Irremission
by D'Alaire
March to August, 1998

---

 

 

Irremission

 

 

Thoughts
 

Stardate 51499

  Even the misty sunset could not brighten his features.  He knew of a time when it could, when he walked beside that beautiful, loving creature.  She would skip about the skirt of a wave, laughing, hair blowing in the breeze, begging him to run with her.  He never did, said he'd watch from there.  He wondered why he couldn't bring himself to.  But he did covet her fancy, appreciate how the setting sun lit her features in such a way, even restrained himself from telling her her dress was getting ruined from the water and sand.  She darted about in such a way that reminded him why he fell in love with her, why he married her. 

  But she was gone, much too soon.  In the home he'd made for her, she managed to find a way to leave him behind, to leave him to grow old without her; to always wonder what might have been, to regret never having followed her into the water.  He hated her freedom.  He hated that he could never have been more like her.  Her liberty had been her gift--and his curse.  It was always her way to be running ahead, leaving him to watch and to wait...powerless.  Old.  Alone. 

  As the sun nestled itself into the sea, as its colors flowed in behind it, he watched, very still.  His eyes showed no emotion, his thin mouth was straight.  He took an even breath, slowly filling his lungs with the moist air, then let it out with no greater effort. 

  What should I say?

  The tide was coming in, and he remembered watching them run along the shore together, dancing without pattern or purpose.  Why that had so disturbed him was still a mystery, though he could recall some of the words, something about discipline and society and future purposefulness.  It was for love, for the future, for their son.  He'd truly thought his actions would reflect his intentions. 

  So he stated his position, made his suggestions and watched her pretty features pale.  Her arguments were valid, her anger and tears real, but he was persuasive, knew what he was doing would be good for their boy in the long run.  In the end, she relented.  He regretted that too.  Too much. 

  But revenge was gotten on her side, for the child he had molded broke free despite all his best intentions.  He never saw, or wanted to see, how much their son belonged to his mother.  He was ignorant of her deeper influence.  As though her soul had broken free of death, Alaine Paris reclaimed what was hers all along, restoring her broken child's spirit.  It would not be restrained again. 

  And just like his mother, the son had gotten the last word--now twice. 
 
 

51474:  Nine days ago

  "Thank you Alaine."

  Alaine watched, her wide blue eyes full of pride.  Her mother had accepted the blanket she'd brought with warm thanks and a kiss on the cheek.  Alaine liked to help her parents with the baby whenever she thought they needed it. 

  "Mommy, Kin goin' bed soon?"

  "Soon, sweetheart," she confirmed, draping the blanket over the infant and her arm as she guided the newborn to her breast. 

  "And so will you," Tom said quietly as he came into the living room with a book in hand.  He grinned and motioned to the couch, to which Alaine hurried, anxious for her story.  After helping B'Elanna sit beside their daughter, Tom seated himself on her other side and opened the first page.

  "Once upon a time," he read, and Alaine snuggled up beside him, "there was a prince who was not happy, and so he sought the advice of a sage.  The wise old man answered that happiness was a difficult thing to find in the world...."

  B'Elanna watched her husband read the ancient tale.  Though she had heard it many times by then, it had come to be one of her favorites, too--perhaps sometimes because she knew it was short.  She liked it even more when she got him to break down and read it in the original.  He had such an expressive voice and in French even more so, at least to her ear.  But it was as easy to get Tom to speak French as it was to get her to speak Klingon, so B'Elanna knew to appreciate the rare times he did fall out of his native tongue. 

  Still, she liked the story in any fashion, liked how Alaine's eyes followed the pictures so intently as he elaborated on the tale, turned the page slowly as Alaine's face lit with expectation, how she asked questions and how Tom answered with heartfelt animation.  She could see him reading the story to Kiarn someday.  By then, Tom will probably have perfected it, she smiled to herself, nestling herself close to Alaine while caressing her nursing son. 

  It was not too late when they finally got their children to their respective beds, so the parents returned to the couch to relax together.  Still mindful of the routine, they were well aware that they would have only a few hours to rest before Kiarn awoke.  Making the most of their time, Tom pulled B'Elanna into his arms, reclining into the pillows.  She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes and smiled when he tenderly kissed her forehead.  She leaned up to have another, sighing contentedly as he pressed his lips to hers, then again as both drew deep breaths.

  He grinned and caressed her cheek with a finger.  "If we weren't ready to collapse, I'd ravish you, Miss Torres."

  "I dare you to beat me to it," she returned, sharing his tired laugh.  It had been nearly a month since they had made love, and as it had been around the time of Alaine's birth, they had begun to count the hours until they could be rested and unoccupied enough to resume their usual activities.  That would happen soon enough, but both knew it wasn't going to happen on that night.  So, B'Elanna languidly finished his third kiss and resumed her former position, snuggling her cheek in the nook of his shoulder.  Her eyes closed again.  "Do you think we'll be able to make it for breakfast tomorrow?"  she whispered.

  "If you're up to it," Tom replied.  "Kiarn should be all right.  I don't think breakfast would be too tiring for any of us.  Was Alaine asking?"

  "Actually, it was Neelix's idea," B'Elanna said.  "He says everyone's anxious to see Kiarn, but they won't dare visit."  Nuzzling herself further into his embrace, sleep was coming very close.  She took a deep breath and let it go.  "If we get some sleep, we'll go, then."

  "Okay."  Tom continued to hold her, feeling one muscle after another slacken beneath his arms, her slight weight become heavier.  He, too, began to relax against the soft pillows, felt his eyes get heavy.  Certainly, he had not been the one to give birth, but being a light sleeper, he had been up as often as B'Elanna had, helping her with what he could and doing his best to give Alaine attention when B'Elanna couldn't.  Thankfully, he was a little more used to being up at night, so his mood hadn't suffered for it yet.  In truth, the activity helped him settle back down.

  "Tom?"  she whispered, barely awake. 

  "Yes, B'Elanna?"

  A pause, then.  Her fingers traced little circles on his shirt.  "Do you think they were happy to get our letters--that hearing we're alive is a good thing?"

  Tom nestled his cheek against her hair.  "I don't know.  I hope so."

  She paused, feeling her husband's stillness despite his slightly increased heartbeat.  "Do you think we...Do you think they've forgiven us?"

  "It's been a long time.  I want to believe they have."

  "Me too," B'Elanna sighed. 

  "It's not knowing that makes it as hard as it is."

  She nodded with her eyes alone.  "I think so, too."

  The thought was disturbing her, he knew.  It disturbed him too.  He could feel her shoulders tense slightly, feel her unconsciously clasp his shirt.  Tom's mouth curled into a little grin as he peeked down at her.  Then, he whispered, "Il y avait une fois un prince qui n'était pas heureux."

  On his chest, he felt her smile.  He took a silent breath, closed his eyes.  "Il alla consulter un vieux derviche.  Le sage vieillard lui répondit que le bonheur était chose difficile trouver en ce monde..."

  He stroked her dark hair, tracing the curls over her shoulder.  The words came easily to his unpracticed tongue, the story flowing out from one line to the next as if by nature.  "...Peine inutile.  Il n'en est pas plus heureux..."

  He glanced down to her as he continued.  B'Elanna's eyes were almost closed; her smile was relaxed.  Tom leaned his head against hers.  "'Voilà pourtant un homme qui possède le bonheur,' se dit-il.  '-Es-tu heureux?' -- 'Oui,' a dit l'autre. -- 'Tu ne désirez rien?' -- 'Non.'"

  Tom smiled to himself, gazing down to their entwined arms.  "'Tu ne changerais pas ton sort pour celui d'un roi?'"  he breathed, watching her small fingers clutch slightly at his sleeve.  "'Jamais de la vie...'"

  She had stilled completely then; her small breaths warmed his collar.  Grinning to himself, he pulled his head up slightly to look at her face.  Softly, he kissed her forehead. 

  She was asleep.  Soon after, he was too. 
 
 

49134:  2.4 years ago

  "Sorry to disturb you, Admiral."

  "Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?"  Willing down the corners of his mouth, he was amused to know that even after so many years, he could make them shake a little.  It was but an odd little pleasure he never took too seriously. 

  The young lieutenant--How was this child promoted so quickly?--stepped fully into the office, a PADD in his hand.  "This came in for you an hour ago, Admiral.  It was hand delivered from a Bajoran trade ship and inspected.  Admiral Nechayev cleared it and asked me to bring it to you, sir."

  "Admiral Nechayev did, did she?"  Admiral Paris gestured to an empty space on his desk and gave the young man a nod.  "Very well, you may leave it here."

  Once the lieutenant completed his duty, the older man dismissed him.  With but a glance at the typically Bajoran datapad, he continued his work, wanting to finish his report before distracting himself with what was probably another request for a visit from the Bajoran Government.  His dealings with the Cardassians made him a desirable guest.  But Owen Paris did not much care for ruminating.  He had enough work to do.  He had enough to think about. 

  "Nechayev to Paris," came a woman's voice over the comm.

  He did not look up.  "Yes, Alynna, I received the PADD."

  "You're busy, I suppose."  Her tone was flat.

  "Yes."

  "Owen, you're not too busy to look at this one.  I think you need to read it."

  "Were it a priority, you would have called me before."  A pause.  The admiral grinned.  "I'm not going, if that's what you're asking."

  "Going?  You haven't even looked at it, have you?  No, it's not a priority, not officially.  It's of a personal nature....If you need to talk later, I'm willing.  Nechayev out."

  She couldn't talk, wherever she was, he correctly guessed.  Nechayev had a plainness about her manner that he both recognized and appreciated.  She was never cryptic unless she needed to be.  But something had bothered her enough to check in on him.

  Admiral Paris shook his head and put a pause on his report.  He then reached across the desk for the PADD, accessing its data with a thump of his thumb as he brought it closer.  Then he saw the portrait; at first he almost didn't recognize...  Without thinking, he glanced through the hand-written words just below it--
 
 

Stardate 48286         Dear Dad,     How do I begin?  I've been sitting here for twenty minutes, trying to find the right words.  But I've learned that sometimes you just have to start without thinking too much about how it'll be taken.  So I'll start with what I'm thinking and take it from there.     I've learned a lot of things, Dad, since the last time we met.  But considering where I am now and what I'm doing, I think it's right to let you know what's happened to me.  You deserve the chance to understand.     I want you to know that I'm not the same scared, angry and--yes--drunk kid that left Earth two years ago.  A lot of things have changed.

 

  The admiral froze.  His eyes found the portrait again. 

  He remembered Alaine...her smile, her eyes, staring up to him... 

  The hand that held the PADD began to tremble.  Slowly, deliberately, he put the PADD aside, picked up the status report.  But the words he'd read already echoed in his mind, in his son's voice; the portrait had already burnt itself into his memory.  The report in his hand slowly found his desk again.

  Unwillingly, he remembered it all. 

  Now there was more. 

  He stood from his desk and moved to the window.  Peering down at the people walking on their way, he fought to control his shaking hands, clasping them tightly behind his back, fighting to push those words, that image, away.  His efforts were futile. 

  "Damnit, Tom," he whispered, his eyes unconsciously drifting upwards, "why?"
 
 

---

 

Remembrance

48491:  7.4 months ago

  "You didn't see him at Avalar," he said softly, running his thick, worn fingers around the middle of the nearly drained coffee cup.  He was hunched over, just a little, as if a bit too much weight had been resting on him for a little too long.  He was tired--as were they all--and the personal responsibility he felt to settle his comrades in their new home remained one person away from being over. 

  Again, "You didn't see him at Avalar."

  Despite the quiet assuredness in his voice, the varied memories inspired by that place cast an ironic grin upon his lips.  "I admit when I met him, I didn't think much of him; he didn't think much of himself."  He paused, catching his new captain's steely stare.  "I didn't know him then, none of us really did, except Jenna.  Captain, there was more to him than any of us expected.  We were too busy to see past appearances at first, past our own struggles.  None of us understood...."

  His words drifted off, caught up in the recent past.  Words seemed redundant then and would have been had his audience been aware of what the memory actually involved.  As if realizing this, his eyes drifted back to the captain's.  "Give him a chance.  Don't waste time despising him for his past--"

  "Like you did?"  the captain countered, her quick wit ready to feel out the weaknesses of the opposing argument, certain there was a weakness there, aside from the fact that she still had the final say on the issue.

  The challenge was accepted with a sober nod.  "Like I did," he admitted.  "Which isn't to say he hadn't made mistakes, punished himself for them more than he ever deserved, more than any officer or Maquis could--and took it out on everyone, especially himself."  An inward flick of his lips followed that confession.  "He'd be the first to own that."

