The BLTS Archive- Another Non-sequitor

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(c) 1996

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the rights to every person, place and thing
used in this story. No infringement of these rights is intended. Not
to be published for profit. Not to be published without this
disclaimer.

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"So, what did you mean, there on the bridge this afternoon, Harry? You
owe me one?" Lieutenant Tom Paris and Ensign Harry Kim, best friends,
shipmates and senior bridge officers on the Federation Starship
Voyager, were sitting in Harry's quarters aboard Voyager, lost in the
Delta Quadrant.

When Sandrine's had emptied out minutes ago, neither had wanted to
stay there any longer. But neither were they quite ready to call it a
night. Harry had invited Tom into his quarters because Tom had wanted
to hear more about Harry's adventure that afternoon.

Harry had been returning to Voyager from a shuttle scanning mission
when he became caught in a temporal anomaly, a distortion in the
space-time continuum. Those on the bridge had been afraid there for a
few tense minutes that they were going to lose him. After boosting the
emergency transporter beam with the deflector array, they managed to
grab him seconds before his shuttle exploded in a fiery ball.

Tom had been curious as to why the first thing Harry had asked Captain
Janeway, upon rematerializing in the transporter room, was whether Tom
was on the bridge or not. Later, when Harry had returned to the bridge
himself, he had told Tom that he "owed him one." At Tom's questioning
look, Harry had just said that it was a long story.

Now Tom wanted to hear that story. He settled back in the corner of
Harry's sofa and waited to hear what Harry had to say.

"Well, you heard Chakotay and I discussing the fact that I had been
caught in a kind of time streamer . . . sort of an invisible shifting
rift in the space-time continuum."

"Yeah," Tom answered.

"Well, I was not only caught in the damn thing. I was lost in it."

"What do you mean?" Tom was obviously puzzled. What exactly was the
distinction between 'caught' and 'lost'?

"I mean," Harry continued as he fingered some things on his desk,
"that one second I was sitting on that shuttle wondering what the hell
was happening and whether I was going to get off it alive, and the
next second I woke up in bed next to Libby in San Francisco."

"What?" Tom couldn't believe it. "You mean you were transported to San
Francisco, right into the bed of your girlfriend?!" Tom couldn't
imagine himself in the same situation. Then he thought for a moment,
grinned and amended that. Whose bed would he have been transported
into, he wondered.

"I'll bet she was sure surprised to see you!" Tom's grin grew at the
thought of Harry trying to explain it to a sputtering Libby.

"No," Harry started to explain. "No. That was the strangest part. She
acted as if I had been there all along. Like I always woke up in the
morning beside her. It was as if I had entered an alternate reality.
It was my life, but it wasn't my life. Am I making any sense?" Harry
examined Tom's grin. He wished Tom could understand that it had been a
frightening experience, not a titillating one.

"My getting caught in that time stream had altered reality. The first
thing I did was check my Starfleet record. I had been refused a
commission on Voyager. I used my access code and checked the
classified records of Voyager at Starfleet. A friend of mine, Danny
Bird, had been posted as ops officer instead. I had joined Starfleet
Engineering. I was deeply involved in designing a new shuttle. Hell, I
even had my own office and lab at Starfleet Command headquarters."

"You mean it was a completely different life, but it was your life?"
Tom was intrigued by what Harry was saying.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "And everyone around me expected me to just
carry on living that life as if I'd always been there! It was so
frustrating. I was kind of in shock for the first 24 hours, until I
started to understand just where I was and something of what was going
on. And then, all I could  think of was . . . that I was all alone. I
was the only one who knew that I wasn't supposed to be there."

"Jesus, Harry," Tom was staring at his friend open-mouthed. "What the
hell did you do?"

Tom knew, everyone on board a Federation starship knew, that strange
things could occur out in the vast unexplored reaches of space. And
the Delta Quadrant was more vastly unexplored than most. But it was
still mind-boggling to all of them whenever anything happened to alter
reality as they knew it, as they depended upon it being, every day of
their lives.

Tom could almost feel Harry's aloneness in that situation. All alone
in the universe. God! It was too close to what Tom had been feeling
about his own life at various times. That Harry should have had to
deal with that! It was unthinkable. And yet, Harry was saying that it
happened. He wished he could say something. But it was all over now,
wasn't it? Harry was here, back on Voyager. He had survived. All on
his own.

Harry stared at Tom, studying his expression. He thought Tom may just
have an inkling of some of the disorientation and fear Harry had felt
at the time. Tom may be a jerk sometimes, but at least he wasn't
stupid. No, Tom  had had enough experience in space, had heard enough
strange stories told by Starfleet personnel, to be able to believe
every word Harry was saying. And Tom, surprisingly enough, seemed to
have the sensitivity to be able to project himself into that same
situation and feel exactly how terrifying it had been. Sometimes he
felt as if he underestimated Tom.

Then the realization hit him between the eyes. Tom had been in prison.
You couldn't get much more alone than that. Locked up behind bars.

"Well," continued Harry, looking down at his hands, "for a while I
just sort of wandered around helplessly in a daze, not knowing what to
do or where to start. I didn't know if I was going to have to stay
there for the rest of my life, or if there was some way to change
things. I just couldn't think what to do, where to start looking. I
guess I was in shock. I don't know."

"Hell, that's perfectly understandable, Harry. I would have been
pretty stunned for a while too," Tom tried to reassure his friend. He
had the feeling Harry felt vaguely ashamed for that loss of control of
his situation, that feeling of helplessness that had overwhelmed him.
As if he could have done anything about it!

"Yeah?" Harry looked into Tom's eyes. Tom seemed sincere.

"Yeah!" Tom told him. "Besides, you needed time to figure out what to
do. I mean, there probably didn't seem to be too many options. Right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, remembering the overwhelming feeling of
bewilderment and hopelessness. He had had no idea what to do, who to
tell. Would there have been anyone there who would have believed him?
All he had  anaged to do was frighten Libby.

"So," Tom's voice brought Harry out of his reverie. "What did you
decide to do?"

"Well, there was this guy who had been really friendly to me. Acted as
if he knew me well. And when he saw me wandering around in this daze,
he sat down and told me that he was an alien lifeform sent into that
reality to keep an eye on me, help me if I needed help. He said their
lifeforms lived in the temporal rift and that they felt responsible
for me having been caught in it."

Harry looked up from the steady contemplation of his knuckles to see
that Tom was hanging on every word. He wondered for a moment how Tom
could believe something that sounded so preposterous.

"And . . ." Tom prompted, when he paused.

"Tom, do you believe everything I'm telling you?" Harry had to make
sure Tom was taking this seriously. It wasn't very often that Tom took
anything seriously.

Tom could see the uncertainty in Harry's eyes. "Yeah, Harry, I do. You
wouldn't lie about something like this. Hell, you never lie about
anything. You're the most honest person I know. And I admire and
respect that about you, Harry. I happen to know just how easy it is to
lie, and get caught up in those lies, and keep on lying because you
just don't know what the truth is anymore."

Harry had rarely seen Tom this serious before. He had the feeling that
Tom was looking into his own past and regretting a good deal of it. He
often wondered about Tom's past. Oh, he'd been informed by various
well-meaning crewmembers about the official and non-official versions
right at the start of their friendship. But he always felt that they
were not as accurate as they purported to be. That there was more to
Tom Paris than anyone* knew.

Harry had gotten this impression because of the lightweight image that
Tom presented so effortlessly. Nobody was that shallow. Everyone had
their insecurities, their dark recesses of the soul. Tom just hid his
better than most. That spoke of someone with a lot of practice doing
it, maybe over a good many years. No wonder Tom spoke so feelingly
about knowing what it felt like to live a lie.

The funny thing was, Harry thought that here on Voyager, Tom Paris had
come as close as he had ever been to throwing away those lies. Harry
saw their friendship as proof of that. Tom worked at their friendship.
He had become a good and loyal and caring friend. Harry admired that.
Friendship was never easy. It involved a lot of giving that some
people didn't find important or convenient. Harry had always felt that
Tom found their friendship important. It was one of the reasons Harry
liked him so much.

Tom had been watching Harry size him up. He had always been amazed at
the trust Harry had put in him, right from the very start. Tom trusted
very few people simply because very few people had proved trustworthy.
If he had been Harry, he wouldn't have trusted him. What had Harry
seen in him to earn that kind of trust?

Harry finally stopped staring and got up to pace across the floor of
his quarters.

"He told me that there was a way that I could get out of that time
line," he turned at his desk and looked back at Tom. "But that there
would be no guarantee that I would be able to get back to the original
one. That even if I could find the co-ordinates of the rift again,
where I had come out of it on this side, and get back in by recreating
the same circumstances that had brought me there, I might end up in a
place so far into the past or the future that I would have been better
off staying there, in that reality, no matter how wrong it seemed."

"But you decided to take that chance. Risk your life again. Why?"

"Oh hell, Tom," Harry said in exasperation. "We risk our lives every
day we're on Voyager, every time we go on an away mission, every time
we meet an alien race. Being Starfleet is about taking risks. There
was a chance I could get back to where I belonged. I wanted it. That
place looked like home. Some of it even felt like home." He looked
steadily at Tom. "But it wasn't. And I knew it. Would always know it.
I have never been very good at persuading myself that things are real
that aren't."

Tom smiled. "So, what was your plan of action?"

Harry just grinned back at him for a moment. "I went looking for the
best pilot in Starfleet to help me."

"What?" Tom was startled. He couldn't mean me, could he? "Do you mean
me? I was in Starfleet in that timeline?" Tom didn't know why he
should feel so amazed at that, but he was. Damn, maybe Harry should
have stayed there.

At Tom's question, Harry looked crestfallen, as if he had forgotten
something unpleasant but had suddenly remembered. Now, that made more
sense, thought Tom.

"No."

Hmm, thought Tom. Not promising. "No, what?" he asked undaunted. Might
as well hear it all.

"No, you weren't with Starfleet. I found you in a bar in Marseilles.
You hadn't been out of prison very long."

"I was out, was I?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "You had made it as far as Deep Space Nine to
join Voyager when you got in a fight with a Ferengi and your parole
was revoked." Harry's voice was grim. He felt responsible. It was
stupid, but there it was.

Tom's laugh was more of a snort. Story of my life. "I guess I was a
mess."

"That's one way of putting it," Harry agreed.

"So what did I say? I take it you asked for my help?"

"You told me to get lost," Harry's voice was bleak as he relived those
few moments in that bar in Marseilles.

Tom looked at Harry. He had never seen him look so wounded.

"Well, what did you expect from a loser like me?" Tom's voice was
tight, the cynicism he had thought gone since his rebirth on Voyager,
rising like a phoenix from the ashes of his grim past.

"I thought that there had to be some of you in that Tom Paris.
Something I could connect with. You're you, aren't you, whether you're
here or there? The same Tom Paris, right?"

"Oh, Harry," was all Tom could say. How could he explain the man that
he had been? How could he explain the road that had taken him to that
place in his life, where nothing and no one mattered, least of all
himself? And there were no such things as friends. "I guess there
wasn't anything there to connect with, was there?"

"No, there didn't seem to be," Harry agreed.

"So what did you do?" Tom asked resignedly. Perhaps he had heard the
worst already. Things can only get better once you've hit rock bottom,
right?

"I told you that you were a loser and a drunk," Harry couldn't look
Tom in the eye when he said it. "I said that I thought that's all
you'd ever be."

"To my face?" Tom winced.

"Yeah," Harry acceded.

"What did I say?" Tom asked, his voice flat with shock.

"You didn't say anything," Harry said.

"I'm not surprised," Tom's voice was bitterly amused.

"Hell, Tom," Harry finally burst out. "I'm sorry, but I was just so
damn disappointed."

"Yeah, I can see that," Tom observed with grim humour.

"Disappointed and angry and disgusted and . . ." Harry didn't know if
he could continue.

"Afraid," Tom supplied.

Harry finally had the courage to look up into Tom's blue eyes. They
held nothing but sympathy. Harry sighed with relief.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I was really afraid. I'd been counting on you.
Like I always count on you." The disappointment was back. "But it
wasn't the same. Nothing else had been the same . . . except Libby. I
guess it was asking too much for you to be the same guy you are now."

"You mean your knight in shining armour?" Tom grinned.

Harry grinned back but it was a little lopsided, a little apologetic.
"Naw," he said. "Just a much needed best friend."

Tom couldn't tear his eyes away from Harry's face. The expression of
yearning and tenderness in his eyes almost did him in. Almost prompted
him to do something foolish. Something he was aching to do. Had been
aching to do for a very very long time. He resisted it with every
ounce of common sense he had in him.

"Yeah, a best friend would have come in handy right about then, I
guess," Tom rushed into words with facetious ease born of long
practice. "Too bad all you got was that bum, Tom Paris. I hope you
didn't let him discourage you."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he studied Tom again. Typical Paris response.
But why? Why now? What was that flash of something he had seen in
Tom's eyes? It had been there for a moment, lighting them up inside,
and then it had been ruthlessly wiped out. Now there was just friendly
irrepressible Tom Paris sitting there, joking as usual. But, for a
moment, there had been somebody else. Who? He wondered what Tom would
say if he asked him what he had been thinking just then. Probably tell
him nothing, that he had been imagining things. Maybe he had.

"I went back to San Francisco and things just got worse."

"Oh?" Tom said. How bad could they have gotten? Harry was here, wasn't
he? It was over. And why did he feel so responsible? He didn't have
any control over that jerk in the other timeline. Harry knew that.
Still, he felt a pain deep inside that his counterpart hadn't done
better, done something. Jesus, I can be a selfish bastard sometimes.

"Starfleet was waiting for me. They wanted to know how I had managed
to break into Voyager's classified files. They wanted to know what I
was doing going all the way to Marseilles to call on a convicted
Maquis criminal."

"Ouch!" Tom winced for Harry. "And I guess they didn't believe the
far-fetched story you told them in explanation."

"They sure didn't," Harry agreed ruefully, remembering his
frustration. He had known even before he opened his mouth that they
wouldn't believe him.

"Did they charge you with anything?" Tom asked.

"No, not right away," Harry answered. "They said they'd do some more
investigating. They leg-clamped me though."

"Standard Starfleet policy," Tom agreed.

"Well, I wasn't going to wait around for them to gather any more
circumstantial evidence against me. I tried to take off the leg-clamp
before I headed out for places unknown, but that only brought
Security. So I ran."

"Bet you didn't get very far," Tom was grimly amused. He knew exactly
how useless it was trying to evade Starfleet Security.

"Well . . ." Harry started grinning at him. "One of them had a hold on
me when *someone* intervened and took him out with a beaut of a right
hook."

Tom was so surprised he had no instant comeback. All right! "Hey, hey!
Your knight in shining armour after all!" He started to laugh.

