Title: Phoenix Rising: Fall 3/5
Author: Jessica
E-mail Address: Jessa5@aol.com
Size: 79K
Version: final
Category: A, U; K/T, K/f
Rating: PG
Teaser: On a Voyager that is run by the children of the original crew, where
protocol is disregarded and a 22-year-old can be a commander, Harry Kim
has settled into life as a Captain.  And though it seems to his impressionable
crew that his life is complete, there is a deep sadness that lurks inside . . 
. 

See part one for disclaimers.

Phoenix Rising
by Jessica Fisher

Megan used her access code to gain entry to Harry's quarters.  They looked as
they always did: empty, barren.  Tonight was no different from the way it had
been for the past nine years.  She would be sitting in her quarters alone when
her commbadge would chirp, and Harry's voice would come through it.  They
hardly needed words anymore . . . "Megan," he would say, his voice tense, and
she'd respond with "I'm on my way."  The first time, it had been different. 
She remembered that first time vividly; it had been slow and tender,
restrained.  She had initiated the relationship, coming to his quarters one
evening unexpectedly.

"Come sit down," he had said, ushering her in.  "Is there something I can do
for you?"

"I was thinking that maybe there was something *I* could do for *you.*"  At
that he had quirked an eyebrow.

"What might that be?"  She had gotten up from her chair and relocated herself
to the sofa, close enough next to him that their thighs were touching.  He was
holding perfectly still, waiting to see what she would do next.

"You seem so . . . lonely.  I thought that maybe you could use a little . . .
companionship," she had responded, lazily circling her fingers up his arm.

"Megan, I . . . "  He had started to say something, but she looked up at him
and his eyes darkened with arousal.  It had been so long, so very, very long
since he had been with a woman.  The last time he had slept with anyone had
been almost twenty years before, the night before he had left for DS9 for his
very first assignment -- Voyager.  "I'm . . . "

"Shhh," she had whispered, placing a finger on his lips and smiling at the way
he unconciously kissed her fingertip.  "You need this."  Any resolve he might
have had drained away as she turned and swung one of her legs over him,
pulling herself over so that she was straddling him, her breasts pressing
deliciously into his chest, her hips grinding against his.  He had moaned
then, his lips reaching for hers and his arms encircling her.

Megan smiled at the memory.  Afterward, they had talked for a while.  Harry
had explained to her that he could never feel anything more than friendship
for her, that their relationship could never go beyond casual sex.  She had
agreed; she knew that he needed it, and it was certainly pleasant for her as
well.  She had agreed to keep anything he said to her in the bedroom in the
strictest confidence, along with their entire relationship.  So it had
progressed in that fashion for the past nine years: she would come to his
quarters, they would sleep together, and in the morning he would be gone
before she woke up.

She walked through the sitting room and into the bedroom, where Harry sat at
his desktop console.  Megan slid her arms around his neck from behind and
kissed his cheek warmly.  He switched off the computer terminal and stood,
turning to her.  No words were spoken; he bent his head and captured her lips
in his, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her against him.

***

Megan was awakened by a movement in the bed next to her -- Harry was shivering
in his sleep.  She lifted herself up onto one elbow and gazed at him.  It
wasn't the first time this had happened -- Harry regularly had nightmares. 
Usually, he would shiver and mumble incomprehensibly.  After many nights of
listening, she could make out only two phrases: one was a name, "B'Elanna,"
and the other "I love you."  She had made the connection instantly, knowing
how he had withdrawn after the death of his best friend.  It confirmed her
suspicions, but at the same time created more questions.  How long had Harry
loved B'Elanna?  Had he ever told her?  If not, why?

She watched as his face contorted in pain, and her heart went out to him. 
Leaning over him, Megan pressed her lips to his forehead, stopping his
shivering.  He moaned, tilting his head back, his lips searching for hers. 
He'd never done this before; she assumed that he must still be asleep.  He
found her lips and kissed her with such vibrant energy that she almost jumped
away from the shock.  Harry had never kissed her like *that* before . . . He
nuzzled her neck, his silky hair tracing paths on her skin.  "B'Elanna," he
murmured, half-asleep, his hand sliding up the side of her face.  Megan froze
as his hand reached for her forehead.  When he felt the smoothness of her
skin, his eyes shot open and he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head
back; a small cry was forced out of her lips.

"Harry, you're hurting me," she whispered, cringing at the pain in her scalp. 
He released her and turned away.

"Why, Megan?" Harry asked, pain threaded through his voice.  "Why didn't you
just wake me up?"  She massaged the back of her head where he had yanked her
hair, and gazed at him warily.  Never, in all the time she had known him, had
he been violent with her.

"I didn't know I was doing anything wrong," she responded defensively.  "I . .
. just wanted to help.  You looked like you were in pain, so I thought--"

"You didn't think," he snapped.  He flipped over and gazed at her, his eyes
shiny and piercing.  "You didn't think."