  "I don't think I'm ready to entrust my ship to Mister Paris' skills just yet, Commander."

  Feigning ignorance, the demoted captain caressed the cup again.  "The standard sentence for treason is generally six to eighteen months.  How long does an admiral's son get?  Life?"

  "That was uncalled for, Chakot--"

  "That's how long we'll be here," he interjected.  "You need a pilot, and he's the best we've got.  Are you going to let him waste his education and ability in hydroponics or refitting the navigation array for the rest of our journey?  You accepted B'Elanna in spite of your engineer's broken nose and her own past and already she's earned the respect of her staff--and your respect, because you gave her the chance to prove herself.  Why not Paris?"  He finally bore his eyes directly into hers, unblinking.  "I know you served with his father, and I understand how service under a great commander breeds unflinching loyalty.  But Tom Paris is not his father's son."

  She almost grinned at that painful irony.  "That much is evident."

  "But I also know how difficult it is to be a son who can't, for whatever reason, live up to his father's expectations.  Of course, my father wasn't an admiral who publicly broadcast his ambitions."  Thinking for a moment, he continued, "Think of it like this:  If the Maquis had not been officially outlawed; if, just say, the Federation supported the Maquis in the most covert way it could and you ended up out here with us when you were only trying to replenish our supplies, would you have reacted to the admiral's estranged son any differently?"

  "I don't understand where you're going with this."

  "I'm only trying to see where your prejudice lies, Captain."

  "He's turned his back on Starfleet protocols once."

  "And admitted his errors."

  "How can I trust it won't happen again?"

  "How can you trust any of us?"  he returned and set his cup on the table.  "All I'm asking is that you give him as fair a chance as everyone else, that you don't judge him too quickly.  You've said that you never met him before we got here, but knew his record.  Official records paint only in black and white."  He grinned, more readily that time despite his frustration.  "And Tom's the grayest person I've had the honor of knowing."  The smile fell when he heard no response to that.  "Maybe I'm asking too much of you, but I know it's not an impossible task.  If you could get to know B'Elanna, you have a fair chance of getting to know Tom."

  "Only a fair chance?"

  "I never said he was the easiest person to know, and not for a lack of friendliness.  Congeniality is natural to him.  Getting beyond that is the challenge--and the reward.  Give yourself the opportunity to get to know him.  If anything, then for your life, you owe him at least that much."

  For the first time since their conversation began, the captain's eyes softened--a bit.  "Dismissed," she said quietly, then added in afterthought, "please."  A nod was the only reply. 

  The hum of ship's systems reasserted itself in the room when the new first officer rose to stand.  He almost spoke again, but closed his mouth before she turned his way.  Turning in two steps, he hardly made sound crossing the room, so little so that the hiss of the door was a shock to the silence. 

  Captain Janeway shot her gaze to the hole in the door as it shut upon itself.  "For my life," she whispered, and bore the returning silence for less than a minute.  "Computer, where is Mister Paris?"

  "Thomas Paris is in sickbay," came the reply. 

  Getting to her feet, taking a breath then exhaling it completely, Janeway exited her ready room and found Commander Chakotay at his station.  She stopped at his knee and paused only enough to look at him through the corner of her eye.  "I've never been one to leave a debt unpaid," she said and continued on to the turbolift.  She closed her eyes for a moment once the doors closed.

     But opening her eyes, telling the computer her destination, she felt her better senses begin to reel. I have to be out my mind for considering this!  she thought, shaking her head.  How can I trust a man who turned his back on Starfleet, on his father, who had only just lost his wife?  A man that jokes about his exploits.  Maybe he found some sort of life in the Maquis, but there's no excuse for...

  The turbolift doors opened and the Ensign Kim entered.  The young man turned his eyes down, perhaps too politely.  "Captain."  The doors shut. 

  "Where are you headed, Ensign?"

  "Oh," he said, looking up as if to make eye contact with the computer instead, "Sickbay.  Thank you, Captain."  The eyes went down again as soon as the turbolift resumed its course. 

  "Not feeling well?"

  "No, Captain.  I wanted to look in on Lieutenant Paris."

  "Lieutenant Paris?"

  "I guess she's still being affected by what happened to us on Ocampa.  Tom--Mister Paris, I mean--was worried that it might happen."

  "He does seem to be protective of her."

  "Yes, Captain."

  Still trying not to be too obtrusive, she studied Ensign Kim.  The young man put up a standard, but unconvincing front.  Though not bad for a beginner, she smiled to herself.  "You've gotten to know them since they came aboard."

  Kim nodded.  "Yes, Captain.  They've become friends."

  "Yes."  When the doors opened again and they exited, she maneuvered herself so that she would walk beside him, even as she fought the temptation to question him.  Kim often had breakfast with the Parises and worked with B'Elanna quite a bit in engineering as they continued their repairs on Voyager.  When the couple chose to eat in public, he usually sat with them while B'Elanna, as always, picked at her food and her infamous husband mercilessly teased Neelix about health hazards.  Tom Paris, she had to admit, helped them get that food, but that attitude... She wondered what kind of influence they would have on the ensign. 

  Spotting the doors to sickbay, she reminded herself,  It's going to take time before we get comfortable with each other.  But maybe Chakotay's right.  I should at least try to look at this more neutrally, even if Mr. Paris is little help.  We're going to be here a while after all.... 

  She drew a deep breath as the doors swished open, more secure in knowing she had at least one decent reason for going through with Chakotay's request.  She knew already that the man would give her no peace if she didn't at least try, and in their situation, they needed as much peace as they could afford, as long as it didn't compromise her basic demands.  With that in mind, she straightened and propelled herself forward.

  She and Kim stopped as soon as they entered. 

  "Damnit, why won't you tell me what's going on?!"

  "I haven't completed my scan, Lieutenant.  Please try to relax."

  "You relax."

  Her chief engineer, already a model of forthrightness and iron-clad nerve, was trying not to cry.  The former Maquis pilot was caressing the crown of her hair, which had come loose from her on-duty knot and was bunched up around her shoulders.  He kissed her cheek tenderly, whispered something.  Her small, strong hand clutched his arm as she nodded.  He pulled up to steadily gaze into her wet eyes.  "The Doctor's doing everything he can," he said, "and so will I.  You have to believe that, B'Elanna.  You have to believe it'll be okay."

  "What the Lieutenant has to do is rest," said the Doctor crisply. 

  "No!  I want Tom with me," B'Elanna said firmly, then shot her gaze to Tom.  "You won't go."

  "No way I'm leaving," he said, a piece of his cocky grin displayed for her benefit alone, "not with this Casanova and all his tools."  Pleased that his sarcasm could still produce a little smile, he turned his attention back to the EMH.  "Why don't you work on that treatment, Doc?  I'll do my part and stay out of your way."

  "She needs rest."

  "She also needs me right now, so I'm not moving."

  "Mister Paris--"

  "This is ridiculous!  You're wasting all this time over my staying with my wife.  Don't you think there are more important things you should be doing?"

  "You are distracting my patient."

  B'Elanna snarled a breath and almost rose, but Tom caressed her shoulder back to the biobed.  "And you're allowing yourself to be distracted from your immediate duty.  Which do you think is worse?"  His smirk in place, he held his footing and his stare.  The Doctor blinked, then turned to his console with a huff of impatience.  Tom turned back to his main concern and leaned over her with as tender a voice as before.  "Arrogance doesn't guarantee stupidity," he told her.  "If there's a way, he'll find it."

  "Maybe this is my fault," she whispered.  "Maybe we should have gone away like we'd planned.  Even Chakotay said we might, though he needed us, that it'd be easier."

  "Shhh, be quiet.  We came to a compromise, remember?  I don't regret that.  We couldn't have foreseen what that thing would do to you, much less winding up out here in the first place."

  "Oh God, Tom, I didn't know how much I wanted it until now!  I did before, but now..."

  As the pilot leaned over his wife again, embracing her, Captain Janeway leaned towards Harry.  "Do you know what they're talking about, Ensign?"

  Kim nodded, swallowed hard.  "Kes told me she might lose it."

  "Lose what?"

  He turned to her, suddenly ignorant of the respectful distance he'd held.  "You didn't know?"  he queried.  She turned her head once in the negative.  "The Doctor didn't call you?" 

  The captain shook her head again.  "I came on another matter."

  Harry accepted that with a nod.  "I guess we've all been busy....I was almost sure they'd said they were mates."  Getting only a furrowed brow in response, Kim gave her a longer look.  "Captain, you have to know B'Elanna's expecting, right?"

  Janeway blinked.

  "She seemed okay on her shift," Harry explained, "even when I talked to her at lunch.  But after dinner, Kes said, she became disoriented.  Tom had to carry her here, and then told Kes to tell me," he paused, looking over to the biobed, "they were sorry but couldn't come by."

  She knew she was gaping.  She couldn't help it.  She knew she should have known, even if nobody had informed her directly.  "When did all of this happen?"

  "Kes told me only about ten minutes ago."

  Janeway then felt a flush warm her cheeks, and she too looked again at the man and woman in the surgical bay, watched him calm her with quiet, private words, barely audible.  She had noticed in passing that Lieutenant Paris had gained some weight since Janeway had first met her, but she'd never said anything, never asked, maybe even trained herself off the curiosity because of the woman's proximity to the Maquis pilot Janeway preferred to avoid.  She'd heard Torres laugh once, though, joking about her "noble mate," but she certainly didn't know to take it literally.  For it all, the captain didn't know whether to feel stupid, angry or careless--and she didn't like any of the choices. 

  With a sudden need to do something, she stepped forward and met the EMH.  "Doctor, what is her condition?"

  "Lieutenant Paris is in no danger," he said without looking up.  "My concern is for the fetus.  It is more developed than a fully human fetus would be at this stage, but its heart rate is erratic.  I'm afraid it might go into shock again.  It might abort if we don't act now.  So, if you don't mind, I have work to do.  Unless you can do a better job of convincing Mister Paris I'll do everything I can for his wife and child.  She does need to sleep."

  The captain caught the eyes of the man in question and felt her insides jump at the intensity that greeted her.  His features were set in expectation of a fight--though never so...afraid.  A glance at her chief engineer--Why couldn't I have imagined before that she might cry?--proved she was outwardly calmer, though her hand firmly clutched her husband's. 

  "Doctor, I think B'Elanna won't rest unless Mister Paris remains, at least for now."  Ignoring the Doctor's reply, Janeway moved beside the couple, placing a reassuring hand on B'Elanna's shoulder.  "And he's right, too.  The doctor will get to the bottom of this."

  "Thank you, Captain," she said, slightly taken at the captain's sudden concern--appropriate as it may have been.  "I hope you're both right."  Turning her eyes away, and seeing the other visitor, she put on a brave grin and propped herself up a little more on the small pillow.  Though she definitely didn't feel like company, she couldn't not make an exception for him.  "Harry, why are you standing over there?  So you can not visit?"

  When Harry, grinning a little for her jibe, shrugged and approached, Janeway took the Maquis pilot aside.  "Why didn't you tell us you two were expecting a child?"  she asked gently. 

  Her quiet tone caught Tom's attention.  The captain had spent the better part of their new situation well away from him--and he from her.  He shook his head.  "I guess we didn't think to say anything.  We thought you knew from your intelligence, or that Chakotay would have said something."

  "But you haven't announced it?"

  He shrugged.  "It was common knowledge with the Maquis.  I guess we're not all exactly on a first name basis here yet--and we've all been busy, getting used to this, getting the ship back on its feet."

  "We have been busy," Janeway acknowledged.  "Too busy and a little too new to our situation to get a closer look at...more important things.  We still have a way to go."

  His mouth turned only slightly upwards.  "So, Captain, you think you understand now?"

  "A little.  More than I did before.  But you still haven't answered my question.  Why haven't you or B'Elanna said anything?"

  "I thought I already told you why."

  Janeway sighed, trying to avoid her common frustration with him.  "In the future, Mr. Paris, I'd like to be informed of--"

  "Tom?"

  Returning to his wife's side without excuse, he reclaimed her hand and smiled down at her.  "Yes, B'Elanna?"

  "Harry doesn't know how to play pool," she told him and relished in the responding smile, in spite of her swollen eyes and underlying fears.  Then again, she was also well aware of Tom's fears, and that they were far more carefully displayed than hers could ever be.

  "Well," he chimed, "we'll just have to take care of that, won't we?  And since we have a fully functional holodeck..."  His growing grin sparked in his eyes as he let the thought filter through his mind.  "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

  "You would," B'Elanna returned, gladly distracted by the idea.  She could imagine the rations pool already.