God, what a relief! He had done it. He had seen something in Harry,
something that had drawn him. The same as in this timeline. Something
that had made him want to help, protect, care. Something that had made
him want to live up to that ideal vision of himself that Harry carried
around in his head.

"Yeah," Harry was chuckling with him. He remembered the feelings at
that moment. The relief, and then the elation. Tom had come through
for him. He had been right to go to him. He had known it all along. It
had been almost instinct. And his instincts had been right all along.

"You said maybe if you had friends like me who trusted you, and a
decent life worth living back in my timeline, maybe you'd better see
what you could do to help me get back there. Cause anything had to be
better than the one you were living in now."

Tom grimaced slightly. Jesus! "Yeah, I always was good at self-pity
and looking out for number one."

Harry just smiled. "I think you were trying to find ways for
justifying the fact that you were going to risk your life to help a
complete stranger do something that maybe couldn't be done just for
some possible payoff of less grief in the future. I wasn't surprised.
I'm used to you hiding evidence of your good deeds behind jokes and
protestations of self-interest. You're uncomfortable with people
knowing that you often do things for others just out of the goodness
of your own heart."

"What?" Tom was incredulous. Is *that* what Harry thought of him? God,
he *was* an impossible idealist. "The goodness of my own heart? Harry,
you are seriously delusional." Tom was very uncomfortable. He didn't
do things like that, did he? How embarrassing!

"It was no delusion, Tom. You knew you were going to die on that
shuttle even before we broke it out of spacedock. I didn't realize it
until the computer announced an imminent core breech. I didn't want to
leave, but you pushed me onto the transporter pad and set me free."

Tom just stared at him speechless. He remembered . . . 'I owe you
one.'

"I . . . I . . ." all Tom could do was stammer.

"You saved my life, Tom Paris," Harry was adamant about it. "Thank
you." Harry held out his hand.

Tom stared at Harry's outstretched hand. He watched as his hand
reached out without his own volition to meet it. Harry clasped it in
both of his.

Oh God. Harry. Tom was overwhelmed. He pulled Harry forward and
wrapped his arms around his startled friend. He hugged him as if his
life depended on it. And, at this moment, it felt just like that. He
had come that close to not getting Harry back from that alternate
reality. It had been luck, pure luck, that Harry had been caught by
Voyager's transporter beam again instead of being thrown into some
other alternate timeline. That close!

Tom just concentrated on the feel of Harry in his arms. This was real.
He was here. Still the fear that this wasn't really happening
remained. He had to say something. Unfortunately, he said the wrong
thing.

"I love you, Harry."

Harry stiffened and jerked back, pulling himself out of Tom's arms.
Oh, God, thought Tom. I've gotta do something quick. He had a sudden
brainstorm and said some words as casually as he could, trying to keep
his voice even.

"You're the best friend I've got," Tom tried to make it sound like it
was just a continuation of the previous thought. Would Harry buy it?
Sure he would. Harry's that innocent. Harry's that gullible. Tom
smiled at Harry. Nice friendly smile.

Harry saw that smile and relaxed. He pulled Tom to his chest in an
exhibition of exuberant emotion.

"Yeah," he pulled back again and released Tom, just hanging onto Tom's
forearms now. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Tom Paris. And I
owe you big time. You name it and it's yours. Anytime I can do
anything for you, just let me know."

Oh, Harry. If you only knew. Tom hid his feelings and continued
smiling.  "I'll let you know, Harry. You can count on it." Tom
grinned.

---

Tom Paris was walking down the corridor to his quarters. Tommy-boy,
you almost blew it. How could you have been so stupid?

Well, it had been a pretty emotional moment, he conceded, letting
himself off the hook easily. He had been caught unawares.

Better be more careful in future, Tommy-boy. You just about loused up
the best thing that's ever happened to you.

---

Harry Kim was lying back on his bed trying to relax into sleep. It
just wouldn't come.

He kept going back in his mind to that moment in Tom's arms when Tom
had said, "I love you." His reaction had been acute. He had almost
embarrassed himself in front of Tom with his panicked response.
Fortunately, Tom hadn't seemed to notice. He had just been expressing
his affection, his relief, his friendship.

Harry conceded that the relationship between himself and Tom probably
could be described as love. They were as close as two brothers. Maybe
even closer. And brothers loved each other, didn't they? They had so
much shared experience on Voyager, wasn't it natural that they should
feel a special closeness to each other?

So why had he panicked when he found himself in Tom Paris' arms
listening to a declaration of friendship . . . of . . . love? He
wasn't sure he really wanted an answer to that question, so he pushed
it away.

Libby. Thinking about Libby always helped him get to sleep. Sweet,
sweet Libby. Harry smiled. He slipped his hand down under the
bedsheet, inside the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He closed his
warm hand around himself and thought about that last morning in the
alternate reality. In bed with Libby. God, it had been so good. He
tried to remember what she had done with her hands and repeated it
with his own. Yes, that was exactly what she had done to him. Harry
sighed with the pleasure

---

In the days that followed, Harry tried to do little things for Tom to
show his gratitude. He used up precious replicator credits to get Tom
things to  eat that he hadn't had in a long time. He tried to arrange
pool matches between Tom and other crew members who were more of a
challenge than Harry was for Tom's skill. He even snuck into Tom's
quarters occasionally and  cleaned up.

He wanted Tom to know how glad he was to have a friend like him. He
wanted Tom to know what a relief it was to be back where he belonged
on Voyager. And maybe, just maybe he wanted to make up for doubting
Tom's intentions during that hug, even if it had just been for a
moment.

Harry felt strangely guilty about it, but he couldn't figure out why.
Hell, it wasn't as if he had asked for the hug. He hadn't been giving
off *those* kinds of signals, had he? Come on, that was impossible.

The only problem was that Tom didn't seem to want to accept any of
these things from Harry. He seemed embarrassed by the offers. He
refused as many of them as he possibly could. It was very frustrating.
How could you show your appreciation to someone who wouldn't let you?
So Harry decided to be persistent. Tom was going to enjoy the
pampering, Harry promised himself, even if he had to hog-tie him to
give it to him. Harry grinned at the thought.

---

Tom was getting desperate. He couldn't take much more of this. Harry
kept giving him things. Harry kept doing things for him. Harry's
continual presence at his elbow was becoming something of a strain, to
put it mildly.

It was almost a physical pain every time Harry approached him these
days. Because he knew that Harry was showering him with this attention
out of gratitude. Well, Tom bloody well didn't want his gratitude.
Enough was enough. If he brought him candy one more time he was going
to grab Harry and kiss him, he swore it! And damn the consequences. A
man could only take so much.

Frustration. That was the problem. He wanted more from Harry than
Harry could ever give. Or ever want to give. And it was as frustrating
and depressing as hell.

Tom had known this for a long time. Known and barely acknowledged,
because it hurt too much to acknowledge, that he felt more than
friendship for Harry Kim. He wanted much much more than simple
friendship from Harry. And it was impossible. He knew that. And yet .
. .. . . he still wanted it. And it had finally become impossible to
hide that fact from himself. Thank God he could still hide it from
Harry

---

Harry had invited Tom to join him in a hour or two of relaxation on
the holodeck. Anything Tom wanted, he said. Sports? The beach? Music?
Name it, Harry had said.

Tom knew Harry had a nice beach program, so he suggested they go
swimming. Some extended physical exertion was in order if he was going
to be spending a couple of hours in Harry's company. Extreme exertion
was the  only way he was going to handle it.

Oh, don't kid yourself, Tommy-boy. You just want the chance to see
Harry in a pair of swim trunks. Face it. You're a masochist. Tom
grinned ruefully at the thought. Sometimes it was no comfort to know
yourself so well.

Tom had sat on the warm holodeck sand and watched Harry take off his
uniform to reveal a pair of tight black swim trunks. God! Tom found it
difficult to control his breathing. He was beginning to think this was
a very bad idea. He looked away, trying to concentrate on the blue of
the sky, the few scattered clouds, the restless waves rolling up the
beach, retreating, and then returning. Nothing helped. His gaze was
brought irresistibly back to Harry's body: those shoulders, the trim
waist --he must work out--and flat stomach, the strong thighs, long
legs, and every delicious inch in between his slim toes and his
ruffled black hair. God!  Harry turned to smile at him and Tom had had
all he could take. He had shed his uniform first and now he launched
himself down the beach and into the waves. Swim, Paris, swim. He
didn't come out until he was exhausted, dragging himself up the beach
to flop down on his towel without a word.

"Well," Harry's tone was sarcastic. "So much for that leisurely swim
together."

Tom bit his tongue at Harry's tone. Should he answer that or not?
Something urged him to keep his mouth shut. But good intentions
weren't strong enough to fight the frustration he had been feeling for
weeks. He felt himself being goaded into doing something he knew he'd
regret. And for some reason, he got the impression that it was Harry
who was goading him.

"What's that supposed to mean," Tom bit out.

"The point of this little exercise was to spend some time together.
You just spent an hour tearing up the waves as if a shark was after
you. I didn't put any sharks into this program you know, Tom."

"Don't push it, Harry." Tom's words were cryptic, his voice held a
warning that Harry chose to ignore.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry exclaimed, clearly
exasperated with his friend's behaviour. What was wrong with Tom?

"It means I've had enough!" Tom practically shouted at the startled
Harry. Tom scrambled to his feet and wrapped the towel around his
hips. He picked up his uniform and his boots and headed for the door.

"Tom . . ." Harry was shocked, his voice faint with surprise.

Tom didn't answer. He stalked out of the holodeck, trailing water all
the way down the corridor. A startled crewman stepped back as he
barged past her and she paused to admire the view of the rapidly
retreating lieutenant. She turned back just in time to see the doors
close on the figure of Ensign Kim retreating into the holodeck. Hmmm,
she thought. Not bad either.

---

Tom cursed himself backwards and forwards. First, for agreeing to go,
next for indulging in that inspection of Harry's anatomy, but most of
all for losing his cool and making a fool of himself. No wonder Harry
had looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. It was a distinct
possibility.

He kept his face forward, his expression impassive as he passed
crewman after crewman in his dripping attire. This was going to make
interesting talk in the mess hall tonight, Tom grimaced. His
expression must have been fierce. Someone coming towards him stepped
sideways to give him a wide berth.

Tom finally reached the privacy of his quarters and walked in. "Damn,
damn, damn," he growled out loud to the empty cabin. "Shit, shit,
shit," he continued. How the hell was he going to smooth over this?!
Do you have to ef up everything in your life, Tommy-boy?!

He was so angry with himself he didn't know what to do. He wanted to
punch a hole in the bulkhead. He wanted to throw the furniture around.
He wanted to wail at the top of his lungs, why me, why me? All he
*did* do was start pacing. In his dripping swim suit. With the towel
working its way off his hips. His uniform in a crumpled mess abandoned
at the door.

He couldn't do any of those stress-relieving things. First, because he
was a Starfleet officer. And second, because he knew with some uncanny
sixth sense that Ensign Harry Kim was going to be here any minute
demanding an explanation for his behaviour. And what the hell was he
going to tell him?! Arghhhh . . .

---

Harry sat back down on the sand and stared at the empty beach around
him looking for answers. What happened? He was at a loss. He felt like
a big black hole had suddenly opened up in his own private universe
and it was threatening to suck him into it. He didn't know where it
had come from, or how to stop from being sucked into it. All he knew
was that Tom seemed to have beaten him to it. He had watched Tom
disappear into that fathomless hole as he had watched him disappear
down that corridor.

Harry was strangely frightened. Why was Tom acting this way? What had
he done? Try to express his feelings to Tom? Try to carry on with
their friendship the only way he knew how? Why was that friendship so
difficult to maintain all of a sudden? Why was Tom so hostile? What
had he *done* to make Tom feel that way?

Harry's mind continued around and around in circles, still not finding
any answers. There was only one place that Harry knew he could get the
answers. The trouble was, would Tom give them to him? Would they come
to blows over whatever it was that was coming between them? There was
only one way to find out. And, the sooner the better.

Harry returned to his quarters and changed into fresh clothes. If he
was going to go begging on his hands and knees, he was going to do it
with at least a modicum of dignity. He headed for Tom's quarters.

By the time he arrived, there was no answer. He looked at his watch.
Perhaps Tom had already gone to the mess hall. Harry headed back down
the corridor.

He stepped into the mess hall and, sure enough, there was Tom talking
to Neelix, asking some pointed questions about the evening's menu.
Huh, thought Harry. The only question I'd want answered would be, is
it edible? Sometimes the answer wasn't immediately obvious. Sometimes
you still weren't sure even after you'd eaten it.

He caught Tom's eye, but Tom just turned back to Neelix to ask him
something else. If Harry didn't know better, he'd think Tom was trying
to avoid him. Maybe he was afraid Harry would insist on an accounting
of his actions right here in the mess hall. Well, Harry had no
intention of doing that, for both their sakes. But there was no way he
was going to let Tom out of his sight this evening until he got a
satisfactory explanation out of him.

Harry got a plate of food and joined Tom. They didn't speak. They
didn't do much eating either. When Tom rose, Harry was at his elbow.
When Tom stepped into the corridor, Harry was at his heels.

Tom turned to face him. "Harry . . ." Tom's voice was faintly
pleading. Harry ignored it.

"I want to talk to you," Harry said, keeping his tone cool, but
insistent.

"Not now, Harry," Tom looked away down the corridor, anywhere but at
Harry's face.

"Yes!" Harry was vehement. The longer this went on the harder it would
be to fix it. "Right now."

Tom sighed. It sounded like he carried the weight of the world on his
shoulders. Harry looked at him worriedly. What had happened to his
friend, happy-go-lucky, always-good-for-a-laugh Tom?

"Your quarters or mine, Harry," Tom asked resignedly.

Harry thought for a moment. "Mine."

"Lead the way, Ensign," Tom said.

Harry just stared at him for a long moment, trying vainly to read
something, anything, in Tom's expressionless face. Then he turned and
started down the corridor.

Once in Harry's quarters Tom threw himself down on the sofa and
sprawled out in the semblance of relaxation. Harry wasn't fooled. Tom
looked perfectly at ease, except he kept pulling on one ear. Pull on
the ear. Rub behind it with one finger. Then pull on it again. He was
as nervous as hell.

"What is going on, Tom?" Harry asked in bewilderment. He wasn't angry.
He was worried. "What happened earlier? What did I do?"

Tom sighed heavily. "You didn't do anything, Harry. I'm just . . . I
just need to be left alone for a few days. It was a mistake to go to
the holodeck with you when I'm in such a lousy mood. I'm sorry, Harry.
It was thoughtless of me." There, thought Tom. That's as good as I can
do. Please, accept it, Harry. Please, no more of this inquisition.

