The message light was blinking on Greg's console when he stumbled, half awake, to his replicator. He made a cup of coffee and, sipping it, he tapped the interface. That it was from Harry caused him to sit heavily. Then he read it. His heart started to hammer in his chest. "Fuck," he muttered.
"He's asked me out," Greg said, as the doors to Chakotay's cabin closed behind him.
"Good morning to you, too," replied Chakotay with a small grin. "So. He's made the first move. Did you accept?" He gathered a few PADDs from his desk and put on his jacket.
"Of course not. I haven't answered him yet." Greg explained, "He sent me a message. What's kind of strange, or should I say stranger than even the mere fact that he did it... What's kind of strange was that he sent it at 0217 this morning."
Chakotay stopped the preparations for shift. He pointed at Greg's chest with one of the PADDs. "That's certainly intriguing. Middle of the night. Can't sleep. He asks you out. Why? Is there a connection? And why now? Why not yesterday, or last week, or two months ago?" He smiled. "Although, you could just say 'what the hell' and accept the invitation."
Greg ignored the final comment. "Exactly. Why now? He didn't seem particularly interested yesterday..."
The other man just shook his head, picked up his workload for the day and herded them both out of his quarters. The fates were sometimes very cruel, Greg thought, for who should get into the lift right behind them but the man he wasn't yet prepared to see.
"Good morning, Harry," said Chakotay genially.
Harry's eyes darted to his momentarily then to the XO's. "Good morning, commander." They returned and settled. "Good morning, Greg."
"Morning," he answered. When he said nothing else, Harry turned to the front. But Greg saw the beginnings of a rosy hue spreading over Harry's cheeks, something he never would have expected. He didn't know what to say. Silence descended in the lift and next to him Chakotay was giving him a pointed look and motioning toward the younger man with his head. Greg stared at his commanding officer, but said, "Um, Harry..." Harry turned around. "Thank you for the invitation." His heart started to hammer again. "I'd like to have dinner with you." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chakotay smile.
Harry smiled, too, a very real and sincere smile. "Thank you. How about tonight? 1800 hours?"
The lift reached the bridge and the door swooshed open. Chakotay said, "Excuse me," as he gently pushed his way past them both and strode toward his command chair, giving them a small bit of privacy.
"Sure, 1800 hours is fine," he answered Harry.
The man was still smiling at him, causing untold reactions to settle in various parts of Greg's body. "Okay," said Harry, "my quarters."
"Okay," he said quietly.
They went to their stations, ten meters apart, and relieved gamma shift.
Throughout the morning, as Greg did various mind-numbing, repetitive tasks, he contemplated his own sanity. Why had he done it? He had vowed, sworn, promised himself that he would not, under any circumstances, act on his feelings for Harry Kim. He couldn't. They had absolutely nothing in common. Harry was Starfleet. He was naive, and likely inexperienced. If Greg pursued him, and things didn't work out, this ship was too fucking small. He'd have to keep seeing him, day in and day out, all day. Not to mention all of the other reasons he harbored in his soul.
Within fifteen minutes of starting his shift, Chakotay had sent him a message, congratulating him on his courage. Seeing that the captain was in her ready room, he fired an answer back, telling his friend quite nicely and professionally what he could do with his congratulations. Chakotay had laughed upon reading it, and Greg hadn't missed Tom turning, briefly, from the helm. He'd come awfully close to saying something about that to the XO, but hadn't.
He also tried to figure out why Harry Kim had chosen this day to ask him to dinner. He didn't think the man had any guile, but still it had come completely out of the blue. And that made him ever so slightly suspicious.
Harry had to admit one thing about his best friend. He always said exactly what was on his mind. Usually, this made Harry a little nervous, vaguely worried, and very envious. This time, it was pissing him off.
Tom had just declared that perhaps he should take his friend down to sick bay for a check-up upon hearing what Harry had done. He'd implied that asking Greg Ayala for a date was possibly biting off more than Harry could chew, so to speak.
"You don't know him like I do, Harry."
"I know him a lot better than you think," he retorted. He folded his arms and stared at the table top.
"How so?"
It was at that point that Harry realized he had said too much, as usual. The suspicion in Tom's voice was loud and clear.
"You did it, didn't you," said Tom quietly, leaning in close from across the mess hall table. "You read more of them. Didn't you? Come on, Harry, spill it."
But he intended to do no such thing. "I'm just observant, that's all. Like this morning, before shift. He and the commander were coming out of the commander's quarters." Tom backed away. "Now, I could make the assumption they'd spent the night together," he continued, seeing a hooded look cross Tom's face, "but I didn't. And, when I got into the lift with them, Greg accepted my invitation."
Tom said nothing. He was now staring at the fascinating table top.
"So, Tom, why does it bother you - that Greg was with the commander this morning? They're friends."
Tom raised his head. "It doesn't - why should it?"
Harry shrugged. He knew that Tom was lying, but why the man felt the need to do it was still unclear. He thought Tom should understand by now that he could tell him anything. He also knew Tom was right - Harry didn't know Greg. Didn't know him as well as he now wanted to. But that, hopefully, was going to change.
The dinner date was progressing rather smoothly, all things considered. At least from Greg's perspective. He'd arrived at Harry's cabin promptly at 1800 hours, bottles of synthale in hand that he'd almost let slip from his sweaty palms. Fearless Maquis turned security officer? He didn't know what that meant this evening.
