THe BLTS Archive - Celestial Navigation
by Miss Parker (jess.bradley@gmail.com)

---

Tom settles in Ireland when all is said and done. There's a
lab there, a small one that is technically Starfleet, but
hires civilians, too. Tom designs shuttles, runs passengers
and cargo, and maybe most importantly, gets to retain his
rank. He doesn't kid himself – his rank was a gift in the
first place and here, back on Earth, he is surprised still
to have it. No one knew what would happen when Voyager
returned to the Alpha Quadrant. What of their careers? What
about the Maquis and the crew they'd picked up along the
way? What of ex-cons who should have never been anything
more than observers?

Tom is lucky, he knows. A father high up in Starfleet and a
Captain willing to fight for every member of her crew has
done him a world of good. He got his rank and a choice pick
of assignment in the sector. Another starship, the academy,
headquarters, anything he wanted really. When this
assignment came to his attention, he couldn't pass it by.

"Trying to capture your glory days?" Janeway had asked.
Technically, Janeway had to authorize Tom Paris out from
under her command. He stood in her new office at Starfleet
Headquarters. She'd been promoted to vice-admiral and the
new uniform and pips looked good on her. He would miss
serving with her.

"You mean Fair Haven?" he'd asked and she'd nodded once.

"Nah," he'd said. "I'm happy to leave that behind. But
Ireland is Ireland. It's still beautiful country. You should
visit sometime."

"Sometime," she'd agreed. "Good luck, Lieutenant."

"Good luck, Admiral," he'd grinned.

Sometime turns out to be one year and four months later. He
is in his office when the communiquι from Starfleet Command
gets routed to his terminal. He's surprised – their little
office is far off the beaten path and when his father calls,
which is rare, he does so on civilian channels when Tom is
at home.

"Lieutenant Paris!" Janeway greets him warmly with a big
smile.

"Admiral," he greets, returning her grin. "You're a sight
for sore eyes."

"I'm not catching you at a bad time, am I?" she asks.

"For you, I have all the time in the world," he promises
flirtatiously. She raises her eyebrow at him, but doesn't
chastise him.

"I have a three day meeting scheduled next week," she says.
"In Dublin."

"Why, I live in Dϊn Laoghaire," he says, affecting a thick
Irish brogue.

"I know," she says. "I was hoping we could get together.
Catch up a little?"

"Better yet, why don't you stay with me," he offers. "I just
moved into a house along the coast."

She hesitates only a moment before nodding.

"All right," she says. "I'm transmitting my schedule to you
now. See you next week?"

"Yes Ma'am," he says.

---

Tom's house is a small, two-story home built to be a summer
escape. Though it has been renovated to accommodate the
winter conditions, the charm of it has remained intact. The
night before Janeway is to arrive, he strips the bed in
Miral's room and puts on clean sheets and warmer blankets.
Miral hasn't slept in her bed since the summer. Tom looks
around the room and decides to tuck the stuffed animals that
sit on top of the bureau away in the closet.

The house is old and has a functioning kitchen as well as a
replicator. His home terminal provided by Starfleet sits on
an old wooden table in his kitchen. The table came with the
house and has been in the kitchen for over a century. It's
Tom's favorite piece of furniture in the house. It is
B'Elanna's least favorite.

Tom picks up the Admiral at the transport station. She comes
several hours earlier than the other Admirals who are
attending the meeting with her so she can settle in with
Tom. When she materializes, he hugs her and takes her bag to
carry.

"You look good," she says, peering up at him and squinting
slightly in the sun. She wears her hair up in a bun and for
a moment it's like the last 8 years have never happened. But
then, there are more lines by her eyes and a smattering of
white hairs in her red ones.

"Why thank you," he says. "Come on, it's only a couple
blocks to my place."

"I was surprised you invited me," she admits. "But then, you
were never frightened of the command structure."

"Fleet brat," he says, as they head down the sidewalk. "You
aren't my Captain anymore, you know. Sure, you outrank me by
like, a lot, but you called me as a friend and I invited you
in the same way."

She stops and stares at him for a moment, her face surprised
and amused.

"Glad we got that cleared up," she says, laughing. "So, how
are you liking the job?"

"I love it," he says. "And I love Ireland."

She looks around at the green around her, at the sun on the
water.

"Me too," she decides.

Tom opens the gate to his yard and lets her walk in front of
him. She stops in the front garden and looks around
grinning.

"This is lovely," she says. It is the second day of October
and the garden is holding up nicely. In a week or two, the
leaves will fall and the petals will drop but Janeway has
caught the garden just in time. The house is white and the
door has a window of etched and beveled glass. She stands on
the porch and peers in while Tom fishes in his pocket. She
can see a dark hallway and a table at the end of it but
little else.

Tom pulls out a key and slides it into the lock.

"A key?" she asks.

"You know how I like authenticity," he grins, turning the
lock. Inside, he flips a light switch and a lamp springs to
life. "There's no centralized computer system, but I have a
communications center and a big fire place so. . . "

"It's perfect," she grins. "I love it."

"Really?" he asks, setting her bag at the foot of the narrow
stairs.

"Crown molding, hardwood floors, authentic fixtures and
lighting, it's like something you designed for yourself on
the holodeck!" Janeway says.

"And it was a steal." Tom waggles his eyebrows.

"I live in Starfleet issue San Francisco housing," Janeway
says, walking into the living room. There is a brown couch
and Tom's old-fashioned television set in the corner. On the
mantle over the fireplace, there is a picture of Miral and
another one of Tom and B'Elanna on their wedding day. "It's
very beige."

"Buy a house," Tom offers.

"Yeah," she says. "Someday."

"I'll show you to your room," he says. "I hope you don't
mind the dιcor of a toddler."

"Where is my lovely goddaughter?" she asks, following him up
the stairs.

"With her mother," Tom says. "On the Minerva. Three months
on and then two weeks home."

Janeway pauses at the top of the stairs.

"When I authorized her transfer to the Minerva, she told me
it was a six week mission!" Janeway exclaims.

"It was," Tom says, opening the door to Miral's bedroom.
"They just wanted to keep her longer."

"And you agreed to this?" Janeway asks.

"It's a good job for her and I love my job here," Tom says.
"Miral stays in Ireland during the summer and with her
mother the rest of the year."

"Tom," Janeway says. "Are you and B'Elanna having problems?"

"Marriage is never easy, Admiral," Tom says, artfully
dodging the question. "How do you like the room?"

Janeway can take or leave the room; it's the view that
captures her heart. The sea roils and turns outside the
window and the sky is hugely blue.

"Beautiful," Janeway says.

"Why don't you settle in?" Tom says. "I'll go make a pot of
tea and then maybe we can take a walk before you have to
go?"

"Sure," she says.

Downstairs, Tom fills the kettle and sets it on the stove.
He gets two mugs from the cabinet – not metal mugs but real
ceramic mugs and sets dry, fresh tea bags in each of them.
There's cream in the temperature controlled cabinet as well
as sugar in a white jar on the counter. The kettle is just
starting to whistle when he hears her feet on the stairs. It
takes her a bit to appear in the kitchen, but he isn't
worried; he can hear that she's giving herself a tour.

"Really," she says, walking into the kitchen. "I love this
house."

"You're welcome any time," he says, handing her the mug.
"It's really good to see you, Captain. Oh." He blushes.
"Admiral. Sorry."

"How about just Kathryn for now?" she says. "You're not
exactly under my direct command anymore, right?"

"Right," he says.

---

They walk along the shore for a while, talking about his
job.

"The Federation Naval Alliance has contracted us to make a
line of Class 4 shuttles that are both space and sea
worthy," Tom says, excitedly.

"Really?" Janeway asks.

"I sent them the original schematics for the Delta Flyer
with the water modifications and they ordered 10 ships," Tom
says. "We're not using the exact design, of course, but it's
a good place to start."

Neither brings up why the Delta Flyer had to be made sea
worth in the first place.

"Keep me appraised of your progress," Janeway says. "It all
sounds fascinating."

"I'm pretty happy," Tom says. The tide surges toward them
and Tom gently steers her back so the water doesn't get
their boots. They walk slowly on the sand, careful not to
let the house out of their view. Soon, Janeway's chronometer
beeps.

"Oh, I have to head for the transport site," she says.

"I'll walk with you," Tom says. "Will you be home for
dinner?"

"I hope so," she says. "If not, I'll let you know."

---

When she is gone, Tom goes to his office. He usually doesn't
go in on the weekends, but he doesn't feel like spending the
day by him self. He has a message from Harry waiting for him
and he watches it right away. Harry, finally a Lieutenant,
is serving on the USS Bonaparte but never strays too far
from earth. He and Tom exchange regular messages and Harry
always spends a night or two in Ireland when he is planet
side.

Tom hits the record message.


"Hiya Harry," Tom says into the blinking light. "You'll
never guess who I have as a house guest for the next couple
days. None other than Kathryn Janeway. She's in Ireland for
some high up Admirals conference and I convinced her to stay
with me. She asked after you – I think it's about time we
got the gang together. I don't think the whole Voyager crew
has been in once place since we got home. Want to help me
organize that next time you're on Earth? Anyway, B'Elanna
and Miral are fine, they say. I'll get to see them next
month. Maybe you'll be around then too? Let me know your
duty schedule. Talk to you later."


He sends the message and sits back content to spend the next
several hours pouring over shuttle schematics. On the way
home, he stops at the market and picks up some fresh
vegetables to make a green salad for dinner. At home, he
lights a fire and tries to warm up the place. With the
evening has come a thick layer of fog. It occurs to him that
the fog could be somewhat disorienting to someone who
doesn't know the terrain well. Abandoning dinner, he slips
on his jacket and makes the short walk to the transport
station just in time to see Janeway materialize on the pad.
She grins at seeing him, obviously relieved, obviously
exhausted.

"How was it?" Tom asks. Janeway just raises her hand as to
wave away both his question and her day. "Not at liberty to
discuss the inner-workings of Starfleet's finest?"

"Let's go with that," she says.

"What time do you have to be back in the morning?" he asks.

"0900," she says. "Not too bad."

"One thing I learned how to do in Ireland is eat well," Tom
says, leading them back to his house. "You hungry?"

"Famished, actually," she says.

At the house, he watches her dig into her salad in a way he
never witnessed on Voyager. On the ship, she'd been flippant
about food. Too tired to eat, too busy, not interested. Some
of that probably had to do with their chef, but for some
people, food and stress were connected.

She stays with him while he does the dishes before retiring
to bed.

---

The days pass all too quickly and soon he is walking her
back to the transport station for the last time.

"I know I spent most of my time working, but this was like a
vacation," Janeway says, looking at him. "Thank you so
much."

"Anytime," Tom says. "And I mean that. My home is yours."

"Until next time, then," she says, stepping onto the
transporter pad.

"Bye," he says and watches her disappear.

---

"Do you ever worry about the future?" Harry asks, staring
intently into his teacup.

"No, I have you to do that for me," Tom says, grinning.

"I'm serious," Harry says. He is on three days leave from
the Bonaparte and spending it with Tom. He'd hoped to see
B'Elanna and Miral as well, but their leaves hadn't
overlapped this time around.

"Of course," Tom says. "It's human nature. Why do you ask?"

"You haven't put in for a promotion in over a year," Harry
says. "You'd make Lieutenant Commander no sweat."

"Funny," Tom says, his face falling slightly with the weight
of sarcasm. "It looks like Harry, but it sounds like
B'Elanna."

"Tom," Harry says, frowning.

"I'm happy with my life," Tom says. "Is that so hard to
understand?"

"Yes!" Harry says. "You never see your family and you rarely
see your friends."

"I see you all the time," Tom says. "I saw Admiral Janeway
last month."

"All the time?" Harry says. "You saw me all the time when we
worked on the same ship. Now? We're rarely in the same
sector."

"I like my life," Tom says.

"You might like it more as a Lieutenant Commander," Harry
says.

"It seems scummy when you put yourself in for promotion, did
you ever think of that?" Tom says.

"That is ridiculous," Harry says. "Tom, half the people who
work with you aren't even Federation personnel!"

"Which is half the charm," Tom says. "I like charm, I like
quaintness, I like Ireland, and I like my life, so can we
drop it?"

"Sure, sure," Harry says. "So tell me about Admiral
Janeway's visit."

"It was fun," Tom says, brightening up. "She worked most of
the time, but she had dinner here every night and we took
some walks."

"How'd she seem?" Harry asked.

"How did she seem?" Tom repeats, confused. "She seemed
fine."

"Good," Harry says, leaning back in his chair.

"Why?" Tom demands.

"Well, it isn't official yet or anything, but rumor is she
was ordered to take a sabbatical," Harry says.

"For how long?" Tom asks.

"Three months," Harry says. "I heard it from my C.O. His
wife works at headquarters."

"You missed the Alpha Quadrant gossip train, didn't you?"

"I did," Harry says, grinning.

"Well, everyone needs a vacation," Tom says. "Maybe she just
had too much leave coming to her."

"Maybe," Harry says. "Rumor is she appealed it and her
appeal was denied. Three mandatory months."

"That would drive a woman like Kathryn Janeway crazy," Tom
mutters.

"You should invite her out again," Harry suggests.

"Here?" Tom asks.

"Sure," Harry says. "She could see B'Elanna and Miral. You
said she had fun while she was out."

"Well, yeah, but. . . "

"Plus I'm sure she'd have no problem recommending you for
advancement."

"Come on, Harry!" Tom says, standing up. The kitchen table
is still covered with their breakfast dishes and Tom starts
clearing them away; he noisily drops the dirty dishes into
sink to wash later. Another one of the things he and
B'Elanna fight about is hand-washing dishes versus recycling
everything away. He likes to have dishes in the cupboard for
when they hand make food without having to replicate new
ones every night. B'Elanna doesn't want to deal with the
mess.

"Fine, fine," Harry says, sulking.

But when Harry goes to bed, Tom can't sleep. He paces around
downstairs. He stokes the fire and watches twenty minutes of
his television set before getting bored and turning it off.
He turns on his computer and before he knows it has encoded
a message to Kathryn Janeway. He sends her only text.


A little bird told me you have some leave coming to you.
Remember that there's always a room for you in Ireland if
you get tired of your beige, standard issue walls.

Tom


He sends the note and shuts down the system before he
changes his mind. When he passes Miral's room, he can hear
Harry snoring. He turns off lights as he goes and puts
himself to bed.

---

Tom is at work when his supervisor, Commander Hayes, sticks
his head into Tom's office.

"What's up?" Tom asks. He's standing at the display on the
wall, looking through schematics.

"You have a visitor," Hayes says, grinning.

"Who?" Tom asks but Hayes just shrugs and says nothing.

"She's in the observation lounge."

"She?" Tom asks, confused.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting, Lieutenant," Hayes says and
disappears down the hall. Curious, Tom shrugs into his gray
uniform jacket and zips it up before winding his way through
the office complex to the observation lounge.

The observation lounge is really just a conference room with
a spectacular view. It's a small room with a long table and
several chairs, but one of the walls is full of windows that
look out over the ocean. On a clear day, one could see for
miles.

There's a small woman waiting in the room for him. Her back
is to him as she looks out over the water. Her long hair is
loose and she's wearing a green dress with a darker jacket
over it.

"Hi," Tom says and when she turns around his face breaks
into a grin. "I didn't realize it was you!"

"Out of uniform," Janeway says, lifting her arms and giving
a spin. "What do you think?"

"Lovely color," Tom says. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

"I. . .  uh, I got your message," she says. "I was wondering if
your offer still stands?"

"Of course," he says. "You're always welcome."

"Good," she says, relieved. "I know I should have called
first."

"No," he says. "I love surprises."

"I know," she says.

"Let me show you around," he offers. She has a duffel bag by
her feet and he picks it up and slings it over his shoulder.
They wind through the office while he points out rooms and
introduces her briefly to the people he works with. The
Federation employees stand up and everyone else offers a
friendly wave.

"And this is my office," he says, setting the bag down
gently. It makes noise – so not just clothing, but
technology as well.

"Nice," she says. "What are you working on?"

"Shield harmonics," he says. "Boring."

"No," she says. "It isn't."

"No," he agrees. He motions for her to have a seat and they
both sit, the desk between them. "So, how long are you
planning on staying?"

"You know how they say that I wrote the book on the Borg?"
Janeway says, conversationally. This is a bizarre turn of
subject, even for Janeway but it doesn't throw Tom. He leans
forward on his elbows a bit.

"Yeah," Tom says.

"Well, I thought I might literally do that," she says. "I
have some time to do it, so I thought I may as well do it
now."

"And you need my help?" he asks, clearly confused.

"I need a quiet space and someone I can trust," she says.
"So yes, I need your help."

"I've been reading your articles," Tom says, leaning back in
his chair. "About the Borg. About deep space travel. I think
there was one about diplomatic weapons trade."

"There was," she confirms, nodding. "You keep up with
Starfleet academic publications?"

"I keep up with you," Tom says. It's a statement that should
be paired with a saucy wink or a flirty grin, but Tom plays
it straight. "You can stay as long as you need, Admiral."

"Call me Kathryn," she says, again.

"On Federation ground I'm going to call you Admiral, but
anywhere else, your name will be just fine," Tom says,
standing. Janeway rises too. "Admiral, I have to stay here,
but I'm going to give you my key so you can make yourself at
home. Can you find the way?"

"Well, as it turns out I'm an explorer and I'm pretty good
at finding my way," Janeway says. Now, Tom does grin and
hands her the key to his house.

"See you in a few hours," he says and watches her walk out
of his office.

---

Tom's favorite time of day is when he gets to walk home.
Even when it's cold and the weather is hostile at best, he
enjoys the walk. He puts his hands in his pockets and cuts
down so he can walk along the water. The sky is daunting and
by morning, there will be first snow. Tom hopes the Admiral
packed warm things for her stay because while San Francisco
boasts damp air and fog, it never really gets the bone
chilling cold that Tom has witnessed in Ireland.

Janeway has left the porch light on for him and he stamps
his feet on the mat before stepping into his warm house. He
can hear that she has built a fire in the hearth, but he
doesn't hear her.

"Kathryn?" he calls.

"I'm up here," she says and he climbs the stairs. She's in
Miral's room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He knocks
lightly on the doorframe and she looks up at him and smiles.
"How was work?"

"Fine," he says. "You all settled in?"

"Sure," she says, standing up and smoothing her skirt over
her thighs. "Tom, thank you again."

"Hey," he says, "What are friends for?"

"To tell you the truth, I came here rather impulsively and
have spent the last two hours wondering what the hell got
into me," she says, looking sheepish.

"Harry said that, and forgive me, but Harry said that your
sabbatical is mandatory?" Tom asks.

"Strongly encouraged," Janeway says. "But I'm pretty sure
that was Starfleet for get the hell out. They think I'm over
worked."

"Have you taken any leave since we got home?" Tom asks.

"I took the five weeks of medical rest we were required,"
Janeway says.

"So, no," Tom says. "And now you're going to spend this time
working on a book."

"Don't act like you don't know I'm a workaholic," she says.
"It's better than being bored."

"We'll see," Tom says, before changing the subject. "Come
on, let's go down to the pub to get dinner."

"The pub?" she asks.

"The heart of my fair city," Tom says. "And if you're going
to spend any amount of time in Dϊn Laoghaire, you need to
know where the pub is."

"Sure," she says.

"It's cold, you may want to dress in something warmer," Tom
warns. "Did you bring anything warm?"

"Define warm," she says.

"All right, I'm sure B'Elanna has a coat that will fit you,"
he says. "I'll meet you downstairs."

But when Tom is in his closet, it feels strange to be
rooting around in his wife's clothing for another woman. He
tells himself that B'Elanna and Kathryn are friends and that
B'Elanna almost never wears any of the clothes that hang
beside Tom's in the closet. B'Elanna's winter coat is still
practically like new. He takes it off the hanger and goes
downstairs.

