The BLTS Archive - The Magic Hand of Chance
by raku (raku2u@aol.com)

---

Disclaimer:  Viacom and Paramount rule supreme.  They hold
copyright in the characters and one of the locations used in this
story, which is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.  The plot and
planet setting are mine.

Archiving:  OK for ASC archive and R'rain's slash archive; ok to
download copies for personal use.

Warning of sorts: The following story has nothing more physically
intense than a kiss or two, but the kiss is between two men.  If
that's not your cup, you'll want to move along.  As slash stories
go, this is PG at most; as "real world" ones go, it'd be an R, I
suppose, for that kiss.  You decide.

Author's note: for those who are curious, synesthesia is for
real, though it's a long-standing condition and not something
that suddenly hits you in the middle of a mind-meld.

copyright 1998 by raku

---


The day was not looking good for Tom Paris.  First Captain
Janeway assigned him to this tedious away mission--an overflight
and landing on this boring Class M looking for minerals the
ship's scanners couldn't pick up through the weird atmosphere.
Then her raised eyebrow all but accused him of dereliction of
duty, when he tried to suggest that sending B'Elanna Torres in
his place made more sense.  Hell, it was B'Elanna who wanted the
compounds for her engineering experiments, let *her* go.

The next piece of good news was that Commander Tuvok had
volunteered to go also, on the grounds he was more familiar with
the particular kind of anthropoid culture that existed on the
planet.  Tom had said he didn't think he needed anything
stronger than a phaser to deal with the locals, who were
relatively few in number anyway, but Tuvok had been most
insistent that he come along.  Janeway had concurred that two
made more sense for this  mission than one.

Things had only got worse from there.  First, he was surprised to
see the always-accurate Tuvok head blindly for the wrong shuttle,
apparently not hearing Tom shouting that he was going the wrong
way.  Next, when they'd nearly reached the planet, Tuvok announced
in a half-puzzled tone that he'd  failed to bring the tricorder
that had been modified to find B'Elanna's minerals--meaning
they'd have to do it a slightly slower way, with the regular
on-board and hand-held sensors.  *Then* Tuvok miscalculated their
flight path and nearly flew them into a mountain--the chirping of
the autopilot saved them just in time.

"Pull up!  Pull up!"  Tom's fingers were rekeying controls and
recalibrating the shuttle's trajectory almost before his brain
had processed the shrieking alarm.  After they cleared the terrain
he turned to look at Tuvok, and the man seemed oblivious, like he
hadn't just looked eternity in the face.  Good grief.  What was
*with* this guy?

The biggest laugh of all, thought Tom to himself, was being
sealed up in a  shuttle with Tuvok.  The person he most wanted to
be with, the person he could least afford to be with.  He had
grinned sadly to himself when he realized that Janeway *was*
going to send them off together, and that he was about to spend
a day or more with Tuvok in *very* close quarters.  Oh, yippee.

The last time they'd been dispatched on an away mission together,
they'd had big trouble on the planet they visited, even though it
was supposed to be a relatively straightforward trip.  After
they'd landed, Tom had gone ahead to scope out the Okminir, the
supposedly friendly inhabitants of the local village--and they
had taken him prisoner.  They had wanted to practice their newly
discovered mind-drugs on him, and they had been very pleased to
capture a lab specimen.  Very pleased indeed.

Tom was still having flashbacks to the worst parts of the
experience, the moments when he was fading in and out of
consciousness, feeling his mind sifting away like a sand dune.
The flashes were counterbalanced by images of Tuvok.  Tuvok,
appearing at his cell door to free him, when he had given up
hope.  Tuvok, who had lied to persuade the Okminir that Tom was
psychotic and should be released, no longer useful as a guinea
pig.  At that point, it was pretty close to the truth.

Back on Voyager, it had taken weeks of therapy to get his
bearings again after the Okminir rearranged his head, and Tuvok
had been there all along the way, offering his own curious sort
of kindness and support.

Tuvok had explained that it was logical for him to help because
he was the only other crewman who had seen the Okminir and their
methods first-hand.  But recently, late at night, Tom liked to
imagine that maybe there was another reason.

As Tom's therapy progressed, constant exposure to this normally
most private of shipmates had helped tolerance grow into
affection, affection into attraction, attraction into--what?
Tom tried not to think about it.  He couldn't quite figure out
how it had happened.  Tuvok had saved his sorry ass enough times
before, his and everyone else's; it was the Vulcan's job after
all.  Maybe what he was feeling for Tuvok was transference?
gratitude for his help in undoing the Okminiri techniques
masquerading as love and desire?  No, that didn't quite fit
either.  It didn't explain the slow growth of feeling, the sense
of belonging and relaxation Tom had around his colleague.

Tom had tried grilling a few of his friends on why they felt the
way they did about their companions, but he didn't learn anything
he didn't already know.  Attraction had its own rules--the heart
sometimes made its own independent decisions.

No doubt about it, Tom had fallen in love.  The only problem--the
merest of problems--Tuvok was married, bonded.  A devoted
father.  Not much future there, any way you looked at it.  And yet
Tom found that he wasn't really discouraged by the situation:  he
could still be near Tuvok, still enjoy his companionship, marvel
at his subtle skills.  He tried to take from Tuvok what he could
give, and let the rest go.

Finally he'd given up trying to master the situation and had
tried to channel his energies into a new sim he was writing for
the holodeck.  An exercise sim, this time:  one to help the
Voyager crew practice avoiding capture by hostile creatures of
various sorts.  Out of suffering, gain, or so Tom liked to think.

---

Tuvok's performance today was another matter, however:  Tom had
never seen him so clumsy and confused.  While he more carefully
monitored the shuttle's performance, he thought back to past
conversations with the Holodoc, trying to remember if he'd ever
said anything about strange afflictions Vulcans suffered.

