The BLTS Archive- Inner Landscape
by Annie M (trekgirl@mushy.freesreve.co.uk)

---

Okay to archive at ASC, ASCEM, BLTS and PTF.  All others, please
ask for permission first.

Author's Note:  I think it's a bit of a shame that this story took so
long to incubate and write, as some of the story does cover ground
that various authors have already explored this year.  However, the 
idea for this had been tricking at me since about September/October 
99.  I knew I wanted to do certain things and include certain 
characters, but the outline didn't start to shape itself fully until 
around Christmas time--after I'd seen a few season six episodes 
(thanks, Elaine!).

This story is a sort of companion piece to some of those earlier
episodes.  Think of it as my attempt to bring some measure of
continuity to the Paris-Torres relationship and to some of the
characters they interact with.  In so doing, I've also attempted to
write the characters as close to canon as possible and added my own
interpretations where I felt it necessary.  Needles to say, it's
littered with spoilers pre "Equinox" and beyond.

Naturally, I hope that this story is still of some relevance and that
you will enjoy it on one level or another.  And of course, I'd like to
hear from you whatever you think. ;-)

My thanks and gratitude goes to DangerMom, for being such a great
editor and beta.  She persistently asked questions, made suggestions
and corrections, and offered just enough praise to keep me going
when I was filled with self-doubts.

Thanks also to PJ in NH and D'Alaire, for being so supportive and
encouraging.  You're all wonderful to put up with me. And D'A, I'm
really sorry about the... you know what. :-)

Special thanks go to Jim Wright for providing episode transcripts, and
to his review site, "Delta Blues," without which this story would not
have been completed.

Small excerpts have been taken and reshaped for my use from David
Sunfellow's "Hopping Stone Vision." Copyright 1995.

A simple thank you will also have to suffice the Voyager writing
staff, as I've pilfered moments of dialogue from various episodes to 
aide me in this story.

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom etc own the rights to the characters
and the ship.  I'm just playing in the holes they keep
digging--literally!

Written December 99 - April 2000 (with many stops along the way).

Dedication:  This one's for Trilly.  May your soul find peace.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

---

The amount of blood on the console disturbed him.  He twisted around
slowly, the pain in his chest restricting his movements.  He brought a
hand up to wipe blood away from his eyes and waited a moment for
his vision to clear again.  So much blood.  Where had it come from?
He strained to look over his shoulder to the right, recognising the
legs of a crewman, who appeared to be lying face down towards the aft
compartment.  He gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself
out of the chair.  There was no need to perform a diagnostic to know
that this shuttle had flown for the last time.

Staggering forward weakly, head spinning in sudden pain, he lost his
balance and fell against his companion's legs.  He caught his breath,
pulling himself up to a kneeling position.  Then he tried to clear
away some of the smoking debris of console, relays and metal fragments
that had exploded as the shuttle had crash-landed on the planet's
surface.  Or did that happen before?

He shook his head to clear his mind and bent over double with a fresh
wave of pain from the sudden movement.

A hand on his shoulder pressed him back against the floor.

"I thought you said you could handle this!" a voice admonished from
above.  He looked up at the sound but his vision swam bloody red
before him, blurring its shape.

"They're all dead," the voice came again.

---
Chapter One - Signals or Signs
---

Chakotay looked over the five crewmen standing at attention in his
office.  They looked tired and worn down by life.  Their eyes were
dulled with pain or half-closed in an effort not to show fear,
loathing or resentment.

He understood those looks.  He'd seen it so many times in his own
past, and being confronted with it after so long had actually caused a
knot of tension in the small of his back.

Many of his Maquis crew had worn those expressions during the
conflict with the Federation and Cardassia; wore them again when
they had realised that Voyager was their only realistic hope of
survival in the Delta Quadrant.

And these five--Marla Gilmore, Noah Lessing, James Morrow, Brian
Sofin and Angelo Tassoni--had a long journey ahead of them, in every
sense.

Fate and two captains had allowed their flight from the Equinox and
the price of their unsuccessful treachery was to remain among the
living.  Serving out their time aboard Voyager as humble crewmen in
the bowels of the ship; working unsociable hours; chaperoned by
security as they "enjoyed" the holodecks--treated like serfs among
esteemed gentry.

Who said the classless society was dead?

"At ease, crewmen."

To their credit they remained impassive as Chakotay read out their
duty assignment rotations and instructed them on where to find their
personal quarters.  They seemed to accept that it would not be easy
for them here; were as accepting as five people who had escaped a
death sentence could be.

It was not difficult for Chakotay to feel a sense of compassion for
these wretched souls, especially Noah Lessing.  The captain's actions
of a few days ago were forever burned into Chakotay's psyche; would
she have let Noah die?  Should he have called her bluff?  The small
knot in his back raced up to his shoulders and he shifted
uncomfortably.

"I want you all to understand," Chakotay said, continuing the small
group's induction.  "I want you to become a successful part of this
crew, but I wont kid you; you all have a lot of hard work to do and an
entire ship's respect to earn.  Don't think you can't advance here,
you can, but it will take time, dedication and patience.

"Captain Janeway runs a good ship, a Starfleet ship.  She won't
tolerate crewman who think the Prime Directive is irrelevant, just
because we're on the other side of the galaxy."  Chakotay knew that
would sting and felt a twinge of guilt for having to repeat something
these five, more than any others on board, were more than aware of.
All the more reason to say it, he reminded himself.

"If you find you're having any difficulties adapting to life on
Voyager, please come and see me.  I run an 'open door' policy as well 
as being the acting counselor for the crew.  Anything you tell me will 
be held in the strictest confidence, unless of course, it affects the 
safety of the ship or crew," he tried to finish with a smile.  
"Counselling sessions can either be on a one-to-one basis or in group 
sessions.  If you feel you'd like to participate," Chakotay gave 
himself a sympathetic pause, in the hope that they would at least 
think about it, before continuing. "Schedules for those sessions will 
appear in your weekly duty rosters. Any questions?"

They stood mutely until Chakotay dismissed them from his office, their
blank expressions giving nothing away as they filed out.  It irritated
Chakotay on some level that not even Marla Gilmore or Noah Lessing
had taken this opportunity to speak up.  He considered it briefly and
concluded that they were all too humiliated from their recent actions
as Equinox crew to feel that anything they had to say, at this time,
would be met with sympathy.

Thoughts of his own captain's actions surfaced in his mind's eye.  She
had acted like a hurricane in her obsession to see Ransom brought to
justice; whipping aside any that stood against her.  Chakotay's jaw
tightened at the memory.  He fought to remind himself of his position
and his responsibilities.  The fact that Janeway had conveniently
forgotten his role as first officer, by confining him to quarters
after the "attempted murder" of Lessing, seemed of no consequence to
her at the time.  And she had been politely contrite and remorseful 
once events had concluded to Voyager's benefit, but Chakotay wondered 
if he would ever really have that woman's confidence or trust.  If he
ever had it to begin with.

Would she ever have his again?

Chakotay sighed and scratched at the back of his head, sat down at
his desk and began reading through department head reports; Tuvok's
dry and witless efficiency reports were at the top of a large pile of
data PADDs.

Security morale had suffered during their battle with the Equinox and
what had later been dubbed the "Ankari aliens," but according to
Tuvok's logs, Lt. Ayala had submitted a plan that might reduce the
loss of sensitive and critical hardware from leaving the ship in the
future.  Ayala's plan was to rotate security encryptions within a
cloaked field, utilising some of the cloaking technology they had
wrestled from the Voth scientists, Gegen and Vir.  It was an ambitious
undertaking and even Tuvok had added his own words of cautious
enthusiasm to the proposal.

The commander continued to read, going over again the basic
proposal from Ayala and making a mental note to schedule a meeting
with Tuvok's security team and Engineering to investigate the
feasibility of such an idea.

In the midst of his new enthusiasm it struck him.  He'd been an
outcast too, was surrounded daily by others who had, at one time or 
another, felt the sting of isolation.  He sighed again, his eyes 
searching his small office for signs of inspiration, knowledge, or 
calm; they finally settled on his medicine wheel.  Chakotay tried to 
focus his breathing as he stared at the circular patch work, adorned 
with stones.  After several minutes of deep breathing he finally 
conceded that exploring his "inner landscape" was not as easy as it 
used to be.

---

He opened his eyes and saw a short glass being filled with an amber
coloured liquid; the taste of it hit the back of his throat before the
smell of the alcohol had a chance to finish its trip up to his
nostrils. Bourbon; Miridian bourbon, the good stuff.  Not easy to find 
in the DMZ, but that was the point.

"Will you help us?"

The liquid heat on ice burned a nice trail down his throat.  "Sure,"
was
his casual reply.

"Yuri!" Sparks flew out of another of the ship's consoles and the
small vessel pitched steeply to port as a final volley of Cardassian 
phaser fire punched through their defences.  Chakotay spun around from 
his chair on the Bridge of the Liberty.  "Yuri, I need you to find a 
way
through this mess and bring help.  The colonists on Selka are
sympathetic to the cause, take the shuttle and go.  We'll be sitting
ducks if we don't get out of here--"

"I'll go," B'Elanna Torres stated, already up from her seat at the
conn and heading to the door as the ship lurched again.  "I'm the best
pilot you've got on this ship, and the only one with a chance of 
getting through the debris field."

Chakotay winced at the truth of her words, hating the thought of
handing this mercenary their lives once more.   "I'm talking to Yuri."

Tuvok, injured from an earlier explosion, was cradled in a young man's
lap.  He reached up and pulled at the man's tunic, getting his
attention. "What is it, Tuvok?" he asked gently, being careful of the
Vulcan's head wound.

"She is correct," the Vulcan intoned in a raspy breath.  "Logical...
choice," he managed before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Let her go, Chakotay," he said from his position at Tuvok's side,
after a moment of hesitation.  "But I warn you, Torres, if you betray 
us,
I'll
hunt you down and make you wish you'd never been born."

B'Elanna laughed bitterly and gave the man a cold, lifeless gaze. 
"And all this time, I thought you hated me, Paris," was her tart reply 
as she turned away and strutted through the Bridge doors.

"I can't pull rank for you, son.  Not this time."  Admiral Owen Paris
sat across from his only son, separated by the hum of a Federation
detention centre force field.  "You can't keep throwing your life away
like this and expect me to keep picking up the pieces.  You're a man
now, Tom and I expect you to act like one."

"I've been acting like one, Admiral, but I guess you missed that huh?"

"You've been acting like a suicidal fool!  An immature child who
thinks that responsibility is only something that other people 
practise. Damn it, boy!  You're breaking your mother's heart."

"You're the one who breaks hearts; Mom, my sisters... guess I learned
a lot from you," he said bitterly.

The older man shook his head at his son and stood up.  "I've made
terrible mistakes in my life too, Tom, but I can admit to them, face
them.  Can you honestly say the same thing?"

Blue eyes bolted open and Tom Paris gasped for breath as he
awakened from his dream, his sheets twisted around him like some
sort of medical restraint.  He fought viciously against the fabric's
resistance and sat up, breathing hard as the images he had
experienced began to fade.  The faint illumination of the cabin helped
to calm him and he brought a hand up to rub at his eyes and scalp.
His body was damp with sweat, his tee shirt plastered to his chest. 
He drew in a deep shaky breath to try and slow his heartbeat and 
glanced around to check his surroundings.

His bed, his cabin.  The chronometer read 0645.  He was alone.  Faint
traces of perfume permeated his senses: B'Elanna.

She was flying solo on an away mission this morning, he reminded
himself, and then grimaced as images of her role in his dream were
replayed.  That was enough to shoot him out of his bed and into the
bathroom.

Pulling out his sink he proceeded to wash his face, grateful that the
water was so cold.  His heart was still hammering, and he took a few
more deep breaths before he finally straightened and looked at himself
in the mirror.  Another sigh, this time in relief; he looked okay, he
told himself, just a couple of circles under his eyes.  They'd be gone
in a couple of hours he knew, no permanent damage.

He turned to his shower and hit the sonic setting, slipping out of his
briefs and the damp tee shirt.  He stepped quickly into the cubicle
and did what he always did with bad dreams; ignored them, told himself
they had no meaning.  None.

---

"She scares me sometimes: B'Elanna.  She scared me almost out of
my own skin today.  Since the accident she had in the shuttle, she's
become obsessed with... I don't know... reconciling herself with her
mother?  Going back to Gre'thor?  Obsessed with all these Klingon
rituals.  She's scaring me... I didn't know what to do.  I wanted to
help her, but sometimes it's so difficult to get through to
B'Elanna... and she won't let me in.  She'd rather talk things through
with Chakotay and... damn it, that bothers the hell out of me
sometimes!

"Why does she always turn to him?  If she's worried or frightened why
is his name the first one to her lips?  'Chakotay says I should jump,
so I'm jumping this high today.'   Okay, that's not fair, he's a good
friend to her but why can't it be me; I'm the guy who loves her!

"Maybe she still doesn't trust me enough, or perhaps she knows that I
still don't trust her with everything.   I don't know... I want to be
with her, I want her to be with me... I don't know.  I just don't know
anymore.  Maybe it scares her, this letting go, this whole 'sharing
yourself with somebody thing,'... maybe it scares me too.

"I know it does.  Computer, end personal log."

---

"God, I was shaking so hard after we got her back.  The Doctor
wanted to keep B'Elanna in Sickbay for the night, just to be sure
there were no complications following the effects of her 'near death'
experience.   There was so much to take in; B'Elanna whispering 
the words, 'I'm alive' when she first regained consciousness, B'Elanna
embracing the captain so warmly and after, holding me to her so
tightly and crying against my chest; her tears of joy reducing me to a 
cry baby.  I don't know how long it's been since we held each other so
tightly and for so long.  We've never cried together before, I know
that much.

"I got back here to my quarters about fifteen minutes ago.  I went to
the replicator to get something to drink and I ended up standing at
the unit for a full minute not knowing what I wanted or how to go 
about getting it.  Then the shaking started.  My lips started to 
tremble, my hands started to shake, I could feel my heart start to 
pound against my ribs like it was trying to beat its way right out of 
me. My head started to spin and the next thing I knew I was sliding 
down against the wall and every bone in my body was rattling and 
shuddering.  With the little strength I had left, all I could do was 
roll onto my stomach and lay there until it stopped.  I was so 
scared."

---
Chapter Two - Degrees in Misunderstanding
---

A small white nylon ball travelled through the air at speed, the
backspin on its downward arc sending it too close to the net for Tom
to reach without stretching his whole body diagonally across the table
to return the shot.  Harry Kim easily anticipated the return and sent
a swift forehand drive back across before Tom could recover his
position.  The point was his.

"That's 10 - 6," Harry called out in triumph, "another point and this
game, excuse me," he drawled confidently, "this set and match will be
mine!"

"Don't get too cocky, Harry.  You haven't won yet," Tom returned.

"Just a matter of time, buddy," Harry said, as he set himself to serve
again.  "Ready?"

Tom took up his position at the other end of the Ping-Pong table, feet
bouncing in readiness.  "Come on."

Harry delivered a perfect serve, the small ball bouncing just over the
net at an angle of about 85 degrees and spinning back on itself away
from Tom, but Tom was quick and he flicked his wrist to send the ball
back with a backhand swish.  Harry met the return easily and drove it
back with force, playing with a grace and ease that made his opponent
seem cumbersome by comparison.  Tom wasn't about to give up so
easily though and fought to stay in the rally, scampering around the
table in an effort to keep up with Harry's blistering offensive.  The
rally was one of the longest they had managed throughout the entire
match but Harry knew he had the upper hand.  His shot selection and
ability to spin and arc the ball kept Tom on the defensive; only a
lucky shot was going to give him another chance to get back into the
game.

Harry finally saw his moment to kill the game outright as Tom was
forced to play from well behind the table, after he'd repeatedly been
forced back from Harry's earlier pressure.  Harry picked his spot and
smashed the ball back across the net at an acute angle; it hit its
mark and fizzed away leaving Tom lunging at empty air.  The momentum 
of his dive sent him crashing to the floor of the holographic sporting
arena.

"Yes!" Harry yelled in triumph.  "11 - 6 and 3 sets to 1."  He danced
around the table to Tom's sprawled position on the floor then
demonstrated a celebratory shuffle as his friend eyed him warily.

"It's not good to gloat over the loser, Harry.  A guy could get hurt,"
Tom managed between heaving breaths.

"Hey," Harry said, still bouncing around, "I learned from the master,
'When you win, let it show.'  That is a correct quote, isn't it, Tom?"  
He offered his hand to Tom in a belated show of sportsmanship and
helped his friend off the floor.

"You really are turning into a monster," Tom breathed, as he regained
his footing.

"Pretty soon, I'll have the ladies falling at my feet too," Harry
couldn't resist adding as he flexed his biceps with a grin.

"Holodeck babes already flock around you, Harry, what more stimulus
could you want?"

Harry's face fell and he gave his friend a long hard stare. "Don't be
such a sore loser, Tom.  I was kidding."

"Sorry," Tom said, rubbing at his neck.  "What do I owe you now
anyway, another week's rations?"

Harry clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his thick hair, hanging
limp and wild with perspiration.  He knew enough about Tom to know
that his friend did not really mean that remark, but it still stung. 
Stung enough to remind him that sometimes his best friend could be
cruel without even realising it; and then cover it up with a joke or 
by changing the subject -- deflecting any real chance of a serious
confrontation.  One of Tom's defensive mechanisms Harry knew;
brought into play when his friend was feeling unsettled in some way or
other.  Harry wondered how he had learned to deal with Tom's
irritating habits so well.  His triumphant mood turned sour with his
thoughts as he walked back to the table to retrieve his paddle.

"Yeah, a week's worth," he finally answered. "You can pay me when
you actually have some credits to spare." he said, moving off in the
direction of the holodeck exit.  "Computer, end program and save."

"C'mon, Harry, don't go all moody on me.  I said I was sorry, okay.
Let's go get changed and then go for a snack in the mess hall."

"I can't, I'm commanding the Bridge tonight."

"Right, I forgot.  Bucking for Chakotay's job or Tuvok's?" Tom asked
in an attempt to make a joke.

"B'Elanna's," Harry said evenly, turning to give Tom a controlled
expression of seriousness.

"That's not funny, or healthy, Harry, especially if you say that again
in public."

"Sure, we'll keep this to ourselves," Harry said, winking
conspiratorially at Tom, trying to force himself into a better mood. 
"I'll see you later," Harry finished and spun away, exiting the
holodeck.

Tom stood alone in the grey and yellow chamber for several minutes,
wishing he were somewhere or someone else; someone who didn't
hurt his friends or hide so much of what he was really feeling.  Even
from himself.

---

B'Elanna was humming to herself as she sat at the edge of her bed
removing her boots.  The tune was disjointed and yet melodic in its
own way as she continued to hum and whistle, getting up to move
around her cabin with a kind of lazy feline grace, discarding her
uniform jacket and turtleneck in the process.

She'd returned to duty two weeks ago and although she felt changed
and a little calmer on the inside, thanks to her epiphany in Gre'thor,
her engineering staff were well aware that she had lost none of her
vehemence when it came to the pursuit of achieving maximum
efficiency to Voyager's systems.

Although she still yelled and barked out orders, still growled when
Seven attempted to "enhance" her systems without authorisation, her
crew noticed that B'Elanna seemed to have developed a slightly more
tolerant attitude towards it all.  She'd actually let Seven finish a
sentence before calmly responding with a, "It's a good idea, Seven,
but that would fry the secondaries and crash the comm system."

And she'd smile too, not that her subordinates had never seen her
smile from time to time, but the expression of self possession behind
this more frequent display was something new and unexpected.
She'd been heard laughing out loud at some of Ashmore's ribald
gossip, where before, there might have been a small smirk.  She'd
started to take the time to discuss and explain procedures she'd
normally leave to Vorik or Joe Carey.   In short, B'Elanna had
become... approachable.

Naturally, the cause of their chief engineer's more relaxed attitude
was the subject of a secret (on a ship this small?) betting pool, with
Susan Nicoletti holding the book; taking bets on anything from alien
possession to pregnancy.  Somehow, their boss remained completely
ignorant of this fact or she was choosing to ignore it.  That too had
become the subject of great debate.

B'Elanna did not hear her door chime, or the soft hiss of her cabin
opening, as she continued to sing to herself, completely wrapped up in
her own thoughts as she waded through her closet and clothing
shelves, in search of something comfortable to wear for the evening.
She was unaware of his silent stare, the small smile that tugged
persistently at the corners of his mouth or his wistful sigh when she
started to tug down her trousers, offering him a very nice view of the
red panties that covered her shapely bottom.  He'd never get enough
of looking at her; bared or fully clothed.

B'Elanna shut another draw on high note and turned to see him
standing just inside her sleep area. "Hey!" she said, offering him a
chagrined expression for being caught so thoroughly unawares.  "I
didn't hear you come in," she said, approaching him seductively.  Tom
moved a step towards her and accepted her warm quick kiss.

"Hi," was all he said, as he held her warmly to him.  B'Elanna pulled
back from his embrace and gave Tom a questioning stare.

"I thought you and Harry were playing Table Tennis this evening?"

"We did."  B'Elanna quirked a smile then pushed herself away from
Tom.

"Already?  What time is it?  Computer, Time?"  Tom went back to
watching her move around her quarters as she hurriedly pulled off her
tank top and slipped into a black sweater vest and matching skirt,
which she discarded before she had even hiked it up to her thighs.

:::The time is now 2120 hours.:::

"What's the rush?" Tom asked, seating himself on her bed, as he
watched her grab her uniform pants, stepping into each leg as if she
were already late for a duty shift.

"I'm seeing Tuvok, this evening, remember?  Meditation," she
reminded him lightly as she moved to her bed, dropped to her knees
and bent over, flailing her right had under her bed, as she sought out
her recently discarded boots.  "I didn't realise it was so late.  I
was supposed to be there five minutes ago, and you know how Vulcan
Tuvok can get about time-keeping."

"So, you'll be back in an hour?" Tom questioned hopefully.

"I'm not sure," she said, sitting down with Tom, her back turned at
angle away from him as she raised a leg to put a boot on.  "Chakotay's
asked me to stop by after, to go over some things with him."