"But what's wrong, Tom?" Harry pleaded. "Can't I help? Isn't there
something I can do?"

"No, Harry," Tom dragged the words out of himself. He wanted so much
to tell Harry. He wanted so much to have Harry make everything right
with the world. "I just need you to leave me alone." And that's final,
before I lose what's left of my self-control.

"But . . ." Harry began. It was too much for Tom. Just one word too
much.

"Listen, Harry," Tom broke in. "I know you feel responsible for me. I
know you have this idea that I need looking after, but you're wrong. I
am perfectly capable of deciding what I need and don't need, and right
now what I don't need is you telling me how grateful you are, how much
you want to prove your friendship, how you need to do things for me. I
don't want your gratitude, your help or your attempts to make my life
easier. There is no way in hell that you can make my life any easier
and your kindly meddling is only making a bad situation worse. So
would you just leave me alone!"

Harry stared wide-eyed at Tom as he delivered this tirade. His own
temper was beginning to heat up. What did Tom think he was doing?
Throwing Harry's friendship, his feelings, back in his face? He didn't
*need* that friendship any more, was that it? Who did he think he was,
Mr. Self-sufficient Asshole Paris?

"What is it exactly that you *do* want Mr. Ego," Harry ground out
through his teeth.

"Nothing!" Tom almost shouted in exasperation. "You can't give me what
I want or what I need, so stop trying!"

"Oh," Harry drawled sarcastically back at him, stepping up to block
the path of the bristling figure of his sometime friend, who had risen
in agitation from the sofa and was pacing Harry's quarters like a
caged lion.

"Pray tell, *Mister* Paris. What is it, this impossibly unattainable
thing that you want? Godhood?"

Tom stared at Harry. His agitation was overwhelming. His eyes were
focussed on the enraged face of the man who he had cherished as best
friend. He felt the whole world was going to explode inside his head
if he didn't say it.

"I want *you*!"

Harry stared at him. And he continued to stare, open-mouthed. What on
earth had gotten into Tom? He couldn't mean what he was saying. He
just couldn't!

"Tom . . ." Harry's voice was eloquent with his incredulity and his
shock. He didn't know what else to say. Tom was still looking at him
with anger and desperation and, God, could that be *hope* in his eyes?

"No!" Harry suddenly found the word he wanted. He started to shake his
head. What was he feeling? Anger? Fear? Pity? Guilt? Had he done
something, said something, to precipitate this? It was a nightmare!

"That's not possible, Tom," he grated out through clenched teeth. "And
you know it."

Tom just stared at him. Pain and bitterness slowly filled his
expression to the exclusion of all else.

"Yeah," he said. Then, it was as if a curtain dropped. There was no
expression there in the voice now, or on the face either. "Yeah, I
know." He turned and strode to the door, pausing only long enough for
it to swish open before he continued off down the corridor as if the
hounds of hell were at his heels.

Harry stood there staring at the closed door. What had just happened?
His mind moved from one incredulous conclusion after another trying to
make some sense of the situation he found himself in. He always came
back to that one incontrovertible fact. Tom Paris, his best friend on
Voyager, in all of Starfleet, had just told him he wanted him. Damn
him.

---

What the hell were you doing Paris?!

Tom headed to his quarters, muttering under his breath. Thank God the
corridor between Harry's quarters and his was clear. You really blew
it this time. There will be no covering this one up with convenient
lies and fudged explanations. Yep. You saw the look in those eyes,
didn't you Tommy-boy? Fear. God damnit, you really effed up bigtime
tonight!

Tom strode into his quarters. He paused, listened to the hollow sound
of the closing door, and surveyed the devastation done to his life
with three little words. A sob broke into the stillness of the room.

---

Harry continued to stare at the closed door with a look so intense it
might have bored right through like laserfire. Harry was wishing it
was Tom's skull that he was trying to bore into. What the hell was
going on inside that warped brain of his? He had to be insane! What
else could explain that totally preposterous declaration?

He *wanted* him?! What the hell did he mean? He wanted Harry to
perform as some sort of sex slave for him? Where the hell did he come
off *thinking* about something like that, let alone voicing the damn
idea to Harry's own face?! God! Tom had always had more than his fair
share of nerve and sheer  audacity, but this was going too far! They
were *friends* goddamnit! How could he *say* something like that?!

How could Harry possibly take this seriously? And yet . . . and yet .
. . God! the look in Tom's eyes: first, when he'd blurted it out, and
then, when Harry had blurted out 'No!' He *meant* it. Tom had meant
every word. How *dared* he?

Harry headed for the door and barely stopped for it to open, before he
was off down the corridor to Tom's quarters.

There was no answer to his chime. He repeated it. And again. And
finally Tom opened it, standing facing Harry, barely a metre
separating them. Harry reached out and pushed Tom forcefully back into
his quarters and followed him in, letting the door swish closed behind
them.

"How dare you?!" Harry raged at him. Tom turned away, shoulders
hunched defensively. Harry grabbed those shoulders and pulled Tom
around to face him again. "Tell me! Talk to me, damn you! How could
you *say* something like that?!"

"Because I meant it," Tom's expression was weary, his eyes were
bloodshot. Harry thought, my God, he's been crying!

"How *could* you?" Harry was almost in tears himself with the anger
and hurt burning inside him. "We're *friends*!!!"

Tom couldn't say anything. It was hopeless. He could never explain.

"Well?!" Harry demanded. He pushed Tom backwards away from him with an
aggressively physical challenge and Tom staggered to keep his balance.

"I had to say something!" Tom burst out, that push being the final
blow to his crumbling composure. "You had this insane idea that I
wanted your gratitude!"

"Gratitude?!?!" Harry virtually exploded. "Did you think that I would
do "that" out of gratitude?" Harry's voice had reached breaking point.
"Well, you can bloody well have my life back, if that's all you want
from me!"

Tom was shaking his head back and forth wearily, in frustration over
trying to make Harry understand. "Harry, you've got it all wrong. I
don't just want "that."  I want *you*. I want to love you. I want you
to love me. Damn it all! I'm *in love with you,* Harry!"

Harry was stunned. Harry was speechless. Harry couldn't think of a
thing to say. Oh God, he thought. It's worse.  Oh, God!

---

Their friendship was in ruins.

Harry avoided Tom as much as possible for days. He ignored him when he
could. He spoke to him only when absolutely necessary on the bridge.
But it couldn't last. They were starting to get enquiries from friends
and other crew members. Was everything all right? Did Harry know what
had happened to Tom to make him so touchy? Did Tom know why Harry
refused all invitations to go to Sandrine's?

So Harry finally relented and showed up at Sandrine's, and even played
pool with Tom and B'Elanna. They passed casual remarks back and forth
in the mess hall, even laughing together at B'Elanna's sly wit. They
went on an away mission together and worked together just as well as
they had always done. Harry thought, maybe Tom and I can just put this
behind us. Pretend it never happened. And things returned to a gradual
semblance of what passed for normal.

---

It wasn't noticeable to anyone else. It wasn't acknowledged between
them, but Tom understood what was happening. He knew that Harry had
decided that the only way they could function on board Voyager and
give the impression to everyone that they were still friends was to be
ultra-polite and ultra-casual. And there was absolutely no touching
allowed. His casual pats on the back were now flinched from. When they
bumped into each other accidentally, Harry jumped as if scalded. The
whole situation made Tom feel very very sad. Why had he ever said
anything to Harry about how he felt? What a colossal blunder!  At
least they were still friends.  Sort of. . . .

---

"Well, Tom, I guess it's a relief to be back in sickbay, hmmm,"
Captain Janeway teased, trying to cheer up the morose young man who
had just been rescued from an alien prison facility in the nick of
time.

Tom just looked at her and smiled wanly. He was lying on a biobed
recovering from surgery to remove an alien mind-altering implant and
repair a life-threatening knife wound to the abdomen.

Across the room the holographic doctor was still working on Ensign
Kim, but he said there weren't going to be any problems with that
young man's recovery either. At least, not physically. Who knows what
these two had been through emotionally in the last few days, Janeway
thought to herself.

"It was a good thing you showed up when you did," Tom finally spoke.

Janeway smiled sympathetically. "Yes, I could see the situation was
getting pretty desperate from the shape you were in."

"I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Harry, Captain," Tom
continued. "He was the only thing keeping me alive. He risked his life
over and over again to keep me alive, Captain."

Janeway nodded in acknowledgement of what Tom was saying. But there
wasn't much she could officially do about it. Starfleet officers were
expected to do everything in their power to protect their fellow
officers, especially wounded ones. Maybe she could suggest a
commendation in her log, much good would it do.

"I'll thank Mr. Kim personally for bringing you back to us alive,
Lieutenant, once he's out of surgery."

Tom smiled at her. "Thank you, Captain. I'd appreciate that. Harry
deserves it."

The Captain just smiled and nodded again. One more tie, she thought,
to bind these two who seemed so close.

---

Tom had been released from sickbay at the same time as Harry. Their
relief at being whole and free seemed to fill them both with a
temporary euphoria that they didn't question. They just knew that they
had to celebrate it. Now. Before real life had a chance to claim them
again.

They went off arm in arm to splurge on food, food, glorious food, to
make up for the painful starvation they had been forced to endure. No
one else could know exactly how good this meal was going to taste. It
had to be shared between just the two of them. A ritual. A
reaffirmation of their return to life, to sanity, to their home.

---

The euphoria didn't last long. Tom made the mistake of believing that
the happiness he felt was going to be permanent. That Harry's renewed
wish to be close to him was going to last. But, it hadn't. The first
time he had put his arm around Harry, he had known.

Harry didn't say anything. Harry pretended it didn't happen. He just
stepped away from Tom and then continued the conversation as if
nothing was wrong. But it had hurt. It had made Tom withdraw. And
Harry, sensing Tom's withdrawal, and frightened by it, had withdrawn
into himself, as well. It was a vicious circle.

That prison . . . that damn stinking nightmare of a prison had changed
everything, Tom decided. Everything had changed as soon as Harry had
come flying down that chute and the vultures had started to circle.

"He's mine!" Tom had staked his claim. And he had felt that claim in
every muscle, every vein, every beat of his heart. Yes, this one is
*mine*. And he knew in that moment he would kill to protect that
claim. Harry. Harry, finally his. Yes.

Tom hadn't known he could feel this way about another human being. Had
it all been the implant? All those overwhelming feelings of
possession, of ownership, of a fierce protectiveness and jealous rage
any time he saw another's eyes on what was *his*?

No, it couldn't have been all the implant's doing. Because he still
felt it. Not as fiercely, but it was still there. And he found himself
struggling to hide it; from his own consciousness, from the crew's
curious gaze, and most of all, from Harry.

What Harry didn't know couldn't hurt him. And this could definitely
hurt him. Because Harry did not reciprocate his feelings. He had
thought . . . for a few precious hours in that hellhole, that perhaps
. . . But he had been wrong. Harry was embarrassed. Harry felt guilty
for the violent things the implant had made him want to do. Harry was
trying to avoid him and so avoid the intimacy that could grow between
two people who had gone through as intense an experience as they had
in that misbegotten prison.

---

Harry wondered what had happened to his universe. Suddenly, everything
that had been solid and dependable and true was disintegrating before
his very eyes. How had this happened?

Months had passed since Tom's disastrous declaration and Harry's
instinctive rejection. It had taken a long time, and many false
starts, but they had almost gained back their old comraderie, if not
all their old trust. Then they had been sent on shore leave together.
And, marooned in a prison in the emptiness of deep space, he had come
face to face with a startling piece of truth that changed his whole
concept of the universe and his place in it.

Tom lay bleeding in his arms. He looked up at Harry and said, "Harry,
don't leave me," and Harry had known. For one agonizing moment, a
window had opened in his mind, and he found now that he couldn't get
it closed again.

He had wanted to protect Tom so badly from the pain, from his fear.
Most of all he had wanted to protect Tom from the ever-increasing
violent impulses inside himself. It had been an unbearable ache inside
him. He felt so goddamn helpless! Tom was going to die and there
wasn't a thing he could do about it.

He had clasped Tom's hand in his. He had reached up and brushed the
dirty blonde hair away from the dirt and sweat-streaked brow . . . and
suddenly had the most overwhelming urge to kiss it. Just lay his lips
tenderly upon that brow that was furrowed in pain. He wanted to
rekindle that look that had been in Tom's eyes back when he had
declared his love for Harry and Harry had so cruelly rejected him.

It had hit him suddenly between the eyes. He loved Tom. And something
else he realized. He'd fight every last inmate in that prison to
protect him. He'd channel all that rage, all that violence inside him
into building a protective wall around Tom. And not because he 'owed
him one'. And not because Tom was a Starfleet officer and Starfleet
stuck together through thick and thin. He'd do it because he was
suddenly faced with the possibility of losing Tom.

Losing his best friend. Losing the only person in the Delta Quadrant
who knew him as well as he knew himself. Tom was dying and he was
vulnerable. Tom had become a target for every animal in the place. All
that stood between them, and Tom, was Harry. And he knew, without a
shadow of a doubt, that he'd die defending him, protecting him. It was
that simple.

But it hadn't come to that. And back on Voyager, Tom had expressed his
gratitude. He had put his arm around Harry and Harry had thought he
would scream. Suddenly, despite his own misgivings about the whole
idea, he hadn't wanted gratitude from Tom. He hadn't wanted a pat on
the back. He had wanted that arm to pull him so close that he could
feel Tom's breath on his face. He had wanted it. And it had scared the
hell out of him.

Harry's fear and confusion kept that stubborn wedge between them that
had been built with the bricks of Harry's first rejection. And all the
carefully rebuilt bridges of friendship that they had painstakingly
re-established were gone.

The sad fact was, Harry was having dreams. Ever since they had got
back to Voyager from that prison, Harry had been dreaming of Tom.
Dreaming of Tom touching him, brushing his cheek with his fingers or
holding out his hand for Harry to take. Harry was starting to worry.
This was his best friend. They were just . . . two guys. Why was he
feeling this way?

But . . . Tom had said he loved him. More than that, Tom had said he
wanted him. And that was what worried Harry the most.

Okay, so he loved Tom. Well, a lot of people had friends that they
felt close to, friends that they loved. It didn't mean anything. It
couldn't mean anything else. Then why was he having these dreams?
Dreams where he and Tom would turn and find themselves about to bump
into each other. They'd raise their hands as if to ward off the
collision. But instead of warding it off, Tom's arms would go around
him, and his around Tom. They would end up standing there on the
bridge with their arms around each other holding on for dear life.

Harry woke up in cold sweats from these dreams. Was he going out of
his mind? He couldn't . . . he couldn't *want* . . . but he did.

