Disclaimer time once again!  Thirtieth verse same as the first
 . . .everybody *sing*:

I don't own these characters, (chorus) Paramount does!
I don't own this venue, (chorus) Paramount does!
I am making no money off of this, (chorus) Paramount does not 
either!

This story assumes sex between two men, aka: slash.  If that is 
*not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it!  (simple, 
ain't it??) Feedback is *very* much appreciated and always 
answered.  Flames will be passed around to friends and 
chuckled over.  :)

First, the 'P' does *not* stand for 'Picard', but for 'Paris', 'K?

Second, this is not a death story, not exactly.  It's a, um, er, 
*life* story.  Yeah, that's it, that's the ticket.

Third, this is the first story in the 'Q-Ball' series.  Yes, I'm 
starting another one.  Why do I do this to myself? Why?

'Scratched' by Amirin


***********************************************


Harry heard it first, long before the others.  Of course if that
agonizingly wonderful sound hadn't been haunting him for 
months, now, it might have slipped by, unnoticed.  Laughter. 
Tom's laughter.  His best friend's laughter.  A man who'd been 
dead for almost a year.

The sound caught up with him mostly at night, in the darkness 
and silence.  Just the faintest of echoes.  Just enough to make 
him doubt and dream . . and fear for his sanity.  Rarely during 
the day and never before around other people.  Always when he 
was alone.  Just the softest of whispers, like now, but his ears 
were so trained to pick it up, they had no difficulty hearing it 
whatsoever.  

Harry tried to pinpoint the sound.  Looking right, then left.  No, 
not quite.  He turned around, looked down.  Still not right.  He 
paced slowly, trying to place the origin of that beautiful, 
torturous sound.  Not in front of him, not exactly.  He looked up, 
raw joy crossing his face.  Above him. By gods, yes; above him, 
slightly behind him, and . . moving forward?  He scanned Ops 
frantically but sensors were registering nothing, no sound, no 
presence.  He impatiently shook off the hand on his shoulder 
before it grasped him again firmly and his annoyed glare caught 
the Commander by surprise.

"Do you hear it?" Harry asked, his voice betraying near-hysteria. 
"You hear it, right?" 

The Ensign looked slightly angry, Chakotay noticed as he shook 
his head, not really hearing anything beyond the usual ship's 
noises.

"Hear what, Harry?" he asked gently, as though afraid a 
stronger tone would shatter the younger man. 

"Him," Harry answered shortly, not understanding how Chakotay 
could miss it, as he checked his instruments again, running a 
savage hand through his hair.  Still nothing appeared on 
sensors.  *Dammit*.  He glanced up to see Chakotay looking 
puzzled and he sighed impatiently, growing more agitated by the 
second.

"*Tom*," he grated, fingers stabbing at instruments that refused 
to cooperate, refused to find the source of that maddening, 
wonderful sound.  So engrossed was he, he failed to see the 
look Chakotay and Janeway shared as she shot to her feet, 
coming to stand in front of his station.

"Ensign Kim?" she queried softly, not wanting to upset him 
further but still curious as to what Harry thought he was hearing. 
"Harry," she said gently, when she finally got his attention away 
from the sensors, "what do you hear?" 

"You don't hear him, either, do you?" Harry asked in despair, 
not seeing how his hands were shaking as he ran sweep after 
sweep, all coming up blank.

"What's he saying?" Chakotay asked in his usual soft voice, 
watching Harry go through every conceivable test for sound, all 
frequencies, each and every existing bandwidth, over and over 
and over again.

"He's not *saying* anything!" Harry nearly yelled.  "He *never* 
says anything.  It's just his laughter.  It's always just his 
laughter!" he finished, beginning the diagnostics, wondering if 
there was something wrong with the equipment.

"I've been hearing him for *months*," Harry ground out, 
oblivious to the concerned looks being shared by his 
commanding officers.  "Believe me, I know what you're thinking. 
I wondered if I was losing my mind, too.  But I kept hearing it, all 
over the ship.  Sometimes a faint murmur, as though he's 
speaking, then the laughter again.  *DAMMIT*!" he roared, as 
his fists came down on the panel.  The sensors were still 
insisting there was nothing out there, but he *knew* better.

"Where's it coming from, now, Harry?" Janeway asked him, 
crisply, ignoring his outburst, treating it like a scientific problem. 
Chakotay shot her a look but she ignored him, too.  All her 
attention was focused on the Ensign.  That didn't mean she 
missed hearing Chakotay quietly summon Tuvok to the Bridge.

Harry glanced up, thinking she was just patronizing him until he 
saw her brow furrowed, her eyes curious, her manner strictly 
professional.

"Above me, and back," Harry answered with something like 
awe.  "But moving forward, I think.  Slowly."

"Run a full sensor scan, Mr. Kim," she stated firmly, knowing 
he'd already done so a few dozen times.  It was starting to get 
to her, too.  The hope, the wish.  The possibility.  

Janeway listened carefully, turning around slowly until she faced 
the Conn, choosing not to acknowledge the incredulous look 
coming from the Ensign currently assigned there.

"Nothing on sensors, Captain," Harry stated with resigned 
frustration.  He glanced up again.  "And it's getting a little 
louder," he added thoughtfully, eyes pulled to the 'lift when the 
doors opened and Tuvok stepped out.  He turned to Chakotay, 
his look accusing until Janeway intercepted it.

