Avalar: Moving
By D'Alaire
March, 1999

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Moving

55156: Nine days later

  The Federation Starship Voyager made its entry into Federation space not too far inside the Beta Quadrant six-point-eight years after it left on a mission to capture the Maquis ship Liberty and rescue one of its agents. 

  Without exaggeration, their return was deemed a miracle by the experts when they first compiled the data that was sent.  An old, illegal cloaking device on a small Maquis craft--originally a Barolian scout and once a bane to enemy ships in and around the DMZ--was extended to support and guide the Voyager during an otherwise unstable, Borg-inspired transwarp field, which had been generated on the larger ship.  It had been a hazardous journey, particularly for those inside the Maquis craft--a Maquis sub-captain of infamous reputation and his half-Klingon wife, his comrade in arms.  But the risk had paid off, setting both ships in Beta Quadrant only eight light years away from the Federation border. 

  The analysts were still shaking their heads when they explained the data to their superiors. 

  A rendezvous was arranged immediately.  The closest ship, the Sovereign Class starship Disraeli, met the Voyager four days later, just as the latter crossed into Federation space. 

  Not five minutes later, Captain Kathryn Janeway, accompanied by her first officer, Commander Chakotay, her chief of security, Commander Tuvok, her chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Carey, and her operations officer, Lieutenant Harry Kim, were all in transporter room two to greet the officers who came aboard to welcome them home. 

  The captain had to take a deep, calming breath to temper her excitement when the patterns appeared on that pad.  But her glowing expression said it all when she moved forward to greet her guests, her colleagues, her peers.  She could hardly speak without a laugh catching the edge of her tone as she gladly introduced her own entourage. 

  Certainly, their initial greetings had a decidedly unreal feeling about them: the open, sudden laughs and the clasped hands of greeting, followed by the afterglow, when both parties simply stood staring at each other, wondering where to go from there.  Somewhere along the line, a chortle broke the silence, and then a renewed thankfulness followed it, along with some promised Federation news.  Soon enough, even that wore down into simple relief and the final, stunning acceptance of reality. 

  They were home. 

  Finally, Voyager's captain gathered the presence of mind to offer a tour of her ship and a recap of their discoveries and travels to the lower ranking officers, while she gestured to their superior.  No reason, Janeway thought, not to start at the top priority and work her way down.  Her officers could easily handle the others.  Gesturing to the admiral, she led him out of the transporter room, into the corridor and to the turbolift. 

  "A cloaking device," he commented when the nature of their voyager home was immediately broached.  "The one Starfleet had believed had been installed on the Marseilles indeed had been."  The admiral was not pleased to hear it a third time.  He held his hands behind his back as they entered the turbolift, then set off on an easy stroll through the wide corridor. 

  "Computer, deck five," Janeway commanded, then looked again at her superior.  "The cloak was adjusted to form a transverse shield bubble around Voyager and stabilize the transwarp field we generated from an older Borg node," the captain confirmed, glad he got that out of the way first. 

  "Ingenious," he replied blankly. 

  Janeway looked up to the firmed face of the man beside her.  "If someone tells you B'Elanna's the best at her trade, you'd be hard pressed to call them a liar.  And I'm still trying to figure out how Tom kept the field stable in that inverse pattern...."  Her words drifted off when she eyed a narrow stare pointed at her.  The lift stopped; she didn't blink.  "I wouldn't worry about the legal ramifications of the Marseilles' equipment now," she said, then nodded and stepped from the turbolift first when he politely gestured for her to. 

  "You believe this?" the admiral queried.  "In spite of the good it came to, Starfleet can't ignore--"

  "Tom and B'Elanna say it's burned out beyond repair," she interjected.  "Both the plasma coils and tetryon compositor were irradiated by the increased output levels of the transwarp nodes.  As it is, they have a couple months of work to get the Marseilles back to warp capability.  It's why we didn't get all the way to the Alpha Quadrant." 

  He stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh or berate the straight-spoken captain.  She had not only interrupted him, a forgivable offense after so much time, but she also tossed aside the issue he'd subtly tried to warn her about.  The sheer illegality of the scout's 'former' capabilities didn't seem to faze her--likely because of distance.  From their last contact and exchange of logs, he knew she had utilized the ship, its crew and its cloaking stealth on more than a few occasions--whenever necessary, in fact.  This aside from some of her own maneuvers on Voyager... 

  But then he reminded himself that he hadn't come all that way to argue policy with Kathryn Janeway. 

  Unfortunately, there would be others who would.  Even before Voyager had reached Federation space, hearings had been arranged.  He hoped she was right and the device indeed was disabled.  If they might simply take the apparatus out of the scout, several of their problems would be solved. 

  "In any case, I'd like to discuss that with them, eventually...  I would have thought they would be there to greet us, seeing as it was their devising that helped bring all of you here." 

  Janeway offered a slight shrug as they turned into an outer corridor.  "They went on off-duty status once the Marseilles' engines were stabilized.  In fact, at this time of day, they're probably still in bed." 

  "They're asleep? They come home after seven years and they're sleeping? Did they know about the rendezvous?" He was truly surprised. 

  She grinned.  "Admiral, with four children, one only an infant? I wouldn't expect them to be awake unless it was absolutely necessary."  Janeway slowed a little as they came to the door.  "For that matter, it was my decision not to wake up the circus when the Disraeli arrived.  It's not even oh-seven hundred.  The boys don't usually wake up until eight hundred--and when they do, the very universe is at their mercy." 

  "Even so, Kathryn--"

  "Admiral," she cut in, aware of where he was going, "they're civilian crew.  Their life is separate from Starfleet code and I respect that.  Aside from their regular work, they have young children.  Add their nonstop repairs on two ships for the past four days, plus the weeks of heavy preparation before that? --I'm willing to let them get some rest, no matter where we are."  Looking up at him, she reached out to the door panel.  "If you want to get off on the right foot with them, I would highly recommend you do the same.  It's been a long time: Tom's pretty set in his ways and B'Elanna is no different.  You have a lot of catching up to do, Admiral." 

  Though not a little shocked at Janeway's demeanor--She's been away a *long* time--he did allow himself a small smile at the truth of it.  She'd always had a knack for cutting to the gist, a trait he'd always admired, even when it wasn't the most advantageous bearing in their current position. 

  "Well," he relented, "at least it won't be the first time I've had to get my son out of bed." 

  Janeway chuckled.  "Oh, Tom's easy.  It's B'Elanna who prefers to sleep in--infant or no infant." 

  "Tom always slept like the dead!" 

  "I think he grew out of that," she replied, turning to face the door. 

  The admiral noticed the move, but said nothing. 

  Their sudden silence was rescued as the doors before them slid open, revealing a little girl.  She was dressed in an orange jumper and strange animal slippers; a mass of sable brown curls popped out of a slept-in braid and her fair brow boasted a set of softly arching ridges.  Her eyes, sharp blue and unabashed, drew up the admiral's frame to finally meet his stare, staying there a moment before diverting to the other person there. 

  "Good morning," came her voice, a properly girlish chirp that also told the older man that morning visits were nothing out of the ordinary. 

  "Good morning, Alaine," Janeway said kindly. 

  The admiral's heart panged at the name, and he suddenly found himself looking beyond the door instead of at the child. 

  "Are your parents awake?" the captain continued. 

  Alaine glanced at the admiral again before answering.  "No.  Daddy woke up last night and so did Isabel for a while." 

  The captain face darkened.  She paused briefly, drew a breath, regaining her former posture.  "I see.  We can come back later." 

  Alaine shook her head.  "Mommy wouldn't like it if I let you go away," she said as she stepped back and let them in with all the seriousness a six year-old could manage.  "Come in, please.  I'll tell Mommy.  But please be quiet.  My brothers are still asleep, too." 

  Janeway looked at the bemused admiral with a little grin and a shrug before leading the way into the Parises' quarters. 

  With that invitation, Owen Paris stepped into his son's home.  His eyes roamed the main room, taking in every detail and making mental notes.  His son's home for the past seven years:  It was almost unreal and perhaps a little surprising, and then not surprising at the same time. 

  Perhaps the ceilings were Starfleet issue, but little else was: The deep blues and dark woods of the room were softened with the greens of plants flourishing by the starlit window under timed lights just beginning their artificial sunrise.  A fluffy white throw rug dominated the center of the room.  The space was neat, save a children's table covered with crayons and etching slates and a glass of juice on the table. 

  One door to the right was open, wherein he could see what was plainly a girl's room.  The bed there had a colorful, puffed blanket on it, half pulled up to the pillow.  The other door was closed.  Between them were another small table set and several rows of shelves with PADDs and books.  To the left, past a crowded but organized console desk, a door opened when the little girl pressed the panel beside it. 

  He could not avoid, nor resist, looking at the lumpy blue bed the girl approached.  He could not see his son, however.  What he did spy was a mass of dark hair like the girl's and an outstretched arm, its hand brightened with a glint of gold. 

  The form beside that more visible one, he knew, was Tom. 

  Alaine neared the bed, and Owen couldn't break his gaze as she pulled the blanket down a little, very gently, partially uncovering the woman he'd known but in letters and through hearsay and records, his daughter-in-law. 

  "Mommy," Alaine whispered, giving her mother a little jiggle, careful for her father and Isabel's sakes.  "Mommy, you need to wake up now." 

  "Mmm," B'Elanna purred and took a slow breath.  Her arm bent, reaching up to touch her daughter's cheek; then she took her small hand.  Her eyes were barely open when she spoke.  "Sweetheart, Daddy's been up; so has Isabel." 

  "I know, Mommy.  I heard." 

  B'Elanna took another deep breath, still caressing the hand in hers.  "Your brothers can't be up yet." 

  "Andre almost woke up, but I gave him his mok'la and he went back to sleep." 

  "You're a good girl," B'Elanna breathed, closing her eyes again, sighing resignedly.  "Are you hungry?"

  "No.  Not yet.  I had juice...  Mommy, Grandpa's here." 

  "Hmm?"

  Alaine bent closer.  "I'm waking you up because Grandpa Paris is here." 

  B'Elanna's eyes opened. 

  Her daughter nodded as their eyes met again.  In the corner of her eye, she caught a large form of red and gray.  She turned her head and caught Admiral Paris in her eyes.  He was staring at her. 

  Without thinking, she sat up. 

  Then she saw the man she'd waited years to meet return a look of shock at his own first impression of her, then quickly avert his eyes.  B'Elanna stifled a laugh as she leaned over to pick her nightgown off the floor. 

  "Alaine, will you bring my robe, please?" she chuckled, seeing Kathryn also trying not to laugh as she shook her head and walked out of sight. 

  Soon, she donned the robe Alaine hurried over and tied it.  With a kiss and a soft whisper to her husband, she slid out of the bed, into a pair of slippers and quickly to the bathroom to wash her face and hastily brush her hair.  Silently, stuffing a yawn, she shuffled through her bedroom again, closing the door behind her. 

  Owen heard the door close and turned again to see his son's wife standing still at the door in a thin white robe, her hand just drifting from the panel.  Alaine did have her mother's looks with blue eyes, he noted, not daring to look anywhere else. 

  B'Elanna found him still nearly as red as his uniform, which pleasantly surprised her.  From everything Tom has said about the man, she would never have expected him to be so awkward about anything.  Well, that broke the ice. She shrugged to herself then said, "Don't be embarrassed, Admiral."  She gestured to herself.  "After nursing four children, these are secret to no one." 

  Owen coughed a short laugh at that.  "I suppose not." 