  "Excuse me," interjected the doctor, who appeared at the bedside with a hypospray in hand, "but this patient needs rest.  I have grudgingly allowed Mister Paris to remain, but the rest of you must go."

  That time, the Doctor had no arguments, only delay.  Then sickbay's new nurse strode in and popped behind a workstation to pluck up a work coat.  She glanced at the people in the room.  "If you can't do something here, do something else," the matronly woman announced as she wrapped her ruddy hair up in a sloppy knot and tied it.  That done, the woman stepped to the Doctor's side and looked up at him with more seriousness than Janeway, Kim and the Doctor had ever seen with Jenna Harlowe. 

  "Tell me what to do," she said.

  With a blink, the EMH told her what he needed.  Nodding, she turned and gave B'Elanna's hand a pat before moving around to the bio-controls.  "Don't you worry, sweet," she said.  "Baby's going to be just fine.  She's meant to be, no question."

  The Doctor's mouth straightened.  "Mrs. Harlowe, might I remind you--"

  "You're wasting your time on me," she cut in as she began tapping in the test scans, looking up only once to address the other distractions there.  "Captain Janeway, Ensign Kim?"  They looked and she flashed a sweet smile.  "Get out of my office and stop lollygagging around like a couple of slugs.  Some people here have real jobs, you know."

  Without warning, B'Elanna burst out in a laugh and turned her head away.  Tom also bent his head down to hide his snickers. 

  Janeway, shocked, caught Nurse Harlowe's wink. 

  Choosing to let her have that one, the captain turned and left behind Kim, glancing back to see Paris mouth "thank you" to his old friend, his eyes reflecting his sincerity.  As the doors closed behind them, Janeway's smile faded as the pilot's statements began to play through her again.  "Do I understand?"  she wondered aloud. 

  "Captain?"

  She looked at Ensign Kim--she hadn't meant to speak--and decided quickly to elaborate.  "Do you remember when we found you on the Ocampan homeworld?"  The young man nodded.  "I don't know if you are aware of what occurred before we could beam down to the planet."

  "Tom told me he was pretty hard on you, Captain."

  That surprised her, but she didn't address it.  "Well, do you recall the briefing just after Voyager's leaving Deep Space Nine? --I think it should be said, I...Nobody really knew what had happened to Mister Paris after he left Earth.  I'm still unclear on the details.  What was said in that room was to the best of our knowledge at the time."  Suddenly she stopped.  What am I defending, here?  He did commit those crimes, nearly killed...

  Kim nodded, "I know Captain."

  She eyed him, curious despite herself and thanks to Kim's unaffected responses.  She could tell he knew more about them than she would probably manage, even with Chakotay reporting to her and Tuvok's watchful eye.  "When did you know differently?"

  Then, Harry's face reflected a little fear somehow, and his eyes shuffled across the floor.  "B'Elanna corrected me.  Really corrected me.  I mean, all I did was mention Tom's record and the next thing I remember..." 
 
 

48324-48485:  Seven weeks ago

  "You ever talk about Tom Paris like that again, Starfleet, and you'll be kissing the floor of this tunnel!  Sick or not, I'll throw you over!  Do you understand me?"

  Kim drew back at her sudden ferocity, frightened even more than when they first met, when she lunged at the door, at the Ocampan doctor--and nearly at him, too.  "I...I'm sorry.  I didn't know he was your friend."

  "And you think it's impossible?"  she challenged sardonically.  "For a cocky, rebellious misfit without a shred of respect for anything but saving his ass and cashing in latinum?  Is that what they told you?"  She grabbed his arm.  "Is it?!"

  "Not exactly," he cringed.  "But...you can't blame them, can you?"

  Her eyes glistened with rage as she twisted the muscle of his arm.  "Oooh, I can blame them!  I can blame them for quite a few things--including your ignorance!"

  "How is Starfleet supposed to know any differently?"

  "If they had taken care of him when they had the chance, he wouldn't have had to endure Starfleet pigs like you!  Or maybe you think he deserved your ridiculous code of honor?"

  Harry Kim nodded, but not to her question.  "He must be a pretty good friend, huh?"

  B'Elanna barely had the strength to stand, but she climbed up a step so that her eyes could be level with his.  "He's my husband," she told him coldly, raising her chin just slightly.  Her lips curled into a grin as his eyes widened, "--and-my-mate.  And you have no idea who he is aside from that."  With that, she whirled and continued up the stairs, somehow strengthened by the challenge met. 

  Unfortunately, her companion had not been.  He clutched the rail again, swaying, fighting to keep to his feet.  Hearing his clenched moan, B'Elanna sighed.  "Come on, Starfleet, I can't blame you personally for believing everything they tell you."  He only nodded in reply and she stopped, lowered herself to a step.  "Okay, we'll rest a while."

  Sitting, nearly draped upon the unforgiving steps, Harry stole a glance at the woman above him.  "How long have you been married?"

  "Seven months," she answered.

  Kim leaned his head on the rail, pulling in a slow breath.  "Nice ceremony?"

  She nodded, her face brightening a little to recall it.  "Chakotay was so sure we were being impulsive," she mused, "and maybe we were, but he performed the service, anyway.  Tom and I just knew we didn't want to be without each other...."  Her eyes drifted off with a memory that seemed to be working a queer smile across her face, which flickered and faded as her hand drifted to her abdomen.  Then she swallowed, hard. 

  Suddenly to Harry she seemed far less Klingon than he'd initially taken her to be:  No Klingon he had seen had ever looked so wistful.  Looking at her then, he remembered how her hair had shone when they were in the Ocampan light, heavy dark curls touched with sun sitting neatly around her shoulders.  He remembered how she'd fussed with it, trying unsuccessfully to braid it neatly.  Then there were her eyes, almost black but bright, almost like a bird of prey's.  Now they were intense for thinking about the man she obviously loved--her mate.  The hand that had gripped his arm with intent to bruise now laid gently across her waist, her fingers tracing a circle on her belly, which hadn't yet begun to reveal her pregnancy.  He wondered why he wouldn't think of her as the mothering type.  She definitely knew how to protect her husband.  Harry shuddered to think of how she would defend her child, if it survived this. 

  Looking at her as she was lost in thought, he thought she was actually pretty, even though unusual. 

  B'Elanna took a deep breath.  "He's okay," she said quietly.  "I know he is."

  "I'm sure he is," Kim affirmed. 

  She turned to her companion, her solid eyes blank for her lack of willingness to give in to tears.  "We have to survive this, Harry.  I don't want to leave him.  I have our child, too.  I have to get out of here, for all of us."

  "We'll survive.  Just give me a couple more minutes and we'll start again.  I promise."

  "Don't make promises you can't keep," she told him.  "When you're ready, we'll go."

  With that, Harry leaned his head against the rail.  B'Elanna waited...and closed her eyes.... 

  How many minutes passed, she didn't know, as waves of disorientation that came with the stillness made her head sway.  Within the hollow rush in her ears, somewhere, she heard an echo; she realized seconds later that it wasn't in her head.  Rather, it was familiar...and almost too good to be true.  She almost didn't believe it was...  Then it came again, more clearly:  "B'Elanna!"

  Knowing it wasn't just a noisy dream that time, she started up, clutching at the wall to hopefully hear her name again.  It came a few seconds later and with greater insistence. Pulling herself to stand, she finally responded, "Tom!  Up here!"

  The pilot's feet darted up every other step, leaving the others well behind.  He punched his communicator.  "Chakotay, I see them!  We're in the third tunnel."

  There were more steps than he had at first thought, steps he couldn't climb nearly fast enough.  He tried to concentrate, lest he trip.  He'd be no good to her injured.  He began to count the inclines....His eyes darted up and noted the form in the shadows that could not be mistaken.  She was waiting for him. 

  "Don't wait for us, get them to safety," came Captain Janeway's voice. 

  "You don't have to tell me twice.  Paris out."

  He'd barely finished signing off when he finally reached them.  In a sweep, he flew into B'Elanna's arms, pressing her body against his, her head against his shoulder, kissing her, her cheek, her temple, her hair, as she clutched him tight, burying her head in the curve of his collar. 

  "I was scared to death," he breathed into her ear, fighting back the tears of relief he could not afford at the moment.  "Thank God you're okay."  He pulled back to look at her fully, and then he noticed the wounds the Ocampan "caretaker" had inflicted; his breath caught up with him a moment later.  "We've got to get you to the surface.  You need help."

  She placed a hand to his cheek, holding on to him with the other.  Then she darted a stare down the steps.  "You should take Harry up, Tom.  He's in worse shape than I am."

  Only then did Tom remember that they'd been after two people, and he cast a glance down the steps he passed only a minute before. 

  Meanwhile, the younger man regarded the older one, his sick, brown eyes still alert enough to study the object of so much misconception.  After the said man kissed B'Elanna again, he descended the few steps towards Kim.  Paris did not once question his wife's suggestion, but surveyed his assigned burden with a careless grin and the posture of a pirate.  Kim had not noticed in the official portrait such a patent gleam in the older man's countenance, nor his confident stance, and he didn't know if that should frighten him or not. 

  Tom knelt on the step as the Talaxian and his Ocampan girlfriend passed to help B'Elanna.  "Well...Harry, is it?  Have you been putting the moves on my wife, Ensign Kim?"  Without an answer, the pilot draped Kim's left arm over his right shoulder and hefted him up.  "You don't even have the answers to your final exams out of your head and you're already acting like a lieutenant on a Risian shore leave!  Of course, if you haven't been flirting with her, I'd think you were even sicker than you look."

  A few steps above them, B'Elanna snorted.  "Tom, behave yourself."

  "Yes, dear."  The pilot felt his weight shift and nimbly repositioned his bearings and Kim's arm.  "Come on, Harry," he intoned, belying the weight of his effort, "don't give up yet.  I'm not letting you go anywhere--though a little help would be nice."  He smiled when the younger man's feet caught the floor.  "That's better.  Now, just hold on."

  Kim wondered if this was the same man he'd been briefed on as he struggled to do his part.  They could have been wrong, he thought, they could have just misunderstood.  He's a Maquis and a noted criminal, but he can't be as bad as they say, can he?  He doesn't even know me and he's joking around and helping...

  Harry continued to wrangle with his curiosity as they ascended the steep and increasingly unsteady stairway.  It proved to be a good distraction.  Before he had begun to think how much time had passed, Kim felt a solid hand around his wrist and squinted against the yellow sun of the Ocampan surface. 

  Paris pulled him until he was completely out of the hole they'd drilled.  Once he was certain Harry was secured, the pilot returned to his wife's side.  Kim's head lolled, hardly aware of who was supporting him then; before he knew it, he heard Paris scream and he hit the ground.  A blast rattled the alien earth....  Paris' voice sounded again.  "Chakotay?  Tuvok?  Janeway?"--then a shuffling on the dirt. 

  "Where are you going?"  cried B'Elanna. 

  "I'm going back.  I can't leave them....I'll see you in a while.  --That's a promise.  You watch." 

  The surface rumbled again and he felt the remaining man's hand grab his shoulder.  But Kim hardly understood what was going on by then, or where Paris had rushed off to.  He only recognized a familiar tingle, the little whine of the matter convertor; moments later, he welcomed the transporter beam like a sign from God.  He lost consciousness before he knew he was in the transporter room. 

  The EMH's self-impressed face was what next met him, and he blinked. 

  "Welcome back, Ensign.  You'll be happy to know I have extracted the foreign DNA, and you'll recover quite nicely, thanks to me.  Remain where you are.  I haven't finished my complete evaluation."

  Harry looked across to B'Elanna, who must have been awake for a while, as she was dressed in the typical browns of the Maquis.  In her utter stillness, she seemed impatient to go, to move.  Her booted feet hung off the side of the biobed, twitching every time she heard a sound, and she picked at the hem of her untucked shirt with an unnervingly quick rhythm.  Kim wondered what she was waiting for, then remembered.  "I'm sure Paris will be okay," he told her. 

  Her black eyes were as glass hard as when they first met and thoroughly unconvinced.  "I'll believe that when I see it, Starfleet."

  Harry sighed, feeling that he had been shut out again.  Leaning his head back on the pillow, he couldn't think of anything to say but, "Just trying to help."

  B'Elanna did not move.  "It's not your fault.  Tom has to live by his principles, do what he feels is best.  But I don't have to like that all the time, do I?"

  "I thought you were angry at me again."

  "Get over yourself, Harry.  You're not cause of anything here."  She silenced again as soon as she'd spoken out, and Kim struggled for something else to say.  He didn't mind her not saying anything, but he could somehow feel that she was ready to explode, her energy seemed so tightly contained in her vigil. 