"Harry, Tuvok has sharper hearing than any of us," she 
reassured him, not mentioning the fact that his services as 
Security Chief might also be necessary.

She watched Harry watch the ceiling and was about to ask 
Tuvok if he heard anything when a faint sound reached her own 
ears.  "Laughter," she said, wonder coloring her voice, her head 
whipping around to Tuvok, who was nodding.

"I hear it, too, Captain," Tuvok stated quietly, his Vulcan ears 
registering the sound.  "Two voices, male," he concluded, 
arching his eyebrow at her. 

"*Two* voices?" Janeway confirmed, turning back to face Harry, 
who shrugged.

"I've only ever heard one, just Tom's," he added shakily, as 
though to remind them that his mental faculty might still be in 
question.

"May I point out that it is extremely unlikely *either* voice 
belongs to Lieutenant Paris?" Tuvok asked, following Harry's 
eyes to the ceiling.  He hadn't realized the Ensign's hearing was 
so acute.  Tuvok walked briskly over to his station and checked 
his own instruments before reporting that the voices didn't 
register on any of the equipment.

"Curious," he intoned, seeing the fact that nothing was picking 
up the sound was hardly news to any of them.

The voices got louder, the words clearer and Harry's face 
glowed as though lit from within when what was obviously Tom's 
voice spoke.

"You didn't really think that would work, did you?" they heard 
Tom say, right before two transparent sets of bare feet emerged 
from the ceiling behind Ops, followed slowly by legs covered in 
linen slacks, one in a soft white, the other in a neutral tan, 
stepping as though they were walking down a flight of invisible 
stairs.

"I was *very* young at the time, time being relative," a second 
voice drawled with slight sarcasm.  "Mere millennia, still a babe 
in the woods.  How could I *possibly* have known?"

Janeway ran a hand over her face, sighing.  Things were 
making a lot more sense, all of a sudden.

"Q," she said stonily.  Janeway groaned inwardly, meeting 
Chakotay's uncomfortable expression, before she saw Harry's 
overjoyed one.  Tom was laughing, again.

She continued watching the figures moving downward, 
wondering if they'd stop when they got to the Bridge or if they'd 
keep on going, out the other side of the ship.  Her eyes widened 
as she saw Tom and Q's arms around each other's waists as 
they slowly continued their walk.  Both seemed to be wearing 
open vests that matched their slacks.

"You've been rather distracted, lately," they heard Tom say, 
right before his transparent head came into view, revealing the 
fact that he was the one wearing white.

"I've had a lot on my mind," Q responded, trying to make light of 
it, before grimacing.  "Oh, all *right*.  I *have* been *slightly* . .
preoccupied."

"Why?" Tom asked, as they continued downward until it seemed 
they were standing on the bridge when they reached the end of 
the 'stairs' and walked forward a few steps, moving through the 
Captain and First Officer's seats before stopping.

"I've been thinking about all the time we've spent together," Q 
began.

"It's over, isn't it?" Tom asked, not looking the least bit 
concerned about it.

"You don't appear to be bothered by that," Q mused. "The 
possibility that our association is at an end."

"You've been in charge of my afterlife since the day I died and 
it's been a wonderful two-hundred and forty years," Tom said, 
shrugging.  "I gotta admit I wondered what godawful thing you 
were keeping me from," he laughed.

"Hah," snorted Q.  "Don't you remember your first words when 
you saw me? You thought I *was* the 'godawful thing'."

Tom cracked up, a hand clutching Q's broad shoulder to keep 
himself vertical.  "It wasn't *that* bad," he tried to say, around 
his laughter.

"May I remind you?" Q asked, but it was only a formality, he had 
every intention of repeating it.  "Your exact words were 'Oh, shit, 
I'm in *Hell*'."  He watched Tom laugh, the corners of his own 
mouth twitching.  "It took me nearly a century to get over that, 
might I add.  I was wounded, Thomas, my boy, *mortally* 
wounded."

"Q," Tom protested, "you can't be 'mortally' anything.  You're 
*immortal*."

Q paused, before waving the comment away with his hand. 
"That's beside the point," he stated imperiously, to which Tom 
burst into laughter all over again.

Eventually, Tom quieted into a smile, looking puzzled, yet 
resigned.  "So, now what?" he asked.

"I never told you *why*," Q mentioned casually, as though to 
himself, by accident.  Nothing the entity did was by accident. 
And Tom knew it.

"Why what?" Tom asked tolerantly, as if playing an old, familiar 
game.

"Why I *did* it.  Why I've been keeping you with me for nearly a 
quarter of a *millennium*," Q said dramatically.

"My scintillating wit and charming personality?" Tom guessed, 
grinning.  "Or the fact that I'm hell in bed?"  He winked at Q, who 
sighed like a martyr.  Tom didn't react at all to the slight gasps 
coming from some of his old crew at that statement.  It was 
obvious he couldn't hear them.

Janeway started when Q looked right at her and winked.  *He* 
could see and hear them, even if Tom couldn't.

"None of the above," Q expounded.  "It was simple curiosity, 
nothing more."

"Uh huh," Tom said, like he wasn't buying it for a minute. 
"Curious about what?"