Well, if he could keep Tuvok from killing them both, he'd get the
shuttle back to Voyager and Tuvok back to the Holodoc for a
checkup. Something wasn't right.  Tuvok, vague and forgetful?
The Vulcan had been off his stride for a week or more, now that
Tom thought about it--missing meetings, being slow to follow
orders.  The Holodoc could no doubt fix him up, if Tuvok didn't
accidentally burn them both to a crisp first.

For his part, Tuvok stared at the viewscreen and watched stars
shoot by with long streaming tails.  They had so far to go yet,
to get home.  Today, this day, another mundane shuttle mission.
Another day of Starfleet duties.  Another day when his mind cried
out to strengthen the bond, and couldn't.  So far from Vulcan,
from home.  Duty kept him away.  And he had very  little time to
get home, he knew well.  Nowhere near enough time.  It would be
on him very soon.  Never had he gone through it before without his
wife, without T'Pel as companion, lover, feeder of the flame.

He would have to choose.  A new bondmate?  Or endure pon farr
through meditation, run the risk of death if he failed?  Which
was the better course?   He had little guidance.

And then the matter of Lieutenant Paris, piloting the shuttle
they shared.  A young man, yet a capable one.  Highly
intelligent.  Also highly moral, though most desirous of
concealing that from his colleagues.  Imaginative.  Dependable in
his own peculiar way.   A truly inspired programmer.
Resilient--their shared experience with the Okminir had shown him
that.

And much more.  The crucial moment had happened by chance, his
thoughts accidentally clarified by Seven of Nine, of all people:
certainly not a Vulcan, nor precisely human either.  The captain
had dispatched the two men to retrieve her from Bomar space, and
Lieutenant Paris had used his formidable skills to spin them
safely through the Bomar array.

Such abilities Tuvok had seen often on Voyager, and had duly
admired, as one competent officer to another.  More remarkably,
the lieutenant had squelched his usual human desire to leap into
action, to chase Seven himself, and instead had acceded to
Tuvok's logical assessment of the situation.  To see his
colleague--quite young in human years--distinguish among possible
courses of action, to make best use of his skills and then step
aside when other skills were needed--this caught Tuvok's
attention.

Seven had heard the Borg's siren call for the last time, had
sought her people, the collective she desperately longed for.  As
their shuttle chased her,  Tuvok reflected on the irony of the
situation--their job as Starfleet officers was to keep her from
reuniting with her people.  Just as his job in Starfleet kept him
from reuniting with *his* people, with his beloved T'Pel.  Who
was obstructing whom?

Until that point, Tuvok decided, he had not realized quite how
humans mourn.  He had been most intrigued to watch Seven
reconstruct the loss of her parents, home, and childhood.  Then
to observe her learn her brutal past.  He was struck by Seven's
attempt to integrate her misfortunes into her character, and
move onward.  He was surprised she did not seek a memento of some
kind from her parents' ship, for humans seemed especially to
treasure such things.  He later reflected that perhaps she would
have liked the "Raven" plaque they had seen, but there had been
no time to retrieve it, under the fiery rain from the Bomar
ships.

Such exposure to intense human conduct he had found--unsettling.
Thought provoking.  He expected that it was partly the
long-rising tide of pon farr, but it seemed to be more than that,
also.  From the shared adventure in Bomar space he returned to
Voyager wrapped in thought, examining human  conduct and human
nature from a new angle.  A more informed angle, and certainly a
more interested angle.

As the days passed he knew that he would need to make a decision,
and soon.  If he chose to pursue a new bond--if he had to turn
away from T'Pel-- most days he could not bring himself even to
consider the possibility and he would renew his efforts to
strengthen his skills at meditation.

Yet on other days, it appeared that the ship's most senior pilot
was worth consideration.  He began to watch Lieutenant Paris on
the bridge, just in  case, he told himself.  He watched those
hands, those long sensitive fingers, controlling their enormous
ship with the most delicate of touches.  Tuvok had never seen the
like, in all his years in Star Fleet.

Such long fingers.  Strong wrists, broad shoulders.  Such light
hair.  And finely curved ears.  Pale skin... long legs, strong
muscles...  Seated in their shuttle bound for the planet, Tuvok
turned and studied him, until he noted the human's skin beginning
to color pink.  The Vulcan shifted in his seat and averted his
eyes, intensely aware he had caused the other embarrassment.

Startled by Tuvok's movement, Tom cast his eyes sideways and was
surprised to see his companion's hands trembling.  Tuvok was
staring straight forward again, seeming not to see the planet
skimming beneath them, and certainly not looking at the
instruments that were tracking the minerals.

Swearing under his breath, Tom ran his hands along the console.
He adjusted their trajectory to assist the sensors as much as
possible, ran an eye over the limit indicators.  He adjusted the
allowable spread of geological inclusions and took a second look
at the levels the sensors were showing for this sector of the
planet.  He could see that xalfenium and ghyllium were showing up
below in collectable form, but B'Elanna's beloved zatal and parg
were still missing.  Tom reached sideways to adjust the readout,
and Tuvok spoke, as if from a depth.

"Mr. Paris."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Set the shuttlecraft down on the shore of that large body of
water."

"Isn't that altitude a little low for the minerals?  I remember
B'Elanna saying in the briefing that. . ."

Tuvok interrupted him.  "The briefing is not important.  That
stretch of shore will do, where the stream comes down to meet the
water."

The pilot was puzzled, but he knew an order when he heard one.
Maybe Tuvok knew something special about this planet?

They circled over the area once, twice, reconnoitering.  They
could see a wide sandy beach leading down to the lake, a broad
stream of water cutting across the sand, and some low cliffs with
vegetation growing down over the cliff face.  Maybe some caves,
some marks of animals.

The shuttlecraft made a graceful arc, the pilot's hands dancing
over the controls.  He loved these moments, landing on unknown
surfaces on unknown worlds.  A completely different pleasure from
flying their million- ton ship through the heavens.  He flicked a
button here, adjusted aft  thrusters there.  They heard the
rockets fire, felt the craft shift to a hover, and set down as
lightly as a butterfly on a leaf.

