Tarnished Armor
by Trekker

The only sound in the cabin of the shuttle was the soft thrum of the engines. Harry Kim sat in the copilot’s seat of the cramped rented shuttle, his chair tilted back and turned slightly towards Tom Paris, as Tom piloted the shuttle towards the planet. B’Elanna was asleep stretched out on the small bench in the back.

The silence was comfortable, the kind that can easily exist between close friends, and Harry was glad for that. He wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter. It was late, he was tired... and he was far too distracted.

Exhaustion cast a haze over his mind, focusing his attention to one sharp point: Tom. His eyes drifted over his friend, and for once, Harry let them drift. The effort required to tear his gaze away was simply not worth it. The illumination in the cabin was low, and the only light came off of the glowing displays on the console and walls. Tom’s face caught the light well, and his eyes, soft blue, gleamed in the darkness. Oh those eyes. Harry felt his fragile attention trapped by their gravity. For the longest time he just watched Tom’s eyes, as they flicked up and down from the viewscreen to the controls. If only he knew...

With that thought, Harry sighed and looked away, watching the streaks of stars flowing past the viewscreen. Tom glanced over at him in askance, and Harry just shook his head, once, slightly. It was nothing. Tom shrugged and was instantly absorbed by the helm again. His left hand suddenly moved, gliding over the console to wrap three fingers gently around the top of a lever. His wedding ring twinkled in the starlight. Harry still hadn’t gotten used to that damn ring. It was always there, mocking him even in a moment as quiet and intimate as this. *He’s taken,* it whispered, as it glimmered in the cold starlight, *you're too late.* Not just married, but soon to be a father.

Tom’s fingers tightened around the lever, concealing the ring, and with a gentle caress, he slid it down its groove. The grace of that movement caught Harry off guard, as it always did, and the thought of Tom’s hands touching him with that same tenderness leapt into his mind unbidden. In spite of himself, Harry shivered.

A tinge of old guilt squirmed in his stomach. He should tell him. Tom had a right to know. As long as he put it off, their friendship was based on a lie.

But the very idea of admitting these feelings to Tom was inconceivable. After seven years, how would he react? He’d want to know why. Why Harry would have waited so long. Why he’d never even known that Harry was... well, Harry tried to avoid that word.

Harry had always known he was, from the day he first gave it any thought, but he’d only admitted it to... how many people? Two. Why? It was a long story, involving a lost friend... among other things...

In the few rare instances where he’d somehow ended up in bed with a woman, he got by with a little luck, a lot of imagination, and when all else failed, a heartfelt apology. Sure, he’d heard it time and again. No changing your sexual orientation. But still. He could try.

Their destination began to grow larger in the center of the viewscreen. Harry leaned forward, touching a control to signal they were making their approach. For a few precious seconds, his arm brushed over Tom’s. He could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of his cologne.

Harry jolted away, his chair squeaking as it rocked back. Tom didn’t notice, completely consumed by the task of guiding the shuttle down towards the surface. He was stunning at moments like this. Focused, serious, completely in tune with his work. His hands stroked the controls, and the even the old, beaten-up shuttle responded eagerly. There was no need for inertial dampeners when Tom flew. Every move was smooth as silk.

Harry was transfixed. More than simple exhaustion held him now. Tom shifted closer to the controls, his body moving under his tight uniform. Without meaning to, Harry sat up, acutely aware of how close they were. His foot was mere centimeters from Tom’s. His heart was pounding.

Tom was so unaware, just flying the shuttle with no idea - no idea! - what he was really doing. It almost hurt.

Harry barely noticed as the shuttle jolted slightly as it entered the atmosphere. They were on the dark side of the planet, slowing rapidly as they swung around it. The sun suddenly "rose," bursting into view around the rim of the planet, flashing over the inside of the shuttle. B’Elanna sat up at the burst of light. Harry jerked his eyes away from Tom, panicked, and looked over at her, forcing a grin.

"Awake, now?"

B’Elanna returned the grin and stretched. Below them were glowing white clouds, green continents and blue oceans. They swept clear around the light side of the planet, counter to its spin, and returned to the shadow, now much slower, and much closer to the light-strewn, night-time surface. By the time they were about to return to the daylight side, clouds were rattling beneath the belly of the shuttle, and then they were engulfed by the tendrils of water vapor, which were soon glowing in the fading light of evening.

They stuck inside the cloud bank for a few minutes, then dropped beneath it, revealing a startlingly complex landscape beneath them. The surface looked like a wrinkled bed sheet from this altitude. The great mountains seemed to be nothing more than tiny bumps. But those bumps were growing rapidly in size.

The sun reappeared, now in a far more terrestrial context, setting over the mountains. Tom cut engines down to atmospheric maneuvering thrusters and the shuttle soared over majestic mountain pine forests, which blazed in the light of sunset. The shuttle banked slightly, aiming towards a particular mountain, and Harry heard the braking thrusters fire.

They approached the mountain at a rather disturbing clip, and Tom, obviously unable to restrain his daredevil tendencies, turned the shuttle down in a dive. It bucked downward, and Tom pulled up just in time, sailing up the mountain, just over the tops of the trees. Then, the trees vanished from below them, and Tom ground the shuttle to a halt, hit another few buttons, and dropped them neatly onto a landing pad.

"Now you’re awake," he said, with his characteristic grin.

"Very funny," B’Elanna said. She growled the words, but she couldn’t stop the amusement and, dammit, Harry thought, love shining in her eyes.

This would all be much easier to take if B’Elanna wasn’t one of his best friends.

Tom threw his arms back over his head and stretched like a cat, pulling his uniform tight over his chest. Harry turned his chair away from Tom and stood up, hoping B’Elanna hadn’t noticed the way Tom had captured his attention.

"All right," Tom said. Harry could hear him getting to his feet. "Let’s go see if this place was worth the replicator rations."

The door of the shuttle groaned open, letting in a gust of cold, sharp, pine-scented evening air. B’Elanna was first to the door, but she froze at the opening, resting one hand on the door frame.

"Something wrong?" Tom asked.

B’Elanna shook her head, then looked back at them.

"It’s gorgeous."

"Good," Tom said, walking towards her. "’Cause we’re all going to be eating Neelix’s cooking for a long time." He reached her and slid his arms around her waist from behind, his hands resting on the slight bulge of her stomach, looking out over her shoulder. "Wow. This is nice."

Harry’s curiosity overcame his stupid jealousy and he joined them at the door. The evening breeze cut through his uniform, very cold, but nice at the same time. The sun had just vanished behind the highest ridge, but a warm glow persisted around the horizon. To the west, layers of mountain ridges faded off into the hazy light. To the east, the mountains were already nothing but a stark black silhouette against a midnight-blue, star-dusted sky. The pine trees around the small clearing whispered to one another, but otherwise, all was silent.

"Let’s hope the house is as nice as the view," Harry said, and took a few steps out of the shuttle. The house was a few yards away, also silhouetted against the evening glow. All the lights inside were on: yellow, warm, inviting.

They had all pooled their replicator rations and created a sufficient supply of trade goods to earn the money necessary to finance a four-day vacation here. The crew had been hearing about this planet for almost a year in advance. There were tales of astounding natural beauty, untamed wilderness, and complete isolation. The nearest subspace transmission station was on the furthest outskirts of the system, two light-weeks from the planet. Traffic in and out of the system was strictly limited to ships picking up and dropping off tourists at exactly the scheduled time. They had left the Flyer at that station and flown in with the rented shuttle.

By the time they finally reached this sector, Tom was dying to see the place. He’d begged them both to lend a hand, and he’d been the one who spent almost a month convincing Janeway to give them a week off while Voyager stopped for supplies at an outpost a nearby. Harry hadn’t been so sure he’d be welcome, and had offered to just loan Tom the replicator rations, but Tom had insisted that he come. After all, Tom pointed out, he and B’Elanna had already had their honeymoon.

Tom unlocked the door of the house and let them inside. It was small, but comfortable, with a living room with a fireplace off to the left of the door and a kitchen to the right. The two bedrooms were against the back wall. It was impeccably neat, but Harry was pretty sure that wouldn’t last long. Not with Tom around. He smiled.

"Nice," B’Elanna said, trailing her fingers over the back of the couch and looking around. "Cozy."

For awhile, the three friends explored the small house, locating important things such as the food, the restroom, and (how quaint, Harry thought) the light switches. After that, they met back in the living area. Tom and B’Elanna settled down on the couch, and Harry sat in the recliner, and they all stared at the fireplace that contained no fire. It was only early evening on the planet, but by their internal clocks, it was almost one in the morning. B’Elanna cuddled closer to Tom, and he pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Well," Harry announced, quickly, "I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning."

He retreated to his bedroom, hoping the walls were sound-proofed. By the time he had settled down between the covers of the too-large, lonely bed, he had ascertained that they were not. At first, it didn’t matter too much. Nothing drifted through the walls but an occasional conversational murmur. But Harry couldn’t sleep. The external wall of the room was nothing but a large glass window, so Harry rolled over and stared out at the view. It wasn’t much in the dark. Just the big black blob that was the deck railing, in front of another black blob that was the mountains, which stood in front of the main black blob, the sky. From Harry’s vantage point on the bed, it was not very entertaining. So, there wasn’t much to distract him when the sounds from outside of the room became decidedly less conversational in nature.

