I meant "Lost and Won" to be a standalone, but due encouraging feedback (all
right, more like threats of severe bodily harm :-) I ended up writing more.

And for those who wonder where I get these titles, "Push" refers not to the
song by Matchbox-20, but to the gambling term. A "push" is an outcome where
you neither win nor lose anything.

Title: Lost and Won: Push
Author: Shayney
Email: shayneyl@aol.com
Size: 18K
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes and bad language.
Codes: Not quite P/K.
Summary: The next day after "Lost and Won." Tom tracks Harry down in a
Jeffries tube, and gets him to tell him what happened during "Killing Game."

Spoilers for "The Killing Game." This story comes after "Lost and Won" and
is followed by "Lost and Won 3: Go For Broke."

Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without
permission. No copyright infringement intended.

                            Lost and Won 2: Push

                                 by Shayney

        Tom was running late. He'd had horrible nightmares, then overslept.
Luckily, he wasn't missed. There was no real piloting to be done, so, like
most of the crew, he'd been assigned to help Engineering make repairs.
B'Elanna hardly acknowledged his arrival, telling him to go help Harry and
stay out from under her feet.

        Tom understood. He loved B'Elanna, but they weren't the most
congenial coworkers. She was impatient with his limited engineering skills,
and he found her implacable on-the-job persona rather wearing. They always
ended up at each other's throats, unless they had Harry as a buffer. Harry
Kim could work with just about anyone, even Seven at her most Borg-ish.

        Tom grabbed a toolkit and some supplies and tracked Harry down in
Jeffries Tube 4B. He was folded into a position that hurt just to look at,
head stuck in an access hatch. "Morning, Harry."

        There was no answer, which didn't surprise Tom. Harry tended to get
very absorbed in his work. He also tended to talk to himself when faced with
particularly vexing problems. "What the freak?" Harry was muttering. "I
can't believe this. Poop!"

        Tom smiled. Strong language, for Harry. "What's wrong, Har?"

        Harry withdrew from the access hatch, finally noticing he had
company. "Oh, hi, Tom. I thought I could re-route the phase modulators from
here, but the auxiliary control systems are still down. We'll have to do it
from the primaries in Tube 33R." He began throwing his tools into his kit,
no doubt ready to go haring off to 33R.

        Tom grabbed his shoulder. "Harry, slow down. Take ten. Smoke 'em if
you got 'em."

        "What?"

        "Just an expression. Here, I brought us some coffee. Rest for a
bit."

        "I feel fine."

        "I know, but you've got no reserves at all. You need to take it easy
for a few days."

        Harry continued to pack up his kit. "No time."

        "A few minutes won't hurt. Come on, the Captain won't mind. Coffee
breaks are sacred to her."

        Harry smiled reluctantly. Tom held up a cup. "Vulcan mocha, extra
sweet," he coaxed.

        Harry gave in. "Oh, all right. A few minutes." He took the coffee
and settled down on the floor, leaning against the wall.

        Tom peeled off the lid of his own coffee. Not bad today. "Did you
see the Doc this morning?" he asked.

        "Yeah. I promised, didn't I?"

        "What did he say?"

        "Gave me a clean bill of health. Said you did a great job patching
me up, to his surprise. Then he gave me a shot of iron and other nutritional
supplements, and told me to either eat better in the future or kindly
refrain from doing so much bleeding."

        "Sounds like the Doctor all right," Tom said, amused.

        Harry nodded. "It was good to see him back to his usual self."

        Tom looked at Harry, puzzled.

        "These past three weeks were probably harder on the Doc than anyone.
He struggled constantly to keep the crew alive."

        Yes, Tom knew that. He also knew the Doctor had failed a few times.
The memorial service for the four who hadn't survived the Hirogen occupation
was tomorrow night. But he'd never considered the emotional implications. He
knew the Doc was more than a mere hologram, but he'd never thought about how
it must have been for him. Hell, he was too busy trying to remember what it
had been like for himself.

        "How many times was I 'killed'?" Tom asked.

        Harry blinked at the change of subject. "Do you remember anything at
all?" he asked cautiously.

        "No," Tom admitted. "But the nightmares I've been having are a
bitch."

        "I know you were 'killed' at least twice," Harry said. "I was
monitoring communications and heard the calls for medical assistance. Once
during the Roman games, once during the Crusades. The Doctor would know more
than me. I wasn't allowed in Sickbay."

        Well, that was obvious, Tom thought sourly, remembering Harry's
untreated injuries.

        "So you didn't see me at all while the Hirogen were on board?"

        "I would have visited you in Sickbay, but they wouldn't let me."
Harry finished the last of his coffee. "So, are you assigned to work with me
today?"

