The BLTS Archive - Brothers In Arms by Jantique (Jantique@Prodigy.net) --- Technically, a X/O with TNG, but really VOY. No TNG, except Locarno! To be posted only to R'rain Prior's ST Slash Archive. Anyone else, please write and ask. Flattery will get you everywhere. DISCLAIMER: The Almighty has given humankind imagination and the creativity to use it. However, Paramount has better lawyers. All rights as to characters, settings and the Delta Quadrant belong to Paramount. No one but Paramount may or should make any money from them. All thoughts, quotations and actions portrayed herein belong to the author of this story. No one should make any money from them, either. The quotation at the beginning is from the song, "Like A Prayer" by Madonna and Patrick Leonard. All rights reserved. The title is a homage to and direct lift from Lois McMaster Bujold's wonderful novel of the same name. If you haven't read her "Barrayar" series, run out and buy her novels IMMEDIATELY, particularly "Brothers In Arms" and "Mirror Dance"! Unsolicited recommendation. WARNING: This story contains fairly non-graphic m/m sex and non- graphic intimations of rape. Some obscene language. If you're under 18, check the local laws. Ignorance of the law (and the ability to get away with breaking it) is NOT an excuse! Send positive feedback and/or point out grammatical errors to the author . Anything between asterisks (*example*) is would-be italics. Entire sentences or paragraphs between asterisks probably indicate thoughts, rather than emphasis. --- "Life is a mystery. Everyone must stand alone. I hear you call my name, And it feels like home." --- PROLOGUE -- Every morning when I wake up, I remember who I am and why I'm here. I stumble to the bathroom, stare at that handsome guy in the mirror, and recite my mantra. "Your name is Thomas Eugene Paris. By the grace of Captain Kathryn Janeway, you are Lieutenant j.g. and Senior Conn Officer aboard the U. S. S. Voyager." It's always a wonder to me, just like a dream. The Captain has faith in me. By now, most of the crew respect me. I finally found a place where I belong. The music is bright, forte, C major. I worked hard to get it that way. As for my social life, I have friends--Harry, B'Elanna, Ayala, the Delanys. (Yes, we're just *friends*. Since they're kind enough not to judge me by *my* reputation, I try to do the same for them.) The important thing is, these people trust me. I always took that for granted, back at the Academy. Of *course* people trusted me! I was a hot-shot pilot who could do no wrong; why shouldn't they trust me?! But you know, when you lose that, getting it back is a killer. It's like filling a bottomless pit, one spoonful at a time. Now we're circling a new planet called Penidor. (I get the news early. It's good to have friends in Stellar Cartography.) Supposed to be a good stop for supplies and R-&-R. If the Captain wants me to fly the shuttle down, I can do that. If she wants me to stay on board, I can do that, too. If she wants me to pilot Voyager back to the Alpha Quadrant, I'll even do that, though there's nothing there for me. Trust and respect. I challenge the eyes in the mirror. "Right, Lieutenant?" He knows better, but says nothing. I take that for consent. --- PART ONE --- "Well, Captain," Chakotay said, "it looks like we finally have a winner. This is a Class M single planet orbiting a yellow star. The traders we met call it Penidor. The planet has a breathable atmosphere, acceptable climates, no animal or sentient life forms, and several forms of plants and minerals we can either use ourselves or could potentially use for trade. Meteorologically, it does have extensive storm systems, but we should have plenty of warning ahead of any buildup. I don't see that as a problem." You could see the Captain trying not to get excited. How often had it turned out that there was something poisonous the scanners hadn't caught, or we couldn't get to the minerals without blasting half the planet apart, or there *were so* life forms--and not very friendly ones at that? Still, if everything worked out, we could schedule shore leave, always welcome. (If we didn't schedule shore leave--well, that was one reason I always volunteered to fly the shuttle.) "Very well." She turned to Tuvok. "I believe it's your turn to lead the Away mission, Lt. Commander." I sat up and looked eager, like a kid in school who knows the right answer. He looked at me and reluctantly nodded, "Mr. Paris." Tuvok had been moody, distracted, for the past few days. Of course, he was never terribly social at the best of times. Didn't matter. I could fly the shuttle for him. "And Tuvok," the Captain added, and this time she did smile out loud, "I expect a positive report. I'm looking forward to going down for some R-&-R myself." He had to know she was teasing him, but he replied with a perfectly straight face, "Captain, I