Megan shrank back from him, frightened by his sharp tone of voice and half
believing that at any moment he would hurt her again.  She started to get out
of the bed, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."  She hesitated, not sure whether to listen to
him or not.  Harry rubbed his hand down her back, then around her side.  He
gently cupped her breast and kneaded it, urging her back down.  "Come back to
bed, Megan."  He said the words with tenderness; he had never spoken to
her that way before.  This was indeed a night of firsts.  Megan could almost
believe, just for that one moment, that they loved each other, that they
needed each other.  She lay back down and immediately his lips were on hers,
his body covering her and rubbing against her lightly.  "Let me make it up to
you."  His voice was deep and sensual, and she couldn't resist him.  Maybe,
just this once, he would make love to *her,* not some phantom figure from the
distant past.  Maybe someday he would love her, want to be with her forever. 
Someday.

***

Michael switched off the computer terminal.  This was too confusing.  His
father had been involved with B'Elanna Torres, a half-Klingon Chief Engineer. 
The way she sounded in her log entry, it seemed as if she had been closer to
Harry than to Tom, however.  Judging by the dates, she must not have meant
much to Tom; he got over her quickly.  Maybe she didn't have anything to do
with the gap between Harry and Tom, maybe she was insignificant . . . He'd
have to read through more logs later.

Right now, though, his mind was on Janice.  The scene in the mess hall
earlier had broached some serious topics; Michael didn't want to admit that he
*did* spend a great deal of his shift staring at her.  She was his best
friend, he was being ridiculous.  But oh, she was so beautiful, with that
flaming red hair and those emerald green eyes . . . They'd grown up together,
been friends their whole lives.  Anything more that might happen would ruin
that friendship.  Yet . . . if he could just *tell* her how he felt, such a
great weight would be lifted off his shoulders . . . Still, he was positive
that she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her.  Janice was too busy
staring at the Captain.  Michael couldn't help wondering if she knew about
Harry's relationship with Aunt Megan . . . if it could be called a
relationship.  As far as he could tell from his memories, Megan occasionally
(and the occasions were few and far between) disappeared to Harry's quarters
for the night; that could hardly be a relationship.  More like casual sex.

Wait a minute.  Casual sex?  Harry Kim?  Just the thought of Harry having sex
at all was strange to him -- he'd treated him as a father for so long.  And
the Captain was never casual about anything.  Michael realized that as close
as he was to Harry, he hardly knew a thing about him personally.  Nothing
about his past, nothing about his life, nothing about what he'd left at home. 
He wondered if that was purposeful on Harry's part.

It was quite possible that the Captain didn't know about Janice's feelings for
him . . . though he had promised her he wouldn't tell, he felt it almost
necessary to speak to Harry.  Besides, he'd always come to Harry with his
problems; maybe he could help him out with his confused feelings for Janice. 
Michael resolved to speak to his Captain about Janice, and maybe find out
about B'Elanna Torres in the process.

***

Harry gazed at the younger man with fatherly tenderness.  "What can I do for
you, Michael?"  Michael fidgited, looking uncomfortable.  His courage
dissolved as he confronted the reality of his decision to speak to Harry. 
"Sit down."  He obeyed instantly, as he had obeyed that voice his entire life.

"I . . . need some advice.  I thought, maybe, well . . . maybe you could help
me.  I feel a little ridiculous coming here with a personal matter, but . . .
"  He trailed off, gazing down at his shoes.  Harry leaned back in his chair,
almost smiling but not quite.  He knew quite well why Michael had come to him.

"It's about Janice, isn't it?"  The young man's head jerked up, his deep blue
eyes fixing on liquid brown with surprise, a curl of brown hair bouncing on
his forehead.

"How did you--"

"Experience.  Go on, tell me about it."

"Well, it looks like you know already.  Is it really that obvious?"  Harry
quirked an eyebrow in traditional Vulcan fashion.

"No, I suppose if I didn't know better I wouldn't have noticed."

"If you didn't know better?" Michael asked, confused.

"I was a lot like you.  Many, many years ago."  For some reason, that struck
Michael as rather funny; he had to fight to hold back a laugh.  The Captain
had been like him?  Young, inexperienced?  Impossible.  Harry Kim had always
been just the way he was now, had always known all the answers, had never been
naive and innocent.  Then again, the picture he had found in the crew manifest
. . . "You'll feel better if you talk to someone.  I'm
listening."  Michael took a deep breath and began.