After a long quiet spell, there was a quick gasp. Harry half sat up, thinking something was wrong, but the moan that followed the gasp proved otherwise. Harry laid back down and pressed the other pillow over his head, willing them to move to their own bedroom. They didn’t, of course, and the pillow didn’t stop him from hearing Tom groan B’Elanna’s name, and B’Elanna’s response. Harry glared quietly at his reflection. Outside of his room, the moans and gasps began to increase in frequency, interspersed with the occasional cry. Harry hurled himself out of bed, taking one of the sheets with him, and headed out the sliding-glass door onto the deck. Sex, he decided, was really kind of dumb from an outsider’s perspective.

Once beyond the glass, the view was much nicer. From here, he could see the stars shimmering through the atmosphere, and hear the breeze blow across the valley. It was stunningly cold, though, and he couldn’t stay out for long, even with the sheet wrapped tightly around him.

He loathed the idea of going back in. It was bad enough the object of his affections was married. He shouldn’t be forced to stand by and listen while Tom clearly proved how completely and happily hetero he was.

As he was beginning to lose feeling in his toes, light suddenly spilled out across the slatted wood of the deck. Harry turned to locate the source of the light without thinking, only to realize with a powerful shock that it was pouring through the glass wall from B’Elanna and Tom’s room, because they finally had decided that the house’s common area might not be the best place for that particular activity. For a long moment, they were framed in the glowing rectangle of the doorway to their room, tangled in a passionate embrace, their lips locked together, looking like they were about to merge into one being. Of course, they were naked. One of them bumped the door, and it swung shut, the light winking out, and the moment of darkness gave Harry his chance to quickly look away and flee back to his room, completely embarrassed. He sat down on the edge of his bed, unable to get that image out of his mind. He’d barely seen B’Elanna. Mainly, he remembered the way the yellow light had melted over Tom’s back, his strong arms, his gorgeous ass, all a shifting field of soft light and soft shadow, accentuating every muscle...

He let himself fall onto his side on the bed, cursing himself in every language he knew. He squirmed up the bed, until his head was back on the pillow, and after an interminable period of time staring at the dark, blank wall doing multiplication tables up into the hundreds in his head, resolutely determined not to jack off no matter how many times that image flashed through his mind, he fell asleep.

******

The next day, they set off into the wilderness, armed with carabiners and ropes, hoping to find a good cliff to jump off. As it turned out, one was readily available. The house was built on a slope, and not more than a few hundred yards downhill from it, the mountain ended in the sheer wall of a river-carved canyon. The cliff was so abrupt, in fact, Harry practically stumbled over it when he reached it. If his brain had taken a second longer to process the fact the trees had abruptly vanished from in front of him, he would have registered that fact in midair. Tom and B’Elanna came up behind him and stopped as well.

"Looks good to me," Tom said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice.

The ground extended about six feet more in front of Harry, a stretch of dry dirt between two jutting flat rocks, scattered with brown grasses. A final tree leaned over the rock to his left, its roots embedded in the last soil before oblivion. Beyond the edge was a wide expanse of air, and the other side of the canyon: bare, striped, gray rock, coiled in shrubs and greenery. The mountain range could be seen between the two cliff faces, and the pure lack of solid ground made the canyon a bit dizzying.

Tom, naturally unswayed by any sense of self-preservation, went straight to the very edge, and looked down into the gorge with a crazy grin on his face.

"Long way down," he said, his stance making that statement into a challenge. "Think you’re man enough for it, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he started to prepare the ropes. He had just tied the last few knots to secure himself to the tree when B’Elanna inched over to join Tom. At that moment, Harry felt something. He didn’t know precisely how to describe the sensation, it just seemed to be an uneasy flutter in his stomach, and he was about to dismiss it, when suddenly the world turned upside down.

The dirt beneath their feet gave way.

Harry had no time to think, only react. He lunged forward, thrusting his arm towards Tom and B’Elanna. They both reached for him, and he felt B’Elanna’s fingers brush over the fabric of his sleeve an instant before his hand collided with Tom’s. Their fingers grappled briefly, until Harry’s found their way past the fumbling digits and tightened around Tom’s wrist. The whole time, they were weightless, it seemed, surrounded by a rushing wind. Then, they reached the end of the rope. The shock wave passed straight though Harry’s torso, starting at his waist, where the harness tightened around him, forcing the breath out of him in a short cry, and then it rushed down his chest, through his arm and end with a sharp, audible pop, as Tom’s full weight crashed jolted down on him, instantly dislocating his shoulder.

Through a haze of pain, Harry saw B’Elanna continue to fall, but he felt a surge of hope. There was a ledge, not more than fifteen or so feet below them, on which a scraggly tree grew. B’Elanna’s hand shot out, and she grabbed at the branches that feathered past her hand. She caught one, and the tree leapt towards her, but only for a moment. The branch snapped in her hand, and the tree swished back upright, leaving B’Elanna with nothing more helpful than a handful of twigs. Before B’Elanna’s failure to save herself had fully sunk in, Harry saw her glance off the rocky end of the ledge, and spiral hopelessly out towards the center of the gorge, far from any possibility to catch herself. He stared down, not even feeling Tom’s weight on his arm, as B’Elanna finally stopped falling, and collided with the river far, far away. After what felt like hours of silence, the sharp crack of her body hitting the water drifted up to them.

Tom screamed.

It wasn’t a coherent sound, not a word or a name, but it communicated his feelings effectively enough. Harry’s attention snapped back to him, as he dangled precariously in his grip.

"Tom!" he shouted.

Tom wasn’t listening. He shouted again, this time a strangled variation of B’Elanna’s name. She had drifted down river slightly, where her body caught between two rocks. She was floating face down. Motionless. Lifeless.

"Tom!" Harry yelled again, "Tom, look at me, you bastard! Look at ME!"

Suddenly, Harry’s sweat-slicked grip slipped slightly, and he found himself holding Tom at that unstable point where the thumb begins and the wrist leaves off.

Now Tom looked up at him, blank panic in his eyes.

"Don’t let me fall!"

"I’ve got you!" Harry assured him, "Grab my arm!"

Tom spared one more panicked glance down, then swung his free arm up and grabbed Harry’s wrist. Harry cried out as Tom’s movement yanked on his dislocated shoulder. For a moment, blackness closed in around the edges of his vision. Gods, if he passed out now... but the blackness receded, and Harry shook his head, tightened his grip, and unclipped one end of the extra rope attached to his harness. He let his hand holding the now unattached carabiner dangle down towards Tom, and said, loudly and slowly, "I’m going to let go of you hand, Tom."

"NO!" Tom said, his frantic blue eyes gripping Harry’s.

"Yes," Harry said, as gently as possible. "And when I do, you’re going hold onto my wrist, take this carabiner," he gently waved the rope in his hand, "and hook it to your harness. Ok?"

Tom considered this, then nodded, and Harry gently loosened his grip, freeing Tom’s hand. Lightening fast, Tom snatched the rope from Harry and after a brief struggle, clipped it to his harness. Harry sighed with relief. He looked Tom straight in the eye.

"Now, let go. The rope will hold you."

Without a word, Tom let go. For a second, there was another dizzying blur of uncontrollable physics, and then Harry was upright, clinging to the rope leading up to the tree, and Tom hung safely below him. They both swung around in a small circle of dissipating forces.

He let the sense of security linger, just hanging there feeling the strong support of the rope, and then slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he hauled them both back up the rope to the firm rock above them.

Finally, they were both back on solid ground. Harry and Tom lay still, letting the rock embrace them, letting their weight spread out over the strong, immobile surface. Harry sat up. His muscles were shaking with fatigue and shock. He looked over at Tom. He was still lying quietly, staring off into space.

"Tom," Harry said, softly, touching his friend’s arm. Tom’s head moved slightly, and his eyes twitched towards the sound of Harry’s voice.

"Tom, get up. We have to go get the shuttle. We can’t climb down, not in this condition."

A tiny motion of Tom’s head against the dirt indicated his agreement, and Harry watched as Tom mustered his strength, and slowly, one limb at a time, sat up. He was also shaking, and terribly pale.

Together, still bound by the rope running between their harnesses, Harry and Tom made their way back up the slope to the Flyer.

******

Hours later, all of the bureaucracies had been dealt with and Harry and Tom sat on a metal bench in the hallway of the planet’s main hospital. Harry’s arm had been repaired, Tom had been treated for shock, and B’Elanna, and the baby, had been declared dead, her body placed in stasis to await her return to Voyager.

They couldn't leave the planet. The government had no provisions for emergency departures. Any message they tried to send to Voyager would first have to reach the subspace station by standard radio transmission. That meant a two-week delay. They were just trying to find the will power to return to the house. Silence hung between them.

"We should go back to the house," Harry said, his voice loud in his ears.

