The BLTS Archive - The Choice
Man of Honor
by J.A. Toner (jamelia116@aol.com)

---

A somewhat longer than usual response to the 1001 Challenge--write a
scene you'd like to see in Voyager's final episode. Actually, this is
two scenes, but the first merely introduces the second. Monkee said it
was okay to do P/T. (I have a J/C scene in mind, too. This one just
comes first.)

Archiving: OK to ASC Archive, PTCollective, and BLTS. All others,
check with me first.

Disclaimer: Paramount and Viacom own all things Trek. I borrowed the
characters because it was the only way I could answer this challenge.
I'm not claiming anything else except for wishfully thinking that the
finale might have something like this in it. That would be nice,
because I'm sure not going to be selling Braga and company any scripts
anytime soon.

Thanks, MaryW, for suggesting I write this one up; Christina, who
chewed over this idea with me long before the 1001 Challenge ever came
out; Monica, who doesn't get out very much but has a good eye for a
story point that needs clarifying; and the denizens of Sandrines for
their advice and encouragement.

---

He sat in all-encompassing darkness, relieved only slightly by the 3%
lighting he had specified. He'd always liked that level. It was
suggestive of light spilling through an open window on a clear night
on Earth.

He could see her, sprawled in utter exhaustion on the bed. Their bed
for many months now, except on those nights they chose to sleep in his
quarters. Then his bed became theirs. It had never mattered much which
bed they slept in. Both had been well-used since they had come
together over three years ago.

It was all about to end now, that easy way they had come to have with
each other, her fire balanced by his ironic cool. Threatened,
ironically enough, by the hard work they had done together, with the
aid of her engineering staff, Harry Kim, and Seven of Nine.

The folding space technology, brought to them when an alien thief had
temporarily absconded with Tom's body, finally had yielded its secret:
it was, in fact, only a variation of the slip- stream drive and the
Borg transwarp conduit. All depended upon the same underlying
principles of physics utilized by those who were recognized by the
people of Bajor as their Prophets of the Celestial Temple and by the
Federation as the wormhole aliens. The folding space technology Steth
had shown them turned out to be superior to all the other variations
for a very mundane reason. It could safely be adapted to Voyager's
use. Once that key fact was recognized, it was only a matter of time
before the door to the Alpha Quadrant would be opened.

The Holy Grail of Voyager. The Alpha Quadrant. Home.

Home, where Thomas Eugene Paris had been the scion of a noble
Starfleet family, a child prodigy at piloting, and, due to his own
cowardice at a critical point in his life, a ruined man.

Cut loose from Starfleet and all that he loved, most damningly, he
lost sight of his own soul.  Abusing his body with alcohol and sex to
numb the pain he felt every time he looked at the man staring back at
him from the mirror, he had managed to cast himself away even while
living on his own home planet.

Almost despite himself, he had drifted into a noble cause. In the
brief time he had been in service to the Maquis he had done little,
save to sacrifice himself so that his compatriots could escape a
Starfleet trap. He had had no mechanism to get word to them of his
selfless act, even if his pride would have allowed him admit it. Since
there was no way for them to learn the truth, they presumed he was
their betrayer, not their rescuer. Instead, he accepted the label of
traitor to the Federation and went to prison. In the eyes of those who
followed the principles of Starfleet, he had lost his honor for the
second time.

And then, when he was as debased in his own eyes as he could be,
incarcerated, reduced to being a mere mechanic in a rehabilitation
colony when once he could pilot a starship as well as or better than
any person alive, a woman had offered him the chance to serve again.
Once that mission was over, he would be cut loose to drift from woman
to bar, from bar to woman, but for those few weeks, he would be able
to step on the deck of a starship again--if he were willing to betray
his fellow Maquis, this time for real.

The lure of the stars was greater than his capacity to do the noble
thing and say, "No."

Six and a half years later, that "brief" mission was finally about to
come to an end. After years of working hard to gain the respect of his
superiors and his peers, earning a field commission, a demotion, and
finally promotion again, he and all on Voyager were about to to return
to their Alpha Quadrant home. Fate decreed that they would face all
the phantoms from their pasts. Starfleet boards of inquiry for his
captain. Possible courts martial for his love and her fellow Maquis. A
prison outmate review for himself--as if he hadn't been "out" as far
as possible for over six years while exceeding the length of his
expected sentence four times over.