Tuvok's head sagged back on the seat for a moment while Tom made
some last adjustments to the fuel pods and double-checked the
atmosphere outside.  As Tom turned to his commanding officer,
Tuvok snapped upright and tried to look alert.  He reached for
the scanners that he had remembered to bring and handed one to
Tom.

They stepped out of the shuttle onto the beach and stretched a
bit. "Much nicer than the holodeck, eh, Tuvok?"  Tom gestured
around them to the water and grass, the real rocks, the sunshine.

The Vulcan made no answer but took several deep breaths of the
pleasantly warm air, which was lightly scented with conifers.
With effort he said, "Shall we?" and began to survey the cliff
face in front of them.  He gestured for Tom to head to the right
while he went left.

As Tom walked, he noted a small group of caves, some driftwood
and rounded pebbles, the usual marine features.  He was pleased
to see the indicator flickering on his sensor:  at least
B'Elanna's ghyllium was abundant  right in the area, and
apparently very close to the surface if not actually on it.  He
marked the coordinates.  One down, three to go.

He turned toward Tuvok to let him know, and he saw that the
Vulcan was kneeling on the sand, hands to his head.  Tom broke
into a run and reached him just as he collapsed forward onto the
beach.  Quickly he put a hand to Tuvok's forehead--no
temperature, considering that Vulcan metabolism, and a fairly
strong pulse.  With some difficulty he dragged one of Tuvok's
arms across his shoulders and struggled back to their craft,
thinking to himself *This guy's all muscle. Who'd have thought he
was so heavy...*

Inside, he kicked the button that ejected the small bunk from the
wall, and rolled Tuvok onto it.  As his head hit the slightly
raised pillow, Tuvok  muttered, --Must get back outside.--  His
eyes fluttered shut again.

"How's that?  I don't *think* so--I'm getting you back to the
Holodoc as quickly as possible."

"No..."

"Look, Tuvok, there's no reason to stay here if you're so weak or
sick you can't stand.  You've been acting strangely all morning.
The captain can send another shuttle for the minerals--this is
not a crucial mission.  We're going back."

"Lieutenant Paris.  No.... That is an order."

"Sir, with all respect, on what grounds does it make more sense
to stay here than return to Voyager?  You're ill."

"Mr. Paris.... It is a...personal matter.  I do not wish to
return to the ship at this time."

"Sorry, Tuvok, that's not good enough.  You're sick, I don't know
why, and it makes no sense to fool around here when we can get
you back to Sickbay perfectly easily."  Tom began to belt him in
for takeoff.

"No...  Lieutenant, please.  It is important...  I *cannot*
return to the ship...like this."  Tuvok opened his eyes with
effort, turned his haunted face toward his companion, looming
over him.

"Like what?  Sick?  unable to stand?  confused and disoriented?"

"Do you ...remember Ensign Vorik ..."

"Vorik?  What's he got to do with it?"

"When Ensign Vorik pursued Lieutenant Torres ..."

"When she owed him the poker bet?  What's that got to do. . ."

"Not then.  When he...when..."

Tom went cold all over.  Clenching his fists into tight balls, he
whispered,  "When he wanted B'Elanna.  You're in pon farr, aren't
you, Tuvok?"

Tuvok did not answer but went on.  "Vorik is young...he could not
endure ...  with meditation alone.  I am older...I can do this,
if I have to...  It will be easier here, in natural
surroundings."

The pilot scratched his head and looked around the shuttle in
distraction.  The protocols for away missions did not cover
anything like *this.*

After a moment Tuvok continued, "You will leave me here, in one
of those caves ...You will continue your study of the planet ..."

Tom began to interrupt but was silenced with a curt gesture.

"You will return for me in two rotations of the planet.  When I
am ... more recovered."

"Oh no, no way, Tuvok.  I am not leaving you alone on an
inhabited planet-- even if they're a simple collective
culture--while you're unable to fend for yourself.  Captain
Janeway would have my butt in a sling to say the least."

"Captain Janeway ... will not know."

"Sorry, Tuvok, it's out of the question.  Look, I'll make it so
you can stay in a cave by yourself, and I'll stay out here in the
shuttle.  You can do ...  what you have to do, by yourself, but
safe.  That's the best I can do."

He turned on his heel, leaving Tuvok sprawled on the bunk, and
went out to see about making one of the caves as habitable as
possible. After a short walk he found one that was fairly cozy
and in sight of the shuttle.  It looked ok for a small fire, and
the sandy floor was relatively smooth and level.

The dear gods only knew what Tuvok would want in the way of ---
equipment.  Best not to think about that.  Obviously the one
thing he would need more than anything was--a partner.  Best not
to think about that either, not even to consider.  Tuvok was
bonded.  He had *wife.*  A tragedy of light-years away, but a
wife nonetheless.  There was *no* chance for him and Tuvok, not
*even* in this.  God, what a mess.  --What an opportunity,-- a
tiny voice said. --The chance of a lifetime.--

Tom sprang to work trying to silence the voice.  He gathered
driftwood for a fire, built a circle of stones, started the wood
ablaze with a brief phaser hit.  He loped back to the shuttle and
gathered a few things--some blankets, a spare phaser, part of
their food, a flask of water.  He toted everything to the cave
and then went back for Tuvok.

By now the Vulcan was almost in a fetal position, fists clenched,
shaking all over.  Tom wrapped the blanket around him and picked
him up.  He already seemed lighter.  Did Vulcans waste away
during pon farr?  Who the hell knew?  He lugged the Commander out
to the cave and got him bedded down on the sand as best he could.

He sat down for a bit and watched Tuvok, watched the chills fade
as the blanket warmed him.  After a bit Tuvok seemed to rouse
himself.  He was able to sit up against the cave wall, and he
commented, "At the start it comes and goes.  The true ... the
worst comes later."  Tom thought he heard a small sigh.  Tuvok
assumed one of the Vulcan meditation postures Tom had studied in
pictures and closed his eyes half way, casting them toward the
ground.

