"

"You owe me, Ma. Big time." Tom rubbed his thumb and forefinger together meaningfully.

"I guess feeding you for the past eighteen years doesn't count, huh."

"No way. We're talking serious money."

"All right! All right! I'll settle up tomorrow. Now come back out and make nice." She allowed him to grab up his carryall, then hauled him back into the living room and propelled him towards the boy, who under the Admiral's death glare was standing awkwardly staring down and scuffing the floor. Mrs. Paris said brightly, "Take him up to one of the guest rooms, why don't you? The Kims are spending the night."

"One of the maids took their bags up," said the Admiral, who continued freeze-drying Harry Kim with his eyes. Feeling a rush of sympathy for the kid, Tom clapped him on the shoulder and said, "C'mon, let's go upstairs."

The kid jumped after him. Granny and Gramps -- make that Mom and Pop -- intercepted and smothered him with hugs and farewell kisses as though he were embarking upon a deep-space mission. Harry endured patiently. Eventually he extricated himself and rushed out of the room and up the stairs after Tom.

"Oh, man," he gasped, "your dad is scary." He turned bright red. "Gee, I guess that was rude."

"Don't worry, I'm not offended," Tom said dryly. "It's a relief to have him glaring at someone else for a change."

"Are you really in Starfleet?"

"Sort of. I'm a midshipman. I'll be finished with freshman year in two months."

"Can I see your uniform?"

The kid seemed prepared to admire, and Tom was always in the mood to be admired, so he led the way to his bedroom. Harry looked around in amazement. "A dad like yours lets you keep a room like this?"

"Don't let's get into that. You wanted to see a uniform --" he tossed his carryall to Harry. Harry burrowed in and emerged with a midshipman's uniform. He sat on the bed --still unmade from Tom's last visit -- draped the uniform over his knees and fingered it. "Neat."

"So let me guess. You're going to apply to the Academy someday?"

Harry looked surprised. "Oh, no. I'm going to Juilliard. I mean if they accept me."

"The performing arts college? In New York City? Aren't you a bit young?"

"Oh, they have a high school too. I'm gonna live in a dorm!"

"Your parents are going to let you live away from home?" Tom asked skeptically, thinking of the scene he had just witnessed in the living room. "So you want to be an actor?" That would explain the clothes.

"Uh-uh! I'm gonna enroll in the music program. I'm gonna play in the World Symphony someday!"

"Sounds great," Tom said, thinking it sounded boring as shit. He craned his head and through the bedroom window saw his father's aides following the Paris party of four into the Admiral's taxpayer-supported shuttle. "Well, what do you want to do. Want to go out?" He briefly wondered what it must have been like to live in San Fran in the 1970s. Hard to believe this stuffy military town had once been the Babylon of the West.

"Can we go to the mall? Huh?"

The kid comes halfway 'round the world to go malling. "Yeah, sure. We'll get a pizza there." Tom looked at the innocent face. Funny, Harry didn't seem as sophisticated as his outfit. He considered loaning the kid something to wear but immediately discarded the idea. Tom was tall and skinny, Harry was short and stocky. They were just going to have to venture forth and hope Harry's clothes didn't rupture in too public a venue. "Okay, we'll --" Tom gently smacked his own forehead "-- take the BART."

"Can't you fly a shuttle?"

"Yeah, but I forgot to get the latest access and ignition codes from my mom. My father's goons are always scrambling them. They seem to think someone might have designs on the old fart's life, can't imagine why . . . Anyway I just came in by shuttle and the commuter air traffic over San Fran was murder. "


They walked to the local Bay Area Rapid Transit station, or rather, Tom walked while Harry frisked around and ahead like an unleashed puppy. Tom could just imagine the neighbors twitching back their curtains to get an eyeful of that awful Paris boy's date. They negotiated the BART without attracting an ungodly number of stares, and eventually meandered into the mall.

Harry bounded up to the mall map. "Hey Tom, where do they sell sims? I been saving up for 'Warp Ten Challenge.' "

"You know, Harry, I was thinking, since you're here anyway, why don't you buy some clothes?"

"Clothes?!" Harry said incredulously. "I'm not wasting my allowance on clothes! That's the dumbest thing I ever heard of!"

"Yeah, but the ones you have on don't fit so good."

"My mom just bought these! Six months ago! What's wrong with them?"

Tom looked desperately anywhere but at Harry's bulging crotch.