The very thought brought a bitter smile to his face. Lieutenant Thomas
Eugene Paris had changed a lot--and for the better, as he fervently
believed--in the intervening years. One thing he was never likely to
lose, however, was his ability to recognize and laugh at absurdity,
particularly if it pertained to his own stumbling path through life.

Shaking his head, he tried to think of other things, anything, to
sidestep the one great truth he could not ignore. The Delta Quadrant
was far more home to him now than the Alpha Quadrant had ever been;
but, like all of the crew, he was bound to the one place in the
universe he'd rather not be. "Home."

"Tom?" a sleep-slurred voice called from the bed.

"Yes, B'Elanna, I'm here," he said, guiltily aware that his lover--his
*par'machai* in the Klingon tongue--must have been awakened by his
sarcastic murmuring of the word which had become a curse to him.

She sat up in bed, the gleaming intelligence in her eyes shrouded by
darkness. "What are you doing over there?"

"Thinking."

The slightest of chuckles emanated from her direction. In just the
right, light tone of voice, he made the answer she would be expecting.
"Unthinkable as that may be."

"Get over here, Tom. Now. We've done enough thinking for one day,
don't you think?"

//For six and a half years we've done enough thinking, yeah. And
fighting, and dying, and surviving in spite of it.// But he let no
hint of these thoughts slip into the saucy "Yes, ma'am" he drawled as
he sauntered towards the bed.

Slipping under the raised covers, he stopped her mouth before she
could say anything more. He kissed her hungrily, knowing she would
respond, just as she had a few hours ago, just as she always did. For
one more time, and for as many more times as they had left to be
together, he would bury himself into the comfort of her arms and love,
always conscious that he would hold back just a little of himself, the
same as he always did.

Because tonight might very well be the last time she would look at him
with love and see the man who still bore a shred of honor in his soul.
In the Delta Quadrant, he could fool himself, and his half-Klingon
love, into thinking he was a man worthy of her love.

In the Alpha Quadrant, that would be impossible.

---

B'Elanna straightened her dress uniform. They would be coming any
moment to Tom's quarters. The admiral and his lady. Tom's parents. His
mother had called to say she'd be transporting up to Voyager, in orbit
around Earth, to see her only son. To see them.

She tried to tell herself she wasn't nervous. She almost succeeded.
Almost. To cover the shiver she felt beginning to creep up her spine,
she squared her shoulders and prodded Tom, "Straighten your collar.
It's folded under."

"I hate these uniforms. And I thought our black jumpsuits were bad!"
he complained.

"I may not have to worry about wearing it too much longer."

"The board of inquiry is going to reaffirm your commissions, B'Elanna.
They would have held a court martial if they were going to do anything
else."

"They still could, after the inquiry."

"No, they're not. It's going to be fine. I know it." He smiled at her,
his clear eyes opening up his soul to her sight. Virtually his entire
soul. Always, there was that slight sense of detachment, as if he were
unable to completely share himself with her even though he wished to,
desperately. As soon as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it
as unworthy. He'd never given her reason to think that, ever. He had
always supported her in everything she did.

Except in one way. She'd never heard The Words from him.

"Do you think we should go to the transporter room to wait?" B'Elanna
asked, to divert herself from musings she did not wish to follow to
their natural conclusion. The chiming of the door prevented him from
answering.

At Tom's voicing of the word "Enter" the door opened, but instead of
an admiral and his wife, a petite but powerful Klingon woman of middle
years stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other
before her eyes met B'Elanna's. After a moment of shocked silence,
B'Elanna walked warily forward. Joy mingled with apprehension flooded
through her. "Mother?"

"Lanna! *puqbe'wIj*!" B'Elanna's mother cried hoarsely, jumping into
the room.

"I didn't know you were coming! Why didn't you tell me?"