Tom did not respond. When Harry checked to see why, Tom was lightly running his shaking fingers over his closed eyes. There were no tears, but his face was contorted in pain.

"Come on, Tom," Harry said, squeezing his shoulder. "Let’s get back to the cabin. We need to eat, and get some rest."

Tom gave no indication of hearing him, but when Harry stood, Tom did the same, and he followed Harry all the way to the shuttle. He was silent throughout the flight to the house.

Once there, Tom settled on the couch, and Harry did his best to prepare a simple meal for them. He laid it out on the table and headed into the living room to get Tom. He looked terribly lost, his eyes staring again. And he was still shaking.

Harry knelt in front of him, concerned.

"Come on, Tom. You have to eat."

Tom shook his head. Harry was surprised. It was the first time Tom had refused him since the accident. Harry sat down beside him, shoved aside slight misgivings, and wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Tom rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry tightened his hold, as though his arms alone could stop the shudders rolling through Tom’s body. Tom drew in a sharp breath, and let it out again, the beginnings of a shuddering sob.

"Oh, Tom," Harry whispered into his hair, "It’s all right, it’s all right."

Tom pressed against him harder, and Harry could feel his warm tears against his neck. The sobs increased in strength and frequency, and Harry continued to hold him close, whispering into his hair.

By the time the tears subsided, Harry’s foot, tucked under him, had fallen asleep. So had Tom. Harry gently extricated himself from Tom’s arms, and settled the exhausted man down on the couch. There were extra blankets in the closet, so Harry pulled one out and draped it over Tom’s sleeping form. He softly made his way back to the kitchen, ate his own dinner and stuck Tom’s in the ‘fridge.

He left a note on the table to direct Tom to the food, whenever he awoke, and then he slipped into his bedroom, completely beat. He collapsed on his bed, expecting to sleep for at least ten hours. He only managed to get about four.

"What the hell?" he said, his voice sleep-slurred. Something moved near him in the darkness. "Tom?"

Suddenly, a wave of alcohol-scented air washed through his nostrils. Tom moved again.

"Harry? You awake?"

Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling the cold air wash over the upper half of his body as the sheets slipped away.

"I am now. Tom, where in the world did you even find that much alcohol?"

"The cabinet," Tom said. His silhouette, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, floated out of the darkness as Harry's eyes adjusted to the dark. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake up.

"Can I help you?"

"Kiss me," Tom whispered, leaning towards him.

As much as Harry had longed to hear those words from Tom, now was really not the time. He shoved him away, careful not to push too hard and send him tumbling off the bed.

"It's late. You're drunk. Go to sleep, Tom."

"I can't sleep."

"Well, I can."

Harry instantly regretted the careless words, remembering what Tom had just been through.

"Tom, I'm sorry. This is a bad idea. You'd regret it in the morning, I'd regret it. Look, just try to get some sleep, ok? It's a miracle you haven't passed out yet, as it is."

"Let me stay."

Tom shifted closer again.

"Please, Harry, I can't sleep alone."

It was a bad idea, Harry knew. Sleeping in the same bed with Tom? He wasn't sure exactly what that would do to him, but he had a feeling he would not be thrilled with the results. But, then, Tom had asked so nicely, and all he apparently wanted was a warm body; he wasn't exactly trying to seduce anyone.

"All right," Harry said, sliding back down into the warm cave of the covers. There was a rush of invading cold air, and then a solid form was pressed up against him, and an arm slid over his ribs. Harry was uncomfortably aware of Tom's body: His warm, moist breath stirring the hairs on the back of Harry's neck, his thigh moving against Harry's own.

Nervous, Harry tried to move away, but the arm tightened and restrained him. With a sigh, he realized he was just going to have to put up with it, and resigned himself to his fate. But, oh, it was hard to sleep this way. Never mind Tom being there, Harry preferred to sleep flat on his back. But he didn't trust himself to place his lips in a position so close to Tom.

He struggled to adapt to lying on his side, but he couldn't do it. He rolled onto his back. Now Tom's breath was on his cheek, and the scent of alcohol was so strong, it seemed enough to get him drunk simply by second-hand fumes. Tom shifted against Harry, who practically had to bite his tongue to prevent the moan from escaping.

"Harry?"

The word brushed over his face in scented gusts.

"Mmm?"

"Why won't you kiss me?"

"I 'splained that."

Tom lifted himself up on one elbow and hovered over Harry, pale moonlight shining on his face.

"It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Tom..." Harry said, but he was too tired to explain his entire moral code to Tom, who would probably never understand it, especially not in his current inebriated state.

"Go to sleep," he said, instead, hoping it would get the man off his case. He shut his eyes. Long, pilot's fingers trailed over his face, from his temple to the corner of his lips, where they paused, then lifted away. Harry's eyes snapped back open, and he was irritated to realize that not only was he unpleasantly wide awake, his hormones were at full red alert.

"I mean it, Tom," he said, allowing a trace of annoyance to enter his voice.

"Just once," Tom said, "Then I swear I'll let you sleep."

"Why do you want to kiss me, anyway?" Harry asked.

Tom thought about that one for a long time, still hanging over Harry in the moonlight.

"Just curious, I guess. I'm drunk. And I've never kissed a guy."

Harry started at that.

"You've really never kissed a guy? Ever?"

Tom shook his head.

"Never had any reason to. Plenty of girls around."

*Easy for you to say,* Harry thought.

"Tom, you just lost your wife. You should not be propositioning people less than twenty-four hours after something like that."

A strange look flickered over Tom's face, but before Harry could decipher what it meant, Tom's head suddenly dropped towards Harry's, and their lips met. Harry tried to pull away, but Tom's free hand held him tight. A wet, velvety tongue trailed across Harry's tightly sealed lips, thrusting gently against the division, seeking admission. This time, Harry could not stop the groan, and as it escaped, the tongue took advantage of his parted lips and darted into Harry's mouth.

Harry arched his body up against the other man, and all his defenses went down in one clattering roar. Oh, gods, this was Tom. Tom was kissing him. Oh, gods.

The taste of alcohol was strong on the invading tongue, but it didn't completely mask Tom's own distinct flavor. The pliant muscle pulsed in his mouth, playing with his own tongue, touching the tender tissue at the edges of his teeth.

Harry's began to participate, sliding his tongue across Tom's, bonding with it, caressing it, rubbing away the alcohol, digging to get more of that taste that lie underneath. Tom moaned as well, his tongue and lips vibrating against Harry. The younger man, encouraged by that moan, pushed against Tom's tongue until he had taken control of the kiss, and he began exploring the hidden wonders of Tom's mouth, following the folds and ridges, dancing over the teeth and gums, feeling Tom responding all the while, his tongue battling with Harry's for dominance.

Harry's every nerve was tingling. Never before in his life had he felt the way he felt now. Tom's body was hot and heavy on top of him, and the air under the sheets was uncomfortably warm, and it hit him that this was real. Those lips he'd stared at, dreamed of for so many years were on him, now. He had looked without touching for so long, and now finally, he could feel him: hot, solid, giving slightly under the force of that kiss. He never wanted it to end.

The need for oxygen finally drove them apart, and they found themselves in the same positions they had been in before the kiss, Tom leaning over Harry. They both panted for breath, staring into each other's eyes, and then Tom lay down, hooked his arm around Harry, and was instantly asleep, or possible unconscious. Harry could only watch him, still tasting him, still feeling him, even. He was so hard it hurt. Gods, no woman had ever, ever done anything like that. He hadn't even believed it was possible. How could one kiss, one kiss, do that to him? He was shaking again, for the second time that day. He wanted that man so bad.

Out of nowhere, the guilt hit him. B'Elanna. It was only earlier that day. How could he do this? B'Elanna had been Harry's friend, one of his best friends, and she was Tom's wife. So why the hell was he lying here beside Tom, her recent widower, with the mother of all hard-ons, and the taste of his tongue, the same tongue that had, no doubt, been gliding over her skin just last night, tingling, burning, in his mouth?

And, come to think of it, it was really his own fault she was dead. He'd felt something was wrong, yet said nothing. And, then, as they fell, he'd saved Tom. He'd brushed aside her hand, for crying out loud... just to save Tom. And the baby. Gods, the baby. He should have caught B'Elanna. That was two lives on his conscience.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to force all thoughts out of his mind, tried to find that blank, emotionless center that Tuvok had once told him about. No guilt, no desire, no love, just peaceful oblivion. Tom's breathing was steady in his ear, and he could feel Tom's chest rising and falling with each breath. He stared up at his dark ceiling, and let the gentle rhythm wash over him. Slowly, breath by breath, he fell asleep.

******

Harry rose out of sleep slowly, he was just beginning to feel the weight of the blanket on top of him, the pillow beneath his head, when he remembered the night before. He was wide awake. He reached out, but there was no one beside him. The sheets were cool. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

It was a long day. They stayed in the house. Tom was quiet, but not completely silent, and Harry occasionally managed to spark brief conversations for the first few hours.