"Oh."

"How do I look?" B'Elanna asked, raising herself off the bed to give
Tom a quick look at her mix and match ensemble.

"Beautiful," he answered honestly, giving her a slow smile, which she
missed completely as she stepped between his open thighs to give his
blond head a brief kiss.

"Will I see you later?" B'Elanna asked already heading for the doors.

Tom shrugged, but she missed that too.  "Sure," he answered.

:::Tuvok to Lieutenant Torres:::

"I'm on my way, Tuvok."

:::Miss Torres, may I remind you that our session should have begun
at 2115.:::

"I know, I'm sorry," B'Elanna paused briefly, "I was caught up in...
deconstructing the origins of my rage."  She grinned back at Tom.
They could both imagine how high Tuvok's eyebrows had jumped in
response.

:::That is an admirable use of my guidance, Lieutenant.  However,
there is much more to learn and the time--:::

"I know, I coming!" she growled back.

:::Very well.  Tuvok out.:::

"Deconstructing the origins of your rage?" Tom couldn't help the small
chuckle.

"It keeps him off my back, and it's really not... too bad...
sometimes. I've got to run."  She was heading to the cabin doors 
again, when she stopped and turned back.  Tom was still sitting on her 
bed, watching her.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tom answered, giving her a quick grin.  "Get going."

Tom stayed seated for a few minutes after B'Elanna's departure.
Eventually he got up, picked up his lover's strewn garments and
placed the soiled items in her refresher unit, then folded her
discarded skirt neatly and returned it to its drawer.  He had wanted 
to talk to B'Elanna, felt a need to touch base with her; assure 
himself of his own validity somehow.

How had that happened? he wondered.  How had his confidence left
him and why was he feeling so melancholy over the last few weeks?

He still flew Voyager with unparalleled confidence, annoyed the Doctor
every chance he got, livened up Bridge duty and staff meetings with
his peculiar mixture of innate charm, casual humour and inspired
suggestions.

Yet, Tom Paris was less than fine.  On his own, away from the
watching eyes of his senior officers, away from duty and reports and
the EMH's prudent gaze; Tom Paris was experiencing anxiety.

He thought back to earlier that evening and his game of Table Tennis
with Harry.  He had not meant to bring up Harry's unfortunate taste in
holo-women, didn't even care that he'd lost the match, but for a
moment, he'd taken pleasure in seeing Harry's jubilant face fall and
had revelled in his friend's minor humiliation.

It was time to stop thinking and analysing, Tom thought, as he headed
out of B'Elanna's quarters.  He had an away mission to prepare for the
following day, getting some work done on the Delta Flyer would
definitely take his mind off his sullen mood.

---

"Any progress with the enhanced security measures Ayala
suggested?"

"We've been working on it, Chakotay.  Vorik and Nicoletti are in
charge of the project."

"I hear you've let Seven in on it too," the commander grinned, giving
B'Elanna a display of his dimples.  The chief engineer shrugged her
shoulders as she settled herself back against the couch.

They were in Chakotay's quarters where they had been discussing
crew scheduling for the next week, Engineering operations and the
status of any research projects, such as Ayala's hypothesis for
cloaking the security fields around sensitive areas of the ship.

B'Elanna drew her legs up under her as she and dropped the PADD
she was looking at into her lap.  She fixed Chakotay with a knowing
stare and feinted her own version of "the look."  "Seven's the expert
on nanoprobe technology," she conceded, "and I thought we could use
that knowledge to perfect a working theory."

Chakotay smiled again, "I'm glad to see you two are finally developing
a proper working relationship."  B'Elanna snorted.  "I mean it," he
said seriously.  "Seven has a lot to offer your department and I'm 
glad you're starting to acknowledge that."

"So long as she knows who's in charge down there, I won't break any
bones," she offered.

"You promise?"  Chakotay asked with a slight smile, as he poured two
more cups of coffee.

B'Elanna smirked as she leaned forward to pick up her refreshed mug.
She took a sip and settled back against the couch again.

"How are your meditation sessions going?" Chakotay asked as he
drank from his own mug.  He sat across from her in his armchair, the
symbols of his people adorning the upholstery, which in turn served to
give the commander an aura of calm and contemplation.  B'Elanna
wondered if he still used his Akoonah as much as he used to.

"Not too bad," she said with a shrug.  Her sessions with Tuvok were
going better than she'd like to admit.  She'd been resistant to them
at first, even if Chakotay had practically ordered her to seek 
assistance from Tuvok with controlling her temper.

At first B'Elanna had used the sessions to poke fun at the Vulcan; his
clothing, his seriousness, his entire personality.  After a time she'd
realised that the aged Tuvok could see through her feeble attempts to
distract him from his task and had reluctantly begun to immerse
herself into his teachings and exercises.  Under Tuvok's tutelage
B'Elanna had begun to realise and acknowledge (to herself anyway)
how much she had resented her Klingon heritage and how unfair she
had been to her mother.  It could not have been easy for Miral to
raise her on her own and in an environment bereft of any substantive
Klingon culture, she recognised.

Since her recent experience in Gre'thor B'Elanna had started to
meditate on a daily basis.  It was something she could do anywhere;
thirty seconds of deep breathing followed by another minute to clear
her mind of anger, rage or rancour.  Focusing instead on the inner
light of her own flame, concentrating on its source -- picturing the 
wild flames burning down to a flicker.  The exercise was one of 
several Tuvok had introduced her to, but she found this particular one 
to be relatively satisfactory, even if she'd probably never master it.
Sometimes, Tom was with her when she practised, but he only
watched and smiled in quiet support.

"Getting anything out of it?" Chakotay asked, noticing B'Elanna's
reflective gaze as she sat, coffee cup in hand, paused as if to drink
but not moving; except for her eyelids, which fluttered briefly. 
"B'Elanna?"

She looked up quickly, her gaze brought back to the present.  She
gave Chakotay a small smile and nodded her head.

"Good," he said, sounding satisfied.  He already knew Torres was
benefiting from her training with Tuvok.  The Vulcan had been
reporting on her progress on a monthly basis.  It was against
regulations to go into any detail about each class, considering the
personal nature of the instruction, as Tuvok was always at pains to
point out, but he had agreed to keep the commander informed of
B'Elanna's general progress.  "How are those Equinox crew members
working out in Engineering, any problems?"  Chakotay asked,
changing the subject.

B'Elanna sat up straighter and returned her mug to the table.

"No problems.  Gilmore's a good engineer, certainly better than
manifold relay duty, but she doesn't complain.  She's quiet,
hardworking.  Tassoni's been working with Chell in recycling,"
B'Elanna gave her commander a pointed look.  "So you know he's
probably better informed of all the gossip on board than anything
else."

Chakotay rolled his eyes. "True."

"They do the work, as ordered, and pretty much keep to themselves,
according to Carey.  I haven't seen too much of them personally,"
B'Elanna admitted.  "I guess it must be weird for them to be taking
orders from us; having to start over again."

Chakotay agreed, "We all had our problems when we came aboard, if
you remember, B'Elanna."

She shook her head in understanding.  It had taken her years to feel
like she really belonged on this ship, with this crew, abiding by
Federation standards and principles, but she'd adapted.  "It seems
like another life now," she confessed. There was a long moment of 
silence between them as they reminisced on the past.  "We're not the 
same people anymore are we?"

"We've all changed," he acknowledged.  Their companionable silence
descended again as they both became lost in their own thoughts.

"Do you still go on Vision Quests?" B'Elanna asked eventually.

Chakotay smiled and he wondered why she wanted to know.  His
spirituality had intrigued her years ago, when they had first met, but
she had eventually found it incompatible to her then very practical
and impatient nature.  He stretched out his legs and leaned back 
further into his chair.  "Yes, I do."

"Do you think..." she began, then paused, lifting her legs to cross
them both under her as she repositioned her self against the cushions.  
"Do you think... I could try another Vision Quest, Chakotay?"

"You want to?" he questioned lightly.

"I've been thinking about it a lot recently and--yes, I'd like to try
again."

"I hope you're not expecting any quick solutions or answers, B'Elanna.
Remember, the Vision Quest doesn't work that way, it may take time
to fully understand what you see.  It may not even work for you at
all, even if something happened the last time you tried it."

"I know," she answered. "I think I'm a little more prepared for it now
than I was before," she concluded with a tiny grin.

"All right," Chakotay said at last.  "I'll schedule some time for us
and we can try.  Do you remember what you'll need?"

She nodded, "A couple of personal items--"

"That doesn't mean part of the warp core," he couldn't help teasing.

"You're as bad as, Tom," she laughed.  "I don't spend all of my time
down there," she admonished lightly.

"I can only guess where you spend the rest of your time, Lieutenant,"
he smirked.

"I keep forgetting what a dirty mind you have, Chakotay," she said,
throwing the PADD at him.

---

The imagizer crackled with static as Buster Kincaid and Captain
Proton tried desperately to clean up the image.  Their monochrome
Bridge had taken several glancing hits from Chaotica's death ray but
Proton's little rocket ship was equipped to repel its charges--for
now.

"We need to get this transmission up, Buster!" Proton called through
gum flexing cheeks.

"Try it now," Buster called from the underneath a panel in the floor.

"It's working!" Proton yelled back in excitement.

:::Captain Proton, can you hear me?  Captain Proton, this is Earth's
president calling, come in.:::

"We hear you, Mr. President, but this transmission may not hold out
for long, Chaotica's launching an all out assault on my ship.  Have
the Earth defence forces been able to shut down his mining operation 
in Africa?"

:::I'm afraid not, Captain.  In fact... the Pan-African government are
welcoming Chaotica with open arms, which means there is nothing I
can do about it. :::

"What!" Proton exclaimed.

:::I'm afraid it's true.  Queen B'Elanna, her Royal Highness and
spiritual leader of the Pan-African and Middle Eastern nations has
declared a truce with the evil menace.  Chaotica's no longer attacking
their borders.::: There was a dramatic pause before the president
resumed.  :::I'm sorry to report, Captain, that Dr. Chaotica and his
forces, including those led by Queen B'Elanna are now mobilising
against the rest of world.  We need your help! :::

Proton could hardly believe his ears.  "Buster, get up here!"  He then
turned his attention back to the imagizer.

"Mr. President, Queen B'Elanna gave me her word, she'd never do
business with a snake like Chaotica."

:::Oh, wouldn't I?::: The imagizer crackled and spat.  The image of
Earth's president was replaced by Queen B'Elanna, the dark exotic
beauty, from the dark exotic continent.

"Say it aint so, toots," Proton implored.  Somewhere in this scenario
the heated rhythm of African drums could be heard in the background.

:::Chaotica can do so much more for my people than yours can,
Proton::: she hissed.  :::I don't need your promises of a better
tomorrow, when I can have it all... today.:::

"He's using you, your majesty.  He'll crush you and your people like
so many ants.  It's what he does!" Buster lamented, coming to stand 
next to his captain.

The driving cadences of the drums were speeding up and their volume
increased in intensity and pitch.

:::Not this time, Kincaid.  After all, would Chaotica really want to
kill his bride?::: Demonic laughter filled the screen and reverberated
around the rocket ship.  Proton gaped, open mouthed and slack jawed,
as the image of the galaxy's most odious sloth slithered forward to
take his place at his wife's side.

:::You're a fool, Proton,::: were Chaotica's first words.  He bent to
take his lady's hand and kissed it delicately.  :::I could not resist
such an intoxicating flower as the beauteous Queen B'Elanna.  With her
at my side we shall rule the galaxy and all of Earth!:::  The evil
maniac raised his head to look directly at Captain Proton through the
imagizer.  The hideous grin and the trademark goatee should have been
unmistakable, but for a second Proton was confused.  Chaotica did
not wear a tattoo, certainly not a huge one plastered on to his
forehead where his skullcap should have been, and what was with
those pointy ears?

The drums pounded on relentlessly and the maniacal laughter of
Chaotica and Queen B'Elanna were so thick with sarcasm it was like
standing in a fog of sound.  It was deafening, maddening.  What were
Chakotay and Tuvok doing in this scenario?  They'd never expressed
an interest in his Captain Proton holodeck adventures before, neither
had B'Elanna, come to think of it.

And with the realisation that he was dreaming the drums stopped.

---

Tom opened his eyes to total and utter darkness.  All was quiet,
except for the sound of his own breathing.  His senses returned to him
slowly and he took a deep breath.  What is with all of these weird
dreams I'm having lately? he wondered.  He was about to turn over
when he realised there was a warm body pressed against his back
and an arm, a soft gentle weight, had slithered up inside his
tee-shirt, resting against his chest; his own large hand covering hers 
from the outside.

He'd gone to bed alone the previous night, late too.  He had no
memory of B'Elanna crawling into bed with him, yet here she was, all
softness and curves, pressing intimately against him.  He turned
slowly, not wishing to wake her, extricating her hand gently from
under his shirt as he did so.  She gave a little grunt in protest but
obliged his movements, turning onto her stomach and burying her head
deep into her pillow.

"Computer, 5% illumination."  Tom's command was barely above a
whisper.  The computer complied and Tom turned onto his side to
stare at the sleeping form of his lover.  He could see that she was in
one of his tee shirts, and he smiled at that.  Tom had always found it
quite erotic that she liked to wear his clothes to bed.  They were all
too large for her but that never stopped him from reacting to seeing
her in them.  It made him feel connected to her.

Or was it that it seemed *she* was connected to him?

That thought made him feel restless again and snatches of his dream
flashed before his eyes; Chaotica looking like some fused version of
Chakotay and Tuvok, B'Elanna laughing derisively at him--B'Elanna
spitting his name as a curse and turning to leave the Bridge of the
Liberty, furious scorn etched in every feature.

Tom rolled onto his back and rubbed at his tired eyes, he could feel a
headache coming on.  Easing himself out of bed he walked on
unsteady feet towards his replicator, ordering a glass of water and an
analgesic through his medical account.  He brought them with him as
he flopped down into his couch, knocked back the pills with the water
then let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes.

"Tom?"  He must have slept for a while because when he opened his
eyes again, B'Elanna was kneeling between his spread thighs, her
hands resting lightly on either side of his hips.

"Are you okay?" B'Elanna asked him gently.  "I woke up alone--cold,"
she pouted.

"Headache," he mumbled, blinking to see her still at his feet.  "What
time is it?"

"After 0400.  Come back to bed," she encouraged, raising herself to
stand between his legs, offering her hands to him.  Tom sighed heavily
with the effort of standing again and let B'Elanna lead him back to
his bed.

Once they had settled comfortably under the covers, B'Elanna,
wrapping herself over his torso like a sheet, asked; "Still have a
headache?"

Tom answered with a shake of his head.  "I'm sorry I was so late back,
last night.  We never got a chance to talk," B'Elanna apologised.

"It's okay," Tom replied, stroking her arm as it lay resting against
his chest, her fingertips lightly stroking his neck.  "How was your 
class with Tuvok?"

"Once he'd stopped lecturing me on time-keeping, it went pretty well.
He thinks I might be ready to try a deeper level of meditation soon."

"That's great, B'Elanna."

"Don't get too excited, Tom.  I think Tuvok's use of the word 'soon'
could mean anything from a year to a decade," she harrumphed.  Tom
chuckled.  "What did you get up to last night?" she asked as her
fingers moved up to play with the hairs at Tom's nape.  He shifted his
head into her touch, his arm, caressing her back, moved to her ribs to
push her higher against him.

"Worked on the Flyer a bit.  The structural integrity field waveguides
could do with a little enhancement," he replied easily.

"There's a backup generator in Engineering we could modify for the
Flyer if you want."

"Yeah, I know.  It's already been installed," Tom said with a small
grin.

"Was that an authorised use of equipment, Ensign?" B'Elanna teased.

"It will be, Lieutenant," he answered, knowing B'Elanna would make
the necessary requisition in the logs when her shift began in a few
hours.

"I should file a report," she said, pulling at his hair, "have
Chakotay kick your ass for that little stunt."   Tom groaned audibly 
at the mention of the commander's name.  "Oh, that reminds me," 
B'Elanna went on. "I asked Chakotay to take me on a Vision Quest."

Tom's hands stilled against her skin.  "A Vision Quest?  What for?
You're already meditating with Tuvok."

"I know, but I want to explore this... this... side of me a little
more," B'Elanna tried to explain as she raised herself to look at Tom.

"Look, B'Elanna," Tom breathed, adjusting his position to sit up
against the pillows.  "I know that the meditation with Tuvok has been
helping, and that finding your mother, on that Klingon barge, was a
really good thing, but how is a Vision Quest, with you wandering
around some forest with Chakotay, going to help you?"

B'Elanna pulled away completely from Tom's embrace and sat up
beside him. "It's another way to channel emotions, Tom," her voice
grated with irritation.

"You mean, it's another thing you can do without me," his voice was
sarcastic.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she shouted, no trace of
her meditative control in evidence.

Tom shook his head and raked his hand fiercely through his tousled
hair.  "I said I'd learn Klingon with you; learn the rituals, the
language. You said fine, but have we done any of that?  No.  Instead
you want to run off to Chakotay and Tuvok and spend god knows how many
hours in a damn trance!"

"What?" Where the hell was this coming from?  B'Elanna could feel
her anger boiling up inside of her.

"What's the last thing we did together, B'Elanna?  Name one!" he
challenged.  "And I don't mean sex either."

B'Elanna sprang out of the bed, cursing invectives that would make a
full Klingon blush.  She stood at the bottom of the bed, her whole
body trembling with rage, she willed it back down; imagined the flame 
as it burned brightly, focused on it, counted down from 100.  Willing 
the flame to a flicker.

Tom sat still and couldn't help but be impressed by B'Elanna's
control, he was certain that she would have hit him, thrown something 
at him by now, not in arousal but in an unfettered rage.

87, 86, 85, 84....

Her nostrils flared and she exhaled deeply, her eyes were closed as
she continued to focus on damping down the flames.   73, 72, 71,
70....

Tom could feel his own breathing returning to normal as he watched
B'Elanna perform her calming ritual.  What right did he have to tell
how to spend her time?  Hadn't he pushed her away enough in the past 
so that he could hide in the holodecks, immerse himself in
fantasy--remain in control.

50, 49, 48, 47....

Concentrate on the flame, let it surround you, feel its power.  Know
that you are its master.  Control the flame, Lieutenant, control your
anger.   29, 28, 27, 26....

"B'Elanna?" Tom called.  She was so still, only her eyelids fluttered
and her nostrils continued to flare with the intake of each deep
breath.

11, 10, 9, 8....

And when you have vanquished the flames, control will be yours,
Lieutenant Torres.  3, 2, 1....

B'Elanna's eyes snapped open, and Tom felt liked he'd been caught in
the beam of a solar flare.  "B'Elanna...?"

"I don't want to fight with you, Tom," her voice was clear, carrying
an edge of ice.  "But if you want to talk to me about what's bothering
you, I'll listen," the brittle delivery was a whisper.  This was a new
voice for B'Elanna, it was measured, controlled but it hinted too of
possible detonation.

Tom slipped his feet out from under the covers to sit facing away from
B'Elanna's blank stare.  He scrunched his toes into the carpet,
wishing he'd never started this.  "I miss you sometimes," he said 
softly, staring at his feet in the dim light.  B'Elanna didn't respond 
and the silence around them became more palpable with each passing 
second. Tom felt the bed dip slightly and knew that B'Elanna had come 
back to sit on the opposite side, well out of reach.

They sat there like that, backs to each other, in the deafening
stillness. Tom could feel the chill of the cabin's night air against
his bare legs and arms, wondered if B'Elanna was shivering.

"I don't remember," B'Elanna said at last, her voice quiet and
reflective.  Tom turned his head slightly, waiting.  "I don't remember
what we last did together."  She turned to face him, pulling a leg up
under her as she did so.  "I'm not trying to shut you out," she paused
then and took another deep breath, exhaled slowly.  "I thought I
was... finding ways... to let you in."  Tom shook his head, not 
understanding her logic, still unwilling to turn towards her fully.

"Let me in...?"  Tom felt the bed ripple with movement as B'Elanna
crawled up to kneel behind him.  She put a tentative hand to his broad
back, and at her touch Tom lowered his head.

"I'm not trying to shut you out, Tom."  The whisper of her voice
tickled
his neck.

His voice, when he found it, was low and ragged. "I know."  Tom
twisted his body to face B'Elanna and he opened his mouth to say
more, found he couldn't; gazed instead at this woman's eyes, heavy
lidded and remorseful.

Their breathing shuddered in quaking gasps as they spontaneously
reached out to each other, holding on together tightly, B'Elanna
burying her head into his collar, as Tom bent to submerge his face in
her hair.

In the short time that was left of *Voyager's* night they lay
together, silently, clutching infrequently at a hand or a torso.  
B'Elanna did eventually drift back to sleep until the alarm call.  Tom 
caught some sleep too, but for a long time his eyes remained open.

---
Chapter Three - A Small Diversion
---

"I had my reservations about that little ship, but once Tom convinced
me of its worth; manoeuvrability, multi-phasic shielding, optronic
weapons array; I could see the benefits of having it aboard.  That and
the fact we trash enough of our own shuttles, having another as
back-up made sense.  I did tell him to check out its neurogenic
interface link before hooking himself up to it though.  I'd remembered
horror stories from the Academy, where those sorts of experiments
had gone disastrously wrong--'Brains turned to Swiss cheese,' I think
was the expression.

"It's good to see him smiling again.  His eyes really lit up when he
was talking about that ship, about its potential, its grace.  He was 
like a kid I used to know on Kessik, after opening his birthday
presents--Andrew... Andrew something or other.  I do remember
having to beat the crap out of him a few times, but I did go to a
couple of his parties; Mother would drag me there, and I'd watch while 
he ripped open his presents and whooped with glee--listen to me, I'm
starting to sound like Tom now.  What the hell was I talking about?

"Computer, stop recording and play back last section of personal log."

:::... He was like a kid I used to know on Kessik after opening his
birthday presents--:::

"Computer, forward to the end of that section and resume recording."