Tom took that as his cue to go on about his business, so he
returned to examining the cliff with his scanner.  At least this
part was a scheduled activity.  As he worked he tried hard not
to think about Tuvok.  About that powerful neck, the strong arms,
the beautiful lips and skin.  No, *not*  Tuvok.  Away mission.
B'Elanna.  Minerals. Interesting vegetation.  Long vines hanging
down the cliff side. Soft sand underfoot.  Soft sand.  Soft,
comfy sand, warm to lie on.  *No.*  He began walking up and down,
muttering to himself, clenching and unclenching his free hand.

--Dammit, Tom. This is *not* a golden opportunity.  If you *do*
love him, then leave him alone.  He doesn't want you.  He wants
T'Pel.  He has a family.  Kids.  Home and job.  Beloved wife.
Beloved spouse.  Wife who can comfort him in pon farr.  Wife who's
allowed to ... --

He kicked the ground in frustration.  After a moment's reflection
he headed back to the shuttle.  He ran a quick scan of the area,
looking for hostile life forms in the water.  None.  Good.  He
hopped out of the shuttle, being careful to stay on the side out
of Tuvok's sight.

He stripped off his clothes and waded out into the water.  He
began a strong, elegant Australian crawl, half a kilometer or so
out, then back, then out.  At least the physical activity was
distracting.  He'd finish the mineral scans later, when Tuvok was
asleep.  And maybe tomorrow the Commander would be fit to
travel, and they could get aloft and back to Voyager.  Maybe even
finish scanning for the remaining minerals as they orbited.

After a while he returned to shore and shrugged into his clothes.
The sun was fairly far down in the sky, and he wanted to make
sure all was settled for the night.  Who knew what Tuvok might
need.

He crept up to the cave, half wanting not to disturb him, half
wanting to see him awake and well, his usual aloof self.  An
anticlimax--Tuvok was nestled in the blankets, asleep and
breathing deeply.

Tom returned to the shuttle and decided to eat, feeling somehow
let down by Tuvok's being asleep.  He snapped down the day's
rations, not really noticing what he was eating.

He began making the day-end log entry, uniting the data-stream of
their flight path to the planet with the information they'd
gathered in their low-level orbit so far.  He offloaded the
results of the sensor-scans and keyed in the locations they'd
spotted.  Just to occupy the time he added some  observations
from his swim:  color and consistency of the water and sand,
remarks on a few plants and the occasional small animal he'd
seen.

And all the time at the back of his mind the argument raged:
sleep in here?  stay in the cave?  Was it his duty as a
compassionate fellow crewmember to leave Tuvok alone, or was it
his duty to see to the safety of his colleague?  Tuvok hadn't even
been able to bring himself to say the words.  Pon farr.  Plaktow.
Blood fever.  Just the sound of them rolling off his tongue made
Tom think of drums, and guttering torches, and ancient rites with
exotic conclusions.  Exotic.  Alien.  Off-world.  Green blood.
Dark skin.  Lovely ears, sensitive to hearing.  sensitive skin?
responsive to touch?

He shook his head to clear it.  He grabbed a datapadd and began
to make a list, pro and con.  Left column:  cave.  Right column:
shuttle.

Yet before he reached the end he knew the left-hand choice would
win: the thought of having to explain to Captain Janeway how her
chief of security happened to be damaged or snatched, having been
left alone in a weakened condition by Lieutenant Paris.  --Oh,
yes--*let's* do that,-- he thought.  --What a good way to impress
her with your powers of judgment.  OK,  Tommy-boy, time for a
major effort at self-control.--

He grabbed more rations and another blanket and headed for the
cave.  Stepping quietly just inside the cave's mouth, he found his
companion was still asleep.  --Just as well, for us both.-- He
ran a one of the level-1 scanners quickly over Tuvok, standing as
close as he dared without disturbing the sleeper.  It seemed to
him that most of the readings were amiss, but he wasn't
especially familiar with Tuvok's norms.

--Cross fingers he knows what he's doing,-- he worried.

He stirred up the fire, rolled himself in the blanket, and lay
down, at what he hoped was a safe, tactful distance from the
Vulcan.  Tired out by the long swim, he fell asleep almost
immediately.  A soft quiet fell over the encampment, the fire
casting dancing shadows and glints of light on the smooth silver
hull of the shuttlecraft, and on the skins of the two men, each
glowing in its own way.

Brilliant and burning-white, paired moons rose in stately order
as if from the surface of the water beyond.  Bright stars sprang
out at the sky's edge, where the moons' fainter light granted
them existence.

Alien stars, stars far from their homes on Earth and Vulcan.
Stars that contained their new home, the tiny thing they called
Voyager, daring to travel through a galaxy of time.  So small
their concerns, their affections,  when measured against the
unmeasurable.  And yet, their lives were theirs to live, as best
they could, making the best choices they could, with what little
information came their way. Puny things, humans, in a galaxy of
possibilities.  A sea of choices.  Who was to say what was good
and bad, in another's life?

As the first moon was showing signs of setting, a noise rippled
through the night.  A soft moan, then a second.  Sounds of gentle
motion, a caress of skin on sand.  A louder moan, a groan of
urgency.  Then two words:  "Ah,  Tuvok ..."

Tuvok sat up with a shock, unsure where he was.  The pounding in
his head, in his groin--ah, the pon farr, the pon farr was
seizing him.  But what place was this?  A cave?  Had someone
called his name?  The dying fire revealed his companion, his face
turned toward the light, looking ten years younger.  He was
stirring in his sleep--it was Tom Paris who had called him.  Tom
Paris?

As the Vulcan watched, dazed and baffled, the younger man
writhed, possessed by his dream, and rolled over on his stomach.
Tuvok watched a hand reach out, palm up, fingers grasping
something unseen.  Then Tom murmured again, "Ah, Tuvok, come ..."
Tuvok watched as Tom's body caressed the sand, shaped it to meet
his limbs and torso, pushed against its subtle resistance.