shall endeavor to give you a factual report. I would not want to spoil your R-&-R with unforeseen conditions." Then he *frowned*. That was *not* like Tuvok, but if the Captain noticed, she didn't say anything. I do have this habit of not paying attention to things which don't immediately concern me. If I'd been listening, I might have had a presentiment, a few brief, minor-key measures prophesying what was to come. But it's easy to look back and recognize the music once you know the name. So we assembled a team, flew down, no problems. Most of the team went to work identifying food substances that Neelix couldn't ruin. (There was a standing, if unofficial, order not to bring back anything which looked, tasted or smelled like leola root!) Tuvok wanted to check on some mountains a few kilometers away, so I flew him over there, then hung around and watched him work. (Well, I fiddled with the shuttle controls, which in truth needed an overhaul.) After a couple of hours, Voyager called. There was an extensive storm building up, headed our way (natch!), and they thought we should leave now. The food gatherers signaled me that they had maybe two- thirds of a shuttleload of presumably edible foods. I went to check on Tuvok. He was supposed to be checking mineral deposits. What it *looked* like he was doing was sitting cross-legged in a cave meditating. I cleared my throat. "Uh, Lt. Commander? The food's ready to be picked up now, and--" He looked up, definitely annoyed. "Lieutenant, return the rest of the Away Team to the ship. I will be . . . some time here." As I said, never wildly social, but this just wasn't right. "Uh, Tuvok, Voyager says there's a big storm coming, and they want us to leave now. Immediately, the Captain said." "Lieutenant, you will leave immediately to pick up the Away Team, and relay them to Voyager. I will be safe in the cave system here. You can retrieve me after the storm has passed." He gave me a particularly stony look and added, "You have your orders." Then he yelled--SHOUTED at me!--"Now go!" "Yes, sir!" Never argue with a superior officer. It just wastes time. So I hopped in the shuttle, got the team, the food, whatever, and headed for home, musing on Tuvok's strange behavior the while. Okay, I may be slow, but I'm not stupid. By the time I reached Voyager, I had figured out a few things: 1.Either Tuvok was going crazy, or he was going into *pon farr*. 2.If he was losing his sanity, there was nothing I could do about it. If he was going into *pon farr*, he had to mate or die. 3.His wife was safely home in the Alpha Quadrant. 4.There was NO WAY I was going to face Captain Janeway--the woman who had given me the Conn, who owned my soul--and tell her that I left her Tactical Officer and best friend on some Powers-forsaken planet, alone in a cave to die. I'd rather die myself. I wished--now that I was nearing the ship--that I'd managed to figure all this out a little earlier. I could have shanghaied Tuvok into the shuttle. The Captain being his old friend and all that, I was sure she would have volunteered to help out. But, like all Truly Brilliant Thoughts of Humankind, it was too little, too late. Back to point 4. Shit! I screeched onto the shuttlebay, ordered everyone out, never mind the food, and immediately took off again, back toward the planet. If I could get Tuvok out before the storm hit critical--and before *he* hit critical--well and good. The Captain, old friend, all that. If not, I would stay there with him. He could beat me up, or. . . whatever. If we both survived it, *then* I could go back to Voyager. As I entered the atmosphere, I could see that the storm was coming on fast, and it was tremendous. Days, at least. So much for R- &-R. I took some time scouting the base of the mountains looking for a cave large enough to park the shuttle in. I found one, parked, took the medikit, water and a few rat bars, and hiked back a klick or so to where I'd last seen Tuvok, in the now- torrential rain. It wasn't far, but I was *soaked*. I must have looked-- certainly felt--like a drowned rat. I stopped inside the entranceway. He was sitting sideways to me, but he didn't look up, didn't sense my presence. I coughed politely, and he nearly jumped. Then he *growled*. "Lt. Paris, I ordered you to leave!" "Yes, sir. I left. I came back." He stood, very imposing. Okay, menacing. "I require privacy. Leave now and do not return until you are called for." "Uh, begging your pardon, sir, but there is NO WAY I'm going back without you. Besides, the storm is way too fierce; no one's going anywhere." I swallowed. "And Tuvok--if you die, I don't think I want to go back at all." "Lieutenant, if you stay here, I could cause you serious physical injury--even death." I stood my ground. "Yes, sir. I know you don't want to do that, and I really don't want you to. But, as I said." I can be stubborn, too. So there. He