Status: Zine Story from Aleph Null (1999)
Series/Sequel: no
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: P/T, P/K (NC-17)

Disclaimer: Paramount owns; I covet.

Summary: While incarcerated on the brig, Tom makes certain decisions and acts on them once his sentence is served, as does Harry. Spoilers for Star Trek Voyager Episode "Thirty Days."

Author's note:- I have taken artistic license with certain crew members' occupations, partly because Paramount won't identify their names and occupations for me. I have also used creativity in naming certain areas of Voyager and probably placed the brig in the wrong place. Reason for this: see above. British spelling used throughout.

Thanks to Anagi, Fortuita and Mischka for betaing and Noon for supplying the appropriate words. Any remaining mistakes are mine. All mine!

This story is dedicated to Noon who has kept me going long past the point when I would have given up.

Tom paced his cell. His lips twisted. Prison was prison; the scenery always left a lot to be desired. This was the first day of his incarceration; he'd been given thirty days to consider his crime, repent and think about the rest of his screwed up past. He picked up the datapad and tapped in a series of commands waiting for the results of his data search to scroll across the screen. When it did, he ground his teeth and flung the pad away. It bounced off his bunk and flipped onto the floor, face up. His reading was limited to flight manuals only.

It took three days, fourteen hours and twenty three minutes of dedicated reading before the demons surfaced. His demons wore familiar faces. They were not many but each was a well-known friend, beginning with the one he had known the longest, his father, Owen Paris and the one he loved the most, Harry Kim.

Standing in the furthest corner of the cell, away from the forcefield, the recently demoted pilot looked at the words on the datapad, 'Dear Admiral Paris.' He closed that screen, only to have another set of words materialise on the screen behind. 'Dear Harry....'

Sighing with disgust he leaned against the wall on the far side of his bunk. Though five years distant, Tom had found it too easy to fall back onto some of his old prison habits he had acquired at NZPS, when the only privacy from other prying eyes would be when he stood flat against the wall in one corner of his windowless cell. Learning from antiquated prison systems of the twenty first century, NZPS had large, well-lit communal bathrooms which were continually patrolled by armed guards.. Sliding down on to his haunches he was partially hidden by the crewman assigned to guard duty. This position was the only bit of privacy he had, unless he stayed in the bathroom. But the bathroom was a tiny four-cornered affair that made him feel claustrophobic.

He rested his head on upraised knees. At least this imprisonment wasn't bringing back stark memories of the Akiiterian prison. No…nightmares. Harry had helped with most of those. Closing his eyes he skimmed over their dark time there; the clamp had caused so much pain and anger between them…. He had been wounded. Through a kaleidoscope of nightmare images he remembered pulling apart some pretty wiring, unaware it was important to Harry.

Harry had struck him. It had hurt so good. He knew it had, because after beating him, Harry had held him close, cradled him near to his heart. In the midst of that nightmare, he floated above it all anchored only by the man he loved. After rescue and de-clamping, he had withdrawn to his room. Brushing away the doctor's concern, the captain's kindness amd his crew mates' clumsily-worded attempts at comfort, he had stayed in his room. Tom felt safe there, hidden away, avoiding anyone who would notice that he was in love with his best friend.

Like a treasured picture, he savoured time and again his disjointed memory of when he was in Harry's arms. Strangely he didn't remember the time he served before Harry's arrival, but once his friend had joined him in the chute, life had become sharper, more focused. He would isolate a moment and blow the image up in his mind, then follow theprogression of events as they led to that incredible night when Harry held him in his arms.

It never occurred to him that Harry thought he hated him until the night the pale ensign sounded his chime. A little cross that someone was disturbing him, Tom called, "Enter."

"Tom." Harry stood nervously in the doorway waiting to be acknowledged.

"Yeah Har, Come on in."

Returning to the couch, he flopped down and picked up the one of the datapads. Blindly he called up one of the flight manuals on his approved reading list. Realising that Harry was still hovering at the door, Tom continued working quietly, exquisitely aware that his friend was near.

"I'm sorry Tom. I never meant to hit you."

Unable to look up and face the man he loved and show him his naked need, Tom grunted a non-committal response.

The young man standing near the door burst into speech again. "I don't know what came over me. I should've been able to fight the clamp, to not hurt you." His voice soft, Harry vowed, "I'll talk to Chakotay and request alternate shifts."

"Why?" Blank confusion was written on Tom's features.

"I know you've been avoiding me."

Tom winced. He had been avoiding Harry but not for the reason the ensign thought. It had more to do with the erection he gained whenever he saw Harry. Looking at his friend closely, he saw evidence of the sleepless nights and the uncertainty about their friendship written across the haggard face.

Realisation slammed into Tom as if he had just broken past a warp ten barrier. "Harry, I'm not avoiding you."

"Sure, Tom." Turning away, the ensign was already working out the logistics of avoiding Tom Paris on a ship as small as Voyager. Harry was sure that the chronically short-staffed engineering team would appreciate his help and if that failed, Astrometrics badly needed upgrading.

"I'm serious Harry. I'm not upset with you."

"Tom, you haven't emerged from your room for the last two days," Harry returned evenly. "When I see you in the hallway, you are either ducking into a turbolift or rushing to do something -- something without me," the ensign finished quietly.

Blinders ripped away, Tom felt his friend's pain and he gave the man he loved the stark truth. "I keep on thinking about you--"

"Your worst nightmare come to life." Dispirited, Voyager's operations officer turned to leave the room, only to be brought up short by a hand barring his way, at chest level.

Tom closed his eyes and breathed in--Harry. Voyager might dispense the same soap to everyone but along the corded column of the ensign's neck, just within nuzzling distance, it smelt of spice and sex.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked.