"I told you I saw you die," Q began, continuing at Tom's nod. 
"That was *mostly* true.  Perhaps it would've been more 
accurate to say I *watched* you die," with this, he caught Tom's 
eyes, sighing at the man's confusion.  "For the entire *four* 
*days* it took you to do so," he concluded, looking almost 
sympathetically at Janeway and then at Harry, who paled to a 
sickly gray.

It didn't seem to bother Tom in the slightest, although he made 
a moue of distaste.  "Is that what prompted you to tell me I 
suffer beautifully?" he asked curiously, not at all upset.

Q artfully combined a nod with a shrug.  "Mostly," he admitted, 
before grinning rakishly.  "And you *do* suffer beautifully.  You 
managed to turn it into an art form. Truly impressive, if I may 
say so," he said, with somewhat reluctant admiration.  "But, 
that's *not* why I've kept you with me, *no*," Q said, before he 
began pacing.  Janeway noticed he was careful to avoid the 
chairs and the railing as he stalked back and forth in front of 
them.

"You *never* asked for help, during that horrific period.  You 
demanded no release, requested no mercy," Q gestured with 
practiced panache.  "You never *once* appealed to any greater 
power; you acknowledged no deity.  You simply *waited*, in pain 
and patience, for your life to *end*.  And I didn't understand 
*why*."

Tom shrugged, shifting his stance slightly.  "I don't know why," 
he said thoughtfully.

"I know," Q waved his comment away with a flick of his wrist. 
"That's why I didn't ask you.  But your crew, your stalwart, noble 
crew didn't ask either, not *one* of them," he finished, turning a 
watchful eye on Tom.  "None of them asked for your surcease. 
None of them appealed to a higher power, or asked *me* to 
help you.  It didn't even *occur* to them.  It bothered me," Q 
admitted, before his eyes glinted.  "I would have thought that I 
had made *something* of an impression, upon your fair Captain, 
if upon no other," with this he looked meaningfully at Janeway. 
"But, even *she* made no request of me," he said with 
exaggerated sorrow.  "And *you* *suffered*, albeit beautifully, 
for it."

"Are you expecting me to get angry with the Captain?" Tom 
asked, truly perplexed, before Q stalked almost violently over to 
him, taking his face in omnipotent hands. 

"Not *her*, *me*!" he said explosively, startling Tom.  "I *let* you 
suffer through four agonizing days of *inhuman* torture, when a 
simple," and here he illustrated with a snap of his fingers, "could 
have released you from it and returned you to your ship *and* 
your fair Captain."

Tom found it interesting but he still didn't understand.  "I've been 
with you for nearly a quarter of a millennium, been places and 
seen things and done others and met people all over the 
universe and you expect me to get angry with you because you 
didn't let me die of *old age*?" he asked incredulously.  

"Q!" Tom exploded, running his hands through his hair.  "Have 
you *lost* it?"

Q merely looked stunned, as though he hadn't been expecting 
this outburst, which, in fact, he hadn't. 

"I've more of a life with you, dead, than I *ever* would've had 
alive!" Tom exclaimed.  "Hell, I've had *two* or *three* lifetimes 
with you!  And you expect me to get *angry* with you?  Are you 
*nuts*?  I could never thank you enough for what you've done 
for me, what you've *shown* me," Tom's voice grew quieter, but 
no less intense.  

"Shit, how many people have been inside the birth of a star? 
How many have been taken to the beginning of the universe? 
How many have ridden with Alexander the Great, sat at the feet 
of Socrates and Plato, fought in the crusades with the 
Lionheart?  How many have eaten with Genghis Khan, watched 
the destruction of Atlantis and Pompeii?  Observed the first 
moon landing, from the *moon*?  Dammit, it would take me 
*days* to go through everything you've shared with me and you 
expect my *anger*?  After all this time, you *still* don't know me 
at all, do you?" he asked sorrowfully, turning away, and missed 
the sight of a Q rendered momentarily speechless.

"Something *else* I have to apologize for," Q mused quietly, 
before he shook it off and Tom turned back around to face him. 
"I have taken you everywhere I thought would be of interest to 
you.  And there's so much *more* I could show you but you 
don't belong with me anymore.  I *have* to let you go on, much 
as it *pains* me to do so," Q said sincerely, but with the usual 
melodrama.

"It's okay," Tom said.  "You're a Q; you've got an infinite number 
of years across an infinite number of universes you need to 
keep up with.  I understand."  

And he truly seemed to, Q noted with a little astonishment. 
Perfectly content with what he had, Tom desired nothing more. 
How . . exceptional.  For a human. 

"You never cease to amaze me," Q said, as if he meant it.  Tom 
just arched an eyebrow at that sentiment.  "No, really.  I've 
never gone inside your mind. It wasn't necessary.  Everything 
you think, everything you *feel*, reveals itself on your face and 
in your eyes, for all to see," he took Tom's chin in his hand, 
looking at him thoughtfully.  "Enough of this," Q brought himself 
abruptly out of the daze Tom's eyes had him in.  

"I want you to do one last thing for me," Q requested and 
although Tom knew he had little choice, he smiled fondly. 

"What?" he queried and waited until Q came to stand behind 
him, hands resting lightly on the bare skin of his upper arms.

