Guerdon: Home Field

Tom leaned his chin on his palm as he felt his eyes want to close again. He'd have piped on some music if he thought it would help, but it would probably only make matters worse. His mind was all too disposed to distraction.

He'd had enough sleep, but morning paperwork never failed to make him want to crawl back into the sheets. That B'Elanna was out of the shower and shuffling around half-dressed, getting herself together, made the necessary even less appealing. Worse, all of his business that morning had to do with money--and moneys that needed attending to before they got in communications range of Ulinas. So, he pulled another long sip of coffee and forced his eyes to widen as the numbers scrolled and sorted at a flick of his thumb.

"Are you sure you're awake?" B'Elanna asked as she came out of the bedroom. Boots in a hand, her hair cursorily brushed, her eyes scanned the table for coffee even as she noticed his abject boredom.

"I am," he said, offering her a smile when he looked back at her. But then he shrugged and gestured with the PADD in his hand. "Just doing the budget. You know I love it."

"Hmm, well, you could simplify the whole process by letting me mete out the portions," B'Elanna grinned back.

He laughed again and entered the last numbers into the field. Looking it over one last time, he transmitted it to Maryl's station for later debate and picked up another PADD. Scanning over their sign-off schedule, Tom blinked. "I see you're off for a two hour block when we get in. Is your dad not gone yet?"

"No, he's at Torgal-Five already," she told him. "I have an appointment with Dr. Odar, and it probably won't even take that long. I need to have another checkup, take care of some technical things."

"Another already?" Tom queried, peering over to her. "Anything I need to be nosy about?"

"No," B'Elanna replied. "With all the chemicals and radiation I deal with, they say I need more checkups. He fixed my arm so well, I'm willing to trust his opinion."

"The things you're probably thinking about don't need to be handled again for a while," she finished pointedly.

"Okay," he nodded and got back to his report. "When you get back, check in with Maryl for the transfer, then. Savan's going to handle the bio-shipments personally and probably won't need you after all."

"Okay." Leaning a hand on a chair, B'Elanna smiled to feel his hand touch her hip. She leaned over to press a kiss to his pleasantly turned lips. His fingers tightened a little, a small hug on her thigh. "Good morning to you, too." Having once believed solitude was her best friend upon waking, she had come to really like being able to share the beginning of the day with someone. Tom was more the "morning person," but he was usually quiet and never pushed her to get moving. Straightening, she looked over at the carafe on the other end of the table. "You got coffee?"

"It's the same I brought in with us last night," he apologized. "It's still pretty good, though."

"*Just got the budget, thanks.*" It was Maryl. "*But I might have some real excitement for you this time.*"

"*You, Captain Paris, have a subspace message coming in over a Starfleet priority channel.*"

Maryl seemed amused, but Tom instantly felt the blood run out of his face, for not only its never happening there before, but for what that always meant for civilians back on Earth. "Open it on my screen here," he ordered, leaning across the table to check its power. They'd been running on essential systems only again during the long leg to and from Betazed.

"I'm sleeping with the engineer," he reminded her as the screen activated. "Open the channel, Maryl. If they're taking the trouble to contact me like that, I'm betting someone in the family's dead."

Readying himself for any number of possibilities, Tom pushed the PADDs aside and waited. Seconds later, the Federation emblem put a cold shot in his heart he hadn't expected, but then thought it should have happened. He never imagined he'd see that transmission header again--and in some ways, hoped he wouldn't. Finally, the screen opened up to reveal a middle-aged woman sitting at a glass table in a finely decorated, light blue room.

His expression fell into a similar degree of surprise, though tinged with relief to see her face and not someone else's. "Mom."

"You're... I was expecting something...different," Carol Paris stammered, catching up with the visual she was getting. Puffing a breath, she tried again. "You look wonderful."

"Oh, nothing at all, Thomas," she replied, her posture recovering and tone crisping in response to his question, "aside from the fact that you've had a command for over three years, you look and sound in perfect order and yet haven't managed to tell me a thing about what you've really been up to--a subject we will be covering in full another time."

Tom sighed with relief. "You're on a secure channel. I thought someone was dead."

"Truth? I'm turning sixty in a few weeks. I want my children home to eat cake and ice cream with me. Simple as that. --I know, secure channels ought not to be used so frivolously, but after playing the bride of Starfleet for thirty-five years, I think I've earned a pass or two." Carol's eyes drifted over to the form trying to stay out of the viewscreen's range, even while holding onto the edge of the table to fuss with something below it. "And who is this?"

Tom glanced over to see B'Elanna grimace. He shrugged and looked at his mother again. "Her name is B'Elanna Torres."

"I see." Carol brightened and craned her head as though she might get a better look at her that way. "Does she speak?"

Against her better judgment, B'Elanna gave up her boots and moved to Tom's side. For the audio alone, B'Elanna discovered where Tom had gotten his nagging wit--from a real professional. Briefly examining the blue-eyed lady with her swept-up, wheat blonde hair and fair golden skin, she knew where the rest had come from, too. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Paris," she said with a hint of caution.

"Just Carol, dear. Runny nosed cadets call me Mrs. Paris. And it's nice to meet you, too. I hope I have another chance to talk to you, but I also hope you'll forgive me just now. I still need to make my son feel guilty enough to pay us a visit."

Tom sighed. "Mom, I'm glad everything's all right and I want to come home to celebrate with you--really, you're right that it's been too long--but I have a business here, a ship--"

"Oh, I know all about your business now. I've been researching your Guerdon all night. You see, one of Craig Barlston's friends happened by the officer's commissary this morning after he left his ship at McKinley for a refit and I was fortunate enough to be introduced. You wouldn't happen to remember a certain Lon Dokaru in your tra--"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Tom cried out, throwing his hands in the air. "Sixty light years away and I'm still stuck in a small town!"

"You've been away so long, dear," Carol returned, "I think you might have forgotten that we Parises know everyone--and when we don't--"

"The ones we know know everyone else," Tom said, nodding quickly. "So you found me through Captain Dokaru."

"He was quite impressed with you. I, meanwhile, was mortified. This man knew more about your goings on than I did, and I had to smile my way through it. Thankfully, I'm a practiced expert; any less a talent would never have managed the feats I did--and over eggs and toast, no doubt. But again, Tom, we'll have that talk when you get here." She looked down at a PADD, deftly snatched up with her long fingers. "I have you booked for a full guest compartment on the Ambassador Class Starship Lensk, under the command of Captain Poida. It's leaving in four days, two days after your expected arrival at Ulinas. I sincerely hope, Thomas, you'll be on it."

"I have a run to finish, Mom. We're expected at Irtrin to drop off our remaining cargo before we head back to Ulinas."

"On a cash free Federation route, that's easy," Tom told her. "The trade system works a little differently out here. I'm not just going to drop my crew, my ship and all our business off on the wayside for cake and ice cream."

She blinked her surprise at his firm response, but was not deterred. "Send the bill to me, then. I'll also cover whatever funds you're not making during your trip. What is it? Latinum out there? Tell me how much and I'll see it's delivered to your ship before you get back. You know I have the resources to manage that as well, dear."

It was Tom's turn to halt with surprise. Not for a very long time had he seen his mother playing hardball. Worse, it was the first time she'd ever aimed the game at him. And she wasn't done.

"You're my baby, it's my birthday, it's been four years and a rough time when last I saw you. Come home a little while, Tom. Please."

Tom easily understood he'd been broadsided now, her plaintive gaze spinning in his head with her words, stirring around all his ship's plans and schedules. His heart was still recovering from the relief that everyone in the family he hadn't bothered to really talk to was all right, which slowed his processing of the moment. One thing was clear, though: There wasn't a chance she would take "no" for an answer. If he found every excuse, she'd match them--had probably already worked a list of responses before securing the channel--leaving him with only one workable response.

"Do more than you can," Carol Paris replied softly and abruptly cut the transmission.

Realizing a couple of seconds late that she'd essentially hung up on him, Tom coughed out his breath with a laugh. "I can't believe that just happened." He looked back at B'Elanna. "Remind me never to answer another secure channel."

B'Elanna snickered softly and hooked up her second boot. Taking the chair beside him, she said, "Savan could probably make the run to Irtrin, or we could re-crate the stores in tribaride holds and send them on a Beralan shuttle."

"I like the shuttle idea more," Tom said. "I don't like anyone else flying the Guerdon right now, especially with Maquis hunting in and between the stations. They won't bother a Beralan transport." Leaning back, he mulled it over. "Six or so days flight one way, about a week in San Francisco, trip back. Three weeks plus prep...only put us a week behind our plans..."

"No one would mind having the extra week as long as it's paid for, after six months on."

"You don't have to this time," he said, "but I eventually want my mom to meet you." Leaning over to the control panel at the end of the table, he pulled up a transport directory. "Dad, too, if you can handle that."

B'Elanna vaguely understood what he was saying there, and she knew his offhand manner well enough to know he wanted her to join him, but shrugged it off to pour herself a coffee. "Well, I showed you mine. I'd might as well get a taste of yours. And, it might be nice to see Earth again, maybe get some parts we can't out here."

"I'm still not doing anything until I know we can arrange this right, though," Tom nodded, trying not to look too happy she'd accepted. "Mom's obviously got a ton more connections than I ever will; for that matter, ships fly both ways."

"Well, you know how I hate to agree with you," Maryl said as she pushed the last piece of farja toast around on her plate, "but you really are a well of bad luck."

"My youngest sister is getting married," Maryl told him, obviously displeased, "to Rakabi Osyr--a sniveling toad if you ask me, but I wasn't there to protest. In any case, she's requested my presence, so Ridge and I will be using the layover to make an appearance."

B'Elanna finished her eggs and halved her coffee as Maryl filled them in, then asked, "When would you be back? There are a few things I'd like to get done before we break dock."

"You'll have to take a Federation transport there and back to make it with any cushion, though," Tom said. He took his seat and reached out for his PADD. "Since I'm in their system again, thanks to my mother, it shouldn't be too much to arrange a quick transport over. It'll be fast and a lot safer than tagging a ride and there's a transport every third day right now."

"I never imagined I'd ever start liking their way about things," she grinned and gave Tom an affected nod. "And royalty does produce some benefits."

"Shut up," he muttered, only half joking. "I'll reserve the space right now if you want."

"And so I'll have your assistant back in time to do whatever you've got on his list, B'Elanna." A moment later, though, Maryl sighed. "And I guess I couldn't avoid Bajor any longer, the family, all of the aunts. Just like you and Earth, right, Tom?"

Tom's gaze remained fixed on the PADD. "Yeah. They eventually catch up with you, don't they? Even when they don't mean to."

The weather was much the same when last Tom Paris had held a bag on the ramp of the Guerdon, looking up at its boxy hull and remarking bitterly to himself about its ugliness. Sunny, clear, a little breeze, it was a kind of day that he'd felt in complete opposition to at the time. Hurt, angry, hung over and taken correctly for a fool, he soon learned that he'd been locked into a contract that would hold him to that crappy freighter and its crew's well being, much to his horror. He'd soon submitted to it, though. He'd felt secure there, he could keep them moving, and everyone except Livich wanted him to stay. So he had. As long as he'd had a bottle about him, he'd been fine with that next level of ignominy--and relative anonymity.

Three years later, Tom looked back at his ship as he and B'Elanna got down the gangway and stepped onto the tarmac. His duffel strap over his shoulder and his opposite hand resting on the small of her back, he shook his head in wonder. Though in far better condition, the old barge was just as ungainly. However, his perspective was so different, he could hardly sort out his feelings with just that glance. It was going to be a trip full of that, he knew.

They had drydocked the Guerdon at Ulinas's repairs and holding base on his mother's tab and left the ship with Savan and Nadrev, who not surprisingly looked forward to the peace and quiet. They would work on the ship and take some time to themselves on the planet. Savan in particular planned to work on their updated contracts and try to arrange some fresh deals if she could find any on their present route. She also wanted to investigate any possible opportunities further up along the Federation border, closer to Trill, Caldik and Ligara. Having relatively little to do otherwise, she felt confident she could produce some results.

Savan also sent her captain off with a list of parts he and B'Elanna could procure on Earth without raising suspicion and at no cost.

Tom blinked, might have grinned had the Vulcan not already turned back to her work. "See you in a few weeks."

Ten minutes later, as they got to the tunnel that would take them to the transport, Tom looked back one more time and actually felt his heart pang when he saw the Guerdon there, powered down and resting on its struts. It almost looked lonely for space, for its given purpose. Tom sighed to know what it was: He would miss his ugly little ship and his long-settled crew and all the angst, hard work and even boredom that came along with them. Without his ever trying for it, they were part of him now.

Looking back, too, B'Elanna offered him a nudge and a little smile. "You ready?"

He finally brought his attention back to the lady beside him and smiled back. They weren't the only things that he had become attached to. "Always," he returned and started them off again.

They noticed eyes upon them before they even left the USS Lensk's main transporter room.

As they crossed the hall, checked their location and started down to get to the turbolift, they were stopped by a tall, junior lieutenant with a PADD in his hand. "Are you consulting here?" was the first question they were asked, friendly but truly wanting to know.

Tom looked at the officer askance, then shook his head. "We're taking the transport to Earth. I'm Tom Paris, this is B'Elanna Torres."

The officer tapped on the PADD and colored. "Oh, my apologies, Captain Paris! Your assigned suite is on deck eight, section thirty-two. Would you like an escort?"

"No," Tom said, more shortly than he'd meant to. The last time he was "escorted" on a Federation starship, it was straight to a brig--by one of his off-duty buddies who didn't give him a second glance, even when he activated a force field. Pushing the memory down again, Tom waved his hand. "Thanks, but I think we'll manage, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir," the young man said, but didn't resist taking a last peek their way as they turned out of the room.

The looks that met Tom and B'Elanna on the way to the turbolift were no less inquisitive. Meanwhile, they examined their fellow travelers, likewise en route to their quarters or perhaps off to dinner, most all adorned in pure primary and secondary colors or soft pastels, maybe a pattern here or there; comfortable, well-coordinated outfits that flowed from one point to another. The people's attire was by no means alien to the two. They had both grown up on well provided for Federation worlds; fashion had not suffered any great changes during the century.

Coming into the enormous and shockingly well-appointed suite and catching themselves in a mirrored wall, however, they realized that while native to the inner Federation, they had drifted away long enough ago to forget that people not knee deep in engine parts didn't need to dress in dingy, heavy duty trousers, block toe boots, thick, cross-seam shirts and durable jackets.

"No wonder people are thinking we're the hired help," Tom chuckled and went to throw his duffel onto the dresser in the next room. "We're still dressed to scrub coils."

B'Elanna did not move from the mirror as quickly, blinking at her own realization, then glancing at her bag, which was filled with several days' worth of variations on her current theme, save one nightgown. "I don't have anything else."

"We'll hit the replicator in a while," Tom called back, dismissing the topic as quickly as he'd brought it up. "Come get a look at this sonic shower."

She grabbed the handle of her bag, gladly distracted from herself with the mention. "It's going to be that kind of afternoon, then," she grinned, finding her way through.

There were many more differences for them to notice, such as the quiet, smooth ride of an A-class ship, the many, many features right inside their quarters, the food and entertainment and most of all, the holodecks. Immediately floored by the improved level of detail and programmability, Tom swore he'd get a new power generator to support a holo-emitter matrix if it killed him. "After I get the navigational array," he added, knowing she would say it. But his attention went right back to that holodeck. He had kept up with the advances off and on, but being in that room and seeing it around him was a totally different game.

It was a game they played quite often, too, as they were otherwise completely unoccupied, a state foreign to them both. It had been years since they had absolutely nothing else to do or think about but get to Earth on time for his mother's party. Even Tom on the Guerdon's most boring days had to keep his eyes on the sensors and the engines--and monitor everyone else's business, too. As the one in charge of every system on the ship, B'Elanna was constantly on the move either physically or mentally. When they were stationside, they were doing something the ship at least half the time. Thinking back on it, they agreed that their only business-free break was their sailing jaunt on Ulinas almost a year ago.

Not being members of the Lensk's crew, there was only so much technical catching up they could gain access to, so back to the holodeck they went, or up to the forward lounge for more to eat from that equally enviable replicator.

"So we'll collect two cross-beam pattern matrices," B'Elanna noted over one dinner.

Tom tapped it into the PADD. They had already listed everything they might fairly get to start building a holo-matrix and had moved onto upgrading the replicator. "We'll need their raw food stock, though."

"Easy enough." She grinned at him. "Now we have to figure out how to power all this."

"Add it to the list of how-tos," he returned, stroking her leg with his under the table.

"Says you," she scoffed, nudging him back with her knee. "I'm the one who has to rebuild anything we screw up."

"Hmm." Her eyes drifted out towards the generous bar, where the ship's doctor stood, enjoying an off-duty drink and chatting with another crewmember there. "Savan should have a new examination table, too, shouldn't she?"

Tom laughed and popped that onto their list. "We're really going to make the most of this trip, aren't we?"

"Might as well," she shrugged, her grin unfazed, "for all we get out to this side of the quadrant."

Tom sighed and leaned back in his seat. "God, how am I going to handle this?" He looked at her askance. "You know how much I wanted to do this, right? This has been working on me since Mom cut the transmission. I mean, I'm not insane about seeing the family again, but I finally started getting into this comfortable place with myself."

"I just don't like the idea of having to answer for myself," he filled in, "feeling like some kid. Problem is, because I didn't start the dialogue, I kind of do need to explain what and why. Worst part about that is not knowing how much I'll have to, so now I don't want to come off as defensive. --You see where that's heading, right?"

"I thought you were trying not to think too much." She leaned up on her elbows to keep him in her eyes. He didn't show that side of himself often, that irritating insecurity, but she always knew it was there. In an upside-down way, she shared it. She would always have lingering doubts about herself thanks to events and absences in her childhood. Things were still frosty with her mother, as well, despite a couple tepid overtures on her part.

She remembered how her father once observed, "You're enough like me that you question yourself and everything around you, and enough like your mother to resent that it bothers you. --And your mother's probably just angry you can't tell her to her face."

Maybe Tom had a similar problem. She had not forgotten how Tom tightened up one night when they dined with her father, when he asked about Admiral Paris and how exciting it must have been to grow up in such a dynamic family. He had no idea of any trouble in Tom's past. Tom remained pleasant, but he skillfully changed the topic as soon as possible and seemed half distracted for the remainder of the night.

"I wish I could advise you," she said, piecing together her words as she spoke, "except to say don't expect anything--from them or you. You know who you are and you know what you do, and they don't yet. Be who you are and let them see you. What they make of it is their business. We'll be going home in a week, anyway."

His smile returned, warm to regard her again. "Funny how you say you can't help, but you give me just the help I need." Reaching over, he touched her hand. "Thanks."

On the fifth day, Tom left B'Elanna at the open labs to share lunch with Captain Poida--a courtesy traditionally extended to visiting captains on Starfleet ships. Tom wasn't too keen to accept it, in truth, but B'Elanna suggested it wouldn't hurt and he knew it might be seen with suspicion for a human captain to turn down such an offer. Being still a little paranoid about their former dealings with the Maquis and potential responses to his past reputation in Starfleet, Tom knew it'd be a bad idea to inspire any curiosity about their attitudes or behavior.