Tom chuckled quietly, waiting for Harry to realise he was being seduced. Thought had translated to deed and he was licking the beating pulse in Harry's throat that had so wantonly invited his touch. Moving his head, he rested his chin in the hollow between the dazed ensign's clavicle and scapula.

"Do you know what I remember most about Akiiteria?" Feeling Harry's slight withdrawal when his chin was dislodged from its perch, the blond man slipped his arms around the shorter, dark-haired man. "No, it's not bad," he soothed. "You're holding me, keeping me safe from harm."

"Huh?"

Tom rewarded that highly intelligent question with a kiss. It started with a tentative press of lips but quickly evolved into a sucking, hungry beast.

Mouth free once more, Harry blinked as he tried to coax his fried neurones to function. "But I hit you."

"Yeah, but I deserved it. Then you held me--all night long."

Harry wanted to debate exactly what Tom had deserved from him, but somehow the thought was lost between the second reason-destroying kiss and the awkward scramble to the couch.

Lifting his chin from his knees, Tom looked around. He was still in the brig. The illusion of warmth he had felt around him came from the treasured memories of his first time with Harry. What Harry lacked in practical knowledge, the young man made up for with enthusiasm and a never-say-die attitude, an attitude that coaxed him, Tom, sexual extravaganzas three or four times per night.

Scrubbing his eyes, Tom rubbed away the moisture he found there. Wearily he pushed himself up. Avoiding looking at the stoic crewman who stood beyond the forcefield with eyes thoughtfully averted, Tom entered the sonic shower. One thing about being a prisoner, he didn't have to monitor his rations for sonic showers. Ensign Tom Paris went to take his second shower for the morning.

******

Harry loitered in the hallway outside the brig. For the last seven days, he'd spent so much time near and around the brig that Ayala threatened to move the Ops console to the corridor outside Tom's prison cell. Though he had observed Tom, the pilot had not seen him. Those glimpses of Tom alone in that cell, energised him and gave him thoughts that he should not still be having. It was over between them, had been over almost before it had started, really.

Harry pressed against the wall waiting for Stephen Ayala to emerge.

When the security officer turned over guard duty to Ashmore, he frequently stood in the doorway and chatted with the young crewman, while Harry made his move. In a carefully orchestrated silent play, the ensign moved away from the wall, and walked towards Stephen. Tom, whose attention was, as usual, riveted on his fellow crew members, eagerly listening to any stray morsels of ship's business that they discussed, had so far, missed Harry's slow walk past the automatic door.

At the end of the evening's stylised kabuki, Harry Kim and Stephen Ayala would go to the Mess Hall for dinner, where they would discuss the day's events. When they parted company after dinner, it was with the implicit understanding that they would meet again tomorrow outside the brig.

After getting back to his room, Harry busied himself with his music. For Harry Kim, music had always been his escape. While playing his clarinet, he would remember his doomed affair with Tom Paris.

He would begin with the Dvorak's 'New World Symphony.' Playing a molte vivace, as he recalled his first time with Tom, after Akiiteria. Breathing deeply, Harry would demonstrate his joy by wailing out the fortissimo. His first time was tentative, but each time after that, hurried or slow and languorous was joyful, a voyage into sensual realms of delight. Softly crooning, the clarinet moved on to the intricate adagio. Harry would remember the good times, when there was no acrimony between Tom Paris and himself.

Pausing mid-breath, Harry stopped playing. Was Taresia the fissure that cracked the perfection of their relationship? Were he to be honest with himself, he knew he'd been unhappy with Tom's distance in their relationship. He had assumed that eventually Tom would relax into their affair and offer him trust.

Putting the clarinet back to his lips, Harry played a mournful dirge from Copland's 'Fanfare for the Common Man.' Identified as a returning foundling to Taresia, Harry had been feted by the all-female population. He would be the first to admit that the adulation went to his head and quickly travelled south to his gonads. Tom was blindly jealous. Harry had been unaware of the full depth of that jealousy.

Playing a contemplative riff from Brahms' 'Variations for Piano on a theme by Paganini - Opus 35,' Harry allowed his memories to roam. The ensign had been unable to deal with the voiciferous accusations from Tom which led to silent non-arguments since the pilot usually left the room. It was on one of those occasions that his lover left his quarters and wandered into B'Elanna's.

At least he had not received awkward sympathy from his crewmates when Tom began a volatile, noisy affair with B'Elanna. Innocent, trailed off questions about Seven of Nine while managing to look guilty had most people on the ship offering romantic advice and forgetting about his short-lived sexual infatuation with Tom Paris.

Closing his eyes, Harry began playing Tchaikovsky's 'Theme and Variation for Piano in A Minor.' He usually played the first movement only. It was his signal that his evening's ruminations were drawing to a close.

B'Elanna and Tom's explosive relationship seemed to dying on the altar of indifference. Tom's. Not by word or deed did Tom ever allude to any problems he might be having with B'Elanna. In fact, had Harry not asked Tom one day if he was planning to pursue B'Elanna, he might not have known that his sexual relationship with Tom was over.

It was the uncomfortable expression and red flush to the blond pilot's features that caused Harry to swallow and say casually, "I guess we should be moving on then."

Tom's careless shrug was his answer.

Harry still didn't understand how their friendship had survived but any residual discomfort between them was dispelled by the two months in the Void. Low on holodeck time, he and Tom had pooled their allowances so that they could spend more time on the holodeck during this period of austerity. With dashing deeds and derring-do, the fantastic continuing adventures of Captain Proton had bonded them. Card games in the Lounge with Bateheart and Ayala while they discussed all the ship's gossip and speculated endlessly on Kathryn Janeway's self-imposed seclusion had given them more time together. Only one topic was off limit's -- Tom Paris' relationships, past and present. Now this was happening to Tom.