The mother threw her arms around her daughter, hugging fiercely enough
to squeeze the last breath from the prodigal's body. B'Elanna wanted
to yell at her mother to stop, yet despite herself, B'Elanna hugged
her back with equal vigor, not quite sure if the sounds coming from
her mouth were words, laughter, or sobs.

B'Elanna relinquished her hold on her mother to step away, so she
could see her mother's face. Her mother did not totally release her.
Raising her hand to B'Elanna's jaw to hold it in place, the Klingon
woman studied her child's face. Her blue-green eyes glittered as she
drew her lips back to reveal sharp teeth. "You look older, my
daughter. Wiser, too, I hope. And your hair! Finally, you have stopped
straightening it into a poor imitation of a human's! I'm glad to see
those beautiful waves! You are my daughter again, B'Elanna! Ha!" Her
delighted bark of laughter reverberated around the room.

The flicker of anger that flared up when her mother mentioned
B'Elanna's past transgressions against her hair quickly died in the
face of her mother's obvious joy. Her mother had come to *her,* to
Earth, where she'd sworn she would never come when they'd parted in
anger on the eve of B'Elanna's escape to the Academy all those years
ago. Until now, it was the last time they had seen each other in life.
//It's good to know I managed to do at least *one* thing right in the
past twelve years,// B'Elanna thought, reaching up to grab a lock of
her hair. Nervously tugging at it, she confided, "Tom was after me
forever to stop straightening it, so I finally did. He likes it this
way. And speaking of Tom . . ."

B'Elanna whirled around to find him standing in the far corner of the
room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his
chest, silently observing the Klingon family reunion. Despite his
overtly relaxed pose, she could perceive the slight awkwardness she
always saw when he was unsure what his next move should be. B'Elanna
had seen him like that often enough the first couple of years on
Voyager, when she wouldn't give him the time of day and he tried to
look like it didn't matter. He hadn't shown it much lately. It
disturbed her to see it now, even though she could imagine that
meeting her mother wasn't going to be any easier for him than meeting
his parents was going to be for her.

//Meeting. Oh, right. That's what we need to do now. I knew I was
forgetting something.//

"Mother, Thomas Eugene Paris. Tom, my mother, Miral, of the House of
Martok."

Tom's posture became Starfleet perfect as he took the three long
strides he needed to reach B'Elanna and her mother. He held his hand
out, a warm smile on his face, and said, "Miral, of the House of
Martok, it is an honor to meet you."

His smile faded as Miral failed to take his hand. "Thomas Eugene
Paris. I've heard of you." The sudden chill in the air was
unmistakable, although the heat suffusing B'Elanna's face threatened
to disperse it explosively within seconds.

Before anything else could be said to turn the reunion into a complete
debacle, the door chime rang again. It was not difficult to guess who
would be behind the door this time. Tom called out again, "Enter."

Although a couple was expected, only one person was behind the door.
The short, human woman with silver-streaked blonde hair and very blue
eyes cried out, "Oh, Tom!" and broke into tears as he rushed over to
her.

"It's okay, Mom! You don't have to cry," he answered, but he hunched
himself over to bury his face in her shoulder as she rubbed him on the
back, comforting him like one would a small child who had become lost,
then was found again.

Taking advantage of the distraction, B'Elanna clasped her mother's
wrist and dragged her into the corner, away from Tom and his mother.
"How could you be so rude to Tom!" she hissed. "Is that the 'honorable
way' Klingons are supposed to behave?"

"He's not worthy of you, B'Elanna. Surely you know that. I pity his
parents. To have to live with his disgrace for the rest of their
lives!" There was no anger in her voice, only a weary resignation
which dismayed B'Elanna more than righteous anger would have.

"Mother! You don't know him. He's put all that behind him. He's the
bravest man I've ever met!"

"Not when it counted, B'Elanna! He cannot be trusted. He is not worthy
of you."

"Not worthy of me?! Of course he is. More worthy of me than I am of
him!"

"He does not understand Klingon ways, B'Elanna. Even humans know he
has no honor!"