So Tom went, arriving on time in a neat new suit and a pair of good shoes, tried to enjoy the honor for what it was worth and succeeded in at least one sense. It remained gratifying to be accepted as a captain among those people. Sure, his ship would be little more than a garbage scow to most eyes there, but rank was rank, and the captain had spared no time in personally welcoming him and B'Elanna aboard and sending someone to help them find what they needed. Tom knew his mother wouldn't set up something like that, so he was sure it was Poida and his people. As with Dokaru, it was a show of respect he would never take for granted. That anyone remotely affiliated with Starfleet would give him the time of day remained a pleasant surprise to him.

He did have to make an effort to enjoy the meal itself, however. Captain Poida was a kind man of great intelligence and stature, but Tom quickly figured out why he was running a sleek Federation transport and not a science or exploratory ship, though he had started out as a science officer. Tom had to fight to keep himself from yawning through most of the lunch as the elder statesman spoke on and on about politics and the various "sights" along the route. Thankfully, he wasn't the only guest at the table, so the attention was not solely on him and he could distract himself with the place settings and what everyone else's meal looked like.

He was never so glad to tackle a half-Klingon onto a general issue bed that afternoon.

The next afternoon, they dressed, he in a dark colored shirt and trousers, she in a warm tunic suit, and they took their now heavier bags down to the transport. Greeting the ensign on duty as they entered the main transporter room, they stepped behind the other people there, waiting their turn, staring around at every piece of technology they knew so well but didn't have...and yet would someday, if they could ever manage it.

Only one person in the room noticed the couple that time, but she moved out into the corridor again before they could return her attention.

When they finally materialized at the public transport pad, Tom's eyes first found the long, narrow park along the seaside. Within it were a playground and gardens, trails and trees down the way. It was empty just then, but it would fill soon with children, people exercising and casual passers-through. He could see them all already, for having seen it all of his young life.

He'd played there as a boy, in that park. He'd taken his first swimming lessons in the little inlet just beside the garden row, paddling like mad with his mother holding him under the arms and his sisters ready to catch him. He'd run through it, fast as lightning, after his father had taken him down a few rungs over a bad test score. And that was just the park. Even the salty air and the cries of gulls assailed his memory just then. Sounds, smells, sights, he never, never imagined seeing again...

"A little warm today, this time of the year," Tom said softly, one clear thought in the jumble.

B'Elanna shivered and pulled her new coat around her more snugly. "Very toasty."

He rubbed her back, warming her a little and trying to feel something real. The more he stood in that place, the less it seemed like he was actually there. "Let's get walking, then," he suggested. "The house is that way. You'll warm up, too."

He took her the long way around to get out of the park, keeping their pace brisk. Though indeed a little warm for an April morning and the sun was peeking through the haze, it was still several degrees cooler than the Guerdon's bottom deck. The upper decks were at least five degrees warmer than that. B'Elanna seemed to feel better after a few minutes, though, so he turned them to their original path. It was only a few blocks away.

He was steering, but she was looking forward and so was the first to see a lady in a long, white frock and leggings with her wheat blonde hair pinned up high on her head. B'Elanna had only seen her once, but she was unmistakable. "Tom," she said softly.

Tom's eyes came off the garden they were passing and spotted his mother. As nervous as he thought he should be, all of that seemed to dissipate to see her approaching fast. He even smiled. She looked as beautiful as ever. Stepping up his pace, he saw her expression fall into pure relief as she opened her arms. He gladly fell into them and they grabbed him tightly against her.

Then, she cried out--no words, but a sob, as if she hadn't expected him to show up after all. For almost a minute, she held him there. Letting his duffel slide to the pavement, Tom returned the embrace, kissing her cheek when she let him go just enough. She pulled away a little, then, to look up into his eyes, examine every detail of his face and finally smile at what she saw.

"Well, it's about time," she choked, then cleared her throat and composed herself a little. "I'm so glad you came home, Tom, finally."

Stepping back, Tom reached out for B'Elanna's hand. "Mom, this is B'Elanna. B'Elanna, my mother, Carol."

Carol touched the younger woman's hand, but only to pull her closer for a hug and to kiss her cheek. "Welcome to my home, B'Elanna. Consider it yours along with anything you need--and anything else, just ask, please." Backing up, waiting for Tom to get his duffel strap back onto his shoulder, she started them down the street again, up an incline and into a long row of ancient-looking homes with small, bright green lawns. "It'll just be us three today, so you'll have plenty of time to settle in. Your father won't be home until tomorrow morning. --You can't have forgotten how Vulcan meetings never end on time. He'll be back for lunch before meetings over at Starfleet Command, so you can brace yourself then."

"Now, I'm sure you're not hungry after being on that ship, so we'll walk to the house and I'll get you something to drink and a snack, instead."

"Real food, too," Tom grinned. He'd almost forgotten--or likely had tried to, considering what his usual diet consisted of.

"Whenever possible, at least," Carol returned and peered over at B'Elanna. "I will spoil you, you should know--if Tom's not warned you already."

B'Elanna laughed a little, her eyes catching his. "He mentioned it a couple times."

Five minutes later, Tom had stopped again. Looking up at the clean, white neo-Victorian house, he recalled that he'd last seen it in a furious stupor four years ago. Parting with some last words he couldn't say to their faces, he had his duffel bag in his fist and his itinerary set for a course straight to Minjau.

Standing before it again, Tom hardly knew which was more unreal, the memory or the present. Stepping through the open cut-glass door, he felt like he was walking into a recreation of someone's life he knew by heart. So long had the place not been his--since his first year at the Academy ten years ago--that he had ample time to disassociate from it. But to see it all the same, his mother breezing by as if he hadn't been gone a day, the same pillows on the sofas, the pictures on the walls, even the flowers in the vases, was surprisingly disturbing.

"For all you had going for you, the best of everything, his father had grumbled. How loud it remained in his ears to see that, old familiar space, and them all inside of it. "Now look at you."

"I don't think the dust's been changed since I was here last," Tom whispered, shivering at the voice in his head.

Meanwhile, B'Elanna was astounded by the casual elegance that greeted her, much as she expected it of such a venerable family. Or at least Ridge had always guessed Tom "grew up rich." Right down to the comfortable furniture in the adjacent parlor and the house's proud antiquity, she could see how Tom had come from there--and how it wasn't his, either. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Yeah, it is," Tom agreed joylessly. That wall was the one he'd leaned on, hearing his father down the hall tell his mother he'd been betrayed by his own son and he never thought he'd raise a boy as best he could and have only to see that child throw it all away. That chair was the last he'd sat in there, and the last he stood from when he couldn't take another word of admonishment from his father. He'd strode out, swearing to them and himself he'd never return....

"I'm making some juice here in the kitchen!" Carol called back to them from far down the hall. "You two coming?"

"Coming Mom," Tom called back and remarked to himself how he said that so familiarly.... It took B'Elanna to get him moving forward.

On the other side of the bright, open kitchen and the large, wood block table which sat in the center, Carol Paris dug her heels into the flagstone floor as she turned her wrist above the manual juicer. The orange was fine, quite wet and sweet for the off-season. She could have used the automatic juicer, especially as it was for more than just her, but the exertion felt good just then.

The time had flown by behind her back; the remainder of her son's youth had been stolen away on the other side of Federation space. Tom had grown fully into manhood there, off on his own. She noticed his growth first when she saw him; he looked startlingly like her brother at that age, right down to the darker, thinning hair cut short and his lean, muscular hands. His face had slimmed, too; his eyes seemed to have hardened. Or perhaps there was simply more behind them.

Similarly, Tom's personality looked to have settled somewhat--not surprising considering what he'd been through and what line of work he'd lately adopted--another surprise she was still quite curious about. Waiting for his arrival, she had looked a little into what traders of his sort did along that route. With the addition of hostility in the area, it could be by no means an easy living. By its nature, it could not be stable or certain, either.

But maybe Tom had needed that, needed those challenges and the kind of loyalty that comes with a ship and small crew to pull him out of the depression that had overcome him after the court martial and the complete dissolution of his father's support...that horrible last afternoon in the house. Carol couldn't ask him yet about all that, though. He was still hardly in the room, trying to keep control of his nerves with his quietness. If he was anything like he used to be, a little time was all he needed. She had other issues to start with, anyway.

On that thought, Carol gave his son's girlfriend a friendly gesture to come in the rest of the way. She was a lovely young lady with a quiet nerve of her own and a gaze that missed nothing in the room. At least half-Klingon, her responses and posture spoke of her taking after the part that wasn't that, which had to be an interesting mindset. "So, B'Elanna, what do your parents do?" she asked.

B'Elanna froze for a moment, then quickly chose not to elaborate for the time being. "They're geologists."

Glancing again at her guest, Carol continued, "Are they together, or are they apart?"

"Apart," B'Elanna answered, blinking with surprise at the lady's equal portions of insight and tact.

"Hmm, you should talk to your mother, B'Elanna, go visit more often." She squashed another orange half onto the juicer. "I don't like to pry usually, but I speak as one of the breed: There's no worse condition in life than wondering where your child is and how they are. Letters prove they're alive, but seeing their face guarantees the truth and means all the world."

Tom whistled at her smooth tone. "You got that knife in there just right. You need a little help twisting it around, Mom?"

"I've had ample opportunity to work out lately. Your father's been a great help."

Their eyes pinned upon each other's at that; a moment later, they chuckled and shook their heads. Carol stepped across and placed her hand on her son's cheek as he returned an apologetic grin. "Just don't ever do that again, Tom," she told him. "Not that you could. I have your warp signature on file, now. I can find you anywhere."

Tom looked at B'Elanna, but she threw him a warning stare before he could speak. "I'm not in this."

"Sorry," he chuckled, returning his attention to his mother. "Really, Mom, I won't let that happen again. I promise."

Moving to the end of the table, he grabbed a chair and sank into it. "Uncle Pete sent those oranges?"

"Just yesterday," she confirmed, serving them both before making some for herself. "He'll be up for the party, too. --Go ahead, B'Elanna, you and Tom can start before me."

B'Elanna continued to stare at the bright orange and pulpy liquid. "I haven't had real juice since I was a child."

"My brother has an orchard in Nevada," Carol told her, going back to work. "I told you, prepare to be spoiled--and enjoy it."

Breathing a little laugh, she picked up the glass and drank, then closed her eyes when the taste hit her tongue. Enjoying that much at least would not be a problem.

"Try it again."

"I'm tired of this."

"It's not worth playing at all if you don't keep at it, son. You have to try until you succeed.... Now keep on the mark, see the target... Jump! --Now go! Get around it! Go around it again! There!"

"I did it! I did it, Dad!"

"You did at that! That's what keeping at it gets you, son! You'll have the best scores on the field in no time if you just keep up like that."

"Thanks, Dad."

Tom's eyes turned away from the square of grass. Long after he'd given up the game, that square, made just for him, remained. His father had made certain of that--for any grandchildren that might be interested, he insisted.

B'Elanna squinted when the sun came out again then stretched out her arms as they made another turn. Walking around the back of the Paris' expansive backyard, carpeted with deep green grass and littered with garden plots or the occasional massive tree, she felt like the "tour" would never end. Tom's quietness made the trip feel even longer, though she wasn't sorry for it. It was nice to have a little break from the steady conversation inside. Finally seeing the back corner of the fence, she noticed a large shed burrowed behind a row of bushes. "What's out there?"

Tom stopped upon first sight of it. "That's the garage," he said softly. "I wonder..."

"Tom!" Carol called from the back door of the house. "Honey, I'm sorry but I have to drop by the gym for a few minutes and reset the computer. Lola messed it up again and the remote link is messed up, too."

Looking back as his mother came down the steps, Tom had to laugh. "She's still doing that? Why does anyone leave her alone there?"

"Greg's on vacation and so am I--except for the time it'll take me to get everything straightened out."

"Maybe you'll like to come by and spar a little while you're here, too?" his mother offered with a smile. "It's been ages since you've been able to pin me in a naktari hold."

Tom chucked. "And it'll be another age or two before it happens again. I'm way out of practice."

"Then I'll have to help you back into it. How about tomorrow after lunch? I'll need to check on Lola, anyway--unless you and B'Elanna have other plans."

B'Elanna shook her head, though her eyes were on Tom. She had only heard brief mentions from Tom about his learning some martial arts during high school, but he never mentioned from whom he'd learned it. "Actually Carol, I'd really like to see you and Tom spar--and that naktari hold."

Carol snickered and turned to leave. Waving behind her, she said, "See you in an hour or so."

"She'll be running in here in no less than two if Lola's still as happy to help," Tom quipped.

B'Elanna was still staring at him, though. "You never told me you mother was your instructor."

"We all leave little maternal things out from time to time," Tom rejoined and left it at that. He'd known hardly anything about B'Elanna's mother until a few weeks after B'Elanna decided one day to write her. The Klingon mother in turn insisted upon a letter from him to verify her daughter's identity. The next attempt at communication prompted the mother to ask about him personally and his intentions with her daughter, to B'Elanna's great surprise and embarrassment. Tom handled the situation with proper bluntness to satisfy the woman's demands, but his having little warning coupled with her mortification had led to his and B'Elanna's first "big fight" as a couple.

"You want to get in some too?" he asked, pointing with his chin back toward the garage. "Wanna learn how to drive?"

B'Elanna moved around him and peered in the window. The old, skunk-striped Charger car sat there, just as he'd described it to her. Tool cases neatly lined the wall and an old-fashioned lamp hung in the middle. She hadn't been too thrilled when he had told her about it, just saw it as one of his many antique hobbies and a reason he had a knack for figuring out various engineering problems. But seeing it in person, she had to admit she was curious to see more. "Where could we drive it?"

"The Audubon," he answered. "There are hundreds of miles of highway still in tact. Just takes a call to the society and they'll transport us out to whichever station we choose. We could burn an hour, be back in time for dinner."

She hummed at the thought. "I think I could figure out a--what did you call it?--a stick."

He coughed a laugh. "Considering your repertoire thus far, I'm afraid you could learn it."

Tom laughed and slid ahead of her. "I go first--you watch," he promised, opening the door for her, "then I'll teach you the rest. We'll fix the transmission together later."

It only took a couple minutes for him to make the request. The transport would be in eight minutes, which gave Tom enough time to check the artificial fuel, fill the tank and check the oil and the battery. Amazingly, everything was in good order; only the battery needed a jump for lack of use. Maybe his mother had someone look in on the garage for him, he thought. It was very clean in there.

Escorting B'Elanna around to the passenger side, he opened the door for her and watched her settle herself in the seat. He moved quickly into his own, placing his hands on the wheel and sliding them around.

But then when his hand fell onto the stick, he found himself gazing at the wall. Then it hit him. "I leave my ship to come back to see the family, sixty light years," he breathed, "and I'm sitting here the first afternoon in this four hundred year old car." He coughed a laugh, shaking his head. "How many times did I sit here and try to figure it all out? I had so much...and at the same time, I wanted so much." Glancing over at B'Elanna, his lips turned up. "I'm still getting over being here, and yet I'm sitting here with you, in this thing...this world I could control."

"I tried to make myself think that it could apply to the world outside," Tom mused. "I learned the better of that pretty quickly. Well, maybe I got a handle on parts of it, but a lot's still out of my hands."

"Good point." Drawing a deep breath, sinking back in the seat, he snaked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. He smiled when she scooted herself near. If they weren't about to beam across the planet... "Maybe just control the base office managers--and that damned PIS we left ticking."

"Right," he agreed. "We'll have enough of that when we get home. Might as well enjoy this while we have it." Glancing at the clock, he flipped on the automatic seat harness--not an original part by far, but requisite on the public roadways. Hardly visible and not confining unless a wreck occurred, it didn't diminish the aura of danger one bit, aside from knowing it was there. "Ready?"

The transport took them only a second after she spoke, rematerializing them on a wide, lit street in the middle of a moonlit night. Looking around, a little surprised to suddenly be in the middle of the night, B'Elanna could see the outline of mountains in the distance.

Tom flipped on the headlights and cranked up the loud, rumbling engine. His smile returned to hear that old sound greet him again. His left foot depressed the clutch and his hand tightened on the stick, sliding it into gear. "Oh yeah, that's a good thing."

Feeling the powerful motor humming around her, B'Elanna felt herself smiling for the promise of excitement. "So, how fast does this thing go?"

Myriad memories still swam in her half-conscious mind, dreams of white-lined road flying under them, twists and turns and dips that made her heart race and her breath catch, his arm around her, showing her how to move the one side, depress the other, and his breath on her neck, and a breathless return. They didn't get out of that car right away. Then a dinner she savored from first course to last despite her distraction. She still banked and rolled and sped, her heart still raced as she held on... Her equally preoccupied lover led her upstairs to his boyhood room and took her mouth with his upon arrival.

"I'd like to go driving again," he'd whispered as he nibbled her neck and quickly rid her of her new tunic.

B'Elanna had quickly learned when they first came together a half year ago that Tom liked beds only for sleeping. Moments after her clothes hit the floor, he reinforced that knowledge on a soft, tufted rug with a creaky board somewhere beneath it, sounding in counter-time to their rhythm and moans....

Then, a clinking not quite in tune with the rush of dreams piqued her conscious mind, and she felt Tom's very comfortable bed, the blankets around her and Tom pressed behind her, naked and utterly still save his small, warm breaths in her hair. His arm, draped around her, held her perfectly balanced on her side. Another clink, then a creak, and the dream made way for morning.

Opening her eyes, she saw Carol, dressed and neatly made up, setting a tray with an elegant coffee carafe, two cups and some wrapped pastries on a side table by the gold-lit window.

"Shh," the mother said softly as she came back through the room, smiling at what she'd already had a good look at--not to mention heard the night before. "It's still early. You go back to sleep, B'Elanna. It'll stay hot."

Spoiled's going to be a mild word for it at this rate, B'Elanna smiled to herself. Sighing into the deliciously warm covers, smelling some citrus-like fragrance in the air, and reminding herself she had absolutely nothing to do again that day, she turned over and back into the nook of Tom's arm. He breathed a deep purr and wrapped his arms around her.

"C'mere," he whispered, his eyes still unopened as he pulled her body onto his and lowered his chin enough to kiss her. His strong fingers kneaded the small of her back.

"This trip just keeps getting better," B'Elanna smiled as she let her legs fall open to straddle his hips.

He chuckled quietly. "The shower in the other room has real water," he told her, resting his hands on her backside to hike her up a little more.

B'Elanna's eyes widened. Already a great fan of sonic showers, she could only imagine what Tom wanted to do with a water shower.

She grinned. Such varied adventures were the last things she'd expected in coming to meet Tom's parents. She certainly wasn't complaining.

Hearing soft footsteps behind her Carol glanced back and saw her son's girlfriend padding in with the coffee tray, her short hair damp and curling around her face that morning, partially held back by a thick, teal headband to match her casual tunic and pants set. Like the day before, the older woman had to do a silent check of her long held assumptions before offering the girl a smile. "You can go ahead and put those by the sink, B'Elanna. Thank you. --And good morning."

