Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lieutenant Gregory Ayala had a problem. In truth, it was not a problem that concerned his responsibilities on this ship that was now his home. It was not a problem that concerned his own personal safety - he had full access to any weapons locker, not to mention his inherent strength. He took no shit from anyone or anything, and by this point nearly every Starfleet crew member knew it - not that he personally let them know, like he was in their face. He let them know by his actions - the ways that he dealt with hostile aliens; the ways that he had everyone's back, and was proud of it.

His problem was not any of those things, and in as much as they defined most of his life it was likely good that they weren't his problem. There were brief moments when he tried to put it in that positive light, like maybe once a week. His problem was a different one of definition - definition as in word useage definition. Self-definition. Self-image defined as Y instead of X or Z. He had been described by a certain woman he loathed -- described to any 'Fleet crew she could corner -- as one hundred percent exclusively interested in women, period, don't even think otherwise and besides, looking at him, who would think otherwise? Seska had started talking as soon as the two crews merged, seeing an opportunity to manipulate to her stone-cold heart's content, because she could, and she enjoyed doing it. Greg had never trusted her, though the reasons were contested by those closest to him. B'Elanna was one of the few Maquis who did not mind her, for some reason. Captain Chakotay - well, his opinion wasn't even worth contemplating to Greg's way of thinking. The man was often blind to how people were trying to manipulate him; the only saving grace was that somehow those who tried rarely succeeded. Except Seska. And, Tuvok.

Seska had gone after Greg once they were living on Voyager, much like she had gone after Tom Paris while they were all on the Liberty. She had a nose for making trouble, particularly trouble for those she thought were too close to the captain. Like Tom. And, here on Voyager, she had decided to have some fun at Greg's expense. Now, she and her phony-Bajoran-true-Cardi ass was gone. Greg was left with the consequences of her malevolent games. Consequences that were seriously getting to him. He had tried a few times to ask someone out -- say a nice man who did not seem too intensively 'Fleet (if that was possible) -- but the men invariably misunderstood his intentions, had no idea that he was talking about an actual date and not simply some shared exercise, or chatting over a meal in the mess. When he tried to explain, they assumed he was setting them up for something, because wasn't that what the Maquis were known for? Underhanded, evil things? He sometimes felt like standing in a corridor and simply hitting his forehead against the wall, to see if anyone would ask him why he was doing it, so he could explain, the bruise on his head proof that he was serious about the point he was trying to make.

The other problem that he had, branching off of the main one, was that he had no way to judge who on this ship was into men, too. Aside from the Maquis, about whom he knew nearly everything given the cramped size of the Liberty. Of the few men he'd been involved with in the Maquis, only two were still on the Liberty when they went into the Badlands and ended up here. If "involved" applied, given the life they were leading. But, how was he supposed to ferret out men like himself under these conditions? Because how, really, does one correct other people's assumptions -- people whom he hardly knew -- about his own libidinous identity? Send out a shipwide announcement?

Greg was on duty at Security/Tactical on the bridge, which might have been more interesting if not for the sector they were moving through. He was watching Tom at the helm, and Chakotay in the command chair, pretending they were not noticing each other. He had half-assumed that once Seska had been exposed and all of that crap was over and done with that the two men would gradually start spending some quality time with each other, again. Simply see if bygones could be bygones, like Greg thought they should be. He was still waiting to see it happen.

Over lunch break, Greg had been approached by yet another woman -- this one from Cartography -- asking him if he'd like to go out. Of course, the assumption on her part was "date." He turned her down, nicely, he thought, since he had no desire to alienate members of his new crew for this stupid reason. Still... he was not sure the interraction had ended that well. He overheard her talking to some friends. Apparently he was developing a rep as a snob.

The commander got up from his command chair and began to walk the bridge, checking on everyone, doing the thing Chakotay was always so good at - making personal connections with the crew. If the man would have stayed in Starfleet, Greg thought he probably would have ended up the captain of a premiere Science and Research vessel, with a crew that would gladly spend months digging through important archealogical sites for the Federation, simply because he had asked them to, and took his care of them in return. Chakotay reached him eventually, and asked him how he was, today.

"Great," he said, not hiding the sarcasm, his frustration.

"Oh?" Chakotay peered at him closely. "Talk, later? My quarters, dinner? I'll buy."

He thought it could help, if he could figure out a way to talk around any mention of Seska. Talking this over with anyone could help, maybe figure out a solution that didn't involve a shipwide announcement. That it was Chakotay, one of his first friends in the Maquis - Greg knew he could trust him, at least. Trust him to speak the truth. He nodded his assent. Chakotay smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. In his peripheral vision, Greg saw Tom Paris's attention drawn to the sound, turning his head briefly before turning back to the helm. Greg sighed to himself. God damned Seska.

"Maybe they just assume you're into women because it's still the default assumption," Chakotay said, and sipped his tea.

Greg shook his head. "I wish it was only for that reason. Then, I could disabuse them of the notion, normally, like we do. Or did. Before the war." He shook his head again. "These folks firmly believe that I'm one hundred percent hetero, and don't believe anything I say or do to the contrary. It's like one of those old conspiracy theories. I'm a Maquis who's secretly trying to mess with them; or gather intel on them so we can kill them all in their sleep; or save it for the honchos at Starfleet to ruin them all."

Chakotay was studying him again. In that way that he did. "What's the rest of it, Greg?"

No, he was not going into specifics, there. "Someone told the 'Fleet crew, when we first joined, that I was. Hetero. Told them they shouldn't believe anything else, because that would just piss me off, and they really didn't want to get me angry. Told as many 'Fleet as they could."

"Someone," Chakotay said in a low voice.

Greg said nothing. He could do stoic like the man across the table from him could.

Chakotay's eyes blazed. "Someone did this to screw with your life."

"Seems like that's probably the reason," Greg lied. He knew full well that was the reason.

Chakotay's eyes blazed even hotter. "I see." He shook his head. "She certainly didn't like my male friends, did she?"

Greg sighed aloud, crossed his arms, and rested against his chair. "Not only the friends, Chakotay, as you and I both know--"

"Not talking about that, now, and maybe ever. No."

Greg shrugged. "Then, yes, she hated you having male friends. But, fuck her. Fuck Seska."

Chakotay smiled a small smile. "Point taken. So." He drummed fingers of his right hand on the table. "You need to find a way to, I don't know, demonstrate in public that you're not hetero. Make it crystal clear. Just enough of a demonstration that the word gets spread around." He shrugged. "Maybe that would work."

"It's against stupid 'Fleet regs to have PDAs. I looked it up."

"Well, that's not entirely true. People in Starfleet, on ships, just use discretion, that's all. Nothing hot and heavy in public. Simple displays of affection are perfectly acceptable. Though, I'd probably try not to do it when there's a chance Tuvok would see."

Greg shrugged again. "Okay. But, who in the world am I going to do this little display with -- who's going to be willing to be seen doing... what... kiss me? They would be forever labeled, too. You? No offense, but no, never wanted to and still don't, and it would be wildly inappropriate. One of my exes? They're Maquis, so automatically suspected as liars and manipulators." He paused. "Tom?"