:::Voice activation is ready to resume.:::

"Tom....  Well, he seems happier now that he's found himself a new
toy.  The other night, when we... fought... he was so... I don't know.
He said he missed me; that we don't do enough together.  I guess
some of that's true but we hardly have time for anything around here.
He was so busy working shifts on the Bridge and in Sickbay and I
have to be in Engineering.  I wanted to make it up to him but wouldn't
you know it, the Doctor decides he's going to get himself an
imagination, and who's the one who has to clean up his stupid mess?

"I admit, monitoring his daydreams was entertaining at first, but
seeing what he'd thought up in that mess hall scenario was the limit!  
Does he really think I'd act like that?  Naturally, Tom thought it was 
pretty funny, even after I told him what *he* was doing in it.  He 
seemed to think it was harmless fun, just the Doc's idea of being 
needed.

"And now, Tom's wrapped up in that ship....  It's probably silly but
sometimes, I wonder what Tom daydreams about."

---

"He's been working flat-out on that ship for the past few nights.  I'd
suggested we go and visit one of his sailing programs, like Lake
Como, but he said he really wanted to work on the ship; Alice.  That's
what he's calling it now.  Apparently, she was some girl who managed
to repel his charms at the Academy, so Harry says.  I wonder why he'd
choose a name like that; for someone who'd rejected him."

---

"I saw Tom briefly, this evening, he looked tired but happy.  I'm not
sure what I made of his 'flight suit,' far too baggy around his butt
for my tastes.

"He wants me to come and take a look the ship tomorrow night--it's
about time!  I barely see him at all these days.  I'm cancelling my
lesson with Tuvok to go.  Who knows, maybe we can find away to test
out some of the... propulsion systems while I'm down there.  God, I
hope that stupid suit is easy to get off, it's been too damn long
since I've had him."

---

"...Smart move, B'Elanna!  What was I thinking?  I stupidly thought he
wouldn't get carried away this time!  First he gets all protective of
that damned ship's upholstery; upholstery for crying out loud!  Shit,
I knew something was wrong when I goosed him right there in the chair
and he didn't even react.  There I was, trying to put a few moves on 
him and he just sits there, going on and on about how 'Alice wont let 
me sleep,' and 'Alice doesn't like that.'  And that voice--yeah right,
I'll just bet it came with the ship!

"Damn right I'm jealous, but it is just a ship, isn't it?"

---

"Need an extra hand?"

Joe Carey looked up at the chief engineer from his diagnostic board.
Gamma shift had been on duty for about an hour and all systems were
within tolerable parameters, as much as a lone starship, thousands of
light-years from the nearest starbase could be.  Six years of
improvisation and ripping pages out of the engineering protocol
handbook had kept Carey sharp.  He'd always been a good engineer
and serving with Chief Torres had made him a better one.  Not as
instinctive as the chief, but no less able to handle emergencies. 
Now, looking at his superior's shifting feet, and her hand whipping 
back stray hairs that didn't exist from her face Carey sensed another 
type of emergency.

"You have great timing, Chief," he greeted cheerfully.  "An artificial
gravity plate suffered some buckling on deck 15 tonight.  No damage
done.  I'm running an analysis of it now.  It's showing stress
fractures consistent with buckling, but I'm at a loss to know why it 
happened. Any theories?"

B'Elanna gave Carey a brief, knowing look followed by a grateful
smile.  The man knew her moods too well.  "Move over."  Carey
happily obliged, shifting his chair across slightly to allow her
access to the board.

Carey watched B'Elanna as she worked, both of them hunched over
their panels, tossing theory after speculation in their dry
professional discourse.  Whatever was bothering her, she was keeping 
it to herself, not that Carey needed to ask.  He already had a strong 
feeling that B'Elanna and Tom Paris must have had some sort of
disagreement--he'd witnessed it often enough.   They'd fight, she'd
hang out in Engineering until either her temper cooled or Tom came
down to apologise.  It seemed to be the nature of their relationship.

:::Paris to Torres:::

This was new, thought Carey, Tom must have changed his tactics.
"I'm going to go check on Ashmore," he said standing up from his chair
and moving away quickly.

B'Elanna silently thanked Carey's retreating back as she swivelled her
chair into a corner, it wasn't much but the small alcove offered a
little privacy.  "Torres here."  She was still in a prickly mood.

:::I need a few parts for Alice, can you slide them through for me?:::

The nerve of that man....  "What do you need?" she heard herself say,
despite the urge to tell him to go to hell.

:::Umm... Well, there's a few: 30 meters of EPS conduit; a tactical
data module; a broad band sensor matrix; some power cells--:::

"Are you serious?" B'Elanna hissed.

:::C'mon, B'Elanna, I know we have them lying around one of the
Cargo bays.::

"No way, Tom.  You're little shuttle jaunt will have to wait, there is
no way I can authorise all of the parts without good cause."

:::This is a good cause,::: he managed to whine over the comm.

"Look," B'Elanna managed through her rising temper, "you know as
well as I do that those parts are for emergencies."

:::B'Elanna, I need those parts!:::  His tone changed from whining to
desperation.

"Then you'd better take it up with Commander Chakotay, because I'm
not giving you authorisation, got it?"

:::Damn it, B'Elanna, Alice needs--:::

"Did you hear me?" she shouted.  A few heads turned from various
stations around her department.  B'Elanna shut her comm badge off in
fury and sat staring at the walls around her, trying to remember what
number came after 99 in what was fast becoming her habitual
countdown.

---

"Computer, begin recording of personal log, Chakotay-gamma-zero."

:::Acknowledged.:::

"I caught up with B'Elanna as she was getting into the turbolift from
Engineering.  I was on my way down to see her anyway, so I stepped
back to allow her to board.  'Deck 5,' she'd called out.  The Doctor
released Paris to his own quarters today so it was no surprise that
she was heading there.

"We made small talk at first as the lift ascended, and at the time I
wasn't sure how to ask her about what the Captain had told me: Tom
physically attacking her.

"Tom and I have had our differences over the years but I can't deny I
respect him, not only as a pilot but as a man.  Tom's a complex
individual, and although I know he prefers to wear an arrogant facade
around me--and by the spirits, that really pushes my belief in
pacifism to its limits--but I've seen him when he's quiet and alone.  
I know he watches people; gages their reactions, their tolerance.  I'd 
seen him comfort Harry after the encounter with species 8472; worry 
about Tuvok on the Bridge, when he and the Captain had mind-melded to
defeat an alien parasite that might have killed him; I was also aware
of
how many times he'd helped Neelix with some crew morale booster,
when the rest of us had almost given up on hope itself.

"Sometimes I really like him, but I don't pretend to understand him.
Our paths, since the Maquis, have been very different and I've often
wondered why he betrayed us back then.  That question hangs
between us like unfinished business; maybe that's my pride talking.
And it wasn't as if he was the only one back then to have betrayed
us... me.  Seska.... It's always difficult to think about her without
feeling like the most naive son-of-a-bitch ever born....
Tuvok I forgave a long time ago, he was only doing his job, but Tom
Paris?  What did he ever gain from us--the Maquis?

"So there I was, in a turbolift with my dear old friend and all I
could do was think about Tom Paris; ex-mercenary, ex-Fleet, ex-drunk.

"I was about to open my mouth and ask her the burning question that
I'd left the Bridge for when I realised the answer for myself.

"I'd seen B'Elanna kick lumps out of men and women who had so
much as looked at her the wrong way.  And there she was before me,
showing me a 'get well' card that Naomi Wildman had made, smiling to
herself and biting her lip, dropping her head in a self-conscious
gesture I'd recognise anywhere.  She was excited, happy, nervous but
relaxed, and it all showed in that wonderfully crooked smile.

"Would B'Elanna really leave her duty station in the middle of Beta
shift to be with a physically abusive mate?

"The lift finally stopped at deck 5 and B'Elanna got out, her stride
was strong, proud and purposeful, not even offering me a backward
glance.

"She'd answered my question.

"I think I'll visit them later, maybe I can intuit more.  Computer,
end personal log."

---

"How's he doing?" Commander Chakotay asked as B'Elanna allowed
him access into Tom Paris' quarters.  Since reading the Doctor's final
report, the commander had felt an even stronger urge to visit the
helmsman.  He also carried with him a sense of guilt, for not
insisting that the EMH had run a full scan on the alien shuttle's 
neurogenic interface once they had procured it from Abaddon.

"The Doctor says he'll make a full recovery, he's sleeping now,"
B'Elanna replied with a satisfied grin.

"How are you doing?"

"Better," she said, moving to take a seat on the couch.  Chakotay sat
down with B'Elanna but couldn't resist craning his neck to check on
Tom's inert form on the bed, which was visible through the partition.

"How long has he been out?" he asked, head still turned away to look
at the pilot.

"Couple of hours."

"Does he remember anything?" Chakotay asked, turning back to give
B'Elanna a sympathetic look.  She nodded and turned her eyes down
even as she leaned forward to rest her elbows onto her thighs, her
hands clasped in prayer under her chin.

"Everything."

Chakotay frowned, not knowing what "everything" might implicate for
B'Elanna or Tom.  "He wasn't in control of his actions, B'Elanna. 
He's not to blame."

She gave a short laugh. "Oh, I know that, Chakotay.  It wasn't his
fault."  Chakotay cocked his head at her, expecting more, detecting an
undercurrent in his friend's voice.  B'Elanna stared back at him for a
moment.  "What?"

"So everything's okay between you two?"

"We'll manage," she said, dropping her gaze to her lap.

Chakotay felt suddenly a little uncomfortable and wondered if he
should press her about the vagueness of her answer.  B'Elanna was a
big girl, Chakotay assured himself, and she'd probably only bite his
head off for prying.  Yet that did not stop the feeling of
protectiveness he'd always felt for her from rising; half-Klingon or
not.   Besides, he was well aware that sometimes this woman wasn't
always able to see past her own self-reliance and confide in those she
trusted most, whether that be Tom or himself.  He shifted in his seat
and moved to stand.  "If you ever need to talk...."  He left the
invitation hanging, she'd know where to reach him if she needed to.

B'Elanna followed him back to the cabin doors, acknowledging his
words with a slight smile and a nod of her head.

As Chakotay stepped out into the corridor beyond, he turned, paused
to speak again.  "Do you still want to go on that Vision Quest?"  He
watched her eyes dart from side to side.  She was either considering
backing out or weighing up an alternative.   He gave her that minute
to formulate her reply.

"Yes."  The answer, when it came was firm and strong, lacking any of
the hesitation Chakotay was sure it would be laced with.

"Good," he replied.  "How does next Thursday sound, 2200 hours?"
He could see B'Elanna's mind wonder off into another world of
calculations as she carefully thought about his proposal.  "You're on
Alpha shift next week, B'Elanna, it shouldn't be that big a problem to
figure," he baited.

B'Elanna caught his stare and gave him a dirty look of her own in
return.  "Next week sounds fine," she approved, in an almost grateful
tone.

"All right then.  I'll see you later and... tell sleeping beauty," he
gestured with his head over B'Elanna's shoulder, "we'll expect him on
the Bridge again when the Doctor clears him for duty--in uniform."

"You really are annoying sometimes, you know that?"

The commander briefly flashed her his dimples, then turned and
headed towards the turbolift.

---

When B'Elanna returned to her charge for the afternoon, she found
him struggling to sit up in bed.  "Don't even think about getting up,
Tom," she ordered as she approached him.

"I thought I heard voices," he replied, ignoring her command as he
moved the comforter aside.

"You just missed Chakotay--Where are you going?"

"I need to use the bathroom, B'Elanna, is that okay?" Tom asked
sarcastically, as he made his way there, hoping she wasn't going to
keep her promise to the doctor and break his legs for this small but
needy journey.

Tom could feel B'Elanna's eyes following him across the room, knew
her hands were on her hips in a mock gesture of extreme displeasure.

"Are you hungry?" he heard her call out after he had disappeared from
view.

"I guess I could eat something," Tom replied over the sound of running
water.

When he returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, B'Elanna
was carrying a tray of food in for him and the aroma was
unmistakable.

"Get into bed," she ordered before he could comment on her choice.
Tom gave her a dirty look and shook his head.  He proceeded to make
a show of straightening the bed linen before eventually raising one
leg to slip under the covers and then the other.  He took his time
fluffing his pillows before leaning back into a comfortable enough 
position to eat in.  If B'Elanna wanted to wait on him, he'd milk it 
for everything he was worth--he knew it wouldn't be for very long.

"What's on the menu, Nurse Torres?"  He knew he was stretching her
patience now but she was treating him worse than a child.

"Call me that again, flyboy, and I'll break your jaw."

Milking time was over.

Tom gave her an impudent grin, which somehow communicated itself
to her as both a sufficient chastisement and a provocation.

As B'Elanna placed the tray across his lap, Tom moved over slightly to
give her room enough to sit with him.  "Hot, plain tomato soup, just
the way you like it," she grinned, picking up the spoon.

"You're going to feed me too?" Tom couldn't help asking.

"May I?" she asked, nonplussed by Tom's shocked reaction to her
wanting to.

He nodded his head, genuinely at a loss for words.  B'Elanna *wanted*
to feed him.  Apart from sharing pizzas and cheese sticks; normally a
prelude to their lovemaking, she'd never initiated this sort of thing.
She was being so... protective of him; it was sobering.  It was
liberating.  It was scary.

"What did Chakotay want?" he asked, as B'Elanna raised a spoonful
of soup to his mouth.

"He wanted to see how you were doing."  Tom tasted the soup; it was
warm and rich.

"Checking up on me?"  He licked his lips as B'Elanna dipped the
spoon back into the bowl.

"Making sure you were okay," she countered, noticing the hostility in
his voice.  She raised the spoon again and this time Tom's mouth
accepted the broth without comment.

Chakotay was one of B'Elanna's oldest friends but the commander
also had the ability to make Tom feel inadequate sometimes, always
coming out with some wise or witty rejoinders at his expense in their
presence; sending him looks that seemed to say that Tom was still
that drunken miscreant he'd picked up in the DMZ all those years
before.  It didn't seem to matter that Tom had saved his life more
than once.  He always got the feeling that Chakotay tolerated him like 
a pebble in a shoe: deal with the discomfort until there was an
opportunity to shake the irritant out.

B'Elanna's faith in Chakotay unnerved him too because she trusted
him so blindly, and on some level that hurt Tom more than anything
else could.

Tom avoided her gaze as he spied a bread roll on the tray, he picked
it up and broke it in two, dunking a piece in the soup and offering it 
to B'Elanna with a grateful smile.  She paused in her feeding of him 
and closed her teeth over the bread, biting down softly, her lips
caressing the edges of Tom's fingers.  She chewed silently and 
swallowed.

They watched each other intently and fed each other in a hush.  Tom
continued to break the rolls into small pieces, occasionally helping
himself to some and sucking away the soup from his fingers when he
did so.

With the last of the soup B'Elanna withdrew the spoon from Tom's
mouth slowly and put it back on the tray, which was moved to the floor
soon after.  Tom picked up the napkin in his lap to wipe his mouth,
but she stopped him, drew his hand to hers, and moved her head
forwards, leaning in until her lips were millimetres away from Tom's.

B'Elanna licked her own lips and because of their close proximity the
action of that movement meant her tongue brushed his mouth.  She
repeated the action, moving closer to Tom in small increments,
keeping her gaze steady as she did so.  Tom felt his breathing catch
and he opened his mouth wider to accept her advances.  His own
tongue darted out to lick at the remains of breadcrumbs just above
B'Elanna's upper lip, tasted the soup on her lower lip and then they
were kissing; deep, long, open mouthed, tongue twisting, watery
kisses.  Tom pulled her against him, his hands tangling in her hair as
he grasped her at the base of her skull.  B'Elanna put her hands on
Tom's shoulders for balance, her fingers gripping against the material
of his tee-shirt, and for the first time in a long time his quarters
were filled with the sounds of their desperate groans and impassioned
murmurs.

---
Chapter Four - A Day of....
---

Tom Paris returned to full duty two days later.  B'Elanna's tender
ministrations had worked wonders on him, and he had smirked
through the EMH's lecture for returning him to duty 24 hours earlier
than his original prognosis.   For some reason the EMH had actually
thought Tom had managed to rest completely during the last 48 hours.

"I see Lieutenant Torres succeeded in keeping you off your feet, Mr.
Paris," the EMH had commented.

Well she had, except it wasn't in the way the doctor would have
sanctioned.

"Something like that, Doc."

It felt good to be back at the conn, fully able to flex his hands over
the surface of his board again; make instinctive manoeuvres; plot
trajectories.  This was flying.  This is what he wanted to do everyday
of his life, if he could: Pilot a starship into the unknown.

He'd wondered, during his recuperation, when B'Elanna had left him
alone long enough--her engines were never short of her attention for
any great length of time-- and again now, if that was the reason he'd
been so easily enticed by "Alice."  Was it the thrill of the unknown?
The challenge of attempting something no one else had managed?
Everything about that little ship had played up to his fantasies of
being needed; of being worthy.  She, "Alice," had trusted him and
placed her own salvation in his hands.

And he'd failed.

Tom mentally shook his head clear of the thought.  He'd been used
and manipulated by her, she... *it* wasn't real.  It was just a ship,
"a collection of circuits and relays," as B'Elanna had said.  The
neurogenic interface had caused the hallucinations....

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to detect some trace of "Alice"
through the cortical suppressant the Doctor had administered in
sickbay.  Nothing... the female entity he'd called Alice was no more,
if she ever was.

Was it *all* an hallucination?  Was it really her... that ship, or me?
Didn't *I* want it as much as she did?

He'd never felt so needed.

"It's what I'd always dreamed of," he remembered telling B'Elanna,
during those last desperate moments aboard "Alice."  And ultimately
their goal, he knew, if they had accomplished it, would have led to
his destruction.  He would never have survived the particle fountain.

Death was not an event he'd seriously contemplated, no matter how
empty, hopeless or painful his life had been in the past--and it had
been all of those.  He did recognise of course that in his past, he'd
been living on a knife-edge; booze, stimulants and casual sex could
kill you in other, slower ways....

He'd moved on since then; he was trying to.

Maybe he'd never catch the feeling of his first flight again, and
perhaps he'd never be credited with any records for breaking the warp
10 threshold.  But he could pilot any vessel made for flight better 
than anyone he had ever known or met.  He'd never have any doubts 
about that.

His old love for the sea would never be forgotten, and he had on
occasion wondered what it would have been like to pursue that
particular ambition.  The deep-sea ocean research vessels they were
probably developing now, in the Alpha Quadrant, would have intrigued
him.  Being at a real helm, in the nautical sense, was something he
could still dream about, even after six years in the Delta Quadrant;
especially since his contact with the Moneans, regardless of how that
had ended.

"Captain, I'm receiving a Mayday from the Delta Flyer."

Harry Kim's urgent exclamation brought Tom back to the here and
now.  His fingers flew over his board, searching sensors for any
possible dangers closing in on the shuttle.

"Let's hear it," Janeway commanded.

Neelix's panicked voice came over the comm, shrieking about Tuvok
collapsing and some sort of download that had evidently taken place.
It took several minutes for the captain and Commander Chakotay to
assuage the Talaxian's urgent babbling.

"Tom, set a course for the Delta Flyer," the captain urged. "Warp 8."

"I'm already on it," Tom responded, as he sent Voyager into warp.

---

Thirty-six hours after Voyager had rendezvoused with the Delta Flyer
and Tuvok had been transported to Sickbay for medical treatment,
Neelix finally made an appearance in the mess hall.  In his absence
Ensigns Brooks and Powell, and Lieutenant Baxter had volunteered
for kitchen duty.  They made good officers, but the general crew
consensus on their culinary talents was that they'd spent either far
too much of the journey without replicator rations; or they'd been 
born without taste buds.

By mid-morning of Neelix's second day in Sickbay, where he was
keeping a devoted vigil with the injured Tuvok, most of the junior
crew were ready to file a protest to the captain concerning 
malnutrition and in some cases food poisoning.

When Neelix returned to the galley to prepare his first luncheon in
four days he was greeted by an eruption of cheers, whistles and 
applause. He turned to the expectant and hungry faces of the crew, 
truly bewildered that they were welcoming him back with such fervour.  
He bowed to them graciously, his whiskers oscillating against his 
cheeks in a Talaxian blush, before reminding them all that Tuvok was 
the one who needed their support now.  The sixteen gathered 
crewmembers nodded in chivalrous agreement, and Neelix, satisfied, 
turned his attention to selecting vegetables for the stew he was going 
to prepare.

Three hours later the mess hall had returned to relative normalcy as
Neelix served lunch.  Various members of the crew wandered in and
out while others sat in small groups or alone, eating, chatting or
just sharing a beverage.  At one table at the back of the mess near an
observation window, B'Elanna Torres, Joe Carey and Susan Nicoletti
sat talking.  Their empty dishes were piled together at a vacant table
to Joe's right as they now concentrated on the half-dozen data PADDs
before them.

B'Elanna sipped at her glass of Angurian juice as she scrolled down to
the next item on her PADD.  They were working on the Engineering
crew's monthly evaluation and duty shift assignments, where
recommendations for further training or greater responsibility would
be discussed before they were sent onto Commander Chakotay for final
approval.

"Gilmore...?"

"She's smart," Carey said, answering B'Elanna's unfinished question.
"She's been working on the manifold relays for Gamma shift, but she's
a hell of a lot more talented than that.  I think she could do with
some more responsibility."

"Agreed.  What do you suggest, Joe?"

"I was thinking maybe she could either work on the structural
integrity fields or the propulsion injector systems."

"Sue?" B'Elanna prompted.

"I agree she's a good engineer, wasn't she acting chief on the
Equinox?" Joe and B'Elanna nodded mutely as Susan's fingers pulled
at her ear lobe.  "Anyway, my feelings are that it's a little too soon
to be giving her access to key systems."

B'Elanna considered her statement.  "You've been working with her,
do you think she poses a danger to the ship?"

"No, not really, Chief, but you know what they tried to do to us."

B'Elanna remembered all too well, and not just Gilmore's role either. 
If there was a hell of any kind, she hoped that Max Burke was rotting
in it--slowly.

"She was following orders, Sue," Carey offered, "they were desperate
and alone.  I'm not defending what they did over there but don't you
think she deserves a chance to start over?"

Nicoletti rolled her dark eyes in disgust.