"Good morning," she returned, crossing the kitchen to set the tray on the counter. Seeing Tom's mother in the middle of cutting berries for breakfast, she said, "Can I help?"

"Oh thank you, dear, but no. I've got this all but done. I just have to pour and serve."

"About twenty minutes," Carol replied. "Take my sweater there on the hook. It's still chilly."

When B'Elanna slid on the long, fluffy knit sweater, she smiled at Tom as he stepped in, still wearing the grin she'd left him with. "I'm heading out," she told him.

"See you when you get back," he said, touching her arm as he passed to greet his mother with a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Morning, Mom. What are we being stuffed with this time?"

"God, we're going to really hate our replicator when we get home," he moaned, casting a doleful look at B'Elanna. "Sure we can't get one while we're here?"

"Speaking of picking things up," Carol said, chopping the last of the berries and dumping them into a bowl, "I need you to transport over to the Façoille farm sometime today and pick up some cheese, milk and bread for tomorrow's breakfast. The girls are staying overnight and I'd like to make good quiche and toasts."

Tom scowled. "You want me to trudge out to Lavigerie and ride ten kilometers for stuff we can get here?"

She cast a sidelong look his way as she picked up a bowl of egg whites and a whisk. "Please don't be difficult."

"I can't send Moira," she insisted. "The last time I did, she brought a gross of peppercorns and three dozen eggs. Kathleen won't even go--she'll send in an order to some person in town and they'll get it all wrong. You speak French, you'll know what I want, and you know how to get around with the traditionalists out there."

He could only grin at it. The Cardassian border had not yet inspired him to utilize his knowledge of non-standard Earth languages and cheese tapping ability. "Ask me later," he said.

"It's just that I wasn't expecting to have to go out that way," Tom continued to his mother, moving to set the dishes B'Elanna had brought down into the refresher. "It's been a while since I was there."

Carol began beating the eggs concertedly. "It's been a long time since you were here, too," she responded, "so forgive me for making up for a long list of things I've needed."

Turning, Tom stared at her. Carol stopped, set the bowl down. Looking back at him, she sighed.

"No, that was me." Turning back to the window over the counter, staring at the yard, seeing her little boy at play there, she shook her head, tried to push the memory away. "I just... I guess I wish I could make the last five years go away if I just treat it like nothing ever happened. But that won't happen, and nothing's coming out now, Tom." She sniffed, reigning in her emotions even as they welled up. "You went away, and I still don't know what really happened to you, or if I could have done something to prevent it, or helped you more. I feel like I should have been able to help you more."

Tom moved to embrace his mother from behind. Tucking his head into the nook of her neck, he squeezed her warmly.

"Why can't you just let him be a kid, Owen?! He's not a cadet to be run down at your every convenience!"

"He's fifteen years old and needs to start acting responsibly!"

"He's fifteen years old and is going to get into mischief from time to time. He's a kid having some harmless fun. Leave him be."

"That harmless fun isn't always going to be harmless. I want him out there retrieving that pod if it takes the rest of his vacation!"

"It's in orbit!"

"All the more reason he'll learn not to do that again."

"Actually, he'll probably enjoy that part."

"And, um, Mom, Dad, I'm standing right here, you know."

"Go to your room!"

"A lot," he started, hardly knowing where to begin--or how much to tell her. All that he'd worked to overcome, all that he was still doing, all that he'd been through, now sat like plain, dumb facts in him. The nature of his work made it so, and things had been going so well for a time that he had been able to put many of his issues away. Enough was bubbling up by just being there. Dredging up his more recent past to clean the slate with his mother was even less appealing, but she did deserve it. His soon-to-arrive father wouldn't ask, but eventually would be curious enough to bother him into a confession, too.

"I can give you the details when we're able to sit down," Tom went on, "and I will do that this week. What I can say right now, about what happened... I didn't write much, but that was because in my twisted way, I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want you to get hurt any more than I'd already hurt you."

"It was still my issue, Mom," he quietly insisted. "I deserved the fallout. It's okay. I accept that. I screwed up twice over and was screwed up for a long while because of it. I won't lie and say I licked my wounds, because I didn't. I had a lot of help with that long after I made things worse. In any case, when I started getting it together, I still didn't know what to say. I just didn't get to that so-called 'right time' to tell you anything but that I was still okay and still traveling around the border. It's totally my fault, not being upfront with you, and I am sorry about that, Mom. I'm sorry you were hurt; like I said yesterday, I won't let that happen again."

She stared deeply into his eyes. His confession had come sooner than she had expected and had far more meaning and feeling than she could ever have desired. "I believe you," she whispered. "Thank you."

"I want to tell you about my life, Mom," he promised. "But again, I want a good time for that. There's a lot to say and I don't want to load you up right now, before the party and all."

His mouth twitching into a grin of thanks, he then asked, "How are things with Dad?"

"Mom, we're back!" Tom called as he helped B'Elanna haul in the extra sack of hothouse pears and figs she'd collected at the farm when she saw those also available. Tom made a mental note to add a hydroponics chamber to their list. Snickering to himself as they waved goodbye to Monsieur Façoille, he had a feeling they'd need an extra ship to carry back their wares were they to fulfill their list on that trip. "Mom?"

"Did we!" he laughed, looking at a very satisfied B'Elanna as he led them into the hallway.

"I want one of those pears first," B'Elanna smiled back, hauling the second bag onto her shoulder again.

Coming into the kitchen, he hefted up his main delivery: a bag of baguettes, two liters of fresh milk and a round of Cantal cheese, and the fruit in another sack. Accustomed to hauling parts as he was, his shoulder still screamed with relief to have the strap off it at last. "All set, Mom. Monsieur Façoille sends his regards."

His father was standing at the other end of the kitchen table and staring straight at him.

"Do you expect me to believe what I have just been told?"

"You have to."

"It's true, then."

"Yes, sir."

"...Then, I suppose you have a lot to answer for, Thomas. Do not expect me at the hearing. It's time you faced your mistakes like an adult."

"I thought that's what I was doing, by telling the truth."

"The consequences of your irresponsibility and dishonesty are not over yet and may never be. I'll speak to your mother, but for your own sake, I can no longer be involved."

In the entrance, B'Elanna had stopped and set down her bag, and Carol managed an uncertain smile. "Thanks for going out for me," she said, trying for a shred of normalcy even as she looked between the two.

Tom coughed a small laugh, gesturing at the man across from him. In his full uniform, probably having just come from the transport, his father was as unreadable as ever, though thankfully far less unpleasant than the last time they'd seen each other. "Dad, I didn't see you there."

"It's nice to meet you," she said politely, though her skin was still prickled from when she had come in and see the bald, barrel-chested official snap his attention up from the table. It was as though he had seen a ghost at first, but then the expression melted into the plain one he still wore. Worse, Tom had flashed a look she remembered from over a year ago, that hard, straight stare that let nothing by it. She'd always assumed the liquor made him like that. Apparently, there was more to it. Thankfully, this time, it didn't outlast his introducing her.

"My wife has told me many nice things about you, B'Elanna," the admiral said in a rich, practiced tone that at the same time was by no means disingenuous. "I look forward to knowing you more during your visit."

"Thank you," B'Elanna replied with a little smile, though unsure of what else to say.

Tom immediately returned to his mother's side of the table. "And some," he grinned. "We got there at a good time. Also, he got some fruit in last week for jarring but was selling the extra. B'Elanna grabbed the lot."

"I did not," B'Elanna said and brought her bag all the way in. Tom helped her lift it onto the table. "Not all of it, anyway, and some of this is for you, Carol, and there's something here for..." She looked at the admiral again. He had already reclaimed his seat and his tea, but was still watching his son until she asked him, "What would prefer me to call you?"

The older man blinked. He had not expected the question--a surprise in itself. He needed an appropriate answer nonetheless. The young lady was not associated with Starfleet, unlike the friends Tom used to bring to the house. Even Moira's husband, an officer, called him "sir." But he could not ask that of this one. Though still quite young to him, she was not a child and was a professional in her trade. Though she worked for his son, they were in a relationship--a recollection that twitched his mouth downwards momentarily--so she should not be thought of as merely an employee of his son's. And then, she was already familiar with his wife, which secured his decision.

"Good choice," Tom commented under his breath as he started pulling the fruit out of the bag. He handed B'Elanna her ripened pears. "Want me to put the milk away?"

"Yes, and let's get ready for lunch," Carol agreed, anxious to progress things. She could see her son's movements becoming automated, his eyes turning down. "I've replicated club sandwiches and we'll slice some of this wonderful fruit--something simple before the party."

"My son was not to be fielded into some simple career knocking crates around."

"Guess that's all I'll be good for, though, so I'm leaving tomorrow for it."

"You had so much potential, so much hope.... I'm ashamed, Tom--ashamed of myself for having let something like this happen."

"Yeah, I guess you are."

"For all you had going for you, the best of everything. Now look at you."

"Yeah. Well, then, I won't waste any more of your time."

"You'll be on your own from now on. Do not expect me to interfere in your entanglements."

"Oh, don't worry about that--or me coming back at all!"

"I did not intend that you--"

"No, you never do, do you? Don't wait for me."

"Thomas--"

"Tom, wait!"

"Sorry, Mom, but... Just...sorry. I have to get out of this place. It's killing me."

"Owen, tell him not to go. Owen! --Tom!"

He jumped when he felt her hand on his arm and he snapped his stare up to his mother's. He felt his blood only just returning to his head--starting with his cheeks. "Yeah?"

Tom looked around at B'Elanna's curious gaze, then back to his mother's. He didn't dare ask how long he'd been distracted, or look at his father. He thought it'd be easy to do as B'Elanna suggested on the Lensk, keep his cool and just let them see him. To that moment, it had been going great. But suddenly it was hard...and he still didn't want to look his father again just yet. "What can I do?"

Preparations went quickly. The remaining fruits were set into storage baskets and the place settings were pulled from the cabinets and drawers. B'Elanna brought a few pears and a small round of soft cheese at Carol's suggestion and they worked with the older woman's quiet instruction to prepare them. Tom began setting out the plates, then the glasses and the napkins, moving around his father without a pause. Then he went to get the silverware.

"Your mother tells me," Owen started, breaking the cycle of kitchen noises, "you'll be here until Wednesday."

"That's right," Tom answered, setting out a fork and knife, then moving to the next place.

"A few more cups," Carol answered, turning around with a plate full of stacked sandwiches. As B'Elanna took her seat and Carol began to serve everyone's plate, Tom grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured it full before sitting next to B'Elanna.

"That'll run your nerves up, son," Owen commented, failing at lightness as he reached for the salt.

Carol only shook her head and cut her sandwich in half. "Would you like the knife, too, B'Elanna?"

Unfortunately, that quip was the only break in the silence that hung over the table for the entirety of the meal. B'Elanna already knew from Tom that his father didn't like much talking at mealtime, saving the conversation for afterwards--which, Tom explained, for a man who had to listen and talk all day was understandable--but the silence was palpable. The tension between them was obvious in their few words, but they carried on as though they were strangers sharing a table. The admiral went as far as to gesture at a peppershaker. Tom reached out and slid it over to him, not even looking up. Their meals with Tom's mother could not be more different.

B'Elanna ended up finishing her sandwich well before the others, moved on to the pears and brie, then refilled her juice three times--overfilling herself in the bargain.

"Maybe take some time on the patio, while it's warm," Carol suggested. "We can get all this, dear."

Though she was a little chagrined at attracting that kind of attention, B'Elanna did like the thought. "I think I will. Thank you."

As she stood up, the wall panel beeped behind her and she looked at it, then to Carol.

"I'll take that," Owen said, setting his sandwich down to wipe his mouth and fold his napkin. Moving to the panel behind B'Elanna's seat, he read the origination code and furrowed his brow. He opened the channel. A yellow-haired official appeared a moment later. "Yes?"

"Good morning, sir. I'm Gaddri Kivo-Salovidras from Ulinas Central Control. This is a subspace transmission for Captain Paris. Do I have the correct residence?"

Owen started back and glanced over at his son, who was already out of his chair and heading toward the panel. "You do."

Tom moved in as his father moved aside. "Kivo-Salovidras," he greeted the woman, "is there a problem?"

She chuckled. "Your ship's still there, if that's what you're asking. But Savan requires you immediately regarding ship's business. Is Torres there, too?"

"Wait, Tom," Owen said suddenly. Catching his son's attention, he gestured toward the hallway. "If it's business, you might be more comfortable in the den, with the desk and a better control module."

Tom was surprised. The only times he had been allowed in the den in the past was to receive materials and be lectured. Not that he was stupid enough to argue a change in that tradition, though, so he nodded. "That'd be great. I probably have some sign-offs to review."

Tom caught his mother's hopeful grin before following. "B'Elanna, you want to check it out, too?"

They turned in the hall to go down another one, which at the far north side of the house became a large den. Bathed in rich gold and green and shelved with antique books and artifacts, the otherwise clean-lined room was cozy and formal in the same glance. Owen was already at the other end, activating his console and pulling up his monitor on the brown granite desk against the well-equipped side wall. "Savan," he said, watching the Ulinas transmission signal change over to an alarmingly antiquated comm pattern. "Vulcan?"

"Only the best," Tom grinned, moving to the desk when his father stepped back from the screen. Quickly tapping in his clearance code, he came face-to-face with the woman in question. "Good to see you, Savan," he said.

"Tom," she replied with a blink then looked past him at B'Elanna. "B'Elanna, it is good you are also available. I have acquired the relay lines you ordered and the dilithium, among other items."

"Where did you find dilithium?" Tom asked, pulling up the data Savan was already transmitting.

"It is not important," the Vulcan replied. "It is in good condition, as are the PTC channels you hoped were in stock at Irtrin and Velir. They were purchased at a fair price and are en route to Ulinas. Security measures require full review and sign-off for all these items, however; thus my intrusion at this hour."

"Three AM is fine if you got those channels," B'Elanna added. She had been enjoying her vacation more with each day, but suddenly it all came back to her and she couldn't wait to get back to work. That particular replacement had been on her list for months. "They have the borosilicate under-layers, right?" Half the reason they needed replacement, B'Elanna knew, was because the present set were not of the correct composition to handle Federation quality drive plasma--another shortcut her predecessor took that cropped up long after the fact.

Tom finished uploading the inventory and security contracts and gave it a quick scroll. "How long do I have to turn this around?"

Tom fished around in the nearest drawer for a stylus. "Give me an hour to read it and I'll get back to you."

Holding the transmission, Tom looked over at his father. "Mind if we use your desk for a little while longer?"

Snapped out of his gaze, Owen shook his head. "Not at all. I'm due at Starfleet Command soon. Take your time." Leaning over the desk, he activated a higher and more stable channel for them and moved the held transmission onto it, then pushed the extra chair around for B'Elanna.

The two immediately opened up the first file and started to read. Belatedly, Tom looked up and gave his father a brief grin. "Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom we'll be done in about an hour if she still wants to drag us to the gym."

Owen watched as the two looked back to the information scrolling and stopping in turns before them, suddenly and completely at work and in their element...his son's element. B'Elanna made a few comments about the dilithium and Tom started tapping notes into a separate screen. Their conversation grew as they came to the deal itself, what their Vulcan crewperson had actually paid for the materials. Then they moved on to the PTC channels and B'Elanna dove into the specifications. Tom leaned back and waited for her comments, keeping out of her department, it seemed, and glad to do so.

His hand slipped around her waist as they came down the stairs--early for the festivities, but his sisters had arrived and he admittedly wanted to get the initial greetings over with. "At least I could get all the difficult people done in one day," he said, light but honest.

Earlier, while she slid on her dress in the bathroom, B'Elanna watched Tom in the bedroom; sitting in the chair by the window, he slowly pulled on his boots, his stare cast elsewhere. "Meeting your dad went well," she said. "He seemed to accept you back all right."

Tom frowned. "Considering how we said goodbye the last time, I didn't expect we'd be having a good laugh. No, better we keep it simple. We just aren't going to see eye to eye on things and I've pissed him off too much. We'll get through the week. Actually, I think it's easier to say nothing so we don't argue."

Chuckling, he looked over as she came out of the bathroom. He found his feet a moment after a smooth whistle escaped his teeth. Wrapped in a violet silk cocktail dress, finished with very sheer black stockings and heeled shoes, B'Elanna had never looked like that before. Not that they had any occasion for dressing up when anywhere near the Guerdon, but he suddenly thought it was a great shame they didn't. "That," he told her, letting his stare offer equal praise, "looks gorgeous on you, B'Elanna."

Her mouth turned up. When she saw it in the replicator on the Lensk, she had a feeling he'd appreciate her choice. "Thanks."

His fingers drifted down her sides and around her as soon as she came close enough to touch. He drew a deep breath. "Actually, we might not get downstairs with you looking that good."

"I'm sure you'd rather we didn't," she countered, moving forward to smooth the navy coat he'd gotten back from a real tailor only an hour before, then straighten the shirt collar beneath it with an appraising smile. "But we didn't come forty light years out of our way to stay in your bedroom...much as I've gotten to know it already." Brushing the coat's hem over his hips then leaning up, she gave him a quick kiss. "Besides, I want cake."

Rolling her eyes, she started them to the door. "Come on. Let's get your day over with."

So, he escorted B'Elanna down the stairway and around into the front parlor, his hand around her waist, his fingers gently stroking the soft fabric until he saw his sisters, both talking to their father until he nodded Tom's way.

Seeing Moira, he couldn't help his big smile, and he braced himself when she hurried across to hug him tight. "It's about time you got back home, you idiot!" she laughed in his ear before she kissed it. "You look great, Tom!"

"Home with Nicky. He has a cold and I thought we'd better not send you back to your ship with a plague."

"How do you do," B'Elanna said, quickly looking Moira over. Though her appearance was little like her brother's, save in height and slimness, there was no doubt what side of the aisle she stood on. She had the same gleam in her eyes that Tom and his mother shared--among other traits she immediately took advantage of.

"Oh, you're the one Mom jabbered on and on about last night," Moira smiled devilishly then jerked her thumb towards the back of the room. "Tom, go suck up to Kathleen. I want to enlist your engineer."

B'Elanna laughed and followed Moira to the kitchen. "I think you just saved his night," she told her.

"Tom always needs a little playful abuse," Moira told her matter-of-factly. "I love him to pieces and missed him to death, so I don't mind getting over the rest a little more quickly than the others. I'll get you around to Kath and steal him later. Right now, you get to help Aunt Jean and me fix the outside comm speakers. There's a problem with the lines at the power relay and we're stymied."

"Sorry. --And I promise, you won't get dirty. That really is a beautiful dress. Anyway, it's probably just the computer. Dad always messes with it, further proving why they don't let good command officers off the bridge. Just over here."

Another hour quickly passed as the sun began to set in the misty sky. Heating lamps came on in the expansive yard, as did the full complement of lights. The music piped on soon after Moira let out a cheer for their success. The party soon after was underway.