Harry finally gave in. He acknowledged it. He wanted it. He wanted Tom
to hold him. Wanted him to hold him close in his arms. He wanted to be
able to turn over at night and snuggle into a pair of warm strong
arms. Lay his head on a well-muscled shoulder. Breathe in the
fragrance of someone else's skin. Male skin. A certain male's skin.
Oh, he *was* going crazy.

He didn't want to think about what else would happen in that bed. No,
he felt he might be sick if he thought about that. But the more he
tried not to think about it, the more the images popped up in his
dreams. Tom stepping out of the shower . . . naked as the day he was
born. All that fair skin. Freckles. God! The morning Harry woke from
one of these dreams with a hard on, he finally cracked. He turned his
face into his pillow and cried. What is happening to me?

And the worst part was, how could he tell Tom? Did he want to tell
Tom? What would he say? Just months ago he had thrown Tom's feelings
back in his face. He had humiliated Tom. Just days ago he had given
him the cold shoulder *again*. He had shown Tom exactly what he
thought of his affectionate gestures.

How could he justify his behaviour? How could Tom ever forgive him?
How could he humiliate himself by going to Tom and saying, you were
right? What the hell was he going to do? Did he have the nerve to say
or do anything?

---

Tom and Harry had returned to bridge duty. It had been a long day of
ignoring each other's presence, of trying to act normally. The Captain
didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary in their behaviour,
thank goodness. At least, she didn't comment upon it if she did.

At the end of their shift, Tom and Harry headed to the turbolift
together, talking casually, not showing by word or deed that anything
at all was wrong with their relationship. Best of friends, that's what
the whole world saw. That's what the whole world wanted to see. Tuvok
joined them, and got off first.

The turbolift had just resumed its descent when the lights flickered,
went out, and it came to a screeching halt with a jolt, throwing Harry
across the tiny cabin and into the startled arms of Tom.

The suddenness and the force of the impact of chest meeting chest
drove all the air out of Harry's lungs and he collapsed against Tom
gasping for breath. Tom pulled him fully into his arms, supporting
Harry's weight, until he could get his breath and his bearings back.

Caught in Tom's firm embrace, Harry's head swam. His mind swung
giddily back to the last time Tom had hugged him this close. It seemed
so long ago, but the memory of the feelings that had made him jump
back from Tom at that time had not dimmed.

What exactly was it that had scared him? Had he been scared of Tom? Of
what Tom might have been about to do? Had he been afraid Tom was going
to kiss him?

Or, had he been afraid that Tom would kiss him and he would find he
wanted it too?  Had these feelings been hiding inside him since way
back then?  Frightening him? Tormenting him? Driving him to hurt
himself and Tom with a protective lie? Trying to deny the truth? Was
it the truth even then?

Harry pulled himself out of Tom's arms and backed away until he had
pressed himself against the opposite side. He stared unseeing at Tom,
seeing only the past, seeing only the visions from his tortured
dreams.

Tom stared back, dazed, at Harry standing in the dim glow of the
emergency lighting. He keyed his communicator. "Paris to Torres."

"Engineering," B'Elanna's voice chirped.

"Harry and I are stuck in turbolift one. No power. What can you do for
us?" Tom's voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes burned back at
Harry's flaming expression.

Harry turned his face away. He couldn't face the expression in Tom's
eyes. Too many questions. And he didn't know the answers yet. Or maybe
he did, but couldn't voice them. Could never voice them. Just didn't
have the courage.

"Hold on," B'Elanna's voice echoed strangely in the turbolift.
"Rerouting power."

There was a jerk and the turbolift began to move again. Harry trembled
against the side of the cabin. Tom just stared at him. Did he really
see what he thought he saw in Harry's eyes? That raw need? The
bewildering pain? The pleading? Tom was stunned. It just couldn't be.
How could it be?

"Torres to Paris," chirped Tom's communicator.

"It's moving. Thanks, B'Elanna," Tom said absently.

Everything in him was focussed on the vision of Harry pressed
defensively  against the side of the turbolift. Did he think Tom was
going to pounce on him? That all it would take was one hot look from
Harry and months and  months of misery would be forgotten in a
mindless rush of passion? God, it was pretty darn close to that. If
Harry said anything . . . anything at all . . .

Harry didn't. He wanted the hell out of that turbolift before he
succumbed to the urge to throw himself into Tom's arms again, without
any help from a convenient power outage. Tom would probably throw him
back. And Harry could hardly blame him. What a nightmare!

The turbolift stopped and Harry didn't even look to see what deck it
was. He just wanted off. He stepped into the corridor and started down
it, realizing with relief his quarters were just a few feet away.
Refuge! He  headed to them.

Tom stepped out as well and watched Harry disappear into his quarters.
He had a very thoughtful expression on his face.

---

Harry walked into his quarters and just stood trembling in the middle
of the room. With vicious moves he tore off his uniform and then
dropped to the floor and started into a punishing routine of push-ups.
He had to get rid of this nervous tension, this adrenalin rush. He had
to.

After Harry's trembling arms couldn't support him any more he
collapsed for a moment on the floor. Then he went into the bathroom,
and removing the rest of his clothes, stepped into the shower. Hot
shower. Felt good. Aching muscles. Tension . . . gone.

Harry's mind started working again. Thank God.

First, Harry thought, I just made a complete fool of myself. How am I
going to retrieve this situation. Tom's going to think . . . well,
Harry didn't want to contemplate what Tom was thinking right now. It
was too embarrassing.

Second, he'd have to go and erase those ideas from Tom's head or his
life was going to be even more miserable than it was already. Whatever
Tom thought he saw in Harry's face, he had to be convinced that he was
mistaken. Harry couldn't handle any questions right now. Questions
would be impossible to answer. He had to keep control of the
conversation. Make his message clear and then leave. Short and to the
point, and above all, no questions.

---

Tom answered the door chime and was shocked to see Harry standing
there. He was still in uniform, but his hair was wet. Cold shower? Tom
couldn't quite keep a glint from appearing in his eyes. But he kept
his face ruthlessly neutral. Play it cool, Tommy-boy.

"Come in Harry," he invited stepping back, gesturing to the
comfortable seating.

Harry just stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind him. He
had no intention of making himself comfortable. He saw that glint in
those blue eyes and he could barely keep his knees from knocking.
Shit.

"Thanks, Tom, but that's not necessary," Harry began in a no-nonsense
voice. He straightened his shoulders even straighter than they were,
if that was possible. Thank God for Starfleet training.

Tom turned his back and headed to the sofa. He had to hide his grin
somehow. Oh, Harry in an emotional panic was a sight to see. Now what
would he need to do to take the starch out of that spine and make it
nice and limp like it had been in the turbolift not so long ago. Tom
was planning a sweet revenge. Harry owed him this. The least Harry
could do was show some embarrassment.

"I just came to apologize for panicking there in the turbolift
earlier. I guess I'm still having some anxiety from that prison
experience. Afraid I was a bit undone at being stuck in such a small
space." Harry thought he did very well with his explanation. He had
worked on that for over an hour until he thought he could convince his
mother with it.

"Panic," repeated Tom.

"Yes," said Harry.

"At being stuck in a turbolift," continued Tom.

"Yes," Harry almost sighed with relief. Everything was going according
to plan.

"At being stuck in a turbolift alone with me," Tom stated firmly.

"No!" Harry immediately denied. "No, it had nothing to do with you.
It's just . . ."

"You're lying, Harry," Tom said.

"What?" Harry sounded stunned. This was not in his plan!

"You were trembling in my arms, Harry, but it wasn't from fear of
being stuck in a turbolift. It was from fear of what you felt in my
arms. You found you wanted to stay in my arms, didn't you, Harry?" Tom
sounded self-assured. Not smug, but as if he had made his mind up
about something vital, and it wasn't ever going to be swayed again.

"You're out of your mind," was all Harry could think of to say. They
were both completely out of their minds.

"I saw it in your eyes, Harry," Tom continued, a persuasive note in
his voice now. Harry was frightened. Harry had to be calmed and only
then could he be convinced.

"I don't care what you think you saw," Harry said.

"And you wanted what you saw in mine, Harry," Tom said as if Harry had
never spoken.

"No!" Harry refused to even think such thoughts in front of Tom. Not
now that he knew what they meant. That was sheer suicide, that was.

"Harry . . ." Tom's voice rose on a cadence of longing.

"No," Harry was shaking his head. He wasn't going to listen to this.
He wasn't going to give in to the things he was feeling. Or the things
Tom was feeling.

Tom had moved closer. "Harry, how do you know . . ." Tom began.

"No!" This time Harry was more forceful. Fear was winning out. Fear of
the unknown. Fear of the strength of these totally unacceptable
emotions that were beginning to swamp him.

"Not now . . . not ever," Harry's voice was harsh with the strain of
keeping his emotions under control. He turned his back and closed his
eyes for a moment, hoping to gather his composure.

"Ever is a long long time, Harry," Tom said. His voice had moved
closer.  Harry opened his eyes to see Tom's face coming towards his.
He froze as if he was about to be struck by the bite of a cobra. Tom's
hooded gaze was just that mesmerizing. Harry watched the soft-looking
lips come closer. He  should do something. He should say something.
But, finally, he couldn't. He didn't know why, but he just could not
move away from those descending lips. Oh, God, this was madness.

Harry's eyes closed and he froze as those lips settled onto his. Oh  .
. . they were as soft as he'd imagined they would be. They moved
caressingly against his, moist and tender. Harry's head swam. I should
stop this. I should push him away.

Harry felt Tom's hands settle on his shoulders lightly. Harry couldn't
have moved if his life depended on it. His whole existence was
focussed on those soft lips moving tantalizingly against his. God, he
wanted to . . . he wanted to . . . God . . . how *could* he want that?

Tom's hands tightened on the points of Harry's shoulders and he
stepped closer. The warmth of his body brushed against Harry. Harry
felt it sear him . . . brand him as something he didn't even want to
contemplate.

Tom's lips increased their pressure on Harry's lips and Harry felt his
parting without volition. And then he felt the searing fire of a
tongue, wet and questing, slip over his sagging bottom lip and an
electric shock jolted him right out of Tom's arms.

Harry jumped and opened his eyes. He pulled himself out of Tom's
grasp. Panic held him in its grip now. Pure blind panic. What had he
done?

Tom stared into those wide panic-stricken eyes. He could see something
he had only been half aware of before. Harry had wanted that kiss
almost as much as he did. Had wanted the contact between them, but had
never really expected he would let it happen. And his acknowledgement
now, and momentary acceptance of that need, was tearing him apart.
Harry didn't want to feel it. And he was fighting it all the way.

Harry was shaking his head now, staring at Tom in desperation. "No . .
." broke out of him. The sound was full of pain. Harry's face was
twisted in anguish.

"Harry . . ." Tom held his arms out to him. If only Harry would let
himself take what he so obviously needed . . . maybe even wanted.

Harry just stared at him. He couldn't seem to move. Not away from Tom
and not towards him. He just stood there . . . swaying . . . fighting
himself . . . fighting against what he thought would be his
destruction; the complete and utter destruction of the Harry Kim he
had always thought, always *known,* he was.

Who was this guy taking over his mind and body? This guy who wanted to
step into the arms of another guy, and take everything the eyes of
that other guy said was just waiting for him in those arms. All he had
to do was take that step and he would be . . . someone else. But who?

Harry closed his eyes just for a moment. He had to shut out the vision
of those welcoming arms, that tender expression, those soft lips, or
he would never be able to do what he knew he had to do. In the dark
recesses of his mind his resolve hardened. He opened his eyes, and
brushed past Tom, and  stalked out the door as it swished open. And he
didn't dare look back.

---

Harry Kim was standing in his quarters, standing in front of the
bathroom mirror, staring into it. Who the hell are you? He stared into
the dark eyes. They had always seemed familiar before. He had always
taken for granted what he would see when he looked into them. What he
saw in them now was not what he wanted to see, not what he needed to
see. Those eyes were filled with fear . . . and pain . . . and, and .
. . and longing. Longing for another man. A very special man. His best
friend. And more. His refuge. His strength. His . . . was Tom really .
. . was he really the person that Harry . . . loved? The expression
had changed in those eyes. They were pleading with him. What were they
asking? Help me? Let me? Please?

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look in those eyes any
more. Oh, God . . . what was he going to do? Harry put his hands up to
cover his face, to keep from ever looking into that mirror again and
seeing what he had seen there. The want. The need. The acceptance of
what he had sworn never to accept.

He became aware of moisture on his face and hands. He was weeping. The
sobs shook Harry and he let them take control of him. He sat down on
the seat of the commode and buried his face in his hands and wept. For
himself, for what he had thought was the truth, for the ache inside
him that he knew now how to assuage, but wasn't sure he had the
courage for.  "Harry," Tom said.

Harry looked up, startled out of his tears for a moment. Tom!

"Harry, I . . ." Tom was aching at the sight of that tear-streaked
face. He had been stabbed by the sobs he had heard as he came through
the door. What could he do? He had to do something.

"I'm *sorry* Harry," he said and he held one hand out to his best
friend. If only they could go back to being best friends again.

Harry stared at Tom. God . . . look at the expression in those blue
eyes. He loves me. He wants to come between me and what hurts me. Does
he know what it is that's hurting me? That it's just me hurting
myself?

Harry stared in horror and fascination as his own hand rose from his
lap and moved towards where Tom's was held out to him. Oh, God . . .
was he really going to do this? Could he do this and not die? Could he
do this and ever look at himself in the mirror again? Could he *not*
do this and ever have the courage to look in the mirror again. His
mind was still fighting with his heart. And his mind was losing. Harry
decided it was time to stop thinking about it. So he told his mind to
go to hell and stood up so that his hand met Tom's.

Tom was shocked and amazed as he saw Harry's hand come towards him. He
looked into Harry's eyes. He saw fear there. But he also saw that same
desperate need. And then . . . and then as Harry stood and took his
hand, he saw . . . hope. Please, those eyes said. Oh, God! Tom
couldn't believe  what he was seeing. Harry!

Tom clasped that shaking hand in his. Clasped it in both of his. His
expression softened into one of loving acceptance. Yes, he thought.
This is how it is meant to be. I'll show you. It will all be ours.

He pulled Harry towards him with those hands and Harry came. He folded
Harry against his chest and put his arms tenderly around him, holding
him close but in a very light and easy embrace.

Tom held his breath as Harry slid his arms around Tom's waist, let his
hands slide up Tom's back to press lightly into the warm flesh he
found there. Harry let his head fall onto Tom's shoulder and a deep
shuddering sigh shook his frame.

"Tom . . ." Harry whispered into Tom's neck.

Ah, that warm breath against the side of his neck. Tom sighed.

"Ssshhhh . . . Harry," Tom whispered into that ear just beside his
lips. He let his lips gently caress it, just brushing it with his
bottom lip and his breath. "Don't say anything. There's no need to say
anything yet. Just let me hold you. You have no idea of how much I
need to just hold you."