"Did you know she still won't use the turbolifts if she can avoid
them?" Carey went on.  "When I've asked her about her time on the 
Equinox her hands start to shake and she breaks out into a sweat, did 
you know that?"

"She could have said 'no', she could have refused to help in those
terrible experiments," Sue responded indignantly, ignoring Carey's
subtle entreaty for compassionate understanding.

"I got the feeling that 'no' was not an option for them under Captain
Ransom," he continued in his role as devil's advocate.  "Have you ever
refused to do something Captain Janeway ordered?" Joe enquired
softly.

"Of course not!  She's the Captain," Sue responded hotly.  "It just
doesn't sit well with me: having these... killers, these... butchers
running around the ship," she confessed.  Joe Carey gave her long
look, unable to think of anything else that might soften her views.

"Did you two have this conversation about me, six years ago?"
B'Elanna Torres, former Maquis and perhaps a still wanted criminal by
the Federation, questioned.  Her tone was one of subtle humour but
her smile was devoid of its usual warmth.

Carey's pale blue eyes flashed a look across to his commanding
officer, his expression one of remembrance and regret.  He offered
B'Elanna a twisted little smile and nodded slowly.

"Chief, I never--"

"Sue, it's the same thing isn't it?" B'Elanna interrupted her.  "When
the Maquis came aboard, you all thought we were going to slit your
throats in your sleep, assassinate the captain and Tuvok and take
Voyager for ourselves, right?"

Sue opened her mouth but no words came out as she nervously pulled
her fingers through her short dark-brown hair.

"You filed a protest against my instatement as Chief Engineer didn't
you?" B'Elanna asserted coolly.

Sue was struck dumb.  She'd always had an impetuousness of thought and 
deed, and that specific instant wasn't her first or last foray into 
making life difficult for others.  Many months later she had regretted 
her decision against Torres' promotion, but she'd never discussed it 
openly and the only person who knew of her actions was Pete Durst and 
he'd been dead for a long time now, thanks to the Vidiians.  He 
wouldn't have said anything about it, it wasn't his style, besides, 
the poor guy had probably never had the chance....

Bad habits, Sue reminded herself, you have a lot of bad habits.

"It's ancient history, Sue.  Don't worry about it," B'Elanna assured
her. "All I'm saying is, if you could give me the opportunity to start
over, why not the crew from the Equinox.  Don't they deserve another
chance too?"

---
Chapter Five - Into the Long Night
---

"The golden age of jazz, Harry.  Louis Armstrong; Duke Ellington; Nina
Simone; John Coltrane; George Michael.  They were the trend setters
of their day," Tom enthused as his quarters resonated to the sound of
Billie Holiday's impassioned rendition of "Strange Fruit."

Harry Kim looked at his friend dubiously the odd syncopation of this
singer's vocal rendition was certainly unique to his ears.  "And you
think Tuvok wants to listen to this?"

"The new, improved, Tuvok wants to listen to this."

"You call that poor guy--afraid of his own shadow--improved?"

"All right, all right maybe not improved," Tom admitted, "but
certainly with a better sense of humour and a greater sense of musical
appreciation," he maintained with a satisfied smile, before
instructing the computer to download a copy of his jazz database to 
Tuvok's quarters.

"Why don't you play some classical music?" Harry asked.  The term
modern Jazz was definitely not his idea of how a musical piece should
sound, all of that crazy improvisation and meaningless chords....

Tom screwed his face in disgust.  "Classical?  Come on, Harry, feel
the vibes man."  Harry shook his head in a dismissive fashion and
strolled over to take a seat on the couch.

"Does B'Elanna get into this kind of... music?"

"B'Elanna loves music, she can sing too you know," Tom said proudly.

"Oh really?"

"What are you grinning at?"

"I'm picturing B'Elanna singing."  Harry closed his eyes for a moment
in an effort to do just that.  "Nah," he concluded, "I can't see it."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot about her you don't see, Harry."

"That's one mental image I don't need!" Harry laughed.

"Why do we put up with you?" Tom asked in faint annoyance.

"Because," Harry stated matter-of-factly, "nobody else would give
either of you two the time of day, not that I blamed them," he
continued impudently.  "Besides, who else can appreciate your not so 
brilliant knowledge of twentieth century trivia?  And by the way, 
George Michael was not a great jazz artist, he was a popular
singer/songwriter about forty years after the so-called 'golden age' 
of jazz."

Tom furrowed his brow in thought.  "Are you sure?"

"Cross reference his name with the years of his recordings--do the
research, Tom."

"No wonder you're never out of rations," Tom surmised.

"I research everything," Harry said, waving his arm in a generous
display.  "You never know when you might come across important but
archaic information," he added, while spearing Tom with a look of
intent.

Tom pursed his lips as he felt his skin crawl in an irrational
reaction to Harry's glance.  He felt as if he'd been photographed with
the EMH's holo-imager: exposed right down to his subatomic atoms.  
That look reminded him of the accusing and disgusted expressions he'd 
seen on so many faces in his dreams.

He backed away and turned towards his bedroom.  "I'm going to take
a shower, you going to hang around?"

"Nah," Harry said, rising. "I'm going to Sandrine's, maybe shoot a few
games of pool.  Dinner with B'Elanna?" he questioned solicitously.

"Yeah."

Harry chuckled, "You are so domesticated."

"Shut up," Tom groused.

"If you two can tear yourselves away from the seclusion of your cabin,
why don't we meet up on the holodeck later."

"Maybe," Tom offered.

"Domesticated," Harry reiterated with a smile, as he headed out of the
cabin.

---

This is just what I need, B'Elanna thought as she relaxed against the
cushions she and Tom had piled onto the floor of his living room area.
They had eaten a replicated dinner (B'Elanna's credits, of course) of
Parmesan chicken, with a green vinaigrette salad and a good bottle of
Prakal II Chardonnay.  Their conversation had been filled with the
events of their day; duty assignments, Tuvok's illness.  B'Elanna had
also told Tom of her conversation with Carey and Nicoletti.

"Did she really file a protest against you?" Tom had asked as they sat
together at his dining table.  He had dressed casually in dark slacks,
and an open necked white shirt made out of a silk like material;
B'Elanna had bought it as a gift for him a some weeks previous, while
Voyager had traded with a Delta Quadrant species known as the
Yyisstyk.

"I played a hunch," B'Elanna answered, her mouth quirking with
mischief as she sipped at her glass of wine.  Tom had shaken his
head in amusement, forking the last of his chicken into his mouth.

"You never know what you'll find out about ancient history," he said
between bites.

After their meal they gathered cushions and pillows from his bedroom
when Tom suggested they relax on his floor at the foot of his couch.
Ten minutes later, B'Elanna, wearing a lavender coloured sleeveless
mid-thigh dress, had grumbled she was getting cold and so Tom had
gone in search of his quilt, to take the chill off her bare armed
form.

He returned with the comforter and eased himself down behind
B'Elanna so that she was sitting between his spread legs, her back
resting against his chest.  Gathering the quilt around them, Tom sank
back against the cushions, pulling B'Elanna with him so that they were
comfortably reclined.

"Computer," Tom called, "reduce standard illumination to 5% and
display Paris image mood-lighting Beta 018."

"What's this?" B'Elanna enquired, twisting to look up at the pilot, as
the ambient lighting dimmed then began to shimmer.

"Ssshh," he said gently, "look up."  B'Elanna relaxed back against him
and looked to the ceiling of his quarters.  Displayed above them was a
vast star field.  Constellations of various descriptions; nebulae;
galaxies, quasars and planets of various magnitudes glowed and
undulated above them, rotating slowly at 360 degrees.

Tom had created his own private planetarium.

"It's beautiful," B'Elanna breathed in awe.  "It's wonderful," she
said, grinning in amazement at her lover's ingenuity and imagination.  
"How did you ever get holographic equipment in here?"

"Harry helped me restore a couple of old holographic projectors that
were in Recycling, Chell said it was okay.  Do you like it?"

"I'm not complaining--it's just so...."  B'Elanna was lost for words. 
Tom could do such really sweet and romantic things for her that it
made her heart beat triple time.  She turned in the circle of his
arms, and still grinning like a Cheshire cat she wrapped her arms
around his neck.  "I love it," she whispered against his cheek. 
"Thank you."

They kissed once, softly and deeply, before B'Elanna turned back to
stare at the stars; stars made even more beautiful because she knew
them.  The celestial body represented above them was of the Beta
Quadrant; where she had been born on Kessik IV, and of the Klingon
Empire, the maternal home of her forebears.

Tom kissed the top of B'Elanna's head and directed the computer to
add a little "mood" music to their evening, selected the hauntingly
beautiful "Pavane pour une infante defunte" by Ravel, and requesting
that it play continuously until directed otherwise.

"Do you know which one is Kessik?" Tom asked after a several
minutes.  B'Elanna shifted against his back, as she cocked her head
at an angle, trying to distinguish one small dot from another.

"That one."  She pulled her hand out of Tom's grasp and over the
warmth of the quilt to point to a small green speck diagonally to
their left.  "And you see over there...," B'Elanna pointed excitedly 
to a cluster of stars with a brownish looking planet at its zenith.  
Tom's eyes followed the direction of B'Elanna's outstretched arm.

"... Qo'noS," they identified in unison.

This *is* just what I need, B'Elanna thought as she sighed and gave
her body over to the comforting frame of Tom Paris.  One of his hands
moved gently away from her waist, and travelled in a sensuous pattern
towards her stomach, then lower, stroking at her hip and thigh; moving
the fabric of her dress up and down.  The friction of it glided softly
between the quilt cover and his palm.  B'Elanna ran her nails
delicately over the back of his hand, still at her waist, dragging her 
nails lightly back and forth against his skin.

"When did you and Harry find the time to work on this?" B'Elanna
asked.

"It's been ready for a little while now," Tom admitted.  "Since
before...you know," he finished weakly.

"That ship?"  She could feel Tom nodding behind her, feel his chest
stiffen slightly behind her back and his fingers on her thigh,
momentarily stopped their caress before resuming in a kneading
pattern against her hip.  "Why didn't you show it to me before?" she
questioned, her gaze fixed on the heavens above, her mind gauging
Tom's responses through his touch as well as his words.

"You were busy," he said simply.

B'Elanna felt a stab of guilt at the truth of that.  Since her
experience in Gre'thor she knew that there were things about her life
and her attitude to it that needed changing.  She loved Tom, but had
always been reticent in expressing that emotion in public.  Not that
she needed to send a ship-wide message on the subject or anything, but
she knew she was sometimes too cool to him in public.  She'd brush
his hand away if he wanted to hold it in the mess hall, or in the
corridors; stand rigidly with her arms crossed, if he visited her in
Engineering, when all she really wanted to do was touch him, lick him
and smother him in bites and kisses.

After Gre'thor that had changed, at least a little.  She'd been trying
to show him physically--or was she showing the ship?--that she cared
about him, didn't mind his public caresses, and on occasion she'd
actually initiated the contact.

But for all of her efforts it seemed she'd still found a way to keep
Tom at a distance; her lessons with Tuvok, extra shifts in Engineering
whether she needed to be there or not, discussing projects with
Chakotay or just bending his ear when she needed to talk....

Thinking about Chakotay now reminded her of their last argument,
when Tom had accused her of not spending enough time with him.
She hadn't even noticed that; had assumed Tom was busy too, with
Harry or the Flyer, the Doctor or playing on the holodeck with his
"muscle cars," or programming something for somebody--he got
enough requests.

Tom had always made time for her, been patient with her, no matter
what.  He let her scream and yell when she felt she'd been
countermanded by Chakotay; had her authority usurped by Seven;
been reprimanded by Tuvok.  He'd been there when her own control of
her life--how she chose to live or die--had been seemingly dismissed
by Captain Janeway.  Tom had waited for her to come to him in almost
every aspect of their relationship, how often had she done the same?

She'd promised him they'd read the Klingon scrolls and take steps
towards enhancing her knowledge of Klingon customs together.
Instead she'd been immersing herself in the art of self-exploration
with Tuvok, giving Tom only a limited account of her experiences with 
him. Tom brought her flowers, created programs they could share, hid
small gifts for her in her quarters, encouraged her in everything she
did, even when she knew it scared him to do it.

B'Elanna, when she had thought about it at all, always considered
their relationship one of equals; two strong willed individuals 
pulling together, sharing pain, joy, longings and dreams, but it 
wasn't equal: Tom shared and she accepted.  She'd only been giving on 
her own terms, sharing in her own time.  B'Elanna had recently woken 
up to that fact and now she was trying to change that too.

In the rush of her musings, B'Elanna knew it was time to go further.

She could feel Tom relaxing again, his breathing deep and even,
tickling at her scalp, his fingers continuing their exploration of her
lower body.

"Tom?" she whispered into the semi-darkness.

"Umm."  B'Elanna hoped he wasn't falling asleep.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you...."

"What," he replied, shifting his bottom against the floor.

"I know that I haven't spent as much time with you as I should have,
and that I've let myself get distracted by things...," B'Elanna went
on, realising that she was starting to babble but unable to stop 
herself. "You know I've been thinking a lot about my mother and what 
my experience on the barge really meant.  And Tuvok's mediation 
lessons have helped but I've been wanting to go a little further... 
you know, really get a good look inside myself.  Anyway, I was 
talking to Chakotay about it again and I thought it would be a good 
idea to do it, go on a Vision Quest--find my guide again, with his 
help."  B'Elanna could feel Tom's body returning to the tense state of 
a few minutes before.  He pushed her away from him so that he could 
sit up properly.

Tom's tone was bitter when he finally commented, "I thought we'd
already discussed this, B'Elanna," referring to the last time this
particular topic had come up.  "You're going on a Vision Quest with
Chakotay.  So, what, exactly are you asking me?  It's certainly not
permission."

"I don't need your permission--damn it, Tom, let me finish!" B'Elanna
yelled, twisting entirely away from him and rising to her feet like a
cat that had been scolded.

"Sure," was Tom's indifferent response as he turned his head away
from his lover's angry gaze, looking instead at the quilt, which had
been discarded in B'Elanna's hasty ascent and was bunched up over
his left ankle.

B'Elanna took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.  "I wanted to
ask you to come with me... share it."

Tom's head came up in surprise.  His eyes met B'Elanna's intense
stare, which was totally focused on his reactions.  He ran a hand
through his hair, and from somewhere deep inside of him a derisive
laugh erupted.

This was not the reaction B'Elanna had been hoping for.

Tom shook his head warily and slowly got up off the floor.  "You
expect me to spill the contents of my mind with Chakotay?"

"No, Tom," B'Elanna said impatiently.  "It doesn't work like that.
Chakotay wouldn't be sharing the vision, he'd only be helping me to
find--"

"No."

"Tom, I'm not asking you to go on this Vision Quest, I just want you
with me," B'Elanna tried to explain through her rising anger.  "I
thought you *wanted* to share all of this with me."  Tom's flat-out
refusal was starting to confuse the hell out of her.

"B'Elanna, why is it every time you want to explore your 'deepest
feelings' Chakotay has to be involved?"   He was being sarcastic and
B'Elanna knew it.

"This isn't about Chakotay," B'Elanna shot back.

"Oh no?"  Tom said, taking a step towards her.  "Who was the first
person you wanted to talk to about your barge adventure?"  He moved
in closer still.  "Where do you spend hours, talking about 'projects
and crew evaluations'?"  His voice was cold, calculating, accusing.  
"Who do you go to first for advice, B'Elanna, about anything?"

"He's my friend, Tom," B'Elanna answered in a defensive whisper.

"Yeah," he said derisively, "and I'm your lover."  Tom moved closer to
put his hands on B'Elanna's shoulders, but she shrugged them off and
turned away from him, hurt, angry and confused.

"I don't understand what you want from me sometimes, Tom."

"I want you to love me, B'Elanna!"

She whirled around in astonishment at Tom's outburst.  "I do love you,
you know that!"

"Then why don't you trust me?"

"What?"

"You don't trust me enough to talk to me about things."

"I do--"

"No!  You don't.  I'm the guy you talk to after you've seen Chakotay."

"Tom, were friends, of course I'll talk to him about things,
sometimes."

"All the time, B'Elanna!"

"What are you saying?  That I shouldn't talk to him, see him, is that
what you're saying to me?"

Tom's own anger and confusion about Chakotay's role in B'Elanna's
life was swiftly turning to regret and confusion.  "No," he whispered
hoarsely.

"Then what?" she pleaded.  Tom stood before her, his head slumped
forward on to his chest, like a man defeated by life.  His hands
twitched against his thighs, opening and closing convulsively.  
"What, Tom?" B'Elanna prompted, her own voice still resonating with 
anger and confusion in equal measure.

He finally looked at her, his expressive blue eyes roving pensively
over her face.  His mouth opened, but then his eyes narrowed, and
whatever he had meant to say came out as, "I just don't think 'Mr.
Tattoo' has all the answers."

B'Elanna opened her mouth, her face a picture of disgust.  She had an
urge to hit Tom really hard, drive her elbow into his sternum or
something; kick his ass all over the room.  Instead she bit her lower
lip, hard enough to draw blood, dug her nails into her fisted palms,
shook her head in repugnance and left, almost smashing his door
console as she punched out the controls for cancelling the privacy
lockout.

---

Tom was still standing in the middle of his quarters, he'd not moved a
millimetre since B'Elanna had stalked out.  He stood rigid for several
moments, not knowing quite what to do with himself.

<I want to mean more to you than second best.>

The words he had *wanted* to say to B'Elanna resonated in his mind, as
the music still played and the holographic heavens continued their
journey across the ceiling.  Something had taken him over, and instead
he had said a hurtful, hateful thing.  Why?  He licked at his dry
lips, felt his shoulders crack as he flexed them, heard the rasping of
his own breathing, and his pulse thudding against his temples.

<I don't want to think.>

He eventually instructed the computer to end the musical selection
and disengage the holographic projection.  Quickly he turned to pick
up the discarded quilt, throwing it haphazardly back onto his bed. 
The bed that wouldn't be hosting a Paris-Torres "love fest" tonight.  
He looked at it longingly.

<It's too small anyway, and I always end up with a dead leg in the
morning.>

He turned away from the bed and crossed his cabin to the dining table,
placed the dishes in the replicator for recycling, then set about
returning his cushions and pillows to their rightful positions. 
Picking a PADD off his nightstand, he sat on his bed and activated it;
helm control logs from the previous shift.  Inhaling deeply, he 
attempted to read the first report....

<Shit! I can smell her everywhere.>

Tom threw the PADD back against the stand and reached for the
rumpled comforter.  He brought it to his face and rubbed it against
his cheek, drinking in her lingering scent .

<Shit!>

He let it go and stood up, marched back into his living area.
"Computer, what's the status of the holodecks tonight?"

::: Holodeck one is open for public use, holodeck two is booked by
Crewmen Dalby, Murphy and Lieutenant Baxter until 2300 hours and
then by-- :::

"Computer, what program is currently running on holodeck one?"

::: Sandrine's. :::

<Right.  Harry.  Half the ship.  No thanks.>

Tom turned again in his living space, it felt cramped and oppressive.

<I can't stay here.>

---

The woman he didn't want to think about but could smell everywhere
was equally restless.

<Stupid p'taq!>

B'Elanna had stormed back to her cabin in a rage, where she had
proceeded to kick the legs out from under her dining chairs, break a
vase, and hurl a data PADD against a wall, smashing it completely.
She continued to stalk about her quarters in circles, lashing out at
empty air and cursing into the darkness.  In her anger and haste to
remove all traces of that evening, B'Elanna ripped the hem of her
dress as she yanked it furiously off her body.  The tearing of the
cloth briefly halted her frenetic burst of energy as she held the 
dress up to inspect the damage.

<Damn it!  Tom loves this dress.>

B'Elanna caught herself in the thought and curled her lip.

<Let him replicate me another one then!>

She was scurrying again, flinging the dress aside and changing back
into a fresh uniform, feeling feisty enough to club at anyone who got
in her way.  Seconds later she sped out of her cabin in search of 
bodies.

---

Tom was sick of showing his ingratiating smile to every passing
crewmember as he meandered around the decks and corridors of
Voyager.  He did not know where he was going; he only knew he
wanted to be alone, where the sound of the ship's incessant humming
wouldn't match the already dull ache of his head.

As a door off to his right activated at his agitated steps, he glanced
briefly inside--the Hydroponics bay.  Tom kept walking, then turned
and doubled back, entering quickly before the doors had a chance to
close.

---

Sandrine's was the last place she expected to end up, but it was the
only place tonight that seemed to be teeming with people.  Going to
the mess hall had held no appeal for her and the other holodeck was
booked for privacy.

B'Elanna wasn't in the mood for idle chatter but that was outweighed
by her need to hear the sound of other voices, smell those who were
much less familiar to her--be somewhere where words and images
wouldn't matter for a while--and she wouldn't have to think.

---

Silence.

Tom sighed and a small smile curved his lips as he took in the
seemingly endless bays of flowering plants, herbs and vegetables.
What had started out as Kes' responsibility all those years ago--two
rows of seedlings that she tended on her own--was now a flourishing
commissariat of garden-stuff.  Fluorescent blue light, incorporating a
spectrum as close to sunlight as was possible, suffused the entire
enclosure, nourishing the life that propagated even in this otherwise
sterile environment of Voyager.

Tom strode down a bay, his gait leisurely but sure footed.  Tomatoes
hung on vines in various stages of ripening, from creamy shades of
white to green then to juicy red; glossy looking peppers of all
descriptions and hues trailed elsewhere; there were runner beans and
pumpkin vines; cabbages and lettuces; cucumbers, potatoes--both
sweet and plain--all in evidence, flourishing from somebody's recent
work.

<I wonder if Tuvok will still cook for us if the Doctor's treatments
work?>

His smile became broader as he turned into another bay, this time
filled with flowering plants, here some were grown for their beauty
and others for medicinal purposes.  Tom had always loved the outdoors
and growing things, and he let the colours and sprays soothe him with
their simplicity and naturalness.  They were all so beautiful to him. 
He stopped at some roses and sunk his hands into the holding tank,
enjoying the feeling of the thick nutrient solution sloshing against
his fingers and palms.  As he flexed his strong lean digits against 
the resistant emulsion, he was reminded of the rainy days of his 
youth, spent playing in the mud with his older sisters.