Incensed, B'Elanna retorted, "Not understand! How can you say that?
The only reason *I* understand anything at all of 'the Klingon Way' is
from the way he constantly pushed it down my throat. He never stopped
telling me I couldn't hide from who I am. That being Klingon was an
important part of me. Not until he made me believe it! If he doesn't
have enough honor for you, Mother, then neither have I!"

In the sudden silence that followed her outburst, B'Elanna felt not
only her mother's, but two sets of blue eyes staring at her as well.
When she turned her head, she saw one pair staring at her in horror,
while the other blinked and looked away, as if the owner could not
meet her gaze.

B'Elanna released her mother's wrist and went to him. "You see, Tom!
This is how it always ends! Twelve years, and we still can't speak to
one another. In less than ten minutes we start screaming at each
other!"

"B'Elanna . . ."

"Let's go! I can't stay here one more minute!"

"B'Elanna, your mother's right."

"Tom, if she can't see that you . . ."

"If she can't see what? That I'm dishonorable? Of course I'm
dishonorable, to a Klingon. There's no way I can ever undo what I did.
She's right, B'Elanna."

"I won't accept that!" B'Elanna reached for him, but he slipped his
hands up to her elbows and held them firmly, to keep her hands away
from him, as if to ward off a blow.

"You'd better," he said sorrowfully. "I always knew this would happen.
In the Delta Quadrant it was fine. Everyone on Voyager learned to have
faith in me, but look how long it took! I have to start all over again
to win people's trust." He shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly,
not able to meet her burning eyes as he said quietly, "And we both
know some people will never trust me again. If you stay with me, I can
only bring you down. Your mother is right. I'm *not* good enough for
you."

"That's not true, Tom, and you know it. Of course you're good enough
for me." Between his averted eyes and the blurring of her own,
B'Elanna couldn't see his expression. "You don't think you're getting
away from me that easily, do you?" she joked feebly.

She was unable to draw even a slight smile from him. "I *was* a
coward, B'Elanna. With one stupid lie I lost my honor. I have no one
to blame but myself."

"Maybe you 'were' a coward once, but you certainly aren't one now. How
many times did you risk your life to save us all on Voyager?"

"That doesn't matter. Once, a lot of years ago, I stood in front of a
board of inquiry and shoved my own error off on those who weren't
around to defend themselves. You can't deny that was wrong."

"You made a mistake, Tom. Everyone makes mistakes. Even Klingons make
mistakes!" B'Elanna clutched desperately onto Tom's elbows as the
floor fell away from under her. This couldn't be happening. Tom
couldn't be pushing her away now, not after all they had been through.

His words were soft and intense. "I would give anything to live that
moment over, to tell the truth this time. God knows, I've turned it
over and over in my mind to try to understand why I lied. I wish I
could figure it out. I really don't know why I did it."

"Don't you?" a shaky voice said from behind him. B'Elanna and Tom both
turned their heads towards the distressed woman who had stood in
silence next to her son throughout his painful confession. "No matter
what it cost you, you always went along with what *he* wanted. If *he*
wanted you to study in the summer to pass your Academy entrance exams
sooner, you buried yourself inside your room surrounded by piles of
books and PADDs. You told me you wanted to go into the Earth navy, but
when *he* said, 'Starfleet,' to the Academy you must go . . ."

Tom stared at his mother as she spoke in tones that dripped with
bitterness. "Everyone knew it would have been a waste. Dad said I was
a 'natural' pilot," he finally countered.

"Would it have been so terrible for you to have 'wasted' a year in the
Navy finding that out for yourself--instead of just taking your
father's word for it? How many years did you waste on the ground
because of a mistake you couldn't admit in front of your father? Don't
look at me that way, Tom. Can't you see, even now? If your father
wasn't there when they started questioning you, do you think you would
have lied? But in front of *him* . . ."

Tom broke in, "Mom, nobody told me to lie. I did that all by myself. I
can't blame Dad for that! Neither should you."

"I don't blame him for *that,* Tom. Other things, perhaps, but not
that," his mother muttered, making B'Elanna curious about what those
"other things" might be for which she felt her husband deserved blame.
When Mrs. Paris' eyes stole quickly over to her at that moment,
B'Elanna was convinced there had been a deeper--or perhaps a
double--meaning to her words. Before B'Elanna could ask her about it,
words poured out of Mrs. Paris again.

