"Stand down, cancel red alert." Almost before the Captain could finish her order, normal status returned to the bridge. No more red lights, no more grating klaxon. Kathryn Janeway took a look around, slowly examining each of the remaining bridge crew after the simulated drill. Commander Chakotay and Chief Engineer Torres had immediately rushed for Engineering, instigating a warp core breach in response to the fake attack. That left Tom Paris, sitting at the conn station in front, slowly rotated his shoulders, trying to loosen the kinks that had developed. It was interesting to watch the muscles tense and release under his uniform. She had seen bits and pieces of his bare flesh since she had first met him a few months ago, the rest hidden away. Her mental picture of the whole was enough her juices flowing. Only long years of habit kept the Captain from licking her lips at the sight, and the thought. She may be the highest ranking officer in the quadrant, but she still had...needs.
Turning to her left, next to the Conference Room door, was the Ops station. Ensign Kim, fresh from the Academy, was already frowning down at his console, upset at his performance. Not only had Harry been thrust into a top position on the ship, still green behind the ears, but the forced separation from family and friends was tearing him apart. Each day he became more critical of himself, working constantly, trying to lose himself in his work. Janeway didn't know quite what to do, except let him have the time to adjust. And give him as much praise as possible.
To her right, in contrast, was a man she knew very well. Unemotional, experienced, Tuvok of Vulcan balanced the ensign across the bridge. He had family as well, but his discipline would not let it interfere with his duties. He noticed her observation of him, raising a brow as he finished his report on the drills. Three men surrounded her, each very different from the others. All these choices, laid out like a Sunday buffet, and her position denied her any of them.
Lieutenant Paris walked by, his replacement already sitting at the conn. "Good work, Tom," she commented, adding a smile she hoped would raise his temperature by ten degrees. Harmless flirt was all she had left. He preened from the praise, flashing a grin as he thanked her. It was at this point she always wanted him to start ripping off his clothes; instead, he hurried on to Ops. As usual.
"Harry," Tom began, knowing Janeway was probably admiring his ass. Ensign Kim didn't look up, still engrossed in his calculations. "We're going to be late...." Tom finally had to stick his hand over the console to get Harry's attention. The Asian looked up, pissed off.
"Look, Paris," Harry's said, upset. "I can't get up and leave just yet." His hands resumed their work as he divided his attention between the console and Tom. Paris stood and watched Harry's nimble fingers flutter over the clear tripolymer panel. The observation bothered the ensign, but he didn't know why. "Please, I'm very busy. Go away."
Tom sighed. "Come on, Harry. It's not like we're gonna be going anywhere. Do you know how hard it is to get time on the Holodeck nowadays?" Even as he said it, he knew he couldn't win this fight. "I'll meet you for a drink in, say, a couple of hours?" A muttered agreement and a wave of the ensign's hand ended the conversation. Exasperated, Tom looked around, watching the Captain retreat to her ready room. God, he was horny enough to even hit on her.
It wasn't just that every Starfleet person on board despised him, Tom thought, and every Maquis member detested him. No, the two new people from the Delta Quadrant were firmly devoted to each other (ugly as one of them was) and the holographic doctor wasn't programmed for that type of medical exercise. That left the Vulcan, who only had sex once every seven years, and Harry, who probably never had sex at all. God, what a choice.
With a snort, Tom left the bridge, wondering how long it would take to program a Roman orgy for the Holodeck. The lieutenant didn't mind if it was only light and magnetic fields as long as it was hot and wet. The Doctor showed him how real a hologram could seem. Unconsciously, Tom felt his cheek where that obnoxious program had slapped him. That's what they all were doing, slapping him around. Verbally, physically, even emotionally. Kes looking so bright eyed at him, then dumping him for that fish-faced junk collector. The Delaney sisters insisted on commitments he wasn't ready to give. He was the brainless stud, surrounded by rocket scientists. Angry now, he stormed off to the Holodeck, punching in his latest program when he arrived. With a clang, the metallic doors shut behind him.
It was two hours later when Tom entered the dining room. He had gotten nowhere with his latest program, frustrated and unable to think clearly. He could never settle on any faces for the slave girls. Or the boys, for that matter. They kept coming back to one. An innocent Asian face, young and angelic. But he never would risk it. He had learned the hard way about using someone else in a Holodeck program, someone with a good chance of just walking in. It had been worth it at the time, but now? His mind kept wandering, and with it, his hand. It seemed like his holodeck allotment for the week was over in an instant, leaving him unfulfilled and bothered as Hell, like always.
A quick look around told him Ensign Kim had not arrived. He saddled up to the bar, the sight of Neelix's face almost making him lose his cool. "Well, well," the orange alien spouted. "It's about time the young lieutenant showed up for a complimentary drink." Neelix nudged Tom's arm with his elbow. "Everyone's talking about how your little maneuver saved us from the Varleons the other day. Even though I was under the bar at the time...." The alien drifted on, the words echoing unnoticed in Tom's head. "So what suits your fancy?"
Lost in thought, the young pilot ran a hand through his red hair, only marginally paying attention. A small fraction of his brain registered the question, another part supplying the literal answer to his mouth. "Harry Kim." He didn't notice the confused look flash across Neelix's face, barely watched the alien suddenly busy behind the bar. Tom's visions of the ensign ground to a halt at the same time Neelix set a blue, bubbling concoction in front of him. "What's that?" Tom asked, pointing at the drink and frowning.
"A Hari Kim," Neelix replied. Seeing the lieutenant didn't understand, he launched on. "Personally, I always liked a Smooth Barella. My Smokin' Joe ain't half bad. I'll even fake a Hari Krishna if you're desperate. But this," he said, pointing at the glass, the umbrella slowly dissolving in the frothing mixture. "This is different. Definitely different. Enjoy." Luckily, some other person walked up, sparing the distraught lieutenant from more of the alien's running commentary. Seeing nothing else to do, Tom reached for the drink, carefully sipping the liquid. He suddenly coughed, the nitrogen-based concoction sliding down his throat, leaving a trail of scorched esophagus that felt like it was flaking off as he breathed. He quickly found an empty table before his legs collapsed. He stared at the drink, the sensation in his mouth changing from discomfort to faint enjoyment. It wasn't long before he took another swallow, and then another.
Sometime later a body came close. "Sorry I'm late,'' Ensign Kim said, sitting in the chair next to Paris. "I was helping Tuvok." His voice trailed off as Neelix set still another bubbling drink in front V of the lieutenant, four empty glasses already crowding the table. He stared in shock, wondering what the hell it was. Tom finally turned and looked at him, the lieutenant's face lighting up as he broke out in drunken laughter.
"I didn't order a double," Paris spouted out, giggling hysterically as he pointed to Harry. The ensign just shook his head, wondering when Neelix would learn to serve synthehol. With effort, he managed to pull the older man to a standing position, carefully guiding him to the door.
The two bridge officers stumbled down the corridor, Ensign Kim almost carrying the intoxicated Paris. They finally arrived at Paris' quarters, halfway through the fifty-eighth bottle on the wall. The computer, sensing the approach of the cabin's occupant, efficiently opened the door as they approached. "Lights," Kim said into the darkness, the computer responding by increasing the illumination level.
Tom groaned, shielding his eyes. "Lower!" he yelled at the computer, still clutching Kim with his other hand. The ensign struggled to move them to the bed, but the lieutenant wasn't cooperating. "Come on, Harry. The night's young," Paris exclaimed, grabbing the younger man by his shoulders. "My, you're sooo tense." With drunken ease, the older man pushed Harry against a bare wall, checking out the muscles in the ensign's chest and arms. He liked what he felt. "Let me make you feel better."
Kim protested, trying to move away, unable to breathe the alcoholic stench coming from his friend's mouth. "Not now. I've...got to go." He halfheartedly struggled, not taking Tom's actions any more seriously than a game. He swung to the right, then left, each time the taller lieutenant able to force him back to the wall. "Paris! Stop it!" Desperation tinged the Asian's voice.
"I don't want you to leave just yet," Tom drunkenly whispered in Harry's ear. The two began wrestling in earnest, the heavier lieutenant easily keeping the young ensign from getting close to the door. Harry squirmed, finally able to wiggle away because the uniforms weren't suited for this kind of activity. With a growl, Tom grabbed Harry's collar, ripping the yellow and black singlet. Using strength the rational part of his brain regretted, he flung Ensign Kim on the bed, jumping on top of him immediately. "You got something I want, Mister," Paris growled, obviously enjoying the struggle beneath him.
Using the last of his might, Harry flung the lieutenant off, sending him sprawling to the floor. The ensign crawled off the end of the bed, starting to run for the entrance. He had gotten far enough to trip the sensor, sending a bright stab of light into the cabin as the door opened, when two arms closed around his neck from behind. Tom got the struggling youth in an Andorian Death Lock, a favorite move from his wrestling days at the Academy. He wrenched Harry's body backwards, letting the door close, feeling the weakening struggles of his captive, watching with amusement as the ensign vainly reached toward the door. Tom Paris found himself lost in a drunken haze he didn't understand. He only understood one thing. Harry was helpless, just like he wanted.