He used to drive Moira and Kathleen crazy when he chased them over
sodden fields and decorated their faces and brightly coloured jackets
with muddy handprints.  Kathleen would normally try and throw a
handful of mud back at him, which only increased his amusement,
while his oldest sister, Moira, would chastise them both and worry
about what their mother would do when they returned home.

Tom breathed a laugh in remembrance and withdrew his hands from
the mulch, shaking off the excess that clung to his fingers over the
tank.

"Can I help you with something?"

The deep, velvet rich voice was both surprising and unfamiliar.  Still
holding his dirty and dripping hands over the tank, Tom turned his
head to identify the inquisitor.

Noah Lessing stood a metre away from him, hands held casually at his
sides, his expression oddly sad behind his dark expressive eyes.  He
gave Tom an encouraging half smile, ignoring the pilot's surprised
look and his demeanour.  Then he bent down to a panel under the tank,
withdrew a cloth and held it out to him.

"Thanks," Tom said, stepping forward to accept the rag.  "I didn't
know anyone else was in here."

"Normally it's just me.  I like the quiet," Lessing responded.  He was
a tall man, a few centimetres taller than Tom Paris with a similar, if
more athletic, build.  His dark brown skin was almost grey under the
fluorescent lamps and Tom couldn't help noticing that with his head
shaved as it was, Lessing's was almost a perfect sphere.

"Do you work here?" Tom couldn't help the surprise in his voice at his
own question.  He knew full well that Lessing had been part of the
surviving Equinox crew, but to be forced to spend all his time tending
plants?  Wasn't he a science officer?

"Sometimes."  Lessing smiled again at Tom's non-expression.  "I work
here mostly when I get off shift.  Normally I work Beta or Gamma
shifts in Stellar Cartography," he added, taking in the minute rising 
of Tom's brow.

Tom shook his head, remembering Megan and Jenny had mentioned
something about  "fresh meat" in their department several weeks ago.
He guessed now it must have been Lessing they were referring to.

"I thought Neelix was responsible for all this."

"He is," Lessing confirmed in his rich baritone.  "But he lets me help
out when I can."

Tom inspected his now dry hands and fiddled with the rag he was still
holding as an uncomfortable silence grew between them.

"Did you want me to cut a rose for you?" Lessing asked, trying to put
the pilot at ease.

"Ahh." Tom stepped back from the tank and looked at the roses,
momentarily forgetting they were there.

"Your lady would probably appreciate it more than you would," Lessing
interjected with a small smile.

Tom laughed.  "Yeah, maybe...."  He balled the rag in his hand and
squeezed tight.  "I haven't seen you around too much," he said,
changing the subject.

Lessing shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze to the pumpkin
vines in the opposite bay.

"I guess it's been hard for all of you--adjusting I mean."

"We manage," Lessing intoned distractedly, as he tapped at a control
monitor and started checking the macronutrient concentrates in the
tanks.

The stiff set of Lessing's shoulders and his refusal to talk about
what was still a painful subject to most crewmembers was oddly 
reminiscent to Tom.  He wondered if this pleasant but reserved man had 
found any friends outside of his old crewmates.  It didn't seem 
likely.

Tom took a step toward the science officer and held out his hand. 
"I'm Tom Paris, by the way," he said with smile.

Lessing turned towards him, staring first at the outstretched hand
before his eyes darted back to meet Tom's.  "I know," he said with a
chuckle.  "Noah Lessing."

"Yeah, I'd heard that."  They both laughed this time and their hands
met and gripped solidly under the blue light.  In that brief
handshake, where they tested each others characters through the 
ancient but instinctive method of whose grip was firmer, and who 
would maintain eye contact, they knew that they could trust each other 
and that they would become fast friends.  And all it took was an out 
stretched hand.

"Who are you hiding from?" Lessing asked as they withdrew hands,
his lips curved in a knowing smile.

Tom's blush under the glow, thankfully, went unnoticed but he could
feel his cheeks heating up and instinctively tried to hide it under a
sheepish grin.  "Who are *you* hiding from?" Tom countered.

Lessing withdrew his gaze from Tom's and cast his gaze briefly down
to his feet before just as quickly snapping his eyes, expressive even
under the fluorescent glare, back at the pilot.  He wore a slight
frown now and seemed to be giving Tom's question serious 
consideration. "The past," he said at last.  "From people who can't 
trust me, who maybe never will...."  He'd said it with the conviction 
of a man who was resigned to his fate, although his eyes seemed to 
send a message of hope, that somewhere along the line things could get 
better.

"I'm sorry,--" Tom began.  It wasn't his intention to drag the poor
man down that particular road again.

"Don't," Lessing said firmly.  "Don't apologise for stating the
obvious.  I have to live with what I did, we all do.  I don't expect
you to understand what it was like on the Equinox--how desperate
and... hopeless we were.  And after...." He shook his head.  "After...
it goes beyond...description," he finished tightly, spitting the words
out through gritted teeth.

"You're right," Tom agreed.  "I can't know what it was like for you,
but I can tell you this: you can make a life for yourself here, on
Voyager." Noah speared him with a surprised and disbelieving grimace.  
"Look around at us here," Tom urged.  "When the Caretaker pulled us 
into this quadrant, Janeway was chasing a bunch of criminals, and I 
was..." Tom paused, bent his head slightly and smiled ruefully to 
himself.  "I was an 'observer,' paroled from a penal colony to help 
track them down.  Look at us, Noah, half the ship's crew were Maquis--
our first officer, our chief engineer... me."

Lessing was digesting it all, he'd known of course about the Maquis,
but this was the first time it was being related to him by someone
with actual experience of those events.  It seemed to be making an 
impact on him.

"At first it was a nightmare," Tom said, answering Lessing's thoughts.
"At least the Maquis had each other, but at the time, when most people 
looked at me, talked to me," he gave another short laugh. "When they 
talked to me at all," he amended, "it was all they could do to avoid 
throwing up in my face."

"At least you had your lady," Noah said in sympathy.

"What?" Tom turned his head up sharply, at first not understanding the
science officer's words.  "Oh, no," Tom corrected.  "We weren't 
together back then.  She wouldn't even talk to me...." he trailed off.

A thoughtful silence embraced them this time, as their experiences--
similar and diverse--seemed to pass between them. Noah started to 
chuckle as he leaned back against the tank.

"What?" Tom asked, genuinely puzzled, but finding the man's laughter
infectious.

"You're dating the chief engineer, right?" Noah asked.

Tom shrugged. "Yeah."

"That's why you came here tonight.  She's still not talking to you,"
he
stated, laughing at the irony of it, knowing he was right.

Tom scowled back as he rubbed at his neck, hating that he'd been
found out so easily and feeling a little mortified that *everyone* on
this ship seemed to know his business.  But that laugh, it was so rich
and totally without guile or sarcasm.  He found himself smiling back,
the grin spreading down to his chest until at last he was laughing at
himself too.

"Are you sure I can't cut you a rose?"  They both cut loose in
uncontrollable giggles.

---

Raucous.

It was the most fitting way to describe the atmosphere in the
holographic French bar.  Laughter bubbled up from almost every
corner of Sandrine's as crewmen jostled for position at the pool
table, or congregated around tables only big enough for four, while 
others elected to sway to the period accordion music being pumped out
through the speakers.

B'Elanna sat on a stool at one corner of the bar, doing her best to
not to attract attention to herself, although she'd been elbowed 
several times already by swiftly repentant colleagues.  She really 
didn't feel like kicking them when they grovelled so well.

She sipped at the gin and lime that Sandrine herself had insisted she
have on the house.  It wasn't everyday, Sandrine had explained in her
classically bad Standard--dropping her 'H's with more generosity than
the French themselves had ever been credited with--that she was able
to share a drink with Thomas' woman.

"I always knew, Cheri, that Thomas preferred his women with a little
bite," she'd gone on.  "And I bet you 'ave marked him well, non?"

B'Elanna ignored the comment but her eyes sent Sandrine message of
cold warning.  Sandrine took the hint but not before returning to her
customers with a parting shot of her own.  "Thomas is sensitive,
Cheri, even he will not enjoy being bitten in the same spot over and 
over. You must learn to caress him with your teeth also."

That stung.  B'Elanna tightened her grip around her drink, lowered her
head to blush at this hologram's much too familiar advice, before
downing the liquid in two quick gulps.  Sandrine watched her from her
new position, at the other end of the bar, and laughed throatily,
tilting her blonde head back as she did so.

<Holographic bitch!>  B'Elanna hoped desperately at that moment that
she'd never have to face meeting the real Sandrine, if she was
anything like this representation.

Draining her glass, she swivelled in her seat to get a better look at
the patrons.  She'd already spotted Harry Kim, who was involved in a
discussion with Carl Ashmore and the blonde engineer from the
Equinox, although from the looks of it, the newest member of
engineering was saying little, nodding her head occasionally and
staring into her tall glass of purple liquid.  Nicoletti and Michael
Ayala were in another corner and they seemed to be getting very cosy,
talking in whispers, Ayala leaning in every now and then while Susan
would take that as a cue to lean forward briefly and touch his hand or
play with her hair.

<Jeez, Sue, learn some subtlety would ya'.>

B'Elanna turned back to the bar and tried to get the attention of the
holographic barkeep, a tall angular looking man, with a thin face and
high cheek bones that stood out in relief, especially in profile.

"B'Elanna, come join us!"  Harry was at her elbow, grinning inanely at
her in that Harry Kim way that could be both engaging and annoying,
depending on her mood.  Right now, B'Elanna couldn't decide which
one it was.

"Where's Tom?" he asked, as he waved the barkeep over and ordered
more drinks for his table.  "And whatever this lady's having," he
finished, pointing to B'Elanna's empty glass.

"Don't ask," she replied to his question flatly.

Harry raised an eyebrow.  "Okay," he drawled.

Their drinks were delivered quickly and Harry reached over to
intercept B'Elanna's double gin and lime before she could pick it up.
"Come join us," he said again, manoeuvring all four glasses between
his hands and picking them up.

"I don't know, Harry, I'm not in the mood for small talk," she said,
trying to reach for her drink.

"B'Elanna," Harry admonished, moving his hands away from her
grasp. "You're never in the mood for small talk.  Come on, it'll be
fun."

"Harry...."

"B'Elanna.... Just follow the drinks.  This way, Maquis," he teased as
he moved away and back across the floor to his table companions,
weaving his way around swaying crewman and pool cues with athletic
grace.  Reluctantly, she followed.

"Look what I found," Harry announced as he lowered the drinks to the
table then stepped back to reveal B'Elanna to Ashmore and Gilmore.

"Hey, Chief," Ashmore greeted, selecting his drink and raising it in
salute.  Gilmore's mouth twitched but she didn't say anything.

"If you're sure I'm not interrupting....," B'Elanna muttered, half in
apology to Gilmore, who she'd only exchanged a couple of words with
since her permanent arrival on board.

"Sit down already, would you!" Harry begged, as he pulled out a chair
for her.

B'Elanna sat as graciously as she could and immediately reached for
her drink, taking slow sips in an effort not to make eye contact or
worse; talk.  Fortunately, Harry recognised her discomfort and quickly
resumed the conversation he was having with Ashmore.  Harry joked
and laughed, beaming his sunniest smile at the two women who
remained quiet and reflective.

As Harry and Carl chatted and joked B'Elanna was desperately trying
to remember Gilmore's first name.  Having only referred to the woman
from reports over the last few months it wasn't something that
B'Elanna had had to think about to any degree.

<It begins with an M? N?>

B'Elanna caught Gilmore eyeing her warily over her glass as Ashmore
gave out a booming roar of laughter.  She offered her subordinate a
hesitant smile and Gilmore's lips twitched again but that was all.

After several minutes of light-hearted banter the conversation
eventually turned to engineering, and the various projects and
proposals they were working on.  B'Elanna, at last in her element,
became animated as the conversation turned to theoretical propulsion
and backup emergency procedures.

"Didn't you have a theory about that?" Harry asked, turning to Gilmore
to bring her into the conversation.  "You were saying earlier that
you'd worked out some procedures on enhancing diagnostics during a Red
Alert."

The others turned expectantly to her, waiting.

Gilmore's eyes darted about the table and she nervously clutched at
her glass.  "I umm... I don't think it would be... appropriate to...
to hot-wire Voyager's systems... the same way we did on the Equinox,"
she managed to stammer.

"I'd like to hear it," Harry encouraged.

Gilmore exhaled a nervous breath and looked first at Harry then at the
Chief Engineer.  "Maybe another time," she said, uncomfortable in
B'Elanna's presence.  "It's late," she went on, standing up, her
confidence returning to her voice.  "And I think I should turn in."

Harry pursed his lips but didn't make a move to stop her and Ashmore
raised his glass to her in a gesture of "good night."

B'Elanna surprised them all by saying, "You don't have to leave."

Gilmore hesitated for a second.  "I think I should, Lieutenant."  She
stepped back and turned to fight her way through the throng of crew
and holodeck characters.  B'Elanna stood, looked after her for a
moment, then called out:

"Marla!"

The holodeck seemed to freeze as silence quickly descended.   All
heads turned to B'Elanna, then as one those same heads swished
back to find Marla Gilmore, rooted to the spot in the middle of the
tavern.  To Harry Kim it was almost like one of those obscure
"Westerns" he had watched with Tom, where the witnesses seemed to
mark out an unspoken path between adversaries.  The expectation for
a fight or at least the exchange of heated words hung heavily in the
air.

Gilmore turned slowly and faced B'Elanna, apprehension and a little
fear of the Chief's reputation for a short fuse, very evident in her
expression.  B'Elanna gazed back warily.  The unexpected attention
was enough to make anyone feel self-conscious, and if B'Elanna hated
it, it was probably worse by a factor of ten for Gilmore.

"Please stay," B'Elanna said for all to hear.  "I'd like to get to
know you."

Gilmore's stare at first was blank.  Her head moved imperceptibly left
and right, as she attempted not to look at her crewmates, but failed
miserably.  After a short pause she at last gave a genuine smile, more
in relief than anything else.

Harry watched her nod in acceptance and take the three long strides
to be with them once more.

<Maquis, you're the best!> he beamed inwardly with pride.

Murmurs of disappointment rose up among the crowd, and as
suddenly as they'd been distracted, the majority of the crew returned
to their own pursuits for the evening; drinking, talking, playing
pool, dancing, and of course, more drinking.

Harry, B'Elanna, Marla and Carl remained chatting for well over an
hour, mostly discussing engineering principles.  It was the subject
easiest for the two women to bond over.  As the night wore on they
were able to relax more in each other's company, and occasional
laughter could be heard over the din of the saloon.  When somehow
the conversation turned to men, it was Harry and Carl who found
themselves sharing uncomfortable silences and expressions of
agonised torture.

---
Chapter Six - "Vaadwaur... 'foolish,' in the old tongue... "
---

He was having that dream again--the one where B'Elanna left the
Maquis high and dry on the Liberty.  Or it might have been the Proton
dream where she threw off his offer of help for instant gratification
with Chaotica.  Correction, instant gratification with that
Tuvok/Chakotay hybrid.

Only this time there was no bed to roll over in and no shower
available to chase the dreams away.  Tom had been daydreaming on the 
Bridge as Voyager cruised at warp 6, letting his mind wonder as it 
sometimes did when all he had to do was enter a course vector that 
rounded a few populated and possibly hostile systems.  Seven's 
astrometric data practically did the job for him and that afforded him 
plenty of time to think, or in this case let his imagination and 
concentration drift.

Surreptitiously, he checked his console, but everything looked fine
and the diagnostic board was clear.  He turned slightly to see if the
captain and commander had noticed him drifting off.  Janeway wasn't on
the Bridge any longer and that made him frown--he hadn't noticed she'd
left.  Chakotay was reading a PADD, probably some salacious novel,
Tom thought unkindly.  Tuvok, however, did raise his eyebrows slightly
and the line of his mouth tightened in that
I-know-you-were-derelict-in-your-duties scowl he sometimes offered
the junior officers.

Tom ignored the look and turned back to the helm controls.
<Welcome back, Tuvok.>

At least he and B'Elanna were speaking again, sort of.  He'd managed
to catch up with her in the mess hall for breakfast, and she'd allowed
him to sit with her while she'd finished her coffee.

"Want to meet me for lunch?" he tentatively asked after a long period
of silence.  B'Elanna had drained her mug and gathered up her usual
piles of data PADDs before getting up to leave.

"I don't know," she responded quietly before walking away.

That was two days ago.  She hadn't met him for lunch and had only
returned his hails to her since then to say that she was busy in
Engineering.

<Same old goddamn story!

<Okay, she probably has a right to be angry with me still, but she's
not entirely blameless!>

Chakotay appeared at his shoulder just then and Tom realised his
mind had gone off on a tangent once again.  He straightened his
posture and blinked at the view screen before glancing back at his
board.

"Anything on sensors, Tom?" Chakotay asked.

"No, sir," he replied quickly.  Too quickly, Tom thought.

Chakotay remained at his shoulder.  He'd brought the data PADD he'd
been reading with him and was now tapping it against the top of the
helm console to Tom's right.

The tapping reminded Tom of Noah Lessing.  He'd spent this morning
getting to know the science officer a little better, this time in the
gym. They discovered that they both liked to workout with weights and
had agreed to schedule a session together with Harry, Tom's regular
workout partner.  They had lifted weights, bench-pressed, and
squat-thrusted themselves to exhaustion before collapsing on mats
when Harry suggested they compare body fat percentages.  Noah
rolled his eyes and crawled over to a bench to sit and catch his
breath while Harry went in search of a tricorder.  Tom lay sprawled on 
his back; still gasping to catch his breath, when he finally 
registered the sound of knocking.

He turned his head to see Noah, tapping out a steady rhythm with his
left foot, which Harry had later described as four-four-two time.  Tom
didn't know if it was a nervous habit or if it had anything to do with
Seven of Nine's arrival.

She strutted into the gymnasium wearing a skimpy electric blue bodice
that showed off her long legs--though they were bare for a
change--and it dipped low to reveal the "V" of her cleavage.  No doubt
the Doctor's design, Tom assumed.  Paying her male colleagues scant
attention Seven began her own routine, which consisted of a series of
lengthy stretching exercises.

"Isn't exercise irrelevant, Seven?" Tom called out, unable to resist
the barb.

"You are misinformed, Ensign Paris.  My regeneration unit no longer
affords me the physical regimen acceptable for my re-emergent
human physiology.  The Doctor has advised that I take regular
exercise such as this, and I find that I am in agreement with his
assessment."  Seven didn't break her concentration or her supple leg
stretches as she replied coldly to the pilot.

Noah's foot tapping continued unabated, and Harry took an awfully
long time walking the length of the gym with the tricorder.  Tom
wondered if was the only male on this ship that preferred his women
short and dark--and with a temper?

"Your Helm reports are late again."  Commander Chakotay's voice
crushed the smirk that was about to form on Tom's lips and he
swivelled his chair around to face the other man.

"They are?" Tom questioned.

"They were due this morning at 0800."

"Oh."  <Damn it!>  Those reports were ready and sitting in his
quarters.  He didn't usually forget them, especially when he had them
ready on time.  "Sorry, Commander.  I'll get them to you as soon as I
finish my shift on the Bridge."

"You do that," Chakotay declared before returning to his command
chair.

<Bastard!>

The admonishment from the commander was enough to focus Tom's
attention on his duties for the remainder of his shift.

---

Bridge duty over, Tom approached Commander Chakotay's office,
carrying with him his Helm reports and not a little trepidation.

This could be an opportunity, something in the back of his mind told
him.

<This could also be a mistake.>

When he entered the office, at Chakotay's brief "come in," Tom found
the commander sitting behind his desk.  His head bent in
concentration, as his busy fingers worked over his console.

Tom approached the desk hesitantly.  "Commander...?"

"I'll be with you in a minute, Tom.  Take a seat," Chakotay
acknowledged, not bothering to look up.

Tom tried to make himself comfortable as he lowered himself into the
waiting chair.  He pursed his lips and looked around the small office,
checking for new wall hangings and Native American symbols.  Tom
had to admit to himself he'd always liked this office, it was
comfortable and cosy--a warmer atmosphere than the captain's pristine
Ready Room; where only Janeway's ability to put her crew at ease was
its saving grace.

A yucca plant stood two metres tall next to the door and in another
corner Tom recognised the carving in dark wood of an eagle.
Something B'Elanna had replicated as a gift for Chakotay's birthday
some months past.  It stood proudly on a short stand, its wings
unfurling, as if for flight.  At the base of the stand another figure
stood. It appeared to be a human taking shelter or warding off an
attack.  Its body was bent over and an arm was raised over its head. 
The figure was less imposing than the bird, and looked like it had
been carved or replicated in a volcanic mineral; green feldspar.  The
work seemed old, the angles and planes of the figure chafed and
pitted.  Tom knew he'd never seen it before though, and it also struck
him as odd that Chakotay would place this cowering figure under the
opening wings of such a large, graceful bird.

Knowing Chakotay as badly as he did, maybe it wasn't so odd at all.

Tom turned his attention back to the commander only to find two
brown eyes staring firmly at him.  Chakotay had been watching him the
entire time.  The commander didn't break the stare, but blinked to
refocus before giving Tom a wry smile.

"You have something for me, I hope?" Chakotay asked, his tone not
the least apologetic for his blatant observation of the younger man.

Tom hesitated for a moment before handing over his Helm PADD, and
waited.

Chakotay accepted the report and put it to one side, easing himself
back into his chair he continued his observation of the ensign.

"If there's nothing else, sir," Tom said, shifting uncomfortably in
his seat as he leaned forward to rise.

"Sit, Tom.  I won't bite."

Tom settled himself once more and wondered if Chakotay toyed with
other crewmembers this way, or was it just his imagination.

"I've been meaning to talk with you since your return to full duty,"
Chakotay admitted.

"Sir?"  It had been several weeks since the "Alice" incident, and like
so many unpleasant experiences Tom had tried his best to put it behind
him.