"Of course your father would never tell you to lie, Tom; he didn't
even have to! You were expected to be the Perfect Starfleet Officer.
Admit to failure? That was something you just couldn't do. Oh, God, I
blame myself for that! I knew he was demanding too much from you. I
was never strong enough to stop him."

"Mom, stop it! Don't start blaming yourself now!"

"I have to, Tom. In my heart, I always knew we weren't teaching you
everything you needed to know. I should have made sure you were given
the chance to learn how to fail, then how to pick yourself up after a
mistake and carry on. I only thank God the Maquis and Kathryn Janeway
finally gave you that chance!" His mother's eyes spilled over with
tears again, but these were not tears of joy.

Tom put his arms around his mother and hugged her tightly. "Don't do
this to yourself. You were the best mother a guy could ever have. And
even if you missed teaching me a few things, I should have learned
them on my own! It doesn't excuse me for what I did. I knew any
Starfleet officer is expected to tell the truth, not only the perfect
ones. I just didn't do it soon enough."

The embrace of the mother and son lasted a long time. Glancing over at
her own mother, the cause of all this grief, B'Elanna felt more lost
than angry. Miral stood with her back to all of them, including
B'Elanna, studying the Paris family portrait Tom had always kept in
his quarters, as if she had nothing to do with what was happening to
Tom and his mother--and B'Elanna.

//Shut out again,// B'Elanna thought grimly. And she had harbored such
hopes that it would be different this time.

After B'Elanna's near-death experience, when she'd "met" her mother on
the barge of the dead bound for Grethor--Klingon Hell--B'Elanna had
hoped that if her mother was still alive when they returned to the
Alpha Quadrant, they would settle their differences and finally
understand each other. When Voyager gained occasional contact with the
Alpha Quadrant, B'Elanna was able to confirm that her mother still
lived, though they sent no messages to each other. Once they met face
to face again, perhaps it would be different.

But now . . . if her mother could not accept her daughter's choice of
mate, there was no hope for a permanent reconciliation after all.
B'Elanna did not regret her choice; she knew she would never waver
from him. No matter what her mother might say, B'Elanna knew Tom *was*
a man of honor. Hearing Tom take responsibility for his own disgrace
made her even more sure of him. She wanted to stand in front of her
mother and scream at her for her blindness, but she could not. It was
no use. They would never understand each other.

Before B'Elanna could demand that her mother leave, Tom's mother
released her son and paced to the corner where Miral stood. Outwardly
calm, although B'Elanna was sure she was seething with anger, Mrs.
Paris pushed her way forward to confront Miral. In a hoarse voice, she
said, "I overheard what you said before--about pitying Tom's father
and me for his disgrace. Don't bother.Tom should have told the truth
the first time. I won't deny that. He couldn't undo the lie, once
told. But I *am* proud of him for coming forward with the truth later
on, even though he knew he would lose him everything that he cared
about."

Shaking her head, Miral laughed, "To finally admit to the lie when
they have caught you in it--when there is no longer a way out? Why
should that matter? There is no honor in admitting it then, when you
are trapped and can no longer deny the truth!"

At that, B'Elanna could not contain herself. "Tom was never 'caught'
by anyone! He confessed what he'd done himself, on his own!"

"You expect me to believe that? They found him out! They made him
tell!" Miral marched defiantly to Tom and stood mere centimeters from
him. Tom towered over her in a way that would have been comical if the
subject being addressed were not so deadly serious.

Perhaps it was the incongruity of the scene, but B'Elanna suddenly
feared that Tom might laugh off her mother's accusation with a
wisecrack, to deflect everything away from what mattered and turn it
into a cheap joke, as he so often did. The crooked smile that had
momentarily adorned his face melted into a grimace of pain, however,
as he confessed, "No. I'd gotten away clean. As far as anyone knew, it
was a case of 'pilot error'--and I wasn't even the pilot who made it.
No one would ever have found out." His voice died away to a whisper.