Chakotay immediately looked away, down at the deck, then to his hands, and tried to hide it but swallowed harder than necessary. Honestly, he looked nauseated. Greg assumed the man was picturing him, and Tom, giving a public display of a kiss, whether on the mouth or somewhere else -- though it really had to be an actual kiss and not something contrived -- and it looked like Chakotay did not like the picture he was imagining. Of course he did not like it, and would not like it, and though Greg thought he could pull it off and Tom might be willing, he was not going to do anything to make further trouble between these two men.

He hoped Seska rotted in hell.

An hour after Greg's dinner and talk with Chakotay, during which nothing other than a generalized plan had been decided on, he was back in his quarters thinking about options. He was not entirely sure this would work, but it did seem like a good option to try, anyway. He was desperate enough to try almost anything. His door chimed. He opened it.

Tom nodded to him, and said "Hi," then waited.

Greg was surprised to see him, and waved him inside. "What's up?"

Tom was still not smiling. "Um, the commander suggested that I come talk to you. That I might be able to help you."

"He did what?" Greg shook his head. "Help me with my problem?" It made no sense.

"Can we sit down?" Tom said. Greg nodded, and they sat on his couch. "Look, I'm not completely sure what was going on in that head of his, but he gave me a quick explanation of what Seska did, and its ramifications, and what you two thought might fix things for you." He paused and took a deep breath. "Then he suggested that I might be 'the solution'. Because of my helpful nature, or something ... oh, fuck it. I don't know. He was all over the place. That's fine. But if he's thinking what I think he's thinking, and you are, too, well.... Given other circumstances, I could be willing to make out with you in the lift or something, but.... I can't. Can't do it. I'm sorry."

Greg tried to gather his thoughts, because this was still making very little sense to him. "Tom. I had no intention of approaching you with my problem. Other than maybe helping me think of someone else to approach, before I space myself. Chakotay-- I'll talk to him tomorrow. But. Tom. He--" He nearly growled in frustration. "Okay, when he and I met earlier, the suggestion of you was made by me, just running through possibilities in my head, and he looked like he'd eaten something that was making him gag. The mere thought of the two of us, in a public display, even faking a kiss was enough to make him nuts. So, why the hell he turned around and prodded you to do it--"

Tom collapsed against the couch. He shook his head slowly. "Damn him. I know why he did it. To prove to himself that it would be no big deal." He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them, and Greg could see untold emotions, beyond sadness, on Tom's face. "He's more than nuts, sometimes," Tom said. "So, not me. Then who? Because I agree with the basic idea of it. And, that it has to be a Starfleet guy."

"How am I supposed to ask someone to do this?" Greg was once again feeling like this was an exercise in futility.

"Who are you even slightly friends with, in Security? Because that could make sense, to other people looking at it. You know, you two met, started whatever," Tom said, with a small grin.

"There's Culhane. He might be willing." The more Greg thought about him, the more he could see it. It wouldn't be stomach turning, anyway.

"You guys simply have to look at it like actors in movies do. Lots of men played 'gay' back in the day, when they weren't, or wouldn't admit it. Like going undercover, or stealth. Except out in the open. With kissing." Tom grinned full out.

Greg looked at him. Somehow, none of that felt comforting. He would talk to Culhane as soon as possible. Tonight.

Once again, Greg was seated on a couch in a crew member's quarters. Peter Culhane sat next to him. Greg had explained his problem, and what he thought might be the solution, and that he was looking for a friend to act the part of his date, boyfriend, love interest, whatever Peter wanted to call it. Peter got a funny look on his face, that Greg could not read at all. Sort of questioning, sort of confused, sort of off in his own thoughts.

"You're into men?" Peter's head tipped to the side, like he was seeing Greg for the first time.

Greg sighed. "Yes."

"Huh."

"So, would you be willing? It has to seem at least a little convincing. But, it would just be one kiss. Don't know where. Probably a corridor?"

"We'd have to practice, I guess?"

Peter wasn't stupid - why was he looking like that, he wondered. "That would be a good idea. At least a few times. So it looks natural."

"Okay." Peter scooted over on the couch until he was right up next to Greg, who was unprepared for this quick a response, much less a move. Peter turned to him, held Greg's face in his hands, and kissed him. Greg felt... weirdly disconnected. He tried to kiss him back, but, without warning, Peter pulled away and let go, shaking his head. "I don't think it would work."

Greg didn't know whether to be offended, or relieved, and he was still confused. "You don't," he said.

"I guess I'm not that great at pretending, after all. Thought I'd give it a try, but it just feels too strange. But, while you're here, do you mind if I ask you some questions? I just started dating Morrison, in Engineering, and he's the first guy I've ever dated. I need some pointers?"

Greg closed his eyes, shaking his head. He couldn't help it. What the hell was going on, that he should have such a never-ending run of the ironic fall into his lap? Greg sighed, to himself, and said, "Sure," and sat with Peter Culhane for another twenty minutes helping him date Morrison in Engineering.

Greg knew it was late, but he was immensely frustrated and, honest with himself, worried. He commed Tom, who told him to come over. Greg envisioned the next decades of his life stuck on this damned ship in another quadrant of the galaxy, and he would never have romantic companionship again in his life. No sex, no love, no fun - none of the things that one can be blessed with if one is lucky enough to find it. Not here. He would have women coming on to him for another six months or so until his rep was sealed as a self-absorbed bastard.

Tom let him in; they sat on the couch. Again. He told him what happened with Peter Culhane. Tom looked shocked.

"Peter Culhane? Really? And Morrison in Engineering? Why didn't I know that?"

Greg shook his head. "Whatever. I need another name. I don't have to know him that well, apparently, because who knows anything about anyone else on this ship?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah, not like the Liberty, huh? But given what happened to me, there, I'll take discretion over everyone's in my business from now on and be grateful for it."

"I know. I'm sorry, Tom."

"Hey, it's okay, I know you were never part of it all. You were at least neutral. Now things have changed. I'm okay. Mostly," he said, giving Greg a tired version of his grin. He slapped his knees gently. "So. Another potential...." After a long minute of staring at the carpeted deck, he met Greg's eyes. "How about Pablo? Baytart? I'm pretty sure he's unattached, right now, and I'm also pretty sure that he might not be averse to kissing you."

"Gee. That's a ringing endorsement," Greg muttered. He breathed deeply. "Sorry. Falling into maudlin territory by now. I don't know him at all. Would you at least introduce us? This sounds so pathetic--"

"No problem, Greg. I'll introduce you. I'll even stick around for the-- what are you calling this anyway?"

"A favor."

"Okay. I'll stick around while you ask the favor, if you want." Tom asked the computer for information on the next 24 hour duty roster - Baytart was working Gamma, as Tom suspected, as lately he and Pablo had done Gamma-Alpha hand-off. So Pablo was due to start shift in two hours. "Maybe he's up right now," Tom said, and again asked the computer; according to that info, the man was up and in his quarters. Tom looked at Greg. "Carpe diem?"

"Sure, what the hell."

Tom commed Pablo; he agreed to receive visitors. They left. Greg had almost no hope, much less enthusiasm. Next to him, Tom seemed at least slightly upbeat.