  Pleased that she'd managed a little smile from him already, she moved across the room and extended her hand.  "I'm B'Elanna, Tom's wife.  I'm honored to finally meet you." 

  "And I you," he returned, now impressed by the woman's ease, frighteningly familiar were it not for her looks.  He glanced to the door, releasing her hand.  "Forgive me if I seem rude, B'Elanna, but Tom wouldn't happen to be up, would he?"

  "I'll wake him in a bit," B'Elanna replied.  "We were up half the night and he really needs some rest." 

  "I might say the same for you," he pointed out, "with a newborn child." 

  "Isabel is almost sixteen weeks old.  I've been sleeping more.  Tom sometimes has trouble sleeping, so I don't often wake him."  Certain in her words before, she then shrugged.  "Regardless, I'll get him once we've made some coffee--and, yes, some croissants, Alaine." 

  The girl smiled. 

  Owen knew she wasn't telling him everything.  What was instantly clear was that the good-natured half-Klingon was in control of whatever had shadowed Kathryn's face before and seemed but a mere truth in his granddaughter's earlier statement.  But he knew Kathryn was right: He shouldn't push anything, should start out slowly, and not press their rules.  This was his son's family, and he had much to become acquainted with. 

  "Of course, B'Elanna," Owen acquiesced and nodded to her gesture towards the dining table. 

  Despite her own advice, however, Janeway stared at her hostess.  "It's been almost ten years since they've seen each other." 

  "And a few more minutes won't hurt either of them," she returned simply, leading Owen to sit before pulling another chair.  "I'll make some coffee and have that ready when Tom gets up.  He'll need it."  She'd put the last of that definitively enough that the captain did not reply.  B'Elanna nodded to her and continued, "Please make yourself comfortable.  Alaine, would you like to set the table?"

  "Okay, Mommy." 

  Within minutes and without another word, B'Elanna had fresh coffee brewing on a warmer in the center of the table next to a tray of condiments, compote and pastry as soon as Alaine had set out the place mats and napkins. 

  All the while, she did not stop her daughter from telling her extremely polite grandfather all about her brothers and her new sister.  Though usually chatter that early did tend to raise her nerves, it was engaging her guest and B'Elanna was still too tired to entertain him herself. 

  After pouring three cups, she accepted the usual compliments with a slight grin and a nod.  Her attention was rather focused on her father-in-law.

  He's trying to be patient, B'Elanna observed, watching the admiral nod to everything Alaine told him from her perch on the dinette chair.  He tried to answer all her questions, but B'Elanna could tell his friendliness was bated.  He was fighting distraction.  Maybe I should get Tom before Isabel wakes, then, she thought as she sipped at her much-needed coffee.  She still sighed to herself, knowing what'd gone on very early that morning, also knowing Tom had probably paced the floors long after she'd fallen back to sleep, which was only a couple hours ago. 

  Drinking the half-cup she'd poured herself, she decided to go ahead and get on with her day.  The boys would be up soon, especially if they sensed a gram of excitement outside their door.  There'd be much to do and arrange and more still to talk about.  Looking around her living room, she realized all over again how much they needed to pack with no idea when or where they'd be unpacking.... 

  "Excuse me," she said quietly and slipped away from the table. 

  Owen followed her with his eyes, watching her move swiftly across the room.  She pressed the door open.  In a glimpse as she moved inside, he saw his son leaning over a crib on the other side of the bed. 

  Tom had on a dark, untied robe over a pair of casual trousers.  His hair was uncombed.  He seemed taller, somehow, than Owen remembered, even at that distance, and sturdier.  Or maybe he'd expected to see the same young man he'd last known.  Either way, the admiral reflexively stood as B'Elanna approached her husband, placed her hand upon his shoulder... 

  Then the door closed. 

  Kathryn watched the man's face fall, his posture weaken a little, and she couldn't help but sigh at the sight.  "He'll be out soon," she said encouragingly, "once B'Elanna tells him." 

  Owen grimaced, shook his head.  "Never thought I'd be this unnerved to see him," he muttered.  "I'd thought about it for some time now." 

  "It's been a long time," Kathryn acknowledged, a little careful, then.  "I'm sure it hasn't made it easier, being left to wonder so much.  But if it's any comfort, you've been thought about on this end, too." 

  "That doesn't tell me what to say, Kathryn," he replied. 

  "You'll do fine, Admiral." 

  Looking down, he caught her little smile, just beyond the lip of her cup before she sipped again, and he managed to return the expression.  She was right, after all.  He was just out of his element--in place and mood. 

  "Mommy and Daddy have your picture up on the wall," Alaine said suddenly and met her grandfather's eyes when they turned to her.  "They do--in their room.  So don't be scared.  Daddy loves you--and he said he couldn't wait to see you again." 

  "He did, did he?" Owen grinned. 

  "Yes.  I did." 

  Turning again, he saw his son in the door, still ruffled with sleep but wearing a loose shirt and trousers.  He was barefooted.  B'Elanna stood at his side, their infant daughter held steadily at her breast to nurse, a soft blanket draped over her. 

  Sharing a little grin with her husband, B'Elanna quietly moved away, back to the table, motioning Alaine not to greet her father just yet. 

  Tom's eyes were a bit dark--probably for lack of sleep--but they managed to brighten at the sight he likely thought he'd never see again.  Then, the grin that'd crossed his mouth before grew into a full smile.  He was so grown, Owen mused.  Even the pictures didn't reveal so much as seeing Tom there, a father of four, husband, medical technician and pilot... 

  His father was older, his remaining hair fully gray, his body a bit slimmer, a little shorter.  Though, that posture, that seasoned stance that looked both at ease and dictatorial, had not changed in the least.  Most noticeable of all, his face held an expression--either age or need had put it there--that was totally foreign to Tom.  It was pure, almost desperate, expectation. 

  But it was his father.  He was there.  His father had come to him. 

  "Dad..."  He felt his hand twitch as he said it then coughed a little laugh.  I'm not going to shake his damned hand, here, he admonished himself and walked across the room.  Opening his arms as he neared, he hugged his father upon arrival, and then smiled when he felt the gesture returned.  In that odd embrace, he realized his father wore the same cologne as he always had and his arms hadn't lost an ounce of strength.  Tom laughed at the irony of that familiarity--and that it was a pleasant thing now.  "Damn, it's good to see you." 

  Owen parted from his son to look at him again, or perhaps to steel a little distance.  It had all been so waited for and yet so strange.  His son's embrace had surprised him, the warmth of his greeting felt inappropriate for reasons he couldn't figure out.  In response, he didn't know what to say, except, "And you, Tom." 

  Thankfully, he didn't have to say more, as Tom just shook his head and gave his shoulder a pat.  "Don't worry about it, Dad.  No shows, no tearful confessions, right? We'll just take things slow and easy for now.  Letters can't say everything." 

  He was relieved.  "I'm glad we agree." 

  Silence followed. 

  Owen shifted from one foot to the other. 

  "How about some coffee?" B'Elanna prompted and set a full cup in the place beside the admiral's with her free hand. 

  "Thanks," Tom said and moved to collect Alaine into his arms.  "Morning, Banshee." 

  "Morning, Daddy," she said, kissing him before he set her back down on her chair. 

  "Alaine, have you shown your grandfather your pictures, yet?"

  She smiled brightly.  "Should I get them now?"

  "Sure.  Show him what a good artist you are."  He turned a grin to his father.  "Alaine makes some pretty nice houses--and fantastic mushrooms." 

  Alaine sighed impatiently.  "They're flowers, Daddy," she insisted and jumped down to the floor.  "I'll get them and show you, Grandpa.  Later, Kiarn can show you his dough people, too.  I make scenes for them to play on--maps and stuff.  But I'll show you mine, first." 

  Once Alaine had scurried off, Tom gave their other guest a look.  "So, what do you think, Kathryn?"

  Janeway shrugged.  "I'm working on it--after I get another cup of coffee."  She grinned when Tom instantly refilled her cup.  "That anxious, hmm?"

  "That curious," Tom corrected. 

  "Tuvok will contact me when we've got our coordinates laid out." 

  "Which should be soon," B'Elanna noted.  "They wouldn't hold us up, unless...  What is our status, being Maquis?"

  Owen looked up when he belatedly realized the question was directed at him.  He blinked at her expression.  Still holding her nursing infant closely to her, B'Elanna's face had melted into a blank concern, a total change of mood from before.  Tom, too, was intent on the answer.  Owen nodded to himself.  Naturally, they were concerned about their freedom because of their past crimes.  He had to admit he was glad they were not denying or trying to ignore it.  At the same time, he suddenly realized that it had indeed been easier to forgive Tom from a distance, to come to terms with Tom's decisions.  Judging from his daughter in-law's statement, they still felt they were a part of what they left, even if it no longer existed.  It was still their designation. 

  "As you already know," Owen said, failing to sound unofficial, "the Maquis factions were dissipated nearly four years ago.  The statuses of those remaining Maquis had been finally decided upon last year.  If they wished to remain Federation citizens, there were given pardons and let to lead normal lives.  A few chose otherwise and went elsewhere.  So there are no more legal ramifications for your former alliances." 

  Tom wisely said nothing on that--Not so former, Dad--but nodded.  "Well, at least we won't have any trouble going back." 

  "Though, I'm certain your scout ship will be required to at least undergo several inspections and modifications before being released by Starfleet." 

  B'Elanna stiffened, shared a glance with Tom.  "With all due respect," she said, "any modifications needed on the Marseilles should be done by Tom and I." 

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Starfleet has no reason to hold the Marseilles for any extended period," Tom joined in. 

  Owen sighed.  "It's an illegally gotten ship--"

  "It was a derelict that B'Elanna and I asked Chakotay to stop and pick up while in the field," Tom quietly stated, "and the majority of it was fixed with scraps--none of which were Federation equipment." 

  B'Elanna nodded.  "It's our ship.  For Starfleet to insist on anything beyond stripping what's left of the cloaking device would be completely out of line." 

  The admiral's brows rose.  More, he saw that his son, standing straight beside his wife, agreed.  Neither set of eyes turned down.  Well, he thought, I might have expected no less... 

  Alaine was returning, and as Owen turned his eyes away from the two, Tom drank down his coffee before moving to take Isabel for his wife. 

  "It can all be ironed out later," he said quietly to B'Elanna, who nodded, knowing well that it wasn't an issue for the children to hear. 

  Kissing his baby daughter on the head, and then propping her up on his shoulder to pat her back, Tom nodded to his other girl.  "Alaine, show your grandfather the striped houses." 

  "Your favorites," she accused with a giggle and flipped through her coloring book.  She glanced at Owen.  "Daddy likes these best.  Mommy likes the purple one." 

  Owen graciously looked down to Alaine's displays--her very colorful houses and wild gardens, appropriate for her age, and yet quite imaginative in the patterns and blends.  Generous in his praise, he glanced up to see Tom and B'Elanna's appreciative grins, and then back to Alaine, his wife's namesake... 

  A little artist, he grinned to himself.  It fits. 

  Meanwhile, Kathryn glanced up to see Tom and B'Elanna's gazes meet again; their expressions melted into a kind of seriousness that could be either thoughtful or angry.  It was hard to tell with those two.  Whichever it was, she knew those two well enough by then to know a lot wasn't being said, but would eventually. 

  There was some stirring in the last closed room, so B'Elanna finally broke away to get the boys up, unwilling at first to give up the stare she'd shared with Tom. 