  But she only found her footing when the door hissed open, and she didn't move forward when she saw her husband enter with yet another burden sacked over his shoulder.  Upon releasing it to a biobed, B'Elanna saw a flush of red hair, which Tom pushed aside to check a pulse.  He opened one of her eyes with a finger, calling out, "Where the hell's the doctor?"

  "What seems to be the problem?"  said the EMH, appearing at his side. 

  "It seems to be a broken leg and a concussion," Tom told him.  "I couldn't keep her awake.  Her eyes are dilated and her pulse is slow.  But you're the one with the tricorder.  You tell me."  As the doctor turned to his work, Tom turned to B'Elanna and grinned.  "I told you so."

  Kim was sure the smile on her face warmed the room at least five degrees when she said, "Shut up," and embraced him as soon as he moved into her arms and kissed.  Harry bent down his head, clearing his throat even as he allowed them a bit of privacy.

  He heard them laugh and glanced to see that he was the source of their amusement. 

  The pilot continued to hold B'Elanna around the waist as he regarded his former burden.  "You all right, Harry Kim?"

  Harry smiled a little.  "Thanks to you."

  "Don't worry about it," Tom replied in acceptance and pressed his cheek to his wife's head.  "Besides, I owe you my life, too," he added, indicating B'Elanna, "for her."  With that, he took the two steps over to the younger man and extended his hand.  "Tom Paris.  Honored to meet you, Ensign Kim."

  "Harry, my name's Harry."  He shook the pilot's hand.  "I wouldn't have made it either, if not for B'Elanna."

  "You helped each other out of there," Paris said.  "That's enough in my book."

  "Chakotay to Paris," came a sudden sound from the latter's communicator. 

  "What's up, Chakotay?"

  "How are B'Elanna and the others?"

  Tom looked at the doctor, who nodded from his patient's side--but before the EMH spoke, Tom reported, "Everyone here's okay, but Janeway's still out."

  "Looks like the Kazon are going to attack the array.  I've made arrangements with Tuvok for us to take them on.  I need you to get to the bridge.  We're going to have to pull a few tricks out of our sleeves to get through this one."

  "Won't be the first time," Paris replied.  "I'm on my way."

  "B'Elanna," Chakotay continued, "there's nothing we can do for this old bucket, but Voyager might need your expertise.  I've already sent Jenna and some others over in the scout.  They'll be docking any second now.  The rest of us will be there soon, after we give this cruiser a little work."

  "Understood."  Once signed off, she shook her head.  "He's crazy."

  "You're just realizing that?"  Tom grinned and looked at Harry.  "Stay here and brief the captain when she wakes up."

  "But..."

  "Just do it--Chakotay and Tuvok can't both be nuts."

  With that, they headed out, catching the doctor's attention as they swerved around a console.  "I haven't released you yet," he complained. 

  "Tough luck," B'Elanna retorted and strode out the door on Tom's arm. 

  The doctor turned back to Kim.  "Is everyone here so difficult?"

  "I dunno, Doc, I'm new here."

  The moment gone, Kim's smirk disappeared as he watched the doctor continue the captain's treatment.  He hoped the captain would wake up soon, that she hadn't been hurt too badly.  She'd been nice to him when he first arrived and welcomed him with more than the standard greeting.  She seemed to understand his excitement, too, and made no particular scene about it. 

  Harry felt a blow to the ship and grabbed the edge of the biobed instictively.  He wished he were on the bridge helping--doing his job.  Why am I following Tom Paris' orders?   Then he answered himself with the reassurance that Tom was right, the captain would need to be informed.  It might not be the best thing for her to wake up in a fight only to find Paris at her conn. 

  Another blow, and then a shift.  Even in the safety of sickbay, Kim could feel the ship being put into action beyond her design.  He was certain the Maquis pilot had found the controls--he was as sure of that as he was of the crawl in his stomach.  Inertial dampers went only so far, he knew. 

  "What's happening?"  came the captain's voice as an explosion rumbled around them and the red alert resounded.  "Ensign Kim, what's going on?"

  Kim looked at her.  "We have to get to the bridge, Captain.  I'll fill you in on the way."  She was wincing, limping, but healthy enough to ignore the doctor on their way out, so Harry thought better of offering his help. 

  Only minutes later, Janeway and Harry were seeing what they'd felt--the effects of Paris' fingers flying over the controls amidst a flood in an open COMM and a deadly firefight.  His half-Klingon wife stood at his right shoulder, bracing herself with each move.  Choosing not to ask the obvious, the captain propelled herself to her place.  "Status?" she barked to Tuvok. 

  "Shields down thirty percent, the main Kazon ship shows little damage."

  Kim had only reestablished himself at his station when he saw Captain Janeway and Tuvok rush back out to return to the array.  As he reported the last volley, he saw B'Elanna squeeze Tom's shoulder assuredly and nod as one of the smaller Kazon ships disintegrated in the viewscreen.  They've been through a lot of this kind of action, he thought,  and shook his head to regain his concentration--he reported again--though concentration was becoming increasingly difficult.  He never thought that a Starship could be flown like a squadron fighter.  The turns in his gut proved that the designers of the ship hadn't thought so, either. 

  Paris continued on undaunted, even after Captain Chakotay arrived, then until the captain returned.  The ship somehow stayed together during that time. 

  "Ready a tricobalt torpedo," said the captain before she'd reached her chair. 

  Kim blindly obeyed, though every nerve in him rebelled what his captain soon broadcast to the Kazon--to destroy the array, their only way home.  Kim screamed inside even as he punched up a new display. 

  Then again, he didn't have to argue the decision. 

  "Are you insane?"  was Paris' reaction as he stood away from the conn and moved up on her. 

  "What are you doing?!"  joined Torres. 

  Janeway regarded them in turns.  "I know you have friends and family that you want to get back to.  So do I.  But I'm not about to trade the lives of the Ocampa for our convenience.  We'll find another way home."

  B'Elanna stared in disbelief after her, then nailed Chakotay with her glare.  "Who is she to be making the decision for all of us?"  she demanded. 

  "She's the captain," Chakotay said to them both, and he seemed glad that his word was enough that time.  It wasn't the first time he'd had to remind the two of rank. 

  Moments later, it was over.  With a whoosh from deep within the ship, a strike and a dazzling display, the array was gone.  In Kim's mind, it had been far too quick.  In the full minute that followed, he shared the disbelief, the silence and the realization.  Nobody there could take their eyes away from the space that the array had filled. 

  One moment it was there, there was hope and suddenly they were...lost. 

  Also sharing the view, Paris bent his head for only a moment, drawing in a slow breath, letting it out.  For several seconds, he stilled, a wash of emotion crossing over his fair features before he controlled himself again.  He then wrapped his fingers softly around Torres' hand.  They said nothing when they looked at each other, nor did they address anyone else when they turned together to leave. 

  "Where are you going?"  Chakotay asked, taken from his own shock for a moment. 

  Torres' face was pale, and Paris' was utterly blank.  Somehow, his tone held no rancor when he said, "Away from here."  Without more than a glance at Janeway, he continued with his wife to the turbolift.  The doors' closing was their final word. 
 

  The following weeks were like a blur for Kim.  With the repairs and the reassignments, he hardly had time to think or mourn or even look beyond his most immediate duties.  He did take a moment of pleasure in B'Elanna's being chosen for chief engineer.  After their experience of getting caught--and out of--that event horizon, she more than earned the spot. 

  Paris, like Chakotay, had sold B'Elanna to her post, but worked instead on Carey's bruised pride and the other officers' prejudices.  In spite of Paris' reputation, Carey and the others seemed to listen.  Then, a couple nights after her promotion, there was that private dinner--"Just a little entertaining, like we did at home," B'Elanna called it--the Parises held in their quarters.  Even Carey left it sincerely impressed.  As a result, it seemed, B'Elanna was more readily accepted than the captain or Chakotay could have expected.  Harry wondered if they knew about the dinner. 

  Paris, however, kept his distance from anything Starfleet.  When Janeway offered him rank and an official position--a junior lieutenant in the navigation department--he politely, though curtly, turned her down.  He offered instead to help the Doctor and Jenna in sickbay and in Kes' suggested hydroponics bay.  The pilot excelled in both arenas.  Already, they were beginning to grow the fastest varieties of hybridized food they had on hand, and Paris quickly reacquainted himself with Starfleet medical technology.  He'd used anything he could with the Maquis.  Yet it bothered Kim to see him at such...secondary work. 

  He let it disturb him, nag at his conscience, for as long as he could bear, then finally made the decision to go talk to the pilot.  Only when he touched the door panel did he realize he didn't really know what he was asking.  Before he could come up with a line of questioning, however, the doors slid open and he was faced with Tom Paris' curious grin. 

  "Harry Kim, is it?  Couldn't wait for breakfast?"

  "Just dropping by to say hello.  I know it's late...Maybe I should have called first."

  "No, it's all right.  Besides, the COMM would have woken B'Elanna.  Come on in."  He led the way and replicated, without offering, some coffee.  "You pay up next time," he said as he moved to a chair and gestured to the adjacent seat.  "And you'd better--I'm not anxious to try Neelix's sludge any time soon."

  Once Harry was settled and had taken a sip from the demitasse, Tom leaned into the cushions, his eyes pinned to him.  Only then did Kim notice that the Parises had continued to redecorate their quarters in a most unofficial fashion.... 

  "What seems to be the problem, Harry?"

  Harry snapped his attention back to his host.  He had to give him that:  One minute joking, the next straight, and pointed in the middle of it all.  Paris wasn't dressed for bed, but wore his usual vest, loose shirt and dark trousers.  His long gray coat hung over the back of a nearby chair.  His feet were bare.  Judging from that and the PADDs on the table, Harry concluded that the man had been studying.  "What are you reading?"

  "Ah, well, some texts the doctor suggested.  Field medic, he says, is a trifle, as was the bit of pre-med I had in the academy.  He's probably right.  And these are for the hydroponics project, which is turning out to be a lot different than raising roses or Avalaran broccoli.  It's dry reading, but we'll use it."  Paris grinned.  "So, are you going to tell me?  Or do I have to interrogate you?"

  Harry took a breath.  "This isn't your life," he told him.  "You're a pilot, the best I've ever seen.  You should be flying, not farming."

  Tom smiled more warmly and sipped at the steaming cup before responding.  "The captain, I know, was being completely fair by offering me a commission, and I was complimented, I really was.  But to be honest, I don't want to be an officer again.  I don't need it like I used to.  Worse, what Janeway suggested wasn't flying, it was maintenance, and frankly, that's boring.  Not that I crave action like I did before I'd actually experienced it.  I've seen enough to fill most appetites.  In any case, if the captain wants to offer me something more to my specialty, that's her decision.  I'll keep up what I'm doing until then."

  "Can't you talk to her?  Maybe she'll change her mind."

  He shook his head.  "In spite of everything you've heard about me, I do have some dignity--and the captain has hers.  Moreover, I'm not miserable.  I know what I'm doing is important and necessary.  I know I'm needed and doing my best, and that's enough for now."

  "For now?  What about later?"

  Tom's eyes seemed to deepen, though his mouth held its ground.  "I'm not a fortune teller, Harry.  I've learned not to put too much stock in anything but the present.  If an opportunity comes somewhere along the line, I'll probably take it.  For now, though, I'll take care of what I have."  He glanced back, through the open bedroom doors, where a slightly restless form lay.  "If we've got to stay here, I'd might as well do what I can to keep us fed and healthy...build another nest."

  "How's B'Elanna doing, anyway?  I haven't had the chance to really talk to her about things.  Not like she says much, though."

  Tom turned back to his guest.  "She's being strong, as usual.  We miss our friends, of course, and our house, our homeworld.  But engineering keeps her busy enough during the day and we've talked it to death at night.  I guess we're getting used to this as an adjustment we'd planned to make but didn't turn out like we'd planned.  It's not as though we had families to go home to, though."

  "But your father--"

  "Wouldn't speak to me the last time we saw each other.  Can't say that I blame him.  I'm not exactly his pride and joy anymore.  He might have someday forgiven me for the lie.  But with Mom gone and my more recent history, I don't think he'll have me back.  As for B'Elanna, she and her mother haven't spoken in years, and they didn't exactly part on good terms, either."

  "Don't you think they'd be worried?  They're going to know our ships disappeared.  They might even assume we're dead."

