Tom was gazing soulfully at his best friend, sighing with the melancholy of his unrequited adoration. Harry was so gorgeous. Perfect, and sweet, and lovely, and wholly unaware of Tom's love and lust. And speaking to him.
"What was that, Har?"
Harry speared an unidentifiable lump on his plate. "I asked if you'd marry me," he said, in a casual tone.
Tom almost nodded, the whole atmosphere was so normal, but he choked instead. At length, and in a variety of keys. Until the piece of partially chewed lump he had attempted to consume reappeared on his plate. It didn't look that different, he decided judiciously, before recalling what had set him off.
"What was that, Har?" he managed.
Harry looked exasperated. "How many times do I have to say it? You sure don't take a proposal well, Paris."
Certain now that he'd crossed into some alternate dimension, or slipped into hallucinatory insanity, or needed his hearing checked, Tom merely opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.
Harry, somewhat disgusted, cleared his things and left.
Nobody on the bridge seemed to notice Tom's distraction, which was probably a good thing for his future. It was also a good thing Voyager didn't encounter any navigational nasties, because he wasn't...quite...up to speed.
At the end of shift, he hurried for engineering, ready to drag B'Elanna off for a conference. She would grumble, no doubt, but he really needed some help.
"Hey, B'Ela, you know Harry?"
She gave him a look, leaning against the conference room table.
"Sorry, stupid question. Um, you think he's over Libby?"
"Libby? How many years has the boy had, Paris?"
Tom thought, his brain ticking over. "Lots," he finally said.
"That's right, bright boy." She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, he's over it."
"Sooo, he'd be ready to start a new relationship?"
An unholy light entered her eyes, and she let them sweep down lecherously over Tom's body.
"With you? You...and Harry?" Her lips went slack, just for a moment, before she refocused. "Oh, yeah, I'd say he's ready for that." 'He'd better be,' she thought.
"How do you think he'd go about it?"
For a moment she thought he meant something quite different, quite physical, then comprehension came, and confusion. "Him? Don't you mean, how will you go about it?"
"Nooo, if Harry wanted me. How would he go about it?"
"Probably in a very direct, straightforward manner. Why?"
"It's not important."
But to Tom, it was. Oh so desperately important. This ravening shadow of depression and despair might finally be lifted, his life turned around, new hope brought to his future and love to his life. Oh the possibilities! But what if he was mistaken? How could he cope, having allowed these delightful expectations? He was cast once more into confusion. His next meeting with Harry loomed over him, blight on the upcoming day. He knew that in moments he could be transformed, or his world once more shattered to worthless pieces around him.
It was with towering trepidation, his heart all aflutter, that he approached his usual table in the morning. Harry was there, calmly eating his...whatever. The sight ate away at Tom's hope. Surely not, surely the delightful young Ensign could want nothing to do with such a waste-of-time, untrustworthy, worthless, dislikeable, slightly balding man.
"Hey Har," he said, amazed his torment did not ring through in his voice.
"Oh," he looked up, his melting brown eyes piercing through Tom, making it impossible for him to lie, to keep anything of himself back. "Hi Tom. Did you think about what I asked you yesterday?"
"Yes, I did." Did, in fact, do nothing else. But his love was waiting, expectant, and Tom felt the pressure of decision bearing down on him. He had to make a choice, but did he really understand what was happening? He again began having doubts about the reliability of his hearing the previous day.
"I will, Har."
Harry grinned at him. "Cool. When do you want to do it?"
Further doubts assailed Tom in the face of this insouciance. He needed reassurance very badly. Trying to skirt around the subject, he inquired, "How do you want to do it?"
Harry looked puzzled. "Oh, the regular way."
Tom almost collapsed, but made it look like he was sliding calmly into his seat. 'The regular way.' It sounded more like Harry had asked him to check out a holodeck program, have a game of cards, anything but marriage. He was increasingly sure he'd been deluding himself.
"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" He felt suddenly self-conscious; that had sounded so serious. What if they were only talking about a light off duty activity? He tried to cover. "You're not in the mood for something else?"
Harry abandoned any interest in his less than fascinating breakfast, and looked at Tom with a hunger such nutritional yet tasteless pap could never inspire.
"Right now?" His voice was husky, and it sent shivers down Tom's spine. "Right now, I'm in the mood for a little pre-nuptial sampling."
He stood, grasped a dazed, delighted, exalted, exulting, and extremely aroused Lt Paris by the collar, and led him from the mess hall.