The BLTS Archive- Postscript
by Colleen (Cbtreks@aol.com)

---

Paramount, of course, owns the world; no infringement of any
kind is meant  by my borrowing these characters and this
setting. There is verbatim dialogue  in this story from the
Voyager episode "The Chute". The story itself is mine, with
many thanks to Killashdra; feel free to distribute, but 
please keep my name and this header attached. I love
feedback!

No sex, no violence - but if you absolutely can't stand the
idea of two men loving each other, read no further.

This is really a departure for me; I've never really been a
slash fan and never would I have guessed I'd be writing -
and posting (!) - a piece of slash fiction, even one as -
mild? is that the word? - as this. (Actually, I don't write
much fanfic at all - last week I posted the first piece I'd
ever written; this is the second.) But when I finished
Killashdra's story "Ghost in the Machine", I couldn't stand
not knowing what happened after Harry opened the door, so I
wrote her and asked (begged!) her to hurry with the sequel.
Well, she wasn't planning on writing one - so I had to come
up with something on my own. Then I saw "The Chute" and
everything just fell into place. I guess this isn't really a
sequel, just sort of a . .

Copyright 1996

---

I was having a difficult time waking out of my dream . . . I
don't  remember what I was dreaming, only that an incessant
chiming filled the  background. Finally my subconscious mind
identified the sound as my door  com. Someone was paying me
a visit.

I rolled out of bed and grabbed my robe; as I tied it around
me, I glanced at the chronometer. 0603. I am not a cheerful
early riser; this had better be an emergency.

I opened the door, my customary morning scowl on my face,
and there stood Tom. I doubted he'd been to bed the night
before. There was faint, fair stubble along his jaw, he was
wearing civvies and - had he been crying? Was there the
faintest, fading hint of red in his eyes, his nose? Or was
that simply the remnant of a night filled with synthbeer and
no sleep? He just looked at me. When I asked if he was ok,
he said,

'Yeah, I'm fine."

And then he grinned, the smile suffusing his face with light
like the  sun through a cloudbank. It wasn't the smirk
everyone is familiar with; it was the clean, honest,
untainted grin that so few of us on the ship have seen and
always want more of. "Listen, Harry?" he said. "There's
something I have to tell you."

He walked through the door, walked toward me, and for one
wild moment, I thought he was going to grab me in his arms
and - Tom gave a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his
head, and walked over to the sofa, settling into a corner. I
asked if he wanted something to drink. "Coffee, raktajino -
"

When I returned to the sofa with two steaming mugs of
coffee, I took a seat in the other corner. Tom was still
wearing that beautiful smile.

(Beautiful?)

"Whatever you have to tell me, it must be pretty good. I
haven't seen you grin like that in ages."

"It's good, Harry," Tom said and his voice was
uncharacteristically soft. "It's good."

"So? Tell me!"

Tom swallowed then said, "I love you, Harry."

I loved Tom as much as I'd loved any of my friends, probably
more. I laughed a little and said, "I love you too, Tom, but
I don't think I'd wake you up two hours early to tell you."
I was still pretty groggy - I hadn't been sleeping well and
was beginning to feel perpetually groggy - and I suppose
that's why it took me a moment or two to realize that Tom
was shaking his head at me and that his tone of voice had
indicated something different from what I'd assumed he'd
meant. Suddenly, I was very much awake.

"No, Harry, that's not what I meant." He gave a short laugh.
"I've been thinking about everything I wanted to tell you,
everything I wanted to say, and now I've forgotten the whole
speech." He stopped talking abruptly and the smile was still
on his face but it was fading.

I could've said, "Then maybe you weren't meant to say it,"
or "Tom, let's please not get into this," or something
equally discouraging. Instead, I carefully placed my mug on
the floor in front of me, then leaned forward just a little.
"So don't make speeches Tom. Just talk to me."

He drew a shaky breath and began to talk. He talked to me
about lust and desire and how those feelings had covered up
a deeper feeling - love. He talked to me about the day he
realized that he loved me, that day a few weeks back when
we'd been cleaning his quarters. I remembered it. I'd seen
something in his eyes then, but I couldn't read it and he
wouldn't answer my questions. At some point - I don't
remember when - Tom reached over and took my hand. I didn't
withdraw it.