Gradually, Tom began saying less and less, until, by noon or so, he was down to wordless grunts of agreement or disagreement. Mostly disagreement. He wandered listlessly through the house, occasionally reading, or just sitting out on the deck. Harry joined him out on the deck, watching him watch the wind rustle through the pines.

They'd been sitting there like that almost fifteen minutes, and Harry felt a need to say something.

"Have you eaten anything?"

Tom froze.

"I'm not hungry."

That hung in the air a moment, in all of its implications.

"Tom..."

Flashing blue eyes cut him off.

"Leave me alone, Harry. I don't need you nagging me. I'll eat when I eat."

Harry leaned back in his chair.

"Sorry. Just trying to help."

"Well, don't."

Harry looked over at Tom, who was glaring at the scenery now.

"Just leave me alone."

Harry sat there, watching the trees another minute or so. He could almost feel Tom's anger. Even without looking, he could see Tom's furrowed brow, his narrowed eyes, and his hands, so tight on the arms of the chair his knuckles were bone-white. He got up abruptly and headed back into the house. If Tom wanted to be alone, he'd leave him alone. He didn't need that thundercloud hovering beside him.

In the kitchen, he he threw together some food and sat at the table with his meal. He ate a few bites before the guilt came back. Wow. He'd not only killed the man's wife and daughter, now he wasn't even offering him emotional support. Of course Tom was angry, of course he was hurt. B'Elanna was his whole world, and he had based his life around the impending birth of their child. The least Harry could do was make an attempt to be sensitive to the stress Tom was under.

Harry picked up his tray and returned to the deck. Not surprisingly, Tom didn't even acknowledge his presence, but at least he knew he was there. Harry finished the rest of his meal in silence, then set the tray aside and looked at Tom. The angry look was gone. In fact, he seemed pretty calm. A little too calm. His expression was perfectly neutral.

"Look, Tom..."

Tom's forehead tensed, drawing his eyebrows closer together for an instant, and then relaxed, the unreadable poker face returning.

"I'm sorry. If you need anything, anything at all, you know I'm here."

No response. Not a single change to the smooth mask. Harry sat beside him in silence. It all seemed so disturbingly familiar. He remembered this man. He remembered the enforced coldness, the almost unreadable poker face. But Tom had never been this bad, not since he'd known him. He'd found himself on Voyager, and by the time Harry had met him, in that bar on DS9, he'd already begun his transformation. This man beside him was the Tom he'd only heard stories about. Harry turned and looked at Tom, and thought about the moment he'd first met him.

He had been in trouble. Only days out of the Academy and he’d already managed to seriously offend someone. The angry Ferengi merchant behind the bar seemed impossible to pacify.

“Look, I’ll buy the whole case,” Harry finally said, desperate to save himself from being reported to his captain before he even checked in.

The Ferengi seemed to be about to go for it, when suddenly someone came up behind Harry, brushing lightly against his shoulder. He half-turned to see who was there, and suddenly his universe was knocked off its axis.

He found himself staring at the most attractive man he’d ever seen. Bright blue eyes, blond hair, he looked a bit bitter, a bit angry... but that seemed inconsequential. Harry barely heard whatever it was he said to the bartender, just his voice, soft, breathy, seductive even when he didn’t intend it to be.

The man tugged his arm suddenly, and said, “Come on.” Harry followed him blindly, struggling to get his wits back. Gods, what an idiot he was. He felt like a six-year-old with a crush. But it was so much more than that.

It had only taken mere days for his attraction to deepen into something far stronger. And far more dangerous. He heard from everyone at once what a horrible person Tom Paris was. He’d heard he was a drunk, a loser, a womanizer, a liar. He heard about how he’d made a mistake, and people had died, and he had concealed the truth, just to save himself from dishonor.

Then he for himself saw how Tom had come looking for him, even when he barely knew him. He saw how gracefully, and humbly, Tom had accepted his position as helmsman. He saw how carefully Tom held this second chance at life in his hands, as though it were as precious and fragile a thing as a newly-hatched butterfly. And he saw the warmth and compassion in his eyes even behind the angry mask he wore.

But he couldn't see it now.

******

Tom avoided him for the rest of the day. He didn't eat a bite of food. He barely spoke except when it was absolutely necessary. Harry didn't feel safe leaving him for even a second, given the condition he was in, but he figured a quick shower wouldn't hurt. It was late night. The sun had vanished behind the ridges hours ago, and Harry was still feeling jet-lagged.

The hot water beat down on his skin and he shut his eyes, letting it wash away the past two days. He took a deep breath of the steam and it almost cleared his mind of all of the guilt, the sadness. For a few minutes, he was at peace again. Then, he slapped the water off, slipped on a robe and stepped out of the bathroom.

Tom was sprawled facedown on the couch. The contents of the medkit they'd brought with them (for all the good it had done them) were lying scattered across the floor, and one spent hypospray lay below Tom's limp hand. Harry couldn't move. From where he stood in the door he couldn't tell if Tom was breathing. His heart hammered against his ribs. Come on, he told himself, move. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to know. Somehow, though he did move, walking down the short hall into the living room as if he were in a dream. He knelt and picked up the medical tricorder that lay on the floor near Tom's feet and slowly folded it open, flinching slightly at the relatively loud beep it emitted as it activated. With a deep breath, he lifted the wand of the tricorder and aimed it at Tom.

Lifesigns were stable. It was just a sedative. Harry let out a shaking breath and dropped to the floor, then leaned against the couch. He shut his eyes, and waited.

He awoke to the sound of a scream.

Years of responding to middle-of-the-night red alerts had Harry on his feet before he was even completely awake. It was only when he realized he wasn't on Voyager that his brain fully activated and he remembered where he was. Tom was on the couch, still asleep, but breathing fast. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was crying in his sleep. Harry knelt on the floor next to him and gently smoothed Tom's damp hair back.

"Shh," he whispered. "It's just a dream. Tom, it's ok."

Tom's eyes opened, and focused on him. The pace of his breathing slowed, and he sat up. Harry moved to sit next to him on the couch, watching as his friend slowly got his bearings back.

"It's not a dream," Tom whispered. He locked his shaking fingers together, and then shook his head. "Not a dream. Oh, Gods."

Harry raised a hesitant hand and laid it on Tom's shoulder. He didn't know what to say to that. The impassive mask was gone. A tear rolled down Tom's cheek, catching the light, and Harry brushed it away. He felt it run down his finger and over his wrist.

"Hold me, Harry."

Harry leaned closer, and slipped his arms around him. It was easier this time. Tom embraced him and pressed himself close. They both leaned back against the couch, with their arms around each other like tentative teenaged lovers. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at Tom, but he could feel him in stark detail: shoulder blades pressing into his arm, ribs under his hands, his chest expanding and contracting in a slow, regular rhythm. Neither one of them spoke or stirred, and Harry was beginning to suspect that Tom had fallen back asleep when he finally did move. He sat up a bit, shifted his arms until one was around Harry's back and the other hand lay loosely on his chest, and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. To Harry's horror, the movement sent a rush of heat through his body. He was about to move away, to diplomatically rearrange Tom's grip, when Tom tilted his head, and brushed his nose and cheek against Harry's neck. Shit. He was nuzzling him. There was simply no other term to describe it. Harry stiffened.

Tom turned his body, increasing his assault on Harry's neck, starting to kiss and nibble, and raised the hand on Harry's chest to stroke his face. Harry fought to keep his breathing steady and tugged against Tom's grip.

"Tom..." he said, in protest.

Tom settled his leg over Harry's and whispered wetly into his neck, "Don't tell me you don't want this."

The hand dropped from his face, skimmed lightly down his chest and stomach, and slid under the robe and between his legs. That was enough of that. Harry wrenched himself from Tom's arms and stood.

"We are not doing this."

Tom looked up at him. Harry could see the arousal in his eyes.

"Why not?" Tom asked.

"Why not? How can you even say that? There are ten thousand reasons why not!"

"B'Elanna's dead. Nothing's going to bring her back. We might as well."

Harry drew in a breath to respond, but he was too indignant to come up with anything intelligent to say. He let the air out with a sigh, and stared at Tom, trying to think. Tom rolled to his feet like a cat and stepped towards Harry.

"Don't touch me," Harry said, holding up hand.

He didn't touch him, just stood in front of him.

"I want you, Harry."

"No. I'm not letting you do this to yourself again, Tom. I'm not going to stand here and watch you turn back into that loser everybody says you used to be."

Tom sniffed derisively.

"I'm touched. But I don't really give a damn if I do."

Harry crossed his arms.

"I know you don't," he said, "That's why I do."

"I'd really rather you just fucked me."

Harry felt a bit sick. Tom slunk towards him and traced his eyebrow with a finger.

"Come on, Harry. It'll be fun. I saw the hard-on you had after I kissed you."

Harry felt a hot blush on his cheeks. Gods, he'd hoped Tom had been too drunk to remember that. He batted Tom's hand away.

"I'm leaving."

Tom sighed in exasperation as Harry turned on his heel and stalked towards the door to his bedroom.

"You know what your problem is?" Tom called after him, "You're far too sensitive. You need to wake up and realize that this world is a shitty place and in the end you're going to lose everything you care about so you might as well not give a fuck about anything!"

