**************************************************** Disclaimer time once again! Forty-fourth 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 involves history and a very special friendship between two men. 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.  :) Some spoilers for 'Killing Game'. Sequel to 'Comrade-in-Arms', 'Call-to-Arms', and 'Men-at-Arms'. 'Up-in-Arms' by Amirin **************************************************** I don't know how long he spent watching me sleep.  An hour? Two?  I have no idea.  I do know how good it felt to have him there when I woke up, though.  Shades of our time together in the fox-holes, when we'd take turns sleeping. I'm still trying to blend what's real with what isn't.  It's becoming a full-time job.  And I make no claim to knowing how it is for him.   He looked exhausted.  He had a right to.  I liked having him be the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.  He just grinned tiredly at me until I finally focused on him and asked how he was doing.  He said better, quietly, and looked a little less tired.  I made an excuse to go, telling him he needed to get some real sleep.  He asked me not to.  I agreed without even thinking about it.  I didn't *want* to leave and if he didn't want me to, then I wasn't going.  The look on his face was wondrous.  And that smile, genuine delight and surprise . . .   He suggested moving someplace a little more comfortable than his sofa and I loosened my arms just enough to let him move out of them and stand up.  His knees buckled and he grabbed my shoulder as I moved quickly to stand next to him, letting him hold onto me until he got his bearings back. I took one look at the gray cast of his skin and scooped him up, hushing his protests firmly, and carried him into his bedroom.  I could feel the heat coming off his face, but I didn't care.  It wasn't like it was the first time I'd ever carried him, had him in my arms.  He had done the same for me a time or two when an injury had made walking all-but- impossible. I laid him down on the bed as gently as I could, then joined him, facing him, seeing only his eyes as my body threw a shadow over his face.  His hand reached out for mine and I took it, getting comfortable next to him. He asked me if it was okay and I didn't pretend to misunderstand.  As honestly as I knew how, I told him it was fine, that I'd spent months with him at my side and that it had felt so wrong of late, not to have him there.  This was better, much better. Again that pleased, soft smile touched his face and I felt my own responding in kind.  As it had so many times . . . when just a slight twist to his lips could coax a grin from mine.   I sighed and he rolled toward me, head on the pillow scant inches from my own.  A huge yawn nearly cracked his jaw and I grinned, recalling the times I'd tossed something into the open space when he'd done it in the past, to remind him to cover his mouth.  His eyes popped open in mid-yawn and I knew he was thinking the same thing.  He grinned and thanked the gods we didn't have any c-rats nearby or he'd be choking on a piece of biscuit, right about then.  I laughed, like I could help it, and the skies cleared and the sun shone when he did, too, softly, that guilelessly happy laugh I'd missed sharing with him. I told him how much.   And spent a microsecond thinking I'd made a huge mistake until he placed his hand on my face and said he'd missed it, too.  His eyes were suspiciously bright and I was waiting for him to crack a joke, turn away, something, some typical Paris reaction.  Until I realized that the man lying by my side wasn't Tom.  It was Bobby.  Spirits. Bobby, my bright, quick, quiet, clever, apple pie and baseball, Mid-American farm boy with a heart of solid gold. Looking at me with tears in his eyes.  I was so caught off-guard by what I thought I saw in them, I almost missed the words. 'Cap, I'm scared.' And I did what I'd only dreamed of doing everytime he'd said it before, that soft-voiced murmur giving me a reference point in the dark, so I'd know where to direct some reassuring inanity.  He didn't smoke, so I couldn't use the glowing-red ash to find him at night . . .  Anyway, I . . . well, I . . . kissed him. *No*, not *that* kind of kiss, on the *forehead*.   I found my hands framing his face, my lips brushing over his hair, not really making contact.  Until his hands wrapped around my wrists . . . And his sigh caressed my cheek . . . Gods, *he* was scared?  I was *terrified*. And honesty demanded I tell him so.  His chuckle was wry, and quiet, and he wondered aloud why we always got along so much better when the lights were out.  Why it was all so much closer, easier, more intimate in the darkness.  I didn't know, but he was right and I said so. He let go of my wrists and burrowed into my chest and I curled around him and felt more than heard his snort of gentle amusement.  His hushed voice bade me to listen, but I told him I didn't hear anything, not knowing what I was supposed to be listening for. Exactly, he said, not an air-raid siren anywhere.  I looked at how I was wrapped around him and remembered how many times I'd woken to the shrill cry of the alarm, to find myself in the same position I was in now, my body shifting in sleep to offer his what slight protection it could.  My chuckle brought him up slightly, to see the grin on my face, and he smiled and told me how much he'd liked waking up like that, my arms around him, warm and safe.   A shadow crossed his features, faint, but I was still so attuned to him that it stood out glaringly and I asked him what was wrong.  Tom was back. He answered me slowly, with difficulty, telling me how he hadn't been able to sleep through the last couple of nights, since he'd recovered his memories . . . He'd wake and not find me there and it would take him a moment to remember why I wasn't.  His voice was shaky and I quieted him gently and told him the same thing was happening to me, only worse.  I was waking in a state of near-panic when I noticed he wasn't with me. I had to admit that I usually asked the computer for his location, just to make sure . . .   He looked startled, then slightly angry, and asked me why the hell I hadn't said something to him. I answered before I thought and told him that I hadn't wanted him to know.  I knew it was a mistake as soon as I finished saying the words.  His face hardened a little and I flinched, not knowing what was coming, but knowing I wasn't going to like it.  I was right.  The next thing out of his mouth was how sorry he was that I hated needing him so much. I cut off his rant by covering his mouth with my hand before he really got up to speed.  