Resting the clarinet on its stand, Harry considered the enigma named Tom Paris. Against Captain's orders, the pilot had risked his life and his lieutenancy to save a dying water world. He had emerged from the blue depths, none the worse for wear, but demoted to Ensign.

Sighing, Harry stood and stretched, popping each vertebral connection in his back. Tomorrow would be Day 8 of Tom's incarceration. He would spend it at Ops, marking time and waiting for the moments spent with Stephen Ayala in their silent conspiracy.

Stripping, Harry entered the shower enclosure. Losing Tom had left him with one addiction, two actually if you counted his continuous private yearning for the handsome pilot, but he also craved a steaming, hot shower at night.

The soothing water poured over him, rolling down his back and thighs. Quickly, steam filled the tiny square which was made for one but had held both of them comfortably. Picturing Tom's face, pink and baby smooth, hair slicked to his skull, mischievous grin lighting up his face was usually enough to give Harry an erection.

Erratic trails of water flowed over Harry's smooth body. He had so loved pressing against Tom, cataloguing the differences in their bodies. Harry was just a bit shorter and more muscular than Tom, his skin with a creamier undertone than that of his pale lover. He would stand behind Tom and wrap his arms around the pilot's midsection.

Biting his lower lip, Harry curled his fingers around his hard cock as he let his mental holocube play through. Being men, they would compare equipment. Harry won the length battle there, but Tom took honours for width. Rubbing the nape of Tom's neck with his chin, Harry would wait until Tom surrendered and leaned back in his arms while the water cascaded over the pilot's chest. Once he had secured Tom's surrender, he would slide his right hand down to grasp his lover's cock.

Positioning was crucial and Harry needed the direct stimulation from the water to aid his efforts with his lover. He would start slow, matching the heavy fall of water, pumping the shaft from crown to base. Matching his movements to his memory, Harry began pumping his cock the same way. An intermittent water stream from the shower nozzle striking his cock usually caused a groan to rip from deep in Tom's chest. Harry sped up. His strokes were shorter as he pumped his cock from the base to the middle.

The water in Harry's shower, programmed by the industrious ensign one evening for Tom's maximum comfort, changed to a stinging needle spray. Harry's strokes were rapid and rhythmic and he was thrusting forward into his hand to keep the contact constant while seeking more stimulation from the stinging shower spray. Just like Tom, Harry was unable to hold out any longer and roaring his completion, he splattered the far wall, the same way Tom usually did when he came. A low command from the ensign changed the water temperature to tepid.

Stumbling out, bone tired, Harry towelled himself, barely having the energy to throw his clothes in the 'fresher. Scant moments later, Harry rolled into bed. Another carnal vice Tom had gifted him with, sleeping nude. Tom's argument that clothes presented an unnecessary barrier to pleasure somehow made sense in the night when it took less than a minute from lube to Tom's width sliding into him. He would ask the Captain again tomorrow for permission to see Tom.

******

Fifteen days, it had been fifteen long days since he had lost his freedom. 'Not bad really, ' Tom thought, 'he had crossed the halfway mark.'

He had to hand it to Janeway, she had a high class brig. No molestation at night, lots of reading material and all the quiet of his thoughts that a man could stand. The former lieutenant was going crazy.

Ayala, who was usually on his day shift, had been absent for the last two days since he had some down time. Dalby, his relief, was an efficient, humourless man who worked at his station and never spared him a glance. The door slid open and Tom looked up expectantly. He was looking forward to seeing Ayala and he hoped the former Maquis would be on time. Being stranded in the Void, had given him a chance to know Stephen a lot better since he was a fourth at their nightly poker games. Tom only knew Dalby on sight but he was convinced that staring at Dalby's face had to be bad for his digestion.

Harry Kim walked in.

Ridiculously Tom felt his eyes tearing. It was *so* good to see his friend. And friend he was, he must have nagged the captain for permission to see him until she was worn down.

"Hey Har."

Grinning like a little boy allowed to stay up past his bedtime, Harry made a great show of looking at the austere prison cell. "Great place you've got here and I *love* how you've decorated it."

Behind the forcefield Tom faked a punch at the ensign in response. "Ha, Ha. Funny Har," Tom retorted.

Harry looked at the guard and indicated he wanted the forcefield lowered. Ignoring Harry, Dalby, always a stickler at following orders exactly, cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. Crewman Vicktor Dalby decided there would be no rule breaking during his watch.

Turning back to Tom, Harry shrugged. He had tried.

After the pleasantries were exchanged conversation petered out between the men. The two of them were staring at each other searchingly.

Clearing his throat, aware of Dalby's scowling presence behind his visitor, Tom asked, "So what did Captain Janeway extract from you? What did you promise her?"

Looking guileless, Harry asked, "Promise the Captain?"

"Yeah. Whatever her commands were, they must have been harsh -- Neelix is terrified. He serves my meals and doesn't talk. I know that has got to be rough for Neelix." Grinning at Harry, "So, I'll ask again, what was the price you paid?"

Lowering his head, the Ensign mumbled.

"Huh? What's that?"

"The warp nacelles."

Tom's expression sharpened and he spoke very slowly, "What do you have to do with the warp nacelles?"

"Inspect and clean 'em."

Expression still mystified, Tom asked, "Why?" He continued after a moment's reflection, "Though that doesn't sound too bad. All you have to do is program some maintenance bots and--"

"No," Harry interrupted, "I have to physically clean and inspect *all* the inner and outer baffles."

"Messy."

Harry nodded agreement.

Both men stared at each other, tracing familiar features while the conversation halted. It was this silence that a rushing Stephen Ayala splintered. Profuse apologies tendered to Dalby as the shift watch was exchanged did not affect the two silent man.

"Hey Kim, you finally made it inside. About time."

Whistling soundlessly, Ayala went through his checklist. Glancing up, he caught sight of the two men. They were staring at each other intently and discussing hoverball games. Being a perceptive man, he was well aware that another conversation was going on in between the pauses.