"Computer. Replicate four lengths of bonded cordite rope, each a yard long," he told the air, feeling the last movement from the delicious body in his grasp. With effort, he flung Harry on the bed, breathing heavily as he gazed at the unconscious youth's back.
*Working.* the computer replied, as Paris slowly began removing his uniform. The replicator whirred as he bent over and ripped off the tattered remains of Kim's clothes, flinging them to the floor. He walked over to the wall, reaching for the coils of rope, all inhibitions dulled. He turned around, the sight of the nude, innocent youth lying on his bed taking his breath away. And it was all his. The bare, smooth skin, almost glowing in the low light, made him hard. He needed this.
It was the blinding flash of pain that awoke Ensign Harry Kim. For a moment he didn't know where he was, what he was doing. He only knew he was being torn apart from inside. The young man tried to draw up into a fetal position, anything to ease the pain in his gut, but his arms and legs wouldn't move. Harry found himself suffocating in a pillow, unable to use his hands to free his face. Again the blinding pain, driving him deeper into the bed. He tried to scream, but his lungs held nothing to exhale.
"See, Harry. I told you it wouldn't be so bad. Just shut up and enjoy it." The soft tones rang behind him as he realized the voice was Tom's. His wrists and ankles hurt, his skin burning where rough cord rubbed it. He pulled again, failing to move either arm. It was an effort to turn his head to the side, freeing his nose, finally able to breathe in cool, clean air. The pain came again, his newfound oxygen released sharply as he screamed, no longer muffled by the pillow. "I told you to SHUT UP!" Tom yelled, pounding his fist between Kim's shoulder blades.
The pain eventually resolved in Harry's lower body, the unique experience of something like a Type 3 probe moving in and out of his ass. He felt Paris' head on his back, the hot, sweaty forehead driving into his naked spine as the lieutenant rested for a moment. Only a moment, then he resumed his tormenting movements in and out. He's fucking me in the ass, Harry thought, his fear and panic snapping his mind from his body. He felt adrift, that the pain and shock were somewhere else. He noted absently that Paris was picking up speed, flinging sweat and spittle all over the room. He heard the older man grunting like an animal, heard him whisper. "Almost, Harry. Almost...." Paris' breath, thick with the disgusting smell of liquor, blew in his face, making him gag.
Like a monster, Tom Paris got more violent with each thrust, exclaiming his passion. "Oh, yeah. Such a tight little hole." Three more thrusts, and the lieutenant froze, plunging his cock as deep as possible when he climaxed, pumping his load into Harry. Tom shook, every muscle of his nude form tensed, arched to the ceiling, mouth open in a silent 'O'. Then, like a puppet with his strings suddenly cut, he collapsed, sprawling over the bound ensign.
Harry felt the intrusion slowly abate, sensed the hot and sweaty body envelop him like a blanket. He heard Tom's shallow, quiet breaths in his ear. Slowly, methodically, he began working on the knot at his right wrist. Over and over in his head, he recited the specifications for the lateral sensor array, trying to stay calm. Time passed, unnoticed by the Asian. When one knot was finally freed, he slowly, painfully turned so he could untie his left wrist. More time passed. His arms unbound, he contorted into a sitting position, barely noticing Tom rolling off him, lying passed out on the bed. It hurt to bend over and reach his ankles, but the pain was banished along with the shock, the terror, the horror he knew any person would be feeling. Soon he was totally free, able to carefully stand, holding on to the bed for support.
It wasn't enough. His body lacked the energy to stand erect, rebelling at last. He fell to the floor, slumping like a rag doll. It took effort to reach forward with one hand, trying not to look at the rope burns around his wrist. Pulling himself forward on hands and knees, dragging his body across the carpet. It took forever to reach the door, the 'whoosh' sounding too loud in the deathly quiet room. With each shuffle of his knees, he recited the formula for deuterium like a mantra, glad no one was around this time of night. He crawled down the corridor, finally reaching his own cabin, almost losing control when the doors didn't open. Weakly, he tried to climb, straining to reach the wall panel. Tears began forming as his fingers barely brushed it. The doors opened, relief coursing through him, his body feebly falling into the room. He drug himself far enough inside for the door to close, letting all the emotions he felt finally bubble to the surface.
B'Elanna Torres absently hummed to herself as she zipped the front of her workout leotard. She caught herself smiling in the reflection, her Klingon half frowning, realizing she was actually *pleased* to be meeting Ensign Kim for a game of racquetball and breakfast. How...different. Out here, the life and death struggles were against the unknown, not each other.
She was still humming as she walked down the corridor, stopping before the door that read 'Kim, Harry'. She buzzed, taking a moment to look up and dow Ën the hall, scowling once when she saw a fellow Maquis glancing at her. Receiving no answer, she buzzed again, wondering if it took Harry a while to wake up. She punched up the time on the wall panel, surprised that she was ten minutes late. Was he waiting for her at her cabin? She noticed the door was unlocked, and curious, she keyed it open.
A black gloom awaited her, the corridor light spilling onto a bed that hadn't been slept in. She took a step inside, ready to call for lights, when she heard a soft sound, barely audible to her Klingon hearing. Whimpering, in the corner, the farthest from the door. Cautiously, she stepped into the bedroom area, moving toward the sound. She reached back, keying the lights on low, gasping in shock at what she saw.
Harry Kim, naked, sat curled up in the corner with his knees pressed to his chest, his head buried in his arms, sobbing. The only marks she could see were around his wrists and ankles, angry bruise marks. She moved forward, gently reaching out a hand, whispering, "Starfleet." The ensign flinched, clutching his knees tighter, trying to form a smaller ball. He slowly raised his head, one bloodshot eye peeking through his unruly mane of black hair, his sobbing growing louder. "It's all right, Harry," she said, trying to soothe him with her voice. He let her approach, slightly cringing as her hand made contact with his flesh. It was hot. "Let me get you to Sickbay."
"NO!" He raised his head fully, eyes wide in fear, his body trembling. She pulled back, still keeping contact with her hand. "I...I...." The young ensign struggled for words, pain and shame fighting for his face. "I don't want anyone...to know." It took awhile to move him to the bathroom, consoling him all the way. The hot shower seemed to finally reduce his agitation. She kept questioning him gently, trying to get answers, but all he said was "everything will be fine."
Two hours later, she followed him out the cabin door, watching as he ambled calmly to the turbolift down the corridor. As if nothing had happened. She saw him to the Bridge, watching from the elevator as he slowly walked to Ops, only a few minutes late. Chakotay turned around, a look of surprise when he spotted her, the doors shutting before anything could be said. Letting out the breath she held, she felt the car descend to Engineering, dying to know what had exactly happened to her friend.
Tuvok noticed Ensign Kim's late arrival, as did Chakotay. Neither commented about it, nor the deliberate way he walked to his station. The burly Maquis he was relieving turned over a clean roster, with nothing pending in the next few minutes. Grateful, Harry tried to smile, stuttering a polite word of thanks as the other man left. All Kim wanted to do was collapse in the chair, hiding away behind the console until his shift was over.
Sitting, though, was a bad idea. Pain shot up from his pummeled ass, making him wince at the contact. Carefully, he glanced over the Ops station, relieved to see the delta shift still at the conn. "One down, one to go," he heard the Indian Commander say quietly to the Captain, who had just emerged from the turbolift. Those were two of the people he didn't want to make eye contact with at the moment. He heard the chirp of a comm badge, followed closely by the First Officer's voice. "Chakotay to Paris." Silence. Blessed silence. Harry thought he would throw up the meager breakfast Torres had forced him to eat if he heard Tom's voice. "Computer," the second-in-command continued, "locate Mister Paris."
*Lieutenant Paris is currently in his quarters.*
Hushed words were exchanged by the two officers at the command chairs. Chakotay breezed by Ops, not sparing the youngster a glance. "Mr. Kim," the Captain suddenly intoned, the ensign painfully rising to his feet, "I want a level 4 diagnostic run after yesterday's drill." Thankfully, her back was to him as she walked to her ready room. "Mr. Tuvok, you have the Bridge." She stopped at the door, turning to face the Vulcan, Harry holding his breath. But she didn't look over. "Contact me as soon as Mr. Paris reports for duty," was all she said, disappearing from the Bridge as the ready room door shut.
The part of Harry's mind working at the moment stared at the diagnostic readouts, information already piling up on his display within seconds. Apparently, his fingers had started the programs on their own. Usually, he was competent enough to scan and organize the data as it arrived, but other concerns stole his attention. He realized he was minutes into the program when he remembered to look down again, pages of information already lost. "Damn," he cursed, loudly enough to be picked up by the Vulcan's acute hearing. His communicator chirped, jolting him, a glance across the way showing Tuvok's hand lowering from his chest.
*Is there a problem, Mr. Kim?*
Tuvok's voice rang out, localized for his hearing only. Usually, the Vulcan imparted protocol information and suggestions this way, trying to help the newcomer function competently at his job. Usually, the unwanted comments angered Kim, but today he felt nothing. Empty. "No," he quietly answered, sotto voice. "No problem."