advanced on me. I would have been scared out of my mind, but I could see he was trying so hard to control himself--and losing. That must have been terrifying for him. Then he grabbed me, pinning my arms to my side. He leaned in for a searing kiss and crushed me to him. I couldn't breathe. His tongue pushed past my lips. Then his MIND reached into mine and flipped it inside out. I heard fanfares and alarums, sounds I'd never known, glorious and terrible. They whirled and blended, cacophony in my mind. Oh, Powers! There were lights, senses, tactile perceptions and passions, and musical notes for which I have no name. Everything wheeled crazily, nothing made sense. Then it all went black. When I woke up, I was lying on the floor of the cave. I was bruised, sore all over, exhausted and incredibly dehydrated. I rolled over--ouch!--and dragged myself over to a water bottle. When I finished drinking, I turned to look at Tuvok. He didn't look much better than I felt, not to mention being unconscious--no, asleep. He was just asleep, I somehow knew. Bits and pieces started to come back to me. We'd had sex--made love--engaged in animal passion for hours, on and off. I looked outside. It was still storming. It had been painful and arousing, exhausting and exhilarating, torturously slow and over too fast. But it was more than that. The mental contact--the *emotional* contact! Vulcans never told you about the intensity and *passion* of their emotions! I grabbed the bottle and crawled back to Tuvok. His skin felt cold. I lay down beside him and hugged him to me. He opened his eyes and drew mine into them. He drained the bottle I gave him, and rolled over onto one elbow. His face looked more relaxed than it had in months. *T'hy'la.* It was not sound, it was . . . *not-sound*. Yet it was sharp and clear, like striking a glass of water. I smiled. I didn't know Vulcan, but he didn't need to tell me what *t'hy'la* meant. *Lover, bondmate, beloved.* His lips hadn't moved. Oh. Could I do that? *Tuvok.* Hey, it worked! *T'hy'la. How do you feel?* *The *pon farr* is over. I am well. I am--* --followed by a burst of love, affection, amusement, wonder. It encircled us both and wrapped us together. It was wonderful. I was flying, soaring. I had never felt better in my entire life. Then Tuvok opened his mouth and said the one name I never expected to hear again. "Thank you, Nicholas." NICHOLAS. I froze, then jerked back galvanically. I couldn't speak--or for that matter, think. A small, sarcastic voice in the back of my mind taunted, *Hell of a poker player YOU are, boy!*, while my forebrain gibbered like an idiot. *He knows, shit, oh Powers, ohshit, he KNOWS!* I pulled away, grabbed my pants, yanked them on. Stood staring out at nothing. He came and stood behind me, not touching. I could feel his body heat behind me, and the chill of the wind-driven rain in front. I listened to the wind howl and the rain strike. A tree cracked in half, somewhere. I closed my eyes and wished myself into nothingness. But when I opened them, I was still there. I heard his thoughts. *Nicholas, I apologize. I would never deliberately hurt you.* I didn't turn. "Look--" It took a couple of tries to get my voice back. "Look, in the first place, no one calls me Nicholas except my Mom when she's mad at me. Or, uh, a Starfleet Board of Review. The name is Nick, Nick Locarno. Glad to meet you." Somehow, the sarcasm fell flat. He put his hand on my right shoulder. He spoke aloud. "Nick, we are bonded. Do you understand? We share each other's joy and pain. I trust you with my soul. Can you not trust me with the story of your life?" The thing was, I did trust him with my life. It was the story that was hard. But he drew me back into the cave, and sat, and patiently waited until I opened my mind to him. Then I didn't have to speak at all. --- It was back on Deep Space Nine. After I got kicked out of the Academy, I went home to my Mom. Who was still my mom, and I was her son, no matter what. After a while, the self-pity got too much even for me, so I looked around for something to do. Never fly again, I knew that. But I still had four years of Academy training, and I was willing to work cheap. Not illegally, mind you, but cheap, and anywhere away from Earth. I drifted. I kept up my flight sims, just for my own satisfaction and frustration. I knew I was still good. But I didn't try to fly. Someone could get hurt. I stayed away from the Maquis; they were bad news. No money, no equipment, definitely no friends in high places. Sure, they might have given me a ship to fly, but I'd be lucky if I was caught before I was killed--most of those derelicts were death-traps, and *everyone* was shooting at you, both Cardassians and Starfleet. And despite all the times I'd wished it had been me instead of Josh who bought it, I had no suicide wish. I stayed safe, legal and grounded. I worked