Suddenly Tom rolled over on his back.  His eyes flicked open, he
stared unseeingly at the cave's ceiling, lost in the dark above.
He blinked once or  twice, and turned his head back toward the
fire. Gradually consciousness faded in, and Tom realized he was
staring at the man who had just been so alive in his dreams.
--Oh, no.--

Before Tom could speak, Tuvok haltingly queried, "Are you ill?"

"No," the other had replied, too quickly.  Tuvok felt too
battered by the growing flood of hormones to sort out the
contradiction between the human's words and actions.  He felt the
cave spin again, and he decided that lying down was much wiser.
He slid sideways in a heap, the blankets muddled around him.

Tom sat up with an effort, a little alarmed by Tuvok's collapse.
He tossed another piece of driftwood on the fire for more light
and heat.  He crawled around toward his companion and tried to
straighten the blankets around him.  He could feel the increased
heat Tuvok was radiating--he cursed himself for having skipped
the chapters on reproduction when the Holodoc had been grooming
him for medical work.  He'd concentrated on what he thought he'd
be likely to face--alien viruses and bacteria, battle damage,
plasma burns.  Who had time for fine-tuning like this?  Well,
they were both paying for it now.

Tuvok had opened his eyes again and was watching Tom, watching as
he began to run a comforting hand down his side, then stopped
before contact was made.  --Fine hands,-- thought Tuvok through
the haze. He studied the human's face for a moment, noted the
concern there, and--maybe something  else?  Humans were so hard
to read.  So many emotions, so many subtle shadings.  It was
easy to make a mistake.

After a moment he quietly spoke. "I would like to meditate again
for a while... If you do not mind..."

Tom took the hint.  He retrieved his blanket, shook the sand out
of the folds, and headed out of the cave.  He was careful not to
look behind him, but Tuvok studied his back thoughtfully as he
walked away into the dark.

He covered his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths.
Then he sat up as straight and placed his hands on his knees.  He
studied the fire in  front of him and tried to start the ritual
chant.  Nothing would come to him, no sense of control, no power
over the sensations that were surging through him in waves.

Nothing but images of home, of T'Pel, his beloved.  His children,
who would now be--how old?  He had to stop and think, these
days.  This homesickness, it was almost more powerful than the
pon farr.  The urge to return home, not meant to be thwarted.
Meant to guide him to his mate, but also to his homeworld.  Now
out of reach certainly for a long time, and possibly forever.
Would their ship last long enough?

T'Pel, visions of her elegant form, her graceful walk.  He could
almost smell her perfume, the sharp scent she preferred for most
days, the deep sandalwood she reserved for their time of
sharing, when she and he burned, for each other, for their race.
Ah, T'Pel, t'hy'la, beloved, parted from me and never parted ...

He reached out for her with his mind, sensing the tongues of
flame licking up around him, demanding satisfaction now, not
allowing him to wait.  He so wanted her, to touch her again, to
feel her warm skin on his own, to feel the sense of homecoming,
of belonging, of completion with his bondmate.   And again T'Pel
appeared, floating before his eyes as though she were seated on
the sand in front of him.

--Tuvok,-- she whispered, raising her hand in greeting.  --Tuvok.
He is acceptable.  A fine young man.  We need to break the bond,
I know.  Your need ... No shame to admit another attracts you.
No shame.  He is honorable, talented, well-formed.  He is much
like you ...  Perhaps he cares for you, too, in the way humans
have?  I miss you, my husband, yet I wish you well in your
travels.  Choose him, if you will ...  you are so distant ... Do
what you must, what will keep you safe ... and happy ...  Live
long and prosper ... Farewell...--

Her image faded from his sight.  Tuvok made a lunge to grab her,
to match his hand to hers, and met only air.

A keening cry rent the night.  Tom, pacing on the lapping shore,
whipped his head around and began to run, back toward the cave,
back toward Tuvok.

--What the hell was wrong now? --

He dashed into the cave and leaped over the fire, nearly landing
on Tuvok, who was crumpled next to it.  He grabbed Tuvok by the
shoulders and lifted him up.  "What is it?  Tuvok, what's wrong?
Look, this is crazy.  I'm getting you back to Voyager tonight."
He tried to pick Tuvok up, blankets and all, but the Vulcan
resisted.

Tuvok shook his head twice, three times, finally focused his eyes
on the young pilot.  "Mr. Paris ... Tom," he whispered.

"What?"

"I--I saw T'Pel."

"T'Pel?  Tuvok, we're thousands of light years from Vulcan ..."

"Listen," the Vulcan whispered fiercely.  "I saw T'Pel.  She
accepts ... my  situation.  She ... knows I cannot wait.  She
told me to ... choose ...  whom I prefer.  She is right.  I must
choose.  I must go on.  It is logical."

Hope and fear struggled to control Tom.  "And you choose ..."

Tuvok looked deep into Tom's eyes and studied him, seeming to
judge his soul with his look.  Without saying a word, Tom gently
moved his thumb where his hand continued to grip Tuvok's arm.
The smallest of caresses.  And still they studied each other.

Deliberately Tuvok lifted his hand, raised paired fingers.  Tom
had practiced the gesture in the quiet of his quarters often
enough, and here was the real thing.  At last.  He raised his own
fingers.  Was irked to see they were trembling.

Their hands met in slow motion, as if time itself wanted to
participate in their joining.  Their hands seemed made for each
other.  A glimmer of a spark ran between.  Tuvok slid two
fingers up Tom's, down the back, caressed the sides of his
finger, never taking his eyes off the human.  He nodded briefly,
gestured for Tom to do the same.

"Tom," he whispered again.

The human gazed at him, openly drinking in the Vulcan's
expression.  Finally able to acknowledge ...

"When great need arises, a bonded pair can set aside their bond.
Not easy, not painless, but possible.  I ... Perhaps I ... "

"Shhh, Tuvok, it's ok."  Tom was now running his fingers up and
down Tuvok's, noting every ridge and crevice on the other's hand.
The broad, flat fingernails, accurately trimmed.  The soft skin
of the pads.