*You do not look well. I have contacted a replacement for Ops. They should arrive shortly. I have also alerted Sickbay to...*
"NO!" Kim shouted aloud, the word echoing around the large room, drawing everyone's attention to him. His face flushed, certain even the Captain had heard his outburst. He looked down, embarrassed, immersing himself in the meaningless information spilling across his screen, trying to function normally when he felt so abnormal.
*That was not a request, Ensign. That was an order. You are to report to Sickbay in exactly twenty minutes, or I will have Security escort you. Is that understood?*
He replacement arrived, looking sleepy. Harry fled down the corridor without saying a word, knowing he was lost, and that everyone on board would soon learn of his shame. He unconsciously tugged at his uniform cuffs, hiding the bruises on his wrists as he ran down the hall, only letting himself cry in the privacy of the turbolift as it carried him deeper into the ship.
Tom Paris, captured Maquis, stood in prison gray on the landing pad. The air was clear, the scenery of New Zealand more beautiful than anything he had seen on any number of planets. The only things marring the pretty picture were the shackles on his wrists, and the two beefy guards hustling him toward the gate. He felt like a magnet, drawing everyone's gaze to him, their eyes piercing, evaluating. It wasn't long before he found his bunk, the guards and shackles gone. Quicker still, the first convict made his move.
Tom had fought many times, even wrestled on the Academy team. His stamina was impressive, and his lithe form belied his strength. Still, there were hundreds of people here, eager to welcome the fresh meat. By the time he had knocked the fifth prisoner unconscious, he was tired enough for the sixth to batter him down to the floor. Several more jumped in, seeing him at a disadvantage, forcibly tearing his gray jumpsuit off his body.
They had not been gentle or kind, especially to an ex-Starfleet, ex-Maquis traitor. Some hated him for his youth. A few just hated him because his father was an Admiral. Everyone at the rehab settlement wanted a piece of him, and over the next five days, they got as many pieces as they desired. But when the next bus of detainees arrived, interest in the pretty boy waned. He eventually won a fight for a pair of pants, and took down enough thugs to pressure everyone to keep their distance. Within two weeks, he had clothes back, and enough respect to be left alone. Eventually, he worked his way to the top, able to sleep at night without fear. Only the nightmares from his first few days still bothered him.
He dreamed like this often, sometimes plotting his revenge on the people who had made his life hell. The Starfleet assholes who spat on him when he was thrown out on his butt. The smug Maquis, who treated him like an enemy, though many of them had suffered his same fate. And all the others at the New Zealand Reform Settlement. He planned his revenge on every one of them, letting the rage in his belly keep him company. But he had never done anything about it. Till now, his dream image informed him.
It was almost a repeat of his first day at the prison, only this time Harry was the newcomer. Tom watched from outside the window, as they dragged the ensign to the bed, tying his nude form to the four corners. The Asian struggled, to no avail. The lead convict mounted him from behind, a redhead, Tom noted. Harry's attacker turned to the window, smiling Paris' own grin at him. Get enough, boy?, the dream image asked.
It came to him, as he lay on his bed, the ropes still tied to the four corners, that he had fulfilled his revenge in real life. He had taken his anger and frustration out on his only friend on the ship. His only friend anywhere. He woke up in shock, noticing he was naked and sweaty, lying in his bed. He didn't remember walking to his cabin, only bits and pieces of Harry below him as he....
Swiftly, ignoring the stabs of pain in his brain, he shuffled off the bed, stepping in a pile of uniforms. Both yellow and maroon. He quickly wrapped the sheet around himself, clutching it with one hand, running barefoot to the door. It whooshed open at his approach, the hurrying lieutenant running straight into Commander Chakotay, standing right outside the door, the First Officer's hand reaching for the wall panel.
Tom collided with him, the force knocking him back a step. The Native American's eyes rose, taking in the sight before him. Paris groped the sheet around him tighter, moving a hand to push the larger man out of his way. Chakotay sniffed the air, taking in the smell of liquor, and sex, and a funky smell he almost didn't identify until he saw the ropes on the bed. Fear.
With a look of disgust, he glowered at Tom, knocking the lieutenant's hand away. With a growl, he pushed against Paris' bare chest, sending him sprawling back, landing on his rump in the middle of his cabin, naked flesh peeking out randomly from under the sheet. "Sleep it off, Mr. Paris," Chakotay ordered, his voice low and threatening. "And if you do anything like this again, I'll take a much more personal interest." The door shut as the Indian stepped back, leaving Paris alone in a nightmare full of blood, sweat, and fear.
"I was too afraid to ask," Chakotay was saying, leaning on the Captain's desk in her ready room. Janeway sat in her chair, hands clasped. Usually, she would offer a seat at the upper level, on one of the sofas or chair. Lately, she had been keeping as much distance between the two of them as possible. The Commander inwardly smiled when he had realized she was pushing him away. This lover she had left behind, whoever he was, would soon fade to a distant memory. Unless they somehow got home quickly, a prospect he wasn't looking forward to, her resolve would eventually crumble. Like most of the other crew members, once they accepted their fate, she'd be open to...different possibilities.
Pushing his desires aside for the moment, he concentrated on her face. "Do you think this might permanently affect his performance?" she asked in her husky voice, eventually making eye contact. She dropped it a little too low, trying to be more commanding and not sexy. Like she could ever be anything else. Picturing her with her hair down, Chakotay grinned, only noticing too late the Captain thought it was about Paris.
"I think he might need some time to adjust to the responsibility you've given him," Chakotay diplomatically answered. His face was impassive, but he must have let a little disgust show in his eyes. Janeway frowned, trying to decide what to say next. "Despite all the circumstances Mr. Paris has been through, he's still a very young man," he hurriedly added. "Under all that bravado, he's not experienced enough to handle the sudden changes we've all recently had. And he tends to focus it in very different ways."
Captain Janeway look thoughtful. "You still don't trust him very much," she said. Chakotay snorted, trying to think of a nice way to put his feeling about the lieutenant.
"He has yet to earn any trust in my eyes." Janeway opened her mouth to comment, but Chakotay raised his hand, stopping her. "Yes, he saved my life, at great risk to his own. My life may be his. But my trust is not given easily, or quickly. And my respect..." Janeway nodded slowly. The Commander straightened up, taking a moment in case she might have anything to add, then strolled out of the ready room. He noticed it was past lunch, and he was starving. Maybe there was a way to find out more about what was going on. He tapped his comm badge, opening a channel. "Chakotay to Torres, feel like braving Neelix's cooking?" It took a moment before she replied.
*Thank you, Commander, but...* Whispered talking drifted over the air. *I would be delighted. Thirty minutes?*
"Wonderful. Chakotay out," he said, closing the channel. He took one glance over the Bridge, noticing Paris sitting uncomfortably at the conn. With a nod to Tuvok, he entered the turbolift, giving a command for Deck Three. The uncomfortab ?le memory of the last time he left Mr. Paris piloting a ship floated through his mind. Not a pleasant thought. Especially before lunch.
It was twenty-five minutes before Torres came rushing up to Chakotay's table, the commander standing as she approached. She was breathing heavily, as if she ran here from wherever she had been. As they sat down, Neelix mysteriously appeared, setting two plates in front of them. Before they could even ask what the stuff was, the alien was gone, hustling to serve somebody else. "No matter what," Chakotay said, laughing, "he'll make sure you've got food in front of you."
B'Elanna chuckled also, spooning a little of the gray goo and lifting it up, examining it more closely. "That's the problem." She tentatively ate a bite, waiting for something spicy or exceedingly bland. Once it had even bitten back. That has been a day, everyone watching the half Klingon fling her bowl across the room. "So, Mr. Nosy, what can I do for you?"
Chakotay looked shocked, clutching his chest with his hand. "Me? Can't I just have lunch with one of my crew?" Deciding the salad was the safest, he forked the leaves, surprised at how tasty they turned out after a mouthful.
"The last time you tried that," she replied after swallowing, reaching for the glass of water, "you ended up introducing me to my spirit guide." She glanced coyly over the rim. "You just want to know what's going on." When the Native American nodded, no hint of humor on his face, she sighed. Setting the glass down, she moved her plate to the side, leaning forward over the table. "All I can tell you is that Harry is having a few...difficulties."
Chakotay leaned forward as well, elbows on the table. "Is it serious?" he asked, concerned at Torres' hesitation. "I mean, will this jeopardized the ship?" he added, trying to clarify his concerns. To that, B'Elanna s ühook her head immediately.
"No. But I think the Bridge might be a tense place until he can work things out," she explained. Chakotay wiped his mouth with his napkin, feeling a need for a drink as well. "It might not hurt to get him a calmer duty for a bit, maybe using training as an excuse." At that, the commander looked thoughtful. The Chief Engineer took another look at her food, deciding she wasn't all that hungry. She grabbed the plate, standing. "That's really all I can tell you, Commander." She turned away heading toward the replicators before turning back. "And next time you want to pump me for information about my friends, I want Chinese. Real Chinese!"