"I hate clothes-shopping!" Harry wailed. "I wanna go buy sims!"

"Hey, don't you want to look good for the girls?"

"Oh, girls are so dumb!"

"Alllll riiiighty. . ." Tom mumbled, the picture coming into focus, as it were. "Simulations. Second level southeast. Let's go."

"Yeah!"


Parked in front of racks of games, simulations, holonovels and what have you, Harry looked as blissed out as a drug addict. Tom figured the kid would be preoccupied for at least thirty minutes. He wandered around the store for that amount of time looking for opportunities to practice pick-up lines, but every girl he hit on seemed as disinterested in the opposite sex as Harry. Or maybe they were all just disinterested in Tom. Maybe he had "Babysitter" branded on his forehead like the mark of Cain.

Tom sighed and decided to rejoin Harry. Harry wasn't where he'd left him. Tom walked across the store, peering up and down each aisle. No Harry. His heart started thumping. He jogged up to the front of the store and asked the clerk, "Hey, did you just sell a copy of 'Warp Ten Challenge' to this Asian boy, real long hair, real tight jeans --"

"Oh him." The clerk licked his lips. "Don't bother. His father hustled him out of here faster'n --"

Tom rushed out of the store and wildly looked up, down and around. To his profound relief he saw in the distance what appeared to be Harry cheerfully chattering away to a middle-aged man who was guiding him toward the northwest mall exit. Tom raced down the walkways, ducking and dodging pedestrians, bellowing, "HARRY!"

Harry stopped, turned around and waved. The man nervously tugged his arm. Heedless of the attention he was attracting -- on second thought, thankful for it -- Tom roared, "WAIT FOR ME!"

Harry stood patiently as Tom skidded up to him. "Gee, Tom, I wasn't gonna leave without you. I thought you were already out front. We would've waited. Sorry 'bout that."

Tom panted furiously, "Who -- is -- we?"

"The guy my dad sent for us. Where'd he go? I guess he left without us. I hope Dad doesn't get too mad."

Tom seized him by the shoulders and shouted, "Are you crazy?"

"You think he will get mad, huh?"

"You idiot! Your father didn't send anybody for us! Were you really going to just walk off with that guy?" Tom let go of the kid and clutched at his own hair.

"But he paid for my sim," Harry explained. "And he spoke Korean. So he must know my dad." This chain of logic momentarily robbed Tom of the power of speech. Harry peered into his apoplectic face and asked meekly, "Did I mess up? Are you gonna tell?"

Tom's gut instinct was to bellow YES! Then he thought: Yeah, and the old man rips me a new one for leaving the kid unsupervised in the first place. He groaned. "No, I won't rat on you. But Harry. You gotta be more careful. I don't want to see your ass on the ten o'clock news. You understand me?"

Harry said placatingly and with absolutely no comprehension, "Sure, Tom. Can we get pizza?"

"Pizza!!"

"Well, yeah, aren't you hungry?"

Tom checked his churning stomach. Definitely he did not feel hungry. Dazedly he allowed Harry to lead him into a food court. He sat in front of an untouched soda as Harry cheerfully wolfed down an entire medium pizza with everything on it. "This is real good, Tom. You sure you don't want any?"

Tom belatedly wondered how the kid's jeans were going to accommodate six slices of pizza. The alternative was too frightful to contemplate. He groaned and put his head down on the table.

"You look real tired," Harry noted kindly. "My parents get tired too. You want to go home now?"

Tom levered himself to his feet. Harry energetically jumped up. Strangely enough, his stomach seemed as flat as ever. The kid must have a hollow leg. Harry was about to rush ahead when Tom reached over and grabbed his upper arm. Tom marched the kid prisoner-of-war style through the mall to the closest exit. He would have handcuffed himself to Harry if he'd had the necessary. Once outdoors Tom tried to orient himself to the nearest BART station. Unfortunately a quaint cable car trolling for tourists chose that moment to roll enticingly past the mall entrance. Harry immediately tore loose and leaped aboard. Tom frenziedly jumped in after him.

Tom didn't even bother yelling. He sat down wearily next to Harry, seized his arm and for good measure hooked his ankle around one of the kid's. He studied the transit map on the wall for BART connections.

Tom became uncomfortably aware of another rider staring intently at the two of them. A big guy in his late twenties-early thirties. A really big guy. With friggin' tattoos. Missing only the black leather jacket and red bandanna Now getting up and walking towards them. Tom's hand automatically clenched more tightly around Harry's arm. Harry yelped and tried to pull loose.