Q looked over his shoulder at Janeway and grinned evilly. 
"Close your eyes, and *listen*," he ordered in a deep, serious 
voice.

Tom didn't hear this tone often but he knew Q meant business. 
He shut his eyes, sighing and leaned back into Q, whose arms 
went around him before he could think about it.

Q marveled at the trust of the man and shook his head.  He 
leaned forward to whisper in Tom's ear, softly but intensely 
enough to be heard throughout the bridge.

"Just listen," he said, nuzzling Tom's ear with his nose, smiling 
as he felt the man grow still.

"No shouts, no cannon, no guns," mused Tom.  "No hoofbeats, 
no explosions, no screams of dying men, no phaserfire.  Q, 
what am I listening *for*?" he asked, with slight frustration.

"You're listening *without*, Tom," Q whispered, nipping Tom's 
neck, delighted with the shiver the action caused.  "Listen 
*within*."

And as Tom grew quiet, again, Q knew when he heard it, faintly 
at first then growing louder.  He heard it, hell, they *all* heard it.

"Q," Tom's voice sounded, made soft with wonder.  "What does 
a dead man need with a heartbeat?"

"Ah, Tom, you've just *answered* your own question," Q 
exhaled into his ear.  "A *dead* man doesn't *need* a 
heartbeat."

Tom's eyes opened and he looked down to see his feet become 
solid, then his legs, up past his groin, his abdomen, his chest, 
neck, arms and head. Solid.  Alive.  His gaze flew to Q's, 
meeting serious assurance there, for all that he could still see 
through the entity.

"I'm sending you back where you belong.  I should have done it 
then, but," Q paused, found no reason and sighed, "I didn't. 
And I'm sorry."

"This is a *hell* of an apology, Q," Tom said, awed, looking *at* 
his hands and not through them.  He still didn't seem to be 
aware of the bridge, caught as he was between existence and 
nonexistence.

"Yes, well, I've always had a soft spot for you," Q groused with 
reluctant fondness, prompting a laugh from Tom.

"You might have had a spot for me but it sure as hell wasn't 
*soft*," Tom retorted, looking back at Q, laughing in delight.

Q snorted, chuckled, then became serious.  "It's time," he said, 
closing Tom's eyes with a gentle hand. A blinding flash and Q 
became solid, as well.  Janeway knew, before Tom opened his 
eyes, that now he'd be able to see the bridge.

Tom felt . . something and Q removed his hand.  Tom opened 
his eyes slowly and found himself looking right at Janeway, who 
smiled, before she covered her mouth and her eyes filled with 
tears.  He cocked his head and felt his own tears start before he 
stepped forward carefully, as if he'd forgotten how, and took her 
hands in his then wrapped his arms around her, shaking.  He 
pulled away after a minute but he could have stayed there 
forever.  He looked upward at Chakotay, who still stood near 
Ops, and saw the uncharacteristic emotion on the man's face, 
before his gaze came to rest upon Harry.  Harry, who was 
leaning over Ops like his legs wouldn't support him. Harry, who 
looked like he'd been through the hell Tom had managed to 
avoid.

"How long?" Tom asked, to no one in particular.

"One year," Q replied, coming back to stand behind Tom, as 
though to prop him up should he need it.  "You've been gone 
almost one year.  And you are, for all intents and purposes, 
two-hundred and seventy-three years old.  Just a mere *infant*, 
in the grand scheme of things."

"Thanks, Q," Tom said dryly.

"I would *love* to stay and renew my acquaintance with your fair 
Captain," this said with a lecherous smile and a wink toward 
Janeway, "but, I must be off."

Tom turned to face him.  "Don't be a stranger," he said softly, 
eyes warm.

"Oh, I'll be back, my little starjockey," Q cooed, prompting Tom 
to slug him in the shoulder, before he sobered.  "I'll be back," 
said with a devilish grin.  And with that, he disappeared in a 
flash of light.

"I'm not sure whether that was a promise or a threat," Tom said, 
amused. 

"I heard that," Q's deep voice scolded him from the ether, 
making Tom laugh out loud, before he grew serious again and 
turned to face Janeway.

"Captain, I seem to have . . misplaced my uniform," he began, 
when another flash of brilliance found him back in it.  He saw 
Janeway's eyes widen and his hand flew to check his rank.  "Q," 
he scolded, "there really isn't room for more than one Admiral 
Paris in the universe at a time, you know."

"Sorry," a deeply unrepentant voice echoed and another flash 
found Tom back to his Lieutenant's rank.  He sighed.  "Never 
boring," he commented, quietly, breaking off when he saw Harry 
heading down the ramp toward him, hesitant and wary.  Tom 
walked slowly over to meet him and saw the stricken look on his 
face.

"Oh, Harry," he breathed, right before the Ensign crumpled into 
his arms.  He wrapped both arms around his friend and held on 
tightly.  "Gods, I've missed you," he said softly, which only 
served to let loose the gates inside Harry who tried to bury 
himself deeper inside his best friend's embrace.

"Not as much as I've missed you," Harry said, his choked voice 
muffled in Tom's shoulder.

"I haven't *seen* you in almost two and a half centuries, Har. 
Trust me, I definitely missed you more," Tom said, stroking 
Harry's back, quieting him until the man lifted his head and met 
his eyes.