"Janice is . . . everything.  I mean, we're so completely different, but we
*are* really close.  It's, well, it's like we connect, y'know?  I guess we
think on the same level.  If we're fixing something together, we don't even
have to talk because we know what the other person is going to say.  Then
again, she outranks me by a lot, and she's older and more . . . well, more
experienced than I am.  I know it's only a year of difference, but it feels
like a lifetime.  She's really independent, I mean, she can take care of
herself.  Sometimes I think that she doesn't really need any of us at all; but
I *want* her to need us.  To need *me.*  Because I need her.  I--I think I
love her."  Harry looked thoughtfully out the window as Michael again stared
at his boots.  Harry could tell that it had been hard for Michael to say that,
and that he meant it.  The memories that he had tried to repress for so many
years came back in a rush, and Harry realized that those same words could have
come out of his own mouth 25 years earlier.  Just change "Janice" to
"B'Elanna" and it'd be practically perfect.  B'Elanna . . . He had loved her,
loved her with all his heart; he still did.  Yet he had never told her how he
felt, and that he regretted deeply.  With a start, Harry realized that Michael
had asked him a question and was waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"  Michael's eyebrows drew together in
concern.

"I said that I don't think I should tell her.  I know that she doesn't feel
the same way about me, and that she's attracted to you.  What do you think?" 
Harry sighed and looked at the younger man's face, feeling the ever present
stabbing at the back of his eyes but knowing that he had cried away all his
tears for B'Elanna many years ago.  And what was this silly concern with
Janice having a crush on him?  Harry knew that it was just something to keep
her occupied while she tried to supress her feelings for Michael.  He'd seen
the way they acted around each other.

"Tell her how you feel," he said, surprising Michael with his emotoion.  "Tell
her you love her before something happens and you lose your chance.  You'll
regret it for the rest of your life if you don't tell her; Lord knows I do." 
The last phrase slipped from Harry's mouth before he could bite it back, and
he cursed himself for losing control of himself.  He hoped that Michael hadn't
heard, and he looked away.

"You?"  Too late.  The young lieutenant had picked up every word Harry said;
he had learned well.

"I . . . A very long time ago, there was . . . a woman.  She died.  Michael,
don't make the same mistake that I did," he choked vehemently.  "Tell her how
you feel, and do it now, while you're still young, while you still have time. 
*Please.*"

"Captain . . . tell me about her?" Michael asked curiously but carefully;
maybe he would finally find out about Harry's relationship with this B'Elanna
Torres.  Harry sighed in response.

"No, I've said too much already.  Maybe someday I'll talk about her.  But not
yet.  I'm . . . not ready yet."

"Was it . . . was her name B'Elanna Torres?"  A cold shadow passed over
Harry's face as he focussed his eyes blankly at the younger man.

"Who told you that name?" he asked, willing his voice to remain strong.

"I . . . I was looking through the crew manifest, and . . . "

"I locked the files of the deceased.  I hope you haven't been breaking into
restricted files, Michael.  We do have rules on this ship."  The tone of
Harry's voice was so cold that Michael almost shivered.  Maybe bringing her up
hadn't been such a good idea -- though he was now convinced that she was a
very important part of Harry's life.

"I -- I'm sorry."

"You're dismissed.  Go."  He wanted to stay, talk more, but frankly he found
it disquieting to hear Harry speak in this manner; Michael obeyed wordlessly.

***

<Chief Engineer's personal log>

Keeping logs has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever had to do.  One
of the *many* reasons I dropped out of Starfleet Academy.  Okay, well, the
official logs have the story of how we got out here in the delta quadrant,
etc. etc. etc.  They don't describe what HELL it was in the damn Ocampan
hospital.  Their primitive medicine . . . I probably would have killed them
all if not for Harry.  How about that?  Me, half-Klingon Maquis freedom
fighter, serving on a Starfleet ship as the Chief Engineer, with a perfectly
clean, pure, innocent, goody-two-shoes Starfleet Ensign as one of my closest
friends.  You know, for such a model Starfleet officer, I think he'd make a
pretty good Maquis.  He can handle a tough situation well, for a human. 
Harry's strong.  And just get him out of that uniform, and he could seduce the
officials of any society . . . 

<sigh>

<laugh>

I can't believe I'm putting this in my log.  It's true, though, I suppose. 
And Harry's a hell of a lot better than that moronic pig Tom Paris.  I don't
know what any girl would ever see in him!  Especially not with Harry hanging
around.

I shouldn't think like that.  It's not as if I'll ever have anything with
Harry anyway.  He's too devoted to whatever girl he left at home.

Well, it was a dull day in engineering.  I don't know how anyone got anything
done with an idiot like Carey handling things.  But then, he wasn't supposed
to be Chief Engineer, was he?  I'm certainly glad he's not now -- engineering
is something I *know* I'm good at.  He's fully recovered from the broken nose
I gave him last week, I think.  Now I just have to be careful not to break it
again.

<yawn>

Well, there's your log, Starfleet.  When you find the wreck of Voyager in 70
years, you'll know that the Chief Engineer broke a crewman's nose.

<end log>

***