by Aeryn
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Archive: Ask first.

Warnings: None at this time.

Feedback: All is welcome. As a writer, I love Constructive Comments.

Disclaimers: Paramount/Viacom owns the rights. I just give them room to play.

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Time moved achingly slow. Tom felt himself falling asleep yet again. The woman speaking was not nearly as interesting as the dream he had been having when she had awakened him the last time.

But then, that was the nature of Teachers, wasn't it? They always needed to be the center of your universe. Never could you be free to think of things beyond what they were saying. Just like Parents. Maybe, he theorized, that was why Parents sent their children to School. . . because they were busy, and they knew that the Teachers were exactly like them.

And it had only gotten worse since he had begun High School. All of his life, he had contended with his father's incessant complaints that he was not performing to his father's standards. But, as a child, the Teachers had encouraged him to think for himself. . . to be creative.

But now. . . now they wanted nothing short of mute and witless obedience. Or, at least, he was convinced of this. But the creative side of him refused to be crushed. The side of Tom Paris that dreamed and longed for things beyond this place and beyond his father and the School he insisted upon. The part of him that conjured this Dream.

This Dream of a strange young man who touched places in Tom that no one had ever touched before. This Mystery that Tom knew would never become Reality. But, for now at least, the Dreams were enough.


He was sitting out behind the school, leaning against the back wall, when Tom exited the building. Tom felt his heart leap at the sight of the other boy. He felt his stomach tie itself into complex knots, and words failed him. The smooth-talker that teased the girls day in and day out was gone, replaced by an uncertain young man with no concept of what to say to this incredible young man he was staring at.

The Other smiled a shy, yet playful smile. "Hey, Tom!" He seemed as excited and terrified as Tom himself was.

"Hey. You know you shouldn't be here. If they catch us. . ." At this point in his life, he still tried, fruitless as he knew somewhere inside that it was, to please his father. . . to make him proud.

"What, Tom? What will they do?" The Other seemed slightly defiant. And yet, there was a hint of teasing in those soft tones.

Tom felt himself tense. He knew what his father would do. But then. . . something inside him snapped. Why did he care what that old coot thought? No matter how much effort Tom made, he wasn't happy! Why should he not have a few moments of what TOM wanted?

He grinned down at the Other. "You know, you're right. They can't do anything they haven't done before. Come on. I wanna show you something."

And he was off through the schoolyard toward the field behind it. He knew this place. . . somewhere even his father did not know to look for him. . . yet.

"Where to?" The Other asked quietly, following behind him.

"Somewhere they can't find us." Tom enthused. He knew what he wanted this time. And this time, he was not afraid, for the first time in his life, of what his father or the Teachers would say. He did not care at that moment.

After a short run, they reached a small creek set in a small stand of trees behind the field. Here, no one could tell them what they could and could not do. Here, the decision rested solely with Tom and the Other.

He smiled and tossed his books down, lowering himself to sit beside a large oak tree. Patting the ground beside himself, he grinned up at the Other. "Come on. Sit"

The Other smiled and sat beside him, leaning back against the tree, then over to rest that magnificent head on Tom's shoulder. "This is great! How did you find this place?"

Tom chuckled wryly. "I found it a few years ago. . . when my dad and I had one of our fights." He shook his head. He did not wish to discuss his dad. Not here. Not now.

The Other seemed to understand. He lifted his head from Tom's shoulder and slid his arm around Tom's shoulders. "It's ok. We won't talk about that now."


"Thomas Eugene Paris!" The Teacher's voice - and the ruler she thwapped him over the side of the head with -- dragged him from his blissful dream. From the arms of the dark-haired, dark-eyed wonder and back to Reality.

He groaned, both with the pent-up frustrations of being a teenager and because that metal ruler was NOT pleasant to wake up to. Not with the Paris Luck.

"Are you listening?" She screeched in that banshee voice right in front of him. He really hated that voice. It was worse than listening to a bunch of Ferengi trying to sing Klingon Opera.. That Dream was so. . . real. So powerful. And yet so beyond his reach. He would never find someone like that.

Tom nodded, rubbing the side of his head. "Yes, Miss Farley." But even he heard the unconvincing tone in his voice.

Miss Farley muttered something about recalcitrant teenagers and returned to the front of her classroom. Fortunately, Tom thought, this was his last year here. Then he was off to. . . where? He had not decided. Maybe StarFleet.

Oh, come on, Tom! his mind taunted him. You know damned well that your dad is going to insist. Why do you even bother thinking about it?

Because that's what Owen Paris wants. How do I know that it's what TOM Paris wants? The rest of his mind reasoned.

Not that this mattered at any rate. Owen Paris always got what he wanted. Tom knew this better than anyone. And Owen Paris wanted his son to become a StarFleet officer just as he had done. So StarFleet it was.

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End