"Yeah," the muffled voice said against his throat.

God, Harry's lips were actually brushing against his throat as he
spoke!  "I think I know," Harry finished. His arms tightened around
Tom. Tom's tightened in response. And they stood there together for
the longest time, trying to build a new world together with only a
hug.

Would it work? Harry was feeling dazed and confused and . . . warm . .
. and happy. Could he do it? Was he doing it? Yeah . . . he had to
acknowledge it finally. This felt . . . right. Somehow. For some
reason. Maybe . . . maybe it *was* all right. Stop thinking. Stop
thinking, he admonished himself. Feel it. God, it felt so good to be
in Tom's arms. He didn't ever want to leave.

The smell of Tom was filling his nostrils; warm, warm, with a bit of
soap and a bit of sweat. Ummm . . . He could get used to that smell,
he thought. It was like . . . like, a welcome. Familiar. Harry smiled.
He must be going insane. He must be crazy.

"I must be crazy." Harry felt he had to say something to Tom. Offer
some kind of explanation. It was just as accurate as any other would
have been.

"Yeah," Tom agreed, gentle humour expressed in the affectionate voice.
"They do say falling in love feels like temporary insanity."

Harry raised his head and looked at Tom, startled wide eyes searching
his face. Falling in love? Falling in love! Was that it? Had he
*fallen in love with Tom*?! What an absolutely crazy idea!

"What?" was all Harry could say. He thought he might be in shock. What
else was he going to find out about himself tonight?!

"Yeah," Tom was nodding gently. He released one arm from around Harry
and increased the pressure slightly with the other to compensate. This
kept Harry's body pressed deliciously close to his, even if Harry was
leaning back to look into his face. He brought his free hand up to
gently cup Harry's cheek.

"I think that's what it is, Harry."

"In love?" Harry said in a dazed voice, searching Tom's eyes, Tom's
expression. Tom would probably know. Tom was the one with the
experience. Harry had only loved . . . Libby. Libby seemed very far
away at this moment. *Very* far away.

"Yeah," Tom agreed. "It's kinda nice, don't you think?" he teased
Harry.  Harry brought one hand up to brush Tom's face with trembling
fingers. He traced the curve of the jaw, pressed his thumb against the
point of the chin, and then his fingers were irresistibly drawn to
those warm soft lips. Yes, he wanted to feel those against his again.

He trailed one finger across the upper lip, tracing its curve, then
going back to outline its shape. Then he did the same for the lower
lip. Yes, he wanted that shape to mold itself to his. And maybe . . .
just maybe . . . he wanted to feel what those lips felt like beneath
his tongue . . . the taste. Yes . . . oh God, what was happening to
him? He wanted to *taste* Tom Paris, his best friend!

Harry looked into Tom's eyes and saw nothing but tenderness there.
Tom. This was Tom, not some figment of his imagination.

"Don't be scared, Harry," Tom told him. "I'm not going to hurt you.
And I won't let you hurt yourself. We're going to love each other and
care for each other, that's all. Nothing to be afraid of."

Harry just half whispered, half moaned, "Tom . . ."

"That's right, Harry. It's me. Good old Tom. The guy who knows you
better than you know yourself. We've always been close Harry, right
from the moment we met. Real close. And this is going to be no
different. Real close. Best friends. And, if you want, lovers too."

Harry shivered at the word. Lovers. Tom touching him. Just like in the
dreams. Only better, real this time.

Harry lay his head back on Tom's shoulder. Weary.

"Yes," he whispered. Tom barely heard it. "Lovers," Harry whispered,
even fainter.

"Okay," Tom whispered back, just as softly, right into Harry's ear.
"We'll make love to each other. We'll touch each other. And it will be
perfect,  Harry. I promise. We'll make it perfect for each other."

"I'm tired," Harry whispered, still softly, afraid to let the world
hear what they said. Secret. Just he and Tom would know. It would be
their own secret world.

"Come on," Tom said and led Harry into the bedroom. Harry didn't want
to let go, but Tom pulled his arms away from around his waist and
started to undress Harry. Harry let him, completely acquiescent under
Tom's gentle touch. When he was naked, Tom lifted the covers on the
bed and pushed Harry down into it. He tucked Harry in and leaned down
to kiss him one last time before saying goodnight.

"Don't go," said Harry.

Tom stood looking down at Harry for a moment. He must have been mad to
think for a moment he could leave him.

Tom removed his clothes and lifted the covers he had just wrapped
around Harry so snugly.

"Move over," he said, gently nudging Harry with one knee.

Harry slid across the sheets until his back was against the wall of
the cabin. He leaned up on one elbow so that he could watch Tom as he
settled into the bed. Tom. In his bed. Harry smiled. God, how had it
come to this? And he was so glad. So glad. He was never going back
now. He said goodbye to that old Harry Kim. Goodbye and good luck.
Cause I'm the lucky one.

Tom was watching that smile form on Harry's lips. Watched it spread
into Harry's eyes. Watched the whole face relax and soften. What an
expression! No wonder I'm in love with him.

Tom reached for Harry and pulled him down and into his arms. Their
lips met and they kissed long, long, long sweet kisses. Over and over
they kissed, getting to know the contours of each other's lips, the
taste of their mouths, the feel of their tongues, the sharpness of
their teeth, the moisture of their breaths on their heated faces.

Harry slid even closer, half lying on top of Tom, sliding one leg
between his lover's. Oh, God. The feel of him against me. Hard against
my belly. And in a minute or two, Harry hot and hard against Tom's.

Harry broke the kiss. He needed air. He needed . . . He pressed
himself into Tom's belly. He wanted . . .

Tom knew what he wanted. Tom reached one hand down to take Harry into
his warm grasp.

Harry moaned. Yes. Tom was touching him. Tom had cupped him, and then
clasped him and now he was stroking him. Tom. So right.

Harry sighed. Tom was right. It was going to be perfect. Tom knew how
to touch him. Tom would make it perfect for him. And then he would
touch Tom.


Harry pressed himself into Tom. Tom's hand was loving him, strong and
firm loving strokes. And it was taking over his whole body, his mind,
his breathing . . . everything he was, right there in Tom's hand.
Loving him. And then it was . . . and then it was . . .

"Tom!" Harry cried out, sobbing into Tom's shoulder, shaking in Tom's
arms. And Tom continued to caress, to soothe, to pull sensation out of
the very centre of Harry's body, until finally Harry lay quiet, soft,
sweaty and exhausted against him.

In fact, Harry fell asleep. Too many sleepless nights. Too many nights
filled with strange frightening dreams of losing himself in some great
awful abyss.

Tom let him sleep. He could wait. He had waited so long for Harry. He
could wait forever now that he knew. Harry loved him. He hadn't
actually said it yet, but he would. It was only a matter of time now;
time and patience. What mattered was that he was here, in Tom's arms.
Tom sighed. And eventually, Tom fell asleep too.

---

Harry woke up slowly. It was so warm and comfortable in his bed, he
didn't have the desire to move a muscle. He wondered what time it was.
Before his wakeup call, anyway. Time to wallow a bit.

Finally, he'd had a good night's sleep. Couldn't remember sleeping so
well in a long time. And he felt so relaxed. Amazing what a good
night's sleep could do for you.

Harry nuzzled his head into the pillow some more . . . and froze. His
nose wasn't pressed against a pillow. It was pressed against warm
smooth flesh. Harry opened his eyes. A shoulder. A well-muscled
shoulder. A man's shoulder. Tom.

In an instant everything was clear. There was an arm to match the
shoulder, spread across the bed, just beneath his neck. His knee was
nestled against a hard thigh. A naked thigh. He remembered them
kissing in this bed. Tom loving him. The pleasure.

Harry's wake up call announced the date and time. Tom stirred and
turned towards Harry, then settled down again. Hmmmm. Not an early
riser, my Tom. My Tom. God!

Harry leaned over and lay his lips against Tom's, teasing, testing,
tasting.

Tom's eyes shot open. He stared wide-eyed into Harry's face. A slow
grin spread like a sunrise up from the mouth to the eyes. They started
to twinkle.

"Good morrrning, gorrrgeous," he drawled in a perfect Mae West
imitation.

Harry grinned. "Idiot," he muttered.

"Oooo, I love it when you scold me, Harry," Tom purred. He snaked out
one strong arm and grasping Harry behind the head, pulled him down for
a hot, open-mouthed kiss. The works. And he kept Harry there until
Harry sagged against him.

Tom released him and Harry dropped to the bed limp. He didn't move. He
baredly seemed to breathe.

"Harry?" Tom leaned over him anxiously.

Harry opened one eye and peered up at him. "Do you have to do that
first thing in the morning?" he complained.

Tom reached down. Hmmmm. Nice and hard already. That sleep had done
wonders for his dear Harry. Tom grinned wickedly.

Harry's eyes closed at the touch of that hand.

"Tom," he panted. "Tom . . . we have to be on the bridge in less than
an hour and . . . uh, I need some *food*!" Harry was breathless by the
time he got to the last word. Tom had still not let go of him. He
wasn't doing anything . . . much. But just his warm hand wrapped
around Harry was making him harder . . . and harder.

"Please?" Harry finally resorted to begging. How humiliating.

Tom decided to relent . . . for now. He got out of bed and reached for
Harry's hand to unceremoniously pull him out too.

"We both need showers anyway," Tom said. He pulled Harry after him and
turned on the shower. He pushed Harry in and then just stood there
watching Harry wash. God. Look at that hard on. Look at that butt.
Look at those shoulders. The handsome chin was covered with dark
stubble and the hair flopped wetly in his eyes. He'd been right.

"Hellooh, gorrrgeous," Tom drawled again. Harry looked up and grinned.
A delicious pink flush started in his cheeks and spread as he realized
Tom had been watching every move he made. Tom could barely control
himself. This was going to be a long, long day.

He watched Harry rinse off, wishing he was that spray of water,
splashing  against that wonderful skin, sliding down and dripping off
those delicious extremities. He handed Harry a towel as he stepped
out. Then stepped in  himself, adjusting the water to a very cool
temperature.

Harry took his turn watching. He dried himself absently as his eyes
took in the goosebumps raised on the fair skin by the cool spray of
the shower. Yes, the freckles from his dreams were there on the
shoulders and the forearms. And Harry, so used to his own sleek torso,
was mesmerized by the play of light on the droplets of water that
clung to the soft body hair that covered a great deal of Tom's body.
Harry found himself wanting to taste those droplets with his tongue.
But he refrained. Breakfast. Work. Everything else will have to wait.
But that didn't mean it would be easy.

Tom turned off the shower and stepped out to confront the most amazing
expression on Harry's face. Wow.

"Do you want to skip breakfast, Harry?" Tom's voice was only slightly
strangled.

Harry finally tore his gaze away from Tom's body and looked into his
eyes. Reality came back slowly. Then he realized what Tom had asked.
He just smiled dreamily. "No," he shook his head, as if the action of
negation  would make the words easier to say. "Not this morning. I'm
starving." His gaze once more was drawn to Tom's body as Tom began to
dry himself.

"Then stop staring, Harry, or I'll never get myself tucked into my
trousers." Tom grinned at Harry.

"Right," Harry's voice was still preoccupied, as was his gaze. Tom
flicked him with the towel and it caught him right on the chin. He
caught it and held it as Tom laughed at him. "Right," he repeated,
more firmly this time and turned away to shave.

Harry had dressed and made the bed by the time Tom emerged from the
bathroom. Harry unexpectedly became embarrassed at a thought he had.
He didn't know whether he could actually eat any breakfast if he had
to sit across a table from Tom this morning.

"Tom," Harry decided to say something.

"Yeah," Tom looked up from dressing.

"Do you mind if I go ahead to the mess hall now," he asked
tentatively.

Tom stopped what he was doing and studied Harry's expression for a
moment. This was going to take some time, he could see that now. One
night in bed together wasn't going to make Harry comfortable with
their relationship's new dimensions. Better give him some breathing
room.

"No, you go ahead," Tom advised, his voice warm, his smile easy. "I
want to pop into my quarters and change my uniform anyway. See you on
the bridge, right?"

"Right," Harry said, but he still sounded uneasy with the
arrangements. Tom wondered exactly what the problem was.

Harry walked slowly to the door, but turned before it could key open.
He gazed back at Tom again, who hadn't moved, and who was watching
Harry with interest. Well, was he going to come out with it or not?

"Um, Tom," Harry began.

"Yes, Harry?" Tom responded patiently. Harry uncertain was almost as
beautiful as Harry in a panic. He smiled encouragement.

"Um, can we not mention this to anyone right away?" Harry suggested.
"You know, just for a while." Harry looked into Tom's eyes, hoping to
see what he needed to see.

"My lips are sealed until you give the word, Harry," Tom assured him.
It was a small price to pay. And he was sure Harry would change his
mind. Besides, on a ship with a crew as closeknit as Voyager, it was
going to come out sooner, rather than later.

Harry sighed with relief and gave Tom a happy smile. That's more like
it, thought Tom.

---

B'Elanna Torres slipped her tray onto the table beside Harry's and sat
down. Harry was just finishing his coffee.

"Early breakfast?" B'Elanna remarked idly as she stirred her coffee.

"Uh huh," Harry agreed.

"Where did you get to last night? I thought you might show up at
Sandrine's."

"Ummm. I had some reading to do," Harry's answer was vague. B'Elanna's
interest was piqued.

"Tom didn't show up either," she observed.

"No?" Harry didn't sound interested as he finished his toast.

"I thought he might have been spending some quiet time with you," she
suggested.

"Well, I saw him earlier in the evening. But after that, I couldn't
tell you." Harry's face was the picture of innocence. "Why were you
looking for him?" he asked.

God, B'Elanna thought. Look at that innocent face telling that
boldfaced lie. She knew where Tom had been because she had asked the
computer to locate him, out of curiosity, just before she hit the sack
herself.

"Oh, no reason, really," B'Elanna said casually. "Thought he might be
game for a bit of pool. Guess he found someone else to entertain him."
Was that a flush on Harry's cheeks? Of guilt? Of embarrassment?

"Yeah, that sounds like Tom," Harry agreed.

"Wonder who," B'Elanna said. Harry's cheeks were really burning now.

"Don't look at me," Harry said curtly. "I have no idea. Excuse me,
B'Elanna, I have some reports to get done before my shift starts."
Harry took his tray and exited hurriedly.

"Coward," B'Elanna muttered. Maybe she'd have better luck with Tom.
This was so intriguing. Harry and Tom. Well, she guessed they *could*
have been absorbed in a game of chess and forgot the time. But how
many chess games continued after midnight when both officers had
bridge duty the next morning? It made one wonder.