Pablo Baytart looked from Greg to Tom and back to Greg. The three of them were sitting on the couch, naturally. "Maybe I didn't get enough sleep today," Baytart said. "Because I think you said you need a favor from me that involves me kissing you in a public display so that--" His eyes got very wide.

Greg sighed. He poked Tom in the arm. "This is pointless," he said. He stood. Tom stayed seated.

Tom said, "What the hell, Pablo? I've heard things. You're not so off on one side of the scale that this would be ridiculous to you!"

"But, he's Maquis!"

"I'm right here," Greg said.

"That's the damned point!" Tom stood. "Everyone in the Starfleet crew thinks he's someone he's not! What kind of future do you think that leaves him with?! You get to date whoever you want!"

"Tom," Greg said, aiming for calm. "Come on, forget it."

Pablo stood, too, holding out his hands, almost pleading. "I get that! And, I'm sorry! But even if I didn't have any problem kissing him, or even doing it in public, he's Maquis! My friends would give me grief for months, and I'd have trouble finding a date for a year or more! I'm sorry!"

Tom sighed harshly. Did it again. "Okay, okay, I get it." He touched Greg on the biceps. "Yeah, come on."

Greg nodded. Almost to the door, he turned to Baytart. "I understand, I do. No hard feelings."

Pablo Baytart looked even more stricken, and nodded, putting hands on hips. Greg and Tom walked out of Baytart's quarters and stopped in the corridor; they had run out of energy and ideas.

"You know," Greg said in a low voice, "how much crap I've been through, you've been through, over the past few years, and I never felt as much god damned despair as I have in the past few months. Spacing myself has never sounded so good. If I didn't have kids back home, I swear, I'd do it."

The door to the quarters next to Baytart's opened. They both turned. Harry Kim stood there. Tom apologized, if they had woken him up with the yelling. Harry said he was already awake. He looked from Tom to Greg, serious but not so at the same time.

"I'm not quite clear on everything that came through the air vents two minutes ago," Harry said, "but - it sounds like you need help with something regarding my fellow crew mates? Anything I can help with?"

Greg let that register for a moment. He looked at Tom, who was looking at Harry. Then Tom turned to him and gave a slight shrug. He considered the man in front of him. One could not get more rigidly 'Fleet than Harry Kim, at least in terms of his position, and relationships with his superior officers. Greg honestly had little sense of what other 'Fleeters thought about him. He, himself, thought he was a good guy - Tom obviously liked him alot, and Greg had been the grateful recipient of Tom's and Harry's holoprogramming skills. When he had first met Harry, he had pegged him as a kiss ass. Then he discovered that the man was simply incredibly good at his job, and was desperate to get back home so tended to go a little overboard at times. But ... kissing another man, for a show meant for the rest of the crew?

In the silence, Harry simply stood as the three of them each held whatever thoughts they did. Greg poked Tom in the arm. "Will you stay with me, while I talk to Harry?" He still needed Tom's presence.

Harry smiled, presumed they would come with him, and went back into his quarters. Tom waited for Greg to go next, and followed, with a slightly stunned look on his face if Greg was reading him right.

They sat on the couch. Greg slowly and carefully told Harry Kim almost everything. The "whys" he left out, but he was clear that this was Seska's doing, and he needed it undone, and how he needed it undone - the idea that had been devised that evening. He did not tell Harry who had devised the idea. Harry absorbed all of it, and Greg knew this because the man's reaction to each part was clearly visible on his face.

"Wow," Harry said. "That's quite the ask." He smiled. "And you realize, I'm sure, that if you just keep asking more and more men that pretty soon the word will go around on its own."

Tom snorted. "Guess that's a point, Harry, if one can trust that it won't get garbled in the gossip."

"True," Harry said. He looked directly at Greg. "It needs to look authentic, right?"

Greg nodded.

"So... practice sessions. Or session."

Greg nodded again. A spark of hope started up in his chest.

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," Greg said, the hope settling in. He glanced at Tom - he was just this side of staring at his friend.

Harry was sitting next to him on the couch, and waiting for him to make a move, which appealed to Greg. He could decide how this would go. He had no idea if this man had ever kissed another man, or would understand what he was about to experience - the big differences, the nuances. Since this was their first practice session, Greg planned to make it simple. An ice-breaker, only. Next time, if there needed to be a next time, he could up it a notch, only for authenticity's sake.

He asked Harry if he was ready, to be sure. Harry nodded. Greg tipped his head to the left; Harry did the same. He kissed Harry gently, barely making contact with his mouth, moving slowly, waiting to see how much Harry would respond. After a long moment of absolute stillness, Harry responded, his mouth, his lips were moving exactly as they were meant to do for a simple, mostly chaste kiss. Greg increased the pressure of his mouth just enough, for a touch more contact. Harry responded. All seemed good... Except... Greg was beginning to feel slow currents of electricity move inside of himself. He felt Harry's breathing become a little heavier, then the pressure of his soft lips increased a bit, causing the electrical current in Greg's body to surge a bit. None of which was supposed to happen. His pulsed skipped. He immediately stopped the kiss, and pulled back. Harry's mouth followed for a nanosecond, then stopped.

"Okay," Greg said, as he stood. He had to go. "Tomorrow evening."

"Nineteen hundred hours," Harry said, his voice sounding different.

Greg left, feeling confused more than anything else. He ignored the anything else. He walked the corridors, ending up in front of Tom's door. He hit the door chime, an urge for answers causing him to hit it again.

Tom opened the door, eyebrows up high. "Hi," he said, sweeping Greg inside.

"Tom. I need to know something."

Tom waved him to sit. Greg did. Tom did. "Okay, shoot," Tom said.

"Do you know why Harry agreed to do this?"

Tom hesitated, deliberately relaxing against the back of the couch. He shrugged one shoulder. "I might."

Greg briefly closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Give me a break, here, Tom. Something's--" He sighed, and tried again. "I'm grateful that he's willing to do this. I am. But, I don't understand where he's coming from, and it seems like I should. You know me. I don't like hidden agendas."

Tom studied him closely. "You two had your first 'practice session' tonight, didn't you?"

"Yeah. And?"

Tom continued to think to himself for a long moment. Then he sighed. "Okay. Harry and I haven't talked specifically about last night, and I admit I was surprised, but from his mood today, I think I can surmise his perspective." He held up a palm. "I don't know, okay?" Greg nodded. "Harry and I have talked a lot over the past six months or more about being stuck out here, and shit around that, and he knows I've had experiences with men, and we've talked a lot about that, too -- not about certain ones, since that wouldn't be appropriate -- but I've gotten the message from Harry that he's decided to expand his horizons, as they used to say, and see if there might be more options for him to find some companionship. Sex. Maybe love." Tom shrugged. "Maybe he's looking at this as an experiment -- for himself! Greg, don't misunderstand -- but he gathers data and then reaches conclusions, you know?"

Greg breathed deliberately as various reactions were shooting through him. All of this did sound like the Harry Kim he knew, how little he knew him. He finally nodded. "I just don't like being used," he said.

Tom chuckled. "I hate to say it, Greg, but who's using whom, here? Harry's a willing participant, but he's performing a function for you, so if he's trying to figure out something for himself in the process, that seems only fair."

Greg smiled. "You have a point."