The Klingon woman stood quietly for several seconds, her piercing gaze
fastened upon the silent man's abject misery. Grabbing Tom by the
chin, just as she had B'Elanna when they'd first seen each other,
Miral held his face so that he could not look away from her. "Tell me
again. If no one had found out, why did you confess?"

"I had to. I had to tell or go totally crazy. I couldn't live in my
own skin any more."

Miral stared into his eyes for what seemed like ages. Releasing his
chin, she rested her hand lightly on his chest. "So, he has a
conscience after all. Perhaps all is not lost."

It took a few seconds for what she had said to register. When it did,
his eyes opened wide in astonished disbelief. "What I did was
dishonorable . . ."

"Yes, it was. You richly deserved to be punished," Miral replied
severely, punching him soundly on the left clavicle. The hope that had
begun to flicker in his eyes wavered until she added, "but one
dishonorable deed does not always mean a warrior is beyond redemption.
If that were so, Sto-Vo-Kor would be a very empty place. Few can live
their lives without making a single mistake. Even Klingons know that.
Otherwise, my daughter would have been lost to me forever, too."

Miral's sharp sideways glance at B'Elanna was softened by the hint of
a crooked grin, stifling the instinctive angry retort B'Elanna was
about to make. B'Elanna, of all people, could not deny she had made
mistakes in her life.

"I always thought what I did was so terrible, no Klingon could ever
forgive me."

"The deed *was* terrible, Thomas Paris. But then, if you could no
longer live with this lie, you already know that." Miral dropped her
hand from his chest, glancing into the face of the mother, so much
like the son's, before speaking again to Tom. "Those who truly are
without honor cover up their crimes from father to son. They deny
their misdeeds, as if by denying, they can undo the evil. Their
dishonor stains one generation after another. I can see now you have
not gone so far down that path."

"Are you saying there's hope for me? Despite what I did, there's still
a chance to regain my honor in your eyes?"

"Do you think you are an honorable man?"

Tom answered hesitantly but sincerely, "I can never forget that three
of my best friends lost their lives because of me, and people thought
badly of them for a while . . . because of me. I have to live with
that for the rest of my life. No matter how many brave things I do,
I'll never know if they wouldn't have done more, if they'd had lived
long enough to have the chance. The best I can do is strive to make up
for that the only way I can--by acting as bravely as I can, in their
memory, as well as for myself. I don't know if that's 'honorable'
enough for you or not."

"That is all anyone can do, Thomas Paris. You understand more than I
thought. Just remember, all will recall your past error. They will
always watch you, wondering if you are capable of doing it again. You
have no room ever to make another mistake such as this."

Wordlessly, Tom nodded in agreement, smiling in relief, first at
B'Elanna's mother, then his own, and finally, at B'Elanna.

---

The crushing grip of guilt released its stranglehold on Tom's heart.
Totally dissipated--no. It never would be; he could accept that now.
But no matter what happened with boards of inquiry and outmate
reviews, he knew he could bear it. B'Elanna would not have to turn her
back upon her Klingon self just to stay with him. If the two of them
could be together, he knew he could handle whatever challenges he
might meet along the way . . . what he might meet . . . who he would
meet . . .

He slapped himself on the forehead. "Did we all get a chance to
introduce everyone here? B'Elanna? Did I introduce you to my mother?"

"I think we all figured out who we were, Tom," his mother said, dryly.

"Yes, we have!" Miral's grin was feral. "And we have met in the best
way! We have fought well, and we have come to a truce. But, I must
tell you, Thomas Paris. I prefer to know the names of my
adversaries--and my allies."

"I'm so sorry! Miral, this is my mother . . . I guess you figured out
that part . . . Alicia Paris. Mom, this is Miral of the House of
Martok. And this is B'Elanna."

Alicia embraced B'Elanna warmly. Turning to Miral, she extended her
hand, to have it grasped firmly and shaken with enthusiasm. Before
retrieving her hand, Alicia inquired of the Klingon woman, "The House
of Martok? Are you any relation to the Klingon Chancellor?"

"He is my cousin, but we are counted among those of his house."