His voice got louder as he spoke, and Harry only heard the last bit as a shout through the closed door behind him.

He locked the door, and threw himself down on the bed. He hurt too much to cry.

******

Harry had finally gotten Tom out of the house and moving, but there was no conversation between them. They hiked down the path in complete silence, attacking the ground with every stomping step. They day was cold to match the mood, with heavy grey clouds pressing down on the mountain peaks. The ground beneath their feet was littered with tan psuedo-pine needles that rustled as they walked. Tom was walking a good distance in front of Harry. His head was up, and he was looking around, but somehow, Harry got the feeling he really wasn't seeing anything.

Harry realized suddenly that his life had gone completely to hell. One of his closest friends was dead, and it was his fault. His best friend hated the world. His best friend probably hated him, come to think of it. Harry kicked the pine needles and watched them scatter.

The forest grew dense and dark around them. Harry didn't know where this path led. He wasn't even sure if he'd know how to get back to the house. He didn't really care either. He looked up and watched Tom, far ahead. Tom's shoulders were relaxed, and his hands were pushed into his jean pockets. He was practically swaggering down the trail, almost moseying, but at a fast clip, probably to keep ahead of Harry.

Harry didn't have to see his face to know the devil-may-care mask was firmly in place. A burst of pain struck him through to his soul.

He'd give anything to help Tom, but he had nothing. He'd give his life, if in return he could just touch Tom and take away the pain. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. Tom had suffered more than enough in his life. He didn't deserve this. Harry wished it had been him who'd fallen. Then Tom would be ok. Upset, maybe, but not shattered, not destroyed, not blasted back in time to the bitter angry shell he had been seven years ago. He could have dealt with losing Harry. But not B'Elanna.

Harry was so lost in thought he didn't notice that Tom had stopped walking. He stopped abruptly when he almost ran into him.

"What?" Harry said.

Tom turned his head and glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Just resting. Is that a problem?"

Harry felt a surge of defensiveness rise through him, but he battled it back.

"No. Just asking."

Tom didn't respond. He stared into the dark depths of the forest. His eyes reflected the darkness of the shadows and the steel grey of the clouds. There wasn't a trace of emotion in them.

Once Harry stopped, he realized that his leg muscles were a bit sore. He leaned against a convenient tree. He was facing Tom, so naturally, his gaze fell in his direction. Tom must have seen him out of the corner of his eye, because he turned suddenly towards him, frowning.

"Watching me, Har?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. He was confused by the hostility in Tom's voice, and unconsciously averted his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

Tom advanced a step. Harry pressed more firmly against the tree behind him. The ripples in the bark dug into his back.

"It's pretty obvious you want me. I don't know why I didn't see it before."

"Tom... look..."

Tom was standing so close now, Harry could feel him, like an aura. His heat, his presence, something. He was trapped, the tree behind him, Tom in front.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Harry's heart was hammering. Please back up, he thought, let me go...

"I- I- I don't know- Tom, I-"

Tom didn't see his discomfort, that was pretty clear. His cold eyes drilled into Harry's, and he took yet another step forward. Harry shut his eyes.

"Tom, please, don't, just, just stop, I-"

Tom shoved Harry's shoulders hard against the tree, pinning him there with his body.

"Why didn-" he began, but he didn't get far.

A burst of panicked strength helped Harry get his hands between them and he shoved Tom away with all his might, which turned out to be a lot more than was required. Tom flew all the way across the path, landing on his side in the pine needles along the side of the trail. He scrambled to his feet, dusting his hands on his pants, murder replacing apathy in his eyes. Harry threw up his fists and lunged into a fighting stance without thinking.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed, fighting burning tears. "Don't you dare touch me!"

All of the fight drained from Tom. His shoulders relaxed, his hands loosened at his sides. He frowned, not angry, but concerned.

"Har?"

Harry slumped against the tree, slapping one hand over his mouth and struggling to breathe. Tom shifted his weight forward, then back, aborting the attempt to walk across the path.

"Har, you ok?"

Harry nodded quickly. He was fighting a losing battle to maintain a shred of his composure and dignity. Tom laid a hand on a trunk of a nearby tree, as though he were anchoring himself where he stood to fight the urge to go to Harry.

"I- I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean- What-?"

Harry slid down the tree trunk and sat in the pine needles, his arms hanging over his knees. Tom looked like a bystander at some horrible bloody accident, who felt some obligation to stay, but didn't have a clue what to do. Harry took a few deep breaths, finally met Tom's eyes. Finally, he found emotion there again. Compassion, fear, a little guilt, perhaps. Tom knelt slowly, so they were on an equal level.

"Gods, Har, what was that?" he half-whispered.

Oh sure. Like he was going to reveal the biggest secret of his life to Tom now, when he'd most likely laugh about it, and say it was further proof that life sucked. Harry sat silently on the hard dirt. He looked out through the woods. A cold breeze moved over them all, stirring the pines and raising goose bumps on his arms. The breeze felt damp. It would probably rain later. Perfect, wasn't it? As though they needed something else to go wrong. Human emotions are strange things. Somehow this impending storm seemed more huge and tragic than even B'Elanna's death, or Tom's pain. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and spill out onto his cheeks. Tom's brow furrowed deeper, but he squeezed his lips tight and didn't speak.

Finally Harry couldn't take it any more, and blurted out, "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what?"

"Everything!"

Harry buried his face between his knees.

"Specifically, what?" Tom paused for a long time, then said, "Harry... I'm the one who should be apologizing. I've been a total bastard the past few days-"

"You lost your wife, Tom, I don't blame you!" Harry said into his knees.

"That's no excuse. I'm sorry, Har. I had no right to do anything I did."

"You were right, Tom," Harry whispered, his voice pulling over the lump in his throat. "You were right. I am... I am attracted to you. I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing for being attracted to me?"

Harry nodded. He heard the pine needles rustle and a spike of fear dove through his heart. Tom laid a hand on his arm, then pulled it away. Harry lifted his head and saw that Tom had sat down on the path in front of him.

"Harry, why would you apologize for that?"

"I've been lying to you for years. Why shouldn't I apologize? I've been taking advantage of your friendship-"

"What? I'll have you know, I don't feel taken advantage of. You're the best friend I've ever had. I'm just amazed you keep putting up with me." Tom stopped, then said, "What is it? Did something happen to you?"

Harry considered this a long time, the nodded, once, very slightly, against his knee. His eyes were shut tight. The world was pleasantly dark and distant.

"You can tell me, can't you?" Tom's voice asked.

"I don't know."

"I'd never breathe a word of it to anyone. Don't you know that?"

"You don't need my problems right now, Tom."

"Maybe not, but I don't think you need them, either. Come on, Harry. Give me a chance to help, at least."

"Can't you guess?"

Tom's long silence made him look up. What he saw shocked him. Tom had tears in his eyes. They looked at each other, then Tom looked away, picked up a pine needle and fiddled with it.

"I don't know. I- I hope not."

The needle broke in his hands, and he reached for another one. He didn't look at Harry, and somehow, Harry felt safe enough to speak.

"When I was fifteen, I had a friend," he said, then paused, trying to decide what exactly to say. "We'd been friends a long time. Since we were little. By that point it was just kinda a default sort of thing, you know?"

Harry plucked up a pine needle of his own, and stared at it.

"We were seriously drifting apart," he said, "but he was my best friend, so I didn't want to admit it. Well, anyway, I- I-" he froze up.

"Go on," Tom said.

"I had a crush on our school's Pareses Squares captain," he forced a laugh. "Pretty corny, huh?"

Tom smiled. His voice was incredibly gentle.

"That's my Harry. Always falling for the unattainable one."

"Anyway, I wanted someone to talk to about it, because, you know, I was at that age, where you can't think without vocalizing-"

Tom chuckled.

"I think I never left that phase."

Harry smiled again, this time a real smile, but then it quickly vanished.

"So, I told my friend, I told him I had a crush... on a guy."

Tom raised his eyebrows.

"Must have been tough."

Harry nodded, and flicked the pine needle into the forest.

"He... took it all the wrong way. He thought I meant him. He got mad, and stormed off, and I thought I'd never hear from him again. If only I'd been so lucky."

Tom's eyes were focused down on his hands. He traced a path through the pine needles on the trail with the toe of his boot. He didn't speak. His brow was furrowed, his lips tight. The expression on his face seemed almost like pain. Harry forced himself to continue. He'd started this, he was going to finish it even if it killed him.

"It started out pretty innocuous, you know, teasing, stuff like that. Him and his friends." Harry focused his entire being on a small sapling out in the woods, almost clinging to it with his eyes, like a life-line, "They started to trip me in the halls and stuff, vandalize my locker."

Tom's foot stopped moving. He was perfectly motionless. The sapling shivered in the breeze.

"One day, I guess it was about a month after I told him, while I was walking home from school, they stopped me on the path. It's so stupid, Tom. You'd think, this is the twenty-forth century, no one should care... but... but he felt like I'd challenged him somehow. I don't even remember what he said, but... but... they..."