"And, hey, if in this process, however brief it is, you manage to bring Harry over to our side, well, then, what the hell is wrong with that?" Tom grinned a Tom-grin.

"Somehow I don't think creating more competition is necessarily a good thing."

Tom looked at him like he had his head completely up his ass. "Greg. I suspect when the word starts moving through the lower decks among those rigid 'Fleet boys who like boys that you of all people are available, you will have zero things to worry about. Unless you end up 'who cares' about all of them."

Greg collapsed against the back of Tom's couch and sighed from a very deep place. Yeah. Unless he ultimately ended up feeling nothing. He focused on his present situation. Okay. At least he had the chance for possibilities, now, thanks to Harry Kim of all people. And, Tom. He smiled.

The next day, Greg was, once again, lucky enough to be on the bridge for part of his daily shift rather than in the brig or counting phaser rifles. It was still quiet space, but at least he knew that if something did happen, he would be called into action and be able to see everything first hand. And, again, he watched Chakotay pretend his glance was not glued to Tom, which simply made Greg want to take the man by the arm and plant him in Tom's quarters, and stand guard until they fixed their mess. As if on cue, the commander rose out of the command chair and began to walk the back level of the bridge. Greg turned to him and inadvertently met Harry's glance, looking in his direction, which caused Greg to think about the coming evening and 'practicing' with Harry, which caused an unexpected thing to quiver in the pit of his stomach so that he missed the fact that Chakotay was now standing at his elbow. He looked at him.

"Greg, I'm interested in an update. On your problem. My quarters, after shift?"

He nodded. "Sure, yes, I'm happy to do that, update you, yes."

Chakotay's brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"

Greg mentally shook himself. "I'm fine." He smiled to prove it.

"Good. I'll wait for you to hand-off."

Greg nodded; Chakotay nodded, and continued on his way. Greg briefly glanced at Ops. Harry was concentrating on something important on the console. Greg thought he could see Harry breathing, from across the deck, but decided he was only imagining it since it was utterly impossible to detect that from this far away.

Chakotay paused, a long pause, during which Greg fought the urge to simply put the man out of his misery and lay all of the cards on the table. Chakotay said, unsurprisingly, "I thought Tom was going to be the one to do it, with you."

"I know. That you suggested to him that he do it." Greg shook his head. "And, for your information, Tom said he couldn't do it. I didn't ask him why, but perhaps you could. He did, however, help me with various options. He's been supportive, and typically Tom - a good friend, a decent man, and for someone, a helluva partner. But, you know all of that already."

"I do." Chakotay sighed from deep in his chest.

"I'm beginning to feel like a relationship counselor," Greg said, aiming for a light tone. "Because I want to understand why you suggested it in the first place. You think you hide behind the stoic warrior guise, but those of us who've known you the longest don't even pay attention to that anymore. I saw what the thought of me kissing Tom was doing to you. Frankly, it should do something to you. Then five minutes later, you send him to me....?"

Chakotay glared; Greg ignored it.

In the corridor, Greg commed Tom and asked if he could meet him in the mess for dinner. In truth, he was feeling frustrated enough that a different sort of a plan was starting to play out in his head - because as much as he loved that man he had just left stewing in his quarters -- and he did love him like a brother -- he was equally ready to tie him to a chair and give him a taste of his own Cardi interrogation medicine. Greg would admit to anyone that his own anger at Seska might be interfering with his analytical abilities. But, he had seen how she screwed with nearly everyone she ever came in contact with - Chakotay more than anyone, with Tom a near second. Greg had a close-in view of their entire mess.... that did not need to be a mess at all. He saw two men falling in love against the forces of a damned war, until Seska had gotten wind of it. Until she had done what she could to destroy it.

And, now, here they all were minus the evil-doer. The tendrils of her black heart were still worming their way through Voyager, and, it looked to Greg, through her main target more than anyone else. Well, fuck her.

"It's a relatively simple plan, Tom," Greg said in a low voice. "What we talked about, before. You helping me. Move that to a different, um, place. Different audience."

Tom's eyes got wide, then narrowed. "You two talked, right - so why this new idea?"

Greg ate some of his dinner, while scanning the nearby tables for eavesdropping. Nobody was paying them any attention. "He was shocked it wasn't going to be you. Had it all set in his head. Won't admit to me why he tried to make that happen. He needs to be shocked in a different way."

Tom ate, studying his plate while he did. He drank some of his juice, meeting Greg's glance. "I don't know."

Greg leaned forward. "As I see it, the two of us walk into his quarters, lay a heavy one on each other, than I leave. The rest is up to you." He sat back. "The man is teetering, Tom."

Tom went back to studying the food on his plate, moving it around with a fork. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He looked up. "I still love him," he said, almost to himself.

Greg nodded, almost to himself. "I know."

"I'll think about it."

Harry let Greg into his quarters, giving him a small smile as they sat next to each other on the couch. Greg had been working to get his head back into his own situation, and what level of 'practice' he wanted to accomplish with Harry tonight, but still felt more distracted than he wanted to be.

"Everything all right, Greg? We can reschedule, if you want." Harry's voice held a twinge of potential disappointment.

"No, I'm good. Just a bit of a strange day, that's all. More ammunition for me to be fed up with Seska and everything that she did." He shook his head. "I'm good."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Greg paused, slightly taken aback that Harry would ask. "Well.... I can't. It's about other people, not me, so it's not my information to share. I'm just pissed for them."

Harry nodded. "And, I'm angry for you."

Greg smiled at that. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry said. "So...."

Greg moved toward Harry's mouth, realizing too late that he had not asked if the other man was ready, and the moment he was about to stop Harry met him halfway, kissing him smoothly, with more purpose than the first time, and a hand cupping the back of his neck, and at first surprised Harry had initiated, Greg responded naturally as if this was any other situation, kiss, for simple, soft, nice kiss ... then Harry's mouth pressed harder, his kisses intensified, and without warning Greg felt that electrical current ramp up and flow through him, uncontrollably. His brain was telling him this was not supposed to happen. It was not. Yet, it was. He again felt Harry's breathing change, getting heavier; Greg felt his own breathing respond as electricity coursed through him. Their mouths were moving with more heated intent. His heart started to pound. He wanted to-- He had to stop, or he was going do something because he overwhelmingly wanted to.... He had to stop.... He slowed himself down, and pulled back, and again Harry followed him for a nanosecond, then stopped, too.

He opened his eyes, working to slow down his heart rate. Harry's face was flushed, his chest was heaving, his eyes were locked onto Greg's; aside from that he looked ... shocked. Greg had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

Harry said, "I think we're getting good at this."

Greg laughed a short, hard one. "I, uh, don't know if we need more practice...."

"We do. We do - at least one or two more sessions. Before the demonstration."

Greg acceded, because he could not think to save his life right then. If Harry wanted to 'practice' he had no power to say No. The only thing his mind was doing was cataloguing what he had just experienced, and trying to come up with a scenario for a public demonstration that he could control enough to not embarrass either one of them. If things kept progressing like they were, his PDA was going to be so far beyond regs he might get demoted. .... the why this was happening, this way, was confusing...