I had to.  Spirits, I couldn't *bear* him thinking that and I told him how wrong he was, how *very* wrong, that I didn't hate needing him, I just didn't want him to think I wasn't strong enough for him to lean on when *he* needed to.  That I *did* need him, more than he knew, that I had *always* needed him, *wanted* him with me, wanted him close, wanted him safe, wanted him alive, wanted him . . . I stopped talking when I felt him shaking again and I cursed myself, knowing he could feel *my* body trembling, as well. His mouth was moving under my hand and I took it away, finally able to hear the litany of apologies that was pouring from his lips.  His arms circled my neck and mine closed around him and we stayed like that for many long minutes.   I told him quietly never to doubt how much I needed him and he promised he wouldn't, ever again.  I told him that I needed him more than the Cap had *ever* needed Bobby and he froze, then pulled away carefully and just looked at me, blue eyes like phasers locked on target.    His smile lit the room and he came back into my arms and sighed liked a forty-pound pack had just been lifted from his shoulders.  And then he asked me quietly what we were going to do about this.   I told him I wanted him *at* *my* *side* and I *know* how intense my voice sounded at that moment, oh, yes, I know. He answered instantly that there was no where else he wanted to be.  I asked him if it bothered him at all and he said hell, no.  I could hear the grin in his voice and I tilted his head up so I could see it on his face.  No one else would understand, he admitted, but he didn't give a damn.  His chuckle was a warm echo of my own.  I told him the crew was going to wonder what had happened and he said to let them.  That we had a history no one else shared; no one else had been there when our friendship was forged. And if they didn't get it, too damned bad for them. I commented quietly that I hoped we could bring our history into the present unscathed and he grinned up at me. Present, hell, he snorted, and told me he was shooting for a future. I remarked that bringing a friendship from the 1940's into the twenty-fourth century could take a lot of effort.  He said it was worth the effort.  His smile faltered and his eyes grew somewhat wary before I was able shake myself out of the sweet haven his words had placed me in and agree, which I did, then, whole-heartedly, and he relaxed.  I banished his remaining doubts when I took his chin firmly in my hand and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not the only one this meant something to.  That I had missed him as I would miss a limb and that I had no intention of being without him again and that he'd better damned well get used to it.  He said he'd love to.  That devil.   We'll be talking more about this when we wake up tomorrow. I've already commed the Captain and let her know that he and I were still working through the return of our memories and that we needed another couple of days to readjust.  She grinned and said if we needed a week, to take it. Then she asked me how Tom was doing and I told her he was sleeping peacefully.  She said to get some rest and she'd talk to me tomorrow.  The grin never left her face.  I must have been looking as suspicious as I felt, because she sighed and cocked her head in just *that way* and quietly told me to see what I could do about getting Tom to quit calling me Captain.  My shock must have been plain.  She explained quietly that he'd done it twice since we'd reclaimed Voyager and neither he nor I had shown the slightest bit of awareness of it.   And that it had happened *before* he'd gotten his memories back.   Before *I* had, even. That was when she'd gone through the Hirogen's logs and had seen enough to finesse the research right into my lap.  I knew I looked as stunned as I felt and she smiled gently and told me that Tom and I were the only ones who were consistently put in the same scenarios, always together, always Allies, fighting in Theaters all over Europe.  She was right.  I hadn't seen the pattern when I was working on gleaning information from the logs and afterward I hadn't realized because I'd only checked my own in any depth whatsoever.  And his. She said that everyone else had been paired and repaired and thrown into constantly-changing programs.  But, not us. The Hirogen had accessed our logs and found that Tom and I didn't have a great working relationship. And they had put us together for that reason, believing we'd never be able to get past it.  They'd kept us in World War Two hoping we'd be fighting each other more than the 'enemy'. It might have worked, if they'd let us keep our own memories.  But without the history of distrust and animosity, we'd become better than friends. And constant repetition had reinforced that friendship, unbeknownst to either of us, who were starting with wiped slates time after time after time.  It was no great surprise that we'd gotten so dependent on one another.  We were the only variables that didn't change.  And yet . . . subconsciously, we must have been able to hold onto something, some part of it, that we kept with us through all those weeks . . . I found the Captain grinning at me as I shook my head.  And told her I'd have to tell Tom when he woke up.  She nodded and I swear she looked right through me when she asked if I would still be here in the morning.  I quietly answered 'yes' and that I wasn't planning on being anywhere else. Ever.     It was *her* turn to look stunned. I explained that it wasn't what it looked like, not exactly.  She dryly asked me, exactly what was it, and I told her I didn't know.  Exactly.  I grinned at her laughter but turned serious again when I told her that Tom and I belonged together.  For reasons we were only now beginning to understand. I heard Tom stirring in the bedroom and quickly said my good-byes to the Captain, who was still smiling when she told me to comm her tomorrow before ending communication. He was sprawled over the bed and moving agitatedly and my breath caught when I realized he was trying to find me. I slid in behind him, gathered him close and he settled immediately.  His arm came over mine, holding it to his chest and I found myself automatically curling around him. And not an air-raid siren to be heard.   I'm grateful for all that has happened, can you imagine? The Hirogen obliterated one shared history, gave us another and, in so doing, gifted us with a future. Together.   I wouldn't have it any other way. ***************************end