"I've been hearing you for months," Harry started, knowing his 
thinking was disjointed but his need to tell Tom was too great for 
him to make himself stop and get his thoughts together.

Tom froze, his eyes flying to Janeway, who nodded ruefully. 
"You've been *hearing* me?" he asked, just checking to make 
sure *he* was hearing correctly.

"For months, I've been hearing your laughter all over the ship," 
Harry confessed.  "It's been driving me nuts."

Tom flinched at the harshness of Harry's voice.  "Why in the hell 
would Q . .?" Tom trailed off.  He'd probably never know why Q 
had done it but it angered him. For him to be so cruel, gods.  Q 
rarely did *anything* without a reason, even if it was slightly 
twisted, but there seemed to be no fathomable explanation for 
this.  Tom sighed.  "I'm so sorry, Harry." It felt inadequate but it 
was all he could give his friend.

"Not your fault," Harry whispered, stepping back, seeming to 
find his composure again, wiping his eyes, then snorting in 
annoyance at himself.  "It was kind of nice, really," he said, 
going on quickly when Tom's eyes widened.  "It was like you 
were still around, happy. It wasn't a *bad* thing, it just made me 
feel like I was losing my mind.  But it's okay," he reassured his 
friend shakily.  "It's all right, now."

"Ensign, why don't you help Tom get his things out of storage 
and find him some quarters?" Janeway suggested gently, giving 
them the opportunity to talk things out in private.  She had a 
feeling Harry wouldn't be letting Tom out of his sight for a while. 
"Mr. Paris, welcome home," she said softly, cursing her eyes for 
threatening to let the tears go.

"Thank you, Captain," Tom said simply, surprising her when he 
didn't make one of his usual smart-ass comments.

"I'm going to want to hear about all of your adventures," she 
began, then backtracked immediately when the devilish glint 
appeared in her pilot's eyes.  "Well, maybe not *all* of them," 
she ammended quickly, trying not to blush.  Tom and Q's 
relationship seemed too . . intimate for her liking but that was 
their business, not hers. "I don't suppose you've been doing any 
flying for the last two-hundred and forty years," she said dryly, 
neatly changing the subject.

"Not starships, no," Tom confirmed, smiling at the tactic, 
recognizing it immediately.  Q was a master at it, he thought 
fondly. "Bearcats, B-52's, bombers, props, yes.  But no 
starships.  Gods," he said thoughtfully, "it has been a *looong* 
time."

"I'm giving you a couple of weeks to settle in, get in some sim 
time on the holodeck.  Anything you need, just ask," she 
offered, not really knowing what else to do but it seemed to be 
enough for Tom.

"Thanks, Captain, I will," Tom acknowledged her dismissal and 
put an arm around Harry's shoulders.  "Oh, Captain," he called 
out as they headed to the turbolift, "you might want to let the 
crew know that I'm back amongst the living.  The shock could 
be a bit much to handle, otherwise," he smiled, before leading 
Harry into the 'lift.


******************************* 


Tom stood quietly in the 'lift next to Harry, one hand still on the 
man's shaking shoulder.  "Har, you okay?" he asked softly.

"Oh, yeah.  My best friend just returned from the grave, no big 
deal, happens all the time," Harry answered brokenly, as he 
seemed to fold in on himself, right before Tom's eyes.

"Computer, halt turbolift," Tom ordered, only to have the infernal 
thing ignore him. "Dammit," he muttered, "I'll have to remind the 
Captain to return my authorization."

Harry looked at him incredulously.  "How can you be so cool 
about this?" he cried out.  "You were *dead*, gone forever, and 
now you're back, and it's like you never left, but you were 
*gone*, Tom, totally gone . ." and Harry couldn't speak anymore 
around the tears choking his throat.

Tom tried to put his arms around Harry, only to have the man 
flinch away from him.

"Don't," Harry begged, turning away, his hands raising to cover 
his face as he sagged against the 'lift wall, sliding down it to the 
floor. 

"Harry, halt the 'lift, *please*," Tom pleaded, kneeling by his 
friend.  "Harry?"

Harry found voice enough to give the command, then lowered 
his head to his drawn-up knees.

Tom placed a gentle hand on the man's back, only to have his 
friend move away from it.

"Don't *do* that," Harry said around tears.  "I can't stand it. 
You're back now, but Q could change his mind.  You could be 
dead again tomorrow.  Gods, I couldn't *do* this again, I just 
couldn't!" he wailed fiercely, the anger and hysteria beginning to 
frighten Tom.

"He won't, Harry," Tom tried to sooth him, but Harry just snorted 
and looked at him like he had lost his mind.

"You can't say that," Harry argued bitterly.  "Q's a demi-god, he 
can do whatever the hell he wants to."

"He said I belonged here," Tom reminded him softly.  "He 
brought me back because I wasn't supposed to be with him 
anymore."

"But he could come back," Harry bit off.  "He's unpredictable, 
more so than you *ever* were.  You don't know what he's up to. 
He *could* come back."

"I hope so," Tom said fondly, before seeing the shocked look on 
his friend's face. "Harry, he's been my constant companion for 
the last two and a half *centuries*.  I miss him, okay?"

"It sounded like he was more than just your *companion*, Tom," 
Harry commented, his curiosity slightly distracting him from his 
reawakened grief and fear. 