"Here you go," he says. "I think there's a pair of gloves in
the pocket."

"Thanks," Janeway says, and shrugs it on. It's long in the
sleeve and too broad in the shoulder, but neither comment.
"I do have warm things, you know. I grew up in Indiana. I'll
send for them."

"If you want," Tom says, noncommittally. He puts on his own
warm things and holds the door open for her before closing
and locking it behind him. He glances over at her and sees
her holding the coat close. If she stays she'll need gloves
and a scarf. Maybe a hat if she plans to spend a lot of time
outside. The thing about living in space is, for the most
part they live at a constant temperature. Unless they go
planet side, or something goes terribly wrong, there is a
standard temperature. It took Tom a long time to get used to
weather again.

"Do you have friends, Tom?" Janeway asks.

"You know that Harry is my best friend," he says.

"I meant here in town," she clarifies. They pick up the pace
as the cold starts to seep in.

"I have co-workers," Tom says. "We're friendly enough. I go
to their house for dinner. Sometimes, when B'Elanna is home,
they come to mine."

"Hmm."

"There's a group of regulars at the pub," Tom adds.
"Sometimes I play rings with them."

"There's rings?" Janeway asks, trying not to sound
interested.

"Wait until you see what the pub is called," Tom says.

When they get there, she stands under the sign that reads
'O'Sullivan's' and makes a face but says nothing and he
let's her go without a ribbing. Inside is dark, but it isn't
that crowded. It's still early, and the crowd is mostly
diners, not drinkers. Tom feels that he is both. With
Janeway on his arm, however, he is a stranger. All eyes
glance over them but only a few people openly stare.

"Do you get a lot of new people here?" Janeway asks.

"Not many, no," Tom says, grinning. He guides them to a
table and gets her seated before scooting up to the bar to
get some menus and two pints.

"Aye, Tommy," the bartender, Andrew, says. "Who's that?"

"An old friend," Tom says. Andrew raises his eyebrows. "An
old boss."

"From the Voyager?" Andrew asks, curiously. They had made
the news, after all.

"Yeah," Tom says, smirking. "From Voyager."

Word travels quickly and by the time he and Janeway have
their meals in front of them, everyone knows that Janeway is
a 'Voyager' and a few have even worked out who she is, Tom
imagines.

"Is this what it's like wherever you go?" Tom asks, but
Janeway doesn't meet any of the eyes around her. She knows
they're staring.

"More or less," she says.

"By next week, you'll be old news," Tom promises. Janeway
takes a long pull from her beer.

"We'll see," she says.

---

By the time B'Elanna and Miral come home, Tom and Janeway
have found an easy pattern of living. Tom works during the
weekdays and so, he imagines, does Janeway. He isn't certain
what she does during the hours he's gone, but when he comes
home, she's still usually camped out in the kitchen, her
research spread out across the old wooden table. When he
walks in, she looks up, surprised. Her eyes are glazed and
he's seen this look before. This is the look she gets when
she's deep in it, when the world and time stops and she's
living in the moment, her heart beating only to solve the
problem that stands in the way of her goal.

"Tom," she says, blinking a few times. "Is it really that
late?"

They do this every day. He stands in the kitchen, deciding
what to make for dinner while she clears off the table –
replaces PADDs with dishes and her computer with the candles
that usually sit in the middle of the table. She sets her
empty, used coffee mug in the sink and the glass clinks
against the porcelain.

They eat together. Tom will tell her about his day but she
doesn't say much about her research or what it is, exactly,
that she's decided to write. He doesn't doubt that she's
qualified to write about the Borg. She's been inside Borg
ships and lived to tell about it more than anyone else he's
ever met. She's been assimilated; she's interacted with the
Queen. He does doubt, however, that she's impartial. He's
seen the Borg make Janeway do impossibly insane things.

After dinner, Tom relights the fire and they'll move to the
living room to watch the television or to read. Sometimes,
they'll walk down to the pub if the weather permits. A few
times, they've walked to Tom's offices after hours. There's
a holodeck there, meant for flight simulations, and Tom's
allowed to use it if no one else is around. They've played
pool a few times in the holodeck. She still can whip him
pretty good.

It's companionable and comfortable and while Tom has grown
used to living alone, he finds he likes this much, much
better.

So when it's time for his wife and his daughter to come home
for two weeks, he begins to dread it a little bit. This
worries him. Usually he can't wait to see his daughter and
to kiss B'Elanna and listen to her chatter about life aboard
the Minerva. And when Miral goes to bed, sometimes things
are a little strained between him and B'Elanna, but long
distance relationships are never easy and marriages have to
be worked at. He knows this.

It's not that B'Elanna doesn't know Janeway is staying in
Ireland on her sabbatical, but perhaps Tom hasn't been clear
on just how involved Janeway has become in his life these
last three weeks. He hasn't explicitly stated that Janeway
has been living with him, has been sleeping in their
daughter's bed. Janeway is a friend, a family friend and he
knows if he would have told B'Elanna that upfront, she would
have probably been fine with it but Tom had wanted to keep
Janeway to himself, for some reason. Now, he fears, an
explanation will fall on deaf ears.

On the weekends, when Tom doesn't have to work, he sleeps
in. When he wakes up, Janeway is usually in the kitchen. Tom
isn't sure how she does it, but the moment he walks in, she
sets breakfast in front of him. The woman has a good sense
of timing. They eat and then, usually, go to town. Tom lives
on the outskirts because his office is on the outskirts.
They walk to the transport station and transport into town.
Neither dress in uniform but they do both wear their
communication devices. Being marked as Federation officers
is never a bad thing on Earth.

On their first weekend together, Tom took her to a concert
of local music. On their second weekend, they went to the
indoor market and saw the local crafts and art. Janeway had
obtained a necklace that she'd worn ever since. The chain
was thin and silver and the stone was dark green and opaque
and sat at the base of her throat.

On this weekend, as they finish breakfast, Tom knows he must
tell her the truth.

"Shouldn't B'Elanna and Miral be home soon?" she asks,
beating him to the punch.

"Are you reading my mind?" he asks in all seriousness.

"No, you just said three months on and two weeks off, and
according to my calculations, that should be around now,"
she says.

"Monday," he says, faintly.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" she asks.

"I was about to," he argues. "I just. . . "

"I'm going to go home while they're here," she announces.
"You need time alone with your family."

This proclamation distresses him probably more than it
should.

"They'll want to see you," he says.

"And they will. I'll have you over for dinner, or I'll come
back here," she promises. "But I really think you and
B'Elanna need to spend some time together. Alone." She says
the last word as if it is an order, as if he has to comply.
"I'll even take Miral for a day, if you want. She is my
goddaughter, after all."

Tom can't argue so he simply nods. This Saturday, they stay
in. Janeway stakes a spot out in front of the fire with a
book doesn't move for hours except to use the restroom or to
refresh her coffee. Tom cleans, as he does every time his
family is about to come home. At dinner, he explains to her
how it all works.

"I take a shuttle to the space station where they dock the
Minerva and take them back to Earth," Tom says. "It's one of
the perks of where I work. That way they don't have to spend
half the morning traveling when we don't have that much time
together."

"That sounds nice," she says.

"I was thinking of taking one of the test shuttles," Tom
says. "You could come."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Janeway says. "I'm going
to go home and then maybe visit my mother in Indiana." There
is finality in the way that she speaks.

"You'll come back though, right?" asks Tom. "To finish your
book?"

"I'm sure I'll have more work to do when two weeks are up,"
she says which is not exactly an answer.

Sunday morning, Janeway leaves before Tom wakes up. She
leaves a note on the old table, handwritten on paper.


Wanted to let you sleep, good luck today. I'll call you
about dinner.

K.J.


A note. The room is vastly empty without her and the house
stretches out even more, gaping and still. He calls his
father before he leaves the house to get the shuttle to
fetch his family.

"It's early," Owen says, which isn't a complaint, merely an
observation. His father is in uniform, even though it's
Sunday. There is no day in the week that Owen doesn't wear
his uniform anymore.

"I'm picking up Miral and B'Elanna today," Tom tells his
father. "Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow?"

"Sure," Owen says. "Of course."

"Dad. . . " Tom hesitates. Their relationship has been much
better since his return to the Alpha Quadrant, but they
don't exactly share everything. "Did you know Admiral
Janeway has been staying with me while she works on her
book?"

"Yes," Owen says. "But not because you told me."

"Right," Tom rolls his eyes. "It's just. . .  you spend seven
years solid with a person and you think you know them, but
suddenly, it's like she's a complete stranger."

"Son, let me stop you right there," Owen says, chuckling
slightly. "Kathryn Janeway is unlike anyone else in the
universe. Don't even try to understand her."

"That's your advice?" Tom asks.

"I've served with her on two ships and now here at
headquarters," Owen says. "She's a hurricane."

"Wait, what?" Tom asks.

"She always gets her way, Tom. Haven't you noticed that?"
his father asks.

"Well. . .  yeah, but. . .  okay."

"Whatever she wants, just give it to her and save yourself
the trouble," Owen advises.

"She didn't want anything," Tom says. "That's the thing!"
Owen stares at him and says nothing. "Dad, what was she like
when you served with her?"

"She was the same, I'd imagine," Owen says.

"What's that mean?"

"No one likes the smartest person in the room," Owen says.
"And that was her. She cared more about her job than making
friends. That's why she made captain at 36 and got her own
state of the art ship." He pauses. "What happened to you all
was some rotten luck, Tom."

Tom couldn't say he agreed with that exactly, any of it.
Kathryn Janeway may be the smartest person in the room, but
on Voyager it had never made her unpopular. Other things
had, for a time, but generally she was a Captain beloved by
her crew. And what some considered bad luck others
considered a gift from above.

"You don't think people can change?" Tom asks.

"I think they can," Owen amends. "I'm just not sure they do."

---

When B'Elanna gets home, she sleeps. Tom tucks her into bed
and he and Miral entertain themselves for the next 36 hours.
Miral is always shy at first, having not seen her father for
some time except for on a small view screen, but it never
takes long for her to warm back up. They play games and
watch cartoons. Tom makes hot cocoa and Miral drops in
marshmallows delightedly. Tom bundles her up and they go
outside to play on the frozen beach.

Tom's heart never feels as full as when he is with his
daughter. Miral is growing up so quickly, it's as if she's a
completely different person every time he sees her. What Tom
wants most in the world is to spend more time with his
daughter. Each time she comes home, Tom thinks about
quitting his job and living with his wife and daughter on
the Minerva. He no longer asks B'Elanna to stay on Earth
because it never ends well.

When Tom puts down Miral for her nap, he checks on B'Elanna.
She's a lump under the comforter and she's snoring softly.
He sits on the edge of the bed and touches her back lightly,
but she doesn't stir.

Downstairs, he prepares for dinner. He sets the table for
four. He sees his father about as often as he sees the rest
of his family. As a young man, he never thought he'd enjoy a
life of solitude, but he has, actually. He enjoys his life
very much.

Although, Kathryn has thrown a wrench in that, somewhat.

B'Elanna comes down showered and dressed with Miral on her
hip. Miral's cheeks are rosy and her eyes are still glazed
from her nap.

"Smells good," B'Elanna says.

"Thanks."

B'Elanna eyes the fourth place setting.

"Is the Admiral coming?" B'Elanna asks.

Tom freezes. It's an odd question – B'Elanna almost never
brings up people from Voyager, save Harry, in ordinary
conversation. Tom feels his cheeks burn slightly.

"Why do you ask?" Tom manages. B'Elanna gives him an odd
look.

"Because there's an extra place setting and your father
usually comes for dinner when we visit."

Understanding rushes into him and he internally berates
himself for thinking of Janeway.

"Yeah. Dad," he says. "He should be here any time now."

"Good," B'Elanna says, setting a squirming Miral down. "Are
you okay? You've been sort of. . .  I don't know, evasive."

"How would you know; you've been asleep since you got home,"
Tom fires back. B'Elanna crosses her arms, a stance Tom
recognizes well. She's gearing up for a fight. The thing of
it is, when they are apart, they don't fight. When they call
each other, when they speak over the view screen, they get
along fabulously. Tom makes her laugh and B'Elanna is sweet
and warm. But when they're in the same room, something
important falls apart. They just fight and snip and egg each
other on until they can hardly stand one another.

"I work hard, Tom, and I'm tired," she says.

"Just because you don't see me doesn't mean I don't work
hard."

"Flying shuttles and playing on the holodeck? I'm raising
our daughter and keeping a ship in one piece!" she hisses.
They don't want to yell – Miral is sitting on the floor
playing with her dolls but she has big eyes and ears that
catch everything.

"I begged you," Tom says. "I begged you to stay near."

"It's your job to follow your daughter."

"It's your job not to tear apart our family!" Tom says. "I
make concession after concession."

"Oh yeah?" she says. "Is that what you call it?"

Their fight is cut short when there is a knock at the door.
B'Elanna scoops Miral up off the floor and holds her close
while glaring at Tom. Tom runs his hands through his hair and
walks to the front door. Through the beveled glass he can
see the hulking form of his father and he opens the door,
frankly grateful for the reprieve.

Standing behind his father, however, is Kathryn Janeway. She
looks at him apologetically and shrugs.

"Tom!" Owen says. "I brought Kathryn."

"You did," Tom says. "Come on in!"

"We had a late meeting together and she didn't have plans."
Owen says, stepping in with Janeway on his heels. "I hope
you don't mind."

"Of course not," Tom says. "Admiral Janeway knows she's
always welcome."

They take off their coats and hang them on the rack by the
door. Underneath they're in uniform. Tom and his father
share a manly embrace, but Tom and Janeway don't touch as he
leads them into the kitchen.

"There's my beautiful granddaughter," Owen says. "How are
you, B'Elanna?"

"Fine, Admiral," she says. "And Admiral Janeway, what a
surprise!"

"Yes, I'm afraid Admiral Paris brought me along," she said.

"I'll set another place," Tom said. "Why doesn't everyone go
sit down in the living room? I'll call you when dinner is
ready."

Janeway hangs back, her hands on her hips.

"How's it going?" she asks.

"Swimmingly," Tom says. "So far she's slept and we've had a
fight."

"Tom," Janeway says. "I really meant what I said about you
needing to spend time with your family, but your father
practically ordered me to come with him tonight."

"I think he thought he was helping," Tom says, adding
another plate to the table. He'll have to bring in the desk
chair. She takes another glass from the cupboard and fishes
out silverware while he leaves the room and comes back with
the chair.

"I know he thought he was helping," Janeway says. "What I
don't know is what you said to him."

"I said. . . " Tom rubs his forehead, trying to smooth out the
wrinkles he feels forming there. "I said I thought I knew
you, but now I'm not sure that I do."

"You know me," she says, quickly.

"I thought I did, but when you were. . . " He lowers his voice.
"When you were here, it was as if you were a different
person."

"You know me, Tom," she says. "For seven years I was in a
state of perpetual crisis. This is me. . .  not at red alert, I
suppose. It's still me, though."

"I feel like I don't know anyone I thought I did," Tom
admits. Janeway sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Pull yourself together for the length of this dinner
please," Janeway hisses as the voices move back toward the
kitchen. "We will deal with your mid-life crisis another
day."

B'Elanna comes in with Miral and Owen and Tom turns to the
replicator to call up the dinner. Janeway helps him by
taking the dishes to the table. When he hands her the bowl
of mashed potatoes, she gets a serving spoon out of one of
the drawers before setting it on the table. When she looks
up, B'Elanna is looking at her with absolutely no
expression.

"So," Janeway says, sitting down, seemingly oblivious. "Tell
me about life on the Minerva."

---

"I didn't know your dad and Janeway were so close," B'Elanna
says, conversationally. They are in the bedroom, undressing
for bed. His father and Janeway had left just under an hour
ago and Tom can't imagine how B'Elanna can be tired again,
but she's pulling on a nightgown just the same. He also
knows that she's fishing for information by bringing this
up.

"They served together for almost 10 years," he says. "Our
families are close."

"You never talked about that on Voyager," she says.

"I never thought I'd see my family again," Tom says. "What
was the point?"

"I was just curious," B'Elanna says and disappears into the
bathroom to clean her teeth. Tom gets into bed and turns off
the light that brightens his half of the bed. When she comes
out, she climbs under the covers and shuts her light off
too. When they first got back to Earth and B'Elanna came
home on leave, they couldn't keep their hands off each
other. Now, if he bumps into her during the night, he is
risking getting shoved off the mattress all together.

"You and Janeway have seen a lot of each other?" B'Elanna
says into the darkness.

"Some," Tom says. "She's working on her book and I work a
lot, too."

"But she comes to the house?" B'Elanna says.

"Sure." Tom feels uneasy. "I'm really the only person she
knows in town. Is that a problem?"

"Why would it be a problem?" she says.

"If you don't want her here, just say so," he says.

"I'm just curious about your life, Tom, but if you don't
feel like sharing, that's your prerogative," she says. Tom
sighs.

"I don't want to fight," he says.

"Mommy!"

Miral's voice is clear and B'Elanna wastes no time in
throwing off the covers and rushing to her daughter's side.
She's gone for almost 20 minutes, but when she comes back,
she sits on the edge of the bed.

"Tom, next month the Minerva is going into dry dock for her
maintenance. All non-essential personnel is required to
leave the ship for the baryon sweep and other repairs," she
says.

"So you'll be home?" he asks.

"No, I need to stay with the ship, but Miral can't," she
says. "I need you to take her."

"For how long?" he asks.

"Two weeks," she says.

"All right," he agrees. "I'm happy to."

"Instead of fighting, can we spend this time preparing her
for the change, please?"

"Fine," he says. "Let's start with a good night of sleep."

His mother had taught him when he was younger that the way
to make a marriage last was to never go to bed angry. With
B'Elanna, that ship had long since set sail.

Children in Starfleet receive training from a very young age
on how to deal with the dangerous and fast paced lifestyle.
Miral, especially as a child living on a starship, has
received her fair share of training. She has learned about
death and the dangers of living in space. She has been
informed that perhaps, one day, her mother may not come
home. But leaving her mother to live with her father is Tom
and B'Elanna's problem, not Starfleet's.

Miral takes the news that she will be staying with Tom quite
well in the morning and they spend the rest of their time
together focusing their attention on their daughter instead
of each other. When it is time to pack up and leave,
B'Elanna takes Miral with her.

"So you'll come pick her up at the Remmler Array?" B'Elanna
asks.

"Yep," Tom agrees. He, hesitantly, kisses B'Elanna's cheek
and then crouches down to hug and kiss his daughter. "See
you next month," he promises.

"Bye Daddy," she says.

Tom doesn't fly them back to the station or to the Minerva.
B'Elanna has friends on the South American continent that
she wants to see before returning to space and Tom has no
desire to go with her whatsoever. He waits an hour before he
calls Kathryn.

"You lied to me," he says, when she answers.

"Hello to you too," she says.

"You said my father ordered you to come to dinner, but
you're on sabbatical," Tom points out. "Why were you event
at HQ?"

"Your father did order me, Tom," she says. "He may have done
it over a comm. line, but it was an order just the same."

"You're coming back, right?" Tom asks.

"Oh, Tom."

"I thought you had a good thing here," he says. "You were
productive."

"I can be productive here," she assures him. "It's not that
I don't want to come back, because I do, but I really feel
like I'm intruding."

"You aren't," he says. "You're not."

"Well, thank you."

"Do you remember what you told us when we got home? Before
we got off the ship?" he asks.

"We're a family," Janeway says. "I remember."

"You said that families stay together. You said that if we
ever needed anything, all we had to do was call."