around the Rim Worlds for a while, taking jobs for a year or two, getting recommendations from my colleagues, but never really being part of the team. I didn't want, couldn't handle, that kind of responsibility again. I just followed orders, did my job and got out. If I saw a way to do it better, quicker, safer--sure, I spoke up. But I never let myself get put in charge of anything, or care about the people. If someone died, it wouldn't be my fault, and I wouldn't have to live with the guilt. I stopped off at Deep Space Nine for a few weeks. I found a couple of jobs doing some programming. I stayed away from Quark's-- the hired help couldn't afford places like that. I had temporary quarters and planned to leave in a week. The people were okay. The workers, I mean, not the officers. I didn't see much of them. Anyway, I was just another guy. They didn't know my rep--I was old news even on Earth, and out here they had no time for Academy flyboys. You did the work you were paid for, kept your nose clean, and bought a round for your team. That was all anyone asked. The time was a long, slow movement, no staccato or trumpets. The kind of music where you can nod off and, as long as you don't snore, no one will wake you. But life is a mystery. You can work for years to get somewhere, to accomplish something--and then your life changes forever in moments. Mine did, that day at the Academy when Nova Squadron trusted *me* and a man, a friend, died because of my arrogance. It somersaulted again that day on DS9 when I walked down the Promenade and nearly ran into myself. --- We stopped and stared at each other in silence for a moment. It was one of those moments when everything else fades into the background, and all that exists is the person in front of you--who looked a hell of lot like *me*. Not mirror images, no--but close enough so even *we* could see it. I nodded to him. "Greetings. The name is Nick Locarno." He gave me "that" look, which was no more than I expected. After all, he was Fleet, wasn't he? It was all over him. He'd been through the Academy; he knew who I was. That's why I didn't stick out my hand--I knew he wouldn't shake it. Then he gave me a sheepish grin and mumbled, "Hi. I'm Tom Paris." To tell the truth, it didn't do anything for me at first. Then I remembered: Admiral Paris, wasn't there something about his son-- oh, right! I gave *him* "the look". He probably didn't get to shake a lot of Fleet hands, either. I stuck out my hand; he took it. We were a pair, it seemed. What the hell. I shrugged. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink." He volunteered, "I saw a bar on the Promenade, a casino or something. . . ." I shook my head. "Nah, forget that. That's strictly for tourists and officers." "So where do, um--" It was cute. You could see he didn't know what category I fit into. "Um, where do you drink?" I smiled. One of my best features. "In my quarters. I serve decent stuff, not rotgut, and I don't overcharge myself." Which was all true. Of course, I also wanted to get in his pants. So off we went. I got us a couple of India Pale Ales, the kind with the extra hops, and we sat on my couch and started chit-chatting. He told me Janeway had gotten him out of prison-in-New-Zealand (one word, very fast), and about Voyager's mission. Sounded like a hell of a ship. He mentioned pointedly that he wasn't going to fly, just observe. He sounded wistful, but relieved. Flying was bad luck for him. I gathered the whole purpose of the trip, from the Paris point of view, was to get out of prison, even if just for a few weeks. He was very cool, very casual when he mentioned prison. He could handle that place, no sweat. I knew that tone of voice; I'd used it myself. He was terrified. His eyes dared me to call him on it. I thought regretfully that if it had been me going on Voyager, if the pilot ever stood up, just for a minute, I would be in that seat so fast and so tight they'd have to blast me out with a torpedo. He didn't want to talk about his previous life, so I volunteered. "I'm from the People's Republic of Cambridge. (Typical blank look.) It's right outside Boston, but it's a sovereign state. It seceded from Massachusetts back in the 21st century." "But it's part of the United States, right?" I leaned back and took a drink. "Well, technically, yes. But during the Eugenics Wars, the P. R. C. was officially neutral. A couple of important scientists claimed Sanctuary and stayed there, *with* their research, for years. Intellectual freedom. And, of course, people don't always pay Federal taxes if they think they're being used for immoral purposes." He was truly shocked. I suspected that disobeying Fleet orders and not paying taxes were two of the truly immoral--or, at least, unimaginable--things in Tom Paris's universe. "But--you can't--" I grinned. "No, *I* can't, and *you* can't. But what little state