Chakotay smiled as she left, his concerns still worrying him. Nothing Torres had hinted at eased his mind. Ensign Kim was an untried, inexperienced ensign, not up to the quality of a bridge officer. The Commander was surprised Janew ‹ay had requested him for the Ops position, and the only reason he was still there was no Maquis even came close to the Asian's level of competence. Not that he wasn't pleasing to look at, all young and unsophisticated. The First Officer wondered if the rest of him was as innocent. And then there was Mr. Paris. Chakotay wanted to wrap his hands around the redhead's neck and wipe that sarcastic grin off his face. If that smart-mouthed asshole ever cared about something besides himself.... At the mental picture of Paris' bloody, pummeled body, he involuntarily smiled. Shit, he thought. It was definitely time to talk to his animal guide.
Time has no meaning in the dark, Harry decided. He had no idea when it was. Hours, even days may have passed. God, if he could just forget. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he clasped and unclasped his hands, no knowing what to do. Tuvok had forbidden him to return to the bridge, only informing the Captain that the ensign was ill. The Doctor examined him, gave him some ointment, and insisted he rest. But sleep was the last thing the Asian wanted to do. Every time he closed his eyes, Tom's smiling, laughing face appeared. "Come on, Harry. It'll be fun," he heard, over and over.
He was still in shock, unable to comprehend his friends' actions. "Friend? Hell!" The spoken words sounded strange to his ears. Nothing had been said since he had convinced B'Elanna to go eat with the Commander. He kept remembering the first moment he had met Tom, back at DS9. Paris had seemed so calm, so controlled when he had saved Harry from the Ferengi. Even Commander Cavit's words had not changed his mind. Every one can make mistakes, he had thought, even ones as horrible as Tom's were. But this? Did the two officers hold back any information, trying to spare the new kid? Had they known? Did the Captain know? Questions kept roaming the Asian's mind, not wanting to fade away.
"Lights!" Harry exhaled sharply, standing. Gritting his teeth, he slowly walked to the table and the computer interface. The medicine the Doctor had given him reduced the pain, but movement still hurt. Gently, he sat in the chair, wincing as abraded skin came in contact with his robe. Nervous, he glanced behind at the door, remembering Tom's habit of breaking the lock and just strolling in. He started shaking, realizing how many times Paris had entered his room while Harry slept. The mental pictures that formed made him cry out, his composure faltering as he lost control. "Oh, Tom!"
Lieutenant Paris sat at the conn, every muscle tense. They all have to know by now, he thought, feeling everyone's eyes on his back. Harry told them what I did. He carefully reached over, gently correcting the starship's course around an asteroid field. The panel beeped, scaring him, his heart fluttering. But it was only a navigational warning, a hazard he had already noted. Not the dreaded call from the Captain.
He dared not turn around, to see everyone's hateful, angry eyes looking at him. As soon as Janeway came out of her ready room, as soon as Chakotay came back, they'd have Security remove him from the bridge. In disgrace, a voice added. He'd be thrown into the brig, the Captain sadly shaking her head. Saying why did she ever bring him along. Chakotay would be ecstatic, enjoying the torture, watching him squirm. Tom would stand there, watching each of the crew mortaring a brick in the wall, sealing him in the brig, entombing him alive, for seventy years.
They might take pity. Leave him alone on some uncharted, desolate asteroid, barely capable of sustaining any life. Or trade him to an alien species in exchange for a speedy way home, trapping him forever in the Delta Quadrant. The gloomy thoughts kept pouring in, —his hands trembling slightly as they moved across the console.
His stomach growled, the lack of food making him dizzy. Any other time, he would walk over to a replicator and get a snack, but not now. They'd stone him the minute he turned around. No amount of sorrow, no remorse, could ever outweigh what he had done. There existed no reprieve for him. They should have left him in New Zealand, let him rot in prison, should never have trusted him. Then everything would be all right. Harry would still be...innocent.
It took a moment for the computer to dig up the records of the court martial. During that time, Harry kept wavering about doing this. Do I really want to know? When the data appeared, Harry scanned through the details, the myriad of facts and innuendo boiled down to what Tom had told him long ago. Three people had died, because of him. The only visual record was the actual sentencing. Already this far, Harry saw no reason to stop.
Tom Paris stood in the middle of the courtroom, in chains and prison gray, his rank and uniform already stripped from him. He looked so young, so scared. Having never seen Admiral Paris, Harry guessed he was the old man, sitting alone to the side. The gavel thumped on wood, the court falling silent. Dishonorable resignation from Starfleet. Never to hold office, or rank. Harry watched as Tom's entire future, his entire life was stripped away. A man with nothing. Two guards marched him from the court, the young man making them stop as they passed his father. The Admiral never looked up, just turned and shuffled away, giving up on his son. Then he was forced from the room, the viewscreen fading to black.
The rest of Tom's file was from New Zealand, the 'posting' Dr. Fitzgerald had snidely mentioned. Medical reports, outmate reviews. A file of his capture and debriefing. Everyone had an opinion about Paris. Rebellious. A loner. One even called him 'unredeemable'. No matter the bright future, the sharpness, he was soon forced into the mold others had made for him. They seemed to take great delight in tormenting the Admiral's son. Every fight was his fault, every accident sabotage. He was scum, and they would have broken him in a few more years.
Harry quickly skimmed the rest of the file, the same words appearing over and over. He soon reached the end, glancing off into space, trying to fathom what the words were telling him. A tiny fraction of the ensign's attention, the part that always analyzed, always noticed, saw the file size was many times larger than the reports he had read. The mystery centered him, giving him something to concentrate on besides the memories.
His fingers deftly flew over the panel, trying to dissect the invisible information. All his attempts proved fruitless. The area was delicately linked to Tom's records, but inaccessible by normal means. The computer couldn't delete it, open it, or recognize it. And it had been downloaded with the other prison records. Harry shook his head, upset that he couldn't concentrate. What else could that man be hiding?
The waiting became unbearable. Just when Tom wanted to scream, wanted to swing around and fling his arms wide, ready to be crucified by everyone on board, Janeway entered the bridge. The lieutenant had gone as far as turning in his chair, when the doors whooshed open, and the Captain stepped into view. He couldn't help making eye contact, his commanding officer's gaze grabbing him, holding him until she had come within speaking distance.
"I don't know what's going on, and from what Commander Chakotay thinks, I probably don't want to," she told him, pitched low enough that the others on the bridge wouldn't hear. "But you show up late again, in that condition, and you won't know which way is up. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"
She didn't know, Paris thought. There still might be a chance. Slowly, he stood, trying not to shake. "Yes, mam'," he replied, knowing if he grinned, everything would fall apart. She nodded once, content with his chastised frown. His relief arrived, thankfully early, letting him exit on that note. By the time he reached the corridor leading off the bridge, he was running. Running to try and save what little he had gained.
Again, Harry looked across the room at the data cube on the shelf. He remembered, not that long ago, when his first Academy roommate had given it to him, before Jarek was booted out in second year. "It'll hack through anything, Kimmy. Romulan code, Cardassian fractals, anything. Just give it time." He tried to remember a face, anything to tie to the gift, but nothing appeared. Only Tom's sneering visage.
His private war ended, Harry deciding that not knowing would be worse. He cautiously brought the data cube over, installing it in the interface. It uploaded the invisible file, everything barely fitting inside the cube. Now all that remained was to wait. He sat there, staring at the small crystal square, wondering what secrets it held. Tom's secrets. He was startled when the door chimed, cringing in the seat. He said nothing, wishing whoever it was would go away. It chimed again.
"Harry, it's Tom. Paris." Like there was another one on board.
The words penetrated the bulkhead, sending Harry into a panic. Frightened, he looked around, trying to find a way to escape. But there was none. He was trapped in a tin can on the other side of the galaxy with his demon. A demon that would never go away. The Asian thought he was incapable of murder, until today. Hate was a very powerful companion.
Harry would kill Tom if he thought could do it. Strangle the life out of his rotten, scrawny neck. But the ensign wouldn't give his tormentor the satisfaction. It was a struggle to get dressed, Tom's voice breaking in again, pleading for the him to open the door. Harry would greet him dressed in the uniform Paris had repeatedly disgraced. Tom was everything they had warned him about, Harry suddenly realized. And nothing like he had hoped. For once, he was sorry he didn't listen. God, even the holoprograms had tried to tell him.
He took his time, making Tom wait. He checked his appearance in the mirror, closing his eyes when his reflection screamed 'NO!' He started for the door, realizing Tom's files were still displayed on the computer. With a flick of his finger, the interface was deactivated, the data cube sliding neatly into a hiding place in his boot. He calmly walked to the door, blocking the entrance as he keyed it open.
His face almost betrayed his shock at seeing the lieutenant. Paris looked horrible, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot. Harry bravely met his gaze, not flinching from the piercing blue eyes he had admired days ago. But Tom's eyes held something else, something sad. "What do you want?" he heard himself ask. Hate made him powerful.