Family arrived early, as always, then some friends, none too fashionably late that they missed the admiral, dressed in a civilian suit of light brown and beige. He remained not far inside the gate, ostensibly checking the lamps but observant enough of the entering people to give them a quick wave. Arriving guests knew to give him a casual hello, then file in along the path on the side of the house, make their way around to the buffet and find the hostess. Draped in a long, white dress and with her hair pulled up in a romantic twist, she greeted them all warmly, thanked them for coming, complimented outfits and invited them to synthehol wine and punch and a few spreads of food.

"Yeah, we've all been to this party a hundred times," Tom grinned to B'Elanna as he led her out into the yard. "The only difference is that it's Mom's birthday. But we might find some diversions outside the general meet and greet."

"How so?" B'Elanna asked. Having had a good start to that evening and accepting rounds of compliments she was not used to receiving (as in all her life, she'd never been praised by so many in one place for her appearance), she now had to force herself to relax. She had been to "this party" a total of zero times in her life and the numbers of incoming guests were doubling every other minute. B'Elanna had only been to a few get-togethers before, two of those while at the Academy. She'd stuck by her then boyfriend, ate food, had a few drinks, talked to a few people and then left early.

Seeing her unease, Tom gently took her hand. "Allow me, B'Elanna, and I'll find you an outlet when it comes together. Trust me, it'll be there soon enough."

She furrowed her brow, but let him have his role that time. Though she wasn't surprised to see him fall into it, she did watch with great interest as the man she first knew as a quiet, embittered and unwilling captain stretched out his hand to his mother's guests, greeting them and introducing her around as though he did that for a living, instead. A few seconds after saying, "Hi, Uncle Pete," he let go of her hand to embrace the man. But then he answered the same questions: He was home for a visit and would be going back in four days, he was doing great and she was his girlfriend and lead engineer on his ship. Not one of them asked him what he was doing. Under his breath, Tom told her that he didn't need to elaborate for that crowd, lest he say anything "embarrassing."

"Not me. My father." Tom frowned. "He doesn't like answering for me, so it's easier if I don't add content."

Though that information was not very reassuring, B'Elanna soon got into the routine of thanking people, nodding and answering a couple vague and polite questions. Uncle Pete and a few of the other family members gave her a sidelong look, probably wondering about how serious they were. Tom had long ago confessed his busy and varied dating history, so she didn't take it the wrong way. It was all about him.

"So you finally got it together!" his other uncle, a slender, bald man in a black suit, smiled when they all met at the refreshments table. He reached over to his brother Owen, who was standing nearby to assess the levels in the bowls. "See, Owen, you worry too much. Tom's doing great!"

B'Elanna looked up as Tom snorted and shook his head. She saw a flash of anger in his eyes when he looked at his father, but he recovered a few seconds later and drove them out for another loop around the party, at which point B'Elanna stopped trying to remember the people he was introducing her to. She realized Tom was working on automation, too--or he was until he suddenly stopped and smiled to a group in the middle of the yard by the fountain. Some were sitting at the benches, the others stood with their glasses pressed between their clean, precise fingers.

"Like clockwork," he breathed and took her hand again. "B'Elanna, the people over there are Aunt Jean's brother-in law and a few of his friends, who happen to be friends of Mom's from school. Ilia Marciano is one of the directors of new technology at the Daystrom Institute and Jean's brother-in-law Arnold is a professor of cybernetics at Nairobi University. The rest are techs, too. They always find each other at these things." He gave her hand a little tug. "Come on. You'll like this group."

"You're so sure," she wavered. "I keep up with the feeds, but I'm nowhere near that kind of league."

B'Elanna was still frowning when he introduced her around the small circle of men and women. It was a little grating to know he was doing so purposefully, trying to ingratiate her among those "peers." Though, she was impressed that one of them did ask what Tom was doing for a living and the others looked interested in his answer. She still felt her teeth clench together when Tom brought up--"by the way"--their ship and never-ending power problems.

"We just found out that we've secured a set of Federation-standard PTC channels," he continued, "but we're still expecting compatibility problems with the reaction assembly. Getting the plasma emission output right has been tricky since before I got the ship."

"Hmm," said Tisho Kea, pursing her mouth with thought. "Have you tried realigning your PIS?"

"I have," B'Elanna jumped in. "It's an issue with the materials. The Bolian quench blocks weren't designed to handle as much pressure as we need to support the output the newer PTC requires."

"My favorite kind," he assured her. "During my fellowship, I worked on a crusty Vulcan science frigate that could hardly get to Andoria and back without our having to go catch the warp core. Best two years of my life."

"I used to play with those in my neighbor's back yard when I was growing up," she told him.

That took as long as I expected, Tom grinned when B'Elanna laughed again. He leaned down. "I have to go to the toilet. Be back in a bit. Is it getting chilly yet?"

"No, I'm fine for now," she answered, offering a grudging smile of thanks. But then, he had been at that party before. He knew he'd be able to find her a save, a place to make friends and get information, just as easily as he knew how to work a deal at the stations, or charm a manager, or play someone at the dom-jot table. At last, she knew where that ability had been grown.

"Now tell me," said another on the other side of the group, "are you having magnetic alignment problems, too?"

Sipping her drink, B'Elanna nodded and began to explain the Guerdon's systems hodgepodge.

Taking the back way to the kitchen door, Tom managed to slip inside without being stopped until he turned down the hall.

"Tom, look at you!" said a smiling, elderly lady in passing. "How nice you could come home for your mother."

"It's good to be here, Mrs. Turro," he said, even meaning it a little just then. "I hope you don't mind, but--"

"I'll probably be here," he grinned and ducked into the side hall. Halfway to the den was a small lavatory, which he used to some great relief--he should know better than to drink multiple lemon seltzers with a straw--and freshened up a little. Looking in the mirror, he smoothed down his recently trimmed hair, straightened his shirt collar. As everyone was pointing out that night, he surely wasn't that kid in the pictures on the wall anymore. Explaining them all to B'Elanna had already reminded him how much. Still haunted sometimes by a far scarier version of himself, however, Tom admitted he preferred his most recent incarnation--the one that lived through it.

He wasn't the only one who was thinking of his changes, he discovered as he came out into the hall again. In the den nearby, the mention of his name pricked his ears.

"I certainly do! --You wouldn't know about this, Owen, but last year after our ship was diverted from Betazed, we were taking on repairs at--what was it, dear, Minjau? Well, we were passing through the main base--hideous sprawl I was shocked to see inside the Federation--and we saw Tom, of all people, coming out of what we assumed was his ship."

"If you could call it that," said the man. Tom recognized the voice. Pressing his memory for a moment, he got the names: Steve and Allida Hopper. He went to school with their son, who had become a terraforming engineer. He'd shaken their hands outside with B'Elanna earlier and they were thrilled to tell him about Garrin. "I was surprised to learn it was space worthy."

Like you'd know, asshole, Tom smirked. But then, placing himself at Minjau a year ago, the Guerdon still had a few big patches on the starboard hull from the Hugora attack.

"You have to know, Owen, Tom looked...terrible. Really terrible--ill... We tried to say hello, but he must not have heard us. He might have been, you know, drinking. --I mean, it's no secret, right? That he had problems?"

"Certainly, he made no secret of his vices," said his father curtly. Tom knew the tone instantly. "Get on with it," it meant.

"How the year's done nothing but good for him, though!" Allida continued, backpedaling expertly. "Like another man. Perhaps love's helped him heal. I did like her."

"That girlfriend of his must have whipped him into shape," added Steve with a chuckle. "She's a sharp one, probably doesn't put up with any nonsense. Tom's latched onto something good, there."

"Haven't talked to her much, yet," Owen said neutrally, "but she seems to be an interesting and intelligent young lady."

Tom grinned at that translation, too: "Don't tag a woman I have yet to judge for myself."

"But Owen, you can't be enjoying Tom's choice of career," Steve said frankly. "I don't mean to rub a wound, but it must be difficult, after everything you put into his education and upbringing. Our boys had the same of everything. It makes no sense they ended up in such different circumstances."

"Tom's done what he could in a bad situation," replied Owen coolly. "No, I certainly would not have approved his settling for the outer trade circuit, but I no longer have a role in his life choices. And with all due respect, Steve, I would like to change the subject to one more appropriate to the occasion. Tonight isn't about Tom, as it so often tends to be; it's about Carol and celebrating her birthday."

Well, that's a good idea, thought Tom as he returned to the yard. Oddly, the Hoppers' snips didn't piss him off as much as he thought they should. There was no sense in being angry with people for confirming one's expectations, even in such a spectacular way as they just did. The people there were his parents' friends, a close circle who met often. They all probably knew by now what "the disgraced Paris" was doing for a living--forced to do for no other option after his terrible disgrace, they likely thought. That was fine with Tom. They never knew him, anyway.

He would have liked to be pleasantly surprised, however. So it did burn a little. And he didn't like their involving B'Elanna in it. "Whipped me into shape," he whispered bitterly. The Hoppers were snobs, sure, but he didn't remember any racism slipping into their language. But how could he have before? Before the accident, when he was still playing their game, he was considered one of them. Worldly wise as he believed himself to be, he wouldn't have seen it nearly as easily. On the border, there were so many different races that people hardly noticed anything but what they carried for currency. Most Starfleet officers had been trained to at least keep their mouths shut when they hadn't been trained out of their preconceptions.

And maybe he wished he didn't give a damn about his father's approval. It stung most that Tom did want it. Deep down, he knew he did, like some stupid kid who really did try hard, tried again and worked and survived and fought and overcame, and now wanted the recognition he felt he deserved from the man least likely to offer it.

I did not want to put that issue back on my plate just for being here, he grumbled to himself as he grabbed the screen door handle. Though I should have known it'd never left. Stepping outside again, Tom stopped on the stairs, flashed a brief grin to a passing greeting. He didn't bother noticing who it was. They were all the same and weren't his people anymore.

B'Elanna was still in the middle of the group of fellow engineers, intent on the conversation around her and adding a word or two on occasion. He was glad to see it and ducked out her line of vision. Glancing across the yard, he found Moira watching others and swirling her mock daiquiri around in her bowl-shaped glass. Catching her attention and then her smile, Tom went to her and wrapped an arm around her to give her a hug. He leaned down to her ear. "Want to blast out of here?"

"If it weren't for Mom, I wouldn't have been here in the first place," he replied.

He shrugged. "I guess I couldn't hide out there forever, much as I wish I'd been able to sometimes."

"No one," Tom replied, plucking up a small bunch of grapes. "Just flew too close to the candle again."

She eyed him, then nodded. "Speaking of candles, come help me with the cake," she said and rubbed his back. "We already agreed you're the one to carry it out, since you look like you got your coordination back. --Or it seems like it. You did give up that poison, right?"

"Yeah, I did." He grinned. She was the first person to ask--and good, too, as now he wouldn't have to tell anyone else.

"Then you definitely carry the cake," Moira confirmed. "Mom'll be blowing out candles on my face if I do it."

A half hour later, B'Elanna turned as the others around her did. Everyone, in fact, "Ooed" and "Awwed" their way closer to the main table as the lights changed and the music was turned off. The buffet had been cleared away and the table was reset with fresh plates, a large stand and pillar candles. When Marciano steered B'Elanna around to the front of the crowd so she could see, she watched her boyfriend carry a massive, layered cake with a virtual fire on top down the back porch steps and into the yard. Moira and Kathleen followed, clapping their hands and getting everyone else involved in beginning the ancient birthday song. It soon echoed up from the yard with a booming beat and occasional cheer.

Carol, elegant and thrilled, gave up her circle and moved to meet her children, tugging her husband and a couple young nephews with her behind the table. B'Elanna smiled, remembering her seriousness over subspace when she contacted the Guerdon. The mother had gotten just what she wanted for her birthday. For the moment, she had not a problem in the world.

"Thank you all for coming," Carol told the party, "and for joining me in celebrating my sixtieth birthday. It's been a lovely ride thus far. I look forward to the second leg. Thanks most especially to Owen and my beautiful children, who are all the reason I love the twists and turns as much as I do. I love you. --And now let's see to this cake, before it gets inducted into a wax museum!"

Laughter rolled around the crowd and Moira started whacking Tom on the back, making him laugh and grab her into a hug. A moment later, he caught B'Elanna's eyes, making her laugh, too. Seeing this, Carol held up a hand and hurried around the table and to the crowd to take the younger woman's hand. "Come on, dear. Come along."

Carol gave her a look--oddly, the same look she gave Tom when he dissented. "I like you, B'Elanna, and it's my birthday. You can argue when yours comes around." Tugging her hand, the mother brought B'Elanna around to Tom's side then moved to the middle again.

"I think I can manage that," B'Elanna returned, glancing at Moira when her arm wrapped around her from the other side. The sister gave her a peck on the cheek.

"One...two...three!" came a rousing cheer and a roar of applause as the family leaned forward and extinguished the cake.

Leaning back in Tom's arm on the patio swing, B'Elanna pursed her lips into a grin. "Best part about the new route."

"He's by far the stupidest scam artist to hold a good job on the circuit," Tom assured his sisters.

"We take it where we can get it," Tom told her, leaning back in the seat. "For that much, I almost miss him."

"Maryl would drag you over the nacelles if she heard you say that," B'Elanna said, but then looked up to him, "though I agree...a little. That end leg is long."

"Almost twelve days if we maintain speed," B'Elanna told her, "which with no days off and staggering eight hour shifts--"

"--gets pretty old after a week. And when we get to Ulinas, we're offloading and taking on more parts and supplies."

"It is, but it's not a bad way of life." There, B'Elanna grinned. "On the Guerdon, at least. Not all tradeships offer the same perks." Smiling down to her, squeezing her warmly, Tom explained their revised route, tactfully blaming the Maquis aggression in the area but leaving the actual reasons out. He didn't want more questions than he could handle. Thankfully--and probably for not knowing anything about that area--his sisters took the information and left it at that.

"Well, maybe I'll meet you there sometime soon," said Kathleen as she leaned up to grab another handful of peanuts. "I have a four month study starting soon on Betazed." Her lips turned up. "I'd love to see this junker Dad's all in a bunch about."

"Is that what he calls it?" Tom grinned, his eyes lighting up. Aside from his conversation with the Hoppers, he hadn't heard his father's assessment. Kathleen was an expert at digging for them, though she did not always share her findings.

He ignored that. "Anyway, if you're out that far and we're coming through, I wouldn't say no to a visit. Just don't expect anything near to the comforts of Starfleet."

He threw a grape at her. "So what's this latest project about?" he asked Kathleen.

"I can't know unless you try me," he returned and drew a long drink from his glass.

As Kathleen began to talk about her group's latest exo-genetic studies, B'Elanna remembered she had a glass in her hand and finished off the synth-wine in it. It was rather good and was half the reason she remained unmoved on the swing, half-reclined against Tom's side, pleasantly sleepy well past midnight. Synth also had some relaxing effects.

With the mention of her work shifts, she realized how much she really had to be running on natural energy and adrenaline to keep up as she did on the Guerdon. Tom, too. Luckily, they both knew well how to relax when those shifts were off.

There, they relaxed, too, and she remarked to herself yet again how nice a family Tom came from. They were the kind of family she looked at from the outside as a child and wished she had. Wished no longer--at least for the while: His mother and sisters--even the stark and unromantic Kathleen--had essentially adopted her. Carol and Moira were so personable and welcoming, always there with a hand on her shoulder or her arm, or offering an impromptu hug. Among the many things she was learning about him there, B'Elanna learned where Tom had gotten his "touchy" side.

After everyone had been served cake, the elder woman had given her a quick hug of thanks.

B'Elanna shook her head as she swallowed her bite. "No," she answered. "I'm just not used to it--from women, I mean. My mother wasn't like that."

"Well, don't let us get too pushy, because we really can be sometimes," Carol smiled, then asked, "Does your mother live on the Klingon homeworld?"

Carol poked her fork into the rich chocolate. "Great people to know if you're not a clown, but the heat there makes my hair frizz."

She laughed. That Carol could manage to amuse her about that place made B'Elanna like her all over again.

"A little, when Mother insisted," B'Elanna replied. "I didn't like it there. It was...too hot."

"Hmm, well, don't let yourself freeze here. You make sure Tom goes and gets your sweater the minute you get a chill. You should know by now he never minds. Now come meet my old friend, Tana. He's in material requisitions."

The rest of the evening had gone much the same, meeting and greeting people she very likely would never meet again, then finding a few more conversations. By midnight, the energy had begun to fade; coffee was served and at last, the guests finally filed out, small group by small group with warms goodbyes, thanks and best wishes. Then the family had helped put everything away. They knew that post-party well, too; with everyone at work, all evidence of it had been erased from the yard within a half hour, and from the kitchen a half hour after that.

The parents had called it a night soon after, leaving the Paris siblings, B'Elanna and a few cousins out on the patio, burning the last of their energy away, rocking, swinging, sipping and talking in the cool, misty, moonless night.

The talk revolved around Tom, then B'Elanna, about their work; Moira talked about her family, Kathleen told them about her career, Jimmy explained his latest hobby. Then they talked about their friends, their parents, the cake and one more glass of wine to finish off the carafe. Seeing him barely glance at the drink, Moira noted Tom's sobriety. He vaguely explained that his habit finally proved itself unworthy of his liver then smoothly changed the topic again. B'Elanna hardly moved through most of it, thoroughly enjoying the time--and the time off--with them.

Indeed, it was so easy and familiar between them all that she had to remind herself she was new to the group and that Tom had been away for years. There, Moira was catching up on trade route details and Kathleen was talking about dropping by for a visit, another one of the cousins said he'd be at Starbase 375 and maybe they could meet sometime, too.

And though she knew everything about Tom's history, B'Elanna had to wonder how bad it must have been in that family four years ago, that their father essentially disowned his son and the son was compelled to leave that place for the Cardassian Border, not looking back until his mother finally came after him--and everyone let that happen.

Like the lunch the day before, breakfast the next morning was incredibly delicious, but relatively formal and eerily silent. Halfway through it, B'Elanna promised herself she would never complain about a noisy, chatty meal again. The gossipy Moira and cheerful Tom had been replaced with two mute adults eyeing each other on occasion but otherwise unexpressive. Everyone else was focused on their meal or, from time to time, the centerpiece. The only words spoken were at the beginning of the meal were to compliment Carol's cooking. B'Elanna said so, too. She'd been a child at her grandmother's house the last time she'd enjoyed a breakfast as much.

She did not, however, enjoy the quiet, particularly knowing how that family could be, and especially without the comfort of a rumbling engine or beeping systems beneath her. Only the clinks of silverware and the occasional brush of fabric could be heard. It only added to her unease there.

Occasionally, she caught Tom looking at his father and vice versa. Somehow, their eyes never met. Both men's expressions were unreadable--which B'Elanna knew well enough wasn't a good thing on Tom's part. The night before, they had gone straight to sleep and were up late and hurrying that morning, so they hadn't been able to talk. But she knew something was bothering him. Had he and his father argued? Had he gotten one question too many? He pretended not to be bothered by the guests, but she could see how they subtly wore on his patience after a while.

At last, the meal ended, with more compliments to the cook, who soon took her leave to start straightening up the kitchen. The siblings all relaxed with their coffees, leaning back in their seats, visibly more at ease...for the moment.