Tom nodded.  "He was.  Gods, he's been *everything* to me. 
Friend, brother, teacher, co-conspirator.  And lover," he 
admitted quietly, looking downward at Harry's indrawn breath.

"How long did *that* take?" Harry found himself helpless to 
resist asking.

"About twelve years," Tom answered distantly, remembering . .

"Twelve *years*?!?" Harry gasped.  "Good gods, no wonder . ." 
and he trailed off when Tom's eyes rose to meet his.

"No wonder *what*, Har?" Tom asked, confused.

Harry shook his head quickly.  "Nothing.  I just can't believe it 
took that long, if you two were always together.  I mean, I'm 
surprised he waited, you know.  I mean, he could have . ." Harry 
broke off, indicating what he meant with a Q-like wave of his 
hand, when it became obvious he wasn't going to get it out.

"He could have, but he didn't.  He wanted me to *want* to be 
with him and not because he'd snapped his fingers and made it 
that way.  And it took that long for me to trust him. I didn't know 
what the hell he wanted, why he did it, why he was there, why *I* 
was there.  It made no sense to me. I mean, why *me*?" Tom 
asked, shaking his head.  "I knew the Captain didn't trust him as 
far as she could throw Voyager.  And still doesn't.  And I didn't 
know what his game was, his motive."

"What was it?" Harry asked, moving a little closer to Tom.  "Just 
the 'simple curiosity' he mentioned?"

"Partly," Tom granted, before remembering when Q had said 
that.  "Wait a minute, how much of our conversation did you 
hear?"

Harry thought back and sighed.  "I heard you laughing, and it 
looked like you were walking down a flight of stairs with him. He 
was talking about something he did when he was younger. 
*Much* younger," Harry corrected himself.  "Then, he began 
talking about . ." Harry gulped, trying to loosen the knots he 
suddenly found his stomach in, "about watching you die, for 
those . . those four . . days," Harry couldn't go on, guilt 
overcoming him. "Gods, I'm sorry.  He's right, you know?  I 
never asked," he got out, before burying his face in his arms 
again.

Tom just laid a hand lightly on Harry's head and sighed with 
relief when his friend didn't move away.  "It's okay, Har," he 
started to say, before Harry violently jerked away from him.

"It is *not* okay!" Harry yelled, his voice echoing in the small 
space.  "It wasn't okay *then*, and it sure as *hell* isn't okay 
now!  You *died*!  That goddamned Fyurant Captain snatched 
you, tossed us nearly twenty thousand lightyears away with the 
push of a button, then slowly tortured you to death over four 
*fucking* days.  It's *not* okay!  It's *not* . ." and he couldn't go 
on, not without screaming.  Tom's hands felt like agony on his 
back, like the razor lash that damned animal had fileted Tom 
with, while mocking the Captain.  

Lost, Harry fell backward a year, remembering how the alien 
had offered the Captain a trade, one of her crew given up to his 
amusements in return for a shorter trip home. How she'd 
refused, sickened and shocked.  How the transporter beam had 
caught Tom, bringing him to the other Captain's ship.  How the 
viewer had remained on that monster's smirking face, while the
sounds of cloth tearing had filled the background, and he 
brought that glowing, savage-looking weapon up in his hand, 
before it flew beyond the viewscreen and a sizzling strike had 
been heard, followed by an ungodly, inhuman scream.  How that 
creature had brought it back, ran it through his fingers and 
licked the blood off of them, smiling, assuring Janeway that her 
reward would be well worth the inconvenience, that he would 
enjoy her 'delicious crewman' a great deal, for however long he 
lasted.  How a small button depressed on the console behind 
him had blurred the stars around them before Janeway could 
react, and the skies had changed.  How horrified Harry had 
been when he realized they were over eighteen thousand 
lightyears away from their last known coordinates.  How 
violently ill he'd felt during the silence on the bridge, then the 
helpless anger when she'd chokingly ordered them to resume 
heading for the Alpha Quadrant, even though he'd understood 
the futility of their situation.  How nothing could be done for 
Tom, nearly twenty years behind them, except to hope it ended 
quickly.  How the malevolent look on the alien's face had 
convinced him that it would *not* be a quick, merciful ending for 
Tom.

A worried voice penetrated the year-old memory, a firm hand 
grasped his shoulder, and he brought his eyes up, letting them 
refocus on the man he'd thought long gone.  The man who had 
every right to hate him, hate all of them, for their 
shortsightedness, their indifference to his suffering.  So maybe 
Tom didn't hate him; he hated himself more than enough to 
make up for it.

"Harry, stop it.  Come on, Har.  You're starting to scare me here, 
ya know.  Come on," Tom cajoled, trying to get that bleak, awful 
look off of Harry's face. 

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered.  "I let you down."

Tom felt like shaking his friend until his teeth rattled.  "It *wasn't*
your fault, it wasn't *anyone's* fault. Har, listen to me, gods.  It 
was so *long* ago.  I barely remember it.  You didn't know Q 
was hanging around, no one knew.  It could've happened that 
he wasn't.  He might have been busy that week, rearranging the 
universe to suit himself, he might not have been anywhere near 
me. It was just chance that he was.  Oh, Harry," Tom sighed, 
rubbing his friend's back.  "Don't do this to yourself, please. 
Please, Har, quit it, huh?" he pleaded, seeing the desolate 
expression in his friend's eyes, hating it.  "Dammit, you didn't let 
me down, none of you did.  You had no way of knowing that 
anything could be done about it.  Shit, Har, Voyager was years 
away from me and I was living on borrowed time.  There was 
nothing you could've done.  Not you, not the Captain, no one."