government we have is mostly devoted to helping citizens do just that." I didn't try to describe P. R. C. government sessions, which are democratic, *not* representative! I finished up with, "My Mom still lives there." "Um . . . do you see her?" I knew what he meant. "Oh, yeah. I haven't been back for a couple of years, but in fact I'm going home for a visit next week. It's been a while; I miss her." He looked wistful. "What about your Dad?" I shrugged. "I never knew my father. Mom always said she wasn't raped, it was her choice, and now could we please talk about something more pleasant. So we did." I paused. "I know she was in Starfleet for a couple of years, just before I was born." I waited to see if he would pick up on this. He looked at me suspiciously, wondering. Any minute now, Light would dawn on Marblehead, as we say in the P. R. C. "Did she ever serve--I mean, do you think--?" I nodded. "She did, and maybe. We could be brothers. Does that bother you?" He looked up, with a look on his face I couldn't describe. "No! I think that's great!" Oh. It was hope. Hope for *me* to be his brother! He jumped up, sloshing ale. "I always used to wonder if I had a brother. The old man had so many partners, after all. Everyone knew how to get promoted on *his* ships! It could have been a girl, I guess, but I always pictured a boy, around my own age. Someone I could be friends with. Well, it was me, really, but someone who didn't have to live with HIM. Things would have turned out differently. The Accident never would have happened. Someone I could share my thoughts with, who would understand me. Dad always said, every man stands alone. But just once. . . ." His face was glowing. Oh, Powers! I said slowly, "Tom, the Accident happened. Except it was *my* fault, and Josh got killed, and it was *my* esponsibility. At least you graduated. I didn't even make it out of the Academy." He sat down hard at that. "Christ, Nick, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--well, I was just thinking about myself, I guess. But you had the guts to take the blame." I snorted. "Like hell I did! I took *credit* for things; I didn't know how to take *blame*!" He nodded understandingly. "Wesley Crusher was the one who told the truth. But it was my responsibility. *Josh* was my responsibility; I owed it to him." He thought for a minute. "You weren't a Fleet brat; I don't know if you'll understand this. You know about me, right? So, what do you think I did wrong--I mean, after the crash on Caldik Prime. That was careless and arrogant and stupid, and three people are dead because of me. But all I would have gotten is an official reprimand, maybe a black mark on my record, and then everyone would have remembered that my middle name is Admiral-Paris's-son, and that would be all. So what did I do wrong?" This had to be a trick question. The official answer was, "Falsifying reports." "Wrong!" He pounced on it. "See, all you know is what they fed you in the Academy. That's not it at all!" I waited for enlightenment. "Okay, the crash was stupid, and I should have known better. But Fleet takes care of its own. Falsifying the reports was EXACTLY what I was raised to do, all my life. Well, not lying, per se. But I was protecting the family name, keeping the Paris honor safe. I was avoiding tarnishing Admiral Paris's reputation, and in a larger sense, I was protecting Starfleet itself from unwanted civilian investigations and from having to admit that they ever let idiots like me fly valuable shuttles." His throat tightened, and he faced the wall. "When my--when the Admiral . . . left me, it wasn't because I lied. It was because I told the truth. I dishonored *him*. It was the one time in my life I ever dared to disobey him. But I didn't do it for Fleet, I did it for me. Just for me, for *my* honor." His voice cracked, and he ended on a sob. I took him into my arms and held him, running my hand over his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense sounds. He regained his composure, but didn't pull away. I leaned down and gently kissed his forehead, then, lightly, his mouth. He instinctively leaned into it, then remembered who he was kissing, and pulled away. "Jesus, Nick, we can't! We're--we might be--" I pulled back and looked in his eyes, but kept my arms around him. "We might be half-brothers, Tom. We might not be. If we are, we're both grown-ups. No one's forcing anyone else here. You don't have to do anything. But we can help each other feel better. It's like you said--we understand each other." That wasn't entirely true. But we both *wanted* to, so very much. And in the end, he couldn't resist the temptation any more than I could, of making love to someone who looks so much like yourself. So. It was fine, felt good. But neither us felt the station move beneath us. I know I was holding back, afraid of hurting him. Maybe he was, too. When