He couldn't say it. He buried his face in his hands.

"You know... they..."

He shook his head violently.

"I told my mom I got in a fight. I didn't let her take me to a doctor. I just asked to be moved to a different school, and she moved me, and I never saw them again..."

"Gods, Harry," Tom whispered. "Harry, I would never, you can't think that I'd-"

"I don't! Never! It's just, when I get cornered sometimes, I just feel trapped, I remember... it's like it was yesterday..."

He hugged his knees to his chest. Tom looked very pale. He looked down at the trail suddenly.

"Fuck, Harry, I must have been scaring the hell out of you these past few days."

Harry laughed softly, shakily.

"Not really, just annoying me, mostly," he said softly. "Maybe a little last night."

"I'm so sorry. I just intended to be jerk, not, not-'

"I know."

Tom leaned forward and snagged another pine needle, bending it between his fingers.

"Look, I don't want to unduly freak you out, Harry, but I am attracted to you. I always have been."

Harry pulled his knees in closer. Why did Tom have to go there? He didn't want anything. He was quite content with the status quo. Maybe he'd had a few fantasies, but the very idea of really taking it further than that was not just frightening, it was repulsive.

"Consider me freaked out, Tom."

"Why?"

"Why? Because. I don't... I don't want that."

"Why not, Har? You were hurt. Not everyone is like that. Hardly anyone is-"

Harry stood up and brushed the pine needles off his pants.

"I've made it this far in my life without sleeping with any men. I think I can last a little longer."

Tom jumped up and followed him as he set off down the path, hopefully heading towards the house.

"Harry, if you're attracted to men, you should be sleeping with men. You're never going to be happy if you don't-"

Harry whirled around, his fist clenched. Tom stopped.

"I don't like sex and I don't need it, ok?" Harry shouted, surprising himself with the heat of his anger, "Some of us can survive without fucking someone every ten minutes, as hard as that may be for you to believe!"

Tom blinked once, shocked into silence.

"Gods, look at you," Harry continued, "Your wife's been dead two fucking days and you're already trying to get someone else in bed with you. It's disgusting!"

Tom's mouth opened, then closed again. Then he frowned.

"Now wait just a second, I-"

Harry's eyes widened in anger.

"Well, it's true isn't it? Just listen to yourself for a second or two. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Darkness fell over Tom's eyes again. He seemed to be about to reply, but Harry didn't give him a chance.

"Just stay away from me," he said, then resumed his course to the house without looking back.

******

Four hours later, Harry was pacing back and forth in the warm light of the living room, practically out of his mind with terror. Tom was gone. He hadn't returned to the house, and darkness was falling outside. Some part of Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tom was dead, maybe even fallen over the same cliff that had claimed B'Elanna. And it was his fault again. He never should have left him, never should have said the things he did, not when Tom was in such a fragile mental condition. Gods, he didn't even want to think about what he was going to put in the report to Janeway.

He was barely even aware that there were tears on his cheeks. He was so scared. Where was Tom? Why else would he have stayed out so late? Maybe he'd taken a wrong turn in the gathering darkness and ended up lost in the middle of the woods.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the window panes.

Harry lay on his stomach on the couch pressing his face into the cushions. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to breathe. He just wanted to give up, to throw in the towel, to shout to the world, "ok, you win, I surrender," and then just be swallowed by blissful oblivion. It would be darkly amusing, he supposed, if this planet, so peaceful and beautiful, managed to claim the lives of three Starfleet officers who had faced down the Borg and won.

He sat up. Then rain tapped against the windows and the roof. It must be cold out there. Tom, where ever he was, must be shivering and wet. Harry had contacted the planet's security, but they had informed him that the planet was off-limits to them. The natural habitat was not to be disturbed. All guests signed contracts before setting foot on the ground stating that they understood the dangers of the wilderness, so basically, it wasn't security's fault or problem if someone wandered off. Obviously, they said, none of the three had enough respect for the power of nature. Harry wanted to strangle them.

The lock rattled, and then the doorknob turned, and a very wet Tom Paris walked into the cabin, dripping on the rug. Harry barely even felt himself stand, but he suddenly found himself wrapped around Tom in a tight, desperate embrace. Tom's arms lifted, then hesitantly returned the hug. Tom rested his head against Harry's. Harry was soon just as soaked as Tom, but he didn't care. He just held him tight.

Finally he release Tom and stepped back.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

Tom seemed distant again. He shrugged off his wet jacket and headed into his room without another word. Harry sighed. Well, at least he was here, safe and sound. Through the door, Harry heard the bedspring squeal as Tom threw himself down on the mattress. The rain rattled, and a gust of wind sent a roaring flurry of drops sideways against the windows. Harry sat down on the couch, and wrapped his arms around his knees. He listened, loosing himself in the comforting rhythm of the rain.

******Tom******

He couldn't stand the sight of her things scattered around what used to be their quarters. Everywhere, everything, a thousand tiny reminders like needle pricks or bee-stings that she wasn't coming back, that she'd never wear that red nightgown again, never finish the novel that lay on the nightstand beside their bed. And as bad as B'Elanna's things were, the baby's stuff was even worse. A crib that would never be slept in. Teeny-weeny baby shoes that would never hold his daughter's feet. Tom stood in the center of his quarters and felt like his heart was being torn to pieces by sharp shards of glass, and he hated it. He wasn't supposed to care. He knew better than that. He knew better than to let anything in.

But apparently, he'd let his guard down. Finally let his damn guard down, and look what it had brought him to. Standing in the middle of his quarters about to cry over a stupid little mobile that hung over an empty crib, about to *cry* over a handful of brightly colored plastic starships twirling silently in the starlight.

Almost acting on instinct, he threw himself into the task of removing the source of his pain. After no more than an hour, he managed to remove almost every trace of B'Elanna and his unborn child from his quarters, leaving behind nothing but a few packing crates and his own sparse belongings. He tried not to notice how empty the room suddenly seemed, and headed for the kitchen area, where he kept his most prized possession: a stash of whiskey from home.

His removed the metal cap with a violent twist of his wrist, and took a long swallow. He nearly dropped the flask as the burning liquid hit his throat with a vengeance, and he choked for a moment, but he managed to get it down and keep it there. The stuff at the mountain house had been tame compared to this, and he hadn't seriously drank in a long, long time. Well, he was now.

He threw himself down on his couch and looked out at the stars. The next few sips of liquor went down much smoother than the first. He shut his eyes, letting the soothing effects of the alcohol penetrate his brain, using the liquid as a lubricant to make it easier for his thoughts, his pain to just slide away.

Alcohol, his best and most loyal friend, there for him when there was literally no one else. A damn good counselor, and a sympathetic, patient listener.

After awhile, he laughed suddenly, the sound loud in his deserted quarters. He laughed at the irony of it all.

When Tom was younger, he had been a firm believer in love at first sight. In fact, he himself had experienced it. Often. Sometimes it seemed he fell in love every other week. As a consequence, he spent the other weeks suffering from deep, angsty heartaches which his friends heard about in great, explicit detail.

He had continued to believe in love at first sight until he was seventeen. Everything changed one night when his parents were out of town. The current object of his affections was a flirty young brunette, who he had been pursuing doggedly ever since he first saw her, all of three weeks before. He invited her over that night, intending perhaps to make out on the couch, or maybe even do some heavy petting. After all, he was an honorable guy, and this was about love, not sex. Well, she didn't feel quite the same way, and made this fact abundantly clear when she dragged him upstairs to his room and began to unbutton his shirt.

Tom Paris's entire world view changed that night when Suzie Smith hopped out of his bed, told him they should do that again sometime, and then breezed out of the house, and his life, so as not to be late for Velocity practice.

During the cynical years that followed he had seen this moment as a revelation. Love was an elaborate myth, he decided, designed to make lust seem a little more poetic. He also decided that he was not going to be a party to such a weak and stupid lie, and from that point on, rarely let himself develop much of an emotional attachment to anyone.

A frightened young ensign on a space station far away from home changed all that.

It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't even lust. It was just that something, like a live thing, inside of him suddenly stirred, slightly, a light thump against the inside of his ribs. Like it had been lying dormant all his life waiting for this moment to awaken.

And at first it was easy to ignore. Tom was open-minded. He'd never been attracted to a guy before, but he'd never ruled out the possibility. So he was attracted to the kid. Big deal. He was good-looking. He was kind. He was intelligent. It wasn't such a shock.

What was a shock was it didn't go away. Normally, his attractions were easy come, easy go. A few days worth of being ignored and his feelings would shrivel like plants left in a dark room.

But it wasn't happening. The thing inside of him only grew larger, stronger. Sometimes all it took was a glance to send it into a flurry of motion that made his stomach flutter and his heart beat faster. And yet, it wasn't an option. Sleeping with Harry. Harry was his best friend, Harry was his confidante, Harry was the only person in his life who really understood him. Sex would destroy that. Tom didn't think he would be able to survive it if Harry hopped up and walked away. No, he knew he wouldn't survive it.