Tom lowered his eyes, staring instead at Harry's chest. "I...I wanted to know," he stuttered, feeling none of the confidence he usually possessed. What can one say? How can you apologize? "Are you all right?"
"Like you care!" Harry's reply shocked even him, the anger and sarcasm dripping off. But that's the gift Tom had given him, the hate, the anger. Anger enough to do it to someone else. "You have no business here."
He won't even say my name, Tom thought. He stole another glance at Harry's face, the rage and hatred sparkling in the Asian's dark eyes. Eyes that once held warmth, and compassion. All gone, like everything else in Tom's life. "Harry..." Tom begged, no knowing what he was pleading for.
The ensign's jaws clenched, his voice dropping an octave. "You've taken everything from me, you bastard. You ripped it out of my soul and left only pain. And shame." Harry was shaking now, bracing himself in the doorway. "Go to Hell...."
It took only an instant for the sound to race down the corridor, following the brief moment when the ship faltered. Then the inertial dampeners failed, sending gravity plunging to the side. Tom was thrown against the opposite wall of the corridor, Harry's body ramming into him seconds later. The lieutenant groaned as the air was forced out of his lungs, the ship shuddering from an explosion. Red alert sounded, the noise deafening as gravity righted itself. Tom found himself holding Harry, the Asian's face pressed into his chest, clutching him in fright. God, if only this might someday be real.
*Senior officers to the Bridge.* Chakotay's voice rang out over the noise, ending the moment. The training both men had received took over, canceling their conflict. They raced to the turbolift, unconsciously helping each other in the bucking corridor. Tom stared at the ceiling as the car raced to the Bridge. Harry looked everywhere else, his anger displaced by the turmoil. For now.
The Bridge shook again as the Captain paced. "Torres, report," she ordered into the air. The half-Klingon's yell invaded the darkened Bridge.
*Our warp field's collapsed, Captain. We're reading fractures all along the matter/antimatter conduits. That's all I can....*
B'Elanna's voice cut off, replaced by the horrible sound of a blast over the comm lines. The whoosh as the turbolift doors opened drew the Captain's attention, her face composed as both Harry and Tom stepped out. The lieutenant didn't even bother with the stairs, instead hurdling the upper railing. In a blink he was at the conn, helping Chakotay at the controls. Harry ran across the back of the Bridge, smoothly taking over from the Maquis lieutenant at Ops.
She had just turned to the viewscreen, waiting a moment for Ensign Kim to gather his wits, when a loud explosion occurred behind her. She looked back in time to see Tuvok flying over the Tactical console, landing with a sickening crunch on the Bridge floor. Her hand flew to the communicator as she ran to him. "Bridge to Sickbay. Kes, Tuvok's been injured. I need someone to...."
*This is the Doctor, Captain. Kes is currently in Engineering with the emergency crew. Can you get him to Sickbay?*
Janeway softly cursed, realizing it was impossible for the hologram to get to the Bridge. "Thank you, Doctor, I'll try. Janeway out." She took a few seconds, deciding that the Security Chief probably suffered only a concussion. She hit her comm badge again. "Janeway to Transport Room 3. Medical emergency. Beam Mr. Tuvok directly to Sickbay." She hesitated until the whine and sparkles started, then rushed to join Lt. Rollins at the Tactical console. "What's happening," she asked to the Bridge at large.
Harry's baritone rang out over the noise. "Captain, I'm reading some sort of tractor beam attempting to penetrate the shields. I believe it caused the warp field breech." She glanced over at the young ensign, barely smiling at his concentration. If he lived a few more years, he'd make a fine officer. Out of habit, she looked down, checking his data on her own monitor. "Shields failing," he suddenly called out.
"Rotate shield harmonics," she ordered, her fingers accessing the programs to analyze the beam. The ship shook again, the dampeners weakened enough to let the effect through. She huffed as she was pressed against the console, the dreaded sound of another explosion echoing in the distance. The lateral sensors sluggishly came online, giving her their hazy information. "Try the lower E-band," she added, hoping that would counter the energy beam.
Chakotay answered her from the conn. "Rotation is having no effect." She glanced down, watching the two men struggle at the console. Tom Paris looked like he was man-handling the ship directly through the conn, while Chakotay hovered behind him, adding two more hands. "We're attempting to turn away from the beam, Captain." Chakotay barely got the sentence out when another explosion rocked the ship, almost flinging him to the floor.
*Warning. Hull breech, Deck Nine.*
Janeway alerted the repair crews, mentally noting they were already on the way. "Can you tell where the beam is coming from, Mr. Kim?" She analyzed information in the console display, telling her the beam had them tight. And that they were being pulled backwards at a rate of two hundred kilometers a second.
Harry double checked his figures, glad the Maquis was here, helping out at the other station behind him. Every time the ship pitched, their backs connected. It was a comforting feeling in this crisis. "Captain," he finally called out. "It's coming from a small planet, about point seven light years away." He heard her gasp, knowing what was going through her mind. Awfully damn far for a tractor beam. "I can't get an accurate fix. There's some sort of dampening field. It's affecting our sensors. I don't think there are any lifesigns."
Damn, Janeway thought. Such power. And it's slowly dragging us in. With no one to reason with. She tried again to open a channel to Engineering. "Torres. Can we go to warp?" No answer. And she didn't need Kim to tell her communications were still down. "Any luck?" she yelled down to the conn, glancing up when neither Paris nor Chakotay answered. Both men were fervent, their hands flying over the console. The rocking slowly lessened, then finally abated.
"Captain," Chakotay said, turning around. "We've stabilized." With a pat on Tom's shoulder, the Native American climbed to the main level, making his way to the aft Tactical station. He pitched his voice low, trying not to alarm the others. "But we're still caught in the tractor beam. And the ship wasn't designed for this kind of stress." Janeway nodded, coming to the same conclusions.
Rollins helpfully called up a status chart of the ship, highlighting the pressure areas. "I have a picture," Harry suddenly announced to the Bridge crew, activating the main viewscreen. Zooming in, a large rocky object filled the screen, metallic tentacles undulating out in all directions. "My God," Harry cursed, as if realizing what the sensor readings had been telling him. The numerous objects floating around the planetoid, which he had mistakenly though were asteroids, turned out to be the scattered remains of ships. Each bore damage indicating a disaster like the Voyager was experiencing.
"Scan the interior," Janeway snapped, jerking the ensign back to work. Harry worked for a few seconds, then slowly nodded his head negative. The Captain wrung her hands. "Damn. That means our transporters won't penetrate. That leaves...."
"A shuttle," Chakotay finished for her, glancing up. "Someone with scientific knowledge to shut that thing down." The two looked at each other, Chakotay understanding what the Captain was planning. The most expendable member. "I concur," he added. "Mr. Kim." They gazed over at Harry, watching as he hustled over.
The ensign gave them both his best smile. "I'll need to leave now," he said, knowing time was crucial. Janeway smiled back, giving him a reassuring clench on his arm. Chakotay just nodded. "And a crack pilot wouldn't hurt," Harry added, looking at the Native American.
"I'll go." Tom's voice echoed from the forward station, the others momentarily forgetting him as they worked at Tactical. They looked, noticing that he was sweating, never taking his eyes off the conn readouts. Chakotay quickly walked down, stopping a moment behind the lieutenant. Looking over Paris' shoulder, it was easy to tell he was manually firing each of the eight main thrusters, keeping the ship from shaking. Impulse engines fought the tractor beam, keeping them at a standstill, but Tom was compensating for each minor fluctuation as it happened. Quite an accomplishment, Chakotay thought.
The First Officer slowly slipped his right hand over Tom's, carefully replacing each digit on the firing controls. He reached over to the left, repeating the exchange. Painstakingly, the two swapped positions, Chakotay sliding into the seat as Paris stood up. The ship jiggled, but not enough to be worried about. Tom stopped, wanting to thank the commander, but Chakotay spat "go".
Tom hurried to Tactical, opening a channel as he walked. "Paris to Shuttlebay. Ready the Boswick." He stopped next to Harry, waiting. The Asian just nodded, almost to himself. Relieved, Tom followed him to the turbolift, both turning around in unison. Janeway watched them go, silently wishing them luck. Hoping they would return.
It was dark in the cavern as they materialized in. The only illumination was given off by their wrist lights. The instant the shuttle's transporter field released them, Harry had his tricorder open, scanning the area. "Can you get a fix?" Tom asked, aware that personal conversation would have to wait. He was strengthened by Harry's professional attitude. It was almost as if nothing had happened between them.
Ensign Kim motioned down a corridor. "That way," was all he said, taking off without looking to see if Tom followed. The rock hall twisted and turned, the stale smell of old air filling their nostrils. Only a few minutes later, they entered another cavern, this one boasting a wall of instruments, flashing lights glittering on the surface. "This is it." Harry began looking over the panels, trying to decipher the writing. It only took him a moment to give up. "This is impossible."
