Chapter Text
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. "'Voilá pourtant un homme qui possede 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. "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