  Tom sipped the coffee again, watched the steam rise off the dark liquid.  His clever blue eyes seemed far away in that pause, a little sad despite his otherwise pleasant face.  "We settled our accounts the best we could before we left Avalar, just in case," he said quietly.  "We left our house and our loose ends in good hands, walked away as cleanly as we could."  A grin ghosted across his lips, then faded.  "No, Harry, B'Elanna and I are the only family we've got right now.  We've accepted that."

  "And your baby," Harry added and was cheered by Paris' brightening.  "I guess you're excited."

  "We were pretty hesitant at first," Tom admitted.  "We wondered how we could bring a child into the life we were living--and where we were living.  But we really did want to start a family once it was there.  I guess we're not questioning ourselves about it now, or feeling guilty for an uncertain future.  Funny how misfortunes like Voyager's can make things a little better in other ways."  Tom's eyes shone with pride as he looked back to Harry again.  "Yeah, I'm excited.  Scared to death, but excited."

  "You'll do great," Harry encouraged.  "You're responsible and you know how to take care of people--and you love B'Elanna a lot, I can tell."

  Tom nodded.  "As the Klingons say, I'd be incomplete without her."  A pause.  "I'm happy right where I am.  Maybe in time I'll be flying again, and honestly, I wouldn't mind.  For now, I'm doing what I think is best.  We need food and I intend to see we have it...."

  A stir from the bed in the opposite room and a whisper of his name sent Tom without ceremony or excuse across and through the open door to his wife, while Harry, not shamelessly, watched Paris sit carefully at the bedside, smooth her hair and give her a kiss.  "Harry and I are talking.  Are we being too loud?"

  "No," B'Elanna said sleepily.  "I just wondered where you were."  Eyes closing, she turned onto her side and placed her hand on his untouched pillow.  "Come to bed soon, Tom," she whispered.  "Just because you're not on a duty roster doesn't mean you don't need sleep, too."

  "You're right, and I will.  Soon, I promise."  With that, he bent to kiss her again. 

  The small smile on Paris' face as he returned to his chair reaffirmed the point he'd driven before their interruption, but Harry wasn't done.  "If I'm being too intrusive, please say so, but, I have to ask...."  He paused, sighing to himself.

  Paris smiled, understanding his friend's discomfort more than Kim knew.  "It's okay, Harry.  I won't phaser you for being curious.  The most I'll do is refuse to answer."

  Harry nodded.  "Okay," he said, meeting Tom eyes again.  "Why are you avoiding the captain?"

  To Harry's surprise, Tom only shrugged at the question, then replied,  "Rank has privileges, Harry, especially with someone like me."

  "Someone like you?"

  "You know she served with my father."  Harry nodded again.  "He was her mentor, her first captain.  And whether she admits it or not, I know she looks up to him as everything Starfleet is and should be.  My father had a way of doing that with his students and his officers.  He commanded respect.  --Ah, I know what you're thinking, Harry.  Trust me, being his subordinate and being his son are entirely different.  Subordinates can request a transfer or quit.  No matter where I am or what I do, I'll always be the criminal son of Admiral Paris.  And in shaming him--many times over--I've violated her principles, the things she believes in and looks to as her own moral register.  In a nutshell, Harry, I don't expect her to trust me.  Maybe in time it'll change, but not over a cup of coffee.  She's the captain, she needs time and she needs to get over my record and her first impressions.  I can't do that for her, even it's my fault that she sees me as trouble."

  "How do you mean?"

  Tom put his coffee aside as he scrutinized the young man across from him.  "Nobody told you about how our factions got together to come after you and B'Elanna?"

  "Captain Janeway invited Chakotay and what representatives he chose to come aboard after the Caretaker released both crews," Kim stated, as if reading a report. 

  "Did you know I was one of those representatives?"  Harry nodded.  Tom didn't break his stare.  "I insisted on coming," he told the ensign.  "But after we arrived, and Tuvok showed his true colors, I had two issues eating away at me.  When Neelix came on board, it got personal."

  "How so?"

  Paris turned his head at first as he thought of where to begin.  It had been a pretty intense couple of days, that precursor to their winding up stranded on a Starfleet ship on the other side of the galaxy.  But as he began to decide, the memory ironically made him chuckle.  "We were all but ordered to go back to the Liberty, when..." 
 
 

48324:  Seven weeks ago

  "Look, Tom, all I'm saying is that maybe you two shouldn't meet.  I get the feeling on Voyager that she didn't want to deal with you, and that might cause a conflict we don't need."

  "She'll keep her cool," Tom assured him.  "My father trained her well enough to do that.  --And if she wants to let off a little steam, let her, Chakotay.  She can't humiliate me any more than I've humiliated myself.  I know what's happened since, so it doesn't bother me.  Frankly, I don't care about her, or Starfleet, or even being stuck out here anymore.  I just want B'Elanna back.  That's my only priority right now."

  "I understand."  Bracing his friend by the shoulders and looking solidly into his eyes, Chakotay continued, "We will get her back.  The Talaxian's a fool, but we can trust him.  I have a good feeling about that."

  "And I've got the feeling that he's got more than water on his mind," Tom responded.

  Chakotay gave a quick nod.  "Maybe.  But we'll worry about that later."  Confident that he'd made the right decision, that Paris wasn't out of control, but scared just enough to be sharp, he gestured to the corridor.  "Get some rest.  I mean it.  You'll be no good to B'Elanna exhausted."

  Calling up that point worked; Tom patted Chakotay's shoulder in thanks before turning away to leave the bridge. 

  He tried not to hear the business of the ship as he crossed through its heart to the personal compartments, though that was hard to do.  Repairs were a given on the endlessly battered vessel, especially then and with but half the personnel.  Worse, the crewmember they needed most was the one he wanted most. 

  My God, if I lost her... blew into his mind, and he sped his pace to drill away the worst of it. 

  His hands buried themselves in the recesses of his coat pockets; he identified all the objects within with his fingertips, noting that he still had the holo-program chips B'Elanna told him to hang on to, a folder of various seeds from Avalar, as well as the vials of antibiotics he always had on hand. 

  He reminded himself to bring his med-kit when they left again, and he peeked around the corner when he heard a panel start to fry.  Henley and Corbit were on it, but, as the ship's primary medic, Tom felt the need to ask anyway, "You guys okay?"

  "We are for now," Corbit returned, not looking away from the minor meltdown.  Shorts were common on the Liberty.  Tom knew this particularly because B'Elanna did a good job of telling him about their frequency.  For the mean time, though, no injuries meant no problem, so Tom left them to their work. 

  He was caught between restlessness and relief when he got to the "quarters" he and his wife shared.  It was more like an anteroom to the corridor, thin and long with two spare chairs, a few bucket shelves for the few belongings they kept on board and a bunk just big enough for the both of them.  As the chief pilot and engineer, not to mention husband and wife, Chakotay had given them the space.  Not that they slept much while they were there.  Being on the ship meant being busy, and neither of them bothered to make it their own save the room's only decoration--a picture of a beachfront city Tom had frequented on Earth.  But he hadn't even put it there.  That was B'Elanna's doing. 

  He heard a sound at the entrance and found himself only mildly surprised to see the Starfleet Captain peering around the column that partially enclosed the entrance.  Somehow, he knew she would make some sort of contact.  Their meeting on her bridge was a wordless one, though her eyes had certainly darkened with recognition; her utter neutrality thereafter communicated enough to overload a ship's databanks.  Whether her feelings there favored spite or curiosity, that was uncertain, but her visit seemed to favor the latter--for the present.  Weighing that thought, Tom said nothing and waited for her to begin. 

  "I'm not disturbing you, I hope?"

  "You are," he said, "but that's okay.  Come in."  Studying her perusal of the crescent room, he nodded to what he knew she was thinking.  "It's not home," he said as he slid off his coat and draped it over the back of a bolted-down chair, "but we're never on board long enough to mind."

  Her mouth twisted in acknowledgment of that truth, and, casually glancing towards him, responded, "Do you miss Earth?"

  "I wasn't talking about Earth."  He grinned slightly to see her mouth twitch at that, then continued, "For the last few months, home's been a little place on Avalar."  Again, he'd surprised her, but shrugged it away as if it didn't matter.  "Oh, sure, the Cardassians leveled the place the minute Starfleet stopped poking around; the sect broke camp, cut their losses for balmier climes.  It happens.  Anyway, once the smoke cleared, a few homeless stragglers like myself staked a claim to some carbonated territory--no charge as long as we did the renovations and our own gardening.  Thankfully, I'd learned a little horticulture as a boy."

  Janeway ground her teeth a little at the lightness of his tone.  Doesn't he remember how many lives were lost there, to the Federation's frustration and distress?  Thanks to her years of Starfleet training, she kept her expression impassive and made her move to steer the subject her way.  "You do seem to be especially involved in this mission.  You must be anxious to go back."

  Not that Tom had forgotten the facade of a Starfleet shark.  He reached into the vest pocket of his coat and tossed her the contents.  "You'll probably agree it's a sentimental thing for a Maquis," he commented, "but I like it enough to keep on hand."  He nodded to the small folder she'd caught.  "Open it."

  She drew up her brow--a gesture that said, 'Okay, I'll play your game for now'--and did as he suggested. 

  Within the small flat book was a sealed portrait of a couple.  The man in the picture was the man in the room with her, and in seeing him there she was reminded once again that his rumpled blond hair had been let go a bit too much; his clothes, while not unconventional for a human male, were yet foreign to his breeding.  The woman Paris held before him seemed only vaguely familiar, one among the few dozen Maquis she briefly reviewed before leaving Starfleet Headquarters. 

  The woman's brow caught Janeway's attention, though, and it came to her:  The half-Klingon Academy dropout.  She'd let her hair grow; her tunic suit was practical but attractive.  She looked older, more assured.  Different. 

  In spite of their official statuses, the characters in the picture played another mood.  Her head reclined on the front of Paris' shoulder, slightly turned; their fingers were laced together, their hands resting on her abdomen, and what part of her insanely thick nut brown hair that wasn't crushed against Tom's collar or bunched on her shoulders was caught in the breeze of that sunny day. 

  Perched against a mossy rock with the chartreuse-spotted scrubs of a mountain as their backdrop, the young pair seemed to fit somehow.  In what way, Janeway couldn't pinpoint at first.  The woman's expression was unlike anything Klingon, her smile being such a contented one in contrast to the sharpness of her dark eyes.  The nature of Paris' grin was foreign to Janeway and--What is it?--his eyes radiated an intensity similar to the woman's.  Yes, it was the look in their eyes that was so similar, striking, even, though Janeway couldn't guess what they might have been thinking. 

  Suddenly realizing that she'd stared at the portrait far longer than she'd intended, Janeway quickly returned her focus to the man across the room.  "It's lovely," she commented, offering the folder back.  When he made no move to claim it--he kept his eyes pinned to hers, that damnable grin cemented to his expression--she placed the folder on the nearby shelf.  "Was it taken recently?"

  He gave an apprising nod, continuing to interpret her minutely displayed reactions.  "A few weeks ago, on Avalar.  It'd just started to grow back."

  "Have you known her long, the young lady?"

  The same nod, though he allowed himself another unreadable smile.  "I met her a few months after I joined Chakotay's crew..."  He waited for the reminder of his alliance to sour the corner of her mouth again, "...and I married her six months after that."

  This information did manage to break her facade.  "She's your wife?" At the same time she wondered why that had surprised her so. 

  Tom held up a hand to display one half of the rings they'd shared.  And he wondered how the otherwise astute captain hadn't noticed it before, the way she was eyeing it just then.  Bringing his hand down, a gleam pervaded his stare.  "Her name, by the way, is B'Elanna."

  The game was up, and Janeway had to think to close her jaw.  The pieces finally put together, she regained her former face and proclaimed the obvious:  "Torres.  The missing Maquis engineer."

  To his credit, Tom's facade remained undamaged, even with the reminder of his wife's current status.  He wasn't about to give anything but what he chose to that woman.  "Thus, my involvement, Captain," he stated simply, his last word more a condescension than a recognition of rank. 

  That, too, played a subtle dance on her features and her tone.  "Why the game, Mister Paris?  Is that all people are to you?"

  "I could ask you the same thing.  My turn.  Why did you come here?"

  "I thought we could talk."

  "Oh," he chimed, only a touch in the interrogative as he crossed his arms and leaned himself back against the bulkhead.  In position for a chat,  he took a breath.  "About what?"

  "Honestly, I don't know.  I was curious as to how you were doing."

  "And what I was doing."

  "I've had enough reports about your adventures."