The chronometer on his console had been beeping for the past four minutes.

Timing it nicely, Ayala called out softly, fifteen seconds into the next minute, "Harry, you have to leave. Another minute and Tuvok will be in here with a security patrol."

"Damn." The epithet sounded strange coming from Harry.

"Go Harry," Tom urged. "I don't want you to have any more problems."

"But--"

"No buts. I'm really glad you made it here. I'll be out soon."

Unwilling, steps dragging, calling goodbyes from the doorway, Ensign Harry Kim left the brig and not a second too soon.

Ayala tapped his commbadge. "Yes Sir."

Exchanging conspiratorial smiles with his prisoner, Ayala answered, "Yes Lieutenant Tuvok, Mr. Kim has left the brig."

Tilting his head in inquiry Tom waited until Ayala finished his conversation with the security officer. He mimed dusting his hands when the call was done. Stephen wagged his finger at the blond pilot in admonition.

Buoyed by the unexpected visit, Tom threw himself onto the bed. Maybe now he could finish his letter to his father. All that was written so far was the salutation. He had three hundred more hours to serve, give or take five hours and forty three minutes. Surely that would give him enough time to get it done.

******

Harry walked toward the brig. Day 16 of Tom's sentence and he had a visual inspection of the forward quadrant baffles on the port nacelle to complete before he retired for the night. Even with the price the captain had negotiated with him, it had been worth it. Quickening his pace, Harry entered the brig. Nodding to Ashmore who was still on duty, he looked at Tom. The blond pilot was tossing on his bunk.

Indicating that Ashmore should lower the forcefield, Harry walked to the narrow bed once it was down. "Tom. Tom, wake up." Harry shook Tom's shoulder, waiting until the pilot's eyes blinked open. "Bad dream?"

Sighing, Tom squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them. "Yeah, yeah, you could say that," he answered huskily.

Indulging in his need for contact with Tom, Harry slid his hand beneath Tom's neck and back, helping to lever the pilot into a sitting position. Giving a final pat to the narrow shoulders, Harry settled next to him, letting Tom's body heat warm his side.

"You know, you look like hell," the ensign observed.

Tom retorted dryly, "Thanks."

Rubbing his eyes, Tom realised his friend was in his prison cell with him. "How'd you get past the guard?"

Grinning, Harry teased, "The Vulcan neck pinch."

"Gonna spring me today?" Tom continued, rubbing his face, trying to dispel the remnants of yet another nightmare about his father confining him to his room for thirty years.

Still teasing, the ensign responded, "Not today. I've only got a few minutes. I've a date with a nacelle in a short while."

Studying Tom closely, Harry asked, "How're you doing?"

Hands hanging between his open legs, Tom answered, "Thirty days, no problem."

"It's almost over," Harry observed.

"How's B'Elanna?" The question was bitter. While it was true that he and the engineer were in a kind of limbo in their relationship, he had expected her to try to visit.

Unsure of how to answer the question, Harry took the diplomatic route. "She misses you."

Thinking of the ensign next to him whom he had missed more than he'd expected, Tom agreed, "Yeah, I know the feeling."

Trying to get off that awkward topic, Harry asked, "So what have you been doing today to pass the time?"

"Thinking, thinking again... trying not to think." Groaning, Tom rubbed his face. "Actually, I started recording a letter to my father."

Blinking in surprise, Harry uttered, "Really?"

Nodding, Tom continued, "Yeah. For some reason, I wanted to explain to him how I ended up in here. I didn't want him to think..." Tom's voice faded before he took a deep breath and finished firmly, "Anyway, I realised how ridiculous it was."

Looking at his friend's profile, Harry encouraged, "You should finish it."

"Give me one good reason."

"Maybe he'll hear it one day."

Eyes straight ahead, fixed on some middle distance, mind replaying his nightmare, Tom answered promptly, "Doubtful."

"You'll feel better getting it off your chest."

Sarcastic, intent on wounding, Tom turned to his companion, "Are you bucking for ship's counsellor, Harry?"

The ensign's good mood evaporated, "What're you gonna do? Delete the letter? That would be pointless."

"At least I'm consistent."

Trying to stop the depressing, downward spiral of his mood, Harry spoke, "Tom--"

Facing the ensign for the first time since he'd awakened, Tom cut him off, "Thanks for the visit, Harry."

Harry wondered why he'd given up every bit of free time for the next two weeks for this moody, unappreciative version of his friend.

Jumping to his feet he said, "See you in fourteen."

Standing outside the prison cell, Harry looked back at Tom. The blond had placed his elbows on his thighs and was resting his downcast head in the palms of his hands.

Remembering midnight confidences exchanged while Tom held him in his arms, Harry said softly, "What was it you once told me? That your father used to say you never finished anything."

Tom stopped rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. Looking up at his angry friend who stood beyond the forcefield, the pilot finally realised that he had wasted their precious minutes and now his visitor was leaving.

Harry turned away.

Sighing, Tom flung himself back down on the bunk. He had fucked it up yet again.

The ensign strode down the corridor. He was angry. He had four to six hours of backbreaking, tedious work waiting for him, crawling among the baffles of the forward nacelle, checking all the isolinear connections with his isospanner then calibrating the data. And what was his pay-off for all this extra work? He had hoped to spend five minutes with the man who just asked him to leave.

Harry waited for the turbolift. Face like a thundercloud, he replayed his conversation with Tom.

Stepping into the turbolift he said, "Port nacelle connectors."

Grinding his teeth, Harry's fingers drummed an impatient rhythmn on his thigh while the lift sped to its destination. Still fuming, Harry hurried off the turbolift when it arrived at the junction. Stripping off his 'fleet jacket, clad only in regulation blue-grey undershirt, black pants and boots, he picked up the isospanner and the tricorder and entered Jeffries tube 135.