"I meant to ask you, Tom," Owen started, "if you got your business yesterday settled adequately."

Owen's lips turned up as he considered his son again. "Must be quite a change for you, having your own command. Outside the Federation border, too, you must be up against a great many challenges."

Tom felt his bristles rise while his arms unconsciously crossed. His father was on to something--likely, a bug the Hoppers had put in his head the night before. "Actually, Dad, it's pretty boring most of the time. But we manage to miss the occasional planet when we're trying really hard."

B'Elanna snorted before she could think better of it. Tom still loved to bring that up, probably because it had scared the hell out of him.

"I'm not making the observation to be flip, Tom," his father replied. "I'm glad to see you've been able to rise above the circumstances you had brought upon yourself, handle some real responsibility again."

"Actually," Tom told him, coffee cup still in hand as a grin twisted his mouth, "getting the captaincy was accidental. I was scammed for it over a pass five at dabo. I was pretty drunk that night."

Moira and Kathleen stood at the same time and took their dishes away to the kitchen, abandoning B'Elanna.

The older man sighed. "You'll have to overcome your sarcastic amusements if you're to lead with any long-term success, son."

"Lead what?" Tom asked. "I sit on a bridge and steer a tradeship. It's not like I do anything important out there."

B'Elanna blinked a stare Tom's way. He was amazingly good at understatement. Even with his sisters, he didn't go into an eighth of what he did on the Guerdon, but stuck to joking about the stations and some of their mishaps. Now, he seemed to want his father to believe he was just an over-ranked pilot.

"Not important?" Owen returned. "Once again, Tom, you neglect to see that your position, however inconsequential here, makes you responsible for lives."

"And once again, Dad," Tom returned, "you conclude too much about too many assumptions."

B'Elanna looked at the entrance to the dining room. Now she knew why the others didn't try to talk at the table, if that was any indication of a typical conversation.

"Had you remained here and faced your many issues instead of running away, perhaps I would have less to assume."

Just as B'Elanna was crunching her napkin onto her plate, Moira leaned in around the corner. "Could the resident engineer help us in here--right now? I think that stupid reclamator's going to send us back chunks this time."

B'Elanna gladly grabbed her plate and followed the younger sister back. Rolling her eyes when she came into the kitchen, she nodded quickly to Moira's apology and asked, "Is this how it was before?"

Dutifully, the sisters held their tongues and got back to helping clean up. B'Elanna peered over at the darkened reclamator.

"Oh no," Moira told her with a smile. "I was lying this time. It's fine." She pointed at the cheese and bread on the table. "We can seal that for the preserver, though."

Grudgingly, B'Elanna went to it. Suddenly, the airy, pleasant atmosphere of the household had been exchanged with blame and sarcasm. When Tom said he and his father didn't get along, she had no idea it was like... B'Elanna sighed. It was everything she knew when she last knew her mother--save the bitter humor, which was actually more annoying. B'Elanna knew Tom's methods. He was toying with his father, trying to irk him more. Why he was didn't register at all with her.

So much for just letting them see him and ask their questions. But she should have known that wouldn't happen. Owen was a little too pointed in his observations about Tom's business, then distant when Tom seemed to need reassurance. She couldn't tell sometimes if the man was pleased or not; apparently, Tom had trouble with it, too.

"Maybe were you to make yourself available to better guidance, this 'tired argument' would not be necessary."

Owen was heading in. B'Elanna felt her shoulders tense, especially when the now predictable response came.

"Yeah, discussing this more is going to do a lot of good. I obviously can't get this right on my own."

They came fully into the kitchen now, each handing their plates off when Kathleen held out her hands. Everyone else otherwise looked down to their work or to each other. B'Elanna scowled at them all. For all their liveliness elsewhere, the Paris women certainly weren't about to get involved in that conversation, though they clearly were listening to it. Worse, the men hardly noticed them now.

"Have I mentioned how anxious I am to dangle from the line again after finally getting loose of it?"

"Rather that than never try to fulfill your responsibility, even in the face of your potential."

Hearing her, Tom slumped a little and gave his father a hard look. He pointed it down soon after, though, sighing to himself. A moment later, he turned and left the kitchen again to grab more from the table. His sisters came out soon after.

"Why would you expect them to change, Moira, when nothing was resolved before and nothing's going to be now?"

"To hell with all of you," Tom muttered. Dropping a pile of utensils on the tray Moira was carrying, he strode down the hall and disappeared.

When the front door shut several seconds later, Kathleen simply shrugged. "See you in four years."

He didn't go far, just to the park, just far enough to take a breath. He tried to remind himself that he didn't have to deal with that anymore. He sure as hell didn't put up with that much crap from anyone else--but then, he'd managed to earn the respect of the community along the border--such as that community was. They knew him, they trusted him to follow through as best he could, and they left him alone otherwise. That his father refused to see any of that...

But Kathleen was right. Nothing had changed. Maybe he was acting up per the usual, but his father still took every opportunity to play gain the lead over him, took every chance he could to lecture him. Tom was long done with lectures. He'd been through too much to have to listen to that.

Slowly, he turned and started back to the house. His sisters had to leave soon, anyway. He should at least say goodbye to them. He didn't last time.

"Moira, Kathleen, both of you to your rooms. Now."

"But why?"

"What did we do wrong?"

"You followed him, for one, and though you wisely backed out before any real trouble came about, your brother has to learn that his errors of judgment don't just affect him."

Tom took a deep breath, feeling his face grow hot in the cool, misty air. He might as well have been thirteen again.

B'Elanna almost turned right back around. Only the sight of the admiral sliding on his uniform tunic and pocketing a PADD held her in the foyer.

"However, I do wonder why I imagine I might convey any sense to you, when you can return nothing but sarcasm."

"Maybe revise your approach and we'll see how far your sense goes," Tom said. Standing in front of the fireplace, his arms crossed and eyes set straight, he had long dropped that sarcasm and went straight to annoyance. "But let's start with this: I am not giving anything up to suit anyone but myself."

"That doesn't surprise me, son" the admiral replied, reigning in his remaining ire. "Nevertheless, I hope we will be able to speak more agreeably when I return. Your mother doesn't deserve to have to go through this again." He almost said more, but finally closed his mouth and left the room. "Excuse me, B'Elanna," he said politely, moving around her to pass through the door.

"It's about damned time," Tom said under his breath and gave up his place at last. Seeing B'Elanna's glare point at him that time, he blew a humorless laugh through his nostrils. "Are you going to have a chunk now, too?"

"Not that I'd like to give you the satisfaction right now," she stated, "but you could try not to denigrate yourself just for the pleasure of pissing him off. Why are you making yourself look like an idiot when you claim to want his respect?"

Her start surprised him, but he shook his head and turned his eyes toward the window. "It's the same damn crap in another career."

"Eighteen stations along the route and I've never once seen anyone make you drop your hand," B'Elanna countered.

"He's not a station hack, he's my father. And it's not as if he's trying to get what he needs from me. He wants to see what he wants to see, to run me down into his gully again so I can get back to failing to be the best and the brightest."

"Your father doesn't have to try to do anything. You gave up your control on the first response--then invited him to pursue you again and again. No wonder you two never get anything solved!"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you become a family counselor?" he demanded.

"Since the day you asked me to come 'see yours' for a while," she shot back, "and the minute I had to listen to you two run each other down with me sitting right there! I might as well have been an extra chair, for all you cared about how everyone else at the table felt. That's not like you, Tom. --Or I thought it wasn't. Obviously, I'd made some assumptions of my own."

Tom froze; his breath halted and his expression fell. Seconds passed as he watched her hold her ground. His eyes turned down first, then diverted to his old brown coat, which was slung over the banister in the hall. His mother had sent it to be mended. It must have been delivered while he was out. He walked over to it and snatched it up by the collar, then faced her directly. "I need to get out of here," he told her. "I need to walk."

"I have to get away from here, get my head straight. I can't think when everything around me reminds me of fighting." Holding her stare, he added, "You want to come with me, B'Elanna?"

She first felt "no" on her teeth, but seeing his need behind his invitation, she assented with a blink and said, "I'll grab my jacket."

As she disappeared up the stairs, Tom slid his coat on and went back to the kitchen. "Mom, we're going out. We'll be back later."

"Then sometime after dinner." He offered his mother a little smile and a compromise. "You want to meet us? Maybe Sills' Grill?"

Tempted, she raised a brow at the thought, but shook her head a moment later. "No, you two go ahead. Your father plans to come home at four and I should make something." She waved away his responsive expression. "We have more plates in the air than yours, sweetheart. He was gone for two weeks and..." She smiled, uncharacteristically sheepish, "Well, maybe I should be the one to make an effort."

"Such as I am," Tom grinned, shaking the hand of the lieutenant who stopped them along the walk outside the Academy grounds.

"Well," Tom replied and introduced B'Elanna to him. "Perry and I went to the Academy together."

Tom chose the short version. "I've been captaining a tradeship near the Kalandra Sector."

"I'm almost jealous," Perry smiled. "It must be great to be able to walk in your own shoes, call your life yours."

Only when Perry had said goodbye and good luck did Tom sigh and look over at B'Elanna, who had followed the man with her eyes. "A near stranger and it's so simple to know everything I have," he thought aloud. "But I get around my father and I suddenly think I'm some loser again, even while I know better."

"I'm being an ass today," he said, knowing better than to condescend her with a question.

She watched him for a few seconds, watched his steady gaze hold hers, his body remain straight and still to wait for her. "Accepted," she said at last.

Looking over the wall at the pristine grounds, he touched her hand and gestured that way. For some reason, crossing through there out of their way seemed like a good idea. She showed no resistance, and so he offered her another apology in a small grin aimed her way. "I don't know why I do it. It just...I just fell in there, like I fell into a bottle, like I fell into...the Guerdon." He laughed. "I can be so lazy."

He took the word for all it meant, as it did mean a great deal more and was indeed more correct. Just being on Starfleet Academy grounds was enough to remind him how much. "Yeah. I can be that."

"But the opposite is what I know about you," B'Elanna added. "And you know that and your crew knows that. Why can't your father know that?"

Tom thought about that for a minute, slowing their pace nearly to a stop. "Maybe I don't want him to find fault in that, too. I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"So that'd be his opinion, which has nothing to do with what's really happening out there, what you know you are." A moment later, though, she shrugged. "Then again, maybe I shouldn't criticize, considering what I've been dealing with, with my father--and now Mother."

"There's no sense in comparing diseases," Tom said. "Besides, you're right that it was rude of us--of me--at breakfast. I shouldn't have piped up in front of everyone like that."

Tom laughed quietly. "They should be. I mean, Dad and I didn't fight when I was growing up. I kept it tucked in pretty well when I didn't agree or when I got in trouble for one thing or the other. No, we didn't start showing the stress until the last few years I was home and especially after the court martial. Mom tried to patch things up, tried to get us together, but there was just too much built up, and we were too pissed off to see straight." Shaking his head, Tom looked dolefully across the lawns. "And here I am, an adult, a captain, on my own, and I'm acting just like I did before I left, like some damned hurt kid. Just like before, all we seem to be able to do is bring out the worst in each other, when all we want is the best."

Crossing the central mall and through the line of Boothby's old elms, they found a bench in the cool, filtered sun. B'Elanna pulled out the list and re-categorized it according to location. The Guerdon's age forced them to have parts procured or replicated at several auxiliary sites. Energy and space were naturally being saved for newer and more common ships of the day. While she worked, Tom leaned back, crossing his legs and peering unobtrusively over her shoulder.

A sound caught her attention, then, making her glance up and across the bright green lawn. She lowered the PADD and straightened. Tom looked out, too.

A group of cadets was crossing the lawn, jostling and laughing, teasing and carrying on. One of the girls snatched a young man's PADD and sprinted off, laughing all the while. He set off on a chase, determined to catch her.

Tom touched B'Elanna's hand. She turned hers over and closed her fingers on his.

Watching them disappear around the path, he softy recited, "What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear that which disfigures it; and they who war with their own hopes and have been vanquished, bear silence, but not submission..."

B'Elanna's eyes turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed on the grass where the cadets had been, lost there between quick blinks. Tom still knew quite a bit of that canto, still quoted it from time to time, often to himself when he didn't think anyone was listening. Hearing the words, she could see him among them, on the green, jostling and laughing, so free and so totally himself--so she had thought. She would never have imagined that young man had all the tension and insecurity that she had, only in his own way.

"I still wonder," Tom quietly continued, "where I'd be now if it hadn't happened--the accident. Where she'd be, too, but mainly me." He paused, blinked. "And then I feel like a jerk for being glad sometimes it did happen, because I wouldn't sacrifice what I've had to fight for, what I've had to learn--everything I've gained. Would I have fulfilled my expectations any more if I'd stayed on that track? I know I'd have fulfilled his goals eventually, but would I have been satisfied with me? I was having a good time then, but I wasn't really happy. I knew I didn't have my own life and I didn't like that. Cass always wondered why I kept buckling in when I hated doing it."

"Nothing is what we expect, Tom," she said softly. "And the more you press it to come as you want it to, the more it hurts when you don't get it."

He thought about that. The cadets' laughter still echoed across the yard, though he couldn't tell where they were anymore. "How do we get anything right, then?"

"There's a difference between working for what you want and expecting it to happen just because you're worked for it. You of all people know how that goes."

Tom sighed through his smile, pulling her close to his side in a warm embrace. Turning his head, he kissed her temple. "Yeah, I do."

It was almost as if they lived there. How quickly that had happened in his mind.

Carol had told him how much they couldn't get over the real air and unusually warm, sunny spring. It greeted them again that day, upon their return to the house not long after thirteen hundred. After an entirely successful morning of antique ship parts requisitioning, they gladly returned to the sun-spotted patio after lunch, stretching out on the generous porch swing to continue their plans to fulfill their list.

Having taken some updates and reports down and seeing his wife still smarting from another failed attempt to settle their differences, Owen took his work outside as well. Settling himself at the table on the shady side of the patio, he glanced over at the two. B'Elanna was on her belly with her shins on Tom's lap, remarking about the remaining parts on their technician's list and the upgrades they would eventually need "if we keep adding parts like that to the jungle we're flying." Tom sat with his arm over the backrest, occasionally closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the sun on his face as he gently pushed the swing with his feet. They seemed totally at home there.

"Well," Tom said, "we're going to have to upgrade soon enough, considering what we've got waiting at the holding dock. No more low-powered mish-mash means we'll have to clean up the rest."

"Next time Mom pays for our drydock, I guess," he returned, earning a kick of her foot.

"I like these port relays, though," she sighed. "They're so much more efficient...and available for replication."

"And then we'll install them where?" B'Elanna laughed. "I'd need a whole new impulse assembly."

Tom leaned back and closed his eyes. "It'll go into the three-delta-eight bin with the rest of the collection. But at least we'll have it."

"Why not take the time off and get it done right?" Owen asked, genuinely curious.

"We have to pay our way out there, Dad," Tom said, unmoved and not looking over. "We can't afford to lay off for a month on our own tab."

The older man sighed. "You could work closer to home, not need to worry about such details."

"My contract liaison is Bajoran," Tom informed him. "She doesn't want to be far from her family."

B'Elanna's eyes did not rise from her reading, either. "If you'd wanted to know where your son was, you'd have found him. Your wife did in fifteen minutes once she decided to."

Owen turned a look at her for that, then glanced at Tom. His eyes remained closed, but the tiniest twitch had touched his mouth. Owen returned to his reports, letting the silence take over.

Tom's hand stroked B'Elanna's thigh adoringly. She gave him a bump of warning to not take it any further. He chuckled.

She looked up at the sound of Carol's voice. She was standing in the kitchen door with a shopping bag in her hand.

Shrugging, B'Elanna rolled over and got to her feet, then went into the kitchen with the mother. The moment the door closed, she caught her jacket.

Carol breezed by her, pulling a bag strap over her shoulder. "I've got my list. You have--? Good, you have yours. Let's go shopping."

Still feeling the sun on her skin and the movement of the swing, B'Elanna needed a moment to catch up. Carol already had her hat on her head, too. "We just got back from requisitions."

"I need you to help me a while longer, dear," she replied and started down the hall with a long, easy gait that was so much like Tom's. "Please, B'Elanna. I need your help."

Sighing and starting after her, B'Elanna pulled on her jacket and stuffed the PADD she'd been working on into her pocket. "Help with what?" she asked.

Carol waited until they were out the front door and halfway across the street to tell her. "Well, I need more fresh bread for tonight and French toast in the morning and there's an assembly depot not a few blocks past it where you can make some requisitions, so we both can get things done."

"We don't need to make any special trips. Tom and I got a lot done. I planned to have the last parts we needed replicated at the central facility. We already put in the requests."

"To whom?" Slowing slightly, Carol gave her a sidelong look. "You're probably quite adept at making deals on the border, but I know Earth's facilities much better--and Tana's already agreed to help, remember? You won't need to swim in any red tape doing it my way." She threw a gesture back towards her house. "Besides, those two need to be left alone a while--preferably on a deserted island, but I couldn't arrange that. I thought we should just keep the peace, but now I'm sick of the manners. Really, I'm about to kill my husband just now."

B'Elanna snorted, finally getting it. She picked up her pace to match Carol's. "Will there be any more fruit in town?"

Hearing the front door around the other side of the house close and the women's voices fade down the road, Tom stretched his arms back, leaned his head into his hands. "I guess this is the part where we have our cathartic talk," he smirked.

A long silence took over the space, each man back to his previous diversion. Owen tapped through a few pages of the report he needed to approve. Tom closed his eyes again and gave the swing a few lazy pushes. The birds grew loud and busy in the trees above them; fountain water echoed against the gate. Occasionally, a ship could be heard high above: a transport, a shuttle, a low-alt cruiser.

The sun peeked through the clouds and Tom opened his eyes to see the side of his father's head. How familiar that view was to him--how familiar it all was. Like he never left--it really was freakish to Tom that he felt just then like no time had passed. But it had passed, and he had changed in many respects and, most importantly, he was in no way beholden to his father anymore. He no longer had anything to do with Starfleet and did not live on Earth. What could he lose? Why should he spend one more day miffed at his father for being entirely himself?

Owen's brow rose, then fell again as he released a slow exhale. "They showed their colors quite remarkably."

Tom's lips turned up to hear him acknowledge it. "That can't be easy, hearing them, like that."

"It would have been easier if they were the only ones to make themselves free to comment," Owen replied. "Surprised the newsfeed hadn't picked it up, your coming home."

"Give 'em a little more time, Dad," Tom returned. "They probably had some pesky Maquis incursions to cover this week."

Owen sighed. "Still the joking about what should have remained private--in our family."

Tom frowned. "They were writing about me, Dad, about my mistakes, not yours. It's no more humiliating to have not only the worst day of your life but your resulting stupidity broadcast across the Federation than to be the father of that screwup. Hell, half the reason I stayed on the DMZ border was because it was the one place where people either didn't read the feeds or just didn't give a damn about me or my family."

"That I felt like I deserved to be there," Tom answered frankly, etched with the not too distant memory. "I felt like I needed to be punished."