  The captain tipped her cup to drink again, turning her attention back to the admiral and his newfound family.  At least that part was going well.  Knowing that, she could get back to the business of getting the rest of the way home, and she set down her emptied cup to finally start it.  She had a family to get back to as well, after all. 

 

  Owen was wise enough to retain his seat at the dinette when the "Parisian reveille," as Kathryn wryly called it, began in full swing. 

  Once Kathryn left, Tom took Isabel to change and dress her, then bring her back into the main room and lay her under a playset for the time, batting some of the toys around himself to get her going before standing again.  Meanwhile, Alaine went back to her room and Tom followed for a moment before returning with a pair of socks for the refresher. 

  As the infant grabbed the wheels and started to coo and kick, two rambunctious boys with hair like their mother's cropped close on the napes came running like lightning out of their rooms and into their father's arms as he turned and knelt to greet them.  Tom hoisted them both up backwards like two sacks in his arms.  They roared and squealed with delight, kicking as their father carried them back to the bedroom.  There, B'Elanna waited, arms crossed but her mouth turned into a slight and knowing grin. 

  "Time to get dressed and meet your grandfather," she told them, "and I'll replicate some waffles for breakfast." 

  "Wit kiwi jam?" Kiarn asked, wide-eyed when Tom put him to his feet and turned him around. 

  "Yes," she obliged.  "Waffles and kiwi jam for everyone.  Now let's move." 

  Ushering her older son ahead, she disappeared into the room, Tom not long behind, Andre still writhing and giggling in his arm. 

  One minute later, Alaine reclaimed her seat at the table and smiled at her grandfather as she laid her hairbrush on the table.  She'd gotten her stockings and shoes on, and now reclaimed her juice while she waited for her parents to return.  Occasionally, she'd look over at her little sister, who was contentedly smacking a spinning mirror on the wheel bar above her as three different and occasionally loud conversations rose and ebbed without any sense or pattern in the other room. 

  A few minutes after that, Tom appeared with Andre, who was now dressed, had his hair combed and was holding onto a stuffed animal unlike one Owen had ever seen.  The father disposed the boy on the grandfather's lap, introducing the toddler as he turned back for the bedroom.  A couple minutes after that, Kiarn introduced himself, staring at the older man as Isabel squealed behind them and B'Elanna started breakfast. 

  "You're like your picture," Kiarn decided aloud, "jus' older."  He shook the tail of Andre's stuffed creature and growled loudly, making his brother laugh. 

  "Mok'la's hungee!"  Andre announced, looking back to his mother. 

  "Mok'la will be fed in just a minute," B'Elanna replied, otherwise undisturbed as she tapped her instructions into the computer.  "Alaine, Kiarn, come help." 

  Tom had disappeared, Owen suddenly noticed.  Alaine scooted off her chair to help her mother dispense the plates and serve breakfast.  B'Elanna lifted Andre from his grandfather's lap and into a booster seat, turned to cut up his food, then gave him a kiss on the head and his plate.  Kiarn ran around to get his plate from his sister then happily crawled up to his seat, thanking his mother as she went back to the replicator once more.  A moment later, growling emanated from the booster seat. 

  "Mok'la doesn't eat waffles," B'Elanna called behind her.  Andre immediately pulled the stuffed toy away from the plate and picked up a square of his waffle. 

  Finally, the quarters quieted to the sounds of utensils and Andre kicking the base of the chair.  Behind him, the infant whacked a rotating rattler, gasped another laugh. 

  "Are you hungry?" B'Elanna asked the admiral when she looked his way again. 

  "Oh, no.  Thank you, but I ate on the Disraeli." 

  With a small smile and a nod, she replicated a few more croissants and set them on the table, then took one for herself.  Her eyes roamed the table before settling on Isabel for a long moment. 

  She seemed to be waiting, nibbling on the pastry, sipping her coffee.  A couple times, she picked Andre's cup back up for him, rearranged his food and told the other children not to eat so quickly. 

  Tom returned, shaved, combed and dressed, draping a long coat from his arm across the back of his chair before giving his wife a kiss.  Putting her cup aside, she checked on Isabel, then disappeared to the bedroom. 

  "Hope we're not overwhelming you," Tom grinned as he took his daughter's hairbrush and pulled apart her braid while she continued to eat.  "B'Elanna and I usually get up at the same time--and a little earlier.  We're a little off the routine lately." 

  "Yes, Kathryn told me you and B'Elanna have your own clockwork." 

  Both Tom and Alaine chuckled at that.  "Kathryn's had the pleasure of seeing some busy mornings." 

  "When Mommy went to Sickbay to have Isabel," Alaine explained, oblivious to her father's brushing her hair while she ate and talked, "Aunt Kat watched us."  She giggled again.  "Remember when we woke her up, Kiarn?"

  "Yeah," the boy snickered.  "Aun Kat said we were wicked gemins--"

  "Gremlins," Alaine corrected.  "And then she crawled up off the floor and growled like a bear." 

  Tom somehow held back the laugh that mental image called up as he worked Alaine's hair into a long, thick braid.  Kathryn still hadn't let them off the hook for that one.  From time to time, while Alaine and Kiarn continued to relate their more recent adventures on Voyager, he glanced towards his bedroom door.  Done with Alaine, seeing that Andre was fine, chewing at his waffle pieces with his cup dangling in his other fingers, and then seeing that his father's cup was still half-full, Tom reached out for his own coffee and downed it. 

  "Kiarn, Alaine, keep an eye on Andre and Isabel.  I'll be right back."  Tom squeezed his father's shoulder as he moved past.  "Be back in a minute." 

  "Go right ahead," Owen said, oddly enjoying the children's gossip.  That time, he didn't even notice Tom close the bedroom door behind him. 

  Tom found B'Elanna as he'd expected, finishing dressing in the bathroom, her face made, hair loose.  She glanced up to him in the mirror's reflection as she tied her tunic at the side.  In that glance, the strangeness, the relief and their tiredness shone through. 

  She blinked; he nodded. 

  "You okay?" she asked.  He hadn't slept well in days and the strain of it was showing.  She hadn't slept very well, either, and not only because of Tom's disturbances. 

  Tom nodded.  "I will be," he said and moved to embrace her from behind.  He closed his eyes as her arms covered his.  "It's just weird, B'Elanna, having my father out there in the dining room." 

  "I guess it is, seeing him after all this time and so...willing."  She continued to watch her husband.  His eyes didn't open, but his mouth flickered in a grin.  "We knew this would take some getting used to, that it'd be hard to leave Voyager." 

  "Yeah, we did." 

  "So, we'll get used to it...maybe my family, too." 

  Tom opened his eyes to see her still staring at him.  "Yeah," he said softly, "it'll be nice when everything settles down again, won't it?"

  "You got that right." 

  "And it's only begun." 

  Giving his arms another squeeze, she released them.  Reaching over, Tom took her brush out of the drawer and with the other touched her hand.  Wordlessly, she let him lead her back to sit on the bedside. 

  She glanced back as he lowered himself behind her.  "If we can just hold things together for the time being, before we get settled..." 

  Her words drifted off as Tom began to brush her hair, though he did nod.  "We will.  I promised you that before, B'Elanna, and I meant it."  He drew a deep sigh as he let his fingers go through her thick locks, drawing them out over his palms, and then returning to the brush.  "We should talk with K'Karn," he added quietly. 

  B'Elanna nodded.  "Good idea." 

  He drew another breath then pulled her hair aside to lean into her neck, kiss her cheek and embrace her again.  He sighed deeply. 

  "Me too," she whispered.

 

---

 

  "Hope you don't mind our working," Tom told his father as he and B'Elanna escorted Owen through the corridor.  "We still have a lot of work to do on the Marseilles." 

  "Not at all," Owen said graciously. 

  B'Elanna looked back to him with a pleasantly--amused?--knowing look, which she shared with Tom before turning ahead again.  "So, what did you think about Jenna?" she asked.  They had just dropped the children off with their friend, who desperately needed the children to distract her then, she'd been so excited to get home.  As a result, the admiral had gotten a good taste of Jenna's particular personality. 

  Owen took a moment to collect the words.  "Interesting lady, very...energetic.  --This was the friend you had mentioned in your letter, Tom?"

  "Yeah," Tom grinned, not surprised by his father's reaction to the woman in question.  "She's been as much of a sister as Chakotay's like a brother.  We've all been very close for...what is it now? Over eight years." 

  The admiral nodded to the second name.  "Yes, I do like Chakotay.  I hadn't expected to, even if his Starfleet record spoke very highly of him." 

  "He was a great captain, too," Tom told him.  "He looked after us like his own--all of us." 

  "Yes," the admiral nodded.  "That would not surprise me.  So, the Marseilles has been kept in the shuttle bay all this time?"

  Tom as B'Elanna shared another glance.  "Just this way," B'Elanna replied. 

  It was a note of interest for Owen to finally see it--though even he could not say it was for solely personal curiosity.  He could never ignore the long list of offenses that ship had been involved in, offenses that spun in his head as he followed them to the shuttle bay. 

  He stopped when he took his first good look at the sleek, two-decked craft that loomed in the corner like a mystic monument to a war only recently past.  It was a ship with quite a reputation, and its appearance did little to dispel it.  The Marseilles, named for Tom's gamier days in the academy, was a fine collection--collection being the proper word--of equipment, and surprisingly, it wasn't shoddy.  Its two broad, thin wings folded for docking, its artillery ports situated just above the 'elbows' and with small nacelles tucked under the stern, it had the appearance of a silver bat perched on two stout, triangular feet.  The port hatch was open. 

  Staring at it, he tried not to associate that list to his son or his wife for the time.  He forced himself to remember it was a long time ago, for them and for him.  It wasn't an easy task, however, when Tom and B'Elanna went ahead and casually hopped up into their ship, chatting between each other and beckoning him in with them. 

  As if nothing were out of the ordinary. 

  Drawing a small breath, he followed and immediately noted to himself how the demeanors of his son and daughter-in-law changed once they entered the Marseilles.  Suddenly, the parents the admiral had met first were now all business, on task and efficient as they continued repairs where they had left off and grateful to him when he asked to have look around. 

  "Sure, Dad.  Make yourself at home," Tom said over his shoulder, then bent over a power flow analysis with B'Elanna. 

  The little engine room where they were working and the two forward cargo holds were nothing out of the ordinary, had Owen expected such a clean space.  Somehow, he'd expected a rougher appearance in the little craft.  Rather, all its spaces were very well kept--and well equipped.  Though most of the systems were on standby, the small bay hummed contentedly as its owners started working on it, promising a powerful resurrection.  Owen could already tell the ship had been an ongoing labor of love for them both. 

  Up an open stairway, he found the upper deck hold inside the back hatch no different.  From there was a short, well-lit corridor.  At the end was wedge-shaped bridge.  It was simple, efficient.  Moving aft again, he peeked into each of the seven openings.  On the port side, three of the four doors revealed only supply cabinets.  The last was a small galley with a portal window and a thin table and bench below it.  The back wall boasted a replicator.  On the other side of the corridor were two bunkrooms.  The doors to them were open. 

  Inside the door to the forward sleeping cabin hung a landscape picture, possibly the world they'd briefly lived on years before.  The double bed was neatly made with a soft woven blue and brown tasseled cover and large soft pillows in matching cases.  There was a thin dresser with a wall mirror on the door wall.  To the rear was a cubicle bathroom and, next to that, an oddly constructed door--access to the second bunkroom, which looked more like a converted closet. 