"I concluded ... some time ago ... that was one of two choices.
As time passed, and we remained ... insufficiently close to
Vulcan.  I ... then I noted  that ... I was very often thinking
... of you.  As it happens, I have never been drawn to ... humans
... and yet ..." Tom laced the fingers of his free hand into the
Vulcan's.

"It doesn't matter, Tuvok.  There aren't any special rules about
it ... I've often been thinking of you, too.  Wondering, ah,
about the possibility.  But I know, I mean, you have a wife and
kids."  Tom's fingers sought, and roved, and treasured the radiant
heat.  As his fingers traced Tuvok's, the other's voice seemed to
get stronger, as if strength were passing from hand to hand.

"I have a family in theory.  In fact we are separated.  I am no
longer sure what it means ... to say I have a family.  Yet, you
and I are here, now.  Together."

"And what are we going to do about it?"  Tom was surprised Tuvok
didn't seem hear the thundering in his chest or sense his racing
human heartbeat.

A chasm was opening before them.  Leap it?  or fall in?

"I honor you, Thomas Paris.  I would like to share your
thoughts."

Tom gazed at the gleaming dark eyes so close to his own.  "Yes,"
he responded.

Tuvok settled his knees against Tom's.  He raised his fingers to
Tom's head.  Forefingers placed on those wide temples, near the
light hair springing from his head in waves.  So.  Thumbs on the
cheeks, so.  Fingers in an arc down toward the arteries.  Ahh.
Humans were ... so easy to enter, yet so hard to make sense of.

He placed the last finger, and  --Ahhhhhh...... so warm.  So
warm.--

He slid inward as if he had been there before, as if it were the
most natural thing for both of them.  An enveloping dome, warm,
quiet, dark, yet sparks in the distance.  As if he were flying
over the great Plains of Enkat, at dawn.

Human comfort, human welcome.  Warmth, sliding, a pulsing of a
strong intellect, a lively intelligence.  So comfortable.
Comforting.  Just what was  needed.  Ahh.  Strong, resilient,
rising to meet him.

He struggled a bit, had to pull himself back a bit, to be aware
enough to communicate clearly.

The young human's first such experience, so much was obvious.
--Tom,-- he  called. --Your fingers on my head.  Match me.--

"Tuvok," replied the other in an undertone.  He lifted his hands
and tried to imitate.  Like a summer breeze his forefingers
caressed the dark, fevered forehead.  Thumbs near that fine,
broad nose.  Three fingers along the nerves, just at the edge of
the angular jaw, near the supersensitive ears.  Touching Tuvok's
face--no dream had captured the intimacy of the gesture.

Tuvok blinked and nodded, to show Tom had done it right.

Tom felt a wave of sensation travel down his arms.  Ripples,
curves, washes of heat, of welcoming warmth.  He senses suggested
he was moving physically closer to Tuvok, yet the pressure
against his knees showed he hadn't budged.

He could feel a greater consciousness, almost as though his
eyesight had grown more powerful, or perhaps it was his sense of
touch?  or hearing?  He realized his sensory system was emulating
the other man's, was increasing and growing stronger.  Amazing
...

Tuvok watched awareness grow in the other's eyes, fastened on his
own.  Soon Tom would ...

Tom jumped at the sudden taste of sweetness in his mouth.  Then
bitter. Then--salt?  What was going on?

Tuvok nodded.  --Synesthesia,-- Tom sensed in his mind.  Tuvok in
his head?  Marvelous.

He let the tastes roll across his tongue.  Now more specific:
butterscotch, coffee, lemon, ginger, onion, vanilla, ah, basil?
Gradually he realized that the riot of tastes was somehow linked
to the tide of images Tuvok was passing to him.  Images of
Vulcan, apparently of Tuvok's earlier life, his family, his past
experiences.  All linked somehow to his own Terran sense of taste.
Very, very strange.

The surge of flavors in his mouth somehow enabled him to
understand Tuvok's history, his character and choices, the events
that made him the man he was.  Tom couldn't explain it, but
somehow the tastes were connected to bits of knowledge, and he
found he could summon one by thinking of the other.

Still startled by tasting so many flavors at once, he was caught
offguard by the next wave of sensation.  As his own thoughts
flowed to Tuvok, fireworks of color sprang before his eyes.  His
surroundings looked the same, and yet in his mind there were
bursts of yellow, stripes of orange and brown, a haze of blue and
green covering everything yet not obstructing his sight.  It was
like having two ideas at once:  one a thought, one a sensation,
neither possible without the other.  And kind of like a
kaleidoscope:  as ideas passed through his head, sheets of color
passed before his eyes.  Exhilarating.  Terrifying.  Exhausting.

Hard on the heels of the flood of tastes, the color splash was
astounding.  His sensory system seemed amok, and yet it was a
wonderful, soul-filling exchange.  Was this how Vulcans perceived
things?  He'd ask in a minute, when the display wasn't so
enticing....

Tom gazed into the limpid eyes, reflecting the low firelight.
Such a beautiful face.  So determined, so intelligent.  His?
really his own?  To touch, like this?  to caress?  He began to
move forward, to give Tuvok a human kiss, but the Vulcan read the
thought first and held Tom's head back.

Tuvok blinked once, twice, shifted his hands only slightly.  Tom
felt as though the volume on a speaker had been abruptly turned
up.  A crashing wave of images, a riot of ideas and visions
poured into his head.  People and places, names and dates.
Experiences, mental and physical.  Oh god, Tuvok's last pon farr.
T'Pel, T'Pel.  Tom felt the other's grief for her, his respect
and longing, and sensual appreciation beyond anything Tom had
ever known.  This was bonding.  Such loss, for Tuvok. A great
loss.  Pon farr was so much more than gratification ... though it
was that too.  Images of Tuvok, and T'Pel--intimate postures,
animal delight, delicate intimate communication of a kind he'd
never known ...

The stimulation was more than he could take, and he cried out
convulsively, dropped his hands from Tuvok's face and covered his
own eyes.  He felt rocked to his core by the primal display of
desire, satisfied desire and love, between two people who were
each other's all.  What sharing ...