"Except Q," Harry reminded him quietly, clearing his ragged 
throat and sniffing, remaining silent for a moment before he 
fought his way back out of the dark depression that threatened 
to overwhelm him. 

"I wonder why he kept you with him, 'scintillating wit' and 
'charming personality' notwithstanding," Harry said, trying to 
distract them both, making a poor attempt at a grin.  "Not to 
mention the whole 'hell in bed' part."

Tom groaned, nearly going fetal with embarrassment.  "Tell me 
the Captain didn't hear that, Har, please.  I'm begging you, 
please," he pleaded, only to moan at the widening grin on 
Harry's face. "Gods, kill me now, just kill me now," he whined, 
until the heavy silence filling the 'lift penetrated, bringing his 
head up.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said softly, shaking his head in regret at 
his thoughtless words.  "Damn, I forgot . ." he trailed off when 
Harry exploded in his face again.

"You *forgot*?!?" Harry cried out, before Tom's hand covered 
his mouth.

"Q and I have been joking about it for the last couple of 
centuries, Har.  Granted, my death was *not* pleasant and I 
wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, but I got over it," he 
explained.

Harry's eyes scowled over Tom's hand before he removed it. 
"And how long did *that* take?" he asked, eyebrows raising as 
Tom flinched.

"A few years," Tom admitted, nodding.  "Until I could stand to 
think about it, talk about it.  It took a while," he said softly. 
<Maybe that's why it took so long for me and Q to get together> 
he thought, startled at never having realized it before.

"I know it didn't happen to me and maybe I have no right to be 
upset about it, but I am," Harry offered quietly, his eyes filling 
again.  "I imagined all sorts of terrible things being done to you," 
he said brokenly.  "But it was the stuff I *couldn't* imagine that 
terrified me the most."

Tom sighed, running his hands over his face.  He could see how 
bad it had been for Harry, but it wasn't that bad for him, not 
anymore, and he was the one it had happened to.  "It's been too 
long, for me, Harry," he said quietly.  "But if I can help you deal 
with it, I will.  If you'll let me," he met his friend's eyes and saw a 
faint hope there.

"This is so weird," Harry complained mildly, shaking his head as 
he wiped the tears off his face.  "You're helping me get over the 
guilt I feel for your death and you're still breathing.  Or breathing 
again.  Whatever," he gave up, too tired to follow the circle of 
logic, but Tom shared his grin.  "I need help. I can see it like it 
was yesterday; I see it in my nightmares.  You coming to me at 
night, all broken and bloody, asking me why I left you there. 
Then, hearing your laughter at other times," he sighed shakily, 
trying to grin at Tom, but it wasn't working.

"I would never do that to you, Har," Tom whispered with soft 
intensity.  "You have *got* to believe me. Even if you were to 
fire a *phaser* at me, I would *never* haunt you over it.  Never. 
And I don't know why Q made you hear me.  Dammit," he 
growled, becoming angry at the entity all over again.

"I figured it was only fair, considering," Harry shrugged at Tom's 
dismayed look.  

"I would never want that, Harry.  Shit, if I had known, I would've 
stopped it.  To torment you that way?  I can't think why in the 
hell he'd *do* something like that," Tom ground out.

"Sometimes . ." Harry began, cut himself off, then tried again at 
Tom's look of encouragement.  He sighed.  "Sometimes, it felt 
like you were asking me to join you," he said quietly, hearing 
Tom's swift intake of breath.  He looked up, seeing nothing but 
sympathy and compassion.  "Sometimes, I wanted to.  To get 
away from it.  You know, the memories, the guilt, the anger.  All 
of it.  There were times I thought about it, when I heard you.  I 
figured it had to be better than where I was, if it could make you 
laugh like that."

Tom paused, trying to get the tears in his own eyes to fade 
away.  It wasn't happening.  "Oh, Harry," he managed to get out, 
before sorrow overwhelmed him. He found himself back against 
the 'lift wall, Harry sitting next to him, leaning on him, arms 
around him. They sat there for many minutes, until it occurred to 
him that someone must be waiting for the 'lift.

"Harry, do a beam-out to your quarters, okay?  My stuff can wait 
a while," he whispered, not really wanting to deal with moving 
and unpacking, not right now.

"Eiseley moved out of the quarters next to mine when she and 
Oberson got together.  You could move into those if you like," 
Harry offered tentatively.

Tom sighed.  "Sounds perfect," he murmured lightly, closing his 
eyes when he felt the transporter hum fill the turbolift.

Somehow, they ended up in almost the same position on 
Harry's couch when they moved onto it from the floor. They 
spent several hours just talking about everything and nothing, 
not wanting to move, leave, or eat.  The two of them sat quietly, 
practically holding each other up until the 'feed me now' noises 
began erupting from Tom's stomach, prompting Harry to raise 
his head.

"Not *my* fault I haven't eaten for two hundred and forty years," 
he groused playfully, making Harry snort and turn his face into 
Tom's shoulder.  Tom shook with his answering chuckle.