  Tom laughed.  "Adventures?  Is that what the record says?"  Before she could answer, he said, "It's been a busy year.  But I've packed more real life into that year than in all the ones before it.  If that's what you call adventure, fine.  That's your word."

  Janeway was more dismayed than when she first saw him.  "You see the rebellion--the stealing, the fighting, the violence--you see that as real life?"

  "I never said that," Tom replied, patronizing to the limits of her patience.  Again, he called the bluff.  "You look at me, Captain Janeway, and see Satan fallen from the comforts of heaven, only to glorify hell?  Is that it?  You're trying to qualify me according to Starfleet protocols and principles, and though that might be helpful in acquainting yourself with a stranger, there's no guarantee that your profile is accurate.  My real life is a hell of a lot more than a few kilobytes filling up HQ's archive or a stern lesson to cadets."

  The pilot pushed himself off the wall and took four long strides forward, coming close enough fast enough to make Janeway reflexively step back.  "When or if you open your eyes beyond the discipline that's made you a good captain, then you'll see what's really important--and what's important, even to someone like you, is not my reputation, or my official record."  He shrugged, backed off in a languid step.  "Until then, I don't expect you to understand."

  "What don't you expect me to understand?"

  He found her eyes again and released his facade.  The smile dissolved.  "Everything for now."

  He would say no more.  Janeway correctly took it as her dismissal. 
 

  The captain almost thought she might be able to distract herself from Paris' words; for a few hours, business made her successful.  The arrival of the Ocampan, however--thanks to Neelix's selective information and risky maneuvering--and the Ocampan's reaction to Paris piqued her attention again.  

     It was Kes, who, after being questioned and having offered her help despite her lover's objections, which earned the pilot's eternal gratitude.  Upon hearing the plan, Tom bowed his head and took her hand gratefully to thank her--then glanced an amused grin to the Talaxian, who had become noticeably uncomfortable at his brotherly gesture.  

  "Don't worry Mr... --Neelix, is it?  Don't worry, Neelix, I'm no threat to you.  I'm an old married man and I plan to remain one.  And it's more likely I will, thanks to this lady."

  Kes sighed with understanding.  "You must be very worried," she said.  Then, more assuredly, "I know she's all right.  It hasn't been too long, and my people will take care of her, I promise."

  Tom nodded.  "I hope so.  No, I'm pretty sure, myself, hearing what you've said."

  "How long have you been married?"  she asked. 

  "Seven months."

  "Seven months," Kes breathed.  "Among my people, that's a long time."

  "Mine too," Tom smiled, knowing she wouldn't get the joke.  He glanced at Chakotay, who was grinning at the quip.  "You want to bring Kervil?"

  "I think we can handle our end of it, don't you?"  Chakotay looked at the other captain, who seemed a more intent on the pilot than the plan.  "If that's all right with you?"  he asked, meaning the inclusion of a man she was clearly uncomfortable with. 

  "You are free to choose your own representatives, Captain," she said rigidly, "and you have.  I won't argue with that."

  "Somehow, I hear a 'but' in that," Tom commented, turning his head and a squinting stare her way. 

  She met it.  "You're quite correct, Mister Paris."

  "You're welcome to say it, you know," Tom told her.  "But let me save your breath.  I'm too personally involved to think objectively--a Starfleet kind of quandary, proven over again by our adventure on the surface à la Mister Neelix."

  His reward for correctness was an icy stare.  But she did confess it.  "You're right.  I can't trust what you'll do."

  "What I'll do is get B'Elanna to safety, and your man, too, if I can.  That's a guarantee."

  "Maybe, but by what means?"

  "Oh, go to hell!"  he retorted, glaring hard at her.  "If you think I'd endanger my wife or your ensign, then you really are as blinded by your reports as I thought."

  Janeway shook her head.  "And you're more like our analysis than you want to believe."

  Tom let out a short, frustrated laugh.  "My God, what have they been saying about me?  For the first time, I really want to know."

  Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed into an ironic grin.  Clearly, she wanted to tell him, if only to acknowledge the fact that her impressions of the pilot, no matter what changes his life had undergone, were yet in agreement with Starfleet's.  "What I know is that..." 
 
 

48314:  Four days ago

  "...he, in short, talks a good game.  As we have seen in these many reports, he likes games--and definitely cannot be trusted.  Our most recent intelligence confirms that he has been directly responsible for more than fifty raids along both the Federation and Cardassian borders." Janeway paused there to check her resentment, drawing a smooth breath.  "As Captain Chakotay's pilot and captain of this refitted Barolian scout ship, he has also been involved in the destruction of over fifteen Cardassian vessels and the disabling of an unknown number of ships.  He has been known to purposefully trip sensor grids so to hide and attack our own shuttles for their cargo, as Commander Cavit has recently discovered. 

  "In spite of his alcoholic tendencies and reckless behavior, do not doubt that he is very, very, clever.  We'll be keeping an eye out for Paris and his scout, which has recently, according to our intelligence, been equipped with cloaking technology."  She tried not to sound irresolute as she communicated that last part, though the idea made her shudder. 

  All but finished with her first briefing on Voyager, Janeway's eyes circled the room, refreshing the shameless pride she felt in her new crew.  Cavit, her first officer, was personable enough, but had been around the block enough times that he knew what limits were, particularly of late.  Then there was young Harry Kim.  So good, so his records said, yet so much to learn, Janeway was anxious to see how he would develop as an officer.  For a recent graduate, he did know his job.  Time would relieve his nervousness.  Stadi and Fitzgerald she knew less about, though she noted the latter's interest in her last report.  Dr.  Fitzgerald had been at Caldik Prime at the same time as Thomas Paris had.  Perhaps she might talk to him about that. 

  Concluding the meeting, she opened the room for comments and questions.  Fielding a few short clarifications, she was aware of but did not act upon Kim's troubled expression until after she dismissed her new staff.  "You looked like you had a question," she observed, gesturing him back to the table.

  Ensign Kim seemed to struggle at first, trying to put his many thoughts into a single query.  "Well," he began, "maybe I'm just not able to see it, Captain, but..."  He paused, but only shook his head in the end.  "I can't understand how the son of an admiral could end up like what you said--an alcoholic and a mercenary.  It just doesn't seem right, especially in the pictures.  He...he didn't look like the sort of person who would do that kind of thing."

  "I understand," Janeway said, meaning it.  "I often wonder how such a bright kid could have let himself go.  I suppose one can only say that it can happen and it did."  She sighed silently at the memory of Admiral Paris' extraordinary pride--in everything his son had once achieved. 

  When she heard what that son had turned to, she, too, tried to excuse it.  Then the notorious pilot, flying his equally notorious craft, raided the vessel she'd been traveling on during a survey of the DMZ border, about a week after the Federation officially outlawed the Maquis.  The Starfleet vessel was left adrift, its supplies and medicine mischievously transported onto the outlaw pilot's ship. 

  That day, Thomas Eugene Paris not only proved the truth, but reinforced it, and Janeway thereafter could only despise the man who once had so much potential--and pity the father that wanted so much for him, who had loved his son so outwardly it made her miss her own father all the more.

  But Harry Kim had not been on that ship.  "Could they have been wrong about him somehow?"  he asked.  "Maybe they've found the wrong man?"

  Janeway shook her head.  "I'm afraid not, Ensign Kim.  Lieutenant Tuvok might not have had a lot of information about him, but he would not have confirmed Mr. Paris' actions unless he knew them to be accurate."

  Kim sighed.  "I guess I'm just having a hard time believing it.  Maybe if I hadn't seen his picture.  He looks like, well, like the sort of person you'd like to know, you know?"

  Before Janeway could nod in agreement, Cavit chimed in.  "Thomas Paris?  Trust me, Ensign, you'd do best to stay clear of that criminal, no matter how nice he appears."

  Kim reflexively straightened.  "Yes, sir."

  Cavit seemed to need little to remind him of his own experience.  "For the purpose of time, we didn't go into the details of my crossing paths with Mister Paris a couple weeks ago."  He turned his head back and forth, as if still not believing his experience.  "The way that cocky jerk spun me like a top in his impulse wake before beaming off my cargo and sailing away was bad enough.  He could've gotten me killed.  But it was what he said..." 
 
 

48259-48308:  2.6 weeks ago

  "Thanks so much for the plasma infusers and the injector coils!  They'll make the perfect present for a special someone I know.  Those ion particles are perfect, too, though the canisters really don't match.  Don't worry, I'll find them a nice, new color-coordinated home."

  The open COMM line did not ignore the wicked chuckle that followed the tirade.  Cavit, in addition to the pressure of the G-forces he was enduring in the inverse spin, grew redder still with rage.  "Paris, I'll...hunt you down...for this!  I swear...I'll find...you!"

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Commander Cavit," droned the pilot.  Cavit could almost hear the other man's insane grin.  "Maybe next time I'll bring you a present you'll like."

  "What I'd like...to see is you...in prison, you...bastard!"

  "Now, you don't need to insult my mother because my present's not as nice as yours," was Paris' reply.  "But I won't take it personally.  --There, that's the last of it.  Merry belated Christmas, Commander Cavit, and may your Yule log bring you glad tidings!"

  "This isn't...over, Paris!"

  "But I'm afraid it is.  --Too bad, 'cause I know we were having so much fun.  I will go away with good memories of our time together, though.  And you know what sticks out best?" 
 

  ..."Best of all, he actually overloaded his own shield array trying to transfer warp power to it.  All I did was pop him in the inverter--and he still didn't know what he'd done.  It was almost too easy."

  Tom chuckled again as he fiddled with the cases he'd decided to take with him, enjoying the responsive laughter and various comments echoing through the small cargo bay.  "In any case, Chakotay, now that I've deposited my little trove, I'll be heading home."

  "Commander Cavit's unhurt, I hope?"  Chakotay asked, spotting a singular sparkle in his friend's eye, one that manifested itself only when Tom had been particularly devilish. 

  Tom shrugged.  "I left him spinning, but undamaged.  He'll get back to DS9 without much trouble--just a little late.  His pride, however, I can't say fared as well."  He peered askance at Chakotay's unbroken stare.  "Don't worry, Captain," he assured, "I'm not about to incur any more official excuses for their poking around.  But I do like to remind them that we're not a bunch of pissed off farmers."

  Chakotay laughed.  Neither of them were farmers, and he knew full well that Tom had a direct aversion to killing.  Sure, he'd make them angry, render them off balance, tease them while he nabbed their supplies, but Tom was happy to leave the gore to the more combative members of the Maquis, whom the Liberty had come to support more than lead in recent months, thanks to that same pilot and his tricky little ship.  "Good, and good job.  We've been needing these injector coils for some time."

  Tom nodded.  "It should make B'Elanna happy.  She hates this ship enough without having the rig the core every time we go to warp."

  The captain nodded, knowing without insult that B'Elanna truly did despise the Liberty's battered engines, and having to put them together again after every firefight.  It was the only time anymore that he would see her totally off guard--and unguarded--as her curses would send the Klingon High Council to shame.  As for the man beside him, that loss of control was much more rare, and he found himself, giving his pilot a long, careful stare for that latest coup.  He had to with Tom, as his reactions could be so minute, especially of late, after they made their decision to leave.  At the same time, he was pulling supply raids as though he still had nothing to lose.  Not that Chakotay ever did quite understand how Tom ticked, much as he had come to know the man.  "Sometimes I wonder if you're still in this for her or for the cause itself," he mused, only half-serious.

  "I'm here because I want to be, you know that," Tom replied, getting the lightly put bait but feeling a need to answer seriously, "and so is B'Elanna.  That said, we'll be pretty much out after the next Badlands run.  We do have our priorities and we've done everything we could to give you backup, so you should be all right.  Even more, Chakotay, gone doesn't necessarily mean uninvolved.  I hope you know that."

  "I understand completely," Chakotay grinned and clapped Tom's shoulder.  "And thanks, Tom."

  As soon as he was done strapping together his cases, Tom looked over to the ship he and his wife had so lovingly put back together from near scrap--with scraps.  "How's it going?"  he called out. 

  "Almost done, Tom," Dalby called from the open hatch.  "Five more minutes."

  With a nod to himself, he got back to his feet and swung on his coat.  Running a hand through the hair he knew needed a trim, he looked at Chakotay.  "So when should we meet you?"

  The captain gave that some thought.  "Last time I saw B'Elanna, she looked as though she could use some rest."

  "She left yesterday?"