The next day, Tom asked Greg to join his table for lunch, and though he was feeling slightly wary to sit with Harry, too, Greg agreed. He tried to look at it as a chance to be normal-friendly with the other man, like they were before he and Harry started 'practicing', before he had to control himself to keep from shoving his tongue down Harry Kim's throat and pushing him down on the couch. So, he sat, and ate, and listened to the other two have a normal conversation, tried to contribute where he could and make it seem natural, and at the same time keep his eyes firmly on the room around them, or on Tom.

After a few minutes of this, he decided to use his mental energies, while they talked, on devising a permutation of the plan he had tried to work out with Tom, vis-a-vis Chakotay. A way to force a breach to their barriers, if that was even possible. Locking them together in one room might not be enough to do it - give one man's level of stubborn and the other's level of sad... or maybe that was also the other way around. They were each stubborn. They were each sad. They were both, deep down, miserable.

Greg was finding their situation harder and harder to ignore, or accept, and he did not have the skillset to understand why it was driving him to the edge. Maybe not that extreme. Simply feeling a strong urge to fix it, adjust it, lessen it, something. Last night, before he went to sleep, he had wondered if being in the midst of Chakotay's and Tom's angst was affecting how he himself was looking at the possibilities for love and companionship on Voyager. The two of them had had -- and probably still did have -- something real, and intense, and they had let outside forces screw that up for themselves. What chance did he have? What were the honest odds among one hundred 'Fleet personnel, how many of which were men? 60? 70? He did not even know, and truth be told, he did not want to know. The odds were overwhelmingly bad.

It was depressing. Maybe he simply didn't want to see two men he cared a great deal for also be depressed, for no good reason. Starfleet regs be damned - neither one of them were truly 'Fleet, anyhow. Chakotay in particular. He knew the man still considered himself Maquis, and always would.

"Greg," Tom's voice brought him back from his pit of something, "we're going to play pool this evening. Want to join us? A friendly competition?"

He caught Harry's glance darting at him; he met it. "Sure," he said to Tom. "Harry and I will practice beforehand." His heart beat started to thud. Harry smiled. Tom nodded, and gave him the time, before they both got up and left. Greg stayed where he was, looking over the crew surrounding him. He sighed.

Greg was once again sitting next to Harry on the man's couch, but this time he found he was not all that interested in conversation save the one topic that he was not supposed to know about - Harry's possible experimentation with him. Greg wanted to know if A) Harry was actually doing what Tom thought he might be doing, and B) what data Harry was getting from their 'practice' sessions. Yesterday, if Greg had asked himself if he cared to know any of that, he would have said Not really. It wasn't his business, and it didn't affect him. That is, if Greg had asked himself prior to their session number two. Because, now, here he was, and he was actually feeling a strong sense of anticipation for what was about to happen. Was Harry's experiment affecting this? How would Greg feel, this time? What if he could no longer control his urges once they started? What the hell was happening to him, period? A simple kiss, another more than simple kiss, he had done it hundreds of times with men he liked and men he liked more, and sure, of course, he had been turned on during -- that was the point of it -- but he was having a hard time remembering one of them with whom he felt the current of electricity appear so immediately, and so insistently with very little stimulation.

"Greg?"

He focused. Harry was peering at him, deeply into his eyes. Great start. "Ready?" he said, though obviously, Harry was, and had been. Harry nodded, with a small smile, and that was enough for Greg, because he needed to know, to figure it out, if he would or would not and how much. He cupped Harry's face in both hands, and kissed him, persuasively, not chaste at all but firmly, moving his mouth to make more and more contact, and Harry, good lord, he responded with heat, and by parting those moving, soft lips of his and doing his damndest to pry Greg's mouth open with his hot tongue, and just like that Greg's last resistance crumbled without a fight. He welcomed Harry in and deepened their kisses in a rush of sensation, and god damned that electrical current was surging through him so intensely his head was swimming. Harry moaned; his hands found purchase on Greg's shirt; all the while they were devouring each other like two men starving, and maybe they were, for exactly this. Harry moaned again, and Greg felt that one against the back of his throat, and he wanted to take this thing with Harry further-- way too far, and way too fast. He forced himself with all of the strength he could muster to slow them down, so he could breathe. He tried to disengage his mouth from Harry's, but the man was not cooperating at all, those deep hot kisses kept coming. Harry had Greg's shirt in his fists and was trying to pull Greg closer to him. Greg resisted, tried harder to unlock their mouths, and finally succeeded. He said Harry's name into his ear, thinking it would wake them up from this, and all that did was send Harry's hot mouth up and down the side of Greg's neck, and that current coursing down his spine. With the greatest of will power, Greg got a hold of Harry's shoulders and pried the two of them further apart. One look at Harry's flushed face, his eyes black with heat, his hair falling over his forehead, his lips glistening from their kisses, and Greg lost his sense of what they were ostensibly doing. Who they were, even.

"Harry," he said.

"Greg," Harry said.

Greg said, slowly, "I've got nothing beyond that," and smiled.

Harry smiled, too.

The crowd in Sandrine's was making it a challenge for Greg and Harry to maneuver through the room to the pool table. Tom was already playing a game against Baytart, who met Greg's glance, nodded without any awkwardness thank god, and then looked at Harry standing next to him. But Baytart did not nod at Harry, which seemed more than odd. They lived next door to each other, so at least they should be friendly. Tom finished his shot and approached them.

"Was going to ask you how practice went, but maybe I don't have to," Tom said, looking at them.

"What the hell does that mean?" Greg said.

"Nothing much," Tom said. He pointed at them. "Just don't think I've ever seen the two of you stand, like that. Shoulder to shoulder. Like that." He cocked his head. "Interesting."

Really? Greg looked down at Harry, honestly noticing for the first time that the other man was standing with his shoulder against Greg's biceps. Harry looked at Greg. Then they each turned their attention back to the pool table, but did not move further apart. Greg was good with that. He began to ruminate on where they were - a public place that really couldn't be a more perfect setting. Lots of crew were there. He did a quick scan of the space. Tuvok was not. Janeway was not. He did not see Chakotay, but if he was there, tonight, he was likely sitting in a corner watching Tom. Normally, if he was in Sandrine's, he would join them for pool, trying to relax and be normal around Tom, and Tom would do the same. They usually did a good job of pulling it off, for the benefit of the crew, and for themselves. Greg could not imagine they could do that tonight, or maybe even tomorrow or who knew when. Both men were teetering now.

However. He was here. Harry was here. The two of them were way more than sufficiently practiced to be able to give a brief PDA, brief being the operative word. He should ask if Harry would be willing. Right now. He was hesitant. He did not know why.

Harry tugged on his shoulder, cupping his mouth, so Greg leaned down. "Do you want me to kiss you, here? I'll do it for you, if you want." Greg looked at him. He was not sure Harry was being sincere. Sincere in his offer, yes, but he was not sure Harry was completely willing. Given they had not really discussed the actual demonstration, Greg did not know if Harry still wanted to be public, or not.

He motioned for Harry to follow, and made his way back outside where it was quiet enough to have a conversation at least. He sat on one of the benches near the door. Harry was right behind, and sat next to him. The bench was not wide. They were forced to sit close, thighs touching, shoulders touching. Greg's pulse responded.