---

"Engineering to Captain Janeway," a communicator chirped on the bridge
that morning.

"Janeway here. What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant Torres?"

"No problem, Captain. I'm doing some shipwide systems analyses and
would like Lieutenant Paris to come down here and give me some input
on the helm control systems. That is, if he's not needed on the
bridge. Should only take 30 minutes maximum."

"That sounds fine, Lieutenant. I'll send him down. Janeway out."

"Lieutenant?" Janeway looked pointedly at Tom Paris. "You heard the
Lieutenant. On your way."

"Yes, Captain," Tom headed off for Engineering wondering what was
going on. B'Elanna knew these helm controls as well as he did. What
the hell did she need to ask him about them that she didn't already
know?

Tom walked into Engineering and B'Elanna said something to a crewman
and then motioned Tom over to her minuscule office. He squeezed in,
she squeezed in and closed the door behind her. She squeezed past him
and sat down at the desk. Tom either had to stand at the door or sit
on the desk. He chose the latter and settled down inches from
B'Elanna's knees.  "So, B'Elanna, what is this all about? It sure as
hell isn't about helm control."

"I was just curious about where you and Harry got to last night,"
B'Elanna said casually, but not casually enough.

"I take it from that remark you know exactly where Harry and I were
last night, so why bother asking?" Tom spoke even more casually than
B'Elanna. Thank God he was better at this game than she was. Besides,
he'd promised Harry.

"Harry told me he had no idea where you were last night."

"Oh, and you just asked him so you could hear him lie," Tom countered.

"I didn't think Harry had it in him to tell a barefaced lie like
that," she retorted.

"Yeah, well, Harry's in denial. Cut him some slack," Tom grated. Why
couldn't she leave this alone. Wasn't she getting the message yet?
Maybe he'd better be more blunt.

"In denial of what?" B'Elanna pounced.

Tom just looked at her. If he didn't like B'Elanna so much, he could
really hate her. She just wouldn't stop when there was something she
thought she ought to know. But this was definitely none of her
business. He didn't care if they *were* friends.

"B'Elanna," Tom sighed in exasperation. "I made Harry a promise this
morning to not mention anything about what happened in his quarters
last night. And that is a promise I intend to keep."

"What? Tom Paris finally finding he has some scruples?" B'Elanna
sounded amazed.

Tom took a deep breath. He decided he could probably trust B'Elanna.

"No," he said. "Tom Paris finally finding himself happier than he's
ever been in his life."

B'Elanna just stared open-mouthed. Wow! A totally serious Tom Paris.

"Shit!" said B'Elanna.

"Exactly," agreed Tom. "So you don't need to mention to anyone else
where Harry and I were last night. Or tonight. Or any other night.
Right, B'Elanna?" Tom gave her a pointed look.

"Just tell me one thing," B'Elanna asked.

"What would that be?" Tom said resignedly.

"Is Harry happy too? He didn't look very happy this morning in the
mess hall."

"I told you. Harry is in denial. Except when we're alone. For now, I'm
content to leave it that way. Please, B'Elanna." Tom had never asked
her for anything ever, he thought. This was a first. Strange, the
things you do for love.

B'Elanna's expression softened. Ah, love. Ain't it grand? "Sure, Tom,"
she reassured him. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself. Think he'll tell
me one  day?"

Tom grinned. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well, I won't be now, will I?" she chuckled.

"Do you need me for anything else, B'Elanna?"

"No," she smiled mischievously. "You've been very helpful, Lieutenant
Paris. Thank you."

Tom grinned back. "You're welcome."

---

On their way down the corridor at lunch break, Harry said under his
breath to Tom, "I feel embarrassed already and we aren't even seated
yet. Maybe I should take my break at a different time than you."

"Calm down, Harry. It's just lunch. Like we've had together millions
of times before. Nobody's going to be asking any questions. I told
B'Elanna to lay off. Besides, it would look suspicious if we *didn't*
have lunch together. That would cause more talk than anything else."

Harry still felt as if all his most intimate feelings were on display
for the whole crew to see as they got their food and sat down. They
ate in silence. A few minutes later, B'Elanna walked in. Oh no, Harry
groaned inwardly. Not again. But B'Elanna didn't even bring the
subject up. No questions. No pointed remarks. Just friendly shop-talk.
What a relief!

"So, will I see you two at Sandrine's tonight?" B'Elanna smiled first
at Tom and then at Harry.

"Well . . ." Harry began and trailed off. He looked at Tom. "What
about you, Tom?"

"I'd like to spend the evening with you Harry. I don't care where."
Tom kept his voice neutral, even. No one would notice a thing unless
they were deliberately eavesdropping. He kept his eyes on his plate.

Harry looked around the surrounding tables. No one was taking any
notice of them. He looked at B'Elanna. She was just smiling at him
slightly. Nothing mocking.

"What's it to be, Harry?" she asked.

Harry turned to Tom finally. Tom lifted his eyes from their study of
the cutlery on his tray and looked back at Harry. They both heard
B'Elanna's slight gasp, but couldn't seem to pull their gaze away from
each other's eyes.

"Uh, guys," B'Elanna reached out and took hold of one of their arms
each and gave them a little shake. "Stop that. You're embarrassing me.
And if anyone else looks over here, you'll be embarrassing yourselves
too."

Tom broke the connection and looked away. "I'd better get back to the
bridge. You stay here and talk to B'Elanna, Harry. Tell me later what
the two of you decide." With that he rose and left.

B'Elanna just continued to stare at Harry. Wow.

"You okay, Harry?" she asked softly.

Harry looked up at her in a kind of daze. He didn't comprehend the
question. Maybe he didn't even hear it. He was still lost in blue eyes
and memories of soft lips and even softer touches.

"Harry?" B'Elanna gave his arm a little shake again. Harry seemed to
realize where he was and that she had asked him a question. What was
it? Oh, yeah, was he okay.

Harry smiled at her. "Yeah, B'Elanna. I'm fine." He thought to himself
for a minute. "I'm sorry I lied to you this morning, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna looked at Harry with a grin. He was so sweet.

"That's okay, Harry. I know why you did. You keep your secrets as long
as you want. I can see how much it means to you."

"Thanks, B'Elanna," Harry got up and picked up his and Tom's empty
trays. "See you tonight at Sandrine's, if not before."

"It's a date," she answered.

---

About mid-afternoon, Tom Paris had an awful thought enter his head. It
scared him for a moment. Then he discounted it. No. Not possible, not
after that exchange of looks at lunch. Not after the tenderness of
last night and this morning. But still, a nagging little suspicion
refused to be quelled. Maybe he wasn't as confident of Harry's
feelings as he had hoped. After all, Harry hadn't exactly said 'I love
you' yet, had he?

Tom took a quick scan of his conning console, checking all the
readings. Then he slowly swivelled in his chair, conducting a slow
survey of the bridge and its staff. Tuvok, Chakotay, Janeway, and he
paused as casually as he could when he got to Harry.

Harry had his back to him. God, how he would love to stroke that long
muscular back. Step up real close and fit himself to that spectacular
ass. Why am I torturing myself like this, Tom wondered. Harry's
*never* gonna let me do *that*.

"Lieutenant?" The Captain's voice penetrated the daydream.

"Yes, Captain?" Tom's eyes jumped to her face. She was smiling
slightly. What did she know?

"Did you hear the Commander's order?"

"Uh, no, I didn't. Sorry Captain, Commander, I guess I got a bit
distracted." Tom's grin was sheepish. "Could you please repeat the
order, Commander?"

Janeway and Chakotay looked at each other. Then they looked up at
Ensign Kim's back. Then they looked back at Tom, who had turned back
to his conning console. Then they looked at each other again. Janeway
sighed as Chakotay repeated his order.

---

Tom and Harry stepped into the turbolift at the end of their shift. As
soon as the doors closed, they each moved to opposite sides and leaned
back against them. This way the maximum amount of space was between
them. It was just too dangerous to get any closer. They'd never be
able to separate themselves if they did.

They got out on deck four, Harry being in D-27 and Tom being in D-42,
in the opposite direction. Harry stopped and looked at Tom.

"Do you want to come to my quarters?" Harry asked, his tone neutral,
his eyes saying what his words hid.

Tom looked down the corridor, stalling. He wanted nothing more than to
follow Harry wherever he wanted to lead him, but . . . He came to a
decision.

"No, not right now," he looked back at Harry, his expression
unreadable. "I need to go to my quarters. Why don't I meet you in the
mess hall?"

Harry couldn't read Tom at all. What was going on behind that serious
blue gaze?

"Is something wrong, Tom?" Harry had to ask.

"No, Harry. Everything is fine," but Tom's expression was still
enigmatic. It was beginning to annoy Harry.

"I'll see you later then," Harry said brusquely.

"Later," agreed Tom, already starting down the corridor towards his
quarters.

---

Harry and B'Elanna sat in the empty mess hall. Tom hadn't shown up.

"Did he say he wasn't coming?" B'Elanna queried.

"He said he'd meet me here. But I didn't believe him when he said it.
Still, I hoped he'd show." Harry's voice was flat.

"Have you two had a fight already?" B'Elanna sound exasperated. It
hadn't even been 24 hours yet!

"I haven't spoken to him all afternoon!" Now Harry sounded exasperated
with B'Elanna. "How could we fight?"

"I don't know. Everything was fine at lunch. I thought I was going to
have to take a fire extinguisher to the two of you for a minute
there."

"Well, I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure as hell going to
find out," Harry growled, thoroughly angry now as he and B'Elanna rose
to leave. He hadn't even had the courtesy to say he wasn't coming.
Wait until he got his hands on the jerk.

---

Tom's voice called "Come" to Harry's chiming at his door. Harry
stepped in and as the door swished closed behind him he noticed that
Tom was lying on the floor with his head pillowed on his hands.

"What are you doing on the floor, Tom?" Harry asked, eyeing Tom
suspiciously.

"Thinking," Tom said. "I think better when I'm not too comfortable.
Lying on the sofa tends to relax me too much and I'd probably fall
asleep before I'd finished thinking about all the things I want to
think about."

"Oh," Harry was nonplussed for a moment. Then he remembered why he was
there. "I guess you were too busy *thinking* to let me know you
weren't going to show up for dinner after all?" Harry's sarcasm
expressed his anger. That and his scowling face.

Tom just looked at Harry, trying to see what he needed to see. He saw
anger. But was there hurt there as well?

"B'Elanna's expecting us in Sandrine's in another hour. Are you going
to be too busy *thinking* to go there too?"

This is getting us nowhere, thought Tom. Hostility is not the answer.
They'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

"We need to talk, Harry."

"So talk," Harry said. "I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"This could take some time," Tom said and sat up, running his hands
back through his hair and making it stand on end.

It dawned on Harry that there was something going on here that was
more complicated than Tom being rude and inconsiderate. He keyed his
communicator.

"Kim to Torres."

"Torres here."

"We won't be meeting you at Sandrine's, B'Elanna. Sorry."

"Why am I not surprised, Harry?" B'Elanna sounded amused. "See you
tomorrow. Torres out."

Harry sat down on the floor beside Tom and tried to think what could
have happened between lunch and the end of their shift that had upset
Tom, especially since they had both been on the bridge the whole
afternoon.

He gave up searching his palms for the answer and instead looked up
into Tom's face. Tom looked worried.

"Can I kiss you, Tom?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry . . ." Tom groaned. Harry was afraid he was going to burst
into tears at the look in Tom's eyes.

"I've been wanting to kiss you all day, and I've just about come to
the end of my patience." He knelt up and reached for Tom's face,
cupping it with both hands. "I need this," he murmured against Tom's
lips.

Tom pulled Harry to him and they ended up lying together on the floor,
arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled together, lips searching
out all the hard bones and soft hollows of each other's faces.

"Ummmm, that's better," said Harry after a while.

"Harry?" Tom felt he could ask Harry anything now. Surely Harry
couldn't be so tender and loving without feeling it in his very soul?

"Yeah," Harry sucked on one of Tom's incredibly soft earlobes.

"Harry, I have to ask you something. You're probably going to think me
a fool. But I've got to know, one way or the other. I've got to hear
the words from your lips."

Harry pulled back a little and stared at Tom's nervous smile.

"Ask, Tom. Ask me anything." Harry waited, trying not to get tense.
What could Tom want to know about him that he didn't already know?

"Harry. You aren't just doing this out of some misguided sense of
guilt over trying to kill me back in that Aquitarian prison, are you?"
Tom blurted out.

"What?" Harry asked, startled. What was Tom talking about?

"I mean, this isn't some twisted form of penance you feel you need to
pay for losing control and coming close to bashing my brains in,
right?"  "Tom . . ." began Harry.

"Because I've noticed you don't look so happy to be in this
relationship, Harry. I don't want this to be a kind of
self-sacrificial act prompted by guilt. It isn't that, is it, Harry?"

Harry just looked at Tom, amazed. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what to think. My gut tells me . . ."

"What does your gut tell you, Tom?"

"My gut says what we feel is real. I know what I feel is real. I've
told you so more than once. I love you Harry. Make no mistake. And
it's for keeps."

Harry finally realized what this was all about. Tom was right. He
hadn't been able to bring himself to make a declaration. And Tom had
started wondering why.

"Tom," Harry decided he had to try his best to explain something that
he didn't really understand himself.

"You have no idea how hard this has been for me. If you had told me
last year that I would find out in my best friend's arms that I was
not wholly and completely heterosexual, I would have told you that you
were crazy. In fact, it still feels unreal sometimes. Maybe I haven't
fully accepted it yet. Maybe that's what's holding me back. What do I
do about these feelings, Tom? I can't deny I have them. Do you want me
to make promises  that I'm not sure I can keep?"

"I'm not asking for promises, Harry. I just want you to tell me if you
love me. Or if I'm living in a dream world that's going to come
crashing around my ears some day soon."

"I don't know, Tom. This may be a dream. It sure seems like it
sometimes. I'm black and blue from pinching myself."

"Just tell me how you feel about me, Harry."

"I *think* I love you, Tom. I've only ever loved Libby like that
before, and that was completely different. That was all about turning
from a boy into a man. This, this is more about finding out I'm not
the man I thought I was. And it's frightening, Tom. And I'm having a
hard time dealing with my feelings about myself. I just don't know
what to do about the feelings I'm feeling about you, except to go with
them. But whether they're real, or whether they'll last . . . that I
don't know."

"And what do your feelings tell you about me, Harry?"

Harry smiled finally. "They tell me to hold on tight, as tight as I
can. And that's what I intend to do."

"That's good, Harry," Tom smiled and relaxed. "What else do they tell
you?" Tom was feeling much more confident. His sense of mischief
resurfaced. "How do they feel about making love with me?"

Harry blushed and bent his head to nuzzle into Tom's neck. "I want to,
Tom."