It took an hour of work before the ensign stopped muttering epithets under his breath. He had been doing quite well until he starting cursing in Klingon which reminded him of B'Elanna and brought him right back to the reason for his anger, Tom. Pausing in his task, he pushed a sweat-soaked tendril of hair off his forehead. Kathryn Janeway has chosen the most onerous task on the ship. Why was he paying this penance? He was the only person who had braved the Captain's wrath for a chance to be upbraided by Tom. Maybe he shouldn't have bothered.

Picking up the isospanner again, Harry continued working. Like he had before, when Tom had drifted away from him, he would endure in silence. He had been so sure yesterday that a lot more was being exchanged besides conversation. Obviously he was mistaken. He would use the next fourteen days to rebuild his defences. When Tom was released from the brig, Harry would have to continue the role of *friend*, instead of--

Harry yanked the wayward thought back. Grimly, he kept his attention focused on his task. Once before he had risked it all for Tom. Wiser now, and long used to the sudden twinges of his heart when in his ex-lover's company, Harry vowed to be only Tom's friend, knowing even as he did so that it was useless.

******

"Rise and shine Ensign. Your thirty days have been served."

Although he was expecting it, Tuvok's voice startled Tom out of his light doze. The past seventy two hours had been excruciating. Secretly Tom wondered if Janeway had forgotten about him or would try to sneak a few extra days into his sentence.

He had marked the countdown with the rotation of his guards. He had three Ashmores left, two Clarks and two Ayalas, then two Ashmores, a single Clark and Ayala. He had not known the exact time of his release and he had spent the morning watching Ashmore, trying to figure out when his time would be done, all the while trying to appear as if he were not doing so.

Foregoing shaving for the last three days, itching to get out of this unbearable situation, he had barely eaten and not slept except for extremely short naps. Slumping on the narrow bunk, Tom was listening for the telltale swish of the door that would signal someone had come to release him when he slipped into an uneasy doze.

The hurt expression on Harry's face the last time he'd seen him haunted the pilot. Harry had not come back to see him since that day he'd asked him to leave. Tom kept trying to see if he would spot him in the hallway outside the brig at shift changes, but the brig was not in a high traffic area and he had not seen him. Asking Ayala had not helped. The tall man repeated the Captain's edict that non-essential conversation was unacceptable and no further answer was forthcoming.

Grabbing his datapad Tom stood and waited for Tuvok to lower the forcefield. He caught the Vulcan studying him with a quirked eyebrow.

"You may want to shave first."

"Yes Sir." Tom responded.

Until he was out of the brig, he did not plan on angering anyone. He could hardly wait to get back to his quarters. He had a list of tasks to accomplish and he wanted to get started on them immediately.

Standing on the threshold of his darkened room, Tom breathed in deeply. He smelled home. Stripping quickly, he padded to the bathroom. Around Day 10 of his incarceration, he had started dreaming about a water shower. He was convinced that only a long pounding shower would remove the prison stink.

A short time later, luxuriating under the warm spray, he finally felt his tensions easing. Prison was prison, no matter what, albeit this last stint had the others beat. It was shorter and had been served in classier surroundings than his other stays. Deciding that he had earned it, Tom spent forty minutes in the shower. Emerging, he dressed in his 'fleet uniform for the first time in thirty days, marvelling that it fit the same way.

Quarters still shrouded in darkness except for the light spilling out from his lit bathroom, Tom went to pick up his clothes and throw them in the 'fresher.

His commbadge beeped. "Torres to Paris."

Ah, the next item on his agenda. "Go ahead."

Tone warmly intimate, the engineer said, "Rumour has it that you're free for dinner tonight."

"Gee, I don't know. Are you sure you want to be seen associating with an ex-con?" Though his tone remained light, Tom could not resist subtly pointing out that she had not seen him at all during his stint in the brig.

"My quarters, 0700. That's an order, Ensign." Never one to allow a slight to go unnoticed, B'Elanna got a sarcastic dig of her own in, reminding him of his demotion in rank.

"Yes Ma'am." He retorted.

Checking the time with the computer, Tom realised he had ten minutes to make it to B'Elanna's quarters before he began the rest of his life. Patting his face dry, he tossed his towel. It landed next to the datapad he'd placed on his desk on his way to take his post-prison shower. He left his quarters.

Tom waited until after dinner to broach the subject. Basic nutrition, per the Captain's orders, had meant leola root stew three times weekly.

When he'd entered the Chief Engineer's quarters, he'd been surprised at the size of the spread she'd arranged on the table. It was enough to feed a small reconnaissance mission on patrol. Tom knew she was feeling guilty, but he had no intention of letting guilt from B'Elanna or sympathy on his part interfere with this meal. He would not allow the food, all his favourites, to go to waste. Once he'd eaten, he would clear the air between them.

Swallowing the last mouthful of chocolate pudding, Tom rubbed his stomach discreetly before pushing away from the dining table.

Standing next to his chair opposite the engineer, he blurted, "B'Elanna why didn't you visit me in the brig?"

A trace of guilt flashed across B'Elanna's face before being buried by righteous indignation. "What you did was wrong, Tom. The captain gave an order and you didn't follow it."

"Don't try to convince me you've never disobeyed the Captain? I still remember someone who did not beam off that Dreadnought when the Captain specifically ordered them to. If I recall correctly, you almost died during that stunt. And lest we forget, you told me to do what was right a little over a month ago."

At his words B'Elanna's volatile temper ignited. "What I did was different. Millions of people's lives were in danger because of something I did."

Coldly, Tom needled, "What makes your millions more valuable than the millions I tried to save?"

"You disobeyed the Captain, Tom. You're lucky she only demoted you."