"Harry, thank you for the offer, back there. I'd been thinking the same thing. Seems like a perfect opportunity. But-- I'm...." He paused, because what was he? Still hesitating.

"I promised you I'd fix this for you, or help you try anyway." Harry placed a hand on Greg's thigh. "And I will. If you want me to." He paused. "For some reason, I'm feeling more awkward about it, now, after... tonight... than I was before tonight." He let go of Greg's leg, and clasped hands together, then rubbed them together, and repeated both actions. "I have something to tell you, about ... this." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've been using the chance you gave me, to figure out something about myself." He relaxed his hands, and looked at Greg directly. "Apparently, I'm not a hundred percent hetero."

Greg smiled. "Really? I'm shocked," he said gently. "Only teasing--"

Harry's reaction caught him off-guard. Harry turned to him smoothly, and wrapped his right arm tightly around Greg's shoulders and neck and kissed him, hard, and deep, and hot, sending all of Greg's nerve endings immediately into overdrive, causing him to move enough to get his arms around Harry, pulling them closer on the bench. In front of Sandrine's, their deep kisses kept going, and going, because he couldn't stop, because he needed to taste Harry, and feel him do that moaning thing he did against his tongue, which was beginning to drive him good-insane. Greg wanted them closer still.

He heard two voices from far away. Laughter abruptly stopping. He did not care what might be going on around them, other than wish whoever was doing what to leave them the hell alone. Footsteps maybe receded. Harry slowed them down, this time.

"I didn't do that for a demo," Harry said through heavy breaths, "I did it because I wanted to."

Greg nodded. "I know." Greg pulled Harry to him, again, and damn he felt good in his arms. "Shit, Harry, we're going to have to ... figure this out, I guess. Date?" Harry nodded rapidly, against Greg's neck. He chuckled.

"Then," Harry said in a low voice, "you'll have to teach me the rest of it. I'm not ignorant, just mostly inexperienced."

"More practice," he said, trying to keep it light, because the images of Harry in his bed, with him, were causing his pulse to fly erratically throughout his body.

"Definitely. A lot of practice."

Greg and Harry walked back into the still-crowded Sandrine's, to the pool table where Tom was now playing against a man Greg recognized but did not know by name. As they made their way, Greg saw people looking at him and Harry, and he came to the belated realization that his simple need to hold Harry's hand was enough to make his point. It would have been enough irrelevant of where or when. Even if they had maybe been seen outside on the bench, or not seen, that didn't matter. Everyone who cared to look in here saw the two of them with their hands laced together, and understood everything about who Greg was. Whom he could love. It was sometimes the simple things that made the most profound statements.

Tom saw them, and grinned outright. Greg renewed his vow to do something for him, and for Chakotay. Maybe something simple was the way to go.

Tom was sitting next to Greg in the other man's quarters, this time, drinking a beer, staring down at the deck between his feet, thinking about Greg's suggested idea.

Greg sighed. "Look, Tom, I honestly think this has a chance of working. Nothing else I've thought of would, best intentions aside. Chakotay is a romantic. We both know that."

"But, he acts like he's absolutely sure that he'd rather forget the past - our past. How will shoving it in his face be a positive, much less something that will make him see things differently?"

"I'm not talking about looking at the past, or analyzing it, or whatever. Just using it as a setting. Like a memory aid."

Tom shook his head. "That's assuming it won't cause him to turn around and walk out."

"Not if you're right there in front of him, Tom." Greg patted his leg. "Let's just see if you can create something that feels right to you, first."

Tom left Greg's quarters with no intention of returning to his, because he knew sleep was nowhere near him for now, and he needed to think, and that meant walking. He didn't completely agree with Greg about what might break through Chakotay's rigid wall. The wall that his friend claimed was currently 'teetering' on the edge of collapse. In his bleaker moments, Tom absolutely wished that was true so he could feel a sliver of hope, and keep going on this ship with that man in his orbit. In his bleaker moments, his wishes lasted only nanoseconds. In his better ones, like occasional moments over the past couple of days, he felt the sliver of hope sit in his chest like it belonged there. Gave him urges that he forced himself to tamp down. An urge to go to Chakotay's quarters, and simply tell him how he still felt. Declare it as if it were the truest of truths that he would never let go of. Simply to see how Chakotay would react.

Tom had sincerely enjoyed watching Greg work through his personal project of deliberately outing himself - enjoyed helping him, felt a keen sense of satisfaction about the outcome. Tom's personal feelings about it, at the same time, were complicated. It was terrific that Greg had unexpectedly found that he and Harry had chemistry to burn through a hull plate. But, for Tom, it was also a reminder of the essential rarity of that type of chemistry. The unexpected nature of it was its identity. When you're lucky enough to find it, it's never expected. It can't be. Hearing about their rarely found chemistry was a reminder of all that he and Chakotay had once had.

Greg's idea was percolating through Tom's brain as he walked the decks - a holographic simulation of the site of Tom's and Chakotay's first kiss. Or of their first flirtation. Or of their first anything - though in the Maquis there really wasn't much of anything else that was anywhere except on one ship or another. He remembered some fairly hot and heavy making out in a corner of one of the Liberty's cargo bays - a half hour stolen while Chakotay was supposed to be sleeping during transit. His chest constricted to return there in his mind's eye. This was the rough part of his memories - they never had only sexual encounters. Everything they experienced was laced with that indefinable romanticism - moments during, when emotions were deep and profound. He honestly assumed this was why Chakotay so rigidly held on to forgetting, while claiming it was healthier to put the past in the past. To put their past firmly behind him.

Tom knew his problem was that he no longer could go all carpe diem for himself, when it was his own personal happiness on the line. Not about Chakotay. He honestly had no idea how the man would react, to be suddenly returned to that alleyway on Vega IV, where a flirtatious dare had morphed into precisely what it was fated to. It opened them up to their first kiss, that was not light, or chaste, or anything other than intense, and life-changing. What would Chakotay do, to be back there, again?

For that matter, how would he feel to be back there, again?

The following evening, Tom was using his reserved holodeck time to work on the program he was creating for himself. He had started this the night before, near on zero hour, since sleep had indeed eluded him. He had thought that remembering that alleyway would be straightforward, but, it turned out, it was not. The vagaries of memory, and in his case, one overwhelmingly crucial memory that blotted out details like how many doors opened to the alley, and where the street opening led to, so he continued to slot things in to check how they felt to him - accurate? or not at all?

That day, during shift and afterwards, he had avoided Chakotay in all ways he could possibly do it. No eye contact, no words. No proximity. He replied if spoken to with one phrase, "Yes, Sir," because he did not have it in him to do more than that. It was too difficult to be near him in the present, while deeply enmeshed in their past. Truth told, It was both painful to sever almost all contact, and a relief.

There was a secondary part to the program he was creating. Pure fantasy. Where he would have preferred that they had their first kiss. He did not know why he was torturing himself with it, but for other reasons it made him feel better, so he continued with the project.

The following day during Alpha, Greg was on deck ten doing a weapons' inspection in the locker there, with Culhane who was filling out Tuvok's form on their PADD, weapon by weapon. Culhane had taken the opportunity of relative privacy to congratulate Greg on the resolution to his self-definition project - the word about Greg had spread quickly through the lower decks. Greg had assumed so, considering various reactions he had been given during the past two days on shift. He was deeply relieved to feel one hundred percent himself again, exactly like he had always been before Seska's bullshit had knocked his feet out from under him.