Tom scowled at him, but then shook his head. "No, I guess you haven't done anything wrong enough to understand. The court martial was a ritual humiliation and a slap in the face for the lie, but it did nothing about the bigger crime of letting myself be distracted for a few seconds."

"A lesson you finally learned--the hard way," Owen observed somberly. "It's very sad to have to learn diligence like that."

"It's sadder that you still equate it with a lesson plan," Tom shot back. Finding his feet, he crossed to the table and leaned over a little to face the admiral. "I lost my best friend out there, but no one seemed to give a damn as long as they believed it wasn't my fault! The minute I confessed to falsifying the record, I might as well have done it on purpose. Is that what you thought, too?"

"No, son," replied Owen quietly. "What I thought--and I say this with the understanding that you deserve the truth--was how much you had disappointed your every potential, me and the family, with your recklessness and weakness."

"To hell with potential!" Tom retorted. "You were pissed because it made the news! Because I wasn't even the salvageable presumptive heir anymore!"

"Responsibility? I showed up and flew the shuttle, Dad; I did my job. Yeah, I let myself get distracted, but I never asked for that accident--never asked Cass to die gagging on my lap! How the hell could anyone think it was an issue of accepting responsibility?"

"Perhaps for the seeming ease with which you falsified your logs and reports," the admiral returned coolly.

"Well, just to set the record straight--again--I never meant to screw that up, either. --But I did, Dad. It didn't happen on purpose, even if I knew I was doing it, even when it..." He exhaled, shaking his head to get his whirling thoughts back in check. When he stopped, all he could manage was a whisper. "It was just like the accident. Once I started spiraling, I couldn't stop it and...and everything was spinning, until the crash. And it was dark...and all I could hear was everything I'd destroyed."

Tom's eyes locked on a glass on the table. He'd never put it like that before, but now, finally, it was making sense. For the first time since they pulled him off the Shuttle Viking, and almost a year after Masdi's advice, it came to him and he understood... "I made that accident happen, over and over...for years after it happened. Until the Berlin, and I almost did..." His breath left him.

"You will get through this, son, if you remain strong. The loss will always be there, but someday, you'll look back and will know how your character was built..."

Hanging on his son's words that time, Owen blinked when he stopped, tried to catch Tom's gaze. It didn't waver. "Almost?"

"Almost did what I expected would happen when we were spiraling," he went on, soft, distant, seeing the scene...seeing everything else that followed it. "I expected to be dead--and hoped it'd happen, in a way, for what I'd done. If anything says I didn't want to face my responsibilities then, it'd have been for that. Dying there would have been a hell of a lot easier on me than the next few years were. But I didn't get that, so I tried to kill myself in every other way, except literally. I sometimes wonder if I falsified the reports knowing I'd be discovered and punished more, or just more miserable for my conscience."

"I honestly can't remember which it was, except that I was younger than I made it seem," Tom continued. "I was scared, and I never asked to get on the fast track of Starfleet, either, so maybe I was sabotaging that, too." On that thought, Tom straightened. "I did it for you, Dad. I got into the Academy and officer's training because that's what you wanted and expected; I wanted you to be proud of me and I loved piloting, so at first I thought that had to be right. But the more I was in it, the less I was satisfied with where I was going, and when I lost it, I lost you, too...and I hated the hell out of you for deserting me when I needed you the most. --Not that I had it in me to want much comfort because I was in such a pit, but I still felt like the one person who could help me had passed me off to the JAG like a bag of waste because you couldn't handle the indignity. But I deserved that, too, I guess."

He stopped there, staring directly into his father's eyes as they flashed, then widened, then closed momentarily.

"I suppose," the admiral said slowly, almost unwillingly putting the words he needed together, "I did not have the corner on disappointment." He paused to look at his son again. The young man was still standing straight and firm before him, with no fear or hesitation in his eyes. He had grown out of that...but not out of the need. His particular insecurity remained plainly set in his gaze, along with the pain, courage and intentness. And perhaps that would always be a part of him, a check for the overconfidence he needed on occasion. "For my part in that, Tom, I apologize. I should have at least told you that I wanted you to overcome your obstacles, to move forward somehow. But I was angry, too--too angry and, yes, embarrassed, to realize my love was perhaps too tough for you to interpret."

"You had a right to it," Tom allowed. Pulling the chair next to his father's, he lowered himself into it. "You have to admit, though, when I screw up, I never do it halfway."

Before he could think not to, Owen chuckled. "Indeed, that's one area where I never had to motivate you."

Tom laughed, an easy laugh that loosened the knot his chest and made his shoulders relax as he leaned back into the firm, deep cushion. Smiling with a sudden fondness for the man across from him, he wasn't bothered that his father's posture and expression had changed very little, was only slightly more pleasant and that he'd explained very little in return. He had offered the olive branch Tom needed in return for his confession, without expectation or further blame. It'd been a long time coming. "And I'm sorry for my part of the arguing. I let you get to me too easily."

The admiral's small mouth curled at one end. "Well, I admit my angle was not entirely accidental."

"Something I definitely got from you," Tom noted, "being a pain in the ass with a purpose."

"You've never had to deal for deuterium on a backwater trade station," Tom told him. "You'd be amazed at the tricks they try to pull to spare themselves a single joule of power or a strip of latinum--and they never learn better. Playing with them is the only way to work off the insult."

Hearing the ease of that statement, the admiral considered his son yet again. "You've accepted your life in that field, haven't you?" he asked, tinged with a particular sadness, but not disapproval that time.

Owen's brows flicked as he breathed a small laugh. "A great irony, that for all your natural talent and inclinations, and for all the many facets of your personality and taste, simplicity's ruled the day."

"Yeah, maybe. Though I wouldn't call it simple--or less challenging. Spend one typical leg in our engine room and you'll know how much we're up to. Less diverting is usually the best way to put it in general, though it still has its moments."

"I should think any occupation would. But the trade circuit, Tom. It's so far from what you were, or could have been."

"I'm not disagreeing with that," Tom assured him. "Much as you never expected it, I wouldn't have considered it an option five years ago, either. But I don't think I've done half bad. Hell, I'll even go out on a limb and admit that I like it, now--the life I've made, at least. And the circuit kind of grows on you after a while. It's not advanced, it's not the best of the best; my ship's constantly on the brink of falling apart and crooked's a good name for half the people I have to deal with stationside. But I have great people on the crew, a woman I love and the respect of a few people out there--which is all pretty amazing, considering the condition I was in when I learned the ropes. Not to mention, I couldn't have told you how many strips were in a bar when I got out there, nor did I care as long as I could pay my tab eventually. Either way, I'll be damned if I'm ever ashamed of what I've made for myself."

"It isn't what I had in mind," the admiral agreed. "And while we're being very honest this afternoon, I'll always think it's well beneath you. However, I am glad you've made something work for you, Tom, and that you've gained some real pride in your achievements."

The admiral nodded shortly, unaccustomed to such heartfelt chats. For that matter, he'd gotten what he wanted from his son. It was time to move on. Finally disengaging his PADD, he set it aside and leaned forward a little. "Now, son, tell me about this route. I remember the space quite well from my time on the Al-Batani, but it was some time ago and I have shamefully little knowledge of the trade practices there."

"Well," Tom started, leaning back to consider his answer, "I can start with what the Guerdon's typical run is like. We've changed it recently because of the Maquis activity..."

Some time after that beginning, Tom rose to get the carafe from the kitchen, only half-spent and still quite warm. He eagerly returned to his father and refilled both their cups before sitting again. With a simple question, Tom continued to satisfy his father's surprisingly sincere curiosity.

On their trip over, Tom had heard B'Elanna's advice, but hadn't imagined talking about this "new career" nearly as much as he did just then. Perhaps it was their reconciliation, perhaps it was just nice to have his father's interest, but the details flowed out, one station after another, one manager, another depot and even a few planets his father knew of but had not had any experience with--quite a new experience for Tom. His father had never been to Velir, for instance, nor met a Velirian. Tom was glad to fill him in and then explain the Ligarans' recent research when the topic turned that way. He told his father more about his crew, about his hulking ship and, while judiciously only grazing their run-ins with the Maquis, told him how they had come upon the USS Berlin a year ago.

"Actually," Tom observed, "after our stint there, I was surprised you hadn't heard about it."

"To be honest," Owen admitted, "the information would have had to be sent directly and purposefully. I was at Starbase 24 for two months for a series of conferences last summer and your mother and aunt were vacationing. We would have had to be found. Still, B'Elanna had a good point about our not finding you. Your mother and I did worry, despite the letters saying everything was fine and you were just taking in the sights; but indeed, we didn't make inquiries. Perhaps we should have. I suppose none of us knew what to say."

"Unusual state as that is for us." Tom shrugged. "I got lucky in a lot of ways, got what I needed when I needed it. I still have a lot to do, but we're getting there. Hell, B'Elanna and I might even get our latest shuttle up to Starfleet code. --It's how we've been keeping ourselves challenged out there, rebuilding junkers and selling them. We're on our third, which should probably be faster than the Guerdon and up to code if we can get the constrictors we're looking for. We've redesigned it from scratch and created a full new sensor array for it. We have our eye on a well-placed science team who might be interested."

"That is encouraging," Owen said, brightening, and also glad to move onto another topic. "Have you any other projects in the works?"

Tom chuckled. "My list is upstairs. If I had my way, the Guerdon would be rebuilt from the frame bolts out. For three years, I've been expanding on a plan of how to do that within the boundaries of my contract. We're even trying to scrape together enough parts for a holosuite. --Long runs and all really get boring when the ship isn't about to blow."

"I speak from lots of experience," Tom promised, then gave his father a fresh grin and a wink. "You wouldn't happen to have any connections there, would you? I'm willing to make a deal for that...maybe over a game or two of dabo if your people are so inclined."

"...After that bottle was gone between us, Jerod dared me I couldn't hold them down. Pride notwithstanding, he had to wager me five strips to take the bet. God, I was never so sick in my life--and it was replicated! I almost stopped us at Dirud to get to the clinic there--or at least have somebody beam that stuff out of my gut. As it was, Savan had me on anti-nausea hyposprays for days."

"He did," Tom nodded, still chuckling. "Ridge goaded me about it more, though. --Still does."

B'Elanna snickered. "When you caught that cold a couple months ago, he replicated a plate for you."

"I beamed it into space before he could bring them by," she replied, then peered over to him. "I didn't think you needed the mention, either."

"Hate your engineer," she replied simply, then gave Carol a wink. The mother was reclined on the lawn chair with a wide scarf tied around her undone hair and sipping a tall raspberry tea. Her lips turned up at their story and their play.

They had found themselves on the patio yet again the next morning after breakfast, when the admiral had retired to his den to work on reports and they'd cleaned up the kitchen. How easy it all seemed now, five days into that non-routine. Tom had remarked as they dressed it would take them a month to get back into the rigors of the Guerdon and the route. "--Not that I regret a vacation every now and again!"

B'Elanna understood--and agreed. Indeed, it'd been good to get off the track she'd been on nonstop for three years, and it had been both unusual and rewarding to be so welcomed by Tom's family. Even the admiral had made her feel a kind of belonging there; after he and Tom came to terms, he was now noticeably gentle and solicitous, even curious about her work and upgrades. He promised to line up a few contacts if she was serious about continuing her studies and experimental systems, and would arrange at least one introduction before they left Earth.

That wouldn't be for another day and a half, plus the six day trip back to Ulinas. Soon enough, they'd be thinking wistfully about their visit and the relaxed lifestyle that slid from day to day and seemed to end too soon, once it was over. Installing what parts they could in the Guerdon would be good, though. It would be good to be busy again. She never thought she'd be so anxious to crunch numbers.

"Jerod was," B'Elanna said, "but he was killed a couple months after I came aboard. I thought I said that."

"We were attacked by a Maquis cruiser," Tom told her, "during the early incursions a year ago."

Carol was both surprised and frightened in retrospect for her son. "You said you'd suffered some trouble from the Maquis, but I didn't imagine it was bad enough to kill one of your crewmen."

"There isn't a tradeship on the border that hasn't had at least a few blows," Tom deflected, reaching out to refill his glass. "The Guerdon's age didn't help us out. But we eventually recovered and got back on track. We still miss Jerod, still talk about him. He was a great guy."

"My other assistant is Nadrev," B'Elanna picked up, "who had been working part time on the Guerdon as often as we could afford him."

Carol understood and dropped it. As she hoped, Tom had finally opened up about his past four years with B'Elanna's occasional assistance. It was heartbreaking at the same time it was reaffirming to know what he had been through. His recovery was slow but certain when it did happen. He still seemed uncomfortable with certain topics, though, so she let the conversation go where he wanted it to that time. Eventually, she knew she could loosen him up on the details, if he had come so far in but five days. "Nadrev sounds Bajoran," she offered.

"That right," Tom confirmed. "Maryl is too. You talked to her when you confirmed our dock."

Tom and B'Elanna chuckled at that. "Good word," B'Elanna grinned. "She's a good friend, but she likes to be on top of everything."

"And so it's just you six? Amazing how well you keep things together. --But then, you know what sort of ship I'm accustomed to traveling in. There's ten people for every--"

She stopped, suddenly distracted by the creak of the gate behind them. She was not expecting anyone that day. But when Carol recognized the ruddy-haired form in issue black and red crossing the garden then stepping deftly onto the patio, she had to laugh to address her. "Kathryn! My goodness, the last person I expected to see today. I thought you and your sparkling new command would be far off by now!"

"A small delay," the visitor informed her, training her polite smile. "You know how that sort of thing can happen."

"Would you like some tea?" Carol asked, well seasoned enough to know not to ask for details. The upright new captain wouldn't give them, and Carol knew she would find out for herself in due time.

"Actually, I'm here to speak with your son," she said, moving smoothly around the swing to come fully into his view, "but I'd like to visit with Admiral Paris while I'm here, too."

Tom peered at her askance, not rising to greet her just then. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd heard from your father's staff that you were visiting," said the captain, "and I was curious... It seems we have a mutual friend."

Tom furrowed his brow, shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "I don't know anybody by that name. What does he--he? ...What does he look like?"

"Dark skinned, Vulcan, about your height." Her eyes studied him carefully as she continued, "He's been working around the DMZ border for some months now."

"What station?" Tom asked, feeling B'Elanna stiffen in his arm. He forced himself not to look at her, but continued to address the other captain, if only to hold the woman's full attention.

"I can't say offhand. He's moved around a few times. But he does know you. He'd mentioned you in some detail in one of his communiqués, very soon after he arrived on the border."

Tom snorted. "I'm on the trade circuit, a lot of people just happen to know me."

"Captain Janeway," Tom continued, "I have no idea who your Tuvok is. If he remembers me from some station, then...he remembers me from somewhere. I promise you, I have no idea who the guy is."

He caught the reference. "I've been on the wagon almost a year now," he informed her.

"My father's in his den, by the way," Tom told her, markedly changing the topic. "You know how to get there?"

Tom pointed over his shoulder to the house. "Go in that door, hang a left, then a right three meters down, at the palm plant. The hall opens up to his den."

"Have a great day." When Janeway turned and he heard the door, he waved off his mother's first comment. "She's after something and trying to be clever. Speaking of which..." He looked at B'Elanna. "What?"

She squeezed his hand. "He was the Vulcan on the Liberty, the other guy who helped out while you were unconscious. He guarded the door and helped the medic with your operation." Her breath halted as she shook her head. "No wonder he was so solicitous when the others weren't around."

Tom's eyes closed. "Oh shit," he breathed, feeling his heart thud as the man's face flashed into his mind, now that he knew the man's real location. He had looked in the door a few times after Tom had awoken, watched him carefully, but they never spoke. If he'd heard the man's name, he didn't commit it to memory. "God damnit."

"What is it, Tom?" asked his mother, leaning up to touch his leg. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Tom looked at her again, steadied his breath. It was all he had left now that the blood was gone from his head. "Mom, I'm going to tell you this because Captain Janeway's in there talking to Dad right now, but I don't need questions. I have a feeling you'll get it in a minute, anyway."

She turned her head from side to side in dread. "Oh no, Tom...you didn't...align yourselves with..."

"We had to do what they said," B'Elanna jumped in. "They'd already torn the Guerdon apart. We'd already lost Jerod..." Stopping herself, she glanced at Tom, letting him finish.

"We ran some supplies for the Maquis," he said, "food and medical supplies to the colonies, power units and other special items to a couple bases, just a few runs, just to get them off our back, buy some protection, because we really were hurting. We'd hoped it'd just be the few runs the captain had asked for, but then he came back for more, knowing I'd been a pilot and could get where he needed me to go. The time we met this Tuvok was the last time, Mom, and it almost got B'Elanna and me killed. We haven't been contacted since a month after that, when they got someone else off our back--and I'd like to keep it that way."

Tom turned around. Janeway had already returned. His father stood behind her, stone-faced in his dismay. He must have been in the kitchen; they'd probably heard everything through the window. Worse, they now had confirmation that B'Elanna, thus the crew, was complicit with his Maquis dealings. Tom sighed and turned around again to see his mother's paled features.

"Let's go over your not knowing 'my man' again, Mr. Paris," Janeway said, trying not to sound too triumphant as she came around to face him.

"I really don't know him," he told her, forcing a smirk onto his mouth just to tick her off. He could forgive his father and come to terms with being kicked out of any decent career in piloting, but Starfleet smugness would always annoy the hell out of him. "But you know that, and if he's your plant and giving you good information, you know I haven't had dealings with that ship in over six months. So why don't you have a seat and get to whatever point you're trying to make, Captain."

"I know, Mom," he replied, "but I'm not a cadet, nor a junior officer anymore. I'm another captain and she knows it. But she refuses to respect that; she went inside and got my father, because she thinks that's going to make a difference." He turned his attention back to Janeway. "Come sit down and ask your questions. I'll answer what I can, simple as that."

"I'm afraid it's not," Janeway replied dryly. "You are obligated to answer all of my questions." She moved into the seating area but remained standing. "I believe you know the possible consequences of your actions this time, yes?"

"Yeah," he returned coolly, "I've seen how Starfleet handles the service fleet. Seems trying to survive's about on the same level as truth: Just not the fashion." He stared at her for several seconds. Her face went unchanged. "I'm sure it's my honor to be at your service, Captain Janeway."

"You assisted with the setup of a base shortly within a region called the Badlands."

"You and an assistant--I'm assuming it's you, Miss--plotted a course through the plasma streams to the base."

"Leave her out of this for now," Tom told her. "Yeah, I got the shuttle through and a map was made."

"Well, then, it's quite simple, Mr. Paris. I need you to recreate that map for us and help guide us through the Badlands so we can find Captain Chakotay's ship."

Tom stilled, not for fear, though a certain amount of dread had slid into his heart at the mention of the man's name. The woman before him sounded like she was going off on safari and digging trenches along the way. "Like it or not," he told her evenly, "it's Captain Paris, Ms. Janeway, and I honestly don't remember how to get there. It was a day of points and recourses and avoiding plasma streams; we got in and crashed landed on the planned planet."