The big guy grabbed the pole in front of them and smiled at Harry. "Hiya, kiddo."

Harry smiled enchantingly. "Hi."

Tom repressed the urge to slap the kid.

Tattoo-face coolly gestured at Tom. "Does your mom know you're with this guy?"

Tom almost suffocated with outrage as the implication sunk in. As he huffed, Harry said innocently, "Sure."

Tom leaped to his feet and recklessly crowded the guy. The guy looked singularly unimpressed.

Tom hissed, "I'm babysitting, okay?"

"There a problem?"

Tom turned around smack into a transit cop.

The cop took in the threesome. Harry smiled happily at him. Harry was having a great time.

"Can I see some ID, please?"

Harry produced a student ID. The gangster handed over a Starfleet ID. Jesus. They must've let anybody in back in the olden days. With exceeding reluctance Tom dug out his Academy ID. The cop studied the lot.

Oh, gods, Tom prayed, just don't let him -

"Oh! Well. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Paris."

Every uniformed person in the car lifted his or her head.

The cop redistributed the IDs. The big guy sneered at Tom. Tom slunk into his seat and put his face in his hands. Mercifully the guy jumped off at the next stop. At the stop after that, Tom yanked Harry off the cable car and began marching him not towards the BART but a commuter shuttlecraft station.

"Wow!" Harry said enthusiastically. "I thought we were gonna get in a fight with that guy! I thought we were gonna get arrested! Man! This is so cool!"

Tom stopped and grabbed the kid by the shirtfront. "Listen to me, you little twerp! Don't look at anyone! Don't talk to anyone! Don't smile at anyone!"

Harry pouted. Harry looked twice as adorable pouting. A passing leather freak cooed, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Tom took off his jacket and threw it over Harry's head. Grabbing the kid's arm, he hustled him down the street, ignoring his indignant yells and the curious looks of passers-by. Not until he had parked the brat's butt in a shuttle did Tom take a deep breath.

Harry tore the jacket off and threw it at Tom. "What'd ya do that for?!"

"You figure it out," Tom growled.

Tom furiously paid the pilot a ridiculous number of credits on arrival. Scalped, by the gods. He pulled Harry out of the shuttle and hauled him into and through the Paris house at top speed. Racing into his bedroom, he pitched Harry onto the bed and locked the door behind them. Panting, he dropped into the chair by his desk.

Harry started to get up.

Tom pointed threateningly at him. "Sit! Stay!"

Harry subsided.

Tom clutched at his hair again.

A long pause ensured.

"Tom?" Harry asked meekly.

"What!"

"How long are we going to sit in here?"

"Till your parents come back!"

"But our parents are staying out real late."

"So you're sleeping in here."

"Why can't I sleep in the guest room?"

"Because with my luck Bruno Hauptmann will climb in the window."

"Who's Bruno --"

"Never mind."

"My pajamas are in the guest room. And my toothbrush. And--"

"Fine! Go get your stuff. No, wait! I'll get your stuff! No! You come with me!" Tom unlocked the door and ushered Harry down the hall and back. The kid was giving him wary looks out of the corners of his eyes. Tom locked his bedroom door behind them again as Harry disappeared into Tom's bathroom with his backpack.

Tom sank thankfully into his chair, then tiredly got up again. Damn. He'd have to wear pajamas tonight too. He rummaged in his dresser. Did he even own any? Dammit. He changed into an undershirt and a pair of cotton jogging pants. Harry emerged from the bathroom in mercifully baggy white flannel pajamas that contrasted gorgeously with his black hair and tawny skin. Tom choked and covered it up with a coughing fit. Shit. This was ludicrous. He was turning into Humbert Humbert.

"Hey, Tom, can I watch one of your vids?"

"Yeah. No!" Tom lunged.

Harry said reproachfully, "Does your mom know you own that?"

"Hell no. No one's ever in here. They're afraid of tetanus."

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Harry climbed into the unmade bed and attempted to arrange the sheets neatly about himself. "So whadda we gonna do?"

"You're going to sleep."

"Oh, come on!"

"Oh, brother. I must have a vid you can watch." Tom got up and began pawing through his shelves. "Okay. Here's a good one. Twentieth century science fiction. 'The Day The World Stood Still.' "

"It's not gushy, is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"It does have a few dumb girls but they hardly talk at all. Oh wait. This is even better. 'Captain Proton.' You'll love it. Trust me."