  On his way out, he noticed a portrait of a crew beside the door.  Looking closely, Owen found Tom and B'Elanna.  He had her legs pulled over his as they casually embraced, on top of a stack of equipment--which on close examination looked like the assembly to a shield array.  They seemed patient as they posed for the picture.  Voyager's strange little nurse had her arms flung around the former captain--now Commander Chakotay--who futilely tried to look a little dignified.  Others were there, many that he didn't recognize, some he vaguely did from files and from a brief passing on Voyager.  One boasted a football under his heel and a gleaming smile.  Another man looked prepared to kick the ball away from him. 

  It was years ago when that portrait was taken, 2371, the inscription noted.  Tom still had that odd coat, but his clothes were rougher for wear.  B'Elanna wore leather trousers and boots that nearly covered them, an equally worn blouse and vest.  Younger too, they smiled with some evidence of amusement, eyes sparkling even at a distance. 

  As if nothing were wrong...as though they had things to laugh about. 

  Exiting the room, Owen left to tell his son he wanted to check in on Kathryn. 

  B'Elanna was the one answer him.  "Oh, okay.  Go right ahead.  We'll catch up with you later."  Tom had already gone into the guts of the ship to pull a few dead coils, but echoed her sentiments when she crawled in the hatch a little to tell him. 

  The admiral left them to their work. 

  What Kathryn had to tell him when he asked, was nothing more than what he had already seen.  They were dedicated civilian crewmembers, exceptional parents, talented technicians, and the finest of friends to her in those lonely years. 

  Certainly, there had been tension among them in the beginning, but it was simply because they didn't understand each other.  Time and second chances took care of that.  She didn't know what she'd have done without their ironic loyalty, their utter support--even when they debated with her.  Kathryn shone with her pride in them, said she would miss them and their children dearly. 

  Owen nodded to it all, smiled--and truly was pleased with what Kathryn had to say.  But it answered nothing.  Not really.

 

---

 

  "Mr.  and Mrs.  Paris?"

  B'Elanna looked up from around the panel.  She was on her knees beside the impulse assembly.  "Lieutenant Fellows?"

  "Yes, Ma'am.  Commander Pagal sent me to give you some information you and your husband requested." 

  Tom, hearing, crawled out from the hatch and grabbed a cloth to wipe his brow as he stood from the hole.  "That quick, huh?"

  B'Elanna had already tapped the PADD on by the time Tom got behind her to read.  Immediately, their greedy eyes searched the document. 

  Then they slowed...stilled. 

  Tom drew a breath as B'Elanna scrolled back to make sure she'd read it correctly.  He gave the young officer a nod.  "Thanks, Lieutenant." 

  The man left.  They read it again. 

  Tom turned on his heel.  He grit his teeth, drew a deep, tense breath.  He heard a growl emanate from his wife; he shut his eyes when he heard the PADD hit the bulkhead. 

  "Our friends..., our ship," Tom said, "now our home."  He laughed, bitterly for the first time in a long time as he turned a stunned look to his wife.  "I sometimes wonder if they do this on purpose, or if they're just too stupid to see how incredibly selfish they are." 

  "And the minute we make our demands, we'll be the selfish ones," B'Elanna added. 

  Tom was quiet.  Very quiet.  B'Elanna held his eyes and waited it out. 

  But any further reaction he might have voiced faded behind his sigh.  "Plan two it is, then," he finally muttered.  "If Dad's right and our citizenship is restored, I guess Oslon will accept us." 

  "We could find work there," was her only reply. 

  Silently, they returned to their repairs.

 

---

 

  The repairs on the Marseilles, though extensive, were secondary to their preparations on Voyager itself, in engineering and navigation, plus taking time with their friends and the packing of their quarters into the Marseilles--and all of that secondary to the children, who despite their "helping" were busy and curious enough in their own right.  Tom and B'Elanna drove through their duties for a full three days with little rest and less divergence.  But nobody seemed to regret the comfortable distance, especially Owen.  Aside from leading them into conversations he wanted to have but felt some trepidation about, it also let him study his son anew and examine the woman he'd chosen for his own. 

  He found them complex: Knowledgeable, extremely hard working; good-natured and open at times, silent or cryptic in others.  Neither explained their mood--and it did not seem as though they felt compelled to.  They went about their business the way they liked, and Voyager's crew did not interfere.  They were respected.  They were very well liked. 

  They were normal.  They still seemed...distant. 

  With the children and between each other, however, they were honest and warm, always touching, always affectionate, often joking and talking and explaining.  Alaine and Kiarn took their lessons with as much energy as they did their play and chatter, leaning determinedly into their PADDs much like their parents did while Andre looked curiously on.  Tom eventually gave the toddler a puzzle to work with at the coffee table so he and B'Elanna could finish their reports. 

  Owen could do nothing but watch with a raised brow. 

  On the other hand, the children did not go without firm discipline when required.  One correction of the older two came for a practical joke Kiarn played on Alaine, paying off in her swatting her brother with far more power than she realized she had.  Not surprisingly, the little boy cried out and hit her back--hard. 

  B'Elanna rushed in at the screams, thinking they'd fallen, only to find them on the floor scrapping.  Grabbing both by the shoulders to separate them, she took them out to their father, who'd likewise dropped his work to see what'd happened. 

  Tom quickly checked them over then looked up to his wife as she tersely explained what they'd been up to. 

  Alaine growled and glared at her brother.  "But Kiarn started it!" 

  "Not tat bad! Alaine--"

  "Enough," Tom said shortly.  The two looked at their father, separately pleading.  Tom's eyes narrowed.  Their mouths pressed tightly closed.

  An eerie silence filled the family's quarters. 

  Across the room and behind his PADD, Owen could hear the children gulp. 

  To his ironic surprise, the children got the correction from the mother.  Tom simply, soberly, got up and sat back to watch B'Elanna pace before the two and explain her ire and disappointment, and then sanction them both, which she didn't seem to mind adding to when Alaine whined.  The mother had obviously been unnerved, as much as she might have been already. 

  "We have these rules because we don't want either of you to be hurt," she continued.  "That would make your father and I very upset--because we love you and worry about you.  To find you fighting like a couple of Trakal rats is very upsetting to everyone.  Do you feel like you need to run around more, get all this bad energy out?"  Her dark eyes pinned to theirs in turns.  "Well?"

  "No, Mommy," Alaine said.  Kiarn echoed her. 

  "Are you bored? Do you have nothing better to do? Your father and I can assign more schoolwork if you are." 

  "We'll do something else, Mommy.  We're sorry."  Alaine turned a woeful look to her brother.  "Right Kiarn?"

  Kiarn nodded slowly, swallowed.  "Yeah.  We're sowry." 

  B'Elanna drew a breath then let it out.  "If this happens again, you'll have no holo-cartoons or jinala sets for a week, not just a day.  Otherwise, this will never come up again.  Those are your choices.  Do you understand?"

  Both children guiltily peered to their father again.  Tom quietly told them, "I don't know why you're looking at me.  Listen to your mother, or we'll be having a talk of our own." 

  They silenced again.  They obviously did not want that second talk.

  Afterwards, when Alaine and Kiarn slinked off to their bedrooms to find quiet toys, B'Elanna reminded her father-in-law, "They're usually good, but they do have a quarter Klingon blood--which isn't a bad thing, but they can get out of control.  I guess that can be the case with kids in general, but they've got a little more stamina than most."  She sighed, but then shrugged it away to go back to the reports she and Tom had been working on. 

  An hour later, things were back to normal.  The sanctioned children were still pouting, but otherwise all right as they colored and read, and Tom and B'Elanna were tired but forgivingly pleasant.  They never mentioned the incident, but went on planning their packing.  After a while, B'Elanna went to the dining area. 

  "Kiarn, Alaine, come help set the table," the mother said and both children anxiously scrambled up to the cabinet. 

  Turning, she shared a wink and a grin with the father, who had been packing the rest of their books into a storage case. 

  "The changes are stressful for them too," Tom told his father aside.  "We've been expecting them to act up more, actually.  They always do when something big's happening.  They're pretty strong kids--a little too strong in one way, though." 

  "I noticed," Owen commented.  "They're very active." 

  Tom nodded.  "B'Elanna's scared to death of what'll happen once we get them off a ship and out into a yard.  Of course, then they'll burn off more of that energy, too." 

  The grandfather looked back over to the children, busy in their chores.  Well-behaved and neat, rather handsome, one wouldn't have known there'd been a problem. 

  Well after dinner, as the children finally slowed and the parents started yawning, they gathered for stories before bedtime.  Tom offered the children to pick out what they wanted and laughed when Alaine brought an old one of hers.  She still liked it--mainly because she'd picked up most of it.  Proudly, she knew it by heart. 

  "Why don't you read it then?" B'Elanna suggested as she took a seat near the end of the quickly crowded sofa with the infant in her arm.  Reaching out, she etched aside a lock of Alaine's hair.  "You and Kiarn are both getting pretty good at it, you know." 

  Alaine giggled.  "I can't read the funny words, Mommy." 

  "Then I'll read them to you," Tom said, "and you can join in.  Kiarn, I think you know a few.  --Andre, come on up here, big guy." 

  "I know it," Kiarn insisted.  "But tey sound funny." 

  Tom laughed as he got Andre comfortably on his lap.  "Yeah, I guess it does sound funny.  But not everyone speaks the same language, Kiarn." 

  The boy peered down at the page and pointed.  "Okay, what's tat?"

  "Le bonheur?" Tom grinned and glanced at his father, then winked at his wife as he held her gaze for a moment.  "It means happiness." 

  B'Elanna's returning smile was as knowing as his own. 

  From there, they pieced through the story, quiet but cheerful and, more than anything, together and perfectly comfortable about that. 

  Owen recognized the story by the title--for its brevity, it'd been one of his wife's favorites, long ago.  Yet he did not think as much on that as he saw again how disquietingly normal those people were, his son and his quickly made family.  His son, so long lost and finally so near, felt further away from him than ever.

  Time, he reminded himself, watching the family share the story and each other, all piled up on the sofa, the children cuddled up like puppies around their proud parents.  Watching them silently, Owen regretted that their lives would be disrupted as he knew they would.

  In time, he thought firmly, they'll adjust, as will I.

 

---

 

  The reunions with his son and with Captain Janeway had gone far better than he could have expected, and it was gratifying to meet Tom's wife and his grandchildren.  All of them had exceeded any expectations he might have had...save one or two.  Regardless, Owen felt a sense of relief to return to the Disraeli, which would take the lead to Earth, leaving Voyager to fly in on her own.  Kathryn had requested it and Owen had approved whole-heartedly.  Captains, particularly one who had been through what Janeway had, deserved the right to bring their ship home without assistance.  The added advantage was that he would have a little time to take everything he had learned about his son and his family in. 

  There were no sighs or tears in that goodbye and certainly, none of the hurt or animosity that had scarred their last parting was present, either.  A few days would see them together again.  They would continue where they left off, they agreed.  So, simply, pleasantly, from the transporter pad, he told Tom and his family, "See you in a few days.  Good journey to you." 

  "Until then, Dad," Tom returned with a slighter grin, offering one last nod.  When his father dematerialized, his stare turned down.  Finding his older three children, he gave them a grin and pointed with his chin to the door.  "How about some lunch, then some holodeck time?"

  The children ricocheted through the doors, Alaine scooting through them before they had opened completely. 

  Taking his wife's fingers in his own, Tom reached with his other hand to their baby daughter, caressed her cheek.  She would be hungry soon, too, he knew. 

  "What do you think?" B'Elanna asked. 

  Tom shrugged.  "It'll take time," he answered quietly.  "He's trying.  I want to, too...  Damn, I wish it wasn't going to be so hard." 