"I know what I said," she says. "What is that you need from
me, exactly?"

Tom isn't sure. He just knows that he needs her near.

"B'Elanna's ship is going into dry dock," he says, changing
the subject. "I have Miral for an extra two weeks."

"Really?" This peaks her interest. She has spent hardly any
time at all with her Goddaughter.

"Really," he confirms.

"Come to my office tomorrow," she orders. "I have some of my
research there. We can have lunch and plan out the next
several weeks. I'll send a note to your superior that I'm
requesting your presence in San Francisco for the day."

"Yes Ma'am," he says, a grin of relief on his face.

"Janeway out," she says, and cuts the transmission off.

---

He dresses in uniform. He doesn't spend a lot of time in San
Francisco and even less at headquarters. Usually, the only
reason he comes here is to visit his father – which happens
rarely. He's never been to Janeway's office, but it's easy
enough to find. Her secretary is already gone to lunch so he
has to announce himself. She is at her desk, staring at her
computer screen with her chin in her hand.

"Come in," she says, sighing. "Sit down."

"How is the book coming?"

"It's coming," she mutters and then shuts the terminal down.
"Though apparently writing about the Borg is as easy as
battling them."

"Sounds like you could use some help," Tom says.

"Mostly, I could use some lunch," she says. "Come on."

Janeway's apartment is spacious but lacks personality.
There's a picture of the Voyager senior staff by the window
and a vase of fresh flowers on the dining room table, but
there is no real sense of dιcor. No art on the walls,
nothing that makes the place seem lived in.

"How long have you been here?" Tom asks, looking around.

"Just over a year," she says, standing in front of the
replicator. When he doesn't respond, she turns to look at
him. "I don't spend a lot of time at home."

"I'm not judging you," he says, quickly.

"Ha," she says. She doesn't believe him. "What'll you have?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," he says.

"Have a seat, Tom," she says. "This isn't my ready room.
You're not under my command."

"The uniforms throw me," he admits. She sits down once the
meal is served. "So, have you given any more thought to
returning?"

"Yes," she says. "You'll have Miral. . .  she'll need her room
and you'll be busy with her."

"So that's a no," he says sadly.

"But," she says. "My mother is spending a month with Phoebe
while she has her baby to help out. She asked me to house
sit the farm."

I don't understand," he says.

"I looked it up. You have weeks of leave acquired. Why don't
you and Miral come stay with me for a while?"

"Indiana?" he asked. "A farm?"

"It isn't a working farm," she says. "I won't make you
harvest corn."

"All right," he says. "Let's make a deal."

"I'm listening," she says.

"Come back with me now, to Ireland, and Miral and I will
come with you to Bloomington," Tom says.

"I don't know. . . "

"You could come with me to pick Miral up from dry dock – see
the new shuttle I built."

"Say I do," she says. "I'm supposed to spend four days with
Seven this week. She's consulting with me on the book. I'll
just be transporting back and forth."

"She can stay at the house," Tom says. "It's been a while
since I've seen Seven. It'd be nice."

"You're really set on this, aren't you?" she asks.

"We had fun!"

"All right!" she says. "I'll contact Seven and I'll see you
later tonight."

Tom grins.

---

It's late when she knocks on the door. He hadn't known
exactly when to expect her but he ushers her in with warm
tea and takes her bag for her. He wants to fall right back
into their routine, the one they had developed for her
previous three week stay. But Janeway doesn't disappear into
her room even though it's late. Instead, she sits with Tom
in the living room late into the night.

"I'm here," she says. "Talk to me."

"About what?" he asks. She gives him a stern look.

"I'm no counselor, Tom, but I am your friend. Tell me what's
on your mind," she presses.

"You mean about B'Elanna," he says. "You mean about my
marriage."

She doesn't agree or disagree. She simply looks at him and
waits for him to continue.

"I never thought it would be easy," he says. "I mean it
hasn't ever been easy. You saw us that first year – we got
pregnant so soon and we fought all the time. I told myself
when we got home that things would be different, but then,
when it happened, we weren't on the same page on where our
lives should go. Hell, we weren't even in the same book!"

"That's when she took the job on the Minerva?" Janeway asks.

"I was very clear," he says. "I didn't want to go on another
ship right away."

"But she did," Janeway says.

"She got to keep her commission. She got to keep her title
of chief engineer on the Minerva. I thought that maybe if we
weren't together all the time, we wouldn't fight as much. We
wouldn't fight in front of Miral," he amended. "But I never
see her this way. I'm missing my daughter's childhood."

"It's been two years," Janeway says. "Maybe it's time to
head out again. Take a position on the Minerva."

"No," Tom says. "I love it here. I love my job and the
house. I spent my youth getting into all sorts of trouble."

Janeway snorted in agreement.

"I've sown my wild oats. I just want a simple life."

"B'Elanna has never wanted a simple life," Janeway says.
"She thrives on excitement, on challenge."

"You've never been married," Tom says.

"Not for a lack of trying," Janeway adds.

"I thought it would. . .  I don't know. Not solve our problems,
but override them somehow. But then, she was just so. . . 
irrational about Miral."

"You made up, though," Janeway says. "I thought that was all
water under the bridge."

"We always fight and make up and fight. . . " Tom says. "Her
greatest fear is that I'm going to abandon her."

"So she abandoned you first," Janeway says.

"Am I supposed to wait forever for her to come back?" Tom
says. "I'm I supposed to give everything up to follow her
around even when she doesn't want me?" Janeway reaches out
and puts her hand on his shoulder and gives him a squeeze.
"I've seen marriages fall apart before," Tom says. "But it's
much worse from the inside."

Beside them the fire in the hearth crackles and pops.

---

Seven arrives in time for breakfast. Tom opens the door and
welcomes her into his home, but she seems unsure as she
steps over the threshold. Tom wasn't sure what to expect,
but it's really the same old Seven. She's wearing more. . . 
conventional clothing, but her posture is rigid and her voice
a monotone as she greets him.

"You have a lovely home," she says unconvincingly.

"You sure about that?" Tom asks, laughing. "Come on; Kathryn
is in the kitchen."

"I was unaware that you and the Admiral were cohabitating,"
she says.

"We aren't! Well, we are – she's here on vacation, Seven. As
a friend."

"Of course," Seven says, following him.

"She's here," Tom calls.

"Hello!" Janeway greets. She's scrambling eggs at the stove,
but pauses to hug Seven who stiffly returns the gesture.
Janeway sees Seven often – they have a bond that Tom has
only glimpsed. "Are you hungry?"

"It looks appetizing," Seven says which Tom thinks is her
way of being polite. Janeway isn't the best cook in the
world, but her cooking hasn't killed Tom yet and probably
won't. Around the table, Tom listens as Janeway describes
her book so far to Seven. It's called, Tom gleans, 'Bringing
Order to Chaos: Understanding the Borg', and Seven and Janeway
are discussing whether she should publish under Admiral
Janeway or Dr. Janeway. Tom thinks it's archaic to publish
under Doctor. Almost everyone who graduates from Starfleet
Academy winds up with a doctorate in something and one can't
advance past Commander without a higher degree – part of the
reason Tom doesn't want to bother with advancement in the
first place.

"I don't want the book to seem like a tactical manual,"
Janeway says. "I don't want my rank to hold it back."

Seven gives Tom a sideways glance, which is her version of
an eye roll.

"This doesn't have to be decided now, does it Kath?" Tom
asks, beginning to clear the dishes.

"I suppose not," she says. "It's just that three months
seemed longer at the start and now it's already half over."

"I suggest writing an outline of your time left and making
sure you do not deviate from it," Seven says.

"Sounds efficient," Tom says, grinning.

"The only person who has a stronger work ethic than I do,"
Janeway says, smiling at Seven.

When Janeway excuses herself to use the restroom, Seven
looks evenly at Tom.

"Something wrong?" Tom asks.

"I have never seen the Admiral this. . .  relaxed," she says.

"When Kathryn was Captaining Voyager, she was under constant
stress and enormous pressure," Tom says. "Anyone would wear
down under those circumstances."

"It is more than that, I believe," Seven says. "Even after
her return to Earth. Here, she has had time for rest and
receives ample support from Starfleet and the Federation and
yet, only recently she has seemed content with life."

"Well."

"I believe it has to do with your attentions," Seven says.

"It took some convincing," Tom admits. "She just needed some
rest, Seven. Real rest. Someone to dote on her, to actively
want her company."

"I see her weekly," Seven says, confused. "There is no time
I do not want to see her."

"It's more than that," Tom says. Tom suspects Seven's
relationship with Chakotay has something to do with
Janeway's distance toward Seven. They are still close and
friendly, but there is a thin veil that hangs between them,
now, something that wasn't there before. "Human
relationships are complex," Tom says instead.

"I often wonder what Admiral Janeway was like before Voyager
was stranded in the Delta Quadrant," Seven admits. "Had I
met her a year into our journey instead of three. Had I met
her in the Alpha Quadrant instead of isolated from
Starfleet."

"I met her before we were lost," Tom says. "She was pretty
much the same. Don't get me wrong, the trip ran her down,
but in the end, Janeway is still Janeway."

"Kathryn is still Kathryn," Seven says pointedly. Tom grins.

"Exactly."

"She has never invited me to use her first name," Seven
admits, but then they hear her feet on the stairs and Janeway
reappears, her hair tied back from her face.

"You ready to get some work done?" Janeway asks Seven.

"Yes, Admiral," Seven says, glancing at Tom again.

"I'll stay out of your way," Tom promises, and proceeds to
make himself scarce.

---

He spends the next several hours in the bathroom, trying to
repair the shower. It has a setting for sonic as well as
components for a more traditional water shower but something
has been off lately. Either it doesn't work at all or both
go on at once.

"I don't know what's worse," Janeway had said. "No shower or
watching the sonic waves dissipate the water before it even
touches you."

When Janeway steps into the bathroom, Tom is sitting on the
floor of the shower surrounded by its components.

"Oh," Janeway says. "Sorry. Didn't know you were in here.
All that coffee. . . "

"Use mine," Tom says, pointing toward the master suite. She
nods and disappears. When she comes back, she sticks her
head in.

"You didn't tell me you had a bathtub!" she exclaims.

"Huh?" he says, looking up.

"In your bathroom," she says.

"Oh. I just. . .  have you never been in my bathroom?"

"I had no reason to before now," she says.

"Well, I can tell you this shower isn't going to be fixed by
morning so feel free to use the tub," he says. She grins
widely before disappearing back down the steps.

---

The bathtub isn't the only thing that Janeway notices about
Tom's bedroom. The room is spacious and airy where the rest
of the house is dark and narrow. Windows look out over the
water and the blinds are tied back as if they never get
closed. When Janeway stands at the window, she can stare
down into the garden or out over the sea. It reminds her of
a widow's watch – of women waiting for their men to come
back to solid ground.

The room clearly belongs to Tom,; it's hard to see any
sign of B'Elanna. She sees stacks of wool sweaters piled
upon the bureau, a shaving kit by the sink, an old wooden
acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner. One of the
nightstands is covered with books and PADDs; the other is
bare.

"Do you play?" Janeway asks. She and Tom are sitting in the
living room in front of the fire. It isn't very cold – it's
been a peculiarly warm winter, but the ambiance is nice and
it helps light up an otherwise dark room. It is Seven's last
night with them and she has requested to cook dinner. Since
Seven's culinary skills far surpass their own, they both
readily agreed.

"Play?" he asks.

"I saw the guitar," she says.

"Oh," he says. "I know a few chords but not really. Not
passably."

"I've always wanted to learn to play an instrument," she
muses. "I even took flute lessons for three months as a
teenager, but. . . "

"You either have it or you don't," Tom says. "It's nice
enough for a walk." This change of subject perks her right
up.

"It is," she agrees. "Do you think we have time?"

"We have fifteen minutes," Tom allows.

Out on the sidewalk, they veer away from the water where the
temperature drops slightly and keep on the residential
streets of Tom's small neighborhood. It's chilly, but their
jackets keep them warm and the lights in the houses they
pass are pleasant to look at.

"I should get a dog," he says.

"When we got home, I went to pick my dog up," she says. "I
don't know what I was thinking. She barked at me."

"You left her?"

"With Mark," Janeway says. "Molly was already middle aged.
It would have been cruel to force her to come with me. But I
haven't had the heart to replace her."

"I think I'll get one when Miral comes home. She can help me
choose," Tom says.

"That's a wonderful idea."

It's foggy and the mist hangs low over the city. They can't
see more than a couple of meters in front of them and when
Tom turns them around to head back to the house, Janeway
doesn't complain. The fog makes the cool air feel damp and
she hugs her coat closer to her.

"My mother says it started to snow in Indiana today,"
Janeway says.

"It only just started?" he asks.

"Well, no, but they haven't had fresh snow in a few weeks,"
she says.

"Do you remember?" he says.

"Of course," she says before he can finish. He grins at her.

"That was fun," he says. "One of the best shore leaves ever,
I suspect."

Voyager had stopped at an uninhabited planet for supplies
and Janeway had granted several days of shore leave. A
majority of the crew had flocked to the warmest continent.
It had several lovely beaches and Tom himself had thought
about going with B'Elanna and Harry to surf or play a sand
sport, but had overheard Janeway telling Chakotay that she
was going to bow out of shore leave all together to allow
the other senior officers more time.

Tom had found Chakotay and confronted him.

"If I can get her away, would you mind holding down the fort
for a few hours?" Tom had asked.

"I've tried, Paris, but she made herself very clear,"
Chakotay had said.

"I can do it," Tom had promised. "And then I'll come back
and relieve you myself."

"If you can do it, more power too you," Chakotay had
grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, clearly believing
that Tom couldn't pull off what Chakotay had already tried
to do. But Tom was willing to do something Chakotay wouldn't
consider – he was willing to lie just a little bit. It took
him only twenty minutes to gather all the gear he thought
they would need. He transported down to the surface before
tapping his comm. badge and calling the ship.

"Paris to Voyager," he said.

"Voyager here," Janeway answered promptly.

"Captain, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to beam down to
my location," Tom said. "I've had a run in with some of the
locals and I need your diplomatic skills."

He heard her sigh heavily over the comm.

"I'll send Mr. Tuvok down," she said.

"No," he said. "They're requesting you, Ma'am."

"On my way," she said, sounding none to pleased. When she
materialized, it took her only a moment to realize that they
were alone. Tom stood on the porch of a small, wooden
structure that appeared to be dark and empty with a bag at
his feet.

"What the hell is going on here, Lieutenant?" Janeway
barked, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the
cold that was immediately chilling her.

"First of all, let me apologize for lying," Tom said,
pulling a heavy coat out of his bag. "Put this on."

She took the jacket and slipped it on. Tom was bundled up as
well. Janeway turned around, and gasped.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"It's a ski resort," he said. This half is closed to the
general public because the roads are severely iced over, but
I convinced the government that with our transporters,
travel would be no problem."

"So there is no diplomatic issue?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I just thought you could use a couple hours
of leave and I know you love to ski."

"Tom, I really don't approve of your methods," she said,
tucking her hands into her pockets. "Why didn't you just ask
me?"

"Would you have said yes?" Tom asks. She doesn't answer,
just furrows her brow.

"It's a lovely gesture, Tom, but I have to get back to the
ship."

"I have it all cleared with Chakotay," Tom presses. "I have
all the gear we'll need, and lunch. We can go back at any
time."

She stomps her feet on the porch and hunches her shoulders
against the cold and looks out across the snowy landscape.

"It's beautiful," she says. "Why is the snow lavender?"

"It has to do with an element in the atmosphere," Tom says.
"Pretty unique, huh?"

"I'll say," she agrees. "All right. You win. A few hours
wouldn't hurt."

So they had skied. There was a lift to take them to the top
of the mountain. Tom helped Janeway into her skis and made
sure she was warm enough. In gloves, goggles, and a hat, she
was hardly recognizable as her self. They went down the
slopes five times, and as in pool, Janeway's skill in skiing
far surpassed his own. Perhaps it was a byproduct of growing
up in a snowy environment, or perhaps it was because Janeway
was good at practically everything she attempted with little
to no effort in learning. She was small and athletic – the
perfect build for skiing.

Back at the cabin, Tom keyed open the door and immediately
made a fire in the fireplace, hoping to warm up the small
structure. Janeway stripped her outer layers until her
uniform was revealed. Uniforms were made to be multi-purpose,
but they weren't the best for sports and he could tell that
she was still cold. From his bag he pulled a thermos of
coffee and poured her a cup.

"That was really fun," she said, accepting the cup. "And I
know that no one else on board would have done that for me."

"Sure they would have," Tom said.

"No," she said, touching his arm. "Not like you."

Tom could only grin.

Now, Tom opens the door and lets Janeway walk inside first,
hanging her coat on the rack by the door.

"Dinner is served," Seven says.

Seven has been sleeping on the couch. Tom offered her his
own bed, but she refused and so she is asleep downstairs
while Janeway is asleep upstairs. Tom does the dishes and
shuts off the lights before heading for the stairs. He's
about to take the first step when his communications console
beeps.

It's B'Elanna.

"Hi, honey," he says, speaking softly.

"Why are you whispering?" she demands.

"It's just late," he says. The Minerva is rarely on the same
time cycle as Tom. "What's up?"

"The Minerva got called away," B'Elanna says. "We're
postponing our maintenance for a month."

"So, what are you saying?" Tom says.

"I'm saying I'm going to keep Miral aboard and I'll let you
know when we reschedule," B'Elanna says.

"I could take her anyway," Tom says.

"We're not even in the system, Tom," B'Elanna says. "I'm
sorry."

"B'Elanna," he sighs, unable to keep the disappointment off
his face. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I never
see her."

"You never see us," B'Elanna corrects. "I'm still your
wife."

"Of course you're my wife," he says. "But families should be
together."

"Transfer!" B'Elanna spits, suddenly venomous. "Man up, Tom,
and come be with your family!"

"You took her away!" Tom says back, hissing. "You promised
six weeks and it's been almost two years. I refuse to always
be the bad guy. I didn't leave you, B'Elanna, just like I
promised. You left me."

"I can't talk about this right now," she says.

"You can never talk about it," Tom says.

"I'll call at the usual time with Miral," she says before
ending the signal without so much as a goodbye. Tom spends a
few seconds staring at the Starfleet logo on the screen
before closing the monitor.

"Lieutenant Paris." Seven's voice startles him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Tom says, turning to look at
her.

"Is everything all right?" Seven asks. Tom shrugs.

"Hard to say."

"Perhaps it is not only the Admiral who needs a vacation,"
Seven says.

"Maybe you're right," Tom says. "Seven, let me ask you a
question."

She nods.

"Chakotay goes away on missions. He's gone for weeks at a
time, right?" Tom questions.

"Yes," she says.

"Does the distance. . .  the time apart ever bother you?"

"I miss my husband when he is gone," Seven says. "But he
always returns."

"I guess that's the difference," Tom says, mostly to
himself. "He wants to come home at all."

"Marriage is not what I expected it to be," Seven says. "It
is like. . .  a second job. Like having two full time careers.
You have to enjoy the work, otherwise one simply wilts under
the pressure."

"I guess."

"Perhaps you and Commander Torres are no longer compatible,"
Seven says.

"I love B'Elanna," Tom says.

"Of course," Seven says. "But you have few interests in
common. You have different hobbies, different expertise in
your chosen fields. You live in separate places and come
from very different backgrounds. What is it that brought you
together in the first place?"

Tom has trouble answering the question.

"It was a small ship," Tom says. "I was lucky to find anyone
even remotely compatible."

"There were several crew members more compatible with you,
Lieutenant," Seven says, as if she is stating something
extremely obvious.

"Like who?" he asks.

Seven glances to the stairs, but says nothing.

"The Admiral?" Tom asks, shocked.