I stroked his ass, he stiffened, and whimpered, "No, no, please!" His eyes were squeezed shut. I didn't touch him there again. I had a feeling too many people had already, and hadn't listened to the "No". He trembled for a while, till I distracted him from the front. That was better. Afterwards, we cleaned up, and lay down across the blanket and contrasted our similarities and differences. I'm two cm. taller; he worked out more and was in better shape. Tom's voice is lighter, a little higher than mine. I have more body hair; Tom has more freckles. Definitely, my eyes are a brighter blue, his more faded toward gray. And the Inevitable Comparison: My cock was longer; his was wider; both depressingly average. (We agreed we were both great lovers and left it at that.) Causality, not coincidence. I had to believe we were related somehow. Our whole lives--more than just height and freckles--our emotions, motivations, the things we'd done and hadn't--everything about us screamed, "Fate!" And if you believed in Fate, then there was a reason, not coincidence, that we were here together now. And a reason for the resemblance. Physically, the bottom line was, if the two of us stood together, even a casual observer could tell us apart. If you were looking at either one, but knew there were two of us, you could tell one from the other. But if you didn't know there were two, and you weren't looking for it, and you only knew the one superficially--then, I thought, you might not see it at all. I started thinking of "The Prince and the Pauper" and "The Prisoner of Zenda". I didn't know what to do with these references, but they sat in the back of my mind. While we got dressed, I asked, very casually, "Tom, what's going to happen when this is over, after Voyager catches the bad guys or gives up?' Quick answer. "I'm supposed to go back to New Zealand. Captain Janeway said she'll speak to the Parole Board for me." Supposed to, huh? "That's not what I asked. Hey, this is me, Nick! What are you going to *do*?" He shivered. "I don't know. Get away, if I can. I gave Captain Janeway my word, but afterwards. . . . The trouble is, the Maquis don't want me now; I don't know who does. No one in this part of the galaxy, I guess. But I won't go back *there*, not for another year, not for a day! I can't." He looked determined. "I . . . I'll walk through an airlock, if I have to." His eyes were dirty ice, his tone flat and cold. I believed him. I had a feeling Tom had always had to prove himself, that no one had ever given him something or done something for him, not because he deserved it or to get something in return, but just for the hell of it. Random acts of kindness, and all that. If I was his older brother, then I owed him that--and if I wasn't, then I owed it to my own karma. It had been a long since I'd done a good deed without expecting something back. But as Tom said, me, but different. Someone who could have turned out differently--except he was worse off than I was. At least I had my Mom, and I was free. But he'd given his word not to run. I wouldn't ask him to break it. I got up and mixed him a drink. He looked suspicious. I grinned at him. "Relax. You look tense. This will help you relax. You might as well have a good time while you're here on DS9, right?" He looked at the drink, which declined to shoot flames or turn black, sniffed it (the smell of good Saurian brandy), and drank it. It broke my heart to see that. After all the times Life had kicked him in the teeth, he still believed anything you told him, and drank whatever you put in his hand. I sat on the couch and motioned him down. "Tom, did you ever read `The Prisoner of Zenda', `The Man in the Iron Mask', `Brothers in Arms'?" I had also remembered `A Tale of Two Cities', but didn't want to dwell on it--the guy *dies* in that one! A spark of recognition. "Um, `Man in the Iron Mask'--I saw the vid." Great. I was afraid to ask which version. "Okay, you know how these two guys switch places, right? Well, that's what we're going to do. I'll give you my ID; you'll be Nick Locarno. I can't offer much, but my record's clean. You can make a life for yourself; find a place where you belong. I'll take your place on Voyager. Afterwards, I'll make them run a DNA scan; prove I'm not you. We'll both be free." Well, there might be a little matter of aiding and abetting an escaped convict. But only if they knew. He thought about it, shook his head. "No, I can't. I gave my word." He tried to get up, realized this was a mistake. He sank back down unsteadily. He looked at me reproachfully, with eyes like a fading flower. "Nick--" "Tom, I'm sorry. Don't worry, you'll just sleep for a few hours. Listen, life is a mystery. You never know what will happen next. Enjoy it while you can. Sweet dreams." He tried to fight it, but soon he was asleep. I gave him my ID, packed a quick bag for him, and booked