Suddenly Tom realised that they had arrived at an impasse. Trying to convince B'Elanna to acknowledge the rightness of his actions was pointless. Shaking his head, he decided to forge ahead.

"B'Elanna, I don't quite know how to say this."

Relieved that Tom had decided to stop arguing, the engineer smiled. "Just say it Tom," she coaxed huskily.

"You know how we've been seeing each other?" Tom exhaled sharply when she nodded. "Well -- I want to breakitoffcompletelyandIhopewecanstayfriends." Tom spoke quickly, rushing his words.

"What?" B'Elanna's ridges crinkled as she frowned trying to make sense of his words.

Holding the engineer's gaze, Tom said, "I want to start seeing someone else."

A soup tureen whizzed past his ear.

Edging nearer the door, Tom pleaded, "Don't be like that B'Elanna. All we did when we weren't having sex was snipe at each other."

A fork, plate and bowl crashed with satisfying thunks against the closed door before he reached it. Tom looked back at B'Elanna. She looked feral.

Growling low in her throat, she asked, "What's the matter, Paris? You can't handle the fact that I'm higher in rank than you?"

Wearily Tom insisted, "That's not it. I had thirty days to think about my life."

"And what? Because I didn't visit you, you're breaking up with me?" The half-Klingon woman jumped to her feet. "I thought you loved me."

Turning his back to B'Elanna the pilot waited at the door. Standing there, he lingered until he could speak calmly.

He spun around. "I like you B'Elanna. I *love* someone else."

Shocked into silence, B'Elanna absorbed the words, before snarling, "Get the hell out of my quarters, Paris."

Tapping the release code on the electronic pad next to the door, Tom made his escape, but not before he heard the engineer's parting shot. "I'm glad you were demoted, Tom. If you'd been serving aboard a Klingon ship, you would be dishonoured and dead."

"I thank what little luck I have that Voyager has less exacting standards," Tom returned. The door sliding shut behind Voyager's pilot signalled closure on his sexual relationship with B'Elanna. He knew they would mend their break eventually, but it would take time to move back to the easy banter of friends. Until then, he had other priorities.

Hurrying back to his quarters, he decided to take another shower before facing Harry. Entering his room, he walked toward the bathroom. Standing in the doorway between rooms, he leaned against the door jamb and supported himself while he worked at toeing off his boots. Some small disturbance in the air alerted him.

His rooms were still in darkness. Only the light from the bathroom was at maximum. It was just enough light for him to see Harry lying on his bed. The ensign was on his stomach, head buried under his bent arm. Strategically positioned from the tip of his head to his feet was a length of bright ribbon about ten centimetres wide following every dip and curve down Harry's muscular body. There was fluorescent writing on the banner. It said "Welcome Home."

******

"Harry?" Tom called out softly.

Either the ensign was deeply asleep or he was waiting in silence, faking it. Deciding that he still preferred to take a shower before facing Harry, Tom entered the bathroom fully, allowing the connecting door to slide shut behind him. Kicking his boots to the corner, he undressed then stepped into the warm spray, enjoying the steam billowing around him.

Water streaming past his closed eyes, he pictured Harry in his mind in glorious detail. He had forgotten the tiny mole he liked to kiss on Harry's shoulder. Grimacing, he decided to be honest with himself if none other. He had repressed, not forgotten. He remembered every gorgeous inch of the ensign currently lying prone in his bed. Arrested at the thought, Tom opened his eyes, blinking quickly. 'What was Harry doing in his bed?'

"Computer, cease spray."

The last time he'd spoken with Harry, he had driven him out of the brig with his hostility. Harry naked in his bed was one heck of an apology, except he was the one who needed to apologise. From somewhere inside of him a tiny curl of anger began to blossom. He had spent the last fourteen days working through his emotions, coming to certain realisations and deciding to implement changes in his life and Harry's presence in his bed pre-empted one of his choices.

Jerkily he stepped out of the waterproofed enclosure and into the warm room. Not completely dry, water still beading across his shoulders and back, tiny rivulets zigzagging down his legs, Tom Paris wrapped a towel around his hips and stalked into his bedroom.

Fuming, Tom tapped the ensign's upraised shoulder. "Harry? Harry get up."

He shook the nude man.

"Huh? What...? I'm awake." Harry sounded drunk.

"What're you doing here? Forgot the way to your quarters?" Peering into the semi-darkness where Harry's face was shadowed, the blond asked, "If you're that drunk, why didn't you use a hypo?"

The ensign turned his head. Tom was backlit with the light shining from the bathroom. This kept his face in the shadows so all Harry heard was the cold sarcasm.

Rolling onto his side, dislodging the ribbon, Harry waved an arm. "New lighting motif, Tom?"

The pilot could only blame his next words on the fact that his day had been so strange. At heart, Tom was a methodical man. Sometime in history, pilots had been known to acquire the nicknames flyboy and daredevil. He did not deserve those appellations. Manoeuvres that he performed at Voyager's helm, while appearing audacious to the bridge crew, were first practised in the simulator many hundred times under any flying conditions he or the computer could devise, so he was almost never taken by surprise.

Harry's presence in his room before he'd expected him was a surprise. "Har, if you wanted to celebrate my release, couldn't you at least have waited for me? Drunk as you are, I doubt you'd be able to perform."

Harry blushed brick-red at Tom's implication. Grabbing his shredded dignity, the ensign pulled the twisted banner from underneath his body. He then pulled the pillow from under his head and placed it in front of him. He felt naked and uncomfortable.

"I'm not drunk Tom, just tired. I've been very busy."

"I know. You were too busy to find five minutes to come by to see me," Tom whined mulishly under his breath.

"You told me to stay away," Harry stated, his tone remaining non-confrontational.

"When have you ever listened to me?"

Horrified, Tom wondered when his brain had taken a vacation. And now his mouth was in control filled with bile, spewing angry words at his friend.