"You have similar childhoods, many overlapping interests,
similar temperaments, a more compatible genetic structure,"
Seven says. "You rarely fight."

"But," Tom sputters. Seven frowns.

"Were you not attracted to her?" she asks.

"It isn't that, it's just. . .  she's my friend," he says lamely.

"The foundation of any good relationship," Seven says. Tom
stares at her, wondering where Seven of Nine learned to give
relationship advice anyway.

---

His request for time off is almost immediately granted by
his commanding officer.

"I'm glad," his boss says, pressing his thumb to the PADD.
"I think you could use the rest and we're between big
projects. Any plans?"

"Admiral Janeway invited me to her family home," Tom says.

"Your Voyager Captain?" he asks. "You guys really do keep it
all in the family."

"Yes, sir," Tom says.

"All right, Lieutenant. I'll see you in three weeks."

Tom leaves the office and goes home to get his bag. Janeway
has gone on ahead so his house is empty and dark. His bag is
already by the door and all he has to do is shut everything
down and lock the door behind him. He already has forwarded
his communications coordinates to Janeway's farmhouse. She
will meet him at the transport site.

"There's plenty for you to do," Janeway had informed him.
"My mother is an old woman, a widow. I'm going to put you to
work."

Tom transports from the rain to the snow. He's happy for a
warm coat, for new boots, and for the woman waiting for him
on the other end of his journey.

"Admiral," Tom says, mostly for the benefit of the ensign
working the station.

"Lieutenant," she says, nodding gravely. Neither are in
uniform and the professionalism is broken when Janeway slips
her arm through his elbow as they exit the building. It's
icy on the sidewalks and they both could use the extra
reinforcement.

Tom tells Janeway about the Minerva's mission, but he doesn't
tell her about the fight. He suspects, however, that Seven
has already because she's being awfully kind to him now. She
does not demand details on the absence of his daughter, does
not suggest an itinerary of activities or people to see.
Mostly they are silent on the short walk until Janeway stops
them at the turn of her drive.

"Sometimes," she says, "We just need to rest. It's hard to
accept, for me especially, but sometimes, we just need to
return to the arms of our family." She smiles at him. "I
want to thank you for this time, Tom. You've always been a
better friend to me than I to you."

"I don't think that's true, but you're welcome," he says.
"Kathryn?"

"Hmm?" she says, marching them up the walk to the sprawling,
one story farmhouse. All the furniture on the deck is
covered to protect it from winter. Now, flurries of snow are
beginning to fall – he can see them beginning to stick to
her shoulders and the crown of her head. His ears and nose
feel cold.

"Thank you for taking me in and not asking any questions,"
he says.

"I'm fairly certain we're taking each other in at this
point." She keys in her entry code and the door unlocks. She
twists the knob on the old door and they enter the mudroom.
There's a wooden bench with rows of shoes lined beneath it.
There are hooks on the wall, heavy with coats and scarves –
there's a stand with an abandoned umbrella. They shed their
layers and she hangs them – they toe off their shoes and she
opens the door. A wall of warm air hits them and his cheeks
burn with the sudden rise in temperature. "I only lived with
Mark for a year – before that, I was engaged to a man, but we
lived on a ship in separate quarters. I'd forgotten how nice
it was to live with someone, to have a man around. I may get
used to you yet."

"That's flattering," he says.

"It should be! Let me give you the tour."

The house is simple and doesn't particularly fit Janeway,
but she's comfortable in the space anyhow. It was her
childhood home. Tom has met Gretchen Janeway a few times
over the years, but hardly enough to form an opinion.

"So your sister is having a baby?" Tom asks, looking at the
pictures displayed on the mantle. There's Janeway and her
father, both in uniform. There's a picture of Gretchen and
her late husband and a picture of what must be the sister
and her family.

"Theoretically," Janeway says. "Her husband is a Betazoid."

"Those pregnancies tend to run long," Tom acknowledges.

"She's in her 13th month," Janeway says. "She keeps saying
'any day now' but I think the child is going to be nine by
the time it gets out." Tom chuckled.

"Her first baby?" Tom asks.

"Third," Janeway says, "Twin girls."

"Wow." Tom whistles.

"Very perceptive for five year olds," Janeway mutters. She
put him in the yellow room, two doors down from the master,
where she's staying. While the house appears old and steeped
in tradition, Tom can see signs of Starfleet life
everywhere. A comm. badge on an end table, communications
equipment on the tiled counter top in the kitchen, on an old
wooden desk in the study. There are plaques on the walls in
the hallway announcing academy achievements and promotions.
There's a shadow box in the living room that holds Kathryn's
father's pips and medals – the accoutrements of a long and
industrious career.

The house isn't in Bloomington proper, but on the outskirts
where all the real farmhouses sit. The town itself isn't
very big, but retains a sort of academic quality. In the
twenty-second century, when the archaic university system
was revamped, the college campus that took up the center of
Bloomington was divided into a series of smaller schools,
including the traditional school that Janeway attended and
the prep school for Starfleet Academy that Janeway longed to
attend.

With snow falling, Tom is not particularly anxious to tour
the town. He's happy to put his folded clothes in the chest
of drawers provided for him and to help Janeway make dinner.
Some would call it a boring life, doing little but taking
walks, going to work, and preparing meals but after seven
years on Voyager, Tom wants nothing more than a simple
routine with friends and family. To Tom, Janeway has become
both.

"I was thinking," Janeway says. "Wondering something,
actually."

"What's that?"

"Would you be interested in writing a holonovel?" she asks.

"I've written holonovels already," Tom says, confused. "You
know that. Captain Proton, Fair Haven. . . "

"No, I meant for me," Janeway said. "I almost never go to
the holodeck unless I'm on a Starship, but I've been finding
that I miss it lately."

"There are holodecks everywhere," he says. "Millions of
programs to choose from."

"I know. I've run some of the more popular ones, some of the
classics, but. . .  Tom, you know me so well and you've got
such a talent. I really think you could write something that
would keep even me entertained."

"I know what you're doing," he says. "You're worried I'll
just wallow around here for three weeks. You're trying to
keep me busy."

"You don't think I'm even a little selfish?" Janeway says.

"I'll write you a Borg adventure," he jokes. But as he says
it, it's as if a light goes on inside of her.

"Tom, that's it!" she exclaims.

"What's it?"

"Last week, I sent the first draft of my book to the
publishers and they gave me the note that it needed to be
more dimensional. The book is scientific in nature, but it's
also meant to be taught at the Academy."

"I'm not. . . "

"Holographic chapters! Simulations of the Borg, some of the
scenarios outlined in the book! If the cadets can experience
the inside of a cube, a meeting with the Queen, what it's
like to be assimilated, it would give the book a lot more
power and dimension!"

"You want me to write a program so that cadets can get
assimilated?" Tom says. "That's nuts."

"If I'd have know half of what I know now going it, it would
have changed things considerably," she argues.

"You crippled the Borg," Tom says. "It's going to take them
years to recover, if they can, and even if they do, they no
longer have a quick route to this quadrant."

"The Borg are extremely resourceful and I have no doubt in
my mind they will recover and come back," Janeway says. "We
need to prepare for that."

"Say they do recover," Tom says. "The data we have on them
may be hopelessly out of date."

"So your suggestion is to sit around and wait for them to
come destroy us with absolutely no plan of action," she
says.

"No, but. . . " Tom sighs. "Of course I'll help you but I just
think that you have to be careful making the Borg too
comfortable for officers."

"Comfortable."

"I just feel. . .  you went onto Borg ships without even
flinching and it's that sort of attitude that can get a
person killed."

"You think I stopped fearing the Borg," she says.

"You came back in time to sacrifice yourself to the Borg,"
Tom says.

"I didn't do that, Tom," she says. "That was another woman."

"Not precisely," he mutters. "If our lives had played out
the way that hers had, you would've done the same thing."

"You can't live your life thinking what if," she says,
dropping her face into her hands. "It'll drive you crazy."

---

Winter is not Tom's favorite season. Tom likes sunshine and
warmth the best, he likes spring and the new life it brings,
he even likes the crispness of fall. But winter isn't pretty
on even the most picturesque of towns. Ice makes the trees
heavy and they crack in the night, their branches falling
noisily. When it snows, Janeway asks Tom to shovel the path,
which he does, but he always comes in shivering with his
nose running. She hands him some coffee with a smile of
thanks.

The kitchen has a replicator, but it's simple. Its matrix
cannot support complicated algorithms to create fully
prepared meals – instead it can create preprogrammed
ingredients. A head of lettuce, a ripe tomato, two raw pork
chops. Janeway makes breakfast usually and Tom tackles
dinner. The house is old and Janeway leaves all the faucets
dripping lightly so they don't burst.

"I simply cannot believe your mother has lived in this house
through winter after winter and never refitted the pipes so
they won't burst," Tom says, watching the water fall from
the kitchen faucet, the drop hitting the porcelain with a
chime.

"My mother enjoys a good struggle," Janeway says. "She was
always a traditionalist, but the older she gets, the further
back in time she goes."

"She's gone, you know," Tom says. "We could do it now."

"Redo the pipes?" she scoffs. "In the heart of winter?"

"I could do it," he says. "If I can replace bulkhead in an
EV suit in space, I can refit pipes while it's snowing."

"One time I made you do that," Janeway says, defensively.

"I had a life on a starship before I met you, you know," he
says. "But it isn't my house, Kathryn."

"It's not mine either," she says, looking sternly at him.
"But it's a good idea. Do it."

"Yes Ma'am." He grinned.

"I'll authorize any supplies you may need, any labor,
anything," she says. "If this is how you want to spend your
vacation. . . "

"I can do it inside a week," Tom says. "I won't remove the
old pipes, I'll just fit casings over them and install force
fields. Though, I warn you, it's going to get cold."

"The Monroe County library has a wing named after my
family," Janeway says. "I'll work there and you'll know
where to find me if there's a problem."

A project is just what Tom needs. Vacations are all very
well and good, but Tom gets bored easily and always feels
better when he has something to do with his hands. In the
morning, Janeway packs up and puts on her uniform and bids
him farewell. Half an hour later, the materials he needs
appear within the transporter enhancers he'd set up. The
perks of an Admiral never get old. He checks the manifest to
make sure everything is accounted for and then, bundling up
intensely, begins his project.

---

The sun is setting when she returns. There are snowflakes in
her hair and on the shoulders of her jacket. Her hands are
in her pockets and her bag is slung on her shoulder. She
stomps her feet on the porch and this noise is what alerts
him, what makes him walk around the corner to see her
standing by the door.

"Admiral!" he calls. She furrows her brow and then glances
down at her uniform and rolls her eyes. "How was your day?"

"Extremely productive!" she says. "Come on, it's almost
dark. Let's go in."

"I'll be right there," he promises. Inside, it is a bit
chilly so she leaves her coat on and starts a fire. When Tom
comes into the kitchen, she's standing at the stove,
stirring a pot.

"What's that?"

"Hot chocolate," she says. "I think you deserve a treat."

"Well, you might revoke my treat," Tom says. "Your bathroom
is currently without water. For the night."

"What? Why?"

"The pipe was fractured. I thought it best to replace that
section, but I didn't have the supplies. I've ordered them. I
did the kitchen though."

"All right," she says.

"Did you tell your mother?" he asks.

"Ha."

"Is she going to kill me?"

"She's 70-years-old!" Janeway says, with a lopsided smile.
"You can probably outrun her. She's a so-so shot."

"How comforting." His voice is dry.

Of course, this means that they must share a bathroom. Tom
waits until he hears her leave before he steps into the hall
in time to see her retreating back. She's wearing a green
nightgown and her hair is down, something he doesn't often
see. She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles.

"Good night, Tom."

"Night," he says and steps into the bathroom. The mirror is
foggy and the room feels damp. The shower curtain is beaded
with water and the mat beneath his bare feet is slightly
moist. On the edge of the sink sits the sonic hair dryer
Janeway has left behind, its power cell blinking a small,
green light.

He cleans his teeth and washes his face. He showers in the
morning, when he needs help waking up. When he opens the
door, he jumps. She's standing there, her arms crossed.

"Tom," she says. "We need to talk."

"Oh," Tom says, surprised. He mirrors her stance, crossing
his arms over his blue robe. "All right."

"I've been thinking about. . .  what happens when I go back on
active duty," she says.

"You have another month, give or take," Tom says. "You're
afraid you won't finish the book?"

"No, it'll be fine," she says. "But there's some press that
will have to go along with it. Speaking at the Academy in
San Francisco, but Starfleet also wants me to go brief some
of the more far reaching outposts in Federation space."

"In person?" he asks.

"It'll take another month, the tour. They're going to give
me a small ship, smaller than Voyager, and enough crew to
run it. Lots of ensigns looking for space experience,
personnel like that."

"That sounds like a nice change of pace," he says.
"Congratulations."

"I'd like you to come with me," she says.

"There are other pilots, Kathryn," he says.

"I was thinking first officer," she says, quickly.

"I'm not ranked for that sort of Command position," he says.

"You've more than earned the requirements for Lieutenant
Commander. I know. . .  I know you aren't exactly warm to the
idea of a promotion, but I really want you by my side for
this."

Tom stares at her.

"Have you been talking to Harry?" he asks.

"I won't lie to you, I talk to Harry often, but this wasn't
his idea," she says. "Come with me, Tom. It's a short trip
and your old job will be there for you if you want it when
we get back."

"I don't know," he says, running his hands through his hair.
"To get back on a ship. . . "

"Something you used to love," she says.

"I do love to fly," he says.

"Do it for me, Tom."

In the end, it's all she really needs to say.

---

The ship they are given is called the Commonwealth and is
not a ship designed for fighting. It has minimal phasers and
a low compliment of torpedoes. It has seven decks and a crew
of 46. There are few ships without Captains – none in
permanent duty, but Janeway, as an Admiral, is more than
capable. Tom declines any ceremony to go along with his
promotion. Instead, she hands him the pip and he fastens it
to his collar himself.

"Looks good," she says.

"Feels a little heavy," he mutters and she laughs. Tom has
flown them to the space station to board the Commonwealth.
It is also where the Minerva is coming in for her dry dock.
Tom still needs to take Miral and now he'll have to take her
aboard with him. Janeway grants this request without
hesitation.

"I arranged for a child specialist to come aboard," she
admits. "In hopes you would say yes."

"Don't you just think of everything," Tom says.

B'Elanna brings Miral on board herself. Janeway is busy
inspecting the ship and Tom is in the first officer's
office, finishing the duty rosters. He and B'Elanna haven't
spoken much in the last few weeks. She never was happy Tom
had spent any time in Bloomington.

"I see it wasn't space you were against, it was just my
ship," she'd said.

"The Admiral requested me."

"Janeway could always get you to do anything. Did she
literally snap her fingers this time?" B'Elanna had said.

When the chime sounds on the door, Tom steels himself. This
relationship has been going downhill fast, for a long time,
and he isn't sure when the bottom will come, but it has to
be soon.

Miral runs into his arms and he scoops her up, covering her
in kisses. B'Elanna looks on sadly. Tom believes she
legitimately doesn't want to be without her daughter for
such a long period of time. He knows how she feels.

"Do you want to get dinner?" Tom asks. "As a family?"

"I don't know, Tom," B'Elanna sighs.

"It's only senior officers on board," Tom says. "We have the
place practically to ourselves. I'll show you my quarters –
Miral has her own room."

"All right," B'Elanna relents.

Getting used to life on a Starship again, Tom feels, should
take longer, but it's like riding a bicycle. The narrow
corridors, the hiss of opening and closing doors, the hum of
a warp engine immediately feels like home. He can't remember
why he was so resistant to going back into space now that
he's on a ship.

They're in the middle of the meal when his doors open
without so much as a chime.

"Did I put my other pair of boots in your luggage? I can't
seem to find them any—oh."

Janeway stops and stares at the family, slightly
dumbfounded.

"Admiral," Tom sighs, knowing that this spells trouble for
him.

"Sorry," she says. "I didn't know you had company. B'Elanna,
how are you?"

"Fine," B'Elanna seethes.

"And look how big you are, Miral!" she exclaims. "Anyway, I
can come back. . .  later."

"Sure," Tom says and Janeway strides out the door.

"Does she do that a lot?" B'Elanna says.

"Do what?"

"Walk in like she owns the place?"

"Well, we've been on the ship for less that 24 hours, so no,
not a lot," he says.

"Don't be snide," she says. Miral fidgets in her seat.
"Honey, why don't you go look at your room. I put your toys
in there."

Miral does this, thankfully, without complaint.

"Tom, you've been living with Janeway for some time now. At
our house, at hers. . .  please don't pretend like I don't know
because I'm not going to."

"We're friends," Tom says. "She needed a place to stay while
she worked on her book and returned the offer to me."

"I'm tired of this," she says. "Tom. . .  I think. . .  I want
a divorce."

Tom is prepared for the words, prepared for the blow, but
instead he feels immensely relieved. He's been waiting for
this, he realizes. He had promised, long ago, that he would
never abandon B'Elanna and he knows now that he's been
waiting for her to leave him instead.

"Okay," he says.

B'Elanna hugs her daughter one last time and shows herself
off the ship.

Tom wonders if he should explain anything to Miral. Nothing
will change – she will still split her time between parents.
It's as if they have been divorced for a long time.

---

This time, Janeway chimes before entering. Miral is asleep
in her bed already and Tom is drinking wine in the main
living area.

"Come in," he says.

"Lieutenant Rollins told me B'Elanna transported off the
ship hours ago," Janeway says.

"I'm done with the duty rosters," Tom says. "I sent the data
to your ready room."

"Good," she says.

"Your boots are in the closet," he says. "Remember? You
didn't have space and I offered to. . . "

"Right," she says. "Tom, look. . . "

"B'Elanna and I are getting a divorce."

Janeway doesn't look surprised. She just has the same sad
expression – it's a little too close to pity for Tom's
taste.

"Which is fine," Tom says, standing up and ordering another
wine glass from the replicator and filling it from the open
bottle he's been nursing. She takes the glass he offers, but
doesn't drink from it.

"You going to be ready for tomorrow?" she asks, looking at
him searchingly. Her eyes seem awfully blue in the low
light.

"Of course," he says. "It's not as if this changes anything."

"If you say so," she says. "You know that I'm always here if
you need to talk."

"I know," he says. "Let's just sit here and drink our wine.
Tomorrow is a new day."

"Tomorrow is going to be a good day," she confirms. Outside
the window, Tom can see the arm of the space station they
are docked to, but beyond that he can see stars.

---

At first, Tom feels tethered to the bridge. While Janeway
comes and goes as free as the proverbial bird, Tom must stay
and hold down the fort. He'd never really noticed it aboard
Voyager, how often Chakotay sat in his chair while Janeway
was called to and fro, though that's how it was. Chakotay,
at least, got an away mission now and then, but the
Commonwealth is on a strict schedule. It is not a ship of
scientific exploration, but a glorified ferry. It is a ship
used to take one important woman across space in relative
luxury.

Tom had also always thought of Chakotay as Janeway's right
hand man, but realizes now that this too is inaccurate. When
Janeway goes off the ship, she takes Lieutenant Schmidt with
her. Lieutenant Schmidt has a doctorate in Borg technology
and is a dry woman, small and lacking any discernible sense
of humor. She is shorter than Janeway, which Tom thinks is a
staggering accomplishment and for some reason, doesn't seem
to care much for Tom. She isn't insubordinate, she isn't
even rude, she is just indifferent.

"I think she might be plotting to kill me," Tom says
jokingly.

"She is next in line," Janeway acknowledges.

"She might be plotting to kill you too," Tom points out.