  "What? With your father?"

  He shook his head.  "No, that'll just take some getting used to."  Sighing, he entangled his finger in Isabel's grip, shook her hand lightly.  "No, I'd hoped somehow when we heard the war was over that we'd be able to go home.  I wanted to give you that." 

  "It was out of our hands," she told him, truthfully though marked with an equal disappointment.  "Even if we'd been here, there's nothing we could have said that'd have made Starfleet change its mind.  We probably would have made it worse, knowing us." 

  "I know.  But I still wanted it...  Damned policy." 

  "We shouldn't have expected much better." 

  "Shouldn't have, maybe.  But we did." 

  She nodded, but didn't bother with the rest.  It would only go in circles they couldn't solve.  All they could do was try once they got there, and they knew that.  Doesn't mean he won't feel rotten about it, though, she understood, yet knew it was best they just kept moving, and see what they could get out of what they did have. 

  She tugged Tom's fingers.  "Let's go.  The kids should be at the lift by now." 

  "Okay."  Once outside the transporter room doors, Tom slid his hand down to B'Elanna's waist, squeeze her gently.  "Maybe I wanted Dad to be the one to tell us, though I can understand why he wouldn't." 

  "He did seem...careful," B'Elanna commented.  "He never managed to tell us what it's going to take to get the Marseilles through that inspection, either." 

  "I would've liked to have known that, too," Tom agreed, more certainly that time.  "Even if he doesn't know, I can bet he has an idea.  But I can also bet he doesn't want to talk about issues like that with us yet--with me.  But damnit, I don't like not knowing." 

  B'Elanna watched the muscle flex in Tom's jaw and understood completely.  Having their ship taken away for what could turn into weeks was almost as bad as hearing about their homeworld had been barred from them.  The latter was still hard to talk about, the previous just insulting. 

  "They can't legally hold the Marseilles forever," B'Elanna said.  "Or at least Kathryn said they shouldn't be able to.  We'll just have to make them know we're waiting, maybe get some help." 

  Tom nodded.  "Oh, I will," he said surely.  "They won't forget we're waiting--for the ship and for them to change their mind about the colonies.  We'll work this out." 

  She grinned, turned her eyes ahead again as they continued down the corridor.  "Good."

 

---

 

  "I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you, which shall be the darkness of God." 

  Tom collected her in his arm as she read, caressing her hair with his cheek as he looked on.  Their glasses were empty; the children were well asleep.  Their main room was bare but for the seat they shared and the dining table, which would be beamed to the Marseilles with the other last minute items. 

  "As in a theatre, the lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed with a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, and we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama, and the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away..." 

  The candle they lit had burned itself down in the house they had been forced to make for themselves.  Quiet time: Their last hours on Voyager, where they had lived for seven years, where or near to which they'd had their four children, where they'd kept so many friends, many of whom were also soon to part for their own lives and homes. 

  In the morning, they would go to transporter room two and beam down to the grounds at Starfleet Headquarters, to the celebration that had been planned.  From there, they would go to Tom's father's house, to stay temporarily during the Marseilles' inspection in drydock.  The same day, Voyager would go in for a refit.  In a couple months, Kathryn's report hearings would begin--a normal process considering the extraordinary journey she had taken. 

  "...--Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations, and the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence..." 

  In but six hours, they would transport down to Earth, a place they had never expected to set foot on again well before their diversion to the Delta Quadrant--and hadn't necessarily wanted to but for their friends' sakes and for their soon to be impounded ship. 

  They had no idea how long that next diversion would keep them. 

  Neither of them could sleep that time. 

  Snuggling closely to him, she continued, her clear, quiet voice the only sound remaining in the painfully empty room... 

  "...and you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen, leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about.  Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing."

 

---

 

  He awoke to silence, to his familiar ceiling with a ray of sun shooting across his bedroom, brightening the cream colored walls to a brilliant yellow.  It shocked his eyes when he first opened them.  For an instant, he imagined himself late.  With another moment of consciousness, however, with another breath as his eyes adjusted to the light, he remembered that the hour had been planned and that his house was a full one again. 

  My son is here with his wife and family. 

  He slid from his bed and moved to the bathroom with the same thought replaying itself a few times over.  In a home Owen once swore his son would never reenter, which his wife had become hysterical about; the house he'd lived alone in since his Alaine's death, filled occasionally at meals and afternoons when Moira and Adam came by with Brian, or Kathleen every Sunday.... 

  Now Tom's here... 

  He wondered while he washed and shaved what he should do with them.  The quandaries that had only half formed in his mind while on Voyager resurfaced all the more strongly now that he was faced with what to do next. 

  Even after the reunion party, he didn't know what to make of them.

  The reunion...  While he dressed, Owen had to grin at the memory, not yet twelve hours old.  It had been planned well ahead of time to collect as many people as possible to greet the returning crews, ignoring the status of those former Maquis for the present and going out of their way to bring some of the families to Earth for a visit.  It turned out to be an enormous--and hugely successful--event.  So many families, finally come back together, children to parents and siblings, and vice versa, friends long separated, former comrades, husbands and wives. 

  Most notable to Owen was his daughters' greeting their brother.  Moira forgot any manners she might have learned and threw herself at him, Kathleen with only a hair more tact a moment later.  As he watched, Owen painfully recalled the last time they'd all been together, or at least within speaking distance... 

  B'Elanna, already reunited with her proudly dignified Klingon cousin, greeted them warmly.  In return, Moira had no qualms calling her "Sis" right off, which immediately raised a question in translation from Representative K'Karn, much to Tom and B'Elanna's amusement. 

  Soon after came the Janeway family's reunion.  The three women hugged each other in unison as they cried uncharacteristically, and then just as quickly reigned themselves in to only need to stop themselves a minute later.  Then they laughed at each other's efforts.  They barely knew what to say and so gave up and embraced again. 

  Kathryn's first officer, on his cousin's arm, approached to meet them, as did her other senior officers, also escorted and warmly greeted.  Putting her hands on Harry Kim's arms, she bragged aside to his glowing parents how Harry had been such a helpful and sociable friend, as well as an excellent officer. 

  Tom and his family were also there for the rounds of introductions, but he couldn't resist using the moment to roundly tease Kim in front of his parents: "Oh, he's a great officer all right--bucking for lieutenant material right off, too," he drawled with a wicked grin.  "First I find him trying to sneak off with my wife, and then he runs right back out and bags a hedonist." 

  An uproar of laughter erupted from the group as Harry patiently, though laughing a little uneasily, explained himself to his flabbergasted mother and wide-eyed father.  "You'd better explain your prison record while you're at it," Tom added mercilessly, his face set with perfect innocence.  "They're going to know eventually."  Even Owen had laughed at that.  His son always had been mischievous.  It was odd, but good, to see again. 

  Not long after, Jenna, who'd broken out in uncontrollable snickers as Tom tortured his friend, heard a yell from across the way.  Turning sharply at the sound, she gasped to see a ruddy-haired ensign sprinting towards her, followed closely by four other young people.  Owen grinned.  However well-trained by Starfleet, Ensign Harlowe hadn't settled down much during his academy career--and proved that Starship life hadn't tempered him, either, when he snatched his diminutive mother up with a yell and spun her around. 

  Predictably, Jenna burst out in tears, wailing out in relief, "Oh, you darlin' scoundrel!  I knew you'd be gorgeous!"  as she kissed him repeatedly.  Tommy put her down only so she could be overtaken by her other four children.  He let his little siblings go to it, tears shining in his eyes as he caught those of his older acquaintance.  Owen returned the smile. 

  Then, Tommy saw his first mentor coming towards him and laughed aloud.  "God, Tom, you've not changed!"  The two embraced firmly.  Tom took the first opportunity to nag the younger about his rank, and Tommy the second for that gray coat of Tom's, still faithfully worn.  "What a sight you were when you first wore it, too.  I'd say that's a hell of an improvement." 

  Tommy charmingly greeted his old friend's wife, "So you're the one Tom was tripping over his tongue about all that time back! He had it bad, you know.  --Looking at all these kids he got out of you, I can say he still does!" 

  "I didn't believe Tom when he told me there was more than one Jenna running around," B'Elanna laughed.  "I'm officially frightened."  After shaking his hand, she let Tommy introduce his brothers and sisters.  On her knees kissing Lizzie, Jenna was too beside herself to do it.  Recollecting them, she and Tom then introduced their children... 

  Barely looking in the mirror as he splashed on his aftershave, Owen felt a swell in his heart to think on how impressed he was with his son, in spite of what side of the "wedding" he stood on.  Tom had acted so maturely, so confident, at ease with his old friends, the Starfleet crew, their families and the other dignitaries there, as did his wife. 

  It was as if it really didn't matter who they were, who they had been, what they were doing, only that they were there.  Perhaps that was it. 

  Even so, once the initial thrill and introductions grew into a comfortable camaraderie and closeness, Tom and B'Elanna needed only share a look at their children and then each other before nodding silently. 

  Their eldest was yawning and unconsciously kicking the leg of the chair she was sitting on.  The infant was already well asleep.  The boys, though still running around full steam, were starting to get churlish, the older one choosing to tease his sister, to which she reacted with an odd growl and a swat of her hand.  B'Elanna told them firmly to stop.  Both did--the girl crossed her arms, frowning, and the boy visibly grit his teeth and spun away. 

  The parents then shared another, very knowing look, brows raised in unison. 

  As his wife slung the cradle strap over her shoulder and adjusted her baby daughter's blanket, Tom got the younger and protesting boy into his arm, then told the elder two it was bedtime.  They came to the table where some of the higher ranking officers, some of the crew and their families had taken to.  They quietly told his father they'd be heading in, and then said good night to their friends and his sisters.  Owen told them the house was open, but if they didn't mind, he'd stay a bit longer to talk. 

  "I'm sure you remember where it is?"

  Tom grinned a little, gave his father's shoulder an affectionate pat.  "You bet I do.  Thanks, Dad."  He looked at Janeway, sitting nearby, still holding her mother's hand.  "See you at Sandrine's--Thursday, five, right?"

  Kathryn smiled.  "We'll all see you there.  Sleep well, Tom, and you too, B'Elanna." 

  They only nodded, got their older two children near them, then bid but a couple more farewells to Jenna, then to K'Karn, who beamed out soon after they said farewell.  They also addressed their Maquis friends while walking slowly off the grounds.  Minutes later, they disappeared at the gate without looking back. 

  They had walked away as if nothing was ending, as if nothing was changing, Owen mused as he looked after them.  Perhaps they had all already said their goodbyes, or perhaps their planned private party would be better closure. 

  Somehow, though, their departure had concerned the older admiral.  He didn't know why.  Their quiet expressions, their sober voices, as they had on Voyager, continued to play in his mind when he did come home.  They were already settled and to sleep when he got there. 

  The next morning, as he treaded through the garden to the edge of the yard, when he looked out onto the sea, he felt it again.  Yet that time, the scene was decidedly different.... 

  "I'm gonna catch ya!" 

  "Not if you don't run faster!" 

  "Let's catch Mommy!" 

  "You'll have to run even faster for that!"  the mother laughed. 

  "Get her!"  they both yelled. 

  Tom had his newborn daughter in his arm and Andre's hand in his, walking along the wet shoreline while B'Elanna and the older children ran ahead, fast and strong in the wet sand.  She sprinted along the ebbing water, skipping out toward the disappearing waves, hopping to a stop and turning to see her elder two yelping as they caught the water. 