        Tom noticed that Harry didn't answer the question. But he accepted
the evasion. For now. "Yup. As usual."

        "Three weeks, and B'Elanna doesn't even miss you?" Harry teased.

        "My ignorance of things engineering tends to annoy her, so she
sticks me with you."

        Harry smiled. "Tom, you were hopeless at first, but you've become a
pretty decent engineer."

        "I'm a pilot and an astrophysicist, not an engineer."

        "B'Elanna's proof that you don't need formal training to be a good
engineer. You're good, and getting better all the time."

        Tom thought about that. He'd never been all that interested in
engineering...until he met Harry. He was so good at it, and loved it so
much. Tom couldn't help but be interested, too. "Well, I owe it all to you,
Har," he said.

        "Me? Don't you mean B'Elanna?"

        "B'Elanna, too, but...she's a little too impatient to be a good
teacher."

        Harry considered that. "The trouble with B'Elanna is that she's too
smart. It's all so easy for her; she has no idea how to help someone learn.
No empathy, because she never had to struggle to grasp it herself."

        "Are you saying stupid people make better teachers?"

        Harry laughed. "Something like that."

        "Harry...what happened between us while the Hirogen were on board,
that I don't remember?"

        Harry was plainly unnerved by the sudden return to that topic.
"Nothing, Tom," he said. "Well, we better get back to work, or B'Elanna will
kill us both." He grabbed up his toolkit and headed off.

        Tom sighed, and followed as best he could. Harry must be part eel,
judging from the way he slithered through the maze of Jeffries tubes. Tom,
with his taller, stiffer frame, was much more awkward about it. But
eventually he caught up with Harry in Tube 33R.

        Harry already had two access panels removed, one in the wall, one in
the floor. He handed Tom a tricorder. "Here, monitor the potential of EPS
relay 23-epsilon-C4. Let me know if it drops out of nominal range."

        Harry leaned down into the open hatch in the wall, crouching low to
the floor. Tom edged closer to get better readings, moving some tools out of
the way. He was close enough now to feel the heat coming off Harry's body.
The position his friend was in pulled the uniform tight against his back and
buttocks, revealing contours that were usually hidden. Watch the tricorder
readings, Tom reminded himself. Geez, what was wrong with him? Yes, he'd
long been aware that his best friend had more than his fair share of
physical attractions, but usually he could work with him without undue
ogling.

        He should never have stolen that kiss last night. He'd crossed a
line that shouldn't be crossed. And now it was far too easy to think about
crossing it some more. Or maybe it was just that they'd all come so close to
dying. That was probably it. Once everything was back to normal....

        Tom gasped, feeling a warm hand brushing along his thigh. Harry.
Searching for one of the tools Tom had moved, he realized belatedly.

        "Tom, hand me the laser probe," Harry's exasperated voice said. He
turned his hand palm up, resting it against Tom's knee. His head and
shoulders were still buried in the hatch.

        "Sure," Tom managed. He found the right item, and put it in Harry's
hand.

        "Thanks." Harry fiddled for a moment, then muttered something under
his breath. "What's the potential reading?" he asked.

        Tom checked. Uh-oh. "Twenty-four kJs," he said sheepishly.

        Harry emerged from the hatch, looking irritated. "Tom! You know
nominal is 30. Why didn't you tell me?"

        "Sorry. I...got distracted." Gods, but Harry was beautiful when he
was annoyed. His eyes burned through the strands of hair falling into his
face, like dark fire through grasses. And that mouth...so sulky it was just
asking for a kiss.

        "All right, Tom. What's wrong?" The irritation in Harry's expression
faded, becoming edged with concern.

        "Nothing!"

        "Something's bothering you, Paris."

        Yeah, one ensign who's way too cute for his own good. Like he could
ever tell Harry that. "You never did answer my question," Tom said instead.
"What happened between us while the Hirogen were on board?" The best defense
was a good offense.

        Harry's gaze dropped evasively. Tom had asked about it this time
solely as a distraction, but now he was genuinely curious.

        "Come on....how bad can it be? We're both alive and well." Tom
suddenly had a bad thought. "Gods...I didn't kill anyone, did I, Harry?"

        "No!" Harry said. But something in his face told Tom he was on the
track.

        "Whatever it is, I want to know."

        Harry reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Tom's. "I can see we
aren't going to get any real work done until I tell you," he said.

        "Yup," Tom said.

        Harry edged further back from the hatch, settling cross-legged on
the floor. "I saw you in the corridor, after the fighting spilled out of the
holodecks."

        "And?" Tom asked, feeling suddenly cold.

        "You didn't know me, of course. How could you? You didn't even know
yourself. You thought you were a World War II soldier. And...that I was a
Japanese spy."