"Now there's a scary thought," she mutters. Miral comes into
the room, her feet silent on the rug in her footed pajamas.
Tom and Janeway are sitting on the sofa and she looks
between them, trying to decide which lap to climb on. In the
end, Miral puts her head on Janeway's lap and her feet
across Tom's lap and falls asleep while Janeway runs her
fingers through Miral's thick, brown hair.

When Janeway is off the ship on another planet, on an
outpost of some kind, Tom is sure that there is always an
open comm. line between the ship and the Admiral. At any
point, he can turn on the audio and hear her speaking. The
drone of her voice is a comfort in some strange way, even
when she's talking about death and destruction, violent and
painful assimilation.

"I trust Lieutenant Schmidt," Janeway says, picking up the
thread of conversation albeit her voice is much softer now.
"I trust the whole crew."

"It's a young bunch," Tom says.

"You were young once, too," Janeway says. "You and Harry
Kim, running roughshod over the Delta Quadrant."

"Those were good times," Tom laughs. He touches Miral's foot
lightly and lovingly. "That feels like forever ago."

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing, Tom?" she asks.

"I don't follow."

"I could be teaching at the Academy. I could be spending my
days in tactical meetings at Headquarters. I could be
arbitrating at diplomatic hearings and, instead, I'm floating
around the universe talking about an enemy who may not even
be a threat anymore."

"You don't believe that," he says.

"I took you out of a job that you admittedly loved and what
for?" she asks.

"I like to think it's because my boyish charm and ability to
put together a mean duty roster," Tom says, smiling. "Or
maybe you've just grown used to having me around."

"Ah, you see?" she says. "You've noticed it too. We've
managed to turn a three week visit into nearly four months."

"Four months and seven years," he says. "If you feel like
being specific."

"I am one of the most decorated Vice-Admirals in Starfleet,"
she says. "I come from a long line of prestigious Janeways.
If I want to keep you by my side indefinitely it would not
be difficult to arrange that. To get you a job in my offices
at HQ, to keep the Commonwealth in service, to transfer you
from Dϊn Laoghaire to San Francisco. It would all be so
easy. I wouldn't even have to ask your opinion first."

"Admiral, you don't have to transfer me or make
arrangements," Tom says. "All you have to do is ask."

Janeway blinks.

"Really?" she breathes.

"Really," he says. "You tell me you want to take a ship back
into the Delta Quadrant and I'll be by your side."

"Tom. . . "

"Anything you ask," he says, rubbing the swell of Miral's
tummy. Janeway reaches out and covers Tom's hand with her
own.

It's Janeway who lifts Miral and replaces her back in her
bed. Tom has fallen asleep on the sofa. It's late – they
both have to be on the bridge in six hours. She covers him
with a blanket, makes sure his alarm is set and shows her
self out.

---

"What's the first way you learn to chart a flight path?" Tom
asks Ensign Miller who is at the helm.

"Celestial Navigation," Miller replies, her voice more
confident than her posture. "Find a fixed point in the sky."

The Commonwealth has flow into a nebula and is having
trouble finding its way back out again.

"So that's what we're going to do," Tom says. "Find some
thing stable to focus on and find our way out again."
Janeway and Lieutenant Schmidt are on planet a little over a
light year away and Tom's already an hour late in picking
them up. They had a few hours to kill and so Janeway had
suggested mapping the nebula while they waited and now Tom
regrets listening to her. It's not the first time her
curiosity has gotten them all in trouble.

"There's a dense vein of minerals behind us," Miller offers.
"I'll plot a course from there."

"Good," Tom says, leaning over her shoulder and making sure
her calculations are correct. When he is satisfied, he seats
himself in Janeway's chair. He notices, on the armrest, a
long hair that could only belong to her. There's no reason
to worry over her safety – she's on Federation soil, but
still, not being in contact with her gives him an unsettled
feeling in the pit of his stomach. She's probably more
worried than he is and this worries him as well.

"We're back into normal space, Sir," Miller says suddenly.

"Excellent. Crewman Lopez, transmit a subspace message to
the colony letting them know we're on our way."

"Yes, sir," Lopez replies.

When they reach transporter range, Tom goes to the
transporter room. He wants to be there when they
materialize, wants to put his hands on her shoulders to make
sure she's solid and really there. They appear and after
first glance, seem to be all right.

"Get a little lost?" she jokes, stepping down off the
platform.

"You know what happens when you don't let me drive," Tom
says back, grinning. Lieutenant Schmidt watches this
exchanged without amusement. "Have fun, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," she says.

"Great," Tom says, clapping his hands together once.

"Come on, Tom, you can catch me up over dinner," Janeway
says. "You take the bridge, Nancy."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lieutenant Schmidt says, and at a fork in the
corridor, they break apart.

"That woman does not care for me," Tom reiterates, making
sure they're far enough that Schmidt can't overhear him.

"Why do you care?" Janeway asks.

"I'm a likable guy!" Tom says. "I just don't understand."

"Sometimes officers differ in styles," Janeway says. "She
can be sort of. . . "

"Rigid?" he supplies.

"And you can be sort of. . . "

"Not rigid?" he says.

"All right, there you go!" she says. "Mystery solved."

In the turbolift, he bumps into her slightly with the side
of his body.

"Were you worried?" he asks. "When we didn't show up on
time?"

"Of course I was worried," she says. "I hate leaving my
ship, having no control. I thought something had happened to
you."

"I was worried too," he says, letting her step off the lift
first.

"What were you worried about?" she asks, opening the door to
her quarters. Her quarters are smaller than they were on
Voyager, a much larger ship, but still spacious. Tom has his
own quarters, but on a ship so small, the rest of the crew
shares. It's a short mission. He's glad he never had to
share on Voyager because he knows some people did.

"I always worry when we lose contact," he says, simply.
"What if you had needed help and I wasn't there to provide
it?"

"You first officers and your over-protectiveness," she
mutters. Her quarters are covered with empty coffee mugs and
she starts collecting them all and dumps them into the
replicator and recycles them.

"Only when their Captains are reckless," he says.

"Or their Admirals?" she says.

"Right."

"What'll you have?" she asks.

They eat dinner together more often than not, and sometimes
breakfast if she doesn't have to be off the ship early. He
sees her socially at least once a day.

"I don't care," he says, because he doesn't. He'll eat what
she eats. Sometimes it comes out slightly charred, or too
cold in the middle but he doesn't complain if she doesn't.

After dinner, he excuses himself to use her bathroom and
when he comes out, he can hear Lieutenant Schmidt. He can't
make out exactly what she's saying, but he hears the word
'concerns' and then, not long after, his own name.

"You can, of course, feel free to lodge an official
complaint," Janeway is saying. He hasn't heard her sound
this stern in a long time. He could easily step through the
short hallway and reveal himself, but instead he hangs back,
listening.

"I'd rather not, Admiral," Lieutenant Schmidt says primly.
"But I feel the fraternization policies are quite clear and
I've noticed that Lieutenant Commander Paris often takes a
tone with you that seems too familiar."

"Nancy, first of all, it isn't your job to worry about my
first officer's tone. Secondly, Tom and I were on Voyager
together. He's allowed to be familiar. If you'd like to file
a report, feel free to do so. Otherwise, you are dismissed."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lieutenant Schmidt says. He waits until he
hears the doors close behind her before he steps out.

"I'm not one to say I told you so, but. . . " he says.

"Can you believe that?" Janeway seethes. She has been
holding back her anger, but now it boils up and over. He can
see her cheeks turn red and her eyes flash in a dangerous
and familiar way.

"She has some gall," Tom agrees evenly.

"As if she is in charge of who I am familiar with," Janeway
says, starting to clear the dinner dishes angrily.

"Officers who work mostly on a planet don't really
understand ship camaraderie," Tom says, though he isn't
sure why he's defending her. "This is her first space
mission."

"We all went through the same academy," Janeway says. "Guess
you can't teach social skills."

"Why are you so upset about this?" he asks, sitting down so
she'll follow suit.

"I've never been. . .  accused of misconduct before," she says.
"I'm an Admiral!"

"That's right, and Lieutenant Schmidt is just that, a
Lieutenant who doesn't have much time under her belt. You
have to let this roll off your back, Kath. If she does file
a report, one conversation with either one of us will clear
our names."

"You're right," she mutters, but doesn't seem convinced.

"Are you mad about her suspecting foul play or are you mad
that it's about me?" he asks. She stares at him, her mouth
falling open.

"What do you mean by that?" she asks.

"You never seemed to mind when the crew gossiped about you
and Chakotay," he says.

"Gossip is one thing," she says. "Gossip passes the time,
but this is serious. It's hurtful."

"I'll talk to her," Tom says, standing. "I'll smooth this
over."

"Fine," she says.

"Kathryn?" he says, pausing at the door. "Why didn't you
tell her I was in here?"

"Would that have done us any good?" she asks. Tom doesn't
answer.

Lieutenant Schmidt is in her quarters. She is third in
command, but shares her quarters with another bridge officer
who is, thankfully, at that moment on the bridge and not at
home.

"Commander Paris," Schmidt greets looking not very surprised
to see him.

"I'm just going to come clean," Tom says. "I overheard your
complaint to the Admiral."

"Why don't you come in," Schmidt says. In the quarters,
which are cleaner than his, she does not offer him a seat or
refreshment. They move in just enough so that the doors
close.

"Lieutenant Schmidt, if you have a personnel problem, it's
customary to go to the first officer with it," he says.

"I feel more comfortable discussing this sort of thing with
the Admiral. I spend the most time with her," Schmidt says.

"Though it isn't really your place to worry about how the
Admiral spends her time, I'm here to assure you that Admiral
Janeway and I are long time friends and nothing more," he
says. "I hope you'll consider that and decide against filing
a report."

"I see," she says.

"Nancy," he tries again. "Is there something you want to
talk about?"

"No," she says. "Well, it's just. . .  she talks about you all
the time, Sir. It states clearly that two officers working
in the same department are not allowed to fraternize."

"Life on a Starship is different," Tom tries to explain.
"Starfleet regulations are important, but your loyalty has to
lie with your commanding officer otherwise the whole system
breaks down."

"I'm loyal to the Admiral," she says, quickly.

"I hope so, because if you can't trust her, I recommend you
find a posting that's a better fit."

"I don't want another assignment, Sir," she says.

"Good," he says.

He picks up Miral and stops at Janeway's quarters on the way
home so they can say good night. Miral is already half
asleep. He carries her and her head is heavy on his
shoulder. When Janeway answers the door, she's out of
uniform in soft looking clothes, the kind of thing she wore
to bed in the cold of Bloomington.

"Come in," she says. She pats Miral's head lightly. "How'd
it go?"

"Apparently you talk about me all the time," he says,
waggling his eyebrows. "You aroused her suspicions."

Janeway sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you go put her down in my bed," Janeway suggests.
"I could use a drink."

---

Tom wakes up in a strange place. He feels under rested and
confused. He's on the couch and upon surveying the room
realizes he's still in Janeway's quarters. It's the vase of
flowers on the dining table that gives it away. On his
dining table is a stack of PADDs and a pile of Miral's toys.
The thought of Miral wakes him up completely. He needs to
check on his daughter and make sure she's okay. He remembers
putting her in Janeway's bed, but Janeway is nowhere to be
seen. He stands up, ignoring the popping from his neck and
back and walks quietly into her bedroom.

Miral is there, sleeping soundly with Janeway next to her.
The sight, for some reason, makes Tom's hard leap from his
chest to his throat. Janeway isn't just sharing the bed.
Miral tends to sleep on her stomach, like her mother, and
Janeway sleeps with her hand on Miral's ridged back, their
bodies close together.

Tom should leave them to it, go to his quarters and try to
salvage the small amount of night that was left, but he
can't seem to leave Miral behind, even knowing she's in more
than capable hands. Instead, he creeps further into the room
and stands in the small alcove that serves as Janeway's
closet. Among the hanging uniforms and small selection of
dresses and more casual civilian clothes is a folded blanket
on a high shelf. He grabs it, glancing at the sleeping
figures across the room. For a moment, it seems as if
Janeway is watching him, but when he blinks, her eyes are
closed and her breathing steady.

He takes his plunder and tiptoes out of the room, ready to
spend the rest of the night on a couch much too short for
him.

---

When Janeway wakes up, it's because Miral is whimpering
beside her. The sound frightens her; it jolts her awake.

"What's wrong, honey?" she whispers.

"Mommy?" Miral pleads.

"It's Aunt Kathryn," she says. "You're with me and daddy
now."

"Mommy," Miral says, dissolving into fresh tears.

"Oh, honey," Janeway says and sits up enough to scoop the
distraught girl into her arms. Miral feels hot to the touch
and lets out a fresh wail. It doesn't take Tom long to rush
into the room, looking bleary and concerned.

"What's wrong?" he asks. His hair is sticking up on one side
and she'd laugh, if he didn't look so worried.

"She feels warm," Janeway says. "She's crying for B'Elanna."

"Come here, doll," Tom says, and Kathryn passes Miral over
into her father's arm willingly. He kisses Miral's forehead,
letting his mouth linger a bit. "Yeah," he agrees. "I'll
take her to sickbay."

"I'll come," Janeway says, throwing off the blankets and
shoving her feet into the slippers that sit by the side of
her bed.

"You should sleep," Tom says.

"No," she says, firmly, shrugging on her robe and tying the
sash tightly. "I'm coming."

What a sight they must be, walking through the halls of the
Commonwealth at this hour; Tom in a rumpled uniform holding
a crying girl and Janeway by his side, in her night things.
On the way, Janeway summons their chief medical officer,
Lieutenant Commander Holly. It's a habit she had to train
herself in, having a live Doctor. She'd taken for granted on
Voyager that she'd had a Doctor who didn't need sleep, who
could be summoned in a moment.

They all arrive in sickbay at the same time. Tom sits Miral
on the bed while she stares up at him with pitiful, wet
eyes.

"Daddy," she cries. "Owie."

"All right, I'm going to scan you now," Holly says. "It's
not going to hurt."

"Is she all right?" Janeway asks, unwilling to wait for
information.

"She has a slight fever and. . . " Holly looks at her tricorder
closely. "What looks to be like an inner ear infection. No
wonder you don't feel good."

"Poor thing," Tom says.

"I'll give her some antibiotics. She should be fine in a few
hours."

"How'd she get the infection?" Janeway demands.

"Ear infections are common in small children, especially
those of mixed parentage," Holly says. She administers the
hypospray and gives Miral a smile. "There. Disaster
averted."

Miral reaches for her father and clings to him.

"Thank you," Janeway manages. Holly watches the pair exit
the sickbay curiously.

This time, Tom takes Miral to their quarters and Janeway
returns to bed. Miral is tired from all the excitement and
it doesn't take her long to fall back asleep. For Tom, it's
another story.

---

B'Elanna materializes onto the transporter pad. Janeway
stands in the transporter room, Miral's small hand in her
own. Tom is on the bridge. He'd created an elaborate excuse
to get him out of a face to face confrontation with his soon
to be ex-wife. Today, the Commonwealth has been scheduled to
meet the Minerva in order to return Miral to her mother.
Yesterday, B'Elanna had sent the divorce papers. Janeway
can't blame Tom for wanting to avoid this confrontation.

"Miral!" B'Elanna opens her arms and hugs her daughter
close.

"Hello, B'Elanna," Janeway says warmly.

"Admiral," B'Elanna greets. "Where's Tom."

"He's been detained," Janeway says. "I'm more than happy to
see Miral off safely."

"I'm sure," B'Elanna says, her bitter words couched in a
smile. "Well, we won't take up any more of your time, will
we baby?" B'Elanna picks up Miral's small suitcase and moves
it to the transporter pad.

"May I hug her goodbye?" Janeway asks. B'Elanna looks as if
she wants to refuse, but has no real reason to so she sets
Miral on her feet and lets Janeway hug her tightly. Miral
hugs her back fiercely.

"Bye Aunt Kathryn," she says. She'd cried earlier, hugging
her father goodbye and her little voice wavers now.

"Goodbye sweetheart," Janeway says. "You're welcome with us
any time."

"Come on," B'Elanna prompts. "We don't want to keep our ship
waiting."

Tom is on the bridge in her chair when she stops by to tell
him that Miral has gotten back to her mother safely. At the
sight of Janeway, he stands up and she nods her head toward
the ready room. He follows her in, leaving the bridge with
Lieutenant Schmidt who is working the Ops station.

"How was it?" Tom asks.

"I'll miss the munchkin," Janeway says. "It was fine."

"How did B'Elanna seem?" he presses.

"Tom," she sighs. "You didn't want to see her and that's
fine, but I can't interpret it for you. I can't be in the
middle of your marriage."

"I'm sorry, Admiral," he says, standing up a little
straighter.

"That's not what I meant," she says. "I'm your friend first,
you know that."

But does Tom know that? Janeway has drawn a very hazy line
for him. He must follow her orders; submit to her will
because she is the Admiral. On the other hand, he has a
relationship with her that he's never had with a commanding
officer before. He has seen her at her best and at her
worst. He calls her by her given name, appointed her
Godmother of his only child. He knows what her cooking
tastes like, how her hair looks when she wakes up in the
morning, what she wears to bed. Her shoe size, the color of
her toothbrush, the way her face turns red when she laughs
so hard she can't catch her breath.

"It's going to be awkward," she continues. "But I'm going to
help you through it."

"I authorized the divorce document," Tom blurts suddenly.
"In a few days, I'll get a notification that the documents
have been filed and that will be that."

"I'm here for you," she reiterates.

He nods, and lets himself out – leaves her alone to ponder
the end of his marriage in silence.

---

Tom isn't sure what to expect when their month long,
whirlwind mission draws to an end. Janeway tells him she
doesn't want to stay aboard the Commonwealth. There is more
she could be doing with her rank than commanding a small
ship and she wants to be doing it. She will hand over the
reins to another Captain, a green Captain who needs a small
ship to cut their teeth on.

"You're returning to San Francisco, then," Tom says. Janeway
smiles apologetically.

Tom is a divorced man, now, and has no immediate plans. He
can go back to Ireland of course, and will because his home
is there, but he isn't sure if he wants to return to his job
of designing shuttles. He'd been happy there, yes, but
returning feels like a step backwards. But if not that, then
what?

"There are so many places for you, Tom," Janeway tells him.
"Think of your dream job and tell me. I'll help you get it."

"I'll think about it," Tom promises. When they disembark
from the Commonwealth, they are funneled through Starfleet
Medical and then set free. Most officers will await new
orders. Lieutenant Schmidt will return to her post at
tactical and put in for a promotion, Tom guesses, now that
she has space experience under her belt.

Janeway and Tom walk out of the medical complex together and
head for Headquarters, head for Janeway's office. It's still
chilly in San Francisco and the sidewalk is damp. It smells
like rain and Tom can see fat drops of water still clinging
to the leaves of plants and blades of grass. The sky looks
ominous, like it could break open at any moment once more.

"Come on," Janeway urges and picks up her pace, slightly.
They are still half a block away when the sky opens,
however. The rain is cold as it hits them and Janeway
laughs, more out of shock than anything else. Weather is
always somewhat disorienting after life in space. The
uniforms do a fairly good job of keeping them dry, but the
water hits their face and necks and soaks into the
turtlenecks made of mostly cotton.

Tom can't decide if it's less dignified to run through the
rain or walk and get soaked. Soon enough, though, they dart
into the building. Tom wipes water from his eyes. Janeway
opens her office and then takes off her jacket. The
shoulders are dark with water.

"Didn't quite make it there, did we?" she chuckles. "Want
something warm?"

"Actually, there's a transport leaving in a few minutes," he
says.

"Oh," she says, her face sobering. "Of course you'd want to
get home."

"Thanks for everything, Kathryn," he says sincerely.

"Let me know what you decide to do, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he promises. They're standing, facing each
other and he turns to go.