"How's it going with Morrison?" Greg said.

Culhane smiled a smile Greg had never seen on him before that moment. "Good. Great. It's, uh... It's great."

Greg chuckled to himself. "I'm happy for you, Peter."

"Thanks. And, man, I had no idea."

Greg clapped him on his shoulder. "Welcome to the dark side," he said with a grin.

Culhane was about to reply, when his attention was drawn to the corridor behind Greg. He turned. Chakotay was striding toward them. Greg replaced the rifle in the locker, double checking he had turned it off. "Sorry, Peter, but I think the commander is about to remove me from this task. Hopefully I'll be back in ten or fifteen." The man nodded.

"Lieutenant," Chakotay said behind him. "A word, please?"

Greg turned around, and Chakotay started down the corridor; Greg caught up easily and they walked around the curve until Peter was out of sight. Chakotay stopped.

"What is going on with Tom right now?" Chakotay's hands landed on hips.

Greg had almost no idea what he was talking about. Almost. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because I'm suspicious that it has something to do with you and your project, and Harry and you, and you and him, etcetera. His behavior changed almost immediately afterward."

"And, again, why are you asking me, and not him?"

Chakotay hesitated, then shook his head. "He is not talking to me. No, he's refusing to talk to me with anything other than 'Yes, Sir's. He walks away if he sees me coming. What the hell happened?"

Greg sighed long, and deep. He waved the man closer to the corridor wall, crossed his arms and let the wall support his weight by leaning into it with one shoulder. Chakotay followed, and stood in front of him. "I'm not going to divulge something said to me that I consider in confidence, Chakotay, even to you. But-- you seem unhappy with this situation. Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to Tom about? Or do you simply miss him?"

Chakotay pointed at him. "Don't get sarcastic with me, Gregory. I can't---" He clamped his mouth shut, and glared, but his forehead looked anything but angry.

Greg relented. He said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, but, this situation between the two of you seems sort of crazy. I'm back to contemplating locking you away together, etcetera. So, how about instead you act the counselor. Why do you think Tom doesn't want to be around you?"

Chakotay studied the deck at their feet. Greg could practically see the tempest swirling in his friend's head, his body. He clenched his hands to keep from shaking the man to his senses.

"Chakotay - he's miserable," he poked Chakotay in the chest, "in here. And why you deliberately choose to ignore that in him, is something I think you have to answer for. Not to me. To Tom."

Chakotay raised his head and met Greg's glance directly, with a charged look. "I know he's upset, he's miserable, but I don't know why now more than any other god damned day since we ended. And for the god damned record, I'm no damned happier, and--" He clamped his mouth shut, turned, and stalked off at a fast pace.

Greg shook his head, and sighed again, long and deep. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed, or said as much as he did, but he sincerely did not understand what Chakotay's problem was. Not really. Greg was left frustrated, and vaguely guilty. He checked the time. Alpha shift was over in five. He would find Peter and help him finish up, if he needed it. Then he had something to look forward to. Dinner, with Harry. He smiled.

Tom was in his quarters, changing out of his uniform and into something comfortable while eating a replicated peanut butter sandwich. He had more holodeck time reserved shortly, time available in a large chunk because the crew would be eating and relaxing, and he wanted to take full advantage of it. He finished his sandwich, then rinsed the stress of the day off of his face, put on shoes, and left with PADD in hand. He saw nobody on the way there, and continued to feel a hundred percent good with that.

He only needed another two to three days before at least half of his program would be finished. The half that was turning into a much needed respite for him, an escape, some peace of mind. Sometimes he thought that maybe a bit of Chakotay had rubbed off on him by skin to skin osmosis alone, because peace of mind was a goal he occasionally worked toward, when things would start to swirl around him uncontrollably. Like now. Sometimes he thought it was a remnant of his childhood. He wanted to be somewhere like the bedroom into which he would escape the wrath of his father, the place where he felt calm and safe, even if it had turned out to be illusory.

Tom sat at the holodeck console and transferred from the PADD the work he had done, then watched the display appear. He was pleased. He made notes of the areas that definitely needed more work, and those, like the sky, that only needed some tweaks. Alpha shift behind him had sucked enough that he deserved to enter the space and sit quietly. No deep thinking. No memories, at least for a little while.

Chakotay paused for only a minute outside of the holodeck. He already knew Tom was in there; he knew the man was working on a program and not running one; he knew Tom had been accessing the holodeck more than usual the past two nights, if the logs were accurate. Chakotay did not know why. Another 'why' he felt almost desperate to know, since it was one more indication that something important was going on with Tom, adding to Chakotay's acute sense that everything in their past had been coming to a head, again, over the past few days. Gregory had not needed to knock him over, but, to be fair, the man was right. Chakotay would have to force the issue with Tom if they had a hope in hell. He knew Tom was miserable; he knew he was miserable. But, before now, his chosen path to cope with all that had happened to him, to them, was denial. Blinders, and denial. A potent, powerful force. Sometimes, Chakotay worried that he knew denial too intimately well, and relied on it way too intentionally.

He considered comming Tom from here, asking permission to come in and talk. Unfortunately, he was certain what the answer would be. No. So, although it went against most of what he believed, he decided to enter without warning - to walk in with his heart in his hands. Then, ask Tom to talk to him. He felt as if the two of them were approaching the edge of a cliff, and he had to do whatever it took to keep them from tumbling over. If that meant put aside pride, he would do it without question. He was afraid; he could admit it. If they went over the edge, he did not believe they could recover. Certainly not recover enough to find again what they had lost.

He opened the arch, and entered the holodeck.... and his heart careened inside of his chest. He was standing at the alleyway entrance on Vega IV. He recognized it immediately. His heart beat began to pound, steadily. He took in details he remembered, some of which he did not. He saw Tom, finally, sitting on a crate among others, against one wall of stone. He was sitting across the alley from the back entrance to the bar, the wall of brick, the over the door light fixture exactly as Chakotay remembered it. The texture of the brick against his palms. He and Tom pressed tightly together, mouths enmeshed, finally losing control. The headiness. The overwhelm. His throat constricted. Tom turned to see him, and stood immediately.

"Computer, end holographic program 2370vegafourtep," Tom said.

Chakotay approached him. "Why did you shut it down?"

Tom folded arms across his chest, and said, his voice strange, rusty for him, "Why are you here, Chakotay?"

Chakotay could feel there was no angry confrontation behind the words - Tom's eyes had that hooded look to them, as if he was barely holding himself together. He wished.... He steeled himself. "I came to talk. Please, Tom, I think we need to. I need to, because I can't take another day of you avoiding me," he said, making a conscious effort to let go and let Tom hear his sincerity. He took another two steps forward until they were only a couple of meters apart.

Tom was breathing shallowly, now; his lips were in a tight line; his eyes were still hooded. He nodded slowly. "I shut down the program because I didn't want to be standing there, in that place, with you. Now."

Chakotay felt that as a small stab in his chest. "I don't understand," he said.