Tom ignored her. "I was out for days after that because of the injuries I sustained."

B'Elanna growled with impatience at the back and forth. "Who the hell do you think you are to come in here and accuse him of anything?" she demanded.

"Are you saying I should accuse you instead?" Janeway queried. "We can do that if--"

"No," Tom cut in firmly. "I'm the captain of the Guerdon and I took full responsibility for my decisions, even then."

He scowled. "To do what? They aren't nearly stupid enough to go back to a place the Cardassians have tagged and bugged."

"We know," Janeway told him, withholding a sigh at her next piece of information. "However, the Liberty, along with my officer, was last detected at the same entry point reported to us--the same one you used to get to the camp in question. We're not taking anything for granted in our search."

"An entry point doesn't mean anything," Tom dismissed. "They could turn right instead of left, go up or down--ships can fly in all sorts of directions if you aim them right and the Badlands isn't just a spot on the map."

The woman pursed her lips at his condescension. "I realize that. I have seen the map. I need a better one."

Janeway raised her chin slightly. "Then you'll be arrested, your crew will be assigned to high security parole, ankle cuffs and all, and your ship will be confiscated, likely dismantled. If you have any doubt of this, perhaps the warden at Raos-Five will allow you to speak with your friend Dejin Hirro, who with her crew was quite uncooperative."

Tom's eyes narrowed as he squeezed B'Elanna's tensing hand. After a couple seconds, he heard her take a long, steadying breath. He did the same. They weren't going to give the officer the satisfaction of ripping her apart.

"Now, let me tell you something," he said, low and sure, "though it's registered as an unaffiliated freighter, my license was written on Bolarus, by the local Jildwan Court, thus independent of Federation guidelines. You can come after me as Starfleet loves to do, but my crew and I are legally bound to serve the terms of our contracts. My ship is my ship and my crew is my crew, and they'll all be waiting for me when you're done with your list of dire consequences, because I'm the only one who can release them. My own contract is not alterable unless I find a suitable and willing replacement and witness and sign it--and I assure you that's not going to happen. Take it to Bolarus--now, if you like--and they'll tell you the same thing the advocate told me. You can't touch it." He twisted his lips into a cynical grin for affect. "I might be the loser, though, since confiscating that pile of crap would probably be the best thing that ever happened to it. So why don't you try another route of persuasion, like one I'll actually care about?"

Owen and Carol shared a look as B'Elanna forced down her grin. She had to admit she loved seeing Tom riled up like that. Unlike the family fights, she certainly felt no discomfort watching him stick it to that other captain.

Janeway took it all stony-faced, though clearly, she was not pleased with his response. "Nevertheless, you will be arrested and convicted of treason and there won't be a trade station in the quadrant who won't know about it."

"There won't be a trade station in the quadrant that won't know about my cooperating with you."

"Except I can and will have a say in the conditions of your parole," the other captain corrected him. "Any Bolian court will gladly put your license on hold if I decide to recommend it, for as long as I recommend it. They will see why it is necessary."

Tom glared at her. "You would crash all my deals and the pot of an entire crew scraping by for a living over some useless information? You would take down six lives for an outdated map?" He shook his head. "You can go straight to hell, Captain Janeway. I'm not buying."

Her mouth pursed and she swung her attention back to the other man there. "I understand, Admiral, why you would not want to be involved in this matter, but I think you might want to look into this further and speak with your son about it in more detail."

With that, Janeway offered Carol a respectful nod and farewell, then left the yard as assuredly as she had entered it.

When the gate closed, Owen looked at Tom and opened his mouth, but Tom cast a warning glance his way. "Don't even think about lecturing me, Dad, when you weren't there. --Then again, you should know where I've been and why I had to make the decisions I did, to save my ship and my crew."

"I know one must make compromises in the field," Owen agreed tightly. "But a terrorist group..."

"Trust me, the last thing I wanted to do was help them," Tom asserted, "especially when I thought the Liberty's captain was behind tearing the Guerdon apart and killing my friend. But I had five more people to think about, along with all our futures, such as it looked. Saying yes to Captain Chakotay was one the hardest things I had to do and it sure as hell wasn't at my convenience."

The admiral drew a slow breath, measuring his son with his heavy stare. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, I'll look into this, Tom. I won't promise you anything, but I'll help if I can."

Tom felt his eyes sting slightly as it registered. For the first time since he was a boy, he was damn glad the man before him was his father. It didn't matter if he could help or even get a kilobyte of information for him. His father wasn't going to judge and wasn't going to correct him. Rather he was going to be there this time, win or lose. Just by offering, Tom knew it was an oath. "Thank you, Dad."

A couple of hours later, the rains started. Almost on cue, Owen came into the kitchen where they were finishing their dessert and coffee. Carol busied herself with cleaning even after her husband sank into a seat beside his son. He set the PADD in his fingers down and gestured to it.

"As captain, you will have to accept the full consequence for your ship's involvement with the Maquis."

"I was saddened when I read about Dejin Hirro's conviction for similar offenses," he noted. "She was involved with another ship in the same sect and was stripped of her freighter and any potential for command until she would be allowed to apply for reinstatement. Betazed has indefinitely removed her from consideration."

Though his heart sunk for Dejin, Tom couldn't help but snort at the news. "Beat up as she'd been, she was probably too pissed off to want to give Starfleet anything. She probably told them to arrest her and take her ship. I was wondering where she'd been, though. They kept that one quiet, at least."

Owen's mouth turned up knowingly. "It can be managed, when they want it that way. And apparently, the same offer is open to you. Cooperation will guarantee Starfleet's best attempt to keep your capitulation and mission with them classified. The record will show instead that you've been on Bajor while your ship awaits a new dilithium chamber. Finding and delivering the correct part would require a few weeks, and you would be 'seen' there on occasion."

"The consequences of your refusal are serious enough that you may want to reconsider that," Owen warned him. "You most definitely will go to prison, the term determined by your level of cooperation; your Bolian contract would be able to be held for up to four Bolian years with just cause, which I am certain Captain Janeway will provide when she is able to make a motion. Your crew as accessories will indeed be convicted, released on outmate parole and left with permanent felony records and a guaranteed untidy reputation on the DMZ trade route.

"As well as they see how embarrassing such a turn of events could be for me," the admiral continued, "it would be little in comparison to how your life and career will be altered. It is doubtful you will be able to return to the route you've enjoyed these past three years and unlikely you'll be able to secure a route in Federation space on the same terms."

Tom swore between his teeth. "Should have known it was too much to ask for, trying to survive." Leaning back, he closed his eyes and suddenly saw it again... "Jerod was blown into pieces on deck three. Damned idiot went to secure the holds when the ship was being ripped apart and we were screaming at him to get back to deflector control. Ten minutes later, all I saw was his arm behind the forcefield. Savan worked for a whole day to collect all of the bits that weren't blown into space for the capsule." Opening his eyes again, he saw his parents staring sadly at him. He felt B'Elanna's hand on his arm. "I wasn't going to let that keep happening. It already had; we couldn't take much more."

Tom took another breath and let it out. Glancing over at B'Elanna, he shrugged slightly. "Guess I have to deal with the devil again."

The younger woman nodded and returned her attention to Tom. "If they want an outdated map, I'll give them one."

At that, he grinned despite himself. "I should insist you stay, considering what happened the last time you volunteered to tag along."

He placed his hand atop hers and gave it a thankful pat. Sighing off his grin, he nodded to his father. "I can't stand to have any direct contact with Janeway right now, Dad. Really, just thinking about her ticks me off. Could you arrange a text communiqué? I'll get on it in the morning."

"That's really nice of you Dad, thanks. But line up the text for a follow-up, please." He pushed himself to stand. "Far be it from me to appear like I don't care enough to write."

Picking up his and B'Elanna's dishes, he brought them all to the counter for his mother. Putting his arms around her from behind, he gave her a hug. She sighed deeply and held his arms warmly against her.

"Really, Thomas," she said, buoying up her verve, "if you go a week without getting in some sort of trouble, I'll call the media myself."

They moved to the living room after Owen returned to his den to make the contact and finally finish his reports. Resigned to that development, Carol nevertheless went upstairs to talk to her sister in private. The house quieted as the rain outside picked up, pattering against the roof two and a half stories above them and sliding down the front of the house. The windows, cracked to allow the air to trickle in, admitted an occasional gust and little sprays of water.

Sunk into the sofa, warmed by the holo-fire in the little hearth on the north wall, they watched the gusts, the curtains blowing in, then being sucked out when the drift changed, like a ghost on a wire. It captured their attention during every pause in their conversation.

"The problem is," he softly went on, "when I get off this mission of mercy, the Maquis are going to find out about it eventually, and they're going to kick our asses."

"They've done that already," B'Elanna replied. "They'll just have a better reason to come find us personally."

Tom sighed. "Chakotay's a good man," he said quietly. "I don't like his business, but...I hate turning him in--if you can even call it that. I know we're not going to find them if they've gone in deep... He isn't one of the bad guys. He's just fighting his good fight."

B'Elanna nodded, remembering her conversations with him as well. Patient, honest, tough, he wasn't the same kind of captain that Tom had come to be, but he was a good one, nonetheless.

"It sounds weird," B'Elanna ventured, "but I think he'd understand in the end, why you had to make this deal. He knows as well as anyone that people, especially out there, do what they can to get by."

"I like thinking that," Tom said, then sighed again, "but I don't like it all the same."

"And if the deals aren't bad enough... Well, hell, we're in it deep as it is. I'd try to find another route if it weren't for Maryl."

"It always comes down to her." B'Elanna puffed a breath of impatience. "You know, Maryl needs to learn how to take a transport. We've killed ourselves along that border, never considering a route somewhere safer because of her. But since I came aboard, despite six stops at DS-Nine, the first time she's actually gone down to Bajor and seen her family, for a wedding, is when we came here. She's probably already back on at Ulinas yelling at people."

"I think Maryl's problem with getting off the border is that she doesn't know anything off the border."

"She needs to deal with the idea of getting to know another region of space...at least until things cool down."

Tom grinned, nodding. "Yeah. I'll talk to her. Obviously, a lot of things are going to have to change with the times." He breathed a long sigh, inhaling the steam from the mug in his hands. "There's a lot to think about."

Backing off the topic, B'Elanna leaned back with him. Reaching out to the side table, she slipped her fingers around the handle of her cocoa mug. Carol had made them a pot of hot chocolate for the cool evening, complete with fluffy marshmallows and mint stirs. B'Elanna was in primary school the last time she had enjoyed one. As it was, it did what it could to take the bite off the other issues at play, just as the mother had hoped. "You didn't think you'd be handling this much business when we came here."

"Oh no, I knew I'd have to deal with some kind of bullshit," Tom assured her. "I just wasn't expecting to get tagged about the Maquis. Not yet, anyway."

"You called it after the Sygra run," she recalled. "You remember that rotten heat? I remember you saying after Chakotay left that you'd be nailed and he'd fly free."

"Yeah, I remember it." He shook his head. "I didn't expect to have to chase after him, though." He finished his cocoa in a few more swallows then set his mug on the table. Giving her knee a squeeze, then leaning forward, Tom stood up. "I feel like packing a bag."

She closed her eyes as he walked away, oddly quite able to block off the business for a while once she could concentrate on the patter and gusts outside. The room suddenly became quite still, but even then, in that big sofa with her cocoa and the fireplace and the soft lights around her, she felt completely at ease.

How sad it was, that Tom had needed so much to get away from that beautiful, comfortable place. It was obvious he appreciated his childhood home and loved his family, but he simply couldn't live there. Every time he came to appreciate life in that society, it found a way to betray him.

She leaned her head back, breathing in the sweet, salty air that slipped in through the soggy windowpanes, cooling the fire lit room. It would be good to visit again someday.

The changes to come... The idea should have made her more nervous than it did. All her life, change had meant a great deal of unpleasantness at best: the loss of her father, her mother's attempt to send her to Klingon school one season backfiring and sending them straight back to Kessik, after which they never got on well again; leaving Kessik, the Academy and then leaving the Academy, her subsequent jobs, one after another. Some of those changes were brought on by herself, others came to her, but they all had been things she looked back on with some amount of negativity.

Only since she was literally picked up by the Guerdon did her life, despite a bump or two, begin to feel positive. She had made real friends, reunited with her father, had come to feel comfortable with familiarity and even found love with a man she at first would never have pictured for herself. For the first time in her life, she felt secure and supported enough to accept that oncoming challenge and change with real confidence. Before, their current predicament would have been seen as a fight to come, an instant negative she needed to set on an even keel, and maybe she'd find some satisfaction in the bargain. Now she knew she need only keep her eyes open and her back straight and they'd get through it eventually. Even if she was equally unhappy with the situation, she knew she was no longer alone, and there would always be more choices than the obvious.

Besides, if the last year hasn't killed us... she grinned to herself. But then, Tom would be the first to jokingly remind her of how the odds work.

It was a humiliating arrival, too. Due to their "sudden power failure," they had been picked up and turtle docked to the helpful and conveniently located USS Makkar. After some "failed warp drive repairs" and the complete collapse of their dilithium chamber, the Guerdon was politely "assisted" to a drydock the Makkar arranged with the Bajoran officials on the Guerdon's behalf.

His frown decidedly pressed into his cheeks, Tom seriously had to wonder if a single person on Deep Space Nine would believe it. Well, maybe. The Guerdon was once well known for its sudden mishaps and outdated systems and the Makkar regularly orbits Bajor during the ambassadorial sessions. Maybe it was just that he still didn't believe he was having to go through with that deal--and now B'Elanna, too. Though she obviously doubted B'Elanna's actual usefulness, the crisp new captain was all for taking on anyone she could use for information, so Janeway had allowed "Miss Torres" to join him.

For her part, B'Elanna admitted she liked cooperating with Starfleet about as much as she had liked helping with the Maquis.

"Good," Tom replied with a frank nod when it came up again. "You stay here, then. Really, I don't think you should come."

"And the real point is," B'Elanna told him, "that I helped you start this; I have a responsibility to help you finish it, like it or not."

"That's not my decision, Tom. I'm not the captain and I'm not threatened with a prison sentence. I am the person who made the map that got you noticed by Tuvok as someone useful. I wouldn't feel right about letting you take all the blame for it."

He'd dropped it at that. In truth, much as he didn't want her involved, he was glad to have company. He still didn't enjoy being around Starfleet people, though he knew it was getting better there. On the downside, instead of guaranteed spite, he never knew who'd be giving him grief nowadays. It was almost easier when more people hated him.

Opening his arm panel, Tom scanned a few last minute arrangements. They would be tractored down into the drydock and secured there. While he and B'Elanna supposedly were arranging deals for their needed parts, Savan and Nadrev would be taking the newly completed shuttle out on a couple of short collection runs. He needed to sign off on that; then, he and B'Elanna would leave for Deep Space Nine to sign off on one of their quickly made deals, stay overnight as the Voyager received the last of its incoming crew, and then be reported to have taken the first shift transport back to Bajor. Tom had no illusions about how that would fly from kiosk to kiosk.

He still hated having given Starfleet any information at all about their Badlands trip a few days before. Despite his decision and her determination, he and B'Elanna had grumbled about it the entire time they'd marked the chart provided for them, a map of the entry area and initial heading and what active areas they remembered there. Tom almost hadn't transmitted their work and was glad Janeway was holding off on the other data for the time being. He knew damned well the plasma streams alone made that map completely unusable--a thought that festered.

"They're making an example out of me," he realized to B'Elanna as they didn't sleep that night. Holding her warm, dry body against his, closing his eyes as he sighed into her hair, he added, "Chakotay had twenty other ships in his coffer, which he'd been working with before and after we were in his books. It was sheer luck for Starfleet that we'd gone into the Badlands and did the work we did--sheer luck that my name is what it is. And either Janeway lied through her teeth about confidentiality or she and my father are way too confident in the system that's pulling this deal. I give it three months and it'll be on the newsfeeds, thanks to some inside source. They'll need to scare more people into submission when they go after the next captain of importance."

B'Elanna gently kneaded the tense muscles at the small of his back. "What worse is that it wouldn't be surprising."

Two days later, Tom closed his panel then closed his eyes, willing himself to just let it go and let the three weeks happen. Every way he looked at it, he was screwed and the whole crew knew it. Of course, their acceptance had taken an easier route.

Still enjoying the prodigious stock of parts and pieces brought from Earth, Maryl, Ridge, Savan and Nadrev had all taken the bad news with relative reserve. They were typically supportive of his decision to save their asses again, and likewise comfortable enough in their protected state to curse Starfleet for dealing him another sucker punch. He didn't blame them. Forced parole far away from home and a lasting record as an accessory to treason was nothing to sneeze at in their line of work...when one was an honest dealer, anyway. But then, even dishonest traders would no longer be trusted after having so much contact with Starfleet. Tom recalled Seska's spray of venom when she accused Tom of being in line with Starfleet just for having been helped by them. Certainly, she had been after him for her own psychotic reasons, but her passion and paranoia wasn't seen as unusual.

Tom thought again about Chakotay and the last time he saw him, when they'd been raided outside Irtrin territory. He'd have to have tracked the renegade Maquis ship to come the Guerdon's aid as he did--or maybe he was tracking the Guerdon. Tom didn't know. But Chakotay certainly had gone out of his way to step in, then wrangled with the other Maquis captain to get their parts back--asking nothing in return.

Was it a payback? An apology? Chakotay made sure to let Tom know that he'd unloaded Seska and wouldn't be calling on the Guerdon again. That was not the mark of a dishonorable man.

"Tom," said Savan, "we are being hailed by the USS Voyager on a secure channel."

Janeway appeared just as he chose to open his eyes again. Her bright stare scanned and recorded his bridge in only a few seconds, then focused on him. Her thin mouth parted a beat before she actually spoke. "We have received the final confirmation from Captain Avillas. We will be expecting you in thirty hours?"

Her chin rose as she eyed him carefully. "Your...'assistant' is not required on this journey," Janeway reminded him. "We would be just as happy with her data."

"Tell her that," Tom replied. "I already tried to. Not very hard, but at least a little effort was involved. I'm afraid if you want me, my assistant's along for the ride unless you absolutely forbid it."

Janeway came as close to rolling her eyes as she could without actually doing so. "Your quarters have been arranged. I'm assuming one will do. You may report to my ready room when you arrive."

"Great. Guerdon out." He punched off the viewscreen and blew out a breath to stay planted in his seat. Even if he could go somewhere at that point, there was nowhere to go.

How often he'd felt like that in his life, he couldn't count. He hated it all the same, even while he once again was walking right into that box and letting them seal him in.

Her smile remained wry. "I haven't seen you hate a woman so much since Livich jumped her contract."

Tom snorted. "Yeah, this one's special," he said. "But at least Janeway gets credit for doing her job and sticking to it. We just happen to be on the other side of her fence."

"I will have the sign-off for you in two hours," Savan told him. "I have received the inventory list and will mark it as inspected. You and B'Elanna will be able to take the third shift transport to Deep Space Nine and arrange for the retrieval. I have informed B'Elanna just now."

"Thanks," Tom said. Leaning back, he glanced at his monitor, then closed his eyes again. Forty-five minutes...