"Wait," she says. He pauses and is slightly surprised when
she hugs him. It takes him a moment to realize what she's
doing and then he puts his arms around her also. Her waist
is tiny and he can rest his chin on top of her head so he
does. He hears her take a deep breath and they stand there
for a few moments too long. Tom doesn't want to let go.

Eventually she steps back and puts her hand on his cheek,
her eyes crinkling slightly.

"Bye, Tom," she says.

"This feels weird," he admits.

"I'll have you for dinner soon," she promises. He turns to
go.

"Wait!" she says, again. "Take my umbrella."

Tom does, knowing that if anything, he'll have to return it
someday soon.

---

Tom's house is dark, empty, and cold. It has been raining
steadily in Dϊn Laoghaire for over a week and everything is
completely saturated. There's a puddle on his front porch
from where the awning has started to leak – something he
meant to fix in the summer, but hadn't gotten around to yet.
He side steps the puddle and lets himself in. He can hear
dripping coming from the kitchen and sighs.

So much for a simple life.

He's tired; he just wants go to sleep for a while, but the
leak must be fixed first. When he goes into the kitchen, he
sees the drops hitting the wooden table which has warped
under the standing water.

"Shit," he muttered. The table, the best part of the house,
cannot be salvaged. He cleans up the mess and fixes the
leak. He's not going to lug the table out in the rain, so he
covers it with towels so he doesn't have to look at it. He
takes a hot shower and goes to bed.

---

He doesn't start worrying about his career for three days.

He doesn't feel up to staring new, so he contacts his old
commanding officer and asks for his job back. His commander
seems surprised at his return – after all, he's been
promoted and off to bigger and better things.

"Are you sure?" Commander Hayes asks in an odd moment of
empathy.

"Yes," Tom says. "I miss the pace of the lab."

The pace of the lab is moderately slow, especially after
serving as first officer on a starship, but neither man
points this out.

"The truth of the matter is," Hayes says slowly, "I've
filled your position."

"Ah," says Tom.

"But I've been thinking about retirement," Hayes says.
"I've been considering training someone to take over my
position."

"Have you?" Tom asks.

"I think you're a fine candidate," Hayes says, smiling.
"I'll start the paperwork with Starfleet and let you know
what they decide."

"Thank you, Sir," Tom says. He doesn't necessarily want to
run the lab, not now and not later, but since he doesn't
know what it is that he does want to do, he doesn't turn the
job down.

---

Two weeks after he starts, Harry comes for a visit. Harry
seems pumped, happy with life, with his assignment on the
Bonaparte, with his new girl friend. But Harry is still
Harry, and when he brings up the Admiral, he will not be
persuaded away from that line of conversation.

"You haven't spoken to her since you disembarked from the
Commonwealth."

For some reason, Harry does not ask this as a question, but
makes a statement, and he doesn't seem pleased.

"I guess not," says Tom, but he's playing dumb. He wants to
call her, but what would he say?

"Why not?" Harry asks.

"We spent, off and on, three months together, Harry. Have you
ever heard of wearing out your welcome?" Tom asks.

"That's stupid," Harry says. "And that's not how she sees
it."

"Are you talking to her about me?" Tom demands. He feels
slightly betrayed.

"You know we communicate regularly," Harry says. "How would
you feel if one of your best friends suddenly stopped
speaking to you?"

"She doesn't call me either," Tom points out. He checks,
regularly, follows her in the news feeds.

"Invite her for dinner," Harry says. "I'm here, it's a great
excuse."

"I don't know," Tom says. "The place is a mess; I still
haven't found a new dining table."

"We'll go out," Harry pushes.

"Maybe next time," Tom says.

"Well," Harry scratches the back of his head and looks
guilty.

"You already invited her, didn't you?"

"She'll be here at 5:00," he admits. Tom doesn't wait around
for Harry to explain or apologize or start spouting out
justifications. Instead, he jumps out of his seat and starts
rushing around, gathering dirty clothes for the recycler and
picking up odds and ends around the house that are out of
place.

"You," he says, pointing to Harry. "Dishes. Now!"

Harry chuckles, but fills the sink with hot, soapy water and
gets to work.

---

Janeway comes right on time. She's either extremely punctual
or drastically late. If she's not there on the dot, she
won't arrive for an hour or more. His doorbell chimes at
5:00 and Tom realizes that he's slightly nervous.

"You get it," he says.

Harry just shakes his head and heads down the hall. Tom
waits in the kitchen, facing the sink, his head down. When
he hears them enter the kitchen, his shoulders hunch
slightly.

"She's here!" Harry says. Tom gives himself a moment by
wiping his hand on the dishtowel before he turns around.

"Lieutenant Commander Paris," she deadpans in her best
Admiral voice. But the stern expression doesn't hold and he
sees a small, lopsided smile break through.

"Admiral Janeway," he says in the same terse voice. But she
doesn't look like Admiral Janeway – she's in civilian
clothes; wool pants and a cream colored turtleneck. She's
wearing make-up and her hair is held back with a clip. She
looks softer, somehow. She looks older, too. He feels like
the gray in her hair is coming in more and more. His
receding hairline can sympathize. "Your orders, Ma'am?"

"Feed me," she says. "Tell me about your life."

"We were thinking of going out," Harry says. Janeway smiles,
nods her approval.

---

At the pub, Tom drinks too much, too fast. He's nervous and
his nerves are making him more nervous. He doesn't
understand the anxiety – he's spent countless hours with
these two people, it doesn't make sense. He goes to the bar
to get them menus while Harry and Janeway find an empty
booth near the back wall. The place is just crowded enough.
Andrew is tending bar and shakes Tom's hand.

"Long time no see, Tommy," he says.

"Work," Tom says. "Glad to be back. Can I have some menus?"

"Aye," Andrew says, sliding the menus across the bar.
"Anything to drink?"

"A shot of whiskey," Tom says. Andrew pours it for him and
he downs it quickly, before Harry or Janeway decide to look
over their shoulder to see what's taking him so long. "I'll
be back with a drink order shortly," he promises.

He hands them the menus and sits next to Harry in the booth.

"What are we drinking?" Tom demands, forcing a smile. The
whiskey is already beginning to warm his empty stomach.

"White wine is fine," Janeway says.

"Harry?"

"Whatever you're having," he defers. At the bar, Tom gets
her glass of wine and a couple of beers for Harry and
himself. He also takes another shot of whiskey before
bringing them their drinks.

By the time the food comes, he's giggly and rosy cheeked. He
doesn't notice the looks Harry and Janeway exchange when he
makes a bad joke or says something too loudly. He knows a
lot of people at the pub and their dinner is often
interrupted by people stopping by to say hello. By the time
dinner is over, Tom is fairly drunk. He doesn't realize it
until he stands up and the world loses it's balance.

"Hey, hey," Harry says, grabbing Tom's arm. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Tom giggles.

"You're drunk, Mr. Paris," Janeway says.

"No!" Tom argues, but the walk home proves him wrong. He
stumbles on the step outside and Harry has to grab him
again. He slings one of Tom's arms over his shoulder and
Janeway takes the other side. The walk home is longer and
slower than usual.

"Left foot, right foot," Harry says. Janeway laughs when Tom
stumbles and she almost loses her footing as well. Even with
Harry carrying the brunt of the weight, Tom is much larger
than Janeway. He looks down at the woman with a sloppy grin.

"You're nice," Tom sighs.

"Well, thank you," Janeway says, while Harry just shakes his
head.

"Careful, Tom," he warns.

"But I like her," Tom crows. "I like Kathryn Janeway!"

"I like you too, Tom," she laughs. They round the corner and
Tom's house comes into view.

"No, I mean. . .  I like. . .  you," Tom says, seriously.

"I know," Janeway says.

"No!" he says. "I lo-"

"TOM!" Harry says. "Look, here we are! No need to keep
talking!"

"But. . . " Tom says.

"Where is your key?" Harry demands. It turns out the key is
in his pocket, the one on Janeway's side. She rolls her eyes
before sliding her hand into his pocket and fishing the key
out. Tom grins stupidly. Janeway hands the key to Harry who
unlocks the door.

"At least he's a happy drunk," Janeway reasons. In the hall,
they get him to the sofa and let him drop. The smile fades
from his face.

"I don't feel so good," Tom says.

"You should leave while you can," Harry tells her.

"I'll get a receptacle," she says instead, rushing to the
kitchen.

---

Tom wakes up and immediately regrets the decision. The
inside of his mouth tastes like something crawled in there
and died. It takes him a moment to realize he's on the couch
– the light from the window is streaming into the room and
when he opens his eyes, the pain is unbearable. He groans
and curls into himself.

"Here."

Janeway's voice cuts through the throbbing in his head. He's
surprised to hear it but can't seem to open his eyes to see
her. He feels her press a hypospray to his neck. With the
hiss comes some relief. The pain is not entirely gone, but
he can uncurl and open his eyes. Janeway holds out a cup of
coffee.

"I can't," he says, turning his face into the cushion.

"You'll feel better with something on your stomach," she
promises. He sits up slightly and takes the mug from her.

What are you doing here?" he asks before taking a tentative
sip. When the coffee goes down without incident, he tries a
bigger mouthful.

"I drew the short straw," she says, rather dryly. He looks
at her confusedly. "I let Harry go home," she explains.
"He's no nurse."

"Harry?" Tom asks.

"Wait for it. . . "

"Oh God, the pub," he says.

"There we go."

"What happened?"

"You are much more of a lightweight than I ever expected,"
she says, perching on the coffee table. He looks at her –
she's in last night's clothes, but her face has been
scrubbed clean and her hair is slightly damp.

"I may have had more than you saw," he admits. She frowns at
him.

"Do you want some toast?" she asks. He pulls a face. "I'm
going to make some, and if you want to eat it, you can."

She moves herself to the kitchen. Tom drinks half his coffee
and manages to make it to the bathroom. In the mirror, his
reflection is not exactly welcoming. He looks a little
sallow. He needs a shave and his hair is flat on one side,
the side he slept on. He tries to smooth it out but it
doesn't matter. What he really needs is a shower, but he
settles for brushing is teeth and splashing cold water on
his face.

He feels ever so slightly more human when he reappears.
She's leaning against the counter, eating her toast. There's
more for him, but he still doesn't feel quite up to it.

"Where is your table?" she asks.

"It was ruined," he says. "I haven't replaced it yet."

"That's a shame," she says, looking at the four chairs that
surround nothing. "I loved that table."

"Me too," he says. "Thanks for staying."

"Anything for a friend," she says.

"I hope I didn't. . .  you know, do anything too horribly
embarrassing."

"Not too bad," she says, grinning into the rim of her mug.
"You're a friendly lush."

He winces.

"It's okay, Harry made sure you didn't say anything you may
regret," she says. "Though it is nice to hear that someone
really, really, really likes you."

"Ouch," he says. "Well, please let me make it up to you."

"You don't have anything to make up for," she assures him.

"Still, I'd like to spend a sober evening with you," he
says.

"All right," she relents. "Next week you can come to San
Francisco. There's a new seafood restaurant that's opening
on the pier. Very fancy, very exclusive and they put a bunch
of the brass on the list for opening night."

"A Starfleet function?" he asks.

"Not exactly," she says. "Yes and no. Do you decline?"

"No," he says. "I'll be there."

"Good," she says. "Wear your dress uniform, please."

"Yes, Admiral," he says.

"Now, I'd ask you to walk me out but. . . " She looks him up and
down. "I can't say you should be seen in public like that."

"Thanks," he says. She pats his shoulder as she walks by.

---

When he arrives at Starfleet, he runs into his father on the
campus.

"Son?" he calls. Paris stops. He's a little early, but knows
better than to be late so he left in enough time to give
himself a buffer. This is why. Life is unpredictable.

"Hey Dad," he says.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Oh, Kath. . .  I mean, Admiral Janeway wants me to accompany her
to this big function," he says.

"You're going on a date?" Owen asks, frowning.

"No!" Tom says. "No, I think it's more a friendly, first
officer, Voyager appearance."

"Sure," Owen says.

"You aren't going?" Tom asks.

"I hate publicity," Owen says. "But you have fun. Tell
Kathryn I say hello."

"Will do," he says. When he gets to her office, she's
shrugging into the coat of her dress uniform.

"You're on time!" she exclaims.

"I ran into my father," he says. "Headquarters is huge –
several city blocks. How in the world do I manage to bump
into the man?"

"The world is never as large as you think," she promises.
"Can you help me with these?" She can't manage to fasten her
rank bar on straight so he takes it and fastens it to her
uniform. "Thank you."

"Sure."

"Have a seat, I'm almost ready."

She disappears into the washroom so he seats himself behind
her desk instead of in front of it. He just wants to see how
the power feels, but mostly it feels like any other
Starfleet issue chair. Her monitor is dark and, he imagines,
protected on several levels. Beside that are framed
pictures. There's the one of her and her father that he saw
at her mother's house, there's one of a pair of people he
doesn't know, and then there's one of them. Of their family
– Chakotay, Tuvok, Harry, B'Elanna, Seven, Neelix, the
Doctor, Janeway, and his self.

"My, my, don't you look comfortable," Janeway says, stepping
back into the office. She has changed her hair; put it up
with a gold clip, and freshened her make-up.

"You look nice," he says.

"Thanks," she says, smoothing her tunic. "You ready?"

The restaurant is swamped with people. There's press
outside, snapping holopictures of the arriving guests and a
Klingon working the door.

"This is nuts," Tom says, leaning down and speaking into her
hear so he can be heard.

"Just smile, Mr. Paris," she says. "And be the handsome,
fine officer I know you can be."

"With pleasure," he says, and smiles for the photographers.
Luckily for them and everyone concerned, the rain has
stopped for the moment. Still, this close to the water, it's
chilly and a thick fog is beginning to settle over the city
by the bay. He notices Janeway shiver slightly and starts
nudging her toward the door. She seems happy to let him lead
and when they get into the restaurant, it's much warmer.

"Ah, Admiral Janeway," says the host, smiling. "I have a
table for you and Mr. Paris."

"You gave them my name?" Tom whispers, as they're lead to
their table.

"No," Janeway says. "But you were on Voyager too, you know."

"Oh, I know," he says. Their table is near the window, and
the bay spreads out before them. They have a beautiful view
of the Golden Gate, lights twinkling as the sun sets.

"This is beautiful," Janeway says, allowing the host to pull
out her seat for her.

"Quite the view," Tom acknowledges, seating himself. "I'm
not used to this level of fancy."

"Oh, well," Janeway says. "Now you have friends in high
places."

"I don't know," Tom says, glancing down at the menu. "There
comes a point where fancy and ridiculous collide."

"Just order the lobster, that's what I do," she says.

"I'm anti-crustacean," he says. "They give me the creeps."

"Then why did you agree to come to a seafood restaurant with
me?" she asks.

"Because you asked me," he says. "You needed some arm
candy."

She scoffs.

"Maybe ten years ago you were my arm candy," she says, her
eyes on the menu.

"What are you saying?" he demands.

"We're old, Thomas, time to face up."

"I'm not old," he says. "And neither are you."

"I'm pushing on 50 pretty damn hard," she says.

"Kathryn," he leans in, lowering his voice. "Kathryn, look
at me."

She glances up; focuses on his bright blue eyes.

"You're as quick, as sharp, as lovely as the day you came
and broke me out of the slammer," he promises. "And when you
get old, I'll be the first to tell you, okay?"

"Promise?" she says.

"I do," he says. "But it's nice to know you think I'm old."

"I was just. . . " she shakes her head. "Teasing."

"Sure, sure," he says.

When the waiter comes, they haven't made any choice.

"Tell you what," Tom says. "You tell the chef that Admiral
Janeway wants two plates of the house special."

"Very good, sir," the waiter says and disappears.

"What if you get a big, scary lobster?" Janeway asks.

"When you think about it, I ate Neelix's cooking for seven
years, so this is really not that much of a gamble," he
says.

"Here, here," she says.

---

In the morning, there's a picture in his inbox of him and
Janeway at the restaurant opening. The caption names her as
the Admiral, the once captain of Voyager and him as the
helmsman turned first officer. It's the picture that makes
Tom look a little closer. It was snapped when Tom was
hurrying her inside and his hand is on her back. They're
bent in close, trying to ward off the cold and wind.

They look familiar; they look intimate.

Tom checks the source of the transmission and sees that the
publicity went out over all the major channels. It doesn't
take long for the calls to start coming in. Harry comms him
to tease him about being, once again, the Captain turned
Admiral's pet. His father sends him a refresher on policies
and procedures regarding Starfleet publicity. But it's
Janeway he waits for and she doesn't disappoint him. She
contacts him personally, doesn't just forward him a message.

"How do you like the spotlight?" she asks, grinning. She's
at the office, he sees, but it's lunch time in San
Francisco, and he's has been waiting up for her to call.

"I was so happy when the Voyager hype faded," he admits. "Do
you live with this every day?"

"I don't usually go to social events," she says. "But once
in a while, it's fun."

"My father. . . "

"I know, me too," she says. "I think he overreacted when he
saw your face on his monitor. I think he's still sore that I
negotiated for your freedom and then got you lost for the
better part of a decade."

"Really?"

"When I tapped you for the position on the Commonwealth, he
tried to talk me out of it," Janeway says. "I mean, how many
times can one woman get flung across the galaxy, am I
right?"

"Best not to tempt fate, I suppose," Tom says.

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?" she asks. "Tempting fate?"

He doesn't know how to respond to this, so he doesn't.

"I'll take your silence in a spirit of goodwill," she says.

"A wise course of action," he agrees. Something beeps and
her attention is drawn away.

"Duty calls," she says. "Janeway out."

Tom stares at his blank monitor for a moment before bringing
the picture back up. He sends the information to the
replicator and replicates the photo in a frame. Instead of
putting it on the mantle with the other framed photos he
has, he takes it upstairs and sets it on his nightstand.

---

He's at work when a call comes through.

"Tom Paris?" the unfamiliar face says.

"Yes?" he says.

"We're here to deliver and install your new table," the man
says, looking down at the information tablet in his hand.

"My what?" he says.

"You are Lieutenant Commander Thomas Paris?" he repeats.

"Yes," Tom says. "But I didn't order anything."

"Well, someone did and we're here to install it," the man
says impatiently. Tom sighs and glances at the chronometer.

"All right, give me fifteen minutes. I'll be right there."

The good thing about being second in command at work is when
he steps out, no one says anything. There are two men
waiting outside his house with a large crate.

"Finally," the man mutters.

"Can I see the invoice please?" Tom says.

"I need your authorization anyhow," the man says, handing
the tablet over. Tom studies the document and sees that the
table has been shipped from Indiana.

"Janeway," he mutters. But what can he do? He authorizes the
shipment and lets the men into his house. He directs them to
the kitchen and watches them open the crate. The table they
put together is beautiful, he has to admit. It's a blonde
wood, and slightly larger than the last table. Its legs are
carved into intricate patterns that somehow manage not to
look fussy and while the old table had years of character,
this table smells of freshly cut wood and the promise of a
long and fruitful life.

"There you go," the man says.

"Thanks," Tom says, running his hand over the smooth
surface. The table needs to be sealed, but that will be easy
to do. He should call her, but the time difference makes
that impossible so he goes back to work to finish out the
day. To finish out the week, actually. It dawns on him that
he could thank her in person, if he wanted.

---

When he gets home, he contacts her.

"Did you get your present?" she asks.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," he says. She is sitting
in her apartment; he can see the windows behind her. She's
also in her bathrobe, holding a mug of coffee.

"I was visiting my mother, and we were shopping and I saw it
and. . .  well, it really wouldn't go in my apartment," she says.

"It's beautiful, thank you," he says. "My chairs clash now,
though."