  Not a one of them had shoes on, Owen noticed.  But it was unusually warm that day, a not so odd weather pattern in winter.  They always had a brief warm up at around that time of year. 

  B'Elanna danced with them into the foamy skirt of the sea, letting her children finally catch her--then they all jumped back as another waved replaced the last.  The children laughed and teased their mother, which she cheerfully rejoined and set them all off again while the wave pulled back. 

  Tom laughed with them, watching them, letting Andre run ahead a little and fall to his hands.  Catching up, the father waited, ready to help his son if necessary.  But the boy pushed himself up to take off again--only to trip again to his hands and knees in the wet sand.  He didn't seem to mind making a mess of himself.  Tom maintained that only by scraping off the boy's hands with a thumb before letting him go, grinning all the while. 

  Eventually, B'Elanna turned back as Alaine and Kiarn continued.  Nearly breathless, she returned to face her husband. 

  They said nothing--they didn't seem to have to.  Tom's hand wove into her hair as he bent and kissed her openly.  Two arms wound around and she gently caressed the infant, who had reached up to touch her mother's breast.  In that manner, the couple continued as the waves circled their feet. 

  Owen continued to watch them, almost like a spectator at a play.  Once more, he had to remind himself that the man out there, ankle deep in the water, kissing his wife, was Tom.  Tom: whom he'd forsaken, whom he'd cursed, whom he'd forgiven, whom he'd not seen in nine years. 

  He felt a pang in wishing Alaine, his Alaine, could see her son then, could have known that young family.  She would have worshipped them. 

  She would have had coffee on the table and croissants and jellies, possibly some music playing softly, when they came down from their rooms.  The house would have been polished like a gem and a huge bouquet of white and coral roses would have decorated the brightly appointed buffet.  He could see her arranging them in the vase with springs of cedar, setting out their best flatware for an ordinary breakfast, see her serving coffee as her smile, her laughter, lit the room... 

  Owen could see her, in his mind, with her soft golden hair, her pure blue eyes shining with elation, her strong, thin arms lifting one of her grandchildren up to smell the flowers, or hugging them close and kissing them excessively, until they wiped their faces and she laughed at them.  He could see her pouring from the white china kettle in the breakfast room, chatting with B'Elanna and asking her all sorts of questions and offering help with settling.  He could see his Alaine down on the shore playing with Tom and his family, as much a mess and laughing as gaily... 

  He could hear that laugh of hers, like a song, echoing up into the yard... 

  Owen drew a deep breath then exhaled deeply. 

  Tom and B'Elanna parted, rubbing their noses affectionately as Andre put his sandy hands around his mother's legs, burying his curly dark head in the skirt of her long tunic.  They looked down and smiled at him; he laughed back and said something, whereupon B'Elanna nodded and took Isabel. 

  Nudging him, she watched Tom take off after the other kids and laughed as he let out a battle cry.  At their eminent invasion, Alaine and Kiarn squealed with joy and scurried away.  At that, B'Elanna started back up to the yard with Andre in tow.  Her step was light, even in the slipping sand. 

  When she came to the steps and set the boy off a bit ahead of her, she looked up to Owen without surprise.  "Good morning," she said, leaning down to help Andre up a step.  Andre wasn't accustomed to stairs, and being tall for his age, he was rather clumsy. 

  "Good morning, B'Elanna," he returned, the glanced out to the shore.  "I might have imagined Tom would find the beach first thing." 

  B'Elanna grinned.  "It'd been so long," she told him, "and he'd never expected to see it again--the real thing, I mean.  When we woke up, he mentioned having a walk."  She then laughed and gave the admiral a careless shrug.  "But with three mobile children, I guess you know what that turns into.  --Andre, slow down, sweetheart." 

  "Okay, Mommy," he said and slowed down more to pick up and squish a ball of mud in his fist before moving on. 

  B'Elanna only shook her head. 

  As she followed her son up the steps, one by one, Owen also watched, amused.  "Funny how toddlers can find just about any mess they can get into." 

  "That just about says it," she agreed.  "But it's our third go on toddlers.  We're pretty used to it now.  When Alaine was his age, we were always worried she'd get sick from all the mess she used to make, until Jenna told us we were being 'typical first-timers.'"

  "I heard she'd been quite a help to you two." 

  "She was." 

  In the sudden lull of conversation, Owen glanced down to the boy again, making steady progress but curious about whatever his chubby hands could find in those steps.  Owen reminded himself to sweep them later. 

  "Andre Paris," he said thoughtfully.  "Nice ring to that.  Is it a name from your family?"

  B'Elanna looked up again.  "Andre?  No.  He's named for an old friend of ours." 

  Straightening as they finally came to the top of the steps, B'Elanna set Isabel in her waiting carrybed, then led her son to the old-fashioned water pump Tom had suggested.  As she pumped out some water into a clay basin below, grinning at Andre's amazement with the ancient device, she looked over the garden again. 

  "Tell me about him?"

  B'Elanna blinked and looked over at Owen.  "Who? Andre Rodrigo?"

  "Yes." 

  "He was one of our friends in the Maquis," she told him, taking in the slight wince that escaped the admiral, but not addressing it.  "A nicer guy you'd never have wanted to meet, really.  He was to have taken Tom's place on the Liberty after we left.  Tom trained him." 

  "Left?  But wasn't the Liberty destroyed in the Delta Quadrant?"

  "He wasn't with us.  He had to go home to his mother on Jaros-three." 

  "No, I mean, when you said you left the Liberty.  You and Tom...were planning to leave?"

  B'Elanna shrugged.  "I was pregnant with Alaine," she replied.  "Though we might not have planned to leave Avalar as soon, Tom and I planned to retire from the Maquis once I was at about four months.  Obviously, we never got to that point."  She stopped there, seeming to think of that for a moment, her eyes turning down.  But she shook herself from whatever had crossed her mind easily enough, then set herself back to washing her son.  "Anyway, that's where we got Andre's name.  --Right, Andre?

  "Wite!" chimed the boy as he dunked his hands again in the cool water, splashing them around. 

  But Owen wasn't finished.  "You would've stayed there--on that planet--knowing it was unsafe?"

  "It's home."  B'Elanna released the pump handle and Andre scooted off again.  Watching him, she added, "We would have left if the action had turned our way."  Turning, she took the handles of the carrybed in her strong fingers, turning a smile down to Isabel, who was kicking idly as she chewed on a stuffed animal, then out to her boy again.  "Andre, let's go inside and get you some dry clothes.  Come on, I mean it.  Go to the door and I'll open it." 

  "Get Mok'la?"

  "Yes, sweetheart, you can get Mok'la out, too.  Come on, now."  As her son dawdled there despite her call, B'Elanna turned a curious look to the admiral.  "You know, I still don't know what to call you.  Tom calls you Dad..."  She left the rest open for him. 

  "Whatever you're comfortable with, B'Elanna," he said generously.  "I don't have a preference.  Adam calls me Owen." 

  She nodded.  "Okay...Dad.  That feels all right for me." 

  Owen grinned, assenting.  But the smile faded slightly.  "I am sorry your father couldn't have been there last night.  I did send word via subspace." 

  B'Elanna drew a breath.  "It's nothing unusual, not having him around," she told him, not hiding her disappointment but resolved all the same, "and I could see why he would have accepted the study.  He couldn't have known then that we'd be back; even if I could have written him again in time, I wouldn't have asked him to wait around for us.  Besides, K'Karn said he might bring my mother to see me, so it's probably better he's not around right now." 

  "I will try to make some arrangements, however.  I know Captain Friedler and she would of course give him leave." 

  "Thanks.  But please don't do anything.  He knows where to find me--and how to ask for himself."

  Owen gave her a nod, yet still planned to send another request when it seemed appropriate to do so.  It was the least he could do, after not stopping the man from joining the Brydlrean Study, an ongoing project deep within the Beta Quadrant.  First thinking his neglected daughter was dead after receiving her letter, which had been more a closure for her than a reassurance for him, B'Elanna's father had then been unable to return a letter in time when Voyager made contact with Starfleet.  Finally believing that Voyager would not return for decades, the he had made sure he could be found while remaining occupied well away from the daily reminders of his own failures. 

  Understanding that need acutely, Owen had wished him well. 

  "Well," he finished, "the assignment will be for only another eighteen months.  Maybe then." 

  "We'll see.  Subspace is fine for now.  I've sent him some pictures."  B'Elanna let an appropriate pause pass, calling out to her son again and stretching out her hand, before changing the subject.  "Why don't you go out and play for a bit while I get Andre dressed and set Isabel down.  Bring Tom up in about ten minutes? I can get some coffee going and Tom will make breakfast." 

  "Tom will?"

  B'Elanna grinned.  "Oh, no.  Tom's definitely the cook in the house.  I'm hopeless." 

  "Now, that can't be true." 

  "No, I mean it.  All I can make that's not replicated is coffee and soup." 

  They had come to the back door, and Owen reached out to open it for her and the toddler, who immediately crawled up the steps and ran inside.  "That's odd," Owen said, furrowing his brow to recall his son's own words to him the night before.  "Tom told me you're quite the chef." 

  B'Elanna rolled her eyes and started inside.  "That idiot," she muttered.  "Go play with the other children, Dad." 

  He smiled for a moment after her as she continued inside, then realized what Tom had really meant when he extolled upon B'Elanna's extraordinary culinary skills.  Chuckling to himself, he looked westward once more. 

  The sound of the children's voices drew him back across the garden and through the yard.  Returning to the fence where he'd stood before, Owen was drawn in by the view all over again. 

  Tom was running landward, his daughter and son in giggling pursuit.  He swerved towards the water only to veer back, deflecting their dual assault before running to the grasses again.  Then, taking a dive, he crash-landed into a dune of sand, turning over only to be plundered by the four and six year olds. 

  Owen laughed as they did, but did not join them as B'Elanna had suggested.  Instead, he took a seat and watched for many minutes, trying not to wish again that Alaine were there, trying not to mourn her anew while Tom gleefully tickled the rambunctious youngsters, and teased and adored them as they rolled with laughter. 

  He tried to enjoy it more than his conscience wanted to allow--and succeeded.  He could feel his smile creasing his face, pressing his eyes.  So, this is freedom. 

  "Owen?"

  Still grinning, he turned and held up his hand to the woman who had come up behind him.  She took it, gave it a squeeze.  "Look who came home," he said proudly, gesturing with a jerk of his head. 

  "Yes, I see," Alynna smiled, accepting the seat beside him.  "I met B'Elanna inside and she told me you were out here.  She said to tell you coffee's on." 

  "She works fast," Owen commented with a nod. 

  "Yes.  Tom got himself quite a fine lady." 

  Below, the play continued.  The children were nearly out of breath for laughing and scrambling away from their father, who lunged after them, catching one before the other ran around and pounced on his back. 

  Alynna laughed.  "Good thing Tom's not lost an ounce of his energy." 

  "You should have seen their routine on Voyager," Owen told her.  "I was surprised they slept two hours a night.  They handle it pretty well, though.  Should be interesting to see how they get used to life off a ship." 

  "Have they made any plans?"

  "None that they've discussed with me.  But we haven't talked about that yet.  Too soon for that, too much catching up.  Not to mention their scout's at the Sonoma drydock pending further investigation." 

  Alynna drew a slow breath on that confirmation.  "How did they take that?"

  Owen paused.  "As well as can be expected, I suppose.  But they knew it would happen.  They were Maquis and so was their ship.  I think they're gladder that they didn't have terms to fight." 

  "Who's in charge of the inspection?"