"I was never going to bring it up, Harry, because I thought
. . . well, I thought it would make you treat me
differently, or pity me, or despise me. And I didn't think I
could bear that. But last night . . . last night I couldn't
put you out of my mind - I missed you at Sandrine's, you
know - and I finally decided I had to tell you. Because not
telling you and never knowing what might have happened seems
worse now than anything that could happen. I don't know," he
looked me in the eyes and his voice trembled, almost
imperceptably, "I honestly don't know if I could have kept
this inside myself and continued our friendship. It . . .
hurt too much."

It wasn't a particularly eloquent declaration of love and it
didn't take very long, but I felt as if we'd been sitting
there forever. When Tom was done talking, the look on his
face was so hopeful, so fearful all at once, so naked and
open, that I wanted to turn away. But he wouldn't let me.
His eyes held mine and I couldn't look away. And I couldn't
find my voice. Finally, I had to talk or scream, so I said -
and my voice was shaking -

"Tom, I - " feel the same way you do, I'm just scared to
death. I had to stop for a moment because the thought had
ambushed me. Where had it come from? " - I don't know what
to say."  I'm not rejecting you, I just don't know . . .

Tom released my hand and stood up. "I understand, Harry. But
- I had to say it and . . . I feel I should have told you a
long time ago. I'm sorry I waited."

"I'm glad you did tell me." He turned and headed for the
door. The smile was gone. I couldn't stand it.

"Tom!"

He stopped, eyes closed, back to me.

"I didn't say 'no'. It's just that - "

Tom shook his head a little. "Don't. You don't need to say
anything. I won't push you."

Then he left. I sat there for a long time, thinking. Then I
got up and got ready for my shift at Ops. As I left the
bathroom, I saw the ring Tom had given me that day in his
quarters, on the shelf where I'd left it the night before. I
put in on before I headed out the door.

---

Not long after Tom's early morning visit, I had another
sleepless night.  It had been happening more frequent over
the past couple of months - Libby  was haunting me. After
three years in the Delta Quadrant, almost everyone on the
ship seemed to have reconciled themselves to never seeing
their friends and family back home again. They had done
their grieving, dealt with their anger, and were well on the
way to forming new lives. I was one of the few exceptions. I
wanted to remain eternally optimistic and I held on to the
images of home and Libby like . . . well, like the
proverbial drowning man grasps a rope.

But now my grasp was slipping. I was becoming more and more
aware of the fact that, to Libby, I was a dead man, three
years dead, and though I knew she loved me, Libby was not a
fool. She would've moved on. It was time for me to do the
same.

I'd been shying away from that thought for a long time but
that night I faced it head on. When the tears came, I wasn't
taken by surprise; they were part of what I'd been avoiding.
Giving in to grief meant acknowledging that the situation
was real. I was "dead"; my old life was gone.

I didn't want to face this alone - but there was only one
person on board that I wanted to talk to, and that was Tom.
I knew I could call him and he'd be there before the com
link closed. Or I could walk down to his quarters - so close
- and wake him. I knew he would listen without a single
"told you so!" (though he had), that he would hold me,
comfort me, say all the right things . . . and I couldn't
go.

I almost did, headed for the door half a dozen times, but
another thought kept creeping into the back of my mind - the
thought that it would be unfair to Tom, to go to his
quarters, ask him to hold me, talk to me, listen to me, do
whatever it was I needed to feel better right then - and
then sneak back to my own quarters after having given
nothing in return, pretending in the morning that nothing
had happened. Because I knew that, for whatever reason
eluded me at the moment, that's what would happen if I
sought him out right then. So I spent a white night in my
quarters with only my tears, my grief, my anger to keep me
company.

---

After that night, I began sleeping better and life started
moving a little more smoothly for me. Libby - home - crossed
my mind less and less often. Of course, that meant that I
had a lot more time to think about Tom and our friendship
and Tom loving me and me . . . me loving Tom.

Because I did, and if I were going to be honest with myself,
I had to admit that I had for quite awhile. And it did scare
me. I wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't - at least I
didn't think it was - because Tom was a man and I'd never
had "romantic" feelings for a man before. In reality, Libby
was the only person I'd ever loved like that and, while I
never thought I would fall in love with another man, I
didn't question it when I realized it had happened.

The biggest reason, the one that flashed through my mind
like a neon sign, was as old as the hills. Tom was the best
friend I had - the best friend I'd ever had - and I had
never known a couple who'd moved from friendship to romance,
then broken up, and truly remained friends. I was afraid of
the relationship not working out and not being able to stay
friends if it didn't. Voyager was too small a ship and 70
years too long a time for that to happen. I would rather
have Tom's friendship and nothing else than not have him in
my life at all. Selfish, cowardly - and incredibly unfair in
light of the risk Tom took, saying the things he'd said to
me.