  "Last night, Andre took her--and she made it home fine," he added, knowing Tom would ask.  "We'd put a lot of time into the phaser array when I thought she looked a little drawn, a little queasy.  Nothing out of the ordinary, Tom, just the body's first adjustments--or so Jenna says."  Chakotay decided on his initial idea.  "I don't plan on shipping us out to the Badlands for another week or so.  Why don't I contact you once we're set to leave?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "I think we can handle things here.  Besides, Tom, it'll give B'Elanna all the time she needs to finish that new circuit core and for you two to have some rest before this mission.  --Don't say anything.  You deserve it.  If it hadn't been for the two of you, we wouldn't be getting this break.  Take the time while you have it."  Chakotay put a hand on Tom's shoulder again and smiled.  "Now, get the hell out of here, Paris."

  "Yes, sir," Tom responded and turned on his heel. 

  Within minutes, the deck was cleared and Tom fired up the scout's engines, grinning, as he always did, to hear the pride of his innovations and his wife's genius meld into a steady rhythm as he tapped in his coordinates.  The scout wasn't Starfleet issue, that was certain, but the hum of those engines had become as welcome to him as any ship's.  And though she'd been a decent craft fifteen years ago, she could maneuver with the best of them.  She just didn't look the part, was all. 

  "Paris to Liberty.  I'm ready to get going--how's the weather out there?"

  "Clear as Tarkelian glass," Chakotay answered.  "Looks like the Cardassians are enjoying some fish juice this morning.  Keep your eyes open anyway, Tom."

  "Will do," came the pilot's crisp response.  "See you soon, Captain, and don't forget to write.  Marseilles out."

  The "weather," in fact, and to Tom's mild surprise, was very clear.  In spite of the fact that his coordinates had him skirting only a light year away from Federation space, he didn't catch anything on his sensors as he engaged the cloak except a few nearby Maquis ships further into the DMZ.  Though a blessing in itself, it gave the preternaturally instinctive pilot a chill. 

  It's too quiet.  They're up to something, or something's in the works.  I've never seen this route so clear.   He drilled his mind for explanations as he rechecked his sensor scans.  We had heard of a new Starfleet ship.  It couldn't be finished already, could it?

  Making a mental note to talk to B'Elanna again about it, as she was the one who'd heard the news first, Tom leaned back in his seat.  As he ran his hand over the edge of the panel he and B'Elanna finished together, he grinned to himself to recall what his life had become.  He never expected that he might have found a life in the overwhelming struggle that he had involved himself in.  Ironically, he found some peace in that war, when he had all but completely given up on the idea that he would ever be happy, truly happy, before that war began. 

  Amazing what an akoonah, some willpower, work and an incredible woman can do for a man, he grinned to himself as he adjusted his coordinates. 

  Past the Jinaran system was Avalar, certainly the last place Tom Paris ever expected to call home, considering that the nightmares inflicted upon him there still came back to haunt his conscience from time to time.  But Aloreg was dead, and the remaining Cardassian patrols in the area had finally put the planet to coals and left it that way. 

  Ten days later, he and B'Elanna had arrived to help the few survivors.  Not a day later, they'd agreed to stay and rebuild enough to suit their needs, though not enough to attract any attention.  The cell had moved on, taking its base of operations to an undisclosed location several light years away.  It wasn't their cell, so they didn't know for certain where they'd gone, but at least they took the Cardassians with them. 

  Making a pact to use more discretion in their activities, Avalar became a quiet little haven to its mere fifty-one citizens.  Tom faithfully followed through with that agreement when he "parked"  the Marseilles in a crudely disemboweled cavern and cut all his ship's systems but the warp signature mask.  Grabbing his gear and what cases he could easily carry, he jumped ship and headed out of the cavern, stopping only to swoop up a few wildflowers in his free hand. 

  They'd called it "nestmaking," he remembered with a smile, when they restored the little adobe A-frame near the foot of the mountain, which stood about fifty kilometers south of the city, now defunct, and only a kilometer east of the farmhouse he'd stayed in during his recovery.  The old house belonged to the same property.  In claiming it, he felt he was somehow paying Mila back for her sanctuary.  Not far from the farm was where Tom met Aloreg; there, his life had finally, irrevocably, changed. 

  Despite its simplicity, Tom's heart beat to see his home again, even if it hadn't been very long and he knew it.  He'd not been away from B'Elanna for more than a couple days since they'd met.  Despite their own positions and duties inside the Maquis, once they'd come together, neither of them enjoyed separations.  Too many things could happen, they knew--and thought about especially of late, after they had learned about the baby. 

  Who would have guessed I'd so cherish this place, he thought, yet knew it was a part of why he had remained with the Maquis after his first visit to the planet--he had indeed come to truly understand the love of a home, in the best and worst possible ways. 

  He turned the knob on the old-fashioned door he'd designed and hung and felt a flush of joy at the sight of his wife, who was wearing the same red tunic suit she had worn at their wedding, sitting on the floor in the back of the main room--her "office," as she liked to call it.  Neatly stacked components, arrays, ISO chips and matrices surrounded her.  Streams of Grinaraan music floated through the room as she worked, intent on her latest piece of necessary brilliance--the new circuit core for the shield array she had all but installed on Chakotay's beleaguered ship.  Distractedly, she flipped an errant lock from her face with a jerk of her head.  Tom smiled warmly at the familiarity of that gesture. 

  As the music faded, he took a breath.  "I'm home," he said.  Waiting only long enough for her to turn and stand, Tom met her at the middle of the room with a deep kiss and long embrace, pressing himself warmly to her.  With her in his arms, with her scent and taste reclaimed, he felt his longing quickly drain and a smile cross his mouth as he nuzzled a kiss on her neck. 

  "It's about time you got back," she breathed into his ear. 

  "Traffic was lousy," he returned and gave her neck a quick nibble.  She gasped and spanked him.  Chuckling, he peered over at the organized chaos she'd been working on.  "Hmm, what's for dinner?"

  "Oh, just a little something I've cooked up," she said, joining his mood, "some fried modulators with plasma gravy.  Nothing special."

  He gave a single nod, his eyes shining into hers.  "Got you something."

  B'Elanna had seen the flowers.  He always brought them when he could.  "They're beautiful, Tom, thank you."  Taking them in her hands, she breathed in their scent.  "Where did you find them?"

  "You really haven't been out, have you?  There's a patch of them near the cavern."

  "Really?  I didn't notice them when we left last week.  But we're not used to this planet yet."

  "I wish we could know everything that grows here," Tom said, rubbing a thumb across her belly.  "I really do, B'Elanna.  I like coming home to this place."

  "I know.  I do too."

  He rubbed his nose against hers.  "Got you something else."

  "Really?"

  "Among other things, I managed to pick this up at the last market."

  B'Elanna looked down at the shining new instrument in his hand.  "A duotronic probe!"  she said as Tom gently turned it over to its new owner.  She shook her head and smiled up at him.  "Well, it's not as romantic as flowers, but I admit you think of everything, Tom Paris.  How did you know?"

  "I heard Bryce mention last week that you'd need a decent one when you installed the new shield array," he explained, "so I did a little looking around and found a shuttle with some shield equipment in cargo."

  "You stole it for me?"

  "Trust me, it was in the hands of the village idiot.  I couldn't bear to think of the abuse this poor, innocent probe would have suffered in such unqualified hands."  She gave him a long stare and he returned it with a laugh.  "How else could I have gotten my hands on the latest model of Starfleet shield maintenance equipment?  Walk into the Daystrom Institute and ask for it?"

  "I wouldn't put it past you!"  B'Elanna smiled and wrapped her arms around him.  "I missed you."

  "Me too," he whispered, breathing in her scent again as her warmth filled him.  He closed his eyes, feeling all his muscles relax.  Yes, it is very good to be home. 

  "Have you eaten?"  she asked after a minute, finally relinquishing their embrace.  He shook his head.  "Well, I have some rice and caltola--I didn't eat very much."

  "Sounds good.  I'll warm it up, and maybe you'll get hungry, too."

  "Actually, my appetite has been coming back."

  "Thank God," Tom said as he entered the kitchen.  He smiled at the view, which, like most of Avalar, had finally begun to recover its former beauty.  Putting the window there had been a good idea, after all,  he thought as he placed the before mentioned meal on a warmer.  "I thought you might disappear from sight, you'd eaten so little.  As it is, you'd have to run around in the shower to get wet."  Hearing her giggle at that, he gave the rice and odd little greens a stir, glanced back at B'Elanna, who stood in the doorway, watching him.  "I worry about you."

  "I know."

  "Do you mind?"

  She took another step into the room.  "Well, it was a change of pace," she grinned, then added, "Actually, I consider it a compliment--and proper for a mate.  Not many people really thought to be so protective of me before you came along.  I guess they thought I could take care of myself."

  "And they were right.  Doesn't mean you should always have to."  Tom knelt to fiddle with the replicator beneath the worktop.  "Xiados gravy," he commanded, giving the machine a little kick.  "It's always good with caltola," he said and pulled the steaming bowl from the port. 

  "I knew I'd forgotten something!"  she exclaimed, throwing up her hands with a short laugh.  "I thought I'd remembered all the ingredients.  I knew it was missing something even as I was eating it.  Little wonder I let you cook."

  Feeling her amusement as much as he'd heard it, Tom gazed up at her, as if making sure he'd memorized every line about her.  When her eyes caught his appraisal, he watched her smile warm, her expression, so purely beautiful to him.  Home.  A beat thumped in his heart, and he drew a silent breath, his stare unabated. 

  "I'll write it down for you, if you want," he said softly.  "Come sit with me?   I can tell you're hungry."

  "Maybe a little," she admitted and moved to get two plates for the table. 
 

  He took her to see the flower patch after dinner, holding her hand as they treaded the rocky terrain he planned to cut a path into when, of course, he could get his hands on the equipment to do so.  He didn't know why he wanted to do it, though.  He and B'Elanna, when her time came, planned to leave the Demilitarized Zone for the safety of their child. 

  It had been a difficult decision, for both were not a little guilty at leaving Chakotay and the others behind.  Their captain agreed, albeit grudgingly, that it would be the best for all involved.  In preparation, Tom and B'Elanna had spent a good deal of time training and recruiting.  They weren't about to leave Chakotay in a lurch. 

  The only problem in their plan was that they still had not found a place to go.  There were not many places untouched by Tom's reputation, although Bokora practiced a pleasing non-interference with their immigrant population, according to their neighbor, a native of that world.  Even their cousin K'Karn had agreed it would be a good haven for the two.  The Bokorans were largely peaceful, highly intelligent, gracious people whose planet was just outside Federation space, about eight light years away from Starbase Two-Fourteen.  The only problem was expense:  The Bokora had a stable, yet confusing, capitalistic system; neither Tom or B'Elanna liked dealing in straight currency.  With not long to go before they had initially planned to leave, however, the diversely populated Bokoran colony of Alsarad was beginning to convince them to stop minding.

  Tom still wanted to clear those rocks away.  Tom still wished Avalar was safe enough to... 

  "Torres to Paris," B'Elanna called teasingly and he snapped away from his thoughts.  "What's going on in there?"

  Tom shook his head.  "Just thinking."

  "About what?"

  He sighed, put his arm around her.  "I wish we didn't have to leave.  I wish we could make some sort of provision to stay."

  She nodded.  "And if you thought for a moment you could be sure the Cardassians would keep their distance, we would.  I know, I do too."  She gazed up at him, seeing the struggle playing out in his face.  "Why don't we take the chance, then?  Neither of us really want to go.  Why don't we make the provisions we need and just stay?"

  "I don't want our child growing up in a firefight," Tom told her.  "And thinking about... The nightmares are bad enough, B'Elanna.  I couldn't stand the thought that what happened here before might happen again, to you or the baby.  I couldn't..."

  "I know," she said softly, pressing her fingers against his lips.  She knew his reasons all too well.  She'd seen first hand what those horrors had done to him, worked with him and the akoonah to help him sort out his still tangled emotions--not to mention sort out some of hers as well.  Yet despite time and effort, Tom remained vulnerable to those memories.  B'Elanna suspected he always would be.  Knowing that, she could hardly blame him for his insistence.  "I don't think I'd sleep well at night, either, if we were in the middle of it with our child in danger."

  He only nodded. 

  Her stare was like an anchor as she placed her palm upon his cheek.  "We'll find a home, someday.  And it'll be right for us.  With any luck, we'll be able to come back."

  He grinned, knowing how much she treasured Avalar, too.  It'd been her idea to stay, after all, not long after they had come to help the few survivors of the attack.  She had laid the first root, said it would be good for them both to take that blighted world as their own, that it would help them heal.  He had followed, despite his memories and because he trusted her.  B'Elanna was the more practical of them, he knew.  He was proven correct in very little time.  Staying there to witness that world's resurrection had helped to exorcise some of those demons--not all, but the worst of them.  Rebuilding on Avalar had been their best revenge for its annihilation and they knew it.