        Crap. "What did I do?" Tom asked. "Did I...torture you or
something?" He wondered if he himself had inflicted some of the wounds he'd
healed last night. Wouldn't that be funny. Yeah, he'd laugh hysterically -
as soon as he finished throwing up.

        "No, Tom, no," Harry said. "You didn't hurt me at all. I promise."

        "What, then?"

        "You saved my life."

        "And?"

        "Then you...um...almost killed me."

        "What?"

        "But even in your World War II persona, you weren't cruel," Harry
said quickly, trying to be reassuring. "It would have been a clean shot at
point-blank range. I wouldn't have suffered. But you would have. I could
tell you hated to do it. That it would haunt you for the rest of your days."

        That was supposed to make him feel better? "Point-blank range?
Harry, tell me what happened."

        Harry licked his lips nervously. "I was stupid and careless. I guess
I was tired, and let my guard drop. Got caught by some Nazi soldiers. Just
when I thought it was all over for me, you appeared. Shot them. I was so
relieved, so happy to see you. I forgot you wouldn't know me, and called
your name. But you didn't remember anything. You said you weren't Tom. And,
well, I don't look very French. You assumed I was a spy."

        "That's ridiculous!" Tom protested. "There were Asian-Americans
assigned to the European theater during World War II. The 42nd Regimental
Combat Team served in France. All Japanese-Americans, and the most decorated
unit in American military history."

        "I guess the holoprogrammer didn't see Go For Broke!" Harry said
dryly.

        Tom realized he was being ludicrous, arguing the historical accuracy
of a holoprogram. He'd almost killed Harry. What did it matter if it was
historically accurate or not?

        "So I tried to shoot you?" Tom asked. "What happened? Did I miss?"

        "No, no. You gave me a chance to prove I was American. Asked me a
question about Betty Grable."

        "And you got it?"

        "Yes." Harry hesitated, then admitted, "Barely. You were just about
to pull the trigger when I remembered she was known for her legs."

        "And that's it?"

        Harry nodded. "You left."

        "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." No wonder he'd been having nightmares.

        "Hey," Harry said, his voice very gentle. He moved nearer, putting
his hands on Tom's shoulders. "It wasn't your fault. Understand?" His dark
eyes held Tom's, so grave and compassionate.

        Abruptly, Tom hugged Harry to him, holding him tight. He needed to
feel him, warm and safe and breathing, in his arms. Tom knew that he was in
no way to blame for what had happened. He also knew that if he'd killed
Harry, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself.

        Harry hugged him back. "I didn't want you to know. I knew you'd only
get upset over something you couldn't help."

        "No," Tom said. He released his friend, held him out where he could
look at him. "I'm glad you told me. I like to think we can always be honest
with each other. Which includes not keeping things from each other."

        "Okay," Harry said. He drew back. "Now can we get some work done?"

        "I suppose," Tom said. "Hey, let's watch Go For Broke! tonight. It's
a great movie."

        Harry rolled his eyes. "Tom, we're not wasting time and power on
entertainment at a time like this."

        "One movie is not going to take that much power," Tom argued.

        "Forget it, Tom."

                                 # # # # # #

        Tom came over to Harry's quarters that evening, the movie disk in
hand.

        "Where's B'Elanna?" Harry asked.

        "In Engineering, of course. Still working."

        "We should be helping her."

        "Don't even think about it, Harry. There's no way we ordinary humans
can keep up with her Klingon stamina."

        "Did I just find out more about your love life than I need to know?"

        "Funny, Har. Just sit down and watch the movie. I've put you on
medical restriction. No more than ten hours a day crawling through grimy
Jeffries tubes. So you can just forget about letting B'Elanna put you back
to work tonight."

        "All right, all right." Harry touched some controls on his desk, and
a panel slid back on the wall, revealing a viewscreen. He took the disk from
Tom and slid it into the player. "But are you sure you want to watch a movie
about World War II after all you've just been through?"

        "Hey, it's not like I remember much of it."

        "Tom."

        "It's a 20th century movie, Harry. It's not realistic or anything."

        "Okay. Replicate the popcorn. And don't put too much butter on it
this time."

        They settled on the couch, side by side, with the popcorn between
them. Tom had always found movies from this era comforting, with their solid
certainties. Black and white, in more ways than one.

        Near the end of the movie there was a scene where soldiers who
didn't have the most current password were in danger of being shot by their
compatriots. Damn, he'd forgotten about this part.

        "Harry, you okay?" he asked softly.

        "Sure, Tom." He hesitated, then added, "You were right. I shouldn't
have tried to keep it from you. We're too close not to be honest with each
other."

        "You bet." Tom turned back to the movie, studiously ignoring the
voice in his head that was saying, Paris, you are such a fucking hypocrite.

                                  [Image]

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