"What do you want?" Harry asked him, pulling away to stand up 
and stretch.  "Wait, don't tell me, let me guess.  Tomato soup, 
right?" he grinned back at Tom, who rose, yawning, to come 
and stand next to him. 

"Ah, you know me so well.  Still.  After all this time," he 
exclaimed dramatically, hand over his heart.  "I'm touched, 
Harry, truly touched."

Harry stared at him for a minute, then shook his head.  "You've 
just eliminated any doubt as to whom you've been hanging out 
with for the last quarter-millennium," he said, shaking his head, 
getting the bowls from the replicator, leaving Tom to bring the 
sandwiches.

"You sounded just like him, there, for a moment," he explained 
to Tom's querying look.

"Really?" Tom asked, sitting back in his seat, before leaning 
forward to grab a spoon.  "Huh, I guess a little of him has 
rubbed off on me," he allowed, eyes doing a double-take as he 
saw what Harry was eating.  "Har, you don't *like* tomato soup," 
he said quietly.

Harry shrugged, not looking at his friend.  "It's an acquired taste. 
And I acquired it," he said lightly, sighing when he felt the weight 
of Tom's eyes on him before looking up.  "It kept you around, 
okay?  Comfort food and all that.  I needed it," he said quietly, 
eyes focused deeply into his bowl, not watching Tom go over to 
the replicator.

Tom stood in front of the machine, hoping the Captain had 
thought to give him some credits by now.  Sure enough, it 
readily accepted his command and he took the steaming bowl 
back to the table then swapped it for the one in front of Harry. 
He sat down, all without saying a word, and reached for his 
sandwich.  Harry finally looked at him and grinned slightly. 
"Won ton with extra green onion.  You know me so well," he 
said softly, before picking up his own spoon and starting to eat.


                    <<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


The trek from Harry's quarters to ship's storage took much 
longer than it should have. They must have run into a good 
number of the crew on the way there, more showed up to quietly 
help sort out Tom's things from the rest, and others came into 
his new quarters to rearrange the furniture to his liking. 

The odd, and in some cases, frightened, glances coming his 
way did nothing to relieve the vaguely surreal quality the whole 
experience had. A few smiles, some hearty hugs and back 
slaps and handshakes later and he was feeling a little more a 
part of things, a little more connected.  

People took time to inform him with studied casualness about all 
the things he'd missed in the last year, bits dropped here and 
there, so that by the end of the evening, he had a pretty good 
idea of who was with whom, who was no longer on speaking 
terms with whom, and how glad everyone was, for *Harry's* 
sake, of all things, that he was back amongst the living. 

People began making their way to their own quarters around 
2200, leaving him and Harry alone, most everything put away. 
Tom was exhausted like he couldn't ever remember being 
before and was having a heck of a time not falling over.  But 
Harry didn't seem ready to go, not just yet.  He wondered how 
long his friend had been giving him odd looks before he finally 
caught on and stared back.  He found himself fascinated by 
Harry's blush.

"Har, what is it?" he asked, wondering if it was anything or 
*everything*.

"It's stupid," Harry tried to brush him off, but caved when it 
became obvious that Tom wouldn't let it rest.  He sighed 
heavily.  "I'm afraid to let you out of my sight.  That you'll just 
disappear, if I do, like you'd never been here at all.  And 
tomorrow I'll be the only one who remembers that you were 
*ever* here." 

"Do you want to stay here, tonight?" Tom asked.  "I don't mind, 
if it'll help, really."

"No," Harry lied and they both knew it.  "I need to learn how to 
trust again, I guess.  Need to find my faith that the universe isn't 
that capricious.  It'll be okay.  It will," he said, as though trying to
convince himself.

"The lock code on my door is the same as yours," Tom informed 
him, smiling gently.  "In case you feel the need to check.  But I 
intend to be here, just so you know."

Harry tarried by the door until Tom came over to him. He found 
his arms around him with no conscious thought wasted on it and 
sighed.  

"You can always change your mind, okay?" Tom asked.

Harry nodded.  "I think it'll be all right," he stated, almost 
believing it.  "But thanks.  If you find me hogging the covers, 
later . ." he laughed when Tom rolled his eyes.

"Oh, so you're one of *those*.  Now's a fine time to tell me," he 
teased, delighted to make Harry laugh again.  It still sounded a 
little rusty, but he'd work on that.  He had plenty of time.

"Good-night, Tom," Harry said quietly, turning to go.

"G'night, Har," Tom returned.  "Pleasant dreams."

Harry headed next door to his own quarters, leaving Tom all 
alone for the first time in as long as he could remember.  He 
wasn't sure he liked it.  Stripping for bed, he became aware of a 
slight scraping sound.  Heading to the bed, it seemed to get 
louder and he grinned as he realized it was Harry, scratching 
the wall between them with his fingernails.  He climbed into bed 
and scratched back, throwing the covers over himself.  It had 
been a hell of a long time since he'd slept, either.  He didn't 
think he'd forgotten how, but it was still slightly nervous-making. 
One more scratch from Harry found him drifting toward oblivion 
with a smile on his face, as he reached over his head, returned 
it, and yawned, sinking deeper under the covers, before he 
finally went to sleep.


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