"Good." Tom reciprocated Harry's earlier ear-sucking and at the same
time slid one hand down between Harry's thighs to caress the softness
sleeping there. After some knuckle-nudging and finger-stroking and
careful squeezing, Tom was satisfied with his progress there and
brought up both hands between their bodies to start working on
removing Harry's clothes.

"Uh . . . Tom?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Tom never paused in his disrobing of Harry. "What, Harry?"

"Uh, this may be the ideal place for thinking, but this floor is a
little uncomfortable for lovemaking. Could we move to the bed?"

Tom's head came up and he grinned at a blushing Harry. "Certainly,
Harry."

---

Harry and Tom were in Tom's bed and they were touching and stroking
each other's bodies, taking turns kissing paths down each other's
chests, across the backs of each other's shoulders, always returning
to lips and tongues and jaws and throats.

Harry's hand was cupping Tom's erection, learning the silken feel of
Tom, letting his fingers slide all over every inch as if somehow he
could learn its secrets by touch alone.

"Harry . . ." Tom's voice was an aching whisper. Harry's thumb was
rubbing back and forth across the top of Tom's penis, spreading the
moisture there all over the head in slow sensuous strokes.

"Umm," Harry responded. He was absorbed in the feel of Tom under his
fingers, his face pressed into the soft sprinkling of hair on Tom's
chest.

"I want you, Harry," Tom said quietly.

It took a minute to sink in, but Harry's hand stilled and he pulled
back onto one elbow and looked uneasily into Tom's soft yearning eyes.

"Um, you mean . . ." Harry couldn't find the words to ask.

"Yeah," Tom nodded. "I want to be inside you, Harry. I want you to
take me in as deep as you can and hold me there . . ." Harry
swallowed.

"Tom . . ." Harry had no idea what he wanted to say. So, he finally
asked himself, do I want this? Can I give Tom this?

"I want you to feel it Harry, all of it." Harry wasn't sure what Tom
meant by 'all of it.' Maybe he better find out.

He swallowed again. "Will it . . . hurt?" Harry winced just thinking
about it.

Tom looked startled for a minute. Oh, God, he forgot! How could he
have forgotten? Harry had no idea . . . Tom brushed Harry's cheek with
one gentle hand.

"No, Harry. Not at all, not at all. I love you. I couldn't do anything
that would hurt you. You'll see. We'll take it slow and I'll be really
careful. It'll be good. It'll be perfect. I promise."

Harry stared into Tom's eyes, but all he saw there was tenderness. The
warm voice was confident, reassuring. If Tom said it would be
wonderful, then it would. He . . . Harry realized something he should
have realized a long time ago.

"I trust you, Tom," Harry said. Tom sighed.

The urgency of a moment ago had faded. It was almost a relief. This
was going to take patience and all the gentleness he had in him.
Because he swore to himself that he was going to make Harry love it,
every single minute of it.

Tom slowly drew back the sheet that covered them and just looked at
Harry's body. Might as well start at the beginning, thought Tom.

He looked up into Harry's questioning eyes. "You are so beautiful,
Harry. So beautiful . . ." Harry just smiled. Tom dredged up a
tremulous smile too.

"What should I . . ." Harry began.

"Nothing, Harry. You don't have to do a thing. I'll do everything that
needs to be done. You just let me love you. Just like you did last
night. Remember?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, this is going to be even better. Much much better," Tom assured
him.

Harry's eyes widened. Tom just smiled.

Tom knelt beside Harry and started stroking Harry's legs. Running his
hands gently up and down them, he caressed each curve of muscle, each
edge of bone, each taut tendon.

"Relax, Harry. Just relax." Tom spoke with a soft persuasive voice. He
moved to Harry's feet and massaged between Harry's toes, the arch, the
instep, running his thumbs over and over the bones in Harry's ankles.

He looked up and Harry had closed his eyes. His hands were folded on
his chest. He looked so peaceful. Even his erection had subsided
somewhat. Oh well, thought Tom, we'll work on that later. First, the
relaxation of every muscle in Harry's body . . . and the automatic
acceptance of Tom's every touch.

Tom bent to lay a line of soft kisses across Harry's toes. Harry
flexed his toes in reaction. Tom looked up.

"Is that okay, Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked at Tom in surprised bewilderment. "Why are you kissing my
toes?" Harry asked as if he couldn't conceive of a reason.

"Because they're delicious, Harry. Why else?" Tom grinned.

Harry just smiled and shook his head. He glanced down and saw the toes
of one of Tom's feet pointed at him from where they were tucked
underneath Tom. Hmmmm. Tom had elegant-looking feet,
well-proportioned, slim-toed, fair hair sprinkled on some of them.
Harry suddenly had a strange desire to reach out with a finger and
stroke those fine blonde hairs on those slim toes. Maybe even brush
his lips across them. See if they were as soft as the ones on his
chest. He looked up into Tom's eyes. Tom had been watching him check
out his toes. Harry smiled, a little embarrassed.

"Your turn next time, Harry," Tom said with a husky murmur. Harry's
eyes widened. His gaze was drawn to Tom's lean flanks, the curve of
his buttocks, the smooth muscles of his thighs. He felt a wave of heat
wash over him and then recede, leaving him chilled. He looked back at
Tom. Tom's gaze was intense. Then he went back to licking Harry's
ankles.

Harry lay back again and tried to calm himself. Relax, Tom had said.
God, didn't he know just how impossible it *was* to relax with Tom's
lips and ongue kissing, licking, nipping and nuzzling him in an
inexorable path from feet to groin? And when he reached that groin?

Harry held his breath as Tom laid a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses
along the curve of his hip, then . . . continued up the flat belly,
the curve of ribs, swept along the edge of the pectoral muscle and
made hungry visits to each of his nipples.

God, he'd skipped his groin altogether! Harry wondered if his hair was
standing on end from sheer nervous energy. He felt like *every* hair
on his entire body was standing to attention. Not to mention his poor
straining erection. Harry moaned.

Tom raised his head for a moment and looked into Harry's eyes. Maybe
he should ease the frustration just a little bit. He slid one hand
down over the sleek muscles of Harry's body in an intimate caress, and
cupped Harry tightly, closing his hand around the base of his penis.

Harry groaned and some of the tension eased from his muscles. God,
that felt good.

Tom lay down beside Harry and started kissing those delicious lips
again. He snuggled up close to Harry's side and when Harry would have
turned towards him, Tom stopped him and taking a firm grasp of Harry's
shoulder, rolled him the other way and snuggled up behind his back.
Tom's hand never left Harry's erection, just tightened and then eased
the pressure again, and then tightened again. The movements left Harry
wanting . . . wanting . . . more.

"Tom . . ." Harry moaned.

"Sshhh . . ." Tom's breath whispered across the nape of Harry's neck,
and Harry shivered, but not with cold. "All in good time, Harry. All
in good time . . ."

Harry was hard and perhaps a little too close to the edge, thought
Tom. He released Harry and brought both hands to bear in the caressing
of Harry's beautiful backside. His fingers moved in smooth circular
patterns on Harry's curves, fingers just dipping between the cheeks
tantalizingly, never actually moving in to touch their ultimate goal.
That's enough for the first foray, he thought.

Tom's hands slid up the centre of Harry's back, fingers splayed,
soaking in the texture of Harry's skin with every finger's tactile
surface. They reached Harry's broad shoulders and caressed the corded
muscles there, thumbs digging in, massaging them. Tom reached up and
planted a wet sucking kiss on the back of Harry's neck.

"Ummmm," escaped from between Harry's lips. Everything felt *so* good.
He sighed with the pleasure, relaxing, thinking about nothing but
Tom's mouth. That hot wet mouth began to move slowly down Harry's
spine as Tom's hands caressed and massaged each ridge of muscle
between shoulders and hips.

Those warm hands finally moved over the flesh of Harry's buttocks and,
after squeezing the smooth cheeks gently, continued down to brush
along the backs of Harry's thighs. The sensations were exquisite.
Harry rolled half onto his stomach so that the warm hand could more
easily reach between his thighs and was rewarded with a lingering
caress on his scrotum.

Harry's head swam in sensation as the hot sucking mouth moved over the
curve of one buttock and then the next. And while he was caught up in
the feelings threading through his entire body from the movements of
Tom's tongue on his sensitive skin, a gentle finger caressed the
puckered opening between those cheeks, almost without Harry noticing.

In fact, that tantalizing finger had stroked across that opening at
least three times before Harry could coherently separate the
information his body was sending him from his pleasure-filled senses.
And by the time he realized where that delicious new sensation was
coming from, he had already accepted it as part of the continuing
symphony of pleasure that Tom was conducting on his body.

The hand that had been cupping Harry, slowly released him with a
squeeze. It moved up between Harry's cheeks and a thumb began to apply
gentle but insistent pressure to the opening there. Then the pressure
would ease and the thumb would stroke, until the pressure was applied
again.

Harry heard muffled sounds coming from behind him, but couldn't think
coherently enough to figure them out. What did it matter. Tom's hand
was still on him, still pleasuring him unbearably. But . . . he did
miss Tom's lips.

Tom had left one hand on Harry's backside as he leaned down and opened
one of the drawers recessed beneath the bed. He removed a tube of
lubricant and flipped open the lid with his teeth. Thank God for
flip-top lids, Tom grinned.

Harry felt that delicious touch withdraw, leaving him aching.

"Tom . . ." he moaned.

"I'm right here, Harry."

Tom's fingers returned to Harry's tingling skin, but now they were
coated in something cool and slippery. What a strange sensation! This
time the touch was even more insistent than before, pushing and
rubbing and driving Harry insane until he just wanted to say, go
inside, for God's sake!

Harry wondered if he had said it out loud because in that instant of
craving madness, one slick finger slid into him . . . and out of him .
. . and into him again. Harry stilled, soaking in every wonderful
movement of hat finger inside his body. Then it paused.

"Harry?" Tom whispered a query.

"Ummm," Harry couldn't have formed coherent words at that moment if
he'd even had the will to try. Instead, he consciously relaxed every
muscle in his body, pressing himself languidly into the mattress
underneath him. "Ummm." It was all he could manage.

It seemed to be enough encouragement for Tom. His finger began that
intimate caress again, pressing even deeper. Another slick finger
joined the first and Harry pressed his face into the mattress, his
fingers digging into the sheet. Tom heard "Ummm" again and continued.

Harry's breathing had gone from breathless to panting to hiccupping
sobs as Tom worked his way up to three delicious fingers tormenting
his body, while a second hand caressed his testicles and the tense and
swollen base of his penis with hot palm and urgent fingers.

"Tom . . ." Harry wailed, arching his back and pushing against those
fingers frantically. Oh, God, help me, Tom! Harry thought he was going
to scream with his need.

Tom was gritting his teeth with the effort to bring this to a
spectacular close. Don't lose it yet, Tommy-boy. This has to be
perfect, he panted under his breath. It *has* to be.

Slowly he withdrew his fingers from Harry's ass and took Harry's hips
in a firm grasp. Harry stilled for an instant and Tom took advantage
of it to place his penis at Harry's opening and slide it just inside.
Quickly, he pushed into Harry and, at the same time, pulled Harry back
onto him. In one swift movement they were joined.

Tom lay still, very still, trying not to come. He could feel tremours
coursing through Harry's body, sobbing breaths taken deeply into
starved lungs. He began to move, and Harry moved with him, and it
turned out hotter and faster and more frantic than even Tom had
imagined; Harry wanting that ultimate goal just as much as he did.

Tom released Harry's hips and slid both hands forward to grasp Harry's
wet penis. His slippery fingers spread moisture and lubricant the
complete length of it as Harry pumped into his hands. Just one . . .
more . . . moment . . . Tom's thoughts pulsed with the rest of his
consciousness as he waited for the inevitable explosion.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," Harry cried as the pleasure of his orgasm pierced his
mind, his body and his soul. Tom's hands stayed locked around Harry's
erupting penis as they rode the wave of mind-numbing sensation
together.  Tom felt a moment of unbearable aching need overwhelm him.
Then, with Harry's cry, his body burst its boundaries and the semen
gushed out of him and into Harry's unbearable heat and tightness, and
Tom lost himself in time and space.

---

Harry lay unmoving in Tom's embrace, those hands around his penis just
holding his limpness gently, a tender finger still moving in a sweet
caress against its slickness. Tom was still buried deep inside him.
Incredible, thought Harry. I can't believe I thought *that* would
hurt. I can't believe I was so afraid of something that brought such
overwhelming pleasure.

"I love you," Tom's voice whispered with soft dry lips against his
shoulder.

"Oh, Tom . . ." Harry wanted to say it too. Why couldn't he?

"Ssshhhhh . . ." Tom hushed him, continued to caress him, soothe him,
calm him with his gentleness. "I know . . . I know . . ." I'm not
really that disappointed, Tom told himself. I just wish . . .

---

Harry and B'Elanna were standing at the bar in Sandrine's waiting for
their drinks when Tom joined them. He walked up behind Harry and put
his arms around Harry's waist. Harry stiffened. Oh God, thought Tom,
here we go again. Lighten up, Harry . . .

"Tom!" Harry hissed at him. He turned to glare at Tom's sunny smile
and Tom leaned in nonchalantly and kissed him full on the lips.
Harry's eyes opened so wide, Tom thought they were going to burst some
blood vessels.  "I can't believe you did that," Harry's voice was a
squeak of disbelief. He pushed Tom's arms away from him and stalked
out of the holodeck.

Tom looked at B'Elanna and sighed in resignation. He gave her a
sheepish grin and she smiled back understandingly.

"A guy's gotta keep trying, right? It's been 4 months, B'Elanna. When
is he going to relax and be himself? Have you tried talking to him?"

B'Elanna just shrugged. "Harry only hears what he wants to hear. He
doesn't realize how it looks to you."

"Hell, everyone who wants to know already knows we're lovers. We keep
scrupulously circumspect during working hours, but he won't even hold
hands outside of our quarters. What am I supposed to do?" Tom was
exasperated and dismayed.

He thought after Harry became more comfortable with their
relationship, he'd relax his guard slightly and behave a little more
naturally in public. It was just so stupid to act like 'just friends'
in Sandrine's of all places. Hell, here in Sandrine's he'd kissed
about half the eligible women on board at one time or another. Can't
he even kiss the man he wants  to spend the rest of his life with
without causing an embarrassing scene?

"Aren't you going to go after him and apologize?" B'Elanna asked Tom.

"What for? I'm not ashamed to let everyone know I'm Harry's lover. Why
should *he* be?" Tom wasn't so much angry as disappointed and
frustrated. Patience can only take you so far. There has to be some
give from the other side as well.