---

Surprisingly, our relationship didn't change much, not on
the surface.  Things were different, of course. There was a
tension between us that  hadn't been there before, but I
think we were the only ones to notice.  Most of it was
created by me, wanting to offer encouragement while asking 
for time - but not wanting to tease.

I didn't want Tom to give up on me, but I wasn't ready to
leap that gulf between friendship and a deeper relationship
either, and I didn't know if I ever would be. I always wore
the ring he'd given me - I knew he noticed - and sometimes,
I couldn't help myself, I had to touch him. Just a hand on
his shoulder or an "accidental" brush of my skin against his
if I were handing him something. Nothing more. I hated to
think that I was hurting him. If I was, he gave no sign.

We hung out together as much as we ever had, shooting pool
at Sandrine's or shooting the bull in our quarters. When we
got the chance at some shore leave on Akritaria, we went
together.

---

Shore leave was a nightmare. The terrorist attack, being
separated from Tom,  not allowed to call Voyager, the
kangaroo court. Then being dropped down the chute into the
center of that hideous "welcoming committee".  All those . .
. those animals, each one screaming, "He's  mine!" "No, I
tell you, he's mine!"

And then Tom stepping forth, a ragged knight in dirty
clothing, knife in his hand, daring them all to interfere
with his "revenge".

"This one is mine." I did love him. I won't go into details;
it's all in the official record. I can't say I'm glad it
happened. But I can say that this is what it took to open my
eyes and force me to make up my mind. Shortly before the end
- before I tried to kill Tom - there was a night that was
worse than usual. He woke up and couldn't remember what had
happened to him. When I reminded him  that he'd been
stabbed, he became convinced that I was the one who  had
done it. He tried, weak as he was,to attack me and I had to
fight him off.  He did calm down and memory returned, but he
was scared - I could see the fear in his eyes - and in pain
and he pleaded, "Harry, please don't leave me here." I held
his hand in both of mine, not knowing what to say. I thought
perhaps he was dying and I'd never been so afraid of
anything in my life.

I wanted to cry out, "No Tom! Please don't leave  me!" I
wanted to hold him close, to lean over and kiss his
forehead, kiss his cheek, kiss - I didn't cry out or move,
except to lie down beside him to sleep. "Close your eyes," I
said.

---

After the rescue, after we'd been cleaned up and put back
together,  the implants removed, Tom led me from sickbay,
slinging a friendly arm  across my shoulders, saying, "Come
on, Harry. We're overdue  for that steak dinner," and we
walked along while he talked about the  dinner and all it's
trimmings.

I couldn't stand it. Guilt and remorse burned inside me like
cold, white fire.

"Tom," I said, but he kept talking. I quit walking.

"Tom! Listen to me!"

He stopped. How could he stand there and act like nothing
had ever happened?

"Tom, I almost killed you."

"What're you saying? You're the one that kept me alive."

"I was ready to hit you with the pipe." I burned with shame,
telling what I'd done. "Don't you remember?"

"You want to know what I remember? Someone saying, 'This 
man is my friend. Nobody touches him.' I'll remember that
for a  long time."

I wanted to cry. I wanted to reach out and hold him. I
wanted to look away but his eyes wouldn't let me. I couldn't
move.

Touch me, I thought. Hug me or kiss me or just take my hand.
Touch me once and I can move again. Just once and I'm yours
forever.

"So what do you say we blow a week's worth of replicator
rations?" Tom was saying. The spell was broken and I averted
my gaze. Throwing his arm across my shoulder again, Tom led
me up the corridor.

"So what's for dessert?" I asked.

---

That night, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, played my
clarinet,  tried to read a book. Nothing helped. I didn't
want to be alone. I wanted  Tom.

"I won't push you," he'd told me two months before.  The
next move was mine. I got dressed, asked the computer for
Tom's whereabouts.

"Lieutenant Paris is in his quarters."

"Is he alone?"

"Affirmative."

I walked the short distance down the hall, then stood
outside his door for a full minute before touching the door
com. When Tom came to the door, it was clear that I'd
wakened him. He stood there, not speaking, looking at me
confusedly.

"Tom," I said, my voice breaking a little, "There's
something I have to tell you."

I walked inside and as the door closed, I crossed the short
distance between us and drew him close, hugging him tightly
to me. For a moment he just stood there, then his arms went
around me and he held on like a drowning man. Then I put my
arms around his neck and pulled his head down, meeting his
mouth with mine.

---

The End