"I always listen to you, Tom." Harry's voice was hushed.

"When you wanted to start a relationship, I listened to you. I even listened to you when you didn't have the guts to tell me you were sleeping with B'Elanna and I listened to you when you wanted me to go back to being your *friend.*" Harry managed to make the word friend sound dirty. "So, why should I stop listening to you now? You told me to leave you in the brig and I did."

When Harry's words penetrated, Tom deflated. This was not how he wanted his talk with Harry to go.

"So what message did I send you to bring you here?"

The bedroom was still shrouded in darkness, but the hostility had diminished which made it less oppressive, brighter.

"Err, I should go Tom." Plucking up the banner, keeping the pillow in front of him, Harry sat up.

"Wha--? No, Har, don't go. I was--"

Harry interrupted him. "I did want to celebrate with you, but I've been putting in extra shifts."

"Why?"

Exasperated, Harry swung his feet off the bed. Tom's earlier anger had found a new home. "I was inspecting the nacelles as requested by Captain Janeway."

The young man on the bed did not have to mention why Janeway had requested this. The knowledge pulsed between them. As the silence lengthened, Harry surreptitiously reached for his clothes.

Hearing the soft slither of cloth on skin, Tom realised he was about to make another mistake. If Harry left his room now, something precious would be irreparably damaged. Releasing his hold on the towel, the nude blond stepped forward into Harry's personal space.

Pressing his hand on Harry shoulders, Tom said, "I'm not worth it, Har."

Dispirited, Harry pushed his friend's hands away, "I know that Tom. I've always known that."

Startled by the answer he received, the pilot flopped down on the bed next to the ensign. "So what am I, your wounded puppy in the Delta quad?" Tom snarled.

Not answering Tom, Harry resumed putting on his clothes.

"Can't answer that, can you? It must be the truth then," Tom goaded. "Well, I'll tell you what, ensign, I saw that fresh face on DS-9 and couldn't wait to expose you to my dark side. And you know what, Har? You were the fucking worst lay I ever had."

Horrified, Tom clapped his hands to his mouth, then remained frozen. Barely breathing, he waited for Harry's response. Nothing. Even the soft slither had ceased. Harry was frozen too. Unlocking his muscles one at a time, Tom moved his hand away from his mouth.

"I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean it."

Harry laughed. It was a harsh, humourless laugh that scraped Tom's ears. "I never realised how far you would go to push me away."

"I didn't mean it Har." Tom extended his hand to touch Harry's shoulder.

But almost as if the dark-haired ensign had developed an early warning system, he jumped up. "It's OK, Tom. I know you didn't mean it. I don't think--" A harsh sob escaped. "I'll get my pants and--"

"No, Har. Don't go."

Forcing himself to stand, fearing the raw pain he felt pouring off his friend, Tom held onto his courage and wrapped his arms around Harry.

"I hurt you. I have no excuse for that."

Stiff in his embrace, Harry asked quietly, "Why'd you do it?"

Resting his head on Harry's unyielding shoulder, Tom answered honestly, in a very small voice, "'Cause I didn't want you to find out how much I need you."

"You're trying to tell me you hurt me because you love me?" Harry was confused.

Swallowing, Tom held onto the fact that Harry, even after being the recipient of the worst insult anyone could ever level at another person, still remained.

"That's how it's always been for me. The admiral would have it no other way."

Harry had been a frequent witness to Tom's nightmares. Replaying phrases he had heard while Tom tossed and turned, he began to understand. "It's not like that Tom."

Easing his arms under Tom's, he drew the ensign closer. "Love is not like that. Love doesn't hurt."

Suddenly, his own anguish dissipating, Harry felt powerful. In this area, he had more experience than Tom.

Cursing himself for being so blind before, Harry crooned softly, "I love you Tom."

"You hit me the last time," Tom whispered.

"That was Akiiteria. I wasn't in control then."

"I know, but after that--"

"We started a relationship and you expected me to continue hurting you," Harry finished.

"But you didn't," Tom continued.

"Which made you think I didn't love you enough." Harry felt a growing horror as he began to understand what Tom had been going through, but he kept his tone even. "So you left me and went to B'Elanna."

"Yeah," Tom agreed soberly. "That was a mistake."

Afraid to ask, Harry remained silent as the question hovered delicately between them.

"It's over with her. I think the flying crockery that accompanied my exit a short while ago was a clear sign."

"Only you, Tom," Harry sighed, thinking of the chief engineer's legendary temper. "You're lucky she didn't throw you out of an airlock."

Lips curving into a wide grin, Tom snuggled in Harry's arms. "Yes, I'm lucky."

******

The two men continued to embrace in silence. Pulling away, Tom helped Harry undress before moving back into his arms. Hugging tightly, the two men enjoyed the feel of their nakedness against each other.

"I've missed this." Unerringly, Tom found his second favourite mole on Harry's shoulder and licked it. He would kiss his favourite one soon, just as soon Harry gave him the opportunity.

"How are you really, Tom?"

Touching his nose to Harry's, the pilot was thoughtful, "I'm good. I still stand by what I did, but those thirty days gave me a lot of thinking time."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back."

"I'm glad you didn't."

Offended, Harry reared back.

"No, not like that." Tom soothed his friend's alarm by rubbing his back comfortingly. "I mean, you were the only person who even came to visit me. When you left the second time, reason seeped into my thick head."

"You're not thick headed." Sliding his hands through the short, blond hair, the ensign hinted, "At least not there."

The hint was well taken and Harry felt Tom's half erect cock shifting, nudging against his upper thigh.

"Harry...." Tom protested.

"Hmm?" The ensign teased Tom's flat nipples.

Eeling a hand between their bodies, Harry confirmed, "Yeah, you're at full thickness now."

A strangled groan from Tom was his reward.

"Kiss me," Tom demanded.