"I can see you've been working hard; extra shifts in sickbay, double
duty on the Bridge, and flight simulations with the other helm crew."
Chakotay looked up from his console.  "And the captain tells me
you've been working on another holodeck simulation for public
access."

Tom and Harry Kim had delivered the proposal for the "Fair Haven"
program to the captain several days ago, and she had given
immediate consent.  The program was far from complete; in fact they
were still designing parameters and researching Irish culture and
folklore during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

"Harry and I have only just got started on that, sir."  Tom eyed the
commander suspiciously.  Praise from Chakotay was rare indeed and
he couldn't help the feeling that this conversation was a ruse for
something else.  Something less palatable.

"Well, it sounds like a good idea," Chakotay encouraged.

"Thanks," Tom said, trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.  If
Chakotay had heard it he didn't let on.  He got up and walked around
his desk to the replicator, and ordered a glass of water.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No thanks."

Chakotay turned to face the younger man, glass in hand.  "Have you
been having any problems you'd like to discuss with me, Tom?" he
questioned, raising the glass to sip at the cool liquid, his tone
friendly and sincere.

Tom lowered his head from Chakotay's watchful gaze, and his lips
instinctively curled into a repugnant snarl.  "No," he answered
flatly.

Chakotay took another deep drink of water, watching how Tom flexed
his open hands against his thighs, and how his posture stiffened; his
back arching forward slightly.

"You've come through quite a few traumas, Tom.  I'm just concerned
that some of them might have had a lingering effect on you."

Tom breathed out audibly and shook his head; his eyes searched the
spaces between the desk and his hands; seeing nothing--this was all
too unexpected.  "I'm fine," he shrugged stiffly, barely getting his
shoulders to move.

"Do you talk to anyone? Harry, B'Elanna?"

Tom twisted to glance at the commander, his expression puzzled.

Chakotay stepped away from the replicator and slowly made his way
back to his chair.  "I don't think I could have handled some of the
things you have, without talking to people that care about me," he
said taking his seat.  "I've been acting as ship's counselor for some 
time now, and you've never responded to any of my invitations to
sessions," Chakotay continued, still using his patient and soft spoken
tone.

A half smile made its way to Tom's lips.  "No offence, Chakotay, but I
guess I'm just a well adjusted guy."

"Are you?"

Tom's eyes cut back to Chakotay, giving him a pointed stare of his
own.  "What do you think?" he challenged.

Chakotay leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, bridging
his hands under his chin.  "Do you *really* want my opinion?" he dared
the younger man.

Whatever was coming had hidden a long time in wait, and Tom wasn't
sure he'd be able to handle it.  He prayed that he could at least hold
himself together for a little longer.  It's just words, he reminded
himself. He could always handle the words.

Chakotay took Tom's silence as consent, although he could see the
flush that was creeping up the pilot's cheeks and the tight line that
had transformed his mouth to a thin slit.

Chakotay wasn't trying to torture the man, only understand him and
that made him hesitate over his choice of words.  After this, there
was a good chance that they would either become enemies or something
else.  Friendship would be much too lofty a goal.

"I think you're the type of man who likes to take dangerous
assignments, because it's the only way for you to feel needed; worthy,
respected."  Chakotay paused for a moment and let the words sink in.
"I think you'd like to define yourself by how well you're perceived by
others; confident, charming, cocky, self-assured.  But that's all an
act and you know it.  The real question here is, how do you perceive
yourself?"

Chakotay watched Tom squirm over the question, head bowed.  The
commander took a last draw of water then placed the empty glass next
to his stack of PADDs.  "What makes you feel whole, Tom?  Flying?
Sex?  A pat on the back from the captain?"

"Don't...." Tom whispered behind gritted teeth, his face was tense and
an angry pulse beat against his temples.

"Don't what?   You wanted to know," Chakotay threw back at him.  His
voice had risen slightly but it still held that controlled reticence;
that air of serenity, that should be impossible to maintain under the
circumstances, and yet he always did.  "I think you're the type of man
who likes to think you can handle it all.  Well, you can't, Tom.  Not
alone."

"Is this the part where you remind me that I was a traitor too?" Tom
shot back, knocking his chair over as he sprung up in anger.

Chakotay pushed himself back against his seat defensively.  "In order
for you to betray something, you have to believe in it first," he
argued. "You never believed in the Maquis, not then.  And, as I
recall, you barely cared about yourself.  And you know, it took me
until this moment to realise all that," he paused again and took a 
deep breath. He looked up at the helmsman.  "Tom, this isn't about 
that past, this is about who you are--here, now."

Tom's eyes blazed brightly with lethal intent.  "A failure, a fraud?"
he asked bitterly, his voice demanding confirmation.

"No, Tom," Chakotay said quietly, shaking his head.  "Now, I think
you're a man who's searching to find himself...."

"You don't know anything about me, Chakotay," Tom said harshly,
turning away from the commander and heading for the door.

"What are you going to do, Tom?" Chakotay called after him.  "Run
and hide in a holodeck simulation?  Hope that another alien wants to
take a vacation in your head?  Your body?"

That stopped Tom cold.

"I think B'Elanna has enough problems with your personality as it is.
Do you really think she could handle another of your multiple
personality disorders?"

Tom was on the commander so fast he barely had time to get out of
his chair.  The momentum of Tom's rush sent Chakotay into the wall
console behind the desk with a viscous thud, his fists digging into
the material around Chakotay's chest and shoulders.  They stood
nose-to-nose, Chakotay gasping with the impact and Tom panting in
fury.  Tom's grip was vice-like and he proceeded to pummel
Chakotay's back against the console; silently trying to thrust him
through it--into an oblivion of a thousand pieces if he could.

At first, Chakotay was too stunned to react, although he had been
expecting something like this.  Now he offered no resistance because
somewhere behind this instinctively male display he sensed a glimmer
of comprehension in the pilot.  He was slammed back again and
winced in silent pain.

Tom Paris had no words.  He was fuelled by emotions he could neither
name nor describe.  They overwhelmed him and he no longer saw
who he was holding; it could have been anybody and for a moment he
didn't care.  But in that moment, when he knew he could go further,
really inflict pain and damage--lose his reason entirely--Chakotay's
face came back into focus.  Tom saw a man fighting desperately to
control the pain he was feeling; his eyes closed tight and his mouth
an open grimace as his head snapped back repeatedly.  Stunned, Tom
ceased the attack.  He let his grip on the commander loosen
fractionally, although he still had him pinned to the wall unit.

Tom heard his own laboured breathing and lowered his head against
Chakotay's chest for a moment before finally releasing him, stepping
back slowly, his hands still curled as if maintaining their grip on
Chakotay's uniform.  He watched as the commander silently slid down
and dropped to his knees, a hand reaching around to his lower back.
Tom gulped in air as Chakotay's head dropped to the floor, resting
there for a second before rolling onto his back and wincing with the
effort.

They both remained that way for more minutes than either would ever
know had passed.

When Chakotay was finally able to open his eyes without seeing stars,
and his breathing had returned to a more natural rhythm he realised
that Tom Paris was still standing over him.  "That's one of the most
unorthodox counselling sessions I've ever been involved in," he
offered from his supine position.

Tom looked down at him and tried to find a smile but couldn't. 
"Funny, I thought you got that reaction all the time."

Chakotay sat up slowly and Tom moved towards him and offered his
hand to help the commander up.  Chakotay accepted it easily, if with a
little discomfort.

Tom started to say something but Chakotay cut him off with a wave of
his hand.  "Don't apologise.  I had a feeling this might be coming."

They were silent again and Tom looked around the office, spotted the
chair he'd overturned and went to pick it up.  He glanced back and
saw Chakotay trying to stretch the kinks out of his back.  "You should
probably go to sickbay," he said.

"I'll be fine."

Tom rubbed his fingers over the material of the chair back, as if he'd
never noticed the course fibres before.  "Do you..." he began then
paused.

Chakotay rubbed at the back of his neck but said nothing.

"Do you... really think that I hide from things, feelings and stuff?"
he asked tentatively, his eyes still cast down to the chair his hands
rested against.

Chakotay almost smiled, despite the smarting pain in his back, but
resisted as the pilot finally turned to face him again.  "What do you
think, Tom?" he asked, keeping his voice patient and calm.

"Sometimes, I guess...." he trailed off.  "I..." he began again, "it's
hard to talk about... things."

"Don't you talk to B'Elanna or Harry about them at all?"

Tom shook his head in remorse and said, "I try... but...."  He turned
away again, combing his fingers through his hair.  "I don't think
B'Elanna trusts me," he blurted.

That surprised Chakotay but he hid the revelation with another
question.  "Why would you think that?"

It took Tom another few minutes to answer that question and his
fingers returned to clenching at the chair.  "She thinks you have the
answers to everything, you know," Tom admitted glumly.

That wasn't really an answer but Chakotay contemplated the
statement carefully.  "I don't."

"Oh, I know that," Tom said, at last displaying some confidence in his
voice.  Chakotay smiled.  "It's just that she...." Tom stopped talking
and started to pace.

"You think she has a higher opinion of me than of you?" Chakotay
speculated.

"Does she?" Tom asked, halting in mid stride, truly expecting the
commander to have the answer.

"Tom, B'Elanna and I have known each other a long time," Chakotay
stated, "and if she thinks highly of me I take it as a compliment, but
I don't think she would be in a relationship with you if she didn't 
have a lot of faith in you or trust you.  That's just not her style."  
Tom didn't look convinced.

"Let me put it to you like this," Chakotay tried, "who does she have
breakfast with nearly every morning?"  The pilot gave the commander
a blank stare.

"Who does she take shore-leave with whenever she gets the
opportunity?"

Tom shifted his gaze and looked away.

"How often does B'Elanna require our chief pilot to assist her with
the Navigational array on deck 11?"  Chakotay could see that Tom had
started to blush a little at that remark.

"Now I can't say I've never had breakfast with B'Elanna or helped her
out in Engineering from time to time, but I'm pretty sure when she
does it with you it's a little more... intimate--although I hope for 
both your sakes that the PDA's didn't get too out of hand," he joked.  
Tom pulled a face at Chakotay's attempted humour.

"She loves you, Tom, and for B'Elanna, I'm reasonably sure that
means she rates you pretty highly.  But if you really want an answer
to your question you need to ask her," he finished.

Tom nodded in silent agreement.  He needed to talk to her, if she'd
let him.

Chakotay watched as Tom shifted from foot to foot, deep in thought.
"Is there somewhere you need to be?" he asked kindly.

"I... I have a shift in sickbay this afternoon," Tom answered.

"I'll talk to the Doctor.  You have the afternoon off, Tom.  I don't
think you'd be able to concentrate on your duties fully, if I allowed
you to resume another shift today."

Tom smiled in genuine gratitude.  "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Chakotay responded as Tom made his way to the
door.  "But Tom," he called.  The pilot turned back quickly.  "I
expect to see you at private counselling sessions from now on.  Once a
month okay?  I'll send out a reminder to your database."

Tom looked crest-fallen.  "Do I have to?" he moaned.

"I can make it an order if you want," the commander said easily.  Tom
heaved a dramatic sigh then nodded.

"Don't expect me to say much," he grumbled heading out of the door.

Chakotay eased himself back into his chair and groaned audibly as
pain spiked through him.  He could feel bruises forming across his
back and shoulders, but he'd experienced much worse.  The pain
would pass shortly, especially after he'd taken a herbal bath, he
hoped.

His first, unofficial, session counselling Tom Paris had gone pretty
well, all things considered.  They hadn't ended up brawling and having
to report to the captain, and neither of them were sporting any
obvious injury, unless he was forced to jump out of his command chair 
later.

Chakotay belatedly turned in his chair to check for damage to his wall
console.  The lights all flickered brightly and the controls were
still functioning--he would have hated explaining that to anybody,
especially Tuvok; and he knew the Vulcan would have asked.

Not bad at all, he congratulated himself before opening a channel to
the Doctor.

---
Chapter Seven - The B'Elanna Project
---

For the last three nights B'Elanna's only sleeping partner had been
Toby the targ.

She'd dragged her squeaky, little stuffed playmate out from hiding
under her bed, and promoted him, once more, to bed-warmer.  Not
that Toby was any good at it.

Toby was a small stuffed animal Tom had replicated for her as a
birthday gag gift years before, simply to irritate her.  Back then, in
that time when Harry was the only reason they could stand to exchange
a few words, they had considering each other nothing more than a royal
pain in the butt.

Tom and Toby had managed to grow on her though, and after
accidentally packing Toby on an away mission one time, she'd found
she liked having this little companion around.  Later, much later in
her relationship with the pilot, he'd found it among her possessions, 
and commented on it, surprised she had kept it.  Sometime after that, 
she jokingly remarked to Tom that Toby (she still didn't know how she 
had come up with the name) would have to keep her company on lonely 
nights ahead.  Tom had smiled, picked up the brown speckled, spiky 
animal, squeezed it and given it a kiss. Explaining, very seriously, 
that it would be her good luck charm and bring her safely back to him.

Since then, she'd managed to take it with her on most away missions
scheduled for more than twenty-four hours away from Voyager.

B'Elanna shifted in bed and reached out to bring her squeaky bedmate
closer.  She was unable to sleep, giving all her thought to the
circles she and Tom seemed to be forever, clumsily, navigating through 
in their relationship.  One move forward always seemed to end up in 
two moves back.

<That can't be healthy.>

Clutching Toby to her chest, she considered what ways, if any, could
bridge the yawning gap between them.

To his credit Tom had tried to talk to her over breakfast the other
morning, but she'd still been angry and hurt by his outburst.  She
hadn't been ready to forgive and forget just then.

And for whatever reason, Chakotay seemed to be a stumbling block
for Tom.  She didn't understand his jealousy of him when she was just
as close to Harry.  Sure, she used to have a crush on the first
officer while she was in the Maquis, and that had carried over for a 
while when they'd first boarded Voyager.

B'Elanna had admired Chakotay's wisdom and strength of mind, as
well as purpose back then.  He was one of the first men in her life
who seemed to accept her as a person and not as a sex-starved Klingon
woman in need of physical release.  Maybe that's what the attraction
was, as well as his good looks enhanced by that sexy tattoo, plus his
powerful self-assurance.  But Chakotay had always treated her like his
kid sister; looking out for her, being protective of her, getting on
her case when he thought she was out of line or too impulsive or
reactionary--and that happened a lot, still did.

He'd gone to Seska on those occasions when he needed physical
comfort and at first B'Elanna had been envious of the other woman's
position.  Later, after the unveiling of Seska's true identity, she'd
been disappointed in Chakotay, wondering how he could have been
deceived for so long by someone he'd been intimate with.

B'Elanna had realised then that he was only human, and not the deity
she'd tried to put on a pedestal since she'd known him.  If they had
become lovers back then it would never have worked; she would have
spent most of her time worrying about how to please him, too afraid of
rejection to express herself naturally--never feeling like an equal in
the relationship.

Tom, for all his faults, never appeared fazed by or tried to curb her
short temper.  In fact he seemed to like it, for the most part.

B'Elanna gave Toby a playful squeeze and smiled at his comforting, if
artificial, bray.  She'd never told Tom of her crush on Chakotay, it
wasn't necessary and she was well over it, long before she'd started
to find herself attracted to Voyager's chief pilot.

Fooling around with Vision Quests was obviously not the way to Tom's
soul.

What was?  B'Elanna knew she should try and take the next step
between them, but she had to find a way that was both sincere and
didn't make Tom feel like he wasn't a part of her life.  He was.  Is.

Something he'd like, she mused, something they could share.
B'Elanna's mind spun this way and that, rejecting one idea over
another; Klingon martial arts, the 69 Camaro program, rock climbing, a
hoverball tournament, until....

She shot up in bed, pushed Toby aside and called for lights.  Swiftly
she moved from her bed to gather an assortment of PADDs from
around her cabin.  Then she set to work, an evil little grin lighting
her face.

---

Engineering was a hive of activity; engineers of all rank and file ran
left and right, checking read-outs, running diagnostics and calling
out warning levels.  The warp core was pulsing bright blue at a treble
time, and its usual calm thrumming had taken on a more menacing and
audible vibration.

"Lieutenant!" Marla Gilmore called out over the tumult as she hurried
towards Chief Torres.  B'Elanna was moving from her position at the
warp diagnostic array to crouch under the circular rail that ran
around the core.  Pausing mid-crouch, B'Elanna looked up at the 
blonde.

"Tell me," she ordered impatiently, swiftly turning back to the core
housing.

"All I can tell from the sensors is that we're in some type of
subspace corridor," Marla explained to the chief's back.  "I don't see 
how we can pull free of it unless..." she hesitated.

"We may not have time for twenty-questions.  Unless what?" the chief
engineer demanded distractedly as she checked the core temperature.

"We could try and send out a resonance burst, through the deflector
array.  That might disrupt the harmonics of subspace and push us
back into normal space."

"Sounds like a plan to me," B'Elanna agreed, climbing back under the
rail to join Marla.  "Let's get on it!"  As they raced to the
deflector grid B'Elanna turned back sharply.  "You hear that?" she
asked, raising her tricorder to confirm her suspicions.

Marla looked back to the warp core, the pulsing chamber of dilithium
was slowing considerably and the deafening whine was slowly
returning to its more familiar hum.

"How?"  They set off again, B'Elanna quickly tapping in commands at
a nearby console.

"Looks like your theory would have worked," she said, as she scanned
the read-outs being transferred from ops control.  "An alien vessel
pushed us clear."

"Look at that," Gilmore exclaimed, pointing to another reading. 
"We've travelled over 200 light years from our last position!"

"Should have known...." B'Elanna grumbled in return.  Nothing about
travelling in the Delta Quadrant surprised her anymore.

Moments after taking in this new information Voyager was rocked by a
series of blasts.

"Now what?" the chief engineer complained, turning to survey the area
for damage.

"Warp engines are down," Vorik called calmly from another panel.

Torres shook her head and turned to Gilmore.  "Welcome to Alpha
shift."

---

When Tom arrived in Engineering, a quarter of an hour later, B'Elanna
was still bellowing out orders to her crew.  With warp engines down
and Voyager taking refuge from the pursuing alien vessels, on an
apparently deserted but radioactively charged planet, the chief
engineer had more than enough to worry about than the arrival of her
lover.

"How can I help, Chief?" he said, stepping up behind her.

B'Elanna turned towards him, her expression showing both surprise
and relief at seeing him.  She flicked her eyes quickly over his, then
peered past his shoulder.  "Carl!  I need you to double-check the
magnetic seals on the core.  With all this radiation around, I don't
want to take any chances," she ordered.

"Aye, Chief," was the crisp response.

Tom shifted his stance to take in the ensign's retreating back.  "The
warp coils have become fused in the port nacelle, think you can
handle that?" B'Elanna asked, giving Tom her full attention.

"That's a two person job, B'Elanna," he frowned.

"I know.  I want you to assist Carey.  Can you do it?"  B'Elanna knew
full well he could or she wouldn't have suggested it.

"Sure."

B'Elanna thought he sounded a little disappointed.  "It shouldn't take
too long," she tried to console him, fighting the undercurrent of
tension she saw in his eyes.  "And we may need your help up here, once
you're finished."

"All right," Tom agreed, stepping back from her slowly.  He moved to
leave then turned back.  "B'Elanna...,"  He hesitated, then whispered
thickly, "We need to talk."

She quickly closed the distance between them, and keeping her voice
low she said, "I know.  Later okay?" her eyes bored into his, pleading
for understanding.

He stared back at her for a long moment.  "Later," he repeated.  "I'll
come back later."

B'Elanna nodded and watched him leave.  She could have easily
found an assignment for him in Main Engineering.  However, she didn't
want the distraction of him around, afraid that she'd start flirting
with him out of instinct.  They had too much to settle before they
dove into such easy and intimate banter again.  Too much had been left
unsaid and undone between them.

B'Elanna closed her eyes briefly and concentrated her thoughts on the
task at hand, before launching herself once more into "chief mode."

---

"Later," was starting to seem like a long way away to Tom Paris. 
After he had finished helping Carey with the repairs to the port 
nacelle he was called back to the Bridge.  The Turei, the aliens that 
had pushed them clear of the subspace corridors, were pursuing them 
still, and had started to fire plasma charges at Voyager from orbit.

He supposed it could be seen as a lucky break that Seven had revived
one of the Vaadwaur from their stasis pods, when she, the captain and
Tuvok had beamed into their underground chambers to investigate
faint life-sign readings.   Gedrin, the Vaadwaur male first revived,
had insisted that the "corridors" belonged to his people, and he had
proceeded to give a brief history of the destruction of his world by
the Turei and others.  He'd been insistent that their demise was based 
on the Turei's jealousy of the Vaadwaur's unique knowledge of the
subspace corridors.

Gedrin may have been in stasis for almost 900 years but it could have
been a five-minute nap, with all of the tactical data he was able to
recall.  His knowledge allowing Voyager to target the Turei ships,
still attacking from orbit, and send them packing--for now.

As with everyone else on board Tom was grateful for that help, but he
couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right about the
Vaadwaur.  Why would a civilisation, under the threat of complete
annihilation, only place a battalion of soldiers and their families in
stasis?

The more Tom thought about it, the less likely it seemed that the
captain's decision, to assist Gedrin in the revival of the remaining
active bio-pods, was a smart idea.

The day dragged on, with Tom alternating his duties between the
Bridge and Engineering.  B'Elanna continued to assist in the
supervision of reanimating the remaining Vaadwaur stasis-pods;
repairing their damaged power core; and the reactivation of their
assault fighters.

Double and triple shifts loomed as day turned to night and Neelix, of
all people, was the one who had finally gone to the captain, with
Seven in tow, to expose the violent and duplicitous nature of the very
aliens they were courting as allies.

---

Out of the frying pan..., Tom mused several hours later, as he
answered Janeway's command to make a run for it.  He deftly brought
engines back on line as he prepared Voyager for a rapid ascent.  Not
rapid enough he soon realised, as his monitor displayed 17 Vaadwaur
fighters heading for their position.   At their rate of speed and
manoeuvrability he'd never get Voyager above the thermosphere in
time to make the jump to warp.