  "Peozet.  He'll be thorough, but he's good at his job and fair enough." 

  Alynna sighed and moved to her feet.  "That doesn't make it any easier.  It's their ship..."  She cut herself off, shook her head to let it go.  "At least they're home.  The rest can be worked out.  I'll call Admiral Peozet, see if there's a way to speed it up." 

  Owen did not stand when she did, nor did he move when Tom below shooed the kids away for breakfast.  They scurried up the sandy steps, saying brief hellos and good mornings before passing both adults by to wash up in the pump.  Tom followed more slowly, but steadily as he saw who was waiting for him at the top. 

  In person again for the first time since his court martial, Alynna couldn't help but notice how handsome Tom Paris was, how healthy he looked and how much he was still like Alaine as he strew his fingers through his thinner but still scruffy hair. 

  "You need a haircut," Alynna told him devilishly as he climbed the stairs towards her. 

  Tom smiled warmly, bridging the distance between them to give her a kiss on the cheek and a firm hug.  "Good to see you too, Aunt Neckie." 

  Alynna laughed aloud as she squeezed him back.  "I can't believe you, Tom!"  She put him at an arm's distance, giving him a good look up close.  "Here you are all grown up and you still want to call me that?"

  He snickered.  "You'd prefer Alynna?"

  "Yes!  I hated that nickname...  Well, most of the time, I did.  You know your mother got you kids doing that to annoy me.  Anyway, you're too old for it now." 

  Tom gave a slow nod and seemed to think for a moment.  When he turned to his children, his grin curled to the side.  "Alaine, Kiarn? Come say hi to your Aunt Neckie." 

  Alaine giggled.  "Oh, I remember Aunt Neeeckie!" she sang out and giggled.  Taking the older woman's hand with a little nod and a full introduction, she then said politely, "A pleasure to meet you, Aunt Neckie." 

  Alynna rolled her eyes a little, but smiled genuinely.  "It's good to meet you too, Alaine--and you, Kiarn.  I've waited quite a while to meet the two of you."  She released the girl's hand and glanced at Owen, who was trying hard to hold himself out of stitches as the two children escaped to the back door. 

  "Neckie," he chortled, getting to his feet with some effort.  "I'd forgotten all about that." 

  "And I'd tried to," she returned dryly. 

  Tom watched Alynna smile after the children, noting how she followed Alaine so closely, almost sadly, then.  You bet she's got my mom's eyes, Tom told her silently when the admiral's lips turned up at his little girl's giggle.  "But just think, Alynna," he said, breaking her attention, "I have four kids--you'll never live it down, now." 

  "Four kids," she breathed, shaking her head with the irony as he took her arm to escort her in.  "Your mother would've been beside herself--loving every second of it." 

  "I hope somehow she is," Tom replied. 

  Alynna looked up at him, sincerely surprised at his half-told admission.  "You think?"

  Tom's mouth did not turn down, though his stare drifted slightly aside.  He gave her arm a squeeze.  "It's been a long time since we've known each other, if we ever really did." 

  She nodded.  "Yes.  I'm anxious to catch up, myself.  I can't stay long this morning, but maybe we can get together after dinner tonight?"

  "I'd like that." 

  Alynna grinned and nodded again, wondering if that would be true by the end of the night.

 

---

 

  "What?" B'Elanna breathed as her hand, holding her wineglass, slowly floated down to the well-waxed antique table.  She looked at Tom.  He looked back at her, mirroring her shock. 

  "Daddy, come pay wit us!" 

  Tom glanced back at his son.  "In a minute, Kiarn.  Why don't you get your puzzles ready and then I'll come." 

  "But you said--"

  "Listen to your father," B'Elanna told him.  "We're talking about something important to us.  Be patient.  Please."  The boy growled a little, but did return to his sister and little cousin.  A moment later, he was back into their game.  B'Elanna turned her stare back across the dinner table.  "Where are they?"

  "Danula-two, with his brother," Alynna answered, reminded of her own dislike of letting the Osols go there after the husband's release, even if it was the only permittable place where they had surviving family, which neither wanted to be without. 

  "Danula-two?" Tom breathed, shaking his head.  He knew the Academy extension base and the land around it.  "She must be miserable there.  Aside from the family, there's nothing there for them." 

  "He's got to be climbing the walls for things to do," B'Elanna agreed. 

  Owen leaned back in his chair when the conversation started, secretly damning his friend for bringing the matter up so soon.  Alynna had told him of her revised mission, begun several months after they had heard from Voyager in the Delta Quadrant, her work to have those who were unfairly convicted of treason during the war released and recompensed as well as possible.  It had resulted in some scandal for the Federation, but even Owen understood it was the right thing for her to do.  She'd had more than sixty sentences overturned for circumstantial evidence alone.  The case with the Osols was one of those cases. 

  However, to bring it up during Tom and his family's first real dinner at home...  Moira and Adam had come to cook and Kathleen took time out of her work to attend, too.  It was a real family dinner, the first they'd enjoyed since Tom was in the Academy. 

  The table and food had turned out beautifully and everyone had dressed well.  Even Tom had set aside that duster of his for a well-tailored suit, and B'Elanna had donned an attractive cocktail dress, pinned her thick hair into an elegant twist. 

  They talked about the children--the children talked a good deal--and his daughters caught their brother and sister-in-law up on everything that had happened with everybody since Tom left.  Tom explained his various positions he'd had on Voyager and B'Elanna answered questions about her engineering work and research.  In all, their conversations had been busy but relaxing, and reassuring for Owen that they indeed had begun again and well.  Then Alynna had to bring up that old business. 

  Well, they should know about their old friends, Owen corrected himself, but it would have been nice to keep the subjects at home tonight. 

  "But they are safe," Alynna continued.  "Their twins are about Alaine's age." 

  B'Elanna looked away, to the centerpiece of flowers Kathleen brought.  "We were planning to have our babies together," she told them.  "Her due date would have been a couple months after mine..."  A tiny grin twitched at her mouth.  "...and she said we'd both be clueless together.  We were both so nervous.  Well, no, she was more comfortable about it." 

  In the same quiet vein, Tom added, "And she got two in one her first time out.  I wonder how she bore them."  He smiled gently at his wife.  "I'd promised to help deliver them--though I think I was doing as much research as you two were." 

  "I remember!  All those PADDs we grabbed."  She shook her head, her grin again fading.  "Twins.  --What are their names?"

  Alynna needed a moment to recall it.  "Helen and Niscol." 

  "Niscol," Tom repeated thoughtfully.  "That was Azro's father's name." 

  Alynna grinned.  "They were lovely children--dark hair, big, maroon eyes." 

  "Like their father," B'Elanna said. 

  "And Starfleet took them away from their parents because...?"  Tom suddenly wanted to know.  His face had darkened with the seriousness of Alynna's confession. 

  Owen stiffened and glanced to his daughters.  They looked slightly uncomfortable, too, though the younger did look interested. 

  Suddenly realizing that she'd turned the night's topic on its ear, Alynna turned a quick look back to Owen.  "Maybe we should--"

  "Alynna," Tom cut in, recapturing the older woman's attention, "the Osols were our neighbors and good friends, as was everyone else on Avalar.  We want to know what happened to them.  A lot of that information is still classified, I know, but we still want to know what you can tell us." 

  B'Elanna also caught the admiral's eyes.  "We lost all our friends and everything we had that was ours that wasn't on the Marseilles.  We have a right to know.  Better we get it from you than some report." 

  The admiral sighed, set down her drink before looking plainly back to them.  You did start this, she told herself.  Might as well finish it, whether or not Owen likes it at his table. 

  "When the Cardassians overtook the DMZ with the Dominion's help," she told them, "some of the Maquis who'd managed to get away stopped through en route to the Federation border to collect what colonists were left on those worlds."  She did not flinch at Tom and B'Elanna's reactions, their pained expressions and off-cast gazes.  But she in some respect understood what they felt.  She had seen a similar look greet her at the Habnor Penal Facility.  "Your friends were found in one of the Maquis bunkers on Bianlos-three.  --You remember it?"  Both nodded numbly.  "When they were found, she was helping to organize supplies, and he was found outside guarding the perimeter and sending a coded message to one of the Maquis captains.  At the time, the Federation was scrambling for its own defenses and the proper time to separate the innocent from the guilty wasn't always taken.  They were imprisoned for treason and terrorism, their children sent into temporary custody.  The Osols claimed their innocence, but things were busy then and getting worse by the day.  I know it sounds uncaring--"

  "We read about the war with the Dominion from the Disraeli's files," B'Elanna stated. 

  "Good," Alynna replied, sincerely glad she didn't have to go into that part of it.  It was even more unpleasant than what she was already explaining.  "To make a long story short, a couple months later, I came across the formal protest Mrs.  Osol had written.  I recognized the name of your world, got curious and looked into the matter.  I discovered that all of those in the Bianlos bunker had actually been colonists from Avalar and Jinara, dropped off there for their safety.  They were only defending themselves from what they thought was a Cardassian attack, but had never committed direct treason." 

  Tom and B'Elanna were quiet, taking slow, deep breaths to retain their composure.  Their turning eyes, shared glances, seemed both to picture the scenes, like remembering the field of battle, the horrors of a war they once lived very close to and fought vigorously.  They seemed to see with that small explanation every moment of their friends' fate, and the fates of the others. 

  The more they seemed to think about that, the more they paled in the table's warm candlelight. 

  "Excuse me," B'Elanna said and stood. 

  Tom followed without a word, taking her arm gently, leading her out into the hall. 

  When Alynna's eyes met Owen's again, they were full of her apology.  His mouth twitched downward and his eyes turned away. 

  "Oh God, Tom...poor Isabel," B'Elanna's echo was heard soon after, and then Tom's thick reply, "I know," before their voices faded down the hall. 

  At the table, the remaining diners hardly looked at each other, except for the poorly pleased stare between the admirals.  Kathleen picked up her fork, but did not eat.  Adam drew a long sip of his wine, glancing back at the children.  Finally, Moira stood with a polite grin to them all.  "I'll just see if they're all right," she told them kindly and left as well, gesturing to her son in the adjoining room to stay put. 

  Moira didn't have to go far.  They were sitting on the velvet bench on the far end of the hall, hands clasped together.  B'Elanna was shaking her head numbly; Tom's eyes were lost on the floor.  Lost in their own world.  She was almost surprised to see them there.  She'd half expected Tom to leave the house.  The children, she then reminded herself. 

  Seeing his sister's feet tentatively nearing, Tom only looked up to the opposite wall.  Possibly a hundred different memories flashed behind his eyes as he regarded that bare view.  A minute later, he opened his mouth. 

  "Where'd all the pictures go?"

  Caught off guard, Moira had to actually look at the wall before remembering.  "Oh, Mom took them down--ripped them down, really, when she had that fight with Dad." 

  "When she and Dad separated?" he asked. 

  "Well, it was a pretty big fight," she said, then realized her brother didn't know the details.  "Mom got a little overzealous and trashed the hall--tore everything off of it.  It took a few weeks to get all the glass up.  Every time we thought we had it all, we'd see another shard." 

  Tom grinned sadly.  "I always wondered what would happen when she finally blew her top.  She never did around us.  Held it in." 

  B'Elanna breathed a slight, ironic laugh.  "Like mother, like son." 

  He squeezed her leg.  "What'd they fight about?" Tom asked

  "You," Moira answered honestly.  "It'd been a lot of things building up, but Mom told me she just couldn't take him cutting you out of the family after the court martial.  It was the final straw."  She turned to face them, leaning on the still wall, crossing her arms.  "I was pretty pissed off with you, then." 