B'Elanna almost didn't turn around at her name. Though she'd been on that route for over a year, she was still getting used to people knowing her. It was nice, really...some of the time. Looking at the source of the voice, though, she knew it was a good thing on that occasion. "Lieutenant Carey?"

He smiled widely. Coming onto the station's generous promenade with his iced coffee in hand, he switched hands to shake hers warmly. "I almost didn't think it was you," he said. "And Captain Paris. I hope you both are doing well?"

"Full lieutenant now?" Tom noted, gesturing at the man's pips. He never forgot a junior officer, having been one himself.

"Congratulations!" B'Elanna and Tom both said, the latter shaking the officer's hand. Older than the usual lieutenant in his position, Tom guessed that Carey had spent the earlier part of his career as a non-com. He was too relaxed in his manner and obedient to his superiors to have had a record or been knocked down in rank, while he still seemed to know his job. In any case, the man had every right to be as proud as he looked.

"Actually, I'm off to it when I'm done with this. You two just passing through?"

"You could say that," Tom told him. "In and out, really--parts hunting and trying to rebuild a warp drive from the outside in and as quickly as possible. It's been an interesting pain in the neck so far... But you've seen the Guerdon from the inside. You know what we're dealing with."

"And good luck to you, too," B'Elanna told him. "Maybe we'll see you around sometime, if you're coming back to the station."

"We might pass through again," Carey answered, properly vague. "Goodbye for now, then." With a toast their way, he returned to his party in the bar.

Tom glanced in before setting himself and B'Elanna off again to get to the habitat ring. "That was convenient," he said quietly.

"It's run by Ferengi. Odds are pretty damned good. Carey being there saved a lot of time."

Wrapping his arm around her, he turned them smoothly into the access corridor. No more words found them the rest of the way in, and his stare remained pointed at the grate deck until they got to their section.

The game was all too easy to play. He'd long been good at it. A few more weeks and maybe he wouldn't have to play it again.

She sighed through her smile as she felt her shirt slide off her arms, his gentle fingers following its path before returning to her sides. Soft, savoring kisses followed the seam in her bra as it was parted. As that too met the floor, his lips wandered to a breast to tease a nipple, and he smiled against her skin when she sighed at the contact. His hands slid to her waist to work open the seam there.

B'Elanna relished it. Tom was a maddeningly patient lover when he wanted to be; often when they had the time, he took his sweet time, touching and tasting every part of her, undressing her so deliberately that she was tempted to throw him down, strip and pounce. But in truth, she appreciated that very open and tactile brand of foreplay, loved how he built them up, teased and tantalized, until they both wanted each other thrice as much as when they begun. Her former boyfriends could never boast of attempting anything similar. B'Elanna had never known sex from start to finish taking over fifteen minutes until she and Tom were together.

She grinned to herself as her trousers slid away and he gently pressed her to sit on the edge of a sofa. They had absolutely nothing to do for the while. They'd be reporting to the Voyager in eight or so hours and it was afternoon to them just then. They had a possibly rough few weeks ahead of them and a full schedule on tap immediately following their "final repairs." B'Elanna had not doubted that Tom wanted to make the most of their stay in that little bunkroom. The moment the doors swished shut behind them, he had pressed up behind her, slipping his hands around her to press on her belly, touching his lips to her neck.

Ten minutes later, he finally peeled her socks off, kissing her inner thighs, moving upward as he divested himself of his remaining clothes. B'Elanna gladly let him take his time there, too.

"Ahh," she breathed as he pulled her down to straddle his thighs. With a lift and tilt her hips, she moaned softly as his length filled her; then he pulled slightly out again. Pressed against the edge of the sofa, she arched into his motion, catching onto his rhythm; then she leaned back as his hand ran up her belly and chest and embraced her shoulder. She rose again at his direction, letting him continue to set the pace that time.

He slowed after a few minutes, though, and she noticed for the first time that he wasn't looking at her. Unashamed about any facet of intimacy, Tom also liked to look her in the eyes when they made love and had admitted on a few occasions how he loved to watch her face reflect her ecstasy. That wasn't happening there.

Instead, when their eyes met, his face reflected everything but enjoyment: It almost reflected fear.

Finally, he stopped, gasping out his breath with frustration, slumping. He didn't move, but his erection quickly faded and his body cooled. "I'm sorry," he whispered tightly. "I'm just not...not in the right frame of mind. I can't...not think."

B'Elanna likewise did not move. He had never done that before; she hardly knew how to handle it but to ask, "What's wrong?"

He laughed quietly. "Everything's wrong, B'Elanna. You know that. We shouldn't be here." Still holding her hip in one hand, his other hand fell into hers. His eyes turned down, he yet felt some strength return when her fingers wrapped firmly around his...asking him again. "I wanted nothing to do with the Maquis and Captain Chakotay," he told her, "and I hated the guy for sucking us into his business like he did...and now I'm paying for it. I should hate him more than ever for that alone. But I don't." He looked at her. "I can't."

"I know," she said softly, almost in relief for hearing him voice her dichotomic feelings.

Falling out of her, he pulled her more comfortably onto his lap. His head still spun with the business that had wrecked their lovemaking, which alone annoyed him. "It's not right for Janeway and the rest of them to come after us and ruin our businesses, our lives, over data they don't really need in the first place. They took down Dejin, Keegar, the Goedra--and now us. And that's just who we know about. What did we try to do but survive in the middle of this shit that they brought on?

"And now look how far I've come: right back to playing into exactly what they want, capitulating to make things easier in the long run. Who's it going to hurt, right? Nothing we give them is going to be any use to them. But I'll do it to save my ass and yours in the bargain--but not lives. Our lives aren't on the line. --Talk about not sticking it out. Once again, I made the deal against my conscience...for convenience. I'll have a clean record but I won't forget about what I did for it...again."

B'Elanna held onto him, holding his stare now, too, feeling the same shame sink into her gut. Starfleet hadn't killed anyone on their ship, but they were about to kill everything else they'd built, but she wasn't nearly as resentful of them. Confidence in one's future was one thing, but complacency...

"I can't do it again, B'Elanna. I can't go back to that. I feel...I feel like I'll never break free, if I do it again. They'll always have a hold on me if I don't live up to myself and tell them at least once to go to hell. --Not to mention that fact that it's wrong--and I knew it was wrong the minute they twisted me into it."

He sighed. Squeezing her hips gently in his hands, he brought his gaze surely into hers once again. "I know it's going to make things hard for you and the others, and I'll always be sorry for that, but...I'm going to contact Janeway and tell her I'm not going. You can still go if you want to--"

"Then I'll tell her we're not going, and she can say whatever she wants to the Bolian magistrates." He sighed, nodding. "And then I'll be able to sleep again."

"Maybe..." B'Elanna said thoughtfully, "Maybe this is what you have to live up to, Tom. Maybe this is how you commit to your freedom, by being this willing to give it up." Staring deeply into his liquid gaze, she brought her hands up to press her palms gently against his cheeks; then she stroked his temples with her thumbs. "Maybe all that potential we've always talked about meant you standing up for your beliefs, for what you know is right and walking head-on into the consequences of being that honorable."

He felt his heart beat deeply in his chest to hear those words. "You agree with me, then?"

He considered that. "In the end, probably not. But I admit, I'd like it better if you supported me."

A warm, knowing smile found her face, lit her eyes. "I support you, Tom," she assured him. "In fact, I don't think I've ever known anyone as brave and good." She ran her fingers through his hair. "But I knew that already."

Taking her fingers into his, he pressed his lips to them. "Will you be waiting for me when I get out?"

"I'll be there." Leaning forward, she bridged the gap between them with a soft kiss, then the rest of her, warming them instantly.

"You'll find me.... And maybe," she whispered, her lips twisting up as she ran her hand down his torso, "I'll do something like this."

Tom blew a smooth breath through his teeth when her expert fingers grasped him gently, then increased their firmness as she ratcheted him up again. Kissing her, he hiked her leg around his hip for better access to his reprisal. "We won't make love again for a long time," he warned her softly, his breath against her neck before he tasted it. Humming a little at her ministrations, he added, "We'd better make the most of this."

"I fully intend to," she grinned, then gasped when his hands pulled her up at the hips and he drove back into her again.

He pressed her against the cushion, caressing a nipple before capturing her hand. Their fingers wove and clutched together and Tom started into her again. "Oh, now that's better," he breathed.

Thrusting with several long, hard strokes, arching against her until her lips parted with a keening moan, he relished in her beautiful face, watched her give in to their pleasure, which quickly built and surpassed where they'd been just minutes before. When he felt like he was going to come, though, Tom stopped and pulled her close against him again to kiss her full, warm mouth and knead her back into a sinuous arch. Her soft growl inspired him anew.

Pulling them upright once more, he whispered devilishly upon her lips, "Show me the most of it."

Sated, exhausted, but cleaned up and neatly dressed, they walked hand-in-hand down the promenade toward the bar and kiosks the station of late seemed to excel in. They nodded to people they knew, stopped a couple times to share a few words with vendors they had dealt with and confirmed the rumor that the Guerdon was off the route for the time being. Then they continued around the ring.

Their pace was gradual, but not too slow. They'd done everything they needed to do. They were ready.
...

Staring back at him and B'Elanna through the Guerdon's main viewscreen, his crew was silent at first, processing that change in plans in their own way. They'd taken his reasons well enough, and they understood that he meant to do what he said. But then, he had always been like that and usually upfront about it. It'd been since Tom took over that their ship had come to enjoy its current benefits and relatively egalitarian structure. He'd "pulled rank" only very rarely, when he had been forced to. They had come to trust him well enough to follow without question...serious questions, at least.

This latest business was a different matter, of course. He was handing them a permanent criminal accessory record and the destruction of their positions as they knew them and had asked them to accept it out of hand. For his part, he promised to make certain they all would have positions after his sentence was served, on the Guerdon or somewhere else. But their present livelihoods were very likely over.

"I don't like the idea of having to be shipped far away from home to help serve your sentence," she told him.

B'Elanna blew a breath. "It's not like you're being kept close by on Cardassia Prime," she snapped. "We'll get off easy with post-sentence assistance thanks to his connections, so shut the hell up and deal with it. Tom's put his life on the line for us over and over again. The least you can do is take a vacation."

"Well, I didn't say I wouldn't!" Maryl insisted, then shrugged. "I didn't like that woman, either, Tom, so you go do what you need."

Savan bowed her head briefly. "This is unpleasant; however, we were a part of the initial arrangements and so bear some responsibility. Moreover, you must do what your conscience demands."

"Guess I get some real oysters, soon, too," Ridge put in, giving his captain a smile. "You're doing all right, kid." There, he laughed. "And besides, we've done a lot worse before you! We'll get by just fine. Like the ladies say, you look out for you for a while."

Tom's smile warmed. It still amazed him sometimes; he couldn't have asked for better friends, but got them, anyway. "Thanks."
...

Slowing to cross a junction, B'Elanna's hand turned within Tom's. She felt the length of his fingers, their warmth and softness. He did not try to squeeze or play, but held on all the same. She glanced up to see his gaze set straight ahead, easy, almost relaxed. He didn't try to talk, joke or work off any nervousness, because there wasn't enough there for him to be bothered by.
...

The captain sighed and frowned when she accepted the incoming transmission. In the middle of all the last minute nonsense and the latest news from home, she really didn't have time to listen to more glibness from Tom Paris. But she went to her desk anyway and steeled her neutrality as she flipped on the monitor.

"Yeah. Look, I appreciate all the arrangements you and your people have done on our behalf, but I'm afraid you'll have to go it alone. I have no love for the Maquis, but I don't think it's right to help you, either. We will not be joining you today."

"That's just fine. Just give me an hour to contact my parents and get my things together here. --And do whatever you feel is best with the Jildwan court when you get back. I'll accept whatever they decide, as will my crew. Not that we have much choice, but you won't get any argument from us."

Janeway looked long into the other man's straight, unabashed face. No sarcasm had touched his tone that time; instead of challenging her with his stare, his eyes were calm and sure. Instead of being half-reclined in his seat, he sat straight, his chin up. He obviously thought the matter out and knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, it wasn't what she wanted. But she couldn't control that, anymore. Maybe she never could. Either way, she'd have to make do with what she had.

"Good luck to you, Captain Janeway," he said, sincere in that wish at least, considering where they were going.

They came around another bend and the first of the kiosks. The station bar was nearing. In a few minutes, she would have to turn back around for the berths. The transport they were fictionally going to take back to Bajor was going to carry her after all. She would meet Nadrev at the main gate then return to the Guerdon to wait with the others for their orders. None of them knew how long it would take the authorities to do what they needed to do, or if they would be jailed, or simply put under guard, if the ship would be left at Bajor, or ferried somewhere. If anything unnerved her just then, it was not knowing what to expect there. Thankfully, she had some errands to do to pass the time.
...

"I don't know why you insist on spending half the day staining your hands when we have a perfectly good replicator."

Carol sighed and continued to squeeze the berries between her strong fingers. "You know perfectly well my shortcake is ten times better than anything a program can do."

"The last time you put a recipe in the box, all I got was a pair of elastic gloves!"

"That was a simple error in the sequence--" Owen stopped when he heard the beep. Trying not to sigh with relief--he knew his wife had already won that debate--he stood and moved to the little monitor. Activating it, he glanced at the header. "It's a message from Tom."

Carol turned. "They haven't set off yet?" Taking a towel from the side of the sink, she wiped off her hands and came around the table. "I hope everything's all right."

"Hi Mom, Dad," said Tom, trying for a little grin. "Just wanted to give you a little heads up..."

The hazy light of the station bar soon found them, warming the colors of their clothes, drawing them to look in. The Ferengi owner had designed the frequency by hand, probably, so to elicit that very response. Tom wouldn't be surprised, anyway. His memory easily recalled the lousy, watered down ale and bad food, but also that the place was always packed.

The owner was there, too, leaning in on his evening snack: A dark haired ensign with eyes larger than the coasters on the counter--and growing still as the Ferengi pulled his trap door shut.

"Here I am trying to be the cordial host, knowing how much a young officer's parents would appreciate a token of his love..."

"Oh God, that's just too much," B'Elanna snickered then peered up at an equally diverted Tom. "Think we should we do something?"

"Yeah, hang on a second," Tom said and stepped into the bar. Reaching in a bowl for a stale nut and waving off the other bartender's attention, he stopped a few stools down and waited. He didn't need to wait long. Quark's dramatics quickly grew to a fever pitch; the young ensign before him was about give birth to an ulcer as he sputtered everything but his ID number. A year and a bit ago, Tom would have ignored the sight--as did most of the other patrons--but now his curious mix of amusement and pity couldn't go untreated. For that matter, it wasn't as if he'd be back at that station any time soon.

"They're not for sale!" Quark bellowed, sending the young ensign digging into his pockets. "Now, inform your commanding officer that the Federation Council can expect an official query from--"

On that beat, Tom leaned over the end of the bar. "Those are really pretty, Quark," he observed.

"I shipped three flats of these from Kytrel a few months ago," Tom went on. "Jilda paid about fifteen strips per crate. A little steep, I thought, but she likes the Volnar lobis the best to aerate her hydroponics flats. Are you dealing by the flat or the gross?"

Quark grinned at the ensign. "Don't mind the captain there. He's just a low-grade trader trying to slip in on this precious commodity. Speaking of which, I believe we were about to negotiate a price?"

The ensign looked up at the fair-haired captain, who raised a brow at him. Looking at the bartender again, he reached out and pushed the case away.

Tom chuckled and threw a few strips of latinum on the bar for the Ferengi's trouble. "See you around, Quark," he called behind him and rejoined B'Elanna, who stood, arms crossed and laughing at him.

"I'd pay more for less entertainment," Tom rejoined, casting a glance back at the younger man, who had lead the way out but stopped not far outside of it. Tom gestured back at the bar. "Didn't they warn you about Ferengi at the Academy?"

"No problem. Everyone gets sharked stationside at least once." Wrapping his arm around B'Elanna's waist as they headed a little further out, Tom gave him another look over. "Let me guess: You're on the Voyager."

Tom opened his mouth to excuse the ensign's formality, but then he decided not to mind. "Excited?"

Tom drew a long sigh. All the passion, desire and newness, written all over that kid's face... He laughed a little at himself. It's weird when you start thinking them young. But the ensign was young--by way of fresh, with everything ahead of him. He plainly wanted it, probably worked hard for it. That had to feel terrifying and exciting and wonderful all in the same moment. Tom only briefly recalled feeling like that, long ago, and indeed, it left him feeling very much like the grand elder, there. But that was okay. He wouldn't give back what he had now, even that day.

"It's the best time of your life coming up," he finally said. "Enjoy every second of it, Ensign. You won't regret it."

The young man seemed a little surprised by the sudden turn of topic, but he didn't argue it. "Thank you, sir. I'll...I'll try."

With a polite nod to B'Elanna, the ensign turned and walked straight-backed down the promenade.

"The berths are the other way." He looked around and scowled. She grinned. She had turned the wrong direction at least a few times on her first visit there--though she never admitted it to anyone. "Wait over there a second. I'm going that way, too."

As the ensign stepped over to where she pointed, B'Elanna looked up at Tom. Reaching up to cup his face in her hands, smiling as his fingers caressed her brow, her cheek, her mouth, she pressed herself against him.

Tom then sifted his fingers into her hair and pulled her to him. Kissing her openly, feeling her soft lips against his, then pressing his mouth to her cheek, her jaw, her neck, he suddenly felt his heart pounding. He breathed against the rush of blood, let her bring his face up again, kiss him once more. He returned it, stroking her soft curls, brushing her shoulder, taking her small, strong hand into his, then finally forced himself to take a step back. She did the same.

With a small squeeze, Tom let her hand go and nodded. B'Elanna's lips turned up as she nodded back.

With that, she turned around to find the man from the bar waiting and trying not to stare. Straightening her back, sucking up a fresh breath, she propelled herself forward and in the correct direction. "This way, Ensign," she told him, in no less firm a tone than she might use with Ridge or Nadrev.

Tom looked after her until she was gone around the turn. They had decided before that it would be easier that way. In truth, he just didn't want her to have to watch.

Across from Quark's bar and down not a quarter section sat the station security office. It was barely an office from the look of it, though, just a hole in the wall with a panel spread, a desk and a couple chairs. It seemed just enough to fit the man who worked there. Tom had only met the chief of security a couple times before, once in passing during a registration mix up, and then again when there was a problem with a conversion scale. Even then, Tom hadn't dealt with him directly. That had been Maryl's job on both occasions. But he remembered the man's face and name.

"Yes." He turned from his panel and examined the man in the entryway with a sweep of his gaze. "You may come in."

"Certainly," said the security chief with appropriate amounts of both curiosity and caution.

"Thanks." Moving around to one of the chairs before the desk, he took a deep breath and lowered himself into it.

In his turn, the chief claimed the seat behind his desk and folded his hands upon it. "What can I do for you today?"

"You can call Starfleet Command and tell them to prepare a cell for me. My name is Captain Tom Paris, and I'm turning myself in."