  "We have time to decide," she told him, "We don't have to leave immediately, even after the baby's born, as long as there's no action or base camps in this sector.  And when we do have to leave, we will make a new home.  No matter how much we love Avalar, this is just a place, right?  We'll find another."

  "B'Elanna," he whispered and took her hand to kiss the fingers that had stopped his mouth, "you know my home's with you, and you're right.  We made this place together, and we'll make another.  But this was our first place.  I guess I've become too attached.  I don't want to leave at all."

  She smiled.  "I'm glad I'm not alone."

  He looked at her askance.  "Isn't there something you can concoct that could move the planet somewhere else?"

  "I'm afraid not," B'Elanna returned, leaning her head against his shoulder as they continued their stroll.  "Can't you rig the Marseilles' tractor beam to pull it?"

  "If only I could!  I can see Schiller already, marching out of his house and pissed off for losing another year's worth of crops if I tried."  Moments later, Tom's smile grew bittersweet.  "I should have laid low.  It's tricky enough being my father's son without the reputation I have."

  "You didn't know then that we'd be making this kind of decision," B'Elanna told him.  "And don't think you're the only recognizable face in the crowd, or the only culprit.  I was with you on most of the raids that made that reputation, and I planned quite a few, if you recall."

  "Oh yes, I won't forget them too soon."  He chuckled.  "An admiral's bad seed and a half-Klingon academy dropout, partners in crime.  We really are a pair."

  "We certainly are."

  Ahead of them sat a break in the rocks where the sun still shone; bringing B'Elanna into the warm, orange light, Tom looked out onto the vast plain beyond them.  His heart ached anew at the thought of leaving, and looking down at his wife, he knew hers did too.  They had built their house there, made their child there, watched the planet bloom again from the ashes the Cardassians left behind. 

  A breeze passed though the gorge, throwing a few stray curls into her face, and she flipped them away without thinking.  In that little moment, Tom promised himself he would never forget how she looked just then.  Those little moments had become so important to him--those specks of time that reminded him how good his life was.  He had come to require little but that.  The big picture was a distortion, which distorted the rest. 

  His eyes still pinned to her, he spoke again.  "Why don't we see how things play out before we leave?  Keep our eyes open for now?  If the action swings back our way, then we'll set sail."

  B'Elanna's mouth turned up again, her unwavering gaze grew wiser.  "How did I know you'd come around?" 
 

  Knowing full well they could be contacted at any time to regroup with Chakotay's ship, Tom and B'Elanna took advantage of the time they had.  They spent their morning and evenings at work on the new arrays, their afternoons on long walks and visits to their neighbors.  They gathered seed if they happened by some and observed over the course of their stay Avalar's miraculous springtime.  Some days they stayed at the house, considered adding a section, planned a walking path, swam in a nearby lake, planted those seeds or simply enjoyed the view from a bench they built from the ruins of another, under a billowy tree they had transplanted from the less damaged western continent. 

  For eight deliciously long days, they could pretend that there was no rebellion, no enemy to fight.  For the time, they were but a young married couple from the colonies, expecting their first child and enjoying the life they'd made for themselves. 

  When their signal came, however, they got themselves dressed in their working clothes, loaded the ship, cleaned up the house.  They let their neighbors know they'd be gone, asking Schiller, their nearest neighbor, to look in on the garden from time to time.  They completed, they locked the house and left without much more ceremony and no complaints.  They knew their jobs and had set out like that many times already since settling on Avalar. 

  Even aboard the Marseilles, the routine was the same.  B'Elanna would keep her eyes on the sensors and the engines, Tom did the flying.  When things seemed calm, she rerouted the sensors to the conn so she could wander forward and stand beside Tom with her hand on his shoulder, sometimes just to share the view, sometimes to be nosy about the path he chose. 

  If she was annoying enough, she knew, he would pull her down into the seat with him and quiet her with his own mouth.  In time, she came to know exactly how far to go with him, and she did so according to her desire.  They had to pass the time in expectation of a battle in some pleasant way.  Pleasantness, after all, was rare enough on board a Maquis ship. 
 

  "Break hard port!"  Chakotay ordered. 

  Tom did it without a second thought, banking the Liberty sharply off the Cardassians' line of fire.  Unfortunately, they'd sent a decent ship after them that time.  "They're still on top of us!  How long to the Badlands?"

  "Fifteen seconds," came the voice of Chakotay's new recruit, the Vulcan. 

  "Good, maybe then we can make some repairs.  They'd be crazy to follow us in."

  "Who ever said they were sane?"  Tom said and glanced at B'Elanna, whose face was tight with the frustration of holding together the battered old ship.  But he needed to hear it.  "B'Elanna?"

  "I'm working on them!"  she returned tersely, tapping furiously into the controls.  "It's coming... Got it!  Phaser banks on line!"

  "Fire!"  barked the captain.  A grin creased his mouth when he heard the whizz of the weapons array.  "That's better."

  But the Vulcan was still preoccupied with the immediate problem.  "If we continue at this output--"

  "They're off us!"  Tom pulled the visual around so they all could see the Cardassian ship sparkling in the tendril of a plasma disruption.  "Have a nice day," Tom intoned as he reset their course. He then checked their path, his fingers waltzing on the panel in front of him as though the attack had never occurred.  His eyes remained sharp, however, and his scans as thorough as their uncertain systems would allow.

     "We've only got impulse engines, Chakotay," B'Elanna said after minute.  "Quarter impulse at that."

  The captain nodded.  "We can make some repairs in the meantime.  Good work."

  Tom and B'Elanna's eyes met, finding each other equally bright with adrenaline, and relieved that no more was needed.  They were still alive.  They'd get through that last run, then go home.... 

  A sensor chirped. 

  Then a flash. 

  "What the hell was that?"  demanded Chakotay.  As soon as they guessed what it wasn't--which took only a few seconds--Tom was diverting all the power he could to the helm.

  But Tom knew, he knew full well, felt it.  Whatever it was rising out of the bowels of the Badlands and heading straight towards them wasn't something they were going to get past.  With a few more clicks, he shut down the engines and transferred all that power to the shields instead.  Another, now desperate, glance to his wife reaffirmed it--for she knew too:  They would never outrun... 
 

  "B'Elanna!"  was the first thing from Tom's lips when his eyes opened. 

  "Tom!"  Crawling through the debris and smoke, she found his flailing hand and yanked the panel off of him. 

  When she pulled him up, he grabbed her to him and let out his breath into her hair.  "What the hell happened?"

  "I was hoping you could... --You're hurt!"  She dove under what was left of the instrument panel for Tom's med-kit.  Throwing it open, she looked in vain for a dermal regenerator.  In that disorder, she couldn't remember if one was in the case--and in the semi-darkness couldn't recognize which it was among those alien instruments.  Then she saw Chakotay. 

  Tom did too, and together they crawled across the ruined bridge to their unconscious friend.  Tricorder in hand, Tom gave a nod to B'Elanna.  "Top left," he said and she nodded back.  The most common injury was concussion.   She found and grabbed the neural monitor, activating it quickly.  Tom glanced over to the Vulcan, who began to regain his senses despite the gush of green below his chin.  "Tuvok, right?  You okay, Tuvok?"

  "I am not seriously injured."

  "Good," Tom said with a quick nod as he continued working on his captain.  "Go back and see to the crew.  Tell them to begin a damage control sweep.  Our main priorities will be the usual: life support, communications and sensors--in that order.  And have Jenna start a triage.  Tell her as soon as I'm done here I'll help her.  I want a full report.  The COMM's probably down--it always goes first.  Use whoever you can to repair it and get back to B'Elanna and me."

  Tuvok stared at him, unmoving. 

  But only for a moment.  "You say you're not seriously hurt," B'Elanna snapped, "so do as he says!"

  "It would not be wise for me to leave the bridge at this time," Tuvok said.  "There are repairs here which--"

  "And there're people below!"  B'Elanna leaned forward on her hands and knees, glowering at the other man's dispassionate facade.  "Tom's second in command here and Chakotay's out of it right now.  So unless you want to answer to the third in command, get the hell out of here!  MOVE!"  Shaking with unspent energy, she shook her head when the Vulcan exited.  "I don't know about him either," she said, recalling their conversation, only two hours old. 

  Tom didn't reply to save his concentration.  The concussion was more serious than he feared.  "B'Elanna," he said softly, "could you pull out a vial of doraxin?  I'm going to have to shock him out of it.  It won't hurt him, but he'll be on edge for a while.  We'll have to keep him calm."

  She nodded and loaded the hypospray with a smack.  When she gave it to him, Tom's fingers closed upon hers, tenderly capturing her hand.  His eyes came up, only briefly, and his thumb stroked her flexed tendons.  Her hand relaxed a little, then. 

  Tom turned back to his patient and administered the hypospray. 

  It did what it needed.  Chakotay's eyes flew open and he heaved for his breath.  Again.  And again.  His eyes darted around and found the two faces he knew best staring down at him, one anxious, the other beginning to grin. 

  "Sorry Dad," Tom quipped with some effort, "we wrecked the car.  We'll pay for it, promise."

  In spite of herself, B'Elanna laughed and slapped Tom's arm.  "Don't tell him that!  He'll make us do it."

  "What happened?"  Chakotay asked. 

  "We're still not sure," B'Elanna said.  "Sensors are off-line."

  A sudden shiver froze the captain; Tom held the man's shoulder to the dirty floor.  "Try to relax.  The meds I gave you have some side effects."

  Seeing Tom's careful stare and B'Elanna's concern, Chakotay broke out in laughter.  The doraxin was also making him giddy and he knew it.  "The last time I saw you two so serious, Jenna nearly beat the hell out of me."

  Tom chuckled as he pulled out a cortical scanner.  "Not that you didn't deserve it," he quipped.

  B'Elanna, distracted by a spark thrown from an overhead panel, replayed the question in her mind.  When it came to her, she laughed unexpectedly.  "That's right, now I remember..." 
 
 

48249:  About three weeks ago

  "Return fire!"  Tom ordered and grinned as the Cardassian scout took a hit to the stern.  Reflexively, he barreled the Marseilles just as the opposing ship launched another volley. 

  "They're powering up torpedoes," B'Elanna said.  "I'm diverting power to the shields."

  Tom barreled again and felt only a jar when the next round of phaser fire popped the edge of their shield bubble.  "I'm really getting bored with this!"  he announced.  "Time to turn this around.  Hang on!"

  B'Elanna did just that.  She knew how he flew--and wasn't surprised when the ship creaked with the pressure of his inversions.  Within a minute, Tom had maneuvered the Marseilles to where they had the offensive, and B'Elanna began to work again.  Diverting a few more systems, she looked on the sensors for the blind spot and buried a small torpedo into the Cardassian's nacelle.  A welcome sight filled the viewscreen to her left.  She leaned back to enjoy it.  Tom was nodding, resetting their course, meaning that there was nothing else to bother them within range. 

  Once that was done and she had taken care of those all-too familiar damages, she ran a final diagnostic.  Surprisingly, they would need no more parts to complete repairs.  She'd stored enough on Avalar to take care of the rest. 

  With a satisfied smile, she let herself breathe--and swallowed it.  A curious sensation came to her--full and... She swallowed again.  She felt her blood draining from her suddenly warm face, a cool sweat spreading down her throat and shoulders, the odd swirling in her stomach as it began to crawl upwards...calm...then rise again... 

  "Oh God!"  she gasped and flew out of her seat.  But moments later, Tom's arm was around her shoulder as her stomach hurled; he pulled back her hair when she started retching in the corner, seemingly without end.  As soon as she thought it was done, it began again, and her husband's soothing caresses couldn't come near to stopping it. 

  More than ten minutes later, Tom was cradling her half-unconscious form in his arms, carrying her back to the sleeping compartment.  He left only long enough to get a tricorder and a hypospray, which he loaded as he reentered the room.  "I don't know what came over me," B'Elanna whispered, her eyes still shut as he tapped on the tricorder and pointed it at her.  "I know I haven't eaten anything that would...  I thought this morning I'd just...  Ugh, God, I've never had it come on like that before."

  "You've never been pregnant before."

  Her head came off the pillow.  "What?!"  But he was holding the beeping tricorder and nodding.  He wouldn't joke about that.  The word came to her again, and she smiled, then frowned, then looked uncertainly up at him.  "What do we do?"

  Tom was dead serious.  "What's your instinct?"

  On returning to Avalar, the couple silently tra