  "I was pretty pissed off with myself, too." 

  "I'm not anymore." 

  "Neither am I."  He looked up at her.  "Fact is, I haven't been in a long while." 

  "Yes.  You've grown, all right, but you're still angry."  She eyed him.  "You're still that rebel, a Maquis, aren't you? You're still angry with Starfleet." 

  "You expect me not to be?" he asked.  "It's one thing to arrest and hunt down the Maquis.  Though that was worthless of them, I can understand it.  But the colonists there, they'd survived so much...  If you knew the Osols, or anyone else on Avalar, you'd feel like I do.  The other atrocities that happened out there...No, I won't go into that.  Not now." 

  "If you'd been here," Moira countered, "you'd have seen how paranoid and frightened people were.  Earth was almost invaded, Tom; they attacked at one point.  The war was hard on everyone." 

  "In other words," B'Elanna said quietly, "Starfleet had to become like the people they'd put down." 

  "We were defending ourselves." 

  "That's how the Maquis formed, too," Tom returned, but then sighed.  "But there's no sense in debating it.  I hate talking about policy--one thing about me that'll never change.  All I'm saying is that B'Elanna and I have the right to be angry about our comrades and about the colonies.  The Osols and those others were not Maquis--you can take our word for that.  They were supportive because the Maquis were the only people who'd defend them on their own ground.  But they never fought until they had to for their immediate survival.  You would've done the same." 

  "I guess."  She allowed the pause to sit, a little concerned by her brother's seriousness.  Only an hour ago, he'd been buoyant and charming, a father and a husband glad to see his family again.  With but a mention of their friends in the former Demilitarized Zone, he and his wife had become quiet and determined...almost as if they were there again, in the war.  The problem was, it suited them as much as their other mood had. 

  Tom sighed.  "I'm sorry, Moira.  I don't expect you understand what happened out there.  B'Elanna and I found out just before we got back that Avalar is off limits.  We can't go back." 

  "Really?" Again, she was a little surprised.  "I wonder why." 

  "Because," B'Elanna said, training herself down even as she spoke, "since the Federation reclaimed the DMZ, they didn't want old loyalties to form between the 'former' Maquis and colonists.  They want to keep the area clear of any activity." 

  Tom laughed bitterly.  "The official reason is because Starfleet wants to provide an unofficial buffer between the regions.  Avalar's only one light year away from the Federation--and more than three times that from Cardassian space.  Even the Romulan Neutral Zone's only a light year across." 

  "Maybe in time, they'll change..."  But Moira stopped as soon as both looked to disagree. 

  "We have no home, Moira," B'Elanna stated sadly, plainly.  "We made one on Voyager thinking we'd be there a very long time.  We never expected to be able to get back to Avalar when we got back without some arrangements.  But we wanted to try, hoped we could go home." 

  "Some people had tried," Tom added, "but they were removed." 

  "In a way, it's worse than thinking it's under Cardassian occupation."  B'Elanna smirked.  "Then, at least we'd know it was unsafe and stupid to risk going back.  Now it's safe, but Starfleet's still punishing us for wanting to be there, to stay there." 

  "I don't think they're punishing you," Moira said. 

  "But it feels like it," Tom returned. 

  Again, his sister paused, wondering if to ask would even make any sense, or of they'd even know...  "But at least you are free to move somewhere.  You can make a home anywhere as long as your heart's in it." 

  B'Elanna grinned.  "Why don't you pick up and go to an available colony?  --I'm serious." 

  "So am I."  Moira moved to sit beside her.  Her eyes were not accusatory, rather was curious.  "I want to understand you--especially you, Tom.  I couldn't imagine you wanting to live on some rugged outback colony.  Maquis pilot was easier to understand than that." 

  "Answer B'Elanna's question and I'll tell you." 

  "Why I don't leave Earth?  It's simple, really.  This is my home." 

  "And Avalar's ours." 

  "But you were there only a few months before you ended up on Voyager.  You can't tell me that Avalar was any more a home than San Francisco was.  You grew up here." 

  Tom grinned, shook his head again.  "No.  I was born and raised here.  I didn't grow up for a long time after that.  --I know what you meant, Moira.  But...we were wanted and needed there at the time.  None of the colonists really cared who we were or what we'd done before.  Everybody was starting over, and being a part of that was really satisfying.  I never belonged to San Francisco, or Earth.  I always wanted to get away.  Avalar was the first place I'd ever wanted to remain, for the rest of my life, with my wife and kids and...forever." 

  "Can't you find that at Oslon?"

  "Maybe," he admitted. 

  Moira turned her head from side to side, then even more amazed at her brother's simple, unrepentant resolve.  "Of all people to find a place and settle down--you'd be the last person I'd have suspected.  Even after reading your letter to Dad those years ago, I'd always imagined you as moving." 

  "Considering what I used to be like, that's not surprising," Tom replied, letting his stare roam the empty wall again.  "I don't know if I could put it into words.  You'd have had to be there.  I mean, we were running back and forth, from the Liberty--Chakotay's ship--and Avalar, for only about three months."  His eyes turned away, down to his wife's hand, still entwined with his.  "I once told Kathryn Janeway that I'd packed a lot of real life into a little time.  That was an understatement.  The longest B'Elanna or I spent in either place at one time was those last couple of weeks we were there.  Usually it was only a few days, then we'd head back to the Liberty for a few days..." 

  "To fight more," Moira said. 

  "To do whatever Chakotay needed us to do," B'Elanna clarified; then she grinned, "which was mainly keeping that decrepit bucket in one piece." 

  Tom laughed.  "Boy, do I remember those conversations." 

  "You should.  I let everyone know about it."  Still grinning, B'Elanna looked at Moira again.  "Like Tom said, we don't expect you to understand.  Sometimes I don't understand how we came to feel so strongly about it.  I was never 'given to the land,' so to speak, before we got there, either.  But somehow..." 

  B'Elanna stopped mid-sentence, perking her ear towards the stairs.  A few seconds later, the echo of a peal sounded and she stood up.  "I'll be back." 

  "We should be getting the other kids down, soon, too," Tom told her, standing from the bench when B'Elanna turned to go up the stairs for Isabel. 

  Moira nodded as well.  "Yes, Brian's also well past his bedtime.  I'll put him down on Kathleen's bed 'till it's time to go, because I still want to talk to you about this." 

  "Okay," Tom said.  "But I don't know if Dad's up to it yet.  He seems like he wants to avoid all that." 

  "What do you expect?" Moira queried.  "You're a high-ranking Maquis with a lot of experience and he's an admiral with as much pride in his his way of life." 

  "I won't push him, Moira.  Talking about it with him right now would only make him uncomfortable.  I don't think he's ready to go that far.  He sure wasn't on Voyager." 

  "Well, I still want to know." 

  He took her arm as they headed back to the dining room.  Just like Mom, he thought, grinning affectionately at her, knowing she truly did only want to know them.  That was enough for him.  "Ask me some other time and I promise to tell you." 

  She smiled.  "I'll hold you to that, you know." 

  "Yeah, you will.  I haven't forgotten how nosy you are."  Without another word, he went back into the other room, explaining B'Elanna's absence, then went to play puzzles, as promised, with his children. 

  A couple hours later, after the children were down, as the adults settled themselves in the living room, sharing the quiet and calm, it was almost like the Maquis subject had not even been broached.  Moira, upon seeing how her father had indeed cheered again with the return of the earlier evening's family-related conversation, remained patient and let the time pass. 

  But the more she looked at her brother, his easy but quiet demeanor, the more she had to force that patience upon herself. 

  The topics turned from Tom's medical training to Moira's latest medical paper for the Hebner Journal.  Kathleen brought up one of her students who was aspiring for medical school and asked if Moira would like to talk to him.  Then it was back to the children again, about their schooling and different programs at the colonies.  They spoke of home schooling, which to a degree had been Alaine and Kiarn's education to that point. 

  From there, the conversation quieted naturally; Moira waited still.  Owen looked over at the clock.  Alynna continued to sip at her wine.  She passed a compliment to Kathleen, who'd replicated the bottle.  Adam's eyes fell on a painting by the front window.  Tom and B'Elanna had curled up in their seat, content to have the stillness.  Moira watched them. 

  Their fingers were loosely entwined; his arm was draped around her.  Tom did look older--and of course, he should after nine years.  But there were creases in his well-taught eyes that she didn't quite expect, a turn to his mouth that held so many words, poised to be expressed but willingly contained behind a certain sagacity she couldn't quite place. 

  Actually, Moira thought him more handsome than he had been when younger, and he was gentler still when he looked at his wife, B'Elanna, who was far friendlier than anyone expected and was just as reserved as Tom had become.  She had surprised Moira a little, too, with her grace and easiness--though the younger Paris sister did not doubt for an instant that the petite half-Klingon engineer had at least as much strength as her brother.  Four children in seven years with a busy career on Voyager was enough to cement that idea in Moira's head. 

  Yet there, on the ivory brocade sofa, B'Elanna looked as pampered and good-natured as a lady could be, snuggled up in Tom's arm, sharing a silence and contentment belonging only to those who had seen so much and survived, as they both had. 

  So Moira continued to wait. 

  Finally, the admiral pushed himself to stand. 

  "I've got an early start tomorrow, so I think I'll turn in," he told them and again praised his daughters for dinner.  "See you in the morning, Tom, B'Elanna." 

  "Sleep well, Dad," Tom said, echoed by B'Elanna, unmoved in his arm. 

  "Alynna." 

  "Good night, Owen," she said, setting down her glass.  "I think I'll be leaving soon, too." 

  "See you at HQ tomorrow, then."  With one more salutation to his son-in-law, the admiral walked quietly out, allowing himself a yawn as he left.  The thrum of his steps could be heard in the hall, then the creak of the stairway banister when he used it to pull himself off the landing, then his slow, rhythmic ascent. 

  Moira grinned, turning her brightened stare to her brother.  He caught it--and caught on.  A minute later, when she heard her father's footsteps fading off in the upstairs hallway, she spoke again. 

  "Okay, Tom.  Dad's gone.  I'm asking." 

  B'Elanna looked at her.  "About what?"

  "She wants to know about Avalar," Tom said then glanced around the room. 

  Across the table, Alynna's gaze had awoken, and she took up her wineglass again.  Sitting on the floor before the coffee table, Kathleen's brows raised with curiosity.  Though not so much so, Adam, too, turned his attention back to the center of the room. 

  "We haven't heard many inside accounts about life on the colonies during that time," he said. 

  B'Elanna continued to eye her younger sister-in-law.  "Do you really want to hear about this?  I mean, to Tom and I, we accepted and wanted the life we had then.  But at the time, you and I would have been enemies." 

  Moira nodded.  "I know--and I promise not to play court.  I just want to know what happened to you out there.  Please?"

  Tom considered it one more time, looking at his sister's earnest face.  If anyone would understand, would really want to...  He laughed quietly.  "God, what first? So much was happening then." 

  "I remember your letter to Dad," Moira told him.  "The first one.  I read it to him and Kathleen." 

  "Good.  I'd rather not have to explain that again." 

  Her stare drawing down, B'Elanna knew what else thankfully shouldn't be rehashed.  She knew, however, it would come up again if they went through with Moira's request.  But Tom seemed willing enough, and though she was no storyteller, she never minded remembering that time, in spite of it all.  They could keep their hopes alive in few others ways just then, and she needed that hope once again, now more than ever. 

  So, she drew the first breath, smiling wistfully...

  (continued)

 

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