Tom looked at the panels, drawing his phaser. "Fuck it," he said, aiming at the wall. Harry turned, shock registering on his face. He made a leap for Tom, but couldn't stop the lieutenant from firing. An orange beam shot forth, bathing the instrument panels in a fiery glow. He cut a path of destruction from one to another, sparks exploding along the way. The lights darkened, the panels dead. Harry was nose to nose with Tom, the faint light on their wrists barely visible from the dust in the cavern.
Harry grabbed the phaser from Paris' hand. "What the Hell were you doing?" He was yelling, not sure if he meant now, or the night before. It felt like one and the same. His anger boiled up, fighting against his control. He grabbed the front of Tom's uniform, shoving the phaser into the lieutenant's face. He wanted to press the trigger, wanted to burn the imagined smile off.
"Harry, look out," Tom yelled, suddenly pivoting the Asian around. Shocked, Harry almost fired, the sound of an energy discharge nearby freezing his finger. Tom stiffened, a look of surprise crossing his face. His eyes glazed as he fell forward into Harry's arms, sending both of them to the ground. A whir of servos, and a hovering machine came into the faint light, a small nozzle zeroing in again on the pair. Hesitant, Harry aimed, sending an orange beam at their attacker. Sparks flew, the machine falling to the floor, secondary explosions destroying it completely.
Tom groaned as Harry carefully set him on the ground, searching around for his tricorder. The readings on the small screen were unpleasant. The lieutenant suddenly gasped, regaining consciousness, his breathing ragged. "Lie still," Harry said, reaching for his comm badge. A tap, and it chirped, opening a channel to the shuttle craft. "Computer. Activate emergency transporter. Two to beam over." The sparkles took them, leaving behind an expanding pool of warm, wet blood.
"Paris. You can't go to sleep." Harry spoke evenly to the motionless man lying on the floor. He had tried to move Paris as little as possible from their beam-in position, like the instructors at the Academy had taught him. Reaching for the emergency medical supplies, he found only an empty compartment. It hadn't been refilled. God damn it, Harry thought. The faint lifesigns on the tricorder got steadily weaker. "I have to pilot. You've got to stay awake." He moved quickly to the controls, not knowing if the injured lieutenant had heard him. It was easier going out than it had been coming in. No tractor beams hunted them, the tentacles dead in space. Once they were under way, he shifted in his seat, a sharp pain digging into his ankle. The data cube.
*Janeway to the Boswick. Report!*
Ensign Kim jumped, the sudden noise scaring him. His hand automatically reached for the console. "This is Kim. Paris is injured. Have Sickbay standing by. Our ETA is...ten minutes. Kim out!" He quickly closed the channel, unsure that he wouldn't say anything more. Again he felt the cube, the sharp pain a welcome distraction. His head was swimming, his thoughts chaotic. It felt like every time he turned around, it was another earth-shattering event. He was beginning to feel numb. In a daze, he reached down, groping for the cube. Closing his hand over the square item.
Harry couldn't help himself. His other hand danced over the controls, setting the shuttle on automatic. He watched as he inserted the cube into the interface, calling up the mysterious file. It started innocent enough, the standard Starfleet logo plastering the viewer. It was quickly replaced by a man, wearing the outfit of a penal settlement guard. "I wanted you to see this, Macron. Enjoy the little show. Is this payback enough?" The screen changed, showing the dark interior of a sleeping area, several beds crammed into the small space. A prison barrack.
It took him a moment to figure out who the nude man on the bed was, even longer to realize what the other people on top of him were doing, finally noticing the ropes. The sound was too loud, the noise of forced sex bringing a loud moan from behind. Tom. Harry quickly stopped the playback, not hesitating as he wiped the cube.
Tom was awake, or at least conscious. His face was full of pain as he tried to sit up. "Do...don't...Har..." he gasped, his efforts failing as he fell back. Harry rushed over, trying to help ease Tom back down. His hands felt wetness behind the lieutenant's back, a warm liquid coating his fingers. He gently lifted Tom to the side, almost crying out when he saw the pool of bright, reddish blood on the deck. Tom winced when Harry set him back down, the pain keeping the lieutenant from drifting off. "Please..." Tom huffed, still trying to speak.
Harry knew tears were forming in his eyes, felt the first spill wetly down his cheek. He didn't care. Too much had happened, and only one thing was on his mind. "How long?" He tried to ask as gently as he could, not wanting to cause Tom any more pain. "How long did they...." His voice faltered, not able to finish the thought. He felt he understood somewhat, possibly comprehending Tom's actions.
"Five...days," Tom gasp. He breathed in again, and stopped, not exhaling. His eyes widened, glazing over as his body trembled. Harry stared, willing the eyes to blink, trying not to panic. He reached up, fumbling to tap his communicator, but froze, staring at his blood-covered hand. Both the ensign's hands were red, coated in Tom's life. It felt like eternity before he reached his comm badge, forever before the welcome chirp of a connection. He knew he was fainting, felt himself drift to the side, gravity pulling him down. All he could do was look at his hands, his eyes bleary from the tears, knowing he was all alone on the other side of the galaxy.
"Oh God, he's dying," he heard himself say before he hit the floor, blackness rushing in to replace the red. He was screaming, unintelligibly, unable to hear the whine as a transporter beam enveloped him, tearing his atoms apart one by one.
"Harry, can you understand me?" B'Elanna's voice sounded concerned as she leaned over Ensign Kim, resting on a bed in Sickbay. His eyes tried to focus, his mouth moving but no sounds issued forth. The half-Klingon looked up, catching Kes' eye from across the room. The Ocampa quietly walked over, trying not to disturb the holographic Doctor immersed in surgery. "He's not responding," B'Elanna whispered.
Kes took a quick look back, seeing if the Doctor needed her during this part of the operation on Paris. She turned front again, patting Harry's shoulder. "The corozine will wear off in another ten minutes or so, and the peragol will keep him calm for the rest of the night. Give it time." She gave the engineer a brief smile, then returned to the Doctor's side. B'Elanna paced, finally deciding to take a walk until Harry awoke, brushing into the Captain as they passed each other in the hall outside.
Harry barely remembered transporting into Sickbay. Someone, the Doctor maybe, deadlifted him onto a bed. Then they left him alone to cry and babble, the faint hiss of a hypospray finally giving him much needed rest. He heard voices, tried to squeeze the hand that held his, wanting them to know how glad he was to be back. Safe on the Voyager. Another hand caressed his chest, soothing him. So much like his mother used to do. He could almost imagine he was home, resting in his bed, in his room. Sunlight streamed in from the window to his left. Outside, the faint call of birds welcomed him, letting him know his weary travels were over. As much as he loved adventure, and exploring, he always felt this was where he belonged.
He heard his mother's voice, far away, or at least something similar. "Harry? It's time to wake up, now." He opened his eyes, a smile on his face, not surprised to see Captain Janeway standing over him. "Kes," she said, not at all like his mother would, "he's coming around." The blond Ocampa momentarily appeared, smiling back at him, taking a brief glance at the readouts and nodding for Janeway to continue. "Mr. Kim, I need to know what happened over there."
Harry winced, noticing how sore he was. He tried to talk, but only rasped. Kes appeared with a glass of water, helping lift his head so he could drink. "We found a room with lighted panels," he finally said. "I tried to decipher them, but...." A sharp pain in his side made him wince, stopping his report. Janeway patted his shoulder, giving him time. "Tom drew a phaser, and destroyed them before I could stop him. There was a mechanism, hovering. It shot...." Tom. It had killed Tom. In a moment of panic, he tried to sit up, desperate to find the lieutenant, almost knocking the glass from Kes' hand.
The ensign rose to a sitting position before the wave of pain hit him. Dizzy, he reeled into the Captain, letting her prop him up. "He'll be fine, Ensign." Her voice reassured him, her strong hands cuddling him. "And so will you." He let the two women lower him backwards, welcoming the chance to relax his aching muscles.
He slept on and off, only waking when the Doctor came over to tell him Paris would make it. He dozed as the hologram and Kes discussed his readings, letting them poke and prod him for the Ocampa's studies. He figured it was late into delta shift when he could sit up without the overbearing pain.
Tom Paris slept on the table in the alcove, the lights in Sickbay dimmed to simulate night. Tuvok was in the next bed over, probably meditating. Harry quietly got out of bed, carefully walking over to Tom. The lieutenant seemed so different now, his face relaxed, almost peaceful. Not the monster who had attacked him, nor the concerned comrade who saved his life at the risk of his own. Which man was Tom? Could he be both? Monster and friend?
He couldn't deal with it any more. He had to get away. It was easy to leave, Kes gone for the night, and the Doctor inactive. Harry walked through the quiet ship, only the small third shift at work. Most of the others on board were sleeping. Pausing outside B'Elanna's door, he wondered if she was up. He didn't want to tell her any of what had happened, just wanted to not be alone. Instead of waking her, though, he recorded a message, telling her he was up and around, and would be sleeping late. "I'll call you when I get up," the message ended. Then a level down, and Harry was home. His cabin. His life for the next seventy years.