Evasive manoeuvres were useless against the smaller vessels, which
seemed to increase in number with each wave of attack.  Voyager's
shields were failing, the port thrusters had taken a direct hit and
the ship was loosing altitude, plus they now had over 50 Vaadwaur
fighters closing in on every side.

Tom hoped that Captain Janeway had one of her small miracles up
her sleeve, or their journey in the Delta Quadrant was going to be
coming to a sticky and ignoble end.

"Harry, can you open a secure channel to the Turei ships in orbit?"
Janeway demanded.

"Yes, ma'am, but that would give away our position," Harry warned.

Gedrin was against the idea in an instant.  "They could lock on with
plasma charges!"

Captain Kathryn Janeway was undeterred.  When she sensed an
opportunity for survival she invariably grabbed at it with both hands,
and feet.  "It's time we reacquaint a couple of old friends.  Hail
them."

Within minutes she'd persuaded the Turei to assist them, using their
greater hatred and fear of the Vaadwaur to out-weigh the minor
infraction Voyager had committed when it was pulled into their
"under-space."  Shortly after that Voyager was engaging warp speed,
leaving the field of battle to the two bitter enemies.

So much for alliances.

---

B'Elanna listlessly wandered into the mess hall, yawning as she filled
her tray with a small plate of fruit and a steaming mug of Neelix's
coffee substitute.  She gave the Talaxian a half-hearted smile,
grateful that he was too busy serving others breakfast to question her 
eating habits.  Turning from the counter she looked around for a 
deserted table, and spotting instead a familiar short, blonde haircut, 
she made her way forward.  As she drew near she realised that Tom 
wasn't sitting alone or with Harry.

"Now, this is a surprise."  B'Elanna couldn't resist the cynical
greeting, although she instantly realised that she'd be raising the
hackles on Tom's neck with a comment like that.

"Joining us for breakfast, B'Elanna?" Chakotay asked as he turned to
face her.

"How could I resist," she said, giving him a sly grin, and sliding in
next to him.  She sat across from Tom and didn't hesitate to meet his
eyes, offering him a look she hoped conveyed both a greeting and an
apology.  He eyed her plate sceptically and offered her a small
knowing smile along with a slight raising of his eyebrows.  B'Elanna
frowned back, then reached over and pinched a sausage from his
plate.  Tom's smile broadened slightly when she took a bite.

"How are things in engineering?" Chakotay asked, trying to ignore the
surreptitious looks Tom and B'Elanna were giving each other.

B'Elanna turned to face him, waving her half eaten sausage around
like a baton as she spoke.  "As of last night, warp and impulse
engines are running at peak efficiency.  The structural integrity 
fields on decks 9 and 15 are down for routine maintenance, and I've 
got a team checking the hull this morning, for any stray levels of 
radiogenic particles."

"Good."  Chakotay punched up some data on a PADD.  "Anything
else?" he queried.

"Nothing that isn't already in my report," she said mischievously.
Chakotay grinned back and put aside his PADD.  "So," B'Elanna
wanted to know, "since when do you two share breakfast?"

Chakotay and Tom quickly exchanged glances.

"I'd have to say that it's Tom who shares his breakfast with you,
B'Elanna.  I like to keep mine for myself."

"Ha, ha, Chakotay.  C'mon you two, what's going on?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Lieutenant, but it's a personnel
matter, and therefore private," Chakotay said, closing the subject.

B'Elanna gave them both a hard stare, obviously not buying it.
"Right."

"I'd love to stay for further interrogation but I'm due on the
Bridge," Chakotay added, gathering his PADDs and excusing himself.  He 
and Tom shared another significant look before he strode away.

B'Elanna took a sip of her coffee, watching Tom for any reaction.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she said, still eager to know
what had changed between the two men.

Tom leaned forward on his elbows and shook his head.  He was quiet
for a few minutes, contenting himself it seemed with watching her eat
her breakfast.  She had missed the way he chastised her for picking at
her food.

"B'Elanna," he spoke softly, "I wanted to say sorry, for the things I
said the other night --"

"Ssshh," she said, stopping his words by pressing two fingers to his
lips.

"What?"

The feel of his mouth against her fingers made her tremble.  "Meet me
on holodeck one tonight, 1930.  Tell me everything then."

Tom swallowed then nodded.  "Should I bring anything?" he
whispered.

"No," she whispered in return.  "Just dress casually, and bring
yourself."

---

B'Elanna's smoky invitation had been burning layers off his scalp all
day.  His body and mind went through periods of arousal,
apprehension, nervousness, leading up to an agitated state of
excitement he hadn't experienced since they'd first been intimate.

Tom towelled his naked body down for the second time tonight.  After
taking a shower he couldn't seem to get dry at all.  His chest was
flushed and his under arms were damp with perspiration.  Every time
he tried to dry off another layer of sweat would appear.  He gave it
up soon after and slipped into a fresh pair of blue boxers.

"... dress casual," B'Elanna had said.

She'd given no indication of the kind of program she'd chosen for
tonight, but Tom was filled with the strangest urge to bring his
bat'leth. He went to his closet and pulled out a pair of faded jeans.

<No, too casual.>

His white chinos should do, he thought, pulling them out and giving it
a shake.  They were a comfortable fit and easy to manoeuvre in.  Next
he found a fresh pair of socks, ones without holes in the toe end.
B'Elanna was forever getting on his case about recycling his old
socks, she didn't seem to understand that they were comfortable that
way sometimes.

Tom checked the time: 1910.

<God, I'm nervous.>

"Just tell her the truth," Chakotay had advised over breakfast that
morning.  He'd showed mild concern when Tom had admitted he still
hadn't found the opportunity to speak with B'Elanna yet.

He took a calming breath as he pulled a white tee shirt over his head
and tucked it into his trousers.  Tom entered his bathroom and
brushed his hair, double checking his face for blemishes in the
mirror. He ran the back of his hand against his cheeks.

<Smooth enough.>

"Computer, time?" he called, returning to his closet for a shirt.

:::The time is now 1915 hours.:::

The blue denim shirt settled over his broad shoulders, and he worked
quickly to tuck it into his pants and button his fly, leaving his belt
unbuckled he sat on his bed and pulled on a pair of tan lace-up boots.
As he bent forward he could feel traces of perspiration trickle down
his arms.  He sat back and held them out wide at his shoulders in a 
futile attempt to cool down.

Standing to adjust his belt, he ran through what he would say to her.

<I'm sorry, B'Elanna.  I'm so sorry, B'Elanna.  I am really sorry,
B'Elanna.>

"This is good," he muttered out loud.

<Oh, and by the way, I took a swing at Chakotay.  Don't panic!  He
didn't seem to mind too much.  We're cool.>

Tom felt his brow, sweat beaded his hairline.

"Computer, time?" he called again, too nervous to check his own
chronometer.

:::The time is now 1925 hours.:::

Tom wiped his sweaty palms against his trouser legs.  "Wish me luck,"
he instructed his silent cabin.

---

B'Elanna watched him enter from the top of an ornate and winding
stairwell.  He was holding his bat'leth.  She smiled at the sentiment
his bringing it here invoked.  Taking a quiet step forward she
continued to watch his reaction to the holodeck scenario.  It had
taken up almost every spare minute of her time in recent days; working 
alone after and before shifts, trying to get the details just right.

She knew that the last thing Tom had expected was to walk into a
simulation of one of his Captain Proton adventures.  He was studying
the scenario carefully, gaping open-mouthed in wonder as he moved
through the black and white setting.

B'Elanna had chosen from an adventure she'd discovered Tom had
yet to run: "Captain Proton in the Halls of Evil."  The story centred
on Proton's investigations into a series of grisly and unexplained
murders among a number of Earth's finest scholars and professors; 
featuring Chaotica's fiercely independent daughter, Tempestua, as one 
of the prime suspects.

In keeping with the scenario, B'Elanna had recreated the setting for
the Great Library; it was a cathedral like sanctum with walls of
leather-bound books and periodicals that seemed to stretch for
kilometres into the distance, and was as high up as it was broad.
Several deep, leather sofas were dotted along an occasional expanse
of wall, and above them paintings from various periods of Earth's
history hung like portals to another world.

Period maple wood desks with matching winged-back chairs adorned
the capacious room, intricate lamps made of ivory and onyx stood
proudly at each end of the large desks.  At spaced intervals across
the floor, grand replicas of those same lamps pooled light from above 
and onto various glass fronted exhibits; a woolly mammoth from the ice
age, an Egyptian sarcophagus the size of a baby's cradle, and the
stuffed replica of a dodo among others.  A pair of narrow and winding
staircases stood at either end of the expansive hall, spiralling
upwards towards a suite of private lecture rooms and beyond to the 
domed roof of the university's fictitious observatory.

Tom's booted steps echoed across the marble flooring as he took it all
in.  His free hand brushed against the surface of tables, chairs and
lamps.  Here and there his fingers stopped to leaf through the open
pages of a book, encyclopaedia or atlas.

Satisfied that he was suitably impressed, B'Elanna made her way
slowly and cautiously down the winding marble steps.

---

Tom was entranced and amazed by the work that had gone into the
program, doubting he could have done better himself.  He almost
wished that it were in colour, to better show-off B'Elanna's
incredible programming skills.  Every detail was perfect.

His head came up sharply at the unmistakable sound of high heels
clinking and scraping in their descent down the white marbled
staircase.  His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her and he
almost lost his grip on the bat'leth he was still holding in one hand.

B'Elanna was stunning.  She was wearing a very low cut, sleeveless
pale gown, embroidered with swirling waves in a darker thread.  The
pattern of needlework enhanced every curve and line of her body;
from the top of her barely contained bosom to where it dipped under
her arms, skimming the contours of her waist and hips to where the
hem ended just below her ankles.  The dark threads then made their
way up from the sexy slit in the middle of the gown, which showed off
her bare legs as she walked, until the dress met again somewhere
past her upper thighs.  Her hair was piled high on her head,
accentuating her lovely ridges, held up with combs the same colour as
her dress.

Tom watched her descend carefully, she had one hand on the rail to
steady herself as she made her way to him, caused no doubt by
those... Wow!

He couldn't believe B'Elanna had made her way here dressed like this.
And in a pair of high, sling-back heels!

His mouth had gone dry, still hung agape in awe, he needed to blink
but had forgotten how.  Tom stood transfixed and totally lost to the
vision B'Elanna made before him.

"It was sweet of you to bring your bat'leth, Tom," she said, taking a
final step to join in him at the foot of the stairs.  "But I told you,
you wouldn't need it," she purred.

"Bat'leth?" he questioned, taking a peek at her back as she circled
him slowly.  The dress cut low there too and he could just make out 
the shadow of her posterior, barely concealed under the material.

"This," she reminded him, covering his hand over the curved hilt with
her own.  Her breasts brushed against his back with her movements
and Tom closed his eyes to the sensations that were assaulting his
more natural instincts.

"You smell wonderful," he said dreamily, as B'Elanna came to stand
before him again.  "And you look... you look amazing!"

B'Elanna smiled.  "I like your shirt," was all she said.  Tom knew she
was never one to accept a compliment too readily.  She reached up
and caressed the brass buttons of his denim shirt.

"If I'd know you'd be dressed like this, I'd have worn a tux," he
said, using his free hand to stroke from the outside of her right 
breast down to her hips.  "I thought you hated Captain Proton?" he 
whispered, pulling her closer.

"No," she admitted, "I don't.  I just hated that you always wanted me
to play some screaming female who can't take care of herself."

"It's not real, B'Elanna," he assured her, pulling her against him and
circling her waist with both hands, bat'leth and all.  "I know how
strong you are.  I know you can take care of yourself."

She lifted her head off his chest and traced a finger along his open
mouth.  "So, you never really expected me to scream?" she teased.

"Only in the way I like you to scream," he offered suggestively,
licking her finger for good measure.  He watched B'Elanna's eyes 
become smoky pools of molten, brown liquid at his gesture, and was 
grateful that he had chosen boxers over briefs.  She could obviously 
feel him against her with the look she was giving him now.  Her mouth 
was parted slightly, and he could see her tongue flicking in and out,
mimicking his own.

Tom bent his head to hers, slowly, licking at his lips, anticipating
the taste of her, smelling her breath as he drew ever closer, his 
nostrils filling with her perfume.  He dropped the bat'leth and it 
clattered noisily against the marble flooring, but he didn't hear it.  
With both hands free Tom pulled B'Elanna against his hips more 
forcefully with one hand as the other snaked its way up to the back of 
her head.  His mouth touched hers with a low groan and then they were 
kissing; mouths fusing with wild abandon, as their tongues duelled and 
mated, then duelled again.  B'Elanna's hands were curved over Tom's 
shoulders, her nails digging for purchase against the worn denim of 
his shirt. They kissed with a passion that could have burned metal off 
the hull of the ship; briefly breaking contact to come up for air 
before moaning in unison, as their mouths came together in one 
bruising contact after another.

---

B'Elanna was losing herself in the heated way Tom was devouring her
mouth, and in his possessive hold on her body.  She could feel his
demanding arousal against her stomach, his hand kneading against
her hip; the feel and smell of him all around her heightening her own
excitement.

This was all happening too soon, too quickly....  She hadn't meant for
this to happen--not yet.  But seeing him with the bat'leth... and he
looked so cute in those white pants... the way he was staring at her,
like a man without water for days and she was his oasis....

Arousal was warring with her better judgement.

"Tom!" she gasped, breaking the kiss at last.  "Stop... please," she
begged, pushing him away from her, panting for breath and reason.

Tom let out a frustrated growl, his own mouth open, sucking in air
raggedly as his chest rose and sank with the effort.  B'Elanna could
see his lips were swollen from their kisses and the sight of it,
puckered and unsatisfied, made her turn away.

"What's wrong?" he pleaded.

"We can't!" she tried to explain, unable to say more through her own
frustrated arousal.

"Why not?" Tom exploded, following to stand behind her.

She turned to face him, looking away again, when she saw the hurt
and confused look in his eyes.  "Tom, if we make love now, we'll be
back to square one in a month," she tried, though her voice was a
hoarse whisper.  "We haven't really settled anything," she went on. 
"I know you've been angry with me...."

B'Elanna dared another look at his face, it was still clouded in lust
but the heaving of his chest had settled somewhat.

Tom shook his head, unable to speak for a moment.

"We *don't* do enough together," she confessed.

"That's why you chose this program?" Tom asked, finding his voice.
B'Elanna nodded.  "B'Elanna, you know I'd do anything with you.  You
didn't have to go to all this trouble," he said defensively.

"I know," she said, looking directly into his eyes.  "But that's my
point. I won't do *anything* with you."

Tom dropped his gaze from hers, unable to defend her statement.  He
looked instead around the vast library.

"Come here," he said, extending his hand to hers.

---

Tom drew B'Elanna with him into a spacious leather couch he had
spotted situated against a wall.  On either side of the divan stood
sturdy, maple shelves, lined with almanacs and charts with
atmospheric conditions of years past.  Above it was a picture of an
ancient battle; dead and dying warriors littering a churned field,
swords and arrows piercing flesh in a bloody patchwork of carnage.

Tom sat with his back leaning against the arm of the sofa, his right
arm resting against its back.  He had a leg tucked up under him, so
that he could face B'Elanna.  She sat next to him, her legs crossed at
the knees, the slit in her dress gaping open to reveal her shapely
legs.

B'Elanna sensed where Tom's eyes had wondered to and shifted her
position, gathering the silken material of her dress up and placing it
across her knees as best she could.

"What's been going on with you, Tom?" she asked quietly.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Has this got something to do with Chakotay?"

His eyes bored into hers for a moment, then he looked away.  He was
silent, and only the sound of their breathing echoed throughout the
great hall of learning.  Tom pushed himself up and out of the couch's
comfortable confines, he paced to a nearby table and ran a hand
along its edge.  "You really did do a wonderful job programming all
this."

B'Elanna ignored the compliment; waited for him to gather together
whatever composure he needed.

"Do you remember those programs you created?  The ones you used
after we found out about the Maquis, from those letters from home?"
he questioned, still running his fingers against the dark wood.

B'Elanna eased herself forward and moved to sit with her elbows on
her thighs, hands under her chin.  "Yes."

"I knew all along you were running those programs," he said simply. 
"I denied it to the captain and Chakotay, but I knew."

B'Elanna was silent.

Tom turned around to face her.  "Chakotay was the one who made
you open up about what you were doing to yourself, he made you
admit it."  His voice travelled the small distance to her on a wave of
mixed emotion.  "I'm the one who had to watch."

He cocked his head to the side and gave a bitter little smile.  "After
you were injured in that shuttle accident, and you thought you were in
Gre'thor, the first time.  It was Chakotay you turned to wasn't it?"

She couldn't deny it but she gave him no answer.

"I had to watch that too.  That's what's been going on with me,
B'Elanna.  You and Chakotay."

She didn't have any words; she didn't know what to say.

Tom leaned his back into the table and brought a hand up to his chest.
"Do you know where you live in me?" he asked in a hush.  Not waiting
for a response, he went on. "You live right here," he said, tapping
his chest.  "There is nothing you can hide from me, B'Elanna.  There 
is nothing you can say to change how I feel or how I think.  It just 
is. But if you don't trust me... if you can't say that your heart 
isn't truly mine...." he broke off, shaking his head.

"I'm not in love with Chakotay!" B'Elanna denied fiercely.

Tom chortled another bitter laugh.  "I know," he said.  "I know, I
know." He was quiet for another moment.  When he spoke this time his
voice was rough and ragged.  "Are you in love with me?  Do you trust
me at all?"

B'Elanna got up and walked towards him, her heeled feet echoing
softly across the marble.  She stood before him, planting her feet in
between his thighs, as he instinctively made room for her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes watery from unshed tears.  "I didn't
know I was hurting you so much."

"It's just a little ache," he forced out in a breath against her
upturned cheek.

"I do trust you, Tom."  Her eyes searched his but he wouldn't look at
her.  She watched his teeth bite into his lower lip.   "Those
programs...I didn't want you to have to see that side of me."

He looked at her, blinked and licked his lips.

"I never wanted anyone to see me like that--ever," she said, still
searching his face.  "I'm selfish, Tom, and a coward," she whispered.
"If I have any honour at all it's because of you."

Tom shook his head, denying it.

"I'm the worst kind of person, Tom," she said, grabbing his face in
her hands, forcing him to look at her.  "I'll break your heart and I 
won't even know it.  I'll let you give everything you have to me, and 
I'll show you nothing in return.  I'm soulless, Tom.  That's why I 
wouldn't take the mark of the dishonoured dead in Gre'thor.  I'm not 
human, I'm not Klingon, I'm nothing," she hissed.

"Don't say that!" he roared, gripping her shoulders tightly.  "How can
you say that!"

"Look at me!  Look at what I've done to you.  Even when I thought I
was trying, all I did was push you away."

"That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters!" B'Elanna implored, her tears running free. 
"You
should walk away," she said, her voice catching.

"Never."

"Find someone who has a heart--"

"Stop it! Just stop it, B'Elanna!" Tom shouted furiously, shaking her
roughly until she collapsed against him, her breaths wrenching with
each tiny sob.  "Stop it," he said again, rocking her gently in his
arms.

He pulled her down with him to the cold, hard floor and sat with his
back against one of the chairs under the table.  "What are we doing?"
Tom whispered into her hair as he continued to hold her.  "What are
we doing?"

---

He felt her stir in his arms, and he bent his head to look at her.
B'Elanna's tear stained cheeks emerged from his chest and she
pushed several stray hairs, which had fallen out of place, back behind
her ear.  Tom frowned a small smile as she moved to sit beside him.

He took one of her small hands between his and rubbed at it.  She
didn't resist his touch and sat staring mutely at their joined
fingers.

"What a pair we are," he said softly.  "Me and my insecurities and
you.... Please don't hate yourself, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna responded by rubbing her thumb across Tom's knuckles.

"So, you think you can't love me?" he challenged.  B'Elanna's hand
went slack between his own.  Tom turned her hand over, palm up, and
began tracing circles in it with a finger.  "Let me tell you something
about the B'Elanna I know," he said, turning to look at her.

Her eyes widened as she caught his stare.

"She's very private; hates people gossiping about her.  Hates to be
seen as weak or vulnerable, but you know, that's what makes her so
independent.  She's been described as cold; only interested in her
engines.  I know better."

B'Elanna's head bent to rest against Tom's shoulder.

"I've seen her fight for the truth, when an entire society said she
was wrong; and her own shipmates thought she'd gone insane.  She 
didn't care; just fought harder, and in the end she was right.

"I saw how she was ready to sacrifice herself for this crew, willing
to sit inside a Cardassian missile and deactivate it, to rectify a
mistake she'd made long ago.  Does she sound cold to you?  I don't
think so.

"B'Elanna is the kind of woman who takes a compliment with a joke.
She really doesn't understand that she's beautiful or desirable, does
she?" he said, kissing her open palm.

"And this is the same woman, by the way, who told me with what she
thought was her dying breath, that she loved me.  Confirmed it again
three days later, when I thought she didn't mean it.  She's the same
woman who forgives me time and time again, when I'm moody and
irritable--"  Tom gave B'Elanna a sly grin.  "Yeah, it's been known to
happen," he joked.

She curled her fingers around his and squeezed.

"Can't love?  You fought for my soul, B'Elanna.  That
shuttle--Alice--I wouldn't even be here now if it weren't for your 
voice in my head; calling me home, telling me you needed me.

"Do you think that a soulless, loveless person would have done all
this," he said, momentarily letting go of her hand to sweep it around
the palatial surroundings.  "Or scream my name when we make love?
Offering more of yourself to me, even when I know you're too
exhausted from your day?  Do you?  Because I can't see it,
anywhere."

"I'm not perfect, Tom," B'Elanna whispered into his shoulder, her
fingers still entwined with his.

"I'm no prize either, B'Elanna," he agreed.  "But I'll love you, and
I'll fight to keep you, even when that means I have to fight against
you to do it."

B'Elanna shifted against him to look into his eyes.  "Is that what
we've been doing, fighting against each other?"

Tom pulled her into his lap, one arm around her waist as the other
began to trace the lines of her brow ridges.  "Sometimes, yes," he
admitted.  "I think we've both been afraid to really 'let go,' you
know... expose what's inside of us to each other.  It's crazy I
guess," Tom sighed heavily, "we both get angry when we don't spend
enough time together, and look how we fight when we both need space 
too."