"I know," she says. "The shop had a couple of variations and
I couldn't decide, but I told them I'd let them know. Want
to come out and see what they have to offer?"

"Sure," he says. He doesn't even have to fish for the
invitation, she just hands it to him.

"I have to get ready for work," she says, glancing away from
the screen. "Someday, we should try living a little closer."

"We're on the same planet," he points out. "Not so bad."

"Well, I'd like to be in the same time zone," she says.
"Every time I think about calling you, I realize you're
asleep or at work or it's not a good time."

"That's true," he says.

"All right, I'll have my aide forward you the appropriate
travel information," she says. "Janeway out."

---

A few hours later, his console beeps. She wants him to meet
her in San Francisco. It makes sense to travel together, but
her schedule hasn't left him much time for sleep so he
forgoes it all together and spends the rest of his time
packing and drinking caffeine.

When he sees her, they don't embrace, but her smile is big.
He starts to step off the transporter pad but instead she
climbs up and stands next to him.

"Energize," she calls out and he doesn't even get a chance
to brace himself before he's put through the transporter
cycle once more.

"Tom," she says, stepping off the pad without missing a
beat. "The trees have started to bloom! I really thought you
needed to see my hometown when it wasn't the dead of winter
and this is the perfect excuse. Now, we can walk or hop one
of the transports, it's really up to you but. . .  Are you
coming?"

Tom rushes to follow her. She's in rare form, energized and
happy and while they always get along, she's not usually so
full of pep. He wishes he'd bothered with a few hours of
sleep when he jogs up beside her.

"I think we should walk," Janeway says. "That way you can
see more of the town!"

"Sure," he says.

"Hey," she says, touching his arm and stopping them. "Are
you all right?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'm just playing catch up. You know,
transporter lag."

This seems to bring her back to a normal speed and as they
walk through the town, she points out her favorite
landmarks. The old, stone houses with small porches and
blooming gardens behind wooden fences. They walk through the
center of what used to be the University campus. She points
out where she played tennis as a child, the front of the
school she attended, her favorite coffee shop, and the tree
she fell out of when she was seven and broke her arm in
three places.

It's a beautiful town, but somehow Tom always imagined her
coming from someplace. . .  bigger.

The showroom she brings him into smells of fresh wood and
paint.

"At first, I thought about sending you these," Janeway says,
not wasting any time. The chairs she points out are nice,
but boring. "But..."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess I kind of like those." But does
he like them enough to purchase them? The upholstery seems
fussy and the wood isn't quite the same shade as he has in
his memory.

Janeway shrugs, to show she's not particularly drawn to them
either.

"How about these?" she says, pointing to a set. The chairs
are much more ornate than his table.

"They're just chairs," Tom says, suddenly disheartened. "Who
sees them but me anyway?"

"I do," Janeway says. "And Harry. And Miral."

"I could just stain the table to match the chairs I already
have," he says.

"Don't stain my table!" she exclaims, pained.

"Your table?" he asks.

"Our table," she corrects, but it isn't much of a concession.
"Anyway, do you want to go look the workshop? It's in a
beautiful old building behind this one."

Tom has already resigned himself to following her for the
rest of his natural life within and outside of Starfleet, so
he has no problem doing so now. They move through the back
door and cross an alley.

"Is this a church?" Tom asks, looking up as they enter the
workshop building.

"I think it was, a long time ago," Janeway says. Inside,
they're greeted by the sound of someone sawing wood. On the
far wall is an enormous stained glass window filled with
religious imagery, but the space itself has been gutted.
Instead of seating, the room is filled with lumber and
equipment; with furniture in various states.

"Wow," says Tom.

"I know," she says. "I bet if you talked to Peter, he'd
design something more suited for your table."

"Peter?" Tom asks.

"This is his workshop," she says. "Family friend."

"Kathryn!"

As if on cue, the sawing stops and Peter calls her name
across the wide-open space.

"I told you I'd be back!" she calls, and leaves Tom behind,
walking toward the man who has summoned her. They embrace,
and she wipes sawdust off her front, smiling.

"How did the table work out?" Peter asks. Janeway glances at
Tom and he steps closer.

"It's great," he says. "Extraordinary."

"Kathryn has great taste," Peter says. "I made her this
cherry wood bed frame once, and I still think it's my
favorite piece."

"Really?" Tom asks.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't bring it on Voyager with me," she
says. Tom understands what she is implying. The bed must
have been left on Earth, with Mark. "But Tom needs chairs!"

"Tom Paris," Tom says, extending his hand. Peter shakes it.
When he smiles, his brown eyes crinkle. He sports a thick,
red beard and seems friendly. Tom feels at ease, but perhaps
it is because Janeway is at ease.

"Peter Hadley," he says. "And how do you know Ms. Janeway?"

"I'm her. . . " Tom pauses. What should he say? Helmsman? First
officer? Both of those things are true and inaccurate.
"Friend," he settles on.

"Nice to meet you," Peter says.

"The chairs in the showroom are lovely, but not quite what I
had in mind for that particular table," Janeway says,
touching Peter's arm and leading him toward the design table
that sits in the corner. "I was hoping perhaps you could
design something else?"

Tom lets them go. While they chat, he wanders around,
looking at the furniture being built, the machinery, and the
architecture of the old building. There are stone arches,
dark wooden paneled walls, and smaller, thicker windows. He
runs his hand along a pattern carved into the stone wall.

"Tom?"

Janeway's voice is suddenly right behind him and he spins
around to face her.

"I was calling for you," she says. "Didn't you hear?"

"No," he says. "Sorry. What did you need?"

"Do you want to look at what he sketched up?" she says.

"You know?" Tom says. "I trust you. I think I'll just leave
it in your capable hands."

"Are you sure?" she asks. He nods. "Okay."

"But I want to authorize the purchase under my account," he
says.

"Don't be silly," she says. "It's already taken care of."

---

Tom is wilting as they leave the showroom behind. He's
exhausted and can't seem to walk and keep up idle
conversation at the same time.

"Are you hungry?" Janeway asks, glancing at him. She is
concerned, perhaps.

"No," he says. "I'm tired, I think. I could use a rest."

"I was thinking we could have dinner with my mother since
we're in town," Janeway says. "Want to head over there now?
You could sleep in the guest room."

"I don't want to impose on her," Tom says.

"Don't be silly," Janeway chides again, taking his arm in
her own in a companionable gesture. At the corner, there's a
transport stop and she directs him aboard and into a seat.
He lets out a weary sigh. "When is the last time you slept?"

"What's today?" he jokes.

"You didn't have to come right away, you know. We could have
done this in the afternoon!"

"I was excited," he admits. It's warm on the transport and
not very crowded and Janeway's knees rest against the side
of his leg as they travel, shooting just above the city. He
rests his head against the window.

"Silly man," she says, but mostly she speaks to herself.
She has to tap him when their stop comes up and he follows
her off the transport. They are silent on the short walk,
and when her house comes into view, he knows he'll have to
use the last of his energy to meet the famous Gretchen. He
thinks, perhaps, he has met her before as a child but he
can't quite remember.

Janeway doesn't knock on the door, just opens it and pushes
him across the threshold.

"Mother?" she calls. Gretchen appears, wiping her hand on a
faded dishtowel.

"Kathryn?" she says. "Goodness, you're early."

"I have a soldier down," she says, grinning and hugging her
mother.

"Tom Paris," Gretchen says and surprises him by enveloping
him into a hug as well. He hugs her back, to startled to do
anything else. He is not from a tactile family – he can't
remember the last his father had hugged him without a sense
of duty attached and his mother has been dead for years now.
"Welcome."

"Thank you," he says.

"Mom, Tom needs a rest from me," Janeway says. "Is it all
right if I put him in the guest room?"

"Of course," she says. "It'll give us a chance to chat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Janeway," Tom says. He knows where the
guest room is, but allows Janeway to lead him there anyhow.
She opens the door for him and makes sure there are linens
on the mattress. He sits on the end of the bed and lets
himself fall backwards. She stands by the bed and frets.

"I'll make sure you don't sleep through dinner," she says in
a soft voice. She seems to hesitate for a moment, before
reaching out and touching the back of her hand to his
forehead.

"I'm fine, Kath," he murmurs. "Just not as young and
resilient as I once was."

"All right," she says, withdrawing her hand. He reaches up;
snatches it with his own and gives it a squeeze. She smiles
at him, squeezes the hand back and closes the door behind
her when she leaves.

---

He can smell dinner cooking. It reminds him of being a young
boy and waking up to the sound of his mom and his sisters in
the kitchen. This time, however, he can hear Janeway's
mother humming down the hall. Beside him, the mattress dips.
Janeway touches his forehead again and pushes his hair back
away from his face. Her fingers feel cool against his warm
skin.

"Tom?" she says.

He doesn't say anything, just luxuriates in the warm, soft
bed and her attentions.

"Open your eyes, you big faker," she says. He laughs and
turns his head to face her.

"I could've been really sleeping," he murmurs tiredly, his
voice low and rough. "You don't know."

"I do know," she says. "I did know."

"Yeah, well, nobody likes a know-it-all," he says. She
smacks him before withdrawing her hand.

"You going to sleep all night or do you want to get up for
dinner?" she asks.

"Just a few minutes more," he says, pressing his face back
into the pillow.

"All right, but don't be too long," she says. When she
starts to stand, he grabs her wrist.

"Stay," he says.

"Tom. . . "

"Come on, all that alone time with your mother. You probably
need a rest, too," he says. He scoots over a little. "Plenty
of room."

"You're going to get us all in trouble," she mutters, but
lays down next to him, leaving several inches of space
between them.

"Are you planning on broadcasting the fact that we cuddled
to some wider audience?" he asks.

"No, and we're not cuddling," she points out.

"Not yet," he says.

"Ha."

"I'm a fine cuddler," he says. "You're missing out."

"Am I?" she asks.

"Sure, ask anyone," he says.

"You and Harry clock a lot of time cuddling?" she asks.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." He smiles and scoots closer
to her.

"Maybe," she says, settling into him, her back against his
chest. It is kind of nice, having another person flush
against her. It's comfortable – the smell of Tom is familiar
and the way he tucks her head into the crook of his arm is
pleasant.

"See?" he says after a moment.

"I think," she says, "I think we need to have a talk, Tom."

"Wait," he says. "Not yet, okay?"

"Then when?" she asks.

"Soon," he promises. "But right now let's just lay here and
then go eat dinner with your mother and have a nice
evening."

"She's waiting for us, you know," Janeway says, shifting
slightly. She doesn't shift away from him though so he
drapes his free arm across her hip.

"We have time," he promises. Janeway closes her eyes but
can't rest. Her heart is fluttering in her chest. A few
minutes pass and Tom sighs.

"She made a roast," Janeway says suddenly. "She wants to
impress you."

Tom kisses her shoulder before he sits up.

"She raised you," he says. "I'm already impressed."

---

Tom had planned, when he left Ireland, to stay for the
weekend. Janeway's apartment is spacious and there is room
for him but now, walking her to her door, he's not sure
that's still the plan. Perhaps he should just go home and
let some time pass. She seems nervous as she enters the code
to unlock her door. When she walks through, he hesitates.

"Are you waiting for an engraved invitation or what?" she
asks.

"You're upset."

"No," she sighs. "I just don't know what that was back
there."

"It was. . . "

Tom shrugs. It was whatever she wanted it to be, but that
isn't something he's going to say to her.

"Exactly," she says. He still hasn't entered the apartment
and she stares at him, waiting for him to make some sort of
move. "You're staying, aren't you?"

"If you want me to," he says.

"I want you to do what you want," she says. "See? Now things
are different between us already."

"Kathryn, calm down," he orders. "Nothing is different. The
only different thing is your attitude."

"My attitude?" she says, putting her hands on her hips. He
winces – he's pretty fluent in Janeway body language and
that one is never good. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Did we or did we not have a good day together?" he asks.

"We did."

"Then why are we fighting?" he asks.

"We're not fighting," she says, crossing her arms. Tom takes
this as a good omen for the rest of the evening. "We're just
having a discussion. Do you remember when we went to the
pub?"

"Vaguely," he mutters. "I remember the next morning pretty
clearly."

"You kept trying to tell me something and Harry wouldn't let
you," she says. "I keep thinking about that."

"I'm not really the classiest drunk," he warns immediately.
"Take it with a grain of salt, okay?"

"I also keep thinking about what Nancy Schmidt said to you."

"What?"

"That she was suspicious because I talked about you all the
time," Janeway says. "You know what I realized? I do talk
about you all the time!"

"We spend a lot of time together," he says. "We're friends."

"I have other friends," she says. "But this really isn't the
same."

"What do you want from me?" he asks, throwing up his arms.
"Just say what you want and I'll give it to you."

"I want you to be honest with me," she says.

"I don't have some elaborate master plan, you know," he
says. "I didn't plan to divorce my wife and get promoted and
change jobs twice within six months. I'm flying just as
blind as you are."

Her face softens.

"I know," she says. "I don't have a plan either."

"Maybe we should just sleep on it," he says. "In the
morning, things will seem different."

"No they won't," she laughs. "But I am tired."

Tom actually isn't tired. His nap has refreshed him enough,
but he doesn't stop her from saying goodnight and
disappearing into her room. He retires to the guest room and
brings some work with him. He never has a shortage of work
and he sits up in bed for several hours working on a PADD.

That's why he's awake when she knocks on his door. She
doesn't wait for him to answer before pushing it open and
sticking her head in.

"I saw the light on," she says.

"I was working," he says. "Can't you sleep?"

"No," she says, crossing her arms. "I hate going to sleep
upset."

"Don't be upset," he says, setting his PADD on the
nightstand.

"I can't help it," she says. He waves her into the room and
she steps in.

"I think you're too worried about what might happen," Tom
says.

"Aren't you?" she asks.

"Nah," he says. "I just live life one day at a time."

"You've always been like that," she says.

"You used to be that way too, you know," he points out. "I
don't think you've changed."

"Then why is this so difficult?" she asks.

"It's not," he promises. "Either you get into bed with me
now which is, I suspect, the reason you came in here or you
go back to your room. Either way, I'll still be here in the
morning."

He has called her out. She looks upset at first, but then
reaches out and flips the switch by the door so the lights
are off. Maybe this gives her courage. Tom has never thought
of Janeway as a woman who particularly lacked bravery, but
matters of the heart are always strange and different. He
pulls back the covers and makes a space for her. She does
not disappoint him.

Beds, Tom knows, are almost always better with two people in
them. They are warmer and cozier – be it lover, child, or
friend. Janeway's body is cool from her midnight wanderings.
She's not dressed in much – a soft blue tank top with thick
straps and a pair of old shorts meant for exercise. The
rumors aboard Voyager had always put her in girlish
nightwear – pink lacy things, things one would not expect
from a steely captain, but Tom has yet to see any of this.
Around him, she wears comfortable things, but she is not
shy. He has seen his fair share of knees and bare shoulders,
of long hair hanging free.

Now her skin is cool against his arm and he rubs a hand up
and down her, from shoulder to wrist.

"It's cold in here," she offers, trying to get comfortable.
He's noticed she's a cool sleeper – she always has the
temperature set one or two degrees above what he finds
comfortable.

"I'll keep you warm," he promises. She chuckles into her
pillow.

"I feel like a teenager," she admits. "As if I sneaked out of
my parents' house instead of my own bedroom."

"It pays off to be naughty sometimes," he says and then
leans his head in and nuzzles against her neck. She
automatically tilts her head to give him better access
before she freezes, tense and unsure. This is what she
wanted, of course, but now that it's here, Tom can tell that
she's unsure of herself.

The thing of it is, they've done it all backwards. The
friendship was cemented long before the idea of a romantic
relationship came around and they should have never shopped
for furniture or spent the night before the tension was
resolved, he sees this now. Still, he think she wants what
he wants and the only way to get on the other side of this
wall is just to power through.

She doesn't stop him from kissing her neck and when he lays
a tentative hand on her hip, her breath hitches. This is
what she's come for. Not just human contact, but contact.
Warm and slippery skin, saliva and coarse hair, fingernails
and curling toes, this is what she has yearned for. This is
what has caused the dull ache low in her stomach whenever
she looked at Tom for weeks and weeks now. She wants this,
she does, and yet the enthusiasm with which she wants it is
frightening.

Tom's hand spans comfortably across her rib cage. His thumb
and forefinger curve easily around her breast and he uses
his thumb to rub the slight swell he can reach. She can't
stand it – she lifts her head and kisses him.

It's startling when he rolls her so she's beneath him, but
she can go with the flow and it doesn't break her stride.
She bends her knees on either side of his narrow hips and
groans into his mouth when she feels him press against her.
He puts his hands into her hair and squeezes. She likes the
slight pain as he yanks at her scalp. Most men think
powerful women just want to be coddled and cared for in the
bedroom, to have there what they don't get at work, but
Kathryn isn't like that. She wants a man just as powerful as
she is and Tom isn't treating her like she's made of glass.

When she starts squirming beneath him, he holds her still.
She sucks his bottom lip between her teeth, he bites back
just as hard. She'll leave marks on his back and in the
morning, she'll find bite marks on her pale skin.

It is not the most earth-shattering, toe-curling sex she's
ever had, but in a certain sense, it's the best. There's no
awkwardness that usually accompanies a first time coupling.
Their rhythm is spot on. They can seem to communicate
without words. When he ebbs, she flows and his touch is
exciting, yet familiar, searing yet cool.

She digs her heels into his back like he's a horse, clucks
her tongue to make him move faster and he does. She can feel
it building, that pressure she's been enduring for so long
now. Tom pants and moans like he's in pain, like how wet she
is and how much she wants him is hurting him. She can't be
worried about his pain or intense pleasure because she's
entirely focused on her own. It's right there, just within
her grasp and each time his hips push into her, it gets a
little closer. She tries to hold on, but his back is
slippery and her hands keep sliding as his muscles flex.

She realizes, suddenly, that she's begging.

"Please," she whimpers. "Tom, please."

As if he's keeping it from her on purpose.

He moves between them and he presses the heel of his hand
into her and it's enough. The heat rips through her and she
clenches, bears down as her body blindly reacts. She hears
herself cry out and she can't breathe, is afraid to take a
breath in because she wants to live in this exact moment
forever.

---

Tom is crushing her slightly. His forehead is wet with
sweat and he slips and slides across her collarbone as he
drifts in and out of sleep. Her body is still twitching
sporadically as it comes down from the high. When she moves
her leg, her hip twinges painfully. Her body hasn't taken
this sort of abuse in sometime. She still feels slightly
dizzy, dehydrated perhaps. She's tired too, it's late and
when she looks out the window above them, she can see
already that the moon is high in the sky.

Tom snores. She tries to push him but he is too heavy;
she'll have to wake him.

"Tom," she says into his ear, slapping his behind slightly.
She adores the man, his gentle nature and fun loving spirit
but at the same time, he's just like any other male in the
universe. Sex and sleep is all it takes to take him out.
"Tom."

He mutters something that isn't any language into her skin
and she squirms.

"Get off me," she orders, bringing a note of command into
her voice. It's a dirty trick and he opens his eyes to glare
at her, to let her know that he does not approve. "I can't
breathe."

He rolls off her and out of her and she takes a deep breath,
her lungs unrestricted once more. She sits up slightly and
carefully.

"Stay here," he murmurs, trying to drag her back down by her
waist.

"I'll be right back," she promises. She's a mess and she
knows the moment she stands that the mess is going to start
dripping down her thighs. It's a short walk to the bathroom.
She takes the hand towel from the rack and gets it wet
before using it to wipe herself off. When she glances up at
the mirror, she gasps. Her hair is wild and tangled; her
cheeks still a deep and dusky red. His stubble, his teeth,
his grasp have all left marks on her body. They have really
done a number on one another and she thinks maybe that's
what happens when foreplay runs too long.