"Okay." Harry settled back as Tom started the vid and turned off the lights. "Hey, you don't have to sit on the chair. I'll move over."

"Um. No, I'm fine."

Harry slid over in the bed and looked expectantly at Tom. Tom perched gingerly on the edge of mattress. The kid glued his eyes to the vid again. Cautiously Tom made himself more comfortable, leaning back against the headboard and then bringing his legs up and stretching them out. After all -- Harry was just a kid. Nothing to get nervous about. . .

---

Tom was awakened by an urgent knocking at his bedroom door. "Tom! Are you in there? Where's Harry?"

Tom raised his head and opened his eyes. Harry was cuddled like a kitten on the other side of the mattress. Tom thought gloomily, the first guy I ever sleep with and I pick a thirteen-year-old in flannel pajamas. He rolled off the bed, staggered to the door and unlocked it. His mother and Mrs. Kim peered anxiously around him.

"Oh, there he is!" Mrs. Kim twittered.

"We were watching vids." Tom yawned. "Hi, Ma. Hi, Mrs. Kim. Leave him be, I'll go sleep in the guest room."

Mrs. Kim pushed past him to hover over the bed. "Doesn't he look sweet," she cooed.

Mrs. Paris rolled her eyes at Tom, who grinned and stumbled down the hall.

---

Tom jogged downstairs at 0700 sharp. The Admiral did not approve of sloth. He was showered, shaved and fully dressed; the Admiral also did not approve of dishevelment. He found his mother alone in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

He walked straight up to her and stuck his open palm under her nose. "And I want a combat bonus."

"Good morning to you too, Tommy boy." Mrs. Paris resignedly reached into a pocket and extracted a disk. "You're so mercenary. Don't you think about anything but credits?" Tom grinned. "Don't answer that."

"Okey dokey," he said agreeably. He poured himself some coffee and sat down. "Where is everybody?"

"Oh, outside. The Kims are leaving in a few minutes. Your father wanted to discuss something privately with them."

"Probably offering to sponsor their kid at military school. Where is he anyway?"

"Harry? Oh, he's been racing around for hours. I heard him dragging his parents out of bed at the crack of dawn."

"They must've been pissed."

"Nah. Their little angel can do no wrong." Mrs. Paris chuckled. "You were twice as bad, you know. And I was twice as silly." She forestalled any rejoinder by rising to her feet. "Come on, guess it's time to go out front and make our farewells."

Tom trailed his mother out of the house and down the steps leading to the shuttle dock. Harry was nowhere in sight. Mrs. Kim was earnestly speaking to the Admiral. Mr. Kim came forward to speak to Mrs. Paris, then took Tom aside and pushed a disk into his hand. "Something for you. Thanks for watching Harry."

Tom took the disk without a pang of conscience.

Mr. Kim said, "I hear you went to a mall? Any, ah, trouble?"

Tom looked up alertly. "What kind of trouble?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mr. Kim said vaguely, "funny things have been happening lately." He patted Tom's arm.

It's called puberty, Tom thought sourly, but decided someone else could enlighten Harry's decrepit parents.

Black hair flying, Harry bounced out of the house. He was wearing a polo shirt bursting at the shoulder seams and a pair of khaki shorts that begged for mercy.

"Uh. Mr. Kim?" Tom said suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"You need to take him clothes-shopping. In the men's department."

"Dear me, that's a little premature, surely," the old man said in amusement.

"And he needs a haircut."

"Dear me. His mother wouldn't like that."

Tom rolled his eyes.

Harry bounded up like a frisky puppy. "Hi, Tom! I gotta go now."

Averting his eyes from Harry's obtrusive crotch, Tom shook the pro-offered hand. "Good luck at Juilliard, buddy."

Harry beamed. "Good luck in Starfleet, Tom." The wattage dimmed. "Guess I won't be seeing you again."

"Not likely. Unless I catch your act at Carnegie Hall in ten years."

Harry grinned. "Bye!" He rushed off. Mr. Kim chuckled indulgently and followed slowly after him. Tom watched the Kim family make its adieus to Admiral and Mrs. Paris.

Another batch of houseguests out of the way. Three more in an endless parade of visitors. Tom knew he'd forget them, even the crazy kid, inside of a couple of months.

Duty done, he thought, turning to go into the house. Time to go look up my real friends.

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End