"Oh, Tom . . ." B'Elanna sounded sympathetic. These two were perfect
together. No one who knew them thought there was anything strange
about it. Their friends were all happy that they were together like
this. Why was Harry being so stubborn? Why couldn't he see how
important it was for Tom to be able to let the world at large know how
happy he was . . . how happy he was making Harry?

"Well, if he thinks I'm going to apologize again, he's sadly mistaken.
I've done all the apologizing for, what does he call them . . . oh
yeah, *Public Displays of Affection* . . . that I'm ever going to do.
He's going to have to bend on this one and it might as well be now."
Tom had had enough giving in. He wasn't going to this time. Even if he
had to sleep alone until Harry came to his senses.

"If only there was some way to *make* Harry want to, you know, accept
some attention from you in public. Or better still, make *him* display
affection towards *you* in public," B'Elanna wondered out loud. "That
would surely break the ice. He couldn't backtrack after some overt
display, now could he?"

She looked at Tom, but he didn't look like he was listening. He had
turned from the bar and was leaning his back against it. However, his
next words confirmed that he had indeed been listening to every word
she said.

B'Elanna looked over her shoulder to follow Tom's gaze. Megan and
Jenny Delaney had just walked into Sandrine's and were standing just
inside the doorway surveying the crowd.

"Force him to make a public claim on my affections, you mean?" Tom
murmured. "Yeah. What a perfectly wonderful idea." He turned to
B'Elanna, who looked bemused and bewildered by his words. "Thanks,
B'Elanna. You are brilliant!" He grinned at her with enthusiasm.

"Anytime . . ." B'Elanna's voice trailed off as she watched Tom get up
and walk slowly and deliberately across the floor to where the Delaney
sisters were eyeing him as he approached. Oh Tom, she thought. I hope
you know what you're doing.

---

Harry paced and paced around his quarters until he was almost dizzy.
Where was Tom? Harry wanted to hear what kind of an explanation he
could possibly have for that exhibition in Sandrine's tonight. Tom had
promised that the timing of revealing their relationship to Voyager's
crew would be left entirely up to him. He had promised. And now, he
does something like *this*, completely humiliating Harry in front of
everyone in Sandrine's. He couldn't have picked a more public place on
the ship!

Harry checked his clock again. It had been over an hour since he
stalked out of Sandrine's. Where the hell was he?

"Computer. Locate Lieutenant Paris." Harry had had enough. He wanted
answers.

"Lieutenant Paris is located on deck four, compartment D-47." Tom's
quarters! He wasn't even intending to come and apologize! Harry was
incensed. Is that all he thinks of me?! Harry's brows drew together in
a scowl. I want to hear it from his own lips. Harry stalked out of his
quarters and down the corridor to Tom's.

Harry keyed the door chimes at Tom's quarters. No response. I know
you're in there, you bastard. Harry keyed in the code Tom had given
him so that he had access to Tom's rooms any time he wanted. The door
swished open and Harry strode in ready to blast his lover with both
barrels.

Tom was standing with his back to the door. Megan Delaney's shock of
red hair lay across one of his shoulders, her arms were locked around
his neck, and from the door it looked like they had their tonsils
locked together.

Harry's jaw dropped and it's possible his heart stopped for an entire
beat. Then it hit him, like it hadn't hit him since that damn
Aquitarian prison; red-hot blinding rage burst from his gut like a
rocket and he thought he might be going blind with it. The power of it
scared the hell out of him and he fought it, and fought it, for what
seemed like endless seconds in sheer unadulterated panic.

Harry's body said, uh oh, can't take this stress, better give it a
rest buddy, and started to shut down systems. Harry's last conscious
thought was of holding a bleeding Tom in his arms and feeling a
grinding triumph of primitive possession.

Tom heard a growling gasping sound coming from behind him and pushed
Megan away from him. He turned to see Harry's wide panic-stricken eyes
roll up into his head and lunged forward to catch him just before he
fell like a bowling pin to the floor.

---

Harry still wasn't talking to Tom. Tom had tried everything.

Explanations: Megan had followed him from Sandrine's and wouldn't take
no for an answer. *She* had kissed *him*. What was a fellow to do,
deck the woman? For a kiss?

Pleading: Harry knew Tom wasn't interested in Megan Delaney. He knew
Tom was deeply in love with him and wanted to be only with him. Tom
had not so much as looked at a woman since he had told Harry he loved
him.

Emotional Blackmail: Couldn't Harry see how much Tom loved him? Didn't
he know how much it hurt Tom to know that Harry doubted Tom's love for
him? Didn't he know the sleepless nights Tom spent worrying if Harry
would ever forgive him for letting that damn woman get her foot over
the threshold of his quarters?

Physical Blackmail: Warm hands on Harry's stiff back. Don't you know
how much I ache for you, Harry? Brush of warm body against Harry's
unresponsive buttocks. I can't sleep without you lying warm beside me
in bed, Harry. Nuzzling into nape of Harry's neck. I need you, Harry.
God, how I need you. I'm dying without your touch, Harry. Aching moan
muttered into unresponsive shoulder. Harry . . .

Finally, Harry was persuaded by B'Elanna to come to Sandrine's to play
pool with her one evening. The place was packed. Tom was there,
waiting. He put down his pool cue and came towards Harry.

"God, it's good to see you, Harry. Do you want to play some pool?" Tom
sounded pathetically eager. Harry felt maybe he had made Tom pay
enough for that little slip. But it had better not ever happen again.
And he wasn't going to be easy, either.

"Sure," Harry accepted the offer. "That's why B'Elanna and I came."

B'Elanna had followed Harry in and came forward to put an arm around
Tom. "Let's all three play, okay?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her arm across Tom's shoulders, but
B'Elanna just grinned. She was such a tease.

They played one game and B'Elanna won. Tom spent most of his time
gazing adoringly at Harry and not paying much attention to the game.
He kept having to be reminded when it was his turn. Harry felt a sense
of smug satisfaction. He liked thinking he was distracting Tom from
his favourite game. Not a lot could come between Tom Paris and a pool
game, especially if he was losing.

When B'Elanna made the winning shot, Tom just grinned at her. "Good
shot, B'Elanna," he said. Then he turned and grinned at Harry. "Beat
the pants off us, didn't she?"

Harry grinned back. He felt more relaxed and contented than he had for
a while. He didn't even object when Tom came over to where he stood
and put his arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"Time for a drink to drown our sorrows, Harry my love," Tom said,
pushing the envelope of Harry's tolerance a little further.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the endearment, but didn't object. "You
don't look very sorrowful, Tom," he observed.

"Aw, Harry," Tom drawled and nuzzled into Harry's ear. "How could I
possibly be sad with you at my side."

"Oh, brother," groaned B'Elanna. Tom just turned and grinned at her
idiotically.

"You're just jealous," he teased her.

"Yeah, right," she grinned back at him.

"Go get the drinks, handsome. We'll look for a table," Harry drawled.
Tom lifted one eyebrow and then a beatific smile lit his face.

"I'm forgiven?" he asked, eyes shining.

"We'll see," Harry said trying to keep a straight face. "You still
have some penance to do, but we'll talk about that later. In your
quarters." He stared into Tom's bright eyes.

"Oh, yes," Tom breathed. "Anything, Harry, anything," Tom promised. He
watched Harry and B'Elanna wind their way among the tables looking for
an empty one.

---

B'Elanna tapped her nails on the tabletop. They had taken so long
finding a free table that she was sure Tom would have joined them by
now.

"Where is he?" She turned to look towards the bar.

Harry had been watching the bar with growing interest. Tom spoke to
several people while he waited for Sandrine to get their drinks ready.
Some had clapped him on the back. Some had nudged him in the ribs. Tom
was laughing and kidding with all of them. When Megan Delaney
approached, Harry's eyes narrowed on the two figures.

Megan slid onto a bar stool beside Tom. She leaned back against the
bar with both elbows, thrusting her prominent chest out in the
process. Harry saw Tom glance over at her as she said something to
him. He saw Tom's eyes stray to the display of curves and then heard
him laughing.

Megan, seemingly undaunted, turned and began to finger the front of
Tom's shirt. At least, that's what Harry thought she was doing. He
didn't want to think she was doing anything else with that hand that
was hidden in front of Tom, as he stood with his back to Harry.
Nevertheless, Harry saw red. Not again. Not bloody likely.

Harry rose from the table. B'Elanna grabbed for his sleeve, "Harry . .
." but missed. Harry wove his way between the tables and came up
beside Tom from the opposite side to Megan. He slid one hand across
Tom's shoulder and grabbed the back of Tom's neck in a firm grip.
Tom's head immediately swung to meet his gaze.

"Are you ready to leave yet, Tom?" Harry asked in a sultry voice. He
moved in to press the entire length of his body against Tom's and
using the hand behind Tom's head, pulled Tom forward into a searing
kiss.

Tom didn't struggle. Tom didn't even breathe. Harry had taken
possession of his mouth and was plundering it with his tongue in a
very thorough fashion and Tom was in seventh heaven. It had been so
long.

Harry finally broke the kiss and Tom stared in dazed amazement into
those dark intensely aroused eyes. God. Time to leave was an
understatement.

Harry turned and waved at B'Elanna, who smiled ruefully and waved
back. Harry turned to Tom, whose eyes had never left his face.

"Let's go," he said softly. He put his arm around Tom's waist and they
headed for the door, neither one of them giving Miss Delaney another
thought. Until . . .

They stepped through the door and as he heard it swish shut behind
them, Harry brought them both to a halt in the corridor.

"What?" Tom asked as Harry turned him towards him.

"Don't you ever so much as look at Megan Delaney again, Tom Paris,"
Harry used his sternest tone.

Tom grinned. "Yes, Harry."

Harry didn't think Tom was taking him seriously enough. He stepped
closer to Tom until they were touching. He brought both hands up to
frame Tom's face and looked deeply into those blue gems shining so
brightly back at him.

"Never." Harry's voice was brooking no nonsense.

Tom tried to control his expression. "Never," he agreed solemnly.

"Good," Harry said, just as solemnly. "Because you love me, right?"

Tom's expression softened. He nodded. "Right," he agreed.

"And because . . . I love you," Harry added. But it wasn't an
afterthought.

Tom just stared at the man he loved slack-jawed. Harry had said he
loved him.

When Tom didn't immediately answer, Harry pulled Tom's lips to his and
proceeded to prove to Tom that he meant business. After a few minutes,
the doors behind them opened again to allow a crewman to exit, but she
just stood there dazed and then grinning. She turned and said
something to theroom at large and more people came to stand beside her
and gasp at the sight of the two men locked together right outside the
door, oblivious to the world.

Well, not quite oblivious. Harry Kim heard the door swish open. He
didn't hear anyone ask them to move, so he took that to mean that the
person was watching them. And, by the sound of the voices coming
closer, he could tell they were becoming an object of some interest.
Perfect.

Harry slid his hands from around Tom's face and let them slip down
those broad shoulders, down the arched back, down the curve of
buttocks. Grabbing hold of those same mounds of soft flesh, he hauled
Tom in so close they were practically joined.

Tom moaned into Harry's mouth. His arms reached around Harry. His
hands closed around Harry's buttocks and reciprocated the action.
Harry sighed against Tom's lips.

Their audience twittered. Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay
threaded their way through the crowd at the door to see what was
causing all the commotion. As the crowd parted for them, a voice from
one side called out, "All right, Harry!" It was B'Elanna Torres. She
was grinning from ear to ear.

Janeway and Chakotay stopped at the doorway. They looked at each
other. Janeway cleared her throat. One eyebrow was raised almost to
her hairline.

"Commander, would you do the honours?" she asked, trying to hide a
smile.

"Of course, Captain," Chakotay accepted her suggestion. He stepped
closer to the embracing couple and cleared his throat. No response
from Tom or Harry. The whole crowd could hear their heavy breathing.

"Gentlemen," Chakotay tried, politely. Tom and Harry shifted in each
other's arms slightly and began to move suggestively against each
other.  Chakotay reached out and grasping both men by one shoulder
gave them a shake. "Gentlemen!" he raised his voice to command level.

Harry and Tom broke apart, startled, disoriented. Harry hadn't meant
to get so carried away, but it *had* been a *long* time. Even one day
without that touch was a long time.

Chakotay looked at them sternly because if he didn't he might be
grinning as silly a grin as the Captain was sporting that very moment.

"Gentlemen, I think you should continue this elsewhere. This *is* a
public corridor."

Harry and Tom looked at each other, still slightly dazed. Continue.
God, yes! They grinned. Then they looked back at Chakotay.

"Sorry, Commander. You're right. We'll be . . . on our way," Harry
said. He looked at Tom with his heart in his eyes. "Your quarters or
mine?" he asked huskily. He took Tom's hand and started to walk down
the corridor, but Tom's feet didn't move. He was just gazing at Harry
in amazement, and adoration. Harry turned back when he felt Tom's
resistance.

He looked at Tom questioningly. "Coming?"

Tom merely shook his head. Then he startled Harry by heading down the
corridor at speed, finally breaking into a run, pulling Harry
stumbling after him.

The last thing the crowd at the entrance to Sandrine's heard was Tom
saying plaintively, "Hurry *up*, Harry!" and they broke into
uproarious laughter that echoed all the way down to the turbolift.

---

Harry was teasing Tom with hands and lips, getting closer and closer
to the place where Tom wanted his touch, but never seeming to reach
there.

"You planned that, didn't you?" he teased Harry in turn. "That was
just too pat, to convenient, everyone watching us like a cheap
peek-a-boo sideshow."

"Hey," Harry complained. "You were the one who wanted a *Public
Display of Affection*!"

"Well, all I meant was a kiss," Tom pointed out.

"Well, all we did was kiss," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah," Tom grinned knowingly.

"Yeah," Harry said in pseudo-innocence. "And don't tell me that *you*
didn't plan that exhibition with Megan Delaney!" Harry countered. "You
knew I'd be blazing mad and come charging over to your quarters to
argue with you. Did you invite her to your quarters deliberately?"

Tom just gave Harry a 'who me?' look. Harry knew better and he wanted
a confession. His previously pondering path to the object of his
desire suddenly ended with a swift movement that found both hands
clasping Tom's penis in a tight grip.

Tom yelped. "Harry?!"

"Confess!" demanded Harry with mock sternness.

"All right, all right! I confess! Take it easy! Gently, Harry,
gently!"

"I thought so," Harry was smug.

"So now that I've confessed, do you forgive me?" Tom asked, pouting at
the pseudo-rough treatment.

"I don't know," Harry pretended to consider the issue seriously. "I
think maybe you should do something to prove how sorry you are," he
said.

Tom grinned. "Anything, Harry. Anything you desire."

"Hmmm," Harry's hands finally gentled and then started to move
rhythmically. Tom groaned. "I'm sure I'll think of something," Harry
said and bent his head

---

The End