myself a private cabin on the next ship out of town. My funds didn't quite cover it, but I had an open line on my Mom's credit. I hadn't had to use it yet, but I knew she wouldn't mind, for a worthy cause. Acting as my own aide, I arranged for someone to come by and "escort" (carry) me to my cabin. He didn't have much on him, just his ID and a data crystal for what turned out to be Sandrine's. I taught Sandrine to recognize me, but it's his place. I've never been to Marseilles. Okay, all ready to go. I looked down at my doppelganger. He was curled up in his sleep, defensively or like a child, I wasn't sure which. "Don't worry, Tom," I whispered. "I won't ever tell. I promise. You make your own life. No one will look for you, because they won't ever miss you." It would easier to go to prison in his place, if I had to, than to admit the truth. They'd probably throw me in prison for aiding and abetting anyway, right? And I was I never any good at taking the blame. Easier not to tell. If Tom did decide to go back to prison--well, that was his choice. At least he would have one. I put Mom's address in his bag. Maybe he would write to her someday. But I was Thomas Eugene Paris now. Even if I got out of prison, I knew I couldn't ever go home again. "Goodbye, Tom," I said. "Sweet dreams. Have a good life." Then I walked into Quark's and rescued Harry Kim. --- When I finished my story, I didn't know where I was. Sensation returned: we were in the cave, it was cold. I heard the plash of the rain, and the crack of twigs and small rocks being hurled against larger, less breakable, objects. Tuvok was sitting with his back to the cave wall, and I was sitting on the floor between his legs, leaning against him, his arms supporting me. I felt drained. Tuvok held me for a long time. Then he said, softly but distinctly, "Admiral Paris was wrong. You do not need to stand alone." *After what I'd just told him?!!* I twisted around to face him. He looked at me, those deep, dark eyes. "I will stand with you." "You mean . . . when I tell Captain Janeway." "If that is your choice." *Nicholas, you must make your own choice. I may not agree, or approve, but I will be with you, always. It is the bond between us.* Tuvok's mental tone of not-sound was gravelly, ambiguous. He sounded uncertain himself, but I clung to the words. The music must follow. And that was that. Nothing more needed to be said. We ate, drank, listened to the storm moan. Checked the available minerals in the cave. No dilithium, but some elements we could use. Made slow, careful sex, and all the notes were sharp and clear and true. I could feel the bond of love and intimacy Tuvok still had with his wife. That link was still strong. I didn't expect anything like that. But he would stay with me. It was enough. Finally, we slept. When we awoke, there was only a light rain coming down. We hiked back to the shuttle and contacted Voyager. Commander Chakotay joked, "You can come home, Lieutenant; all is forgiven." I knew he was just being a smart-alec. He didn't have a clue what he was talking about. For some reason, I felt like dirt. Then Tuvok sent a mental touch, a tiny stream of light, into my blackness. He wasn't promising that everything would be all right, just reminding me that I wasn't alone. He didn't agree, he didn't approve, but he wouldn't tell. Chakotay would never need to know. We threw the rotten food out of the shuttle, and made the flight back to Voyager in silence. Despite Tuvok's voiceless reassurances, I was still apprehensive. Would I look, sound, act the same? Surely Captain Janeway would see something different in me. Could I convince her, all of them, that it was just the bonding? Sure I could. They didn't know Tom Paris; how could they miss him? The name didn't matter. The Captain trusted *me*. She would keep trusting me, right up until the moment she learned that I'd lied to her from Day One. Then I could kiss it all goodbye: rank, position, friends, respect, trust. I had no choice. Silence is consent. The Captain met us at the shuttle bay. Her face lit up when she saw us. "Tuvok! Tom! It's good to have you back." Her voice was warm, sincere. Tuvok hesitated. "It is good to be back, Captain. N- Lt. Paris and I have made some interesting geological discoveries." He never looked at me. But now I could hear it in his voice, suppressed but real: the joy of seeing her again, and the locking down of the truth. He would lie to his Captain, his friend, for me. I could feel the intimacy, the respect, he felt for her. NOT the same as the link with me. That was deep, fundamental, but there was no . . . what was it? Something was lacking. Something in me? When he said, "Lt. Paris", his voice was hollow, empty. It came to me--he had no choice. He hadn't chosen to be bonded with me, it was just there. It wasn't what he wanted, but he would honor the bond. Live the lie