Tuvok moved his hands onto the other's shoulders and absently
caressed him.  He had been surprised in his own way by the
human's thoughts and impressions.  Human emotion, so powerful in
hatred, in love.  Such strong links even among those who cared
nothing for each other.  So different.

And yes, there it had been, love for himself--clear open
admission that Tom was in love with him.  The Vulcan had been
astounded to see what that looked like, felt like, to a human.
Not a bond, and yet as strong, in its own way.  Fascinating.
And reassuring.  Genuine affection, genuine trust.  If Tom could
enter the bond and follow him into the plaktow, it would not be a
rape.

Tuvok studied Tom, hunched before him.  He looked spent.  He had,
after all, done the day's piloting and scanning, he had prepared
this cave and the fire, and then had his first full mind-meld at
the end of it all.  He himself had drawn new energy from the
mind-meld, as he knew he would.

Standing, he smoothed out the blankets a bit and then gestured
for Tom to lie down.  The Vulcan tossed a little wood on the fire
and then sat down next to the human, opening a ration pack as he
did so.  He munched quietly, feeling Tom struggling for words.

Tom lay staring at the cave's roof and finally asked, "So was it
really T'Pel you saw?  I mean, do bonds reach that far?"

Tuvok responded after a moment's silence. "Unknown.  It is
unlikely that there have been specific tests of this distance.
Is that your true question, Tom?"

The fire crackled.  "I guess I'm wondering whether..."

Tuvok interrupted him.  "Look into your mind, into the images and
experiences we shared.  Do you see hesitation there, or doubt?"

"No.  But I see grief, Tuvok."

Tuvok crushed a food packet savagely in one hand.  "I cannot deny
it. It is not logical--"

"But it is true," finished the human.

"In extraordinary circumstances, extraordinary things happen.  I
remember mentioning that once to my eldest son, when he ..."
Tuvok broke off suddenly.

Tom said, "It hurts, doesn't it?  Our families ...We'll probably
never see them again.  Even if we do get back, in a couple of
decades ... Our older friends and family members will all be
dead, the young ones will be grown ... "

Staring at the crackling flames, Tuvok softly replied, "I have
tried to convince myself that it is illogical to miss my family.
That I should accept that I am unlikely to see them for a very
long time, if ever. That I should  create ... a family ... here,
that Voyager is my family.  But it is not the same."

"No, it isn't.  I know what you mean."

"I have been troubled--perhaps you would say depressed--at the
thought I would need to pass through the coming period away from
my bondmate, away from my people.  But to do otherwise--to join
with my wife, on Vulcan--those are not possible choices.  I have
tried to accept that, and also that in all probability most of
the rest of my life will be spent as a Starfleet officer, on this
ship."

Tuvok turned one hand inside another, gazing downward.  "I had
begun to accept the inevitable, and to consider alternate
possibilities.  And then I noticed you.  The types of conduct you
normally exhibit.  Your defense mechanisms."

Tom spun his head in his companion's direction.  "Ah, defense
mechanisms?"

"As chief security officer it is my duty to understand the
character and habits of the crew to the greatest extent possible.
I have therefore made considerable study of all members of
Voyager's crew.  But especially you."

Tom began to speak.  "Tuvok, maybe we could--"  He put ever so
slight an emphasis on the "we."

Tuvok turned to look at Tom and said, "If I were to create a new
bond, I would choose you, Thomas.  As you say, it would not be
the same, it might not be the choice we would make in other
circumstances.  But I believe it would be a good thing.  You are
an honorable man.  You are skilled at your job, and
conscientious, you have a wide variety of interests and are an
imaginative computer programmer."

"Gods, Tuvok, you really do know how to turn a guy's head.  You
know, I'm not exactly applying for a *job.* "  They were both
silent for a moment, Tuvok half-puzzled, Tom half-entertained.

Finally the human continued, "Look, I can say that you're a fine
security officer, that you're devoted to the Fleet and to Captain
Janeway, and that you do an excellent job.  For that matter, you
have beautiful eyes and skin, superb strength, and a great ass.
But Tuvok, it's your *inner* self that moves me, attracts me.
Your sense of honor and duty, your kindness to others in the
crew.  Your sense of humor--" he held a hand up--"yeah, you can
pretend you don't have one, but you can't fool me.  And
incidentally..."  he leaned over and gave Tuvok a kiss, a gentle
touch of lips to lips.

Tuvok closed his eyes at the feather-light touch of the cool
human lips.  Too soon Tom stopped:  Tuvok felt the fire leap
within him even at this most gentle stimulation.  They must act
soon, if they were going to ...

Tom was speaking again.  "I first began to notice you after the
Okminir, when you were so attentive.  So kind."  He raised a hand
to keep Tuvok from responding.  "You really seemed to care how I
was recovering.  *That* made a much bigger dent on me than when I
saw you pull off that masterful piece of security work concerning
Seska.  Just to pick an example."

"I am inexperienced speaking in these terms.  It is not ... how
bonds are made, on Vulcan."  Tuvok reflected in silence for a
time.

"Look, Tuvok, for most Terrans attraction is a combination of
things-- appearance, shared interests, character.  I suppose most
people would say it's character and shared concerns that are most
attractive.  Appearance alters over time.  So do skills and
abilities.  But the inner self... I'm guessing that on Vulcan,
mates are, ah, chosen more logically?  Aren't your commitments
generally arranged while you're still kids?  For us, that'd be
unusual, because you won't know what the kids will be like until
they're grown up."

"I see," said Tuvok.  "Yes, it is true we make our selections
more logically.  Less of the individual's personality is
involved."  He looked down and noticed his hands were trembling
again.  Tom noticed too, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Tuvok said, "Yes, it is returning.  The ... plaktow will be here
in a day or so, possibly as early as tomorrow.  It is difficult
to predict with accuracy.  I have been trying to take steps,
already, on Voyager."

Tom said, softly, "And what do we do about it?"

"I have said I wish to create a bond with you."  He breathed
deeply, half surprised to hear himself saying the words he had
said to one other alone.  "What is your answer?"