Tom sighed, closing his eyes briefly. He met Chakotay's glance. "Greg had this idea - that the way to get through to you was to remind you where we had our first kiss, that it might make a difference to you, somehow - might get you to give us another chance. Try again, with me." Tom shook his head. "I didn't think it would work at all. You've always been so adament about putting the past in the past, deliberately working to forget any and all memories of you and me, to act as if we never hap--"

"No - that's not fair," he said with force, holding up a hand. Tom cocked his head at him. "I'm just-- incredibly good at denial, Tom. With everything that I went through, I honestly did not know what else to do, to survive, and keep my sanity. But, no-- don't think that I wanted things to be that way." His throat closed again; he breathed through it, and made an effort to say, "Please, don't think that."

Tom nodded, and looked at the holodeck floor grid, his hands behind his back, as if answers would be found in the pattern of crossing white lines.

Chakotay said quickly, in the silence, "So, you created the alleyway on Vega IV, because Greg had the idea I should see it...." He waited for Tom to respond, to come back. As unprepared as he had been for this , at least they were talking, in a way, around each other, but talking some reality. He would wait for an hour if that's what it took - though Tom would never take that long to do something.

Tom raised his head. "I tried to create it, even though I thought it might be hard to be there. It turns out, it was much rougher for me to be back there than I had anticipated." He focused clearly and directly on Chakotay, their glances locking together. "So, did it make a difference, for you? To experience it again?"

Chakotay accepted that was a fair question. He took a moment to put words to his emotional reaction. Also hard. "It was a shock. Overwhelming, to see it again. Difficult, I admit. It clarified something for me. The memories aren't horrible, Tom, at all, exactly the opposite, but - I don't like where we are, by now, given where we started from. It hurts." That was as honest as he could be.

Tom looked like he had to swallow, hard, twice. He held their eye contact. "I don't like it, either, Chakotay."

Chakotay forced himself to stay where he was, and not approach him, not hug him. To be in this moment. He said, "Is that what you meant by how rough it was for you to be back there?"

"Sort of. A similar reason. Have you talked to Greg since his 'project' ended, the way that it did?"

"Not in detail; I've been self-absorbed." Tom appeared surprised by that level of honesty from him. Chakotay sighed to himself. They seriously needed major repairs.

Tom said, "It turns out that Greg and Harry have chemistry - unexpected, out of nowhere, chemistry to burn. They're dating to try to figure it all out. I'm really happy for them, and happy I could help. But, it's been difficult to see, to know how rare it is to find that in one's life, you know? Difficult because we-- we had that. And, we loved each other, and I still do, and it wasn't enough to keep Seska from doing what she did, to me, to us. I'll never have it again. So, to come back to the alley, to remember who we were, it hurts like a--" Tom stopped suddenly, and looked away, breathing heavily. Chakotay wanted to hold him even more.

Tom turned back to him, and said, "To be honest, I often think that if we hadn't started out in this dingy, crappy alleyway, maybe we would have stood a better chance of surviving." His eyebrows were doing that thing they did when Tom was worried, or pained.

Chakotay shook his head, needing to forcibly breathe deeply himself. Oh, Tom... "I don't care that our first kiss was in an alley instead of some place nicer, Tom. I never did. We could have been standing in the middle of a busy city street, or in a damned restaurant, or a worn out shuttle. The surroundings didn't matter. They still don't matter." He paused. Tom was looking intently at him. "To your other point - I agree that a connection like we had is a rare, and even precious thing. We, honestly, didn't do right by it, much less right by us. Yes, we had so much stacked against us. We should have taken more care. But, Tom, maybe it's still there. I hope that's true. I pray that's true." He had to pause again, to keep going. "I know, absolutely, how I still feel; I heard what you said just now. One other thing that is more real than I can explain to you - I do not have the strength of will to keep up the denial, any more. I can't do it. It's eating me alive."

Tom was studying him carefully, as if he needed more, but his face was relaxing, and he sighed, softly, and slowly. "Do you want to see where I wish we'd had our first kiss?"

Chakotay's heart started to pound, again - of course he wanted that privilege. "Yes," he said.

"Computer, run holographic program 2372armstrongtep."

After a moment, they were standing in a redwood forest, in the high shade of the redwoods, with ferns of various sizes, smaller trees of laurel, and remnants of fallen redwoods covered in moss, and the thick, soft humus floor surrounding them. There was dappled sunlight filtering down. Birdsong high above. Blue sky seen. It was beautiful. It was also familiar, as the program name registered in Chakotay's mind. A protected redwood grove north of San Francisco called Armstrong. But, for them to have kissed for the first time, there, they would have been much younger. Before the war. Before the Maquis. Before everything that made them the men they were.

Tom said in a low voice, "I know, it never could have happened, here. I sometimes wish it had. We'd be younger; we could have had the chance for more years together...." His voice had cracked at the end, and he turned away quickly and walked into the understory, to a nearby long-fallen tree. Tom sat, finally looking at Chakotay again. The spot must be one Tom had created to sit, and be, since the dead tree was the perfect size for Tom's long legs.

Chakotay followed, and sat next to Tom, their close proximity a first in a longer time than he could remember. He inhaled Tom's scent, feeling his body's reaction to it move through him before he could somehow stop it. "Tom," he said, "this is beautiful, and I understand where you're coming from. I do."

Tom's breathing hitched. "But--"

"What do you mean, 'but'?"

Tom's hands were working together, between his knees. "But this is when you explain away all of the things you said two minutes ago, to correct any encouraging meaning I want to give them."

"Damn," he said almost to himself. "I suppose I deserve that." He sighed, and sat up straighter. "No, Tom. This is when you try to believe everything I've said. This is when you consider one basic, important fact - we have years ahead of us. Still. If we survive the DQ. We have a shit-ton of stuff to talk through, and work out, and I have a shit-ton of apologizing to do for all of the ways I let you down on the Liberty." He clasped the back of Tom's shoulder, and held tightly. "This is when we decide, right here, and right now, both of us, that we'll do what it takes to fix us. That is what I want. Is that what you want?"

Tom looked deeply into his eyes, and that close, direct eye contact was a microcosm of everything Chakotay had missed about the two of them. He waited.

"Yes, Chakotay," Tom said, his blue eyes glistening with moisture.

Chakotay could not control his relief, though he desperately tried to. He put his forehead onto Tom's shoulder, attempting to breathe away the release of pain that was threatening to overwhelm him. Tom turned enough to lift up Chakotay's head, and their glances locked again, and then they both moved smoothly into an embrace, wrapping arms around each other exactly as they used to do. And, as they had done innumerable times, in various places, they moved again to kiss, their mouths fitting together as always. They kissed, softly, then familiarly, and then the kisses progressed to longer, sweeter ones, then their mouths worked more insistently, with heated kisses, then deep, hot kisses as they tasted them again. Precisely as they always had.

It was a simple act of kissing, in a rich, vibrant redwood grove, under a dappled sunlit canopy and occasional birdsong. Kisses that were better than their first in an alley, behind a bar, created from a dare, unleashing a torrent of heat. But, not better because of venue. Better because of who they were, now, what they knew of each other, now. Even with all that they had been through. Or, maybe because of it. A simple act in a vibrant redwood grove of Earth. On a starship light years away. They kissed.

Fin