B'Elanna looked at the two mothers and laughed. "The Klingon
CHANCELLOR? Mother, don't be ridiculous. Uncle Martok is a general.
He's always hated politics!"

"And still does, but that does not mean he has escaped its grasp.
Destiny often has a cruel sense of humor."

B'Elanna shook her head. "Mother, this is a joke, right?"

Then Tom remembered. "B'Elanna, I read about it in one of those
'briefing messages' from Starfleet that Reg Barclay sent to Voyager.
There was something about a General Martok who was named Chancellor at
the end of the Dominion War . . . you're related to *him*?"

"I told you we are. Do you doubt my word, Thomas Paris?" Miral's reply
was fierce, but her eyes glimmered with amusement.

"Never," Tom replied smoothly. Miral was every bit as formidable as
B'Elanna had always told him she was, not that he was particularly
intimidated. Being with B'Elanna for almost four years had prepared
him well for her mother.

Alicia Paris rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder. "That's
enough of the legendary Paris charm for now, Tom. We don't have time
for it. We were supposed to be at that reception at Starfleet
Headquarters by 2000 hours. We won't make it to the transporter room
before then if we don't leave right now."

Raising his hands in mock defeat, Tom capitulated, "You're right, as
always, Mom. Why don't the two of you get started. B'Elanna and I have
something we have to talk about first."

"Don't take too long, now, you two," Alicia admonished, waving her
finger at her son. Tom grabbed his mother's hand to stop the wagging
and gave it a quick squeeze.

"I don't have to worry about the two of you getting into any arguments
on your way to the transporter room, do I?" he said with mock
severity.

"I will be at my most diplomatic," Alicia said primly. Miral grunted
in the background in what could pass for a chuckle, for a Klingon.
Raising her hand to her son's face, Alicia gently stroked his cheek
with the back of her fingers. When her hand reached his ear, she
closed her fingers to tug ever so gently on his earlobe, their old
sign for wanting to say something to each other privately, even in the
midst of a crowd. Tom grinned quickly at the memory and bent his ear
down to catch her whispered, "Klingons are never dull, are they?"

"Nope," he replied, his voice as soft as hers. "But they sure keep you
on your toes. And they're *always* exciting."

"Ah. I can certainly see the attraction for you, then! Please, Tom,
don't be too long."

He nodded. She gave him a last quick pat on the chest before walking
briskly through the doorway, Miral of the House of Martok following
closely on her heels.

As the door closed behind them, B'Elanna remarked, "I like your
mother, Tom. She's wonderful. Why did you always talk so much about
your father and almost never about her?"

"You know, I have to admit it's strange I never talked more about her
to you. I guess I was always obsessing about whether or not my father
would approve of what I did. I never had to worry about whether my
mother was proud or angry with me. I always knew she loved me, no
matter what."

"I wish I'd felt that way about my mother."

"B'Elanna, I think she does feel the same way about you--she just has
a different way of showing it."

B'Elanna shrugged, but she did not disagree as Tom caught up her hands
in his own.

"I just wish I knew where my dad was. Why wasn't he here?"

"Is it possible he's tied up with this reception at Starfleet
Headquarters--the one we're already supposed to be at?" she asked
pointedly.

"Ah! That's probably it. That wouldn't be unusual." He squeezed the
hands he was holding and looked down at B'Elanna, who was staring
expectantly up at him. "We should go, but first, I have something I
have to say to someone else, not my father."

"Tom, does this 'something' we have to talk about have anything to do
with Klingons, honor, or anything like that?"

"Maybe just a little," he said lightly. Kissing her knuckles softly,
Tom leaned in close to her. "It's something I've been meaning to tell
you for a long, long, time. I think I finally found the right time to
say it."

He looked into her dark eyes, so fiery, yet so soft when they gazed
upon him. Finally, he was free to whisper something he'd never felt
the right to say to her before.

As he said those three simple words, B'Elanna's face brightened with
such rapturous joy he regretted they were duty-bound to attend a dull
public reception. Tom would much rather have stayed in quarters for a
private celebration.

He felt even more regret about their obligation when B'Elanna threw
her arms around his neck and whispered back, "I love you, too, Tom."

---

The End