Tom sat up, studied the other's face, gleaming in the soft light.
"I thought you'd never ask."

"Is that assent?"

"It is."

A well of hope sprang up in Tuvok's chest, a sense of relief, of
joy, anticipation, and of bone-deep excitement.

Tom took one hand in his and said, "What do we do now?"

"The plaktow involves a period of extended ... contact.  It is
best not to be interrupted."

"Are lakeside caves recommended?  If you're not trying to
meditate it away, wouldn't the creature comforts on Voyager make
more sense?"

"Quite possibly.  Although matters would be more public, there."

"Yeah, but if you might need medical help that would make a whole
lot more sense than *this*.  Who knows what might happen?  Have
you gone through this with another man before?  Let alone a
human?"

"Actually, no."

"OK, look.  Let's take off tomorrow morning, and scan for the
other minerals as best we can while we orbit toward Voyager.
Morning's only a couple hours off anyway, and we might pick up
some information on visual that the sensors would miss in the
dark. B'Elanna can come back with the right tricorder and find
the other two, if she really needs them."

"And how will we explain our truncated mission?"

"We'll just tell them you're sick and need medical attention.
Everyone knows you helped me deal with the Okminir--it's only
sensible that I, ah, look in on you from time to time."

"Imprecise, but workable."

"OK, then.  That's settled.  First thing tomorrow."  Tom reclined
again on the blanket and patted the empty space next to him.  With
a smile he said, "Maybe you'd better lie down again, Commander."

"Do not call me 'Commander'."

"Isn't that the correct title?  Isn't it a logical form of
address?"

Tuvok moved closer to Tom.  "The ... pon farr ... is an ancient
thing, among the oldest of the old on Vulcan.  It is a dignified,
and yet not.  Verbal pleasantries are not ..." --he searched for
the word-- "customary."

"I'm sorry, Tuvok.  This is all a little new to me.  And I have
to tell you, it's unexpected.  I never hoped you'd --I mean, I
never thought the day would come when this" --he gestured around
them--"would happen.  And yet here we are."

Tuvok didn't reply.  He ran finger down Tom's hand, full of
thought.  "Your skin, it is so pale.  So pink."

"Yeah, I sunburn easily.  It's a disadvantage on beaches, not
that we see a lot of those.  And you?"

"I tend not to sunburn, although it is possible."

Tom stroked his hand across Tuvok's head.  "Your hair--it's kind
of, well, springy.  It feels great--kind of like little pillows."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow.  "No one has ever described my hair in
that fashion."  With tentative fingers he raked Tom's hair back
and looked into the human's eyes.  "Yours, by contrast, feels
smooth, almost like water.  And it is as mobile, as shapeless. Or
perhaps shape-shifting."

Tom ran his own fingers through his hair, shoved it back from his
forehead again.  "Amazing stuff, DNA, isn't it?  Looks so simple,
and yet--how different it makes us."  He rolled Tuvok onto his
back and half-leaned on his chest, supporting his own weight with
his elbows.  With his hands he traced the rising arcs of Tuvok's
eyebrows, the curve of his jaw and ears, the small scar on his
forehead near one eyebrow.

Under this careful exploration Tuvok closed his eyes, feeling the
fire now leaping certainly within him, seeking fuel, seeking a
mate in the burning. Seeking this mate.  Tom kissed the closed
eyes, then placed his lips ever so gently against the broad lips
of the other.  Warm, of course, but sweet too,  sensuous,
responsive.  He thought to himself he could go on like this for a
very long time, but he noticed that Tuvok was again beginning to
shake underneath him.

The fever was returning.  Damn.  He rolled to one side and pulled
up the blankets, choosing to use his body to warm the shivering
Vulcan rather than excite him. --For now,-- said an electrifying
voice in his head.  He clasped his arms around the other's strong
torso and drew his legs toward him, trying to convey as much
warmth as he could.  As best he could recollect, it was just a
couple of hours until dawn, and they could get underway.  And
then...

--If I keep thinking about this I'll never get any sleep, and
sounds like I'm going to need it,-- he reflected.

He hugged Tuvok more tightly, and the two fell into a light doze.

---

Tuvok stood before a viewport in his quarters, watching the stars
streak by as their starship crept homeward.  His gaze dropped to
the table in front of him, set before the window, where starlight
would fall on it.  A slender candle burned, standing next to a
rank of holopics.  His wife--still? now?--and children.  A smooth
pink stone his daughter had given him.  A dried kan'cha blade
from an arrangement T'Pel had had on their table for the holiday.
A square chip containing a copy of his second son's first-ever
computer program.  The golden candlelight shone across them all.

Tuvok leaned forward and sheltered the flame with his hand.  He
watched it for a moment, studied its brilliance, its clear
purpose.  A finer statement of love he could not think of.  He
exhaled gently, and the flame stuttered, went  out.  "Goodbye,
T'Pel," he said.  "In my life, no longer.  In my heart, ever and
always."

Softly Tom came up behind Tuvok and put his hands on the Vulcan's
shoulders.  After a moment's shared reflection, he said, "I
grieve with thee."   He pulled something from his pocket and set
it next to the holopics of Tuvok's family.  A portrait of the
Paris clan, a rare portrait of them in the same place at the same
time.  Gleaming hair, bright teeth, happy faces shining out
forever, unaltered by the chances of life.

The two stood together, studying their families, so unlike, yet
with so much in common:  values that had inspired their men to
pick this life--important,  and dangerous. After a moment Tom
continued: "We'll always think of  them, together, your family
and mine.  We won't forget them."

His hand found Tuvok's, and pressed it hard.  They gazed at the
pictures quietly, until Tom noticed that Tuvok's whole arm was
trembling.  Tuvok bowed gracefully to the paired families, then
turned to Tom and kissed his lips.

"I burn for thee," said Tuvok, in a rough voice.

Simultaneously they said, "My face is flame, my body, flame..."

Tuvok spoke the lights down.  Then, hand in hand with wandering
steps and slow, they made their way together to their bed.

---

The End