Tom groaned, knowing that when he opened his eyes, he'd be in Hell. That was the only place in the universe that hadn't kicked him out. Yet. He could even smell the fire and brimstone all around him. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant." The Doctor's sudden greeting made him jerk open his eyelids. Yes, it was the smiling face of the balding hologram looking down at him. He was definitely in Hell.
He sat up, surprised the Doctor didn't stop him. Then the pain hit and he lay back down. The hologram just smirked. "What happened?" Tom asked, knowing when he finished speaking he had set himself up. Royally.
The Doctor looked thoughtful, apparently running simulations on how he could answer. The projection rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtfully off into space. "Hmmm. Let's see. Someone stepped in the way of an energy discharge. The operation to save him was a success. He'll live. The maximum number of visitors during surgery was four, not counting Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Tuvok. A new record. And that someone was the subject of every conceivable diagnostic scan imaginable for Kes' studies. By the way, how long have you been prematurely ejaculating?"
Tom squeezed his eyes shut, positive Hell would be much nicer. "Computer," Tom tried, "end emergency holographic program." He looked up, getting a desperate sinking feeling when the Doctor just smiled at him. The Sickbay doors opened, and Kes walked in. Paris watched her stroll to the office, giving him a faint smile, the Doctor leaving Tom's side to join her. "Hey, Doc Hologram. Can I go?"
The Doctor turned back, the grin still plastered inhumanly to his face. "You may leave if you restrict yourself to quarters for another day, and don't engage in any strenuous activity." He turned into his office, pausing a moment to glance back. "That includes the Delaney sisters." That was all it took for Tom to get off the examination table, slowly ambling toward the door.
His quarters were still a mess. The pile of uniforms, the bed. The ropes. He changed into a loose shirt and pants, trying not to look anywhere but the closet, aware he would have to clean up. Untie the ropes. Touch Harry's mangled uniform. The sheets. The reality that had been set aside during the crisis was back. And he would have to live with the results, like always. He shook his head, realizing how quickly he had blown this chance in the Delta Quadrant.
By the time the room was neat and orderly, betraying no evidence of the drunken rape, Tom felt drained. He sat on the bed, trying to decide if he should rearrange the room, anything to get the visions of his attack on Harry out of his mind. Harry. Tom let the name roll over his tongue, sensing how easy it was to say.
Harry Kim was probably one of the few people in the universe that didn't make him feel like he had to compete, had to win. Most women, and a few men, were conquests to him. The rest were adversaries he had to beat. From the first laughable moment on DS9, Harry was someone Tom wanted to protect, needed to protect. Almost like a little brother. It felt good to share things with him, spend time just talking. Being together. And always worry about him. Tom felt he had to protect Harry from the big, bad universe. But he had failed. God, how he had failed.
It wouldn't go any farther than the two of them, unless Harry wanted to bring formal charges. Somehow, Tom couldn't imagine that. He could ask the Captain for another duty shift, so they wouldn't come in contact except for emergencies. He could move to another deck, across the ship. They wouldn't have to meet each other, remind each other. There wasn't any other choice.
He needed to talk to Harry, try to work out some understanding. Actually say how sorry he was. But he didn't want a scene. There had been too many of those in his life already. Someplace quiet. If he could ever get Harry to agree to be alone with him. He tapped his chest, realizing he hadn't put on his communicator. Rummaging around he found it, attaching it to his loose shirt. "Computer, located Harry Kim."
It wasn't like he was hungry, Harry thought. He sat at a table, playing with his food. Across the room, he watched Neelix and Kes preparing supper for alpha shift. The Ocampa was a marvel. Spending hours in Sickbay, learning medicine, then spending more hours helping Neelix. Always studying. In fact, she was stirring a pot with one hand, holding a padd in the other. She suddenly glanced up, smiling when she noticed his attention. Harry wondered if the stories about her being telepathic were true. She whispered something to the orange alien, nodding in the ensign's direction.
Neelix came over, examining his plate. "I see you're not very hungry at the moment." He stood with his hands behind his back, shuffling on his feet. The alien looked somewhat miffed, if his facial expressions were anything like humans. "The sauteed Vorgon not to your liking?"
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, pushing away the food. "I'm really not. I just wanted to spend some time here. Thank you for making it, though" The ensign had stayed in his cabin all of two minutes after waking up, putting on an airy jumpsuit, before the oppressiveness of his cabin drove him out. He wandered the halls, trying to decide if he should visit B'Elanna in Engineering. With alpha shift almost over, he decided he could wait. He ended up here, the alien making a plate especially for the latecomer.
Neelix, sniffed. "I guess I understand. Kes tells me you really should eat something. She thought this might do the trick." He brought a dish of chocolate cake from behind his back, setting it in front of the ensign. "Personally, I can't stand the stuff, but you humans seem very fond of it." With his other hand, the alien set down a fork.
Harry looked at it. "I...I've used up my replicator rations. Where did this come from?" He hadn't had chocolate cake since...since his going-away party almost two months ago. A party celebrating his graduation from Starfleet Academy, and his posting to the Voyager. His last visit home.
Neelix grabbed the untouched supper. "Sometimes, you have to bend the rules just a little. It got charged to the Captain. Enjoy." With an almost noble bow, the alien left, leaving Harry in peace. He slowly cut into the cake, marveling at how moist it looked. Slowly bringing it to his mouth, he closed his eyes, savoring each bite, each tantalizing taste. He absently smiled, swallowing the delicious morsel.
"Look's like you're enjoying yourself." The voice caught Harry unaware. He was later pleased with himself. He didn't scream, didn't throw up. Didn't stab out with the fork. He just opened his eyes, caught in the blue pupils of Tom Paris.
Harry broke the contact first, dropping his eyes. He focused on Tom's chest, starring at the patch of flesh where the shirt was open. "I didn't think you'd be up and about this soon." It was something the ensign hadn't thought about. Meeting Tom. It was inevitable, though. There were only a hundred people or so, on this tiny little ship. They'd have to meet sometime other than in a crisis. Like now.
Tom cleared his throat. "Right. Can you see me spending time in Sickbay, having smashing dialog with the Holodoc? He's the only medical person I know with colder hands than his hypospray." Harry knew Tom was keeping it light, agreeing completely. This was not the place to start a fight. The lieutenant shifted in his seat, his shirt opening more. Harry noticed Tom was sweating, little beads forming on the pale skin. "Can we go someplace and talk? Just talk?" Harry looked up in time to see Paris raise his hands in surrender.
As much as he wanted to run from the room, he knew they had to settle this. No one had ever been able to accuse a Kim of being a coward. "Sure. Someplace private." Tom nodded. "My cabin," Harry offered, surprised at his decision. He didn't want to take the time to analyze it, seeing Tom as surprised as he was. They left together, the chocolate cake unfinished.
The two just stood and stared at each other, alone in Harry's cabin. Neither knew how to start. Emotions ranged across both their faces, each trying to read the other. "You hurt me," the Asian said, watching the sadness flicker across Tom's features. It felt good to twist the knife, Harry horribly thought. "But I think I understand." How delicious it would be to gut Tom, but Harry had always prided himself on his openness and honesty.
"What can I say?" Tom looked down as he eventually responded. "I was drunk, I was stupid. I was angry. But none of that will make it right." The lieutenant shrugged helplessly. "I can only say how sorry I am, and hope maybe someday...." Tom couldn't finish the thought.
Harry stepped closer, within touching distance. "Do you hate me so much?" It had bothered him, trying to find a reason for Tom's actions, beyond the drunkenness. Jealousy? Anger at ruining Tom's plans with the Delaney sisters? There must have been a reason.
"Hate you?" Tom asked. He looked shocked at the suggestion, like it was inconceivable. "How can you think I hate you?" It was Harry's turn to look down, not knowing what to say in response. "Harry, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time." Tom placed his hand on the Asian's arm as gently as possible. His voice had dropped to a whisper. "After everything they told you, you still were my friend. I needed that, more than you'll even know."
It surprised Harry that he didn't flinch from the contact. Tom's hand felt warm through the jumpsuit, reassuring. "Then how...." Tears threatened, but Harry fought for control. He looked up, shocked to see that Tom was crying. "How could you?" The question was barely spoken, more emotion than words.
Tom painfully laughed, a small chuckle that sounded strange coming from him. "I'm really messed up, you know?" Another giggle, with just a touch of hysteria. "I wanted to hurt somebody, anybody. Make them feel the pain I've been feeling. Hurt them as much as I hurt. Give this awful pain to someone else. And then you were there. You were...." He felt embarrassed talking so openly, his face flushing in shame. God, he was even crying.
"What, Tom?" Harry blinked, realizing he had never called Paris by his first name, to his face. They were standing so close, the Asian could feel the heat from his friend's body. Yes, friend. Nothing could possibly change that, ever. He had made a decision, weighing all the odds. He had consciously made a commitment to this man, one he would not break for any reason. Especially when he was needed more than ever.