It didn't occur to him that it was love until Akritiria. That first night in the prison had been awful, full of screams and shouts, footsteps past their shelter... They'd held each other. Nothing more than that, but somehow it had been better than sex. Better than anything. And that's when Tom realized it wasn't lust he felt for Harry. It was love. The real deal.

Of course, that only made it worse, because he'd never been in love before, and he sure as hell didn't want to screw it up with Harry. And besides, Harry didn't feel the same way. That much was clear. Tom knew a lot about love and lust, and he knew that Harry felt neither for him.Thought he knew, anyway.

So, he fell to a little misdirection, what a psychologist might called transference, of his emotions.The nearest convenient target was B'Elanna. Intriguing, exciting, and utterly uninterested. That made her safe. Well, at first anyway.

He fell for B'Elanna. Not as hard as he'd fallen for Harry, but he had fallen for her. Maybe, maybe even almost loved her. Well, he had cared for her, about her. Had enjoyed being with her, holding her, sleeping with her. But still. There was never that spark, that fire that he felt for Harry. Nothing in him leapt for joy when she so much as smiled. He didn't shiver when she touched him. He told everyone he loved her, except her. He couldn't lie to her.

But, then, things had changed. Maybe it was the baby, maybe it was just him finally coming to his senses. Whatever it was, he had fallen in love. Really in love. With B'Elanna.

And now she was dead. She was dead, and only now, *now,* did Tom find out that all along, Harry had been attracted to him, too.

The whiskey was almost gone, and a combination of blood alcohol and exhaustion finally took over Tom's mind and quietly drew the curtains on the world.

Then, after what felt like only a moment, he came to with a violent start, nearly kicking Harry, who must have let himself into Tom's quarters at some point and settled down next to him on the couch. Harry sat up quickly to avoid Tom's leg. His hair was tousled and hanging in his eyes.

"Tom?"

No time to talk. The alcohol was having a bit of a disagreement with Tom's empty stomach. He staggered to his feet and set his sights on the bathroom, which was so close... and yet, so far. He made it a few staggering, aimless strides before a hand grabbed his elbow and a strong arm around his back steadied him and helped him to his destination.

He fell to his knees hard in front of the toilet, just in time. His stomach seemed to catch fire, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears of pain. Against his will, his every muscle seemed to be devoted to the task of ripping out and expelling his insides, and his whole body shuddered with every heave.

It occurred to him that this position was awfully familiar. There were years of his life, he knew, that he'd been like this practically every week. Four days ago, those years had seemed so far away.

There was one difference, however. Never during those years had there been a warm hand, rubbing soothing circles on his back. Never a soft voice murmuring, "It's all right, I'm here." Never anyone who had remotely cared enough to stick around and deal with the aftermath of those long nights Tom spent in bars, talking, laughing, flirting, which was all made possible due to the aid of significant amounts of alcoholic beverages.

Finally, his body relaxed, but he continued to kneel there with his eyes closed, panting for breath. He had his fists clenched so tight, his nails bit into his palms.

He heard Harry stand, and rustle around for a moment, before returning to his side and gently running a cool damp cloth over his face with one hand. His other hand had returned to its place on Tom's back, between his shoulder blades.

"You all right?" Harry asked. "Want a detox hypo?"

Tom nodded, slowly opening his eyes. He collapsed back onto his heels, feeling completely drained.

Harry was only gone a moment. When he returned, he touched Tom's shoulder and said, "Can you stand?"

Tom nodded, and with Harry's help, got to his feet. Harry lead him back to the couch and pressed the hypo to his neck.

"Stay here," he ordered gently, and Tom didn't even want to argue. Even his mother had never treated him this way. His father had believed that real men could handle illness and weakness on their own. He had believed that comforting and coddling were for infants only.

Well, Tom was always willing to do things his father didn't approve of, and besides, Harry's voice and touch really were doing wonders. He watched as Harry crossed the room to the replicator and ordered something, then return to the couch with a steaming mug. He stopped before sitting down and handed the mug to Tom.

"Chicken soup," he explained, as he sat, once again touching Tom, resting his hand on Tom's knee. "It actually has medicinal properties... and you need to get something in your stomach."

Tom took a cautious sip. The soup ran down to his stomach with a rush of warmth that reminded him of the way Harry made him feel. He cradled the mug between his hands, absorbing its warmth. Tom didn't speak for a while, to give the hypospray time to work. He occasionally drank mouthfuls of the soup, loving the way it soothed his burning throat.

Harry's hand was moving on his knee, gently squeezing and releasing. The movement was not at all sexual, but it felt extremely good. The power of that simple touch amazed Tom. It spoke volumes in the silence: of friendship, compassion... and no small amount of love.

So naturally love was the first thing that came to mind when he finally spoke.

"I love you, Harry."

He was surprised when Harry didn't jerk away, or attempt to qualify the statement, or even remove his hand. In fact, if anything, Harry shifted closer.

"Tom... I, I..."

"Har, you don't have to-"

Harry pressed his fingers over Tom's lips. He turned to face Tom, his dark eyes intense with emotion.

"Yes, I do. I love you. I've been in love with you for so long. I was too afraid to say anything, but I do have to now. I may never get another chance. Who knows? I love you and I want you, and I have- I always have."

Harry's hand had moved up Tom's leg, his fingers now digging into Tom's inner thigh. The hand that had been on Tom's lips shifted as well, now cupping Tom's cheek and turning his head so that they were face to face. And then he kissed him.

One small kiss, just firm enough to be felt as a brush over his lips, and then Harry pulled back. Tom couldn't take his eyes off of him. For once, he let himself look. Let himself soak in Harry's deep brown eyes, his soft lips.

He wanted so badly to just take him over to his bed, lose himself making slow, sweet love to him, show him that sex really wasn't such a bad thing, but he knew that it would never be forgiven. B'Elanna was still there, no matter how hard he tried to make her go away, and until he and Harry had dealt with their demons, this was all they had. But then, this had been all they'd had for years. A few more months couldn't be impossible.

He immediately began to doubt that when Harry spoke again, his voice husky, "When I was at the Academy, my friends and I went to see a psychic."

He shifted closer to Tom again, pressing their thighs together. He stroked Tom's face as he talked, seemed to be watching his own fingers as the traced the contours of Tom's cheek. His other hand, still on Tom's thigh, began to tighten and relax, the same rhythm as when it had rested on Tom's knee, only now it was massaging the sensitive muscles on the inside of his leg. The platonic elements of that touch were gone.

"It was just a joke, at first, but... she was good, Tom, really good. She knew everything we asked her. Even knew some things we didn't know yet."

Tom was trying to keep his breathing even, but Harry's proximity and his increasingly insistent touch were alerting every system he had. He felt a stirring in his groin and desperately tried to will it away.

"We all asked how we'd meet our 'soul mate,' the person we'd spend the rest of our lives with."

Tom shuddered as the hand on his leg shifted closer to his rapidly hardening cock.

"What she said to me, I'll never forget. She said I'd meet *him* far away from home, that he'd save me, he'd be my 'knight in tarnished armor.' She said I'd catch him when he fell. I always though that was figurative. But I guess it wasn't."

His words were hot gusts of air in the crook between Tom's neck and his shoulder. His caresses had migrated from Tom's face, down his neck to his arm.

"I'm so tired of fighting this, Tom. I'm so tired of being scared. I want you, right here, right now.”

He punctuated this statement with a daring move, finally closing the gap between his hand and Tom's cock. The shock of tentative fingers touching him though his uniform was almost enough to drive Tom completely over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back, using every ounce of will power to keep from coming.

“Harry- we shouldn’t-”

Gods, wasn’t this a role-reversal?

Harry pulled him closer and attacked his exposed neck, sucking lightly at his skin. His hand moved faster on Tom's cock. When Tom continued to resist, he turned his head and pressed his lips to Tom’s ear.

“No consequences, Tom,” he whispered. “I’m so sick of consequences. You want this. I want this.”

And Tom gave in. His back arched off the couch, pressing his crotch into Harry's hand, and he caught Harry by the back of the neck and turned his face to devour his mouth in a long, bruising kiss. He felt a wave of tension run over Harry, but it dissipated, and the younger man relaxed into the kiss. Too turned on to think, Tom pressed Harry back against the couch, pulling Harry's hand away from his cock before he made him come in his pants.

"Tom, Tom, gods," Harry gasped, his body writhing beneath Tom, hips thrusting irregularly, unconsciously against him. Tom continued to kiss him, shifting his body weight to better pin him to the couch. With B'Elanna and her Klingon genes, sex had always been a power struggle. A friendly one, of course, but there was never any doubt that both sides enjoyed a little subjugation, both found it exciting to be held down, helpless beneath the other.

It had been so long since he'd slept with anyone else, it was easy to forget that B'Elanna was gone, even if the body beneath him was unmistakably male. Tom continued to thrust against Harry, intent on losing himself in a primal, mindless rhythm. He vaguely heard Harry say his name, but missed the change in the tone of his voice. When Harry struggled against him, he caught his hands, trapping them above Harry's head, trying not to miss a beat. A game that he had always played with his wife. It wasn't until he opened his eyes for a brief moment that the reality of the situation returned.