B'Elanna nodded in agreement and leant into his touch.  Moving her
arm to circle his waist, she squeezed it in comfort.  "And I've been
insensitive to how you felt about Chakotay," she added.

Tom leaned forward to kiss her exposed ear and whispered; "I'm sorry
I was jealous."

"You had a right to be....  Tom?" she questioned, shifting to face him
again.  "What were you two talking about at breakfast?"

His exploration of her ridges ceased; and he ran his fingers around
his open mouth, letting out a sound that was a cross between a sigh 
and a laugh.

"Tom?" B'Elanna warned, using her more familiar you'd-better-tell-me
tone.

"You," he said, rather jauntily.

She gave him a confused look.  "You were talking to Chakotay about
me?"

"Sort of."

"What does that mean?"

He playfully peeked down the front of her cleavage.

"Tom," she cautioned again, lifting his chin away from the low cut
view.

"I told him we'd had a fight.  He said I should try and talk to you
about it and work things out.  And here we are," he concluded,
attempting to nuzzle her neck; she let him.

"And since when do *you* go to Chakotay for advice?"

"As soon as he admitted he didn't know everything," Tom teased,
raining small kisses from her neck to her collarbone.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me every--ahhh," she
said, gasping in pleasure as his strong, warm fingers dipped inside 
her dress to capture a breast.

"Trust me," he breathed against her damp neck.

Tom continued to kiss and lick at her throat.  B'Elanna moaned in
protest when he pulled his hand away from her bosom, sighed in
pleasure soon after as that same hand wondered lower; investigating
exactly what kind of under-wear she had on under the gown, the slit in
her dress affording him easy and unhindered access.

"Oh, I trust you," she rasped heatedly, moving her legs further apart.

---
Chapter Eight - Ingress
---

"A-koo-chee-moya ... I am far from the bones of my people...."

Chakotay invoked the blessed spirits as he prepared his conscious
mind for the journey that lay ahead in the oobe, or
out-of-body-experience.   His medicine bundle lay before him; the
akoonah, his flat stone and a feather from his father's tribe.  The
things that would "ground" him as he travelled within.

Chakotay wasn't seeking enlightenment or answers, merely taking a
path he had taken many times before; ensuring his balance and
connection to this world and the spirit world.  Bringing spirit into
matter and matter to spirit....

---

Noah Lessing waited patiently for some acknowledgement.  He'd tried
the pilot's door chime twice and still wasn't getting any answer. 
Noah realised he was a little early but Tom had confirmed, the 
previous day, that he would be joining Harry and Noah for a workout in 
the ship's gym this morning.

He'd already checked with the computer; Tom Paris was definitely in
his quarters.

Noah rang again, this time leaning his body weight into the announcer,
as if that would make a difference in its volume on the other side of
the door.  Maybe it had, as he now heard a series of muffled groans
and curses moving ever closer.

The door slid open to reveal a sleepy looking Tom Paris.  His cropped
hair was sticking up at odd angles, and it appeared he had dressed
hastily.  He stood bare of chest and feet, clad only in a pair of
white trousers, the fly partially undone.

"Noah," Tom said, trying to stifle a yawn as he scratched at his
chest. "What's up?"

Lessing slowly took in Tom's appearance, and then shifted his gaze
beyond the pilot and into his quarters.  Nothing seemed out of
place--then again he couldn't see that much.

"I know it's a little early, but I thought we were going to meet Harry
and head to the gym."

Tom offered him a blank stare for a moment and frowned.  "Gym?" he
quizzed, moving back into his cabin a few steps.

"Yeah, you know, weights, pull ups, stomach crunches?  Remember?"
Noah asked, cautiously following the pilot across the cabin's
threshold.

As the science officer stepped in, he no longer had to wonder why the
pilot's mind seemed to be somewhere else.  A haphazard trail of
clothing and footwear littered the floor of Tom's quarters--some of
it, obviously, feminine.

Noah immediately halted himself in his tracks.  If Tom still had
company he was sure she--and he had a good idea who she
was--wouldn't appreciate his further encroachment.  Tom, on the other
hand, seemed oblivious to the mess.

Tom shook his head as he tried to answer through a muffled yawn.  "I
don't remember ..."

"Ahh, don't worry about it," he interrupted, thinking as quickly as he
could.  "We can do it some other time.  I'll go check on Harry."

Tom had turned away from him and was heading to the replicator unit.
"Want coffee?"

"No thanks."  Paris was no morning person, Noah was sure of that.
"I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Yeah," Tom answered, ordering himself a cup of morning stimulant.

"Hey, Tom?" Noah queried, as he stepped back into the corridor,
remaining close enough to the door for it to stay open.  "I don't
think that hair comb is really you."

"Huh?"

As the pilot turned to face him, coffee cup in hand and blowing on the
hot liquid, Noah tapped at the back of his own, smooth skull with a
forefinger and gave Tom a broad grin.  The pilot reached up to his own
head and felt around, and as he pulled the small cream coloured comb
from his hair Noah stepped away from the door, delighting in the
perplexed look of confusion then embarrassment which covered the
pilot's face as the doors slid shut.

Lessing's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he continued on his
way towards Harry Kim's quarters.  This time, he decided, he would not
only check that Harry was in his cabin, but that his new friend was
alone.

---

His heartbeat had become almost undetectable as he focused within.
The stars faded away; technology and the grey walls and corridors he
frequented grew dimmer with each passing moment.  In their place he
could see the lush rain forests of his home planet, hear the sounds of
bird calls, detect the agile steps of a lone buck through the bush. 
He felt the touch of the four winds against his cheeks, and somewhere,
not too far away, he could hear the cascading roar of a waterfall, and
could almost feel its spray against his face and hair.

Chakotay smiled.

It had begun....

---

The coffee had been discarded before Tom had taken more than a
token sip, and slipping the comb onto his dining table he returned,
still somewhat weary and a little stiff, to the warmth and comfort of
his bed.

"Who ...?" B'Elanna murmured sleepily against him, as she rolled into
his arms.

"Doesn't matter," he slurred against her hair, already drifting into
unconsciousness.  "Go back to sleep."

B'Elanna burrowed closer to him, his sleepy warmth still upon him.
She let her senses briefly revel in the feel of his skin, his
heartbeat and his scent.

" 'kay," she managed, before succumbing again to slumber.

---

He felt the cool touch of a hand against his smooth brow.  His mother
was whispering to him of how he would soon wear the mark of a man, and
become a leader.

In this place where time is undetermined, he sensed an itch.  An itch
upon his left temple and behind his left ear, one he hadn't felt in so
many years.

His mother touched him again, and his father stared at him warily.

"I will never wear that mark, father.  There are many here already who
will walk with you in the ways of the Great Spirit."

"One day you will understand that you must be a healer, Chakotay,"
his father had said, in warning.

Seared flesh of dead and injured bodies then swam before him like a
thick mist he could almost brush away with his hands.  He chose not
to.  Their lifeless eyes, bulging and open, sunken into their skulls
or gouged out completely cried out to him.  He could not hear their
words, but he understood their message well enough.

He saw the blood of a dozen different species spill out and engulf him
like a river.   He held no fear of drowning--this was not the waking
world.

"You must be a healer, and a leader," the parents pleaded.

<No.  First, I will have vengeance,> he heard his own voice say.

---

B'Elanna awoke before Tom, stretching sensuously against his front.
She wiggled her backside into his comforting warmth and flexed her
toes against his big feet, then twisted her neck around to glance at 
the chronometer.

Realising they still had plenty of time before their next shift, she
settled back into the warmth of the blankets and pulled Tom's arm
closer around her.

She felt oddly energised, even in her languorous position, from the
night before.   It was as if a large rock had been pushed from her
shoulders, the added weight of which she'd never really noticed until
now.

They had spent the night talking as much as making love, having
transported out of the holodeck for the privacy of Tom's cabin soon
after their first, heated, session of passion.  That eager joining
reminded her of the first time they had been together: swift, yet
tender; a little hesitant and unsure; impatient, both of them too out
of control to dampen their desires--not wanting to anyway.  Raw need.

B'Elanna shifted slightly, bringing a small moan from Tom as he
shifted with her.  His somnambulant breaths against her shoulder
assured her he was undisturbed.

She brought his hand up to her face and studied his fingers,
marvelling at their softness, though the pads of his fingers were a 
slightly rough--not that she minded that in the least.  His fingers 
were long, and lean, just like the rest of him, but even in sleep she 
could sense the strength they possessed.  They were warm too, not like 
her own; cold, small.

She gave a sigh, trying not to read anything into the comparison, but
that little thought started to trip others into existence.  B'Elanna
tensed with the effort it took not to let her mind wander like that. 
It was dangerous and self-destructive.

---

He saw a man he would never forget.  The first man he had ever killed
with his bare hands.  Not a Cardassian, as so many who knew him
had assumed, but a human.  A trader, a man who gave scant regard
for the devastation of his home world, now rotting and forgotten
somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant.  The man had gloated, laughed at
the "foolishness" of such primitive people--who chose to worship the
ground under their feet, its trees, animals and the very sky over
their heads.  The trader had called them idiots and spat on the 
remains of his still smouldering family home.

He'd killed him.  Beaten the life from his body and smashed at his
skull with a rock until he fell shaking and weeping with exhaustion.

*"You must be a healer, and a leader,"*

<First, revenge.>

*"This is not the way to honour our spirits."*

<It's *my* way.>

---

B'Elanna held his hand gently by the wrist, still inhaling the
intoxicating smell of him.  She kissed each finger and his palm,
murmuring words to them as she did so.  Words of love, words of need,
words she didn't always have the courage to express when Tom was awake
and staring at her with those electric blue eyes of his.

She'd rather just fall into them than confess, and he seemed to know
that and accept it, most of the time.

He was just as bad, she knew, and smiled with her own acceptance of
their odd habits.  But they had talked, and at length last night,
about what they could do to keep what they had, make it better--make 
it work.

They'd surprised each other in the ways that they were willing to
compromise.

Tom had offered to go with her on a Vision Quest, telling her smugly
that he was looking forward to the possibility of seeing Chakotay
chant and levitate off the floor.

B'Elanna had promised to join him on one of his Proton adventures, so
long as she could play Tempestua the way she wanted to.

And like that, laughing with each other, between the simple and the
mundane they continued to trade and exchange ideas, hobbies an
interests.

"I do need you," she whispered into his palm, kissing it lightly.

---

His view from the Bridge of his small vessel lit up with a mighty
explosion.  An enemy had fallen, but their number seemed
immeasurable.  They attacked in tireless waves and pursued with a
relentless determination.  No planet, asteroid or nebulae offered
respite for long.

His surrogate heritage--Starfleet and Federation--were no longer of
any use to him; except in that they taught him to kill without using
his hands, infiltrate the enemy undetected, honed his strategic 
knowledge.

He *was* a leader now and his objective was simple: Freedom or die.

The distant past swept him up and carried him.  He was limp with the
weight of it--the memory of it, and it never got any easier to bear.

---

Tom's fingers curled around B'Elanna's as he opened his eyes from
the dream he was having.  She'd been there, in the dream, dragging
him bodily over a rocky surface that was baking in the sun.  Telling
him that he had to come with her, to find something for the Flyer.
She'd said she needed him.

Those words had brought him out of the dream, and they'd sounded
so close, like she was really saying them to him.  Tom pulled his hand
away from hers and sat up abruptly, moving to lean over her.

B'Elanna rolled over at his sudden movement.  "Hey, what's wrong?"
she asked, putting a soothing hand to his chest.  He blinked back at
her for a moment, trying  to adjust from the wild-eyed intensity of
the dream B'Elanna to the concerned brown eyes staring up at him.

"Nothing," Tom said, shaking his head.  He leaned in and placed a soft
kiss against the centre of her ridges.   "I thought you said..."  He
shook his head lightly again, and rubbed his nose against her
shoulder.  "I was dreaming...." he whispered against her skin.

B'Elanna ran a finger over his unshaven cheek.  "Dreaming about me
again," she teased.

"Hey, I'm allowed," he complained happily.

They kissed warmly then, touching each other to full wakefulness,
caressing each other in favourite and intimate ways.  Playing together
like the grown-up children that they were.

He could still hear the voice from that dream; her voice, the words so
clear, so real.  Had she...?

---

A hand on his upper arm encouraged him to stand again, fight a new
battle.  The presence of this hand also offered a way for him to
fulfil an ambition for his parents, one he had never really expected
to.

*"You must be a healer, and a leader,"*

<Perhaps it is time.>

---

Chakotay emerged from his oobe, sitting, crossed-legged upon the
floor of his quarters, surrounded by his medicine bundle.  He
contemplated, as he always did, the symbolism of his vision.  He
touched his tattoo reverently.  The past and the present, the spirit
and the physical world; like planets in orbit of a sun, each had their
ascension, and declination.  And one would invariably influence the
other.

Kathryn Janeway's face appeared before him.  An intelligent and
brilliant woman, not given to deep spirituality but possessing a sense
of duty and dedication like no other he had ever met.

For a long time he had thought he had some influence with her--over
her.

He'd seen that influence waver considerably in recent times, and
worried about her capacity to maintain objectivity--her capacity to
lead. Yet, by the same token, he felt tied to her on some level; duty 
bound to follow her wishes, even when they went against his better
judgement.

He did still believe in her, in spite of it all.

Was there anything that he could teach *her*?  More importantly,
would she ever let him?

He thought about the crew; new, old, and recently acquired.  He'd
tried to be a good counselor and friend to most of them.  But had he 
given enough?  A few simple words held no meaning for anyone unless it
was followed up with a significant action--an example of intent.

He glanced up at his medicine wheel, the stones upon it making a
ragged circle upon its fabric, each stone representing a different
aspect of the physical world; this ship, its crew, their journey home.

Perhaps the task the Great Spirit had given him was to hop from stone
to stone and help this crew understand one another.   Was that a kind
of healing?  Was that a type of leadership?

Chakotay searched his heart for the answer, instead only heard his
father's often used words--as he tried to instruct his then
disinterested son in the ways of the Vision Quest.

"Remember this vision, Chakotay, and share it with those whom the
Great Spirit sends to you."

For the rest of the day; during his shift on the Bridge, in the mess
hall, and later, cloistered away in the captain's Ready-Room,
reviewing ship's status, he studied the crew with new eyes.  Seeing in 
them all a different kind of stone.  He wondered where he'd ever find 
the time or the energy to teach whatever lessons the Great Spirit had 
devised for him.

Chakotay smiled ruefully as he thought about that, much later in his
cabin.  He sat sipping a mug of herbal tea with a large book open on
his lap.  In his effort to balance the book and hold onto his mug he
found himself arching over the pages--flipping aimlessly from one to
the next.  The soft strains of jazz music and the low lighting added
to the relaxing atmosphere he tried to maintain when alone.

His door chimed.

"Come in," he answered, not looking up.  His door chimed again and
then once more.  There was no answer.  Getting up to investigate,
Chakotay found no one by his door.  Glitches like this were not
unheard of, but they were irritating, especially at nearly 0200.
Chakotay hit his comm badge, reporting it now would at least get it
fixed by morning.

"Chakotay to the Bridge."

:::This is transporter room two.:::

"I'm trying to reach the Bridge," he said again.

:::Your comm signal was routed here, sir.:::

Chakotay spent several more seconds in futile conversation with the
transporter technician, and Neelix, as well as picking up stray comm
traffic from all over the ship.  It was time to visit the source:
Engineering.

His attempt to get there was almost halted before he'd had a chance
to leave.  Now his cabin door was malfunctioning too.

B'Elanna was off duty, but Chakotay had the feeling that somebody
down there was "tinkering" with the chief's systems.  And once he was
able to dodge, finally, through his door he intended to find out who
and more importantly why.

But, as was usual with the starship Voyager, mundane tasks, such as
restoring ship's systems, took a backseat when faced by the
extraordinary....

---

Mars: The red planet of the Sol system, and Earth's first off world
vacation spot.   Initially settled in 2093, and now home to some of
the finest wines in sector 0-0-1.

Where else could you find such glorious sunsets, natural
monuments--much more ancient than the great pyramids of Egypt--or
air that smelled as sweet?

That's what the tourist brochures used to say anyway, years after the
pioneering work of scientists.  After the countless sacrifices of
early space satellites, astronauts, and then terraformers, sent in to 
chart the relatively unknown, and bring life back to the planet.

The Ares Four mission was part of that early Martian history, and in a
lab over 300 years after Lieutenant John Kelly's fatal assignment, and
over 30,000 light years from the planet itself two men pored over
those events--united in an unexpected common interest.

[Your transmission is breaking up.]

[It's generating an electromagnetic radiation interfering with primary
systems.  I can't get away from it...

Activating the transpectral imager.  I'll record as much data as I
can.]

Paris and Chakotay watched and listened to the final communication
of John Kelly to his team, helpless and soon to be stranded on the
Martian surface.

These were the sort of images that could fill you with awe or terror,
and the two Starfleet officers felt a mixture of both.

[It's right on top of me!]

Tom tried to imagine what his own reaction might have been if he'd
been the one about to be consumed by the Graviton Ellipse.  Would
he have been so noble in the face of something no human had ever
seen before?  He felt a twinge of envy at the legacy John Kelly had
left behind--he'd died a hero, no question.

[I'll transmit as much as I....]

The transmission ended, the view screen went blank but both men
couldn't take their eyes off it.

"That's all she wrote," Tom said, sadly.

"NASA received Kelly's last telemetry at 0922 hours, October 19,
2032," Chakotay stated with flat resignation.

"I thought I was the Mars buff.  You seem to know more about the
Ares Four than I do."

It had come as a surprise to Tom Paris that Commander Chakotay
knew anything at all about those early explorations, considering
himself the ship's official Mars buff, with the possible exception of
the captain--although her interest in it had seemed, to him, to be of
a more selective nature than of any real love of the planet's history.

"The Mars missions paved the way for the exploration of space.  Kelly
was one of my childhood heroes," he answered, in explanation.

"Yeah, mine too," Tom echoed.  Shortly, he and Chakotay would be
following in their hero's footsteps.  Taking a journey into the "real"
unknown.

Since the abrupt call to the Bridge, just a few hours previous, when
the Ellipse had emerged from subspace, Voyager's crew had been in a
race against time.

Once the phenomenom had been identified and its core analysed,
Captain Janeway, in her usual fashion, had wanted to investigate
further; before the Ellipse submerged back into subspace.

Using Seven's Borg technology, B'Elanna Torres and Harry Kim had
assisted in outfitting the Delta Flyer's shields with enhancements
able to withstand the anomaly's gravimetric interference.  And even 
with the enhancements in place B'Elanna had warned them that the ride 
would get "bumpy."

"That's dedication," Chakotay was saying.  "The man's life's about to
end but he won't stop taking readings."

"Makes you wonder if those old-timers were made of sterner stuff than
we are."

"You think we have it easy?"

"Are you kidding?" Tom asked incredulously.  The risks his dead
heroes had taken, filled him with awe, wonder and envy all over again.
"Warp drive, shields, transporters--we're travelling in the lap of
luxury. Kelly and Kumagawa, Armstrong and Glenn--they were the real
pioneers."

If he was lucky, real lucky, maybe he could be too.

"Am I interrupting?"

Seven's query and entry into the astrometric lab cut short Tom's
romantic imaginings.  His first duty was to get the Flyer into the
Ellipse. Anything after that, getting back out among them, would be a
bonus.

Damn, but he wished B'Elanna could be on this mission with him.

---

Chakotay circled the Flyer with a tricorder, triple-checking the
shield enhancements and the ship's hull.  A small group of engineers 
stood near by, performing checks of their own or attending to other 
duties in the shuttlebay.

Tom Paris was already inside the craft and running a series of final
operational checks with the chief engineer.

The discoveries they might soon be making would be important,
Chakotay knew.

According to the scans of the anomaly's core there were billions of
properties within it, some surely millions of years old, but none
fascinated him more than the possibility of finding components from
the Ares module.

Chakotay felt like the idealistic and enthusiastic man of his youth
again; unconcerned by tribal expectations and burdens.  This was a
chance to delve into history itself--touch it, know it, and be a part
of it.

He grinned ruefully to himself, he was starting to become a little too
single minded about his role in this mission.  Perhaps it was selfish,
and a little narcissistic to think that *he* could achieve so much in
the hours that lay ahead, but he wanted it, wanted it so much he could
already feel it within his grasp.

It was like the adrenaline rush he felt at his first discovery on an
anthropological dig, or the first time he had flown a training shuttle
through the rings of Saturn--euphoria didn't even come close to
describing what he'd felt on those occasions.

"Commander," Tom called, following B'Elanna out of the Flyer's hatch.
"We're ready."

"Good," he said, turning to face them.  B'Elanna appeared a little
pensive as she stood close to Tom; her arms folded across her chest
as she dismissed the other engineers from the shuttlebay.

"Don't do anything too heroic out there, flyboy," Chakotay heard her
whisper in an aside to the pilot as the bay doors slid open.

"You know me...." Tom shrugged cockily, pulling at a tendril of
B'Elanna's chestnut coloured hair.  She touched his hand, curling her
fingers around his.

Chakotay looked away and let them enjoy their private moment of
farewell.  Tom was a natural choice for this mission, and not just
because of their shared fascination with Mars.  He was the best pilot
on the ship, and had proven himself in a "crunch" plenty of times
over. For all his faults, Tom could always be counted on in a 
desperate situation; his banter might be annoying as hell, but the end 
result was normally a job well done.

The new ease in their own working and social relationship--still a
fledgling thing--could also aid in the mission, Chakotay hoped.  They
were far from friends but that was another stone he'd properly have to
hop on at some stage.

Friendships, after all, came in various guises; some were easy; some
hard earned, others likely didn't even make sense.

Well, they'd made a start, he concluded.

"Let's do it, Paris," he called out.

Tom and B'Elanna exchanged another significant look as their
entwined fingers separated and they moved to stand apart.

"I'm ready," Tom said.

Chakotay nodded then activated his comm badge.  "Chakotay to
Seven of Nine.  Report to shuttlebay two."

Another journey was about to begin.

---

The End