Harry complied.

The kiss went on for an endless time. Harry's heart was pounding when Tom finally lifted his head.

"Wow..." was his weak response.

"That's it?" Tom teased. "I lay my super-duper-guaranteed-not-to-fail kiss on you and all I get is 'Wow'."

Harry rubbed his face against Tom's cheek. "Tom, what you said earlier..."

Clutching his friend impossibly closer, Tom sobered immediately, "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've never said that."

"Shhh, I under--"

"Let me prove it to you." Drawing Harry toward the bed, Tom pushed him down then followed.

Straddling his prey, Tom shaped Harry's face with tender fingers. "I love you, Har. I'm gonna show you."

Carefully lowering his body onto Harry, Tom worshipped the young man's face. Kissing, licking, nibbling Tom mapped every inch of Harry's face.

Pausing,for a moment, at the widely spaced eyes, Tom spoke, "I made one other decision."

Harry's tongue felt swollen in his mouth.

"What?" he croaked.

"I'm gonna ask Chakotay for some counselling. I do have some issues to work out."

"Tom..." Harry's voice broke. "I love you."

"Yeah." In the still darkened bedroom, Tom's blush was felt only as a gentle heat on Harry's skin as the pilot rested his cheek on Harry's chest.

The pilot rubbed his slightly bristled jaw across Harry's nipples waiting for them to respond to his rough caress. Once they pebbled, Tom sucked, wringing continuous moans from the man beneath him. Moving downward, he licked Harry's navel, then placed a precise string of bites that led to Harry's cock.

"Take me. Please, Tom, take me."

Pausing, Tom peered up at Harry. In the darkened room, he could not discern the expression on Harry's face. "Are you sure?"

"Lube?" Harry answered.

"Same place as always."

Tom levered himself up to his knees, then sat back on his heels. Rolling onto his stomach, Harry scrabbled blindly in the top drawer of the bedside table.

"Aha," was his cry of success.

He passed the small tube back to Tom and went to his knees in front of the pilot, head resting on the pillow. In the dim light, the pale globes of Harry's ass gleamed temptingly, the elegant slope of his back beckoning. Tom chased soft kisses across the tempting curves and moved inward to the hairless cleft. Licking gently, Tom's tongue darted out and penetrated the tight ring of muscle. Eagerly, Harry pushed back seeking to maintain the contact.

Petting Harry's flanks, Tom opened the lube and squirted a bit into the inviting portal. Because of the darkness, he wasn't sure until he used an index finger to begin preparing Harry whether it was enough. Sliding a narrow finger in, he massaged Harry's hot inner walls. Easing another finger in, Tom felt Harry's muscle give way reluctantly. His cock jerked eagerly. Selfishly, he was thrilled that Harry had not discernibly had any other male partners since their break.

Panting beneath him, Harry whimpered and begged to be filled.

"Shhh, just a second, love."

Tossing the lube behind him, Tom steadied himself. Holding his cock in one hand and resting a splayed hand on Harry's ass, he positioned himself at the stretched entrance. Tom pushed in a mere centimetre.

"More," Harry instructed. "I want you so bad."

"Me too, Har." Pushing in another centimetre, Tom stopped.

Bearing down, Harry rocked back and another two centimetres slipped into his passage. Clawing need gripped at Tom as he felt the exquisite clamp of muscles tight on his cock. Suddenly the rounded head slipped past the band of muscle and both men exhaled. Sliding in further then pulling back a little, gaining more than he was losing with each shallow thrust, Tom was finally buried balls deep inside his friend.

"Move. Now!" Harry begged.

After the wait, neither man would last very long. Slipping his hand around Harry's hips, the pilot gripped Harry's cock.

The two men fell into a remembered rhythm, pumping and stroking, their excitement building.

"Almost, Harry..."

"Yeah..."

Slamming into Harry with short, choppy strokes, Tom felt himself getting closer to orgasm. Beneath him, Harry felt each thrust inside send a zing of sexual electricity to his cock. He wouldn't last much longer, not with the dual stimulation he was receiving.

One, two more thrusts and Tom was screaming Harry's name, semen pulsing out of him as he came. Mere seconds later, Harry jerked in the tight clamp Tom had on his cock and came. He collapsed onto the wet spot, taking Tom down with him.

Both men blinked as the room brightened for a second.

"What was that?"

Recollecting that Tom had not been a part of Voyager's activities for a month, Harry explained while gasping for air, "We are passing...protostars keep...exploding..."

"OK."

In the comfortable silence, Tom finally kissed his favourite mole on the ensign's damp back.

"Harry, I love you."

******

Tom eased out of bed. He should be exhausted after two rounds with Harry but he felt energised, and he ached in places that hadn't in a long while. After taking care of business in the bathroom, Tom was walking back to the bed but swerved around it instead and padded into his living area. He wanted to complete the list he'd made while serving in solitude. Picking up the datapad from the desk, he sat down on the couch. He wanted to finish this tonight. He had the rest of his life ahead of him.

"Resume recording."

Studying the words on the screen, he continued, "Well, I'm out now and back to my duties."

Tapping his chin with the pad, he paused for a minute, ordering his thoughts. "I honestly don't know if I'll ever understand you, or what went wrong between us, but I hope this letter helps you understand me a little better."

Another task completed. Tom sighed. The items on his short list were being ticked off one by one.

"Computer, file letter in my personal database and transmit when we are within range of Earth."

Standing, he replaced the datapad. He was a very lucky man. It had taken thirty days in the brig to bring him to this point. He had made a peace of sorts with his father, ended a relationship and begun--no--he clarified, restarted one. In a few hours he would be back at Voyager's helm and at the end of his shift, he would set up some time to talk to Chakotay.

In that moment, travelling at warp through the Delta Quadrant, Tom Paris made peace with himself.

THE END