The lieutenant didn't know the words to express his feelings. He leaned forward slightly, carefully brushing Harry's lips with his own, waiting for any sign of resistance. The was none. He tried again, letting the contact linger. Still no resistance. He tenderly drew Harry closer with his other hand, enjoying the contact of their two bodies. The third time, Tom put as much emotion and passion in his kiss, overjoyed when Harry responded with passion of his own. They finally had to come up for air, Tom gasping for oxygen. "That's what," he said, taking a finger and drawing a line down Harry's face. "Tell me to stop, and I will. I don't want to hurt you ever again."
Harry mutely shook his head no, letting Tom run his fingers through the Asian's black hair. Their lips met again, Tom fumbling to unzip his friend's jumpsuit. It finally came undone, the loose cloth sliding down Harry's firm body. By this time, Tom had worked his lips over to Harry's neck, excited by the raspy breathing in his ear. He threw in a gentle bite, here and there on Harry's shoulder, rewarded by a little gasp for each. His hands roamed over the Asian's smooth skin, lightly teasing the bare flesh. Harry reciprocated, working at the fastenings of Tom's shirt, but the lieutenant stopped him, grabbing his hands. "No," he said, pausing for a quick kiss on the lips, "I owe you one. Just sit back and enjoy."
Tom placed his friend's arms at his side, gently running his hands up to Harry's shoulders. His mouth moved down, working along his throat, on to the wide expanse of the Asian's smooth chest. Tom explored with his lips, delighted at finding the hard nipples, eager to be licked and teased. Harry moaned, running his fingers through Tom's short hair, guiding the mouth from one tit to the other. Tom was so tempted to bite these delicious targets, but prudence won out. That could wait for another time.
Harry guided Tom's head down his stomach, then abdomen, the lieutenant playfully jabbing his tongue into his friend's belly button. The ensign drew back, until two hand Ös clasped his ass, bringing him back to Tom's hungry mouth. It seemed like forever, the mouth kissing, licking every inch down to his pubic hair. The mouth stopped, only hot breath blowing across his groin. He finally opened his eyes, dreamily gazing down at Tom.
It's the most perfect cock I've ever seen, Tom thought. He just stared at the marvel, jutting from the black hair. It was almost perfectly straight, blood vessels standing out its entire length. The glans flared out, a crowning achievement, moist from the clear liquid leaking out. A mouthful. And a handful. Tom stuck his tongue out, running it along the underside, reaching the head and lapping at the fluid. Harry shuddered, his hands digging painfully into Tom's hair. It amazingly looked to have grown another inch.
Tom carefully took the corona in his mouth, letting himself take time to adjust to the bulk. Gently, he took more in, finally stopping at his limit, shocked that there were several inches left. He kept his lips over his teeth, knowing that this particular torment could be saved for a later experience. Drawing back, he spent a moment teasing the head with his tongue, before starting the process over again.
Sometimes slow, sometimes hard and fast, Tom worked on Harry's cock. He could feel the Asian's ass muscles clench each time he went down on it. The shaft, coated in his saliva, burned like a volcano, hot and smoking. With measured patience, he increased the tempo, rewarded by a load moan from above. The encouragement spurred him on, tightening his lips, trying to take more and more down his throat.
It didn't take long, though it seemed like forever, before Harry added his own thrusts to Tom's. Hands dug harder into the lieutenant's scalp, driving his head deeper. He could feel Harry tremble, felt the Asian give one final thrust. Tom gagged, the cock stuffed down his throat, cutting off his air. Harry's hands forced Tom all the way down, his nose buried in the black hair. Burning liquid drizzled down his throat, gathering in his belly. But he still couldn't breathe. Harry was almost screaming above him, muscles straining from the tension.
Running out of air, Tom struggled. Harry's fingers wouldn't release his hair, the invader in his mouth choking him. He panicked, desperate to push Harry away. He fought to breathe, growing light headed. Sweat made Harry's body slick, Tom's hands unable to find a purchase.
The moaning dwindled to a groan, the intruder softening in Tom's mouth. His hands pushed against Harry's shaking body, the hands in his hair releasing. He shoved, feeling the cock slide out of his mouth, leaving a trail of salty cum on his tongue as it went. Panting, he watched as Harry fell back, collapsing on the floor of the cabin. The ensign didn't move, just lay there. Tom grew worried, crawling over. "Hey," he said, nudging the sweaty body. Harry didn't respond.
"I can't believe I fainted," Harry laughed, turning to slap at Tom's hands. The bathtub was full of water, holding the two men comfortably. Tom twisted the ensign around, resuming his back scrubbing. Harry wiggled, enjoying the feeling of the coarse sponge as it was run over his body. "Mmm, you've got the job."
Tom dunked the sponge in the soapy water, rinsing off the smooth back. The washing finished, he pulled Harry back by the shoulders, letting the ensign unwind against Tom's body. Harry relaxed, letting his head rest between Tom's shoulder and head. "Do you normally do that?" the lieutenant baited, running the sponge up the smooth chest.
Harry dreamily replied, all the tension gone from his body. "Never done it before in my life." He guided Tom's hands, wrapping both arms around him, relishing the contentment. Tom's chest hair gently scratched his back, and he could feel the warmth in the hands resting on his belly. "A hand job is as far as I've gone."
Tom stiffened, suppressing an urge to sit up. "You've never had a blow job before?" he asked incredulously. "You're a virgin?" The thought excited the lieutenant. He shifted, suddenly remembering that Harry could probably feel his growing cock.
Laughter erupted from the ensign, lazily drawing circles in the water. "Was a virgin, don't you mean? And yes, I was planning to save myself." He felt a very different type of joy coursing through his body, a pleasure only newly awakened. "You have heard of that ancient custom. Saving oneself for marriage?"
Tom joined in the laughter, happy that Harry wasn't angry at what they had done. "Isn't that a Chinese proverb, or something?" he joked, jerking as Harry tickled his side. "Stop that!" Harry didn't listen, but continued to tickle his side. That excited Tom even more. "If you don't stop, I may have to teach you another lesson."
The ensign immediately quit, turning over to face Tom. "No," he quietly said, not a hint of amusement or teasing showing on his face. Harry was serious. "We can't do it again." The Asian drew back, moving to the other side, resting his head on the far wall. Tom felt legs brushing against him, hoping the fragile truce hadn't been destroyed. "I made a promise, Tom. And with even the slightest hope of getting back, I have to honor that promise." Tom nodded, trying to understand. "It's the same kind," Harry explained, "that I made to you. To be your friend. Ironic, isn't it."
Tom moved as close to Harry as the tub allowed, curling his legs up. "We're still friends, though," he asked. Harry nodded. "And you'll help me with the Delaney sisters?" That brought laughter, and another nod. Harry drew closer himself, until their bodies were almost touching. "And you'll always be my friend?"
"Always," Harry replied, time having stopped. He looked straight into Tom's blue, blue eyes. The monster was gone, hopefully forever. The sarcastic lieutenant still flittered about deep inside, but the man looking back, full of emotion and promise, was the true Tom. The ensign wondered how many people knew of him.
"Harry, I...I...." The blue eyes falter, looking away. Some things were new, even to Paris.
Harry smiled. "I do, too," he whispered, aware that they were nose to nose. Tom leaned closer, pursing his lips. Harry stopped him with a finger on them, gently pushing back. "I can't."
Tom looked hurt, and a little sad. "Don't you want me," he asked, almost in a child's hesitant voice.
Harry smiled, like his mother did. A small smile of love and joy. "Too, too much," he answered, leaning back, letting the soapy water cover his body and head, ducking under the bubbles.
Tom slept fitfully, tossing and turning on his bed. He had no reason to fidget, everything working out with Harry, the Captain and Chakotay off his case for the moment. Still he jerked, not finding a comfortable position. He was alone, he realized. His body was expecting to share the bed with another person tonight, and it tried to adjust to being alone. Tom wanted Harry to be here so bad, he ached. Sleep was impossible.
There was a time, right before dawn, on Caldik Prime, when he woke up. He always enjoyed waking up with someone else, their bodies intertwined. The warmth that was shared between them. He would lay there dozing, feeling content, wanting the moment to last forever. The sharing. Sex wasn't a part of this moment, just love and understanding. It had been a long time, since resigning from Starfleet, since he was blessed with a moment like that. And his body expected one, now.
He tried counting shuttles, thought about replicating warm milk. He was deep into a quantum mechanics lecture when his door beeped. "Come in," he croaked, welcoming the intrusion. The hall light surrounded a figure, the contours Tom had traced with his hands just hours ago. Harry was wearing only loose, baggy pants, entering the cabin far enough for the door close.
Tom slid out of bed, stumbling across the room to where he heard soft breathing. He felt Harry's naked torso, pulling the ensign into a hug, feeling the tremors of the other's body. "I don't want to spend the night alone," Harry whispered. "But I can't stay in here. I can't."
"It's fine," Tom whispered back, carefully guiding Harry to the door. They made it down the corridor, into Harry's quarters, climbing into the bed. Harry nestled into Tom's arms, the lieutenant wrapping a leg over the ensign. This is what Tom needed, what he wanted. And for the first time in three years, Harry slept without the mask.
Story Notes:
Originally credited as "Stewart Smith"
Written pre- April 1995
Written pre- April 1995
The End.
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