Tear-tracks ran down Harry's face into his hair.

"Tom, please," he whispered, halfheartedly struggling to free his hands from Tom's grip.

And then he understood. With a wordless cry he lunged away from Harry, then slapped one hand over his mouth and whispered, "Oh, gods, oh Harry, oh gods, I'm so sorry, Harry-"

Harry curled up at the other end of the couch and raised one hand in a restraining gesture. He looked desperate to say something to comfort Tom, but obviously, nothing came to mind.

For the second time that night, Tom felt physically ill, and he ran out of the room. Nothing came up, but he stayed there in front of the toilet a long time, forehead resting on crossed arms on the edge of the seat, insides torn by wracking sobs. By the time he walked back into the living room, Harry was long gone.

******

Tom's head hurt. He was guessing it was lack of sleep, but it could have been hunger. Or maybe a hangover. He really wasn't sure. The cause didn't matter. What did matter was it was making it damn hard to fly the ship. He set everything he could to automatic, but there were still small tasks and corrections he had to do every once in awhile. Keeping all those numbers and force vectors and such in his mind was usually second nature. One of the reasons he was such a good pilot was he had the brains for it, the memory for it. But his memory was suffering right now, being stabbed over and over by some angry Nausicans or something.

Apparently, Janeway noticed, because she said, out of the blue, "Mr. Paris, take a break. You look like you could stand to eat something."

He blushed. How kind of her to blatantly flaunt his weakness in front of everyone. He stood stiffly to let his relief take his place, and left the bridge without a word. Harry barely glanced at him as he passed.

Once he was safely in the privacy of the turbolift, he leaned back against the wall and massaged his temples. It didn't help much. Nothing would. He wasn't hungry, couldn't sleep.

What he'd done last night would have been inexcusable under any circumstances. And given Harry's background, it only got worse. He'd always relied on having Harry's trust. And now he'd gone and destroyed that, too. Which basically meant that he'd lost him.

And Harry was the one thing in the universe he couldn't stand to lose.

The turbolift deposited him near his quarters and he wandered out of it in a daze. He hardly noticed the walk to his quarters, and was a bit surprised to find himself on his couch, with another flask of whiskey in his hand. Oh well. He listened to the rasping rattle of the cap as he twisted it off, the soft, high-pitched swish of liquid as he drank.

OK, just to take stock, he'd now lost his wife, his child, his best friend, and he was about to lose his job. Also, he was drinking again. He tried so hard not to care, to recapture that numb nonchalance, but he couldn't do it. It was terrifying. He didn't deal well with pain. If he could shut it out, he was fine, but once it got loose, it grew inside of him like a cancer, eating him from the inside out, growing worse with every passing day.

It was probably just his true nature showing through again. Once a screw-up, always a screw-up. He was weak, deep down, he knew that. Very weak. Fled at the slightest sign of trouble.

He took in his quarters with one sweeping glance, and his eyes settled on a small object lying on a bookshelf. With a disturbing amount of effort, he got to his feet, crossed over to the shelf, and picked up the object, the tiny, bright green plastic Voyager, from his daugher's mobile. Harry must have salvaged it. To help Tom remember her. He didn't want to remember her. He wanted to forget everything, everything that ever happened to him.

He wanted to die.

He carried the toy back to the couch and flopped down again, taking another swig of the liquor and watching the miniature ship twist on its string in the star light. No one would care. B'Elanna was dead, Harry was disgusted by him, and Janeway would soon just be looking for some way to be rid of him. Hell, they'd throw a party. He knew there were some Maquis who were still waiting for him to screw up again, who refused to be assigned to away missions with him. Harry would probably refuse to be assigned to away mission with him now, too.

A cold tear drop raced down his face and caught in the stubble on his chin. He wiped it away and scowled. Why cry? Didn't do any good. Harry certainly wouldn't come and dry his tears now. Not after what had happened last night.

Tom set the whiskey aside. It wasn't helping, either. He stared across the darkness of his quarters. He kept a phaser on the bottom shelf of the bedside table. There was no telling when hostile aliens would decide to invade - again - so it was best to have one handy. Funny, he didn't even have enough energy to get off the couch to go and get it.

He was jolted from his thoughts, or lack thereof, by Janeway's voice.

"Janeway to Paris."

He didn't move, stayed still with his hands folded on his knees.

"Paris, respond."

So much effort... He raised his hand and tapped his commbadge.

"Paris here."

Janeway's voice grew sharp.

"Are you planning on rejoining us at any point, Mr. Paris?"

Tom considered this slowly, then braced his hands on the edge of the couch and stood.

"Negative, Captain," he said, his voice sounding cheerful to his ears.

There was a confused silence on the other end, and before Janeway could speak again, Tom snatched off his commbadge and dropped it, deactivated, onto the coffee table. The quiet weighed down around him as he crossed to his bed, and retrieved the phaser from its place. He sat down, sinking into the soft mattress he no longer shared with anyone, and looked at the weapon in his hand.

He looked at it for a long time, suddenly shy. The thought crossed his mind that this was maybe a bit of a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but then he realized that temporary though this may be, there would always be something else. It was his destiny. He always ruined everything, for himself, and for everyone around him. Poor Harry. He never should have gotten involved with Tom. B'Elanna shouldn't have, either. Just look at where it got her.

Determined now, he lifted the phaser and pressed it to his temple. Quick and painless. *Yeah, that would be the route you choose, Paris,* he told himself, angry tears in his eyes. *Can't have anything slightly uncomfortable, can we?*

He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to consciously will his breathing and heart rate to slow. A part of him was screaming that he didn't want to die. The rest of him was firmly telling that part to shut the hell up.

He swallowed hard, intensely aware of how the lump in his throat ached, and how the air felt, whooshing in and out of his lungs. He tried to steel himself, and held the phaser more tightly, pressed it harder against his skin, hard enough to hurt.

And then, bright light washed over him momentarily, and a voice spoke, "Tom!"

He opened his eyes. No, no, no.

"Oh, Harry. Go. Go away, Har, don't-"

Harry was standing frozen in front of the closed doors, his eyes wide. He took one step forward and then stopped, as though afraid to make any sudden moves.

"Tom, put it down," he whispered.

"No. Please just go. I don't want to do this in front of you. Please."

It was so hard to talk, all those damn tears getting in the way.

"Tom, it isn't worth this," Harry said, "It's not. Everything will be ok."

He took another step closer, and lifting one hand towards Tom.

"Please, give me the phaser."

Tom actually laughed, softly, breathily.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. I'm doing everyone a favor."

"No you're not," Harry said, his voice nothing but air. "Tom, please, please... You don't want to do this."

Harry was shaking, actually shaking. His eyes were sparkling in the dark like stars.

"You wouldn't understand," Tom said. His arm was getting tired, but he refused to move the phaser, "The world isn't quite as glorious as you think it is."

The last reaction he expected was anger, but that was definitely what he got. Harry lunged forward, but stopped out of arm's reach and shouted, his voice very loud in contrast to the whispers, "Fuck you."

Tom could not even move. He had no reply to that, it was so unexpected.

"Don't tell me I don't understand," Harry was hissing the words, quiet again, but intense. "You asshole, I was raped by my best friend when I was fifteen years old."

He was advancing closer with every word until he was standing only inches from Tom. Then he sank to his knees and stared him right in the eye. Tom unconsciously lowered the phaser and shrank back.

Harry continued, and as he spoke, the anger faded slowly from his voice.

"It was almost a year before I could even let my mother touch me. It would have been pretty damn easy to just decide that life sucked, just give up. But you know what? I didn't. I made a conscious decision to find something good, to enjoy life, and I stuck to that, even when it was almost impossible. Even when I was struggling in all of my classes, even when I was lost in the Delta Quadrant 70,000 light years from everything I knew."

He paused, his eyes boring straight into Tom's, his hips pressed to Tom's knees.

Tom watched him through a blur of tears.

"Har, why are you even here? After what I did-"

Harry shook his head.

"Tom, we both made mistakes last night. That's my problem, not yours. This thing between us, it scares the hell out of me. And... and I know I haven't been dealing with any of this very well. I'm sorry."

His hand was still shaking as he lifted it. Tom half-closed his eyes as Harry's finger brushed over his temple.

"I love you, Tom. I still love you, I'll always love you. Please don't take away the best thing that ever happened to me."

There was still some cynical corner of Tom's mind scoffing and telling him that Harry was just saying that. But he knew that Harry would never just say something like that. He dropped the phaser, and leaned close to his friend. Harry's arms wrapped tight around him, and they held each other, both shaking, both aware of the precipice they had so narrowly avoided.

They held each other a long time, sharing their warmth, sharing their strength. Tom realized he could feel Harry's heartbeat. He shut his eyes, let himself relax completely, and felt Harry do the same. His pain gradually faded away, until it was replaced by bone-deep contentment.

Tom sighed with relief, nestled his face down into Harry's hair, feeling as though he was finally back on solid ground, safe in his soul mate's arms.

The End
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