Harry had seemed nervous, too, at first. But his almost nonstop grin only endeared him to Greg's heart. The younger man had replicated a simple meal of hamburgers and french fries, saying it was the furthest thing from Neelix's cooking he could think of. He'd also said he thought Greg liked burgers. Greg had been surprised - Harry was right. He suspected their First Officer had had some involvement in the preparations.
They gossiped about the latest hot topics floating through the lower decks, and Greg felt himself relaxing more and more. Harry was drawing him out slowly and methodically, and appeared to be enjoying himself while doing it. They began to talk about Tuvok.
"Well," said Harry, "I'm glad he's not my direct supervisor. I don't know that I could work under him."
"I'm surprised you're saying something like that, Harry. He's a superior officer."
Harry grinned. "He's still a Vulcan who claims complete control of his emotions - and I don't trust that. If I tell you something, will you promise to keep quiet about it?"
"Sure," Greg said casually, though in truth, the concept of being taken into Harry's confidences thrilled him to the core.
"A couple of months ago, Tom and I hacked into Tuvok's holoprogram and made a few, um, adjustments. The Vulcan masters were wearing very un-Vulcan-like headgear the next time Tuvok used the program."
Greg laughed out loud, and Harry joined him.
"So he comes into the mess, and asks Tom if he knows anything about the changes to his program. And Tom says, no, of course, totally innocent, and Tuvok - I thought he was going to bust a Vulcan vein! It was so funny. Yup - he gets angry," said Harry, shaking his head, still grinning.
Greg's heart skipped. The words he'd entered in his log came back to him immediately. But he knew there couldn't possibly be a connection.
Greg, once again, was sitting on his bed with the console on his lap. He had intended to make an entry in his personal logs about the evening, but a few little things were bothering him. Enough so that he couldn't let them go. Which was too bad, in his opinion, because he'd enjoyed himself on the date.
He liked talking to Harry. He liked watching him up close, looking into his eyes, being in his quarters. He'd discovered that they, actually, had some pretty basic things in common. A grounding in the traditions of their ancestors along with a love of exploration. A strong sense of moral right and wrong. They'd even discussed the Maquis, and the Federation, and Greg had been pleasantly surprised at Harry's willingness to admit he agreed the situation was much more morally murky than Starfleet had ever claimed.
But it was in these discussions of their backgrounds, and lives, that the little, bothersome inklings pierced Greg's bubble of contentment. It wasn't just the Tuvok comment. While talking about Greg's family, Harry had acted momentarily confused over the ages of Estevan and Bernardo. And Greg hadn't even been aware that the man knew he had two sons, much less their ages.
Then, in the course of talking about their jobs, Greg had mentioned brig duty, and how much he hated it, and Harry had blushed. Intensely. Seeing it, Greg's heart had stopped beating entirely. The topic of conversation had been changed, and all went on as it had, but the bothersome inklings had been lined up, even while plans for another date were made.
Greg went directly to his personal log data bank and checked the access register. Nothing out of the ordinary was noted. He was certainly no computer whiz, but he checked behind the obvious as best he could. Still nothing showed.
He didn't think that 2015 hours was too late to contact his First Officer. Chakotay's sleepy voice answered the comm, but he plunged ahead anyway. Yes, he'd told Harry about hamburgers, on request. No, he hadn't been asked about Greg's sons. He let the man go back to sleep, after promising a full report at breakfast the following morning.
The only person on the ship that he knew well enough, and who knew as much as Harry about the computer was B'Elanna. He called her. She was awake and agreed he could come to her cabin. He threw on some clothes and went, gossip be damned should anyone see him.
Harry was unable to relax long enough to keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. He was thoroughly amazed at how he was feeling. This evening had been one of the best dates he'd ever had. Watching Greg's face, animated, passionate about some point he was making, was just plain astounding. Stoic Greg, even friendly Greg, was no where to be seen. One on one, the man reeked magnetism, and Harry was drawn to him as if he were made of iron. Why had he never noticed him before this? Was it really just the logs he'd read? He honestly didn't think so. Either way, it didn't matter. He wanted much, much more from Greg. Much more. He got up to add an entry into his own logs.
"No, B'Elanna, I just need to know if anyone's been accessing my personal logs, that's all. I don't need to know who, and I don't want you to know who. Can you do that for me?"
She yawned. "Sure, I can do it. I'm just curious." She sat down at her desk and Greg sat with her. "Why don't you ask Harry? He'd be better at this than me."
"I can't."
She looked at him carefully. "I see."
"No, you don't. Now, if you're going to continue to be curious, I'll just remind you of a certain incident near Bajor..."
Holding up her hand, she sighed. "Okay, okay. I know, I owe you big time." She started to work on the console.
"Thanks 'Lanna." He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her head.
She poked him in the side. "This'd better be worth it."
"It is," he replied quietly. She glanced at him briefly and got to work.
He paced while she hacked. He sat while she muttered. Finally, after about a half hour, she made a noise of triumph. "Found it. Yes, someone accessed your logs. Last night, then again earlier yesterday." She smiled.
His heart sank. "Can you tell me which entries were read?"
"Sure, I can tell you - but you don't want to know who?"
He shook his head, unable to speak.
"Okay, just give me a sec," she replied.
He realized, waiting for her to finish, that he didn't need to know which ones, just as he didn't need to know who'd done it. He was vaguely interested in why, but that, ultimately didn't matter either.
He said goodnight to B'Elanna before she'd found what she was looking for. He needed to walk, to figure out some way to quell the burning anger and hurt that was beginning to overwhelm him. He ended up in front of holodeck one. It was empty. He started up Sandrine's, engaged a privacy lock, and spent the next hour trashing the place.