forever, and never ask, or need to be asked. Never count the cost. Didn't mean there wasn't one. She turned to me. "Tom?" I didn't speak; couldn't answer to the name. "Tom?" I shook my head. "No." My voice was weak, thin. She looked puzzled. I took a deep breath. "Captain . . . there's something I have to tell you." --- We went to her Ready Room. I told her everything, in excruciating detail. (Well, I left out the sex, but that was all.) I hate this part. I'm no good at confession. When I finished, she got up from her desk and stood looking out the window. I didn't think she'd space me, but she could leave me on the planet. Or--she could say she regretted trusting me. "Mr. Par--Locarno, I am *very* disappointed in you. Despite everything, despite very good advice, I had faith in you." She sighed, turned to look at me. "It seems I was wrong, after all." Her words became jumbled; they made no sense. It was dissonant music with jangles and discords--there was no melody line. I heard the notes, but couldn't link them together. ". . . disappointed . . . Starfleet . . .officer . . . ." Then a clear cello tone cut across all. "Captain, if I may speak?" She gave Tuvok a sharp look, but nodded. Enunciating each word clearly, he continued, "It is true that Mr. Locarno has been deliberately living a lie. However, his motivation was not for personal gain. Surely, there is a great difference between being guilty of a falsehood to excuse oneself, and being guilty of a falsehood to excuse another. You will remember that it was he who risked his reputation, as well as his life, by going undercover to expose Jonas as the spy, and it was also he who rescued the crew when we were marooned. He has consistently acted in an unselfish and professional manner while on board Voyager. And while he exhibits a certain tendency to act flamboyant, he has demonstrated leadership skills and taken responsibility in a manner befitting a Starfleet officer." As he spoke, his voice grew firmer, more convinced himself. "In brief, his presence on Voyager is an asset." She thought about this. Her eyes were hard. I swallowed. "Excuse me, Captain, may I say something?" She didn't look crazy about the idea, but nodded again. I stared at the floor. Fascinating pattern. I could hardly get the words out; I couldn't bear to look at her. "Captain, I know I fu- -messed up. I'm sorry--I mean, I'm sorry I had to lie, and I'm sorry I hurt you. But I'm not sorry I did it. Tom Paris needed it. And being here on Voyager, with everything that's happened, still--it gave *me* a second chance. Even if I was . . . someone else. I know I should have told you. Even Tom told the truth, but I couldn't, I'm sorry. But I won't ever lie again, I swear. Please don't leave me on the planet or, or, anywhere. Let me stay on Voyager. I'll do anything, take any punishment you give me. You can throw me in the brig if you want. Just--I need to be here. One more last chance, please." I dared to look up. She looked startled. Had she not thought of leaving me? Or was it that even now, I had the nerve to ask for favors? Tuvok and the Captain exchanged a long look. Finally, she spoke. "Lieut--Mr. Locarno, you are not going *anywhere*. You will stay right here on Voyager for the next 70 years, and you will *work* for a living. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, Ma'am!" That was all I needed to know. Of course, that wasn't the end of it. She broke me down to Ensign (because that was the lowest officer rank, and she didn't want to insult the enlisted). No replicator or holodeck privileges for three months--and no sharing anyone else's. And she ordered me to stand watch-and-watch--four hours on duty, four off--for the next 48 hours. That was tough. But none of that mattered. I was on Voyager. I still had the Conn (Beta shift). And I had Tuvok. Not because he had no choice, with the *pon farr*, but because, maybe, he wanted to be with me, a little. It would take time, but there was something to build on. He thought there was something worthwhile in me. I needed him to be right. We already were lovers, maybe someday we could be friends. Trust and respect--hell. It's like filling a bottomless pit, one spoonful at a time. So, start shoveling. Again. Whatever it takes. --- EPILOGUE --- Sometimes I'm afraid to open my eyes when I wake up in the morning. It could all be a dream. Even now, it could vanish; I might open my eyes and be on Deep Space Nine, or Earth, or Caldik Prime or-- anywhere. Then I hear Tuvok quietly say, "Nick, t'hy'la, this is Voyager," and everything is all right. I know I'm home. --- The End And we hope he lives happily ever after. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, yes, the Author admits she deliberately misrepresented the truth (lied) to you at the beginning, when she said this was a Tuvok/Paris story. It was For Your Own Good, so forgive her! (Please?)