In the dark of the bedroom, she hunts around for her
clothes. Slides her shorts over her hips and puts on her
tank top inside out.

"Come on," she says, touching his hand. "I don't want to
sleep in here."

He groans. He's tired now and just wants to sleep.

"Why?" he mumbles.

"I like my bed better, it's my living space, and because I
said so, so get up or sleep alone," she says, her patience
wearing thin. This gets his attention and he gets right up,
follows her down the hall completely naked without a word.

Her bed is bigger, warmer, and now, drier. She climbs in
first and he gets in on the side she leaves vacant. He's
warm and pliable and curls around her with a hot and heavy
sigh. His hand slides beneath her shirt and cups her breast
and almost immediately he is asleep. She thinks it's too
strange, this sudden shift, and that she won't be able to
sleep all night with Tom so close, but in fact, she sleeps
more heavily than she has in a great while.

---

Things are more complicated now, to say otherwise would be a
lie, but it isn't a bad complication, Tom believes. While
Janeway is in the shower, Tom snoops around her room. He
hasn't been in here before and while the apartment lacks
personality, at least her bedroom has a personal touch. Her
dresser is littered with things he thought she'd long given
up – a hairbrush, several barrettes, and a small pile of
long pins to hold a heavy bun in place. There are several
tubes of lip color and he pulls off the lid to inspect them
all. In her closet, there are uniforms, but there's also a
row of boots and shoes. Every pair has at least a little
heel; he can't find a flat in the bunch.

He thinks about pulling open the drawers and looking for the
lacy nightgowns he's heard about, but decides to be
surprised instead.

On the deep windowsill, there is a framed blueprint of what
looks like a rudimentary bathtub and this stumps Tom.

He hears the water shut off and he gets back into bed.
Janeway comes out wrapped in a thick, fluffy towel, her hair
wet.

"You're awake," she says.

"How can you tell?" he asks, opening his eyes.

"I can always tell when you're lying," she says, pulling
open a drawer.

"How?" he demands.

"Well, for starters, you're pretty bad at it," she says. She
holds the towel tightly under her arms and pulls out a bra
and a pair of Starfleet issue underwear.

"Not the lacy underwear under the uniform kind of woman?"
Tom asks, slightly disappointed.

"Oh, I used to be," she says, looking at him. "We all start
out that way and then you go on the away mission where you
get hit with a weapon that burns through your clothes or you
fall in a river, or you have to change into an EV suit with
only seconds to spare and well. . . "

"I never get the good away missions," Tom mutters.

"You already know what I look like naked," she says,
offering consolation. "You can look any time."

"I can?" he asks, hopefully.

"Barring any unforeseen complications," she says.

"Such as my foot in my mouth?"

"Exactly," she grins. She disappears into the bathroom
again, and when she returns, her hair is dry and she's
wearing the bra and underwear. Her body is small and lithe,
still. She never talks about visiting the gym, but she must
to keep toned like that. Without the stress of Voyager, she
has dropped back down to the size she was when the mission
started. He can't help but react to the bare skin of her
back, her legs and bare feet. He's content to watch her,
though, without saying anything. He watches her smooth
lotion into her arms and stand in her closet.

"Are you staying today?" she asks, suddenly.

"At some point I need to go home," he says. "Go to work in
the morning." He glances at the chronometer on the wall.
"Whenever that is."

"Okay," she says, pulling a sweater out of the closet and
over her head. It hangs low, covers her butt and keeps her
warm while she decides what to wear on her bottom half.
"Will you come back next weekend?" she asks, after a beat.

"I don't know," he says, honestly. "Do you want me to?"

"I always want to see you," she says. She turns her back to
him and roots around in her closet.

"I think I'm going to take a shower," he says. "Then we can
talk about it, all right?"

She is putting her leg into a pair of black pants.

"Sure," she says.

He takes a sonic shower. Water showers make him feel relaxed
and sleepy and he wants to be alert. He already feels
relaxed and rubbery in the knees and a little sore. All his
clothes are in the guest room and he has to walk down the
hall naked get there. Janeway is in the kitchen and he knows
she sees him even though she pretends not to.

Dressed and clean, she has set out breakfast for them.

"This is nice," he says. They sit at the table. She has the
news in front of her, scanning it like it's a report and
she's on a ship again. But even though he doesn't feel
particularly tense, there's an odd sort of tension in the
room. "Kath?"

"Hmm?" she asks, glancing up at him.

"Are you happy?" he asks. He meant to ask, is she happy with
what happened? Does she regret having sex with him, does she
want him to leave and never return, but instead he asks this
vague question. She seems to take a moment to consider it;
she tilts her head as if in deep thought.

"Yes," she says. "For the most part, I am happy."

"For the most part?" he asks. He's not fishing for
compliments, but he wants to know what's holding her back.

"No one is perfectly happy," she says. "I have a dangerous
job and I feel sometimes that the Federation will never
return to peacetime. I also wish we lived on the same side
of the planet, but I do love my job and I love Earth. I love
to be with you."

"Kathryn," he says. "I made a commitment when I returned to
my job, I can't leave it. And it's not just my house, it's
Miral's too. I can't move right now."

"I'm not asking you to," she says. "But I have to stay at
headquarters. I'm doing good work there and I'm not ready to
leave. I think I can make full Admiral just like my father,
and that's something I want."

"I wouldn't ask you to give that up," he says. "So where
does that leave us?"

"Right where we are," she says, with a soft smile. "We've
been good about seeing one another."

"I agree."

"We'll be good still," she says and returns to her news
feed. She says it with a sort of finality that makes Tom
feel better. It's why she is a good leader, why he wants to
follow her in any and every capacity: she is confident and
her confidence bleeds into everything she does. Tom can
count the times on one hand he's seen obvious fear on her
face, has seen her make a decision that she didn't think
would work.

When it's time for him to leave, he kisses her at the door.
He means to just give her a peck but she tilts her head and
sort of melts into him. He can't explain it – she goes
boneless in his arms and so he rotates them so she can lean
against the wall. He slides a knee between her legs and when
they break apart to catch their breath, she rests her
forehead against her chest.

"Sorry," she says.

"Why?"

"You were trying to leave and I. . . "

"Kath?"

"It's been a long time since a man has wanted me," she says,
snaking her arms around him.

"That is not true," he says. "Kathryn. That's not true."

She doesn't say anything. She just pulls his face back down
to hers and kisses him again. He keeps opening his eyes to
make sure it's really her and not his imagination. It tastes
like her, smells like her. He can see her brow furrow in
concentration, feel her nose bump against his, feel her
hands bunch his sweater.

The thing is, he really does have to leave. He needs time to
get home and adjust back to his time before going to work.
And at this rate, he'll never escape. It takes a lot of will
power, but he pulls back.

"I have to go," he says. She nods, always the pillar of
strength and he can see the way she smooths away her
expression of lust and pain and desire. Soon, it's just
Admiral Janeway, standing tall and wishing him a safe
journey.

He walks to the transport station by himself. He has to wait
a little while before his turn comes up and then, he has to
walk home. His house feels empty and cold. He checks his
messages and makes a sandwich and stokes a fire and tries to
fall asleep on the couch. Facing an empty bed seems
terrible, going upstairs and seeing that framed picture of
them is something he just can't bring himself to do.

At work the next day, he gets an unexpected call from
Chakotay. He wants to talk shop – talk shuttles and
innovation but as soon as that is out of the way, Tom asks
after Seven.

"She's fine," Chakotay says. "She's going to have lunch with
Kathryn today, actually."

Tom's eye twitches slightly at the mention of Janeway. The
thing is, Tom isn't that great at keeping secrets whether
they are good or bad. He's a pretty terrible poker player.
Hearing Janeway's name makes him feel amazing and awful at
the same time.

"Great," Tom says but Chakotay is already shaking his head
and laughing.

"Boy, do I know that expression," Chakotay says.

"I don't know what you mean," Tom says.

"Yes you do," Chakotay says. "You've got it bad for her,
don't you?"

"Chakotay, I really don't. . . "

"Stow it, Paris," he says. "It's written all over your
face."

"Just don't tell anyone, okay?" Paris says.

"Sure, sure," Chakotay says. "You're a crazy man, you know
that?"

"That's sort of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"
Tom accuses.

"I got off that ride, my friend," Chakotay says. "I wasn't
made of the right stuff."

"Why does everyone talk about her like she's a huge
disaster?" Tom demands. "My father called her a hurricane,
you act like I'm going off to war."

"She's a force all right," Chakotay says.

"She's a woman," Tom says. "Flesh and blood like the rest of
us."

"Talk to me in six months," Chakotay says. "Tell me if
you're not totally exhausted."

Tom frowns.

"We'll have you for dinner," Chakotay says. "I haven't seen
you or Kathryn in forever, it seems. Seven has been wanting
to have a dinner party."

"You're not. . . ?" He feels like squirming slightly in his seat.
"I know you and B'Elanna are close."

"I am sorry to hear about that, Paris," Chakotay says. "But,
things happen and usually for the best."

"Thanks," Tom says. "I'll send you those schematics by the
end of the day."

"Thank you. Chakotay out."

Tom thinks about this conversation for the rest of the day.
He agrees with Chakotay to a certain extent – Chakotay
wasn't made of the right stuff to withstand Kathryn Janeway
but she and Tom are cut from the same cloth. He knows
Kathryn's usual type – older men who are calm and gentle and
Tom doesn't fit the profile, but he does fit better. Or so
he hopes.

---

Kathryn decides it's her turn to visit. Tom isn't going to
stop her and generally can't when she puts her mind to
something anyhow. Tom had picked up Miral the day before and
it's early morning when Kathryn arrives and lets herself in
with the key Tom had made for her. Tom and Miral are both in
bed but Tom hears the door downstairs.

Soon, Kathryn opens the door quietly. He hears the muffled
thump of her setting her weekend bag on the floor and then
the sounds of her taking off her uniform and dropping it on
the chair by the window. When she slides into bed next to
him, her skin is cool. She has stripped to her under things
and she carefully lifts his arm so she can snuggle up to
him.

After a beat, she speaks.

"You're awake!" she says.

"How do you always know?" he mumbles, opening his eyes. He's
awake, but not very alert still. He thought if he let her
think he was sleeping, they'd get another hour at least.

"I just do," she says.

"How was work?" he asks. She makes a non-committal noise
which means either it was average or she can't talk about
it.

"I'm tired," she says, pressing her face into chest.

"Sleep now," he says. "Miral will be up before too long."

She hums slightly – he can feel the vibrations against him
and he pets her long hair slightly. He closes his eyes too
and before long, drifts off.

"Daddy?"

He hears the voice but think maybe it's a dream.

"Daddy?"

He's not dreaming the tiny hand pushing his cheek.

"I'm awake," he says. Kathryn groans in her sleep and rolls
over, burrowing deeper into the covers. She'll be out for a
few more hours yet. "What?"

"I is awake too," Miral says.

"I can see that," he chuckles. The grammar of a toddler
never ceases to be entertaining. "Let's let Kath sleep. You
want breakfast?"

"Yes," Miral says solemnly. Food is never to be taken
lightly with her. Her life revolves around meal times. Tom
gets out of bed and pulls on a sweater before picking up
Miral and tossing her over his shoulder. She giggles loudly.
He glances at the bed, but the lump that is Kathryn doesn't
stir.

By the time she wakes up again, Tom and Miral are outside in
the garden. The sun has come out and dried the soil enough.
It's time to start the planting. Miral is fascinated by the
bucket of bulbs Tom has. She keeps pulling them all out and
lining them along the windy path that leads to the porch.
When Kathryn comes out, she stands on the porch in Tom's
coat and holding a mug of coffee. She squints in the sun and
holds a hand over her eyes, though the sleeve is too long on
her and covers her fingers.

"Look who woke up," Tom says, poking Miral in the tummy with
his spade. Miral looks over and sees Kathryn and smiles. "Go
give her a hug."

Miral bolts up the steps and throws her little body into
Kathryn's knees. Kathryn grunts and holds the coffee out so
that when it sloshes, it doesn't burn anyone.

"Up," Miral demands, holding out her arms.

Kathryn hugs her back, picks her up and shifts her to one
hip.

"You are too big for this goddaughter," she says, sternly.

"No," Miral laughs. "I little."

Tom has noticed this as Miral starts speaking more. Every
time she gets into some mischief, this is her excuse.
Spilled milk, toys that haven't been cleaned up, a soiled
mattress after a nap. "But I little!" Miral will say, as if
she wasn't possibly capable of getting into any trouble
while being so minuscule.

"Not that little," Kathryn grunts, setting her mug on the
railing. "What do we have here?"

"Bulbs," Miral says. "There's flowers inside."

"There are," Kathryn agrees. "Little late for bulbs, isn't
it?" she calls to Tom.

"It's been too wet to plant them before now," Tom says.

"Still," Kathryn says, letting Miral down so she can go
chase a butterfly hovering near the vegetable patch.

"Did you come just to nag me, woman?" Tom asks, standing up.
The seat of his pants are muddy and she smiles and tries to
wipe it off.

"No," Kathryn says. "I came to see my goddaughter."

"And?" Tom asks, swatting her hand away.

"Because your pillows are softer than mine?" she offers.

"And?"

"And because you have a cute butt," Kathryn says, laughing.
"Come here, you're dirty."

"You're dirty," he says, and pulls her in for a kiss.

"Daddy?"

Suddenly Miral is standing right by them. Tom looks down at
his daughter.

"Why you kissing her?" Miral asks.

"Because she's pretty," Tom says. Miral seems to consider
this deeply for a moment.

"Okay," she says, finally. "Am I pretty?"

"You," Tom says, scooping her into his arms. "Are the
prettiest girl in the universe."

"Really?" she shrieks as Kathryn reaches out to tickle her
belly.

"I think so," Paris says. "Do you want to go to the beach?"

"Yeah," Miral says. He looks at Kathryn.

"Sure," she says. Kathryn takes Miral in to change her
clothes while Tom puts away his gardening things. It is
finally warm enough to walk along the water without hats and
gloves. They will spend the day by the water, playing in the
sand and surf and letting the sun warm the last of winter
from their bones. Miral doesn't get a lot of time off the
starship so Tom likes to spent as much time with her
outdoors as possible.

It's funny, after years of training and life surrounded by
the most advanced of technology, all he wants now is a
simple life. When the girls return, Miral is on Kathryn's
back though he's not sure it's such a good idea. Even a
child as small as Miral is a load for a slight woman.

"I'll take her," Tom offers but Kathryn bends her knees and
lets the girl slide down.

"She can walk," Janeway says. Miral stays a couple steps
ahead of them, exploring flowers, a teenager girl walking
her dog, birds singing from trees. Tom loves spring, loves
the abundance of life and the way the winter just melts
away. As they walk, Kathryn slides her hand into his.

In the first six weeks of their relationship, Tom found
himself walking of eggshells most the time. He was always
waiting for a big fight, a blowout that would end in
slamming doors and tears. It took him a while to realize it
wasn't going to come.

Not every relationship is doomed from the start. Kathryn is
not B'Elanna. B'Elanna's moods are unpredictable and the
smallest thing spikes her temper. Kathryn is, from what Tom
can see, a fairly stable person. If she wakes up in a good
mood, that mood tends to hold throughout the day. When they
disagree, she manages to diffuse the situation before a
fight can even begin to brew.

Right now, she's in a quiet mood. She walks with her face
toward the water, taking in the scenery. The wind blows back
her hair and the sun is already starting to bring the
freckles out across the bridge of her nose.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, unable to contain
himself. She's hard to read, sometimes.

"I was thinking about enchiladas for dinner," she says,
turning to fix her steady gaze on him.

"Really?" he asks, delighted. He always expects her to be
contemplating some heavy Starfleet secret but she has
slipped into this easy life with no resistance.

"You don't like enchiladas?" she asks.

"I love enchiladas," he says. At the place where the
sidewalk turns into sand, Miral waits for them.

"Stay out of the water, sweetheart," Kathryn calls as Miral
shoots down the beach.

"Yeah right," Tom says.

"So," she says, not taking her eyes off Miral. "I was
thinking of turning the guest room into a room for Miral."

Tom stares at her, his mouth hanging open slightly. She
frowns.

"Too soon?" she asks.

"No!" he says. "I just. . .  you continually surprise me."

"I'm very unpredictable," she brags. "Unless you're Tuvok
for some reason."

"I don't have Miral that often, you know. She may hardly
ever use the room," Tom says.

"I know, but I want her to know that she's welcome. That
she's wanted," she says.

"I didn't know you wanted to stay in San Francisco," Tom
says.

"For now," she says. "Eventually, I'll inherit the farm
house but I'm either at work or with you, so what's the
point of uprooting right now?"

"You want to live full time in Indiana?"

"Tom, I love your little house, but Miral is getting older.
Soon we're going to outgrow it."

He hadn't thought about that.

"And my job?" he asks.

"How did me thinking about enchiladas turn into planning our
entire future together?" she laughs.

"I don't know," he smiles.

"Go play with her," Kathryn instructs, motioning to Miral
who is sitting in the sand, letting the waves wash over her.
She is already soaked. "She's making me nervous out there
alone."

"Aye, Captain," he says. This is their little joke – started
one night in bed when they'd been in the thick of it and in
the haze of his passion, Tom had moaned 'Captain' instead of
'Kathryn.' Instead of being upset, Kathryn had burst out
laughing. Now, hearing her formal title from him gives her a
little thrill.

"Tease!" she calls out after him. He just grins.

Tom has to carry Miral back to the house. It isn't far, but
she's tuckered out. Her head lolls against his shoulder and
she's covered with sand. When they get home, Janeway goes to
the kitchen to start cooking dinner and Tom puts Miral in
the tub. When she is clean, he makes sure she's happy in the
living room with toys and books before going to check on his
other girl in the kitchen.

"Smells good," he says, from the doorway.

"Thanks," she says. "I hope it isn't too spicy for her."

"She's Klingon," he says. "She could eat tar and be fine."

Janeway laughs and the sound of it pleases him. She turns
back to the sink and he comes up behind her, lifts her hair
away, and kisses the back of her neck. The cooking dinner
has steamed up the windows in the kitchen and outside is
growing dark as the sun sinks into the horizon. She lets him
kiss her, lets him dart his tongue out to taste the salt air
still on her skin.

"Tom," she whispers. He pulls back and she turns around to
face him, lets her hands sit on his narrow hips.

"What?" he murmurs, letting his arms drape over her
shoulder.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?" he asks with a smile. She shrugs. She doesn't
know what for, she's just grateful to be a part of it.
"You're welcome."

Behind them, the oven dings. Janeway smiles.

"Dinner," she says.

Tom hopes it's always like this. He hopes every day can be
spent in the fresh air, that every night ends with a hot
meal in a cozy well-lit house. In a perfect world, Kathryn
would spend every night in his bed and every day by his
side. In a perfect world, Miral would live with him full
time and he'd pick her up from school and they'd walk home
holding hands. He knows the world is not perfect, but this
day has been.

In bed, long after Miral has fallen asleep, Tom lays in the
darkness. Janeway is hovering between sleep and being awake.
She's trying to stay awake for his sake, but she keeps
jerking as she drifts off.

"It's fine," he tells her.

"No," she murmurs. "I don't get to see you enough. I
shouldn't spend our time sleeping."

But Tom doesn't mind her sleeping as long as they are
together and anyway, she always loses this fight. She almost
always goes to sleep before he does. When she drifts off, he
pulls the blanket up over them and settles in, tucking his
knees into the bend of her legs.

"Goodnight," he whispers into the bare skin of her shoulder.
She hums a little in her sleep, a happy mewling sound of
contentment.

He knows just how she feels.

---

The End