The BLTS Archive - The Apprenticeship series
One Small Step
by Bridget Cochran (bjcochran@aol.com)

---

This story is not dedicated to Anne or Mike or Ian, who know the
significance of July 20, l969.

Or for those of us who knew who Alan Shepard was, and why his passing
should be mourned. He said that when he stood on the surface of the
moon in 1972 and looked down upon our earth, and saw how fragily
beautiful it was, he wept.

But he was also very **Tom**. After four hours of sitting on top of
the Redstone rocket in Freedom 7 on May 5, l961, he asked when were
they going to fix the problem and "light this candle." And don't
forget, of the 12 men to walk on the moon's surface, he's the only one
that brought his golf clubs.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything except my ideas.

---

Kathryn Janeway stood outside her chief pilot's cabin tired of (and
uncomfortable from) riding on the horns of a dilemma. Should she ring
the bell or just comm him?

She'd been to the volleyball tournament at the resort. Her team
eliminated first, which was a good thing. She was tired and out of
practice. Sure, she would have played every game with her teammates,
right to the finals, and been so sorry when she couldn't walk up right
the next day.

But as she watched the following game, her attention moved, as it
always did, to observe her crew. The men and women and child who
peopled her world, her benevolent dictatorship.

She smiled at Naomi Wildman who watched the activity from Ken Dalby's
shoulders. Five years ago Kathryn could never imagine such a scene;
the baby and the bitter Maquis sharing this kind of happiness. The
little girl was laughing, Ken was laughing. Sam Wildman stood close,
occasionally placing a hand on the crewman's elbow--directing a soft
comment to him or Naomi.

Janeway sighed and moved her line of vision skimming the happy group.
The teams in waiting, the on-lookers, those vying to place their bets
all hovering around--Tuvok?

It was Tuvok standing among a half dozen clamoring crew, taking their
shouted bet requests with his usual tight lipped stoicism, long
graceful fingers entering the wagers on a padd. Catching the Captain's
look, he merely shrugged an eyebrow. Without a word, Kathryn was aware
that Harry had put him up to it. Only Harry could get a Vulcan chief
of security to do that.

Kathryn glanced at the line ref, Harry himself, her smile deepening.
He had organized this volley ball tourney, insisted it be in the
resort so his all-star, all-babe team could participate. But Tuvok
taking bets? That was Tom's job.

She searched the crowded base for the bright bobbing head--the body in
perpetual motion. A frown crossed her brow.

"Something wrong, Captain?" How long had Seven been standing beside
her?

"Lt. Paris isn't here?"

Seven scanned the room. "Apparently not."

"Wonder why." Janeway murmured, and headed for the arch and its
control panel. "Computer, locate Tom Paris."

"Lt. Paris is in his quarters."

Hmm. But the party was here. Strange. Kathryn tossed a look at the
exuberant crowd. They wouldn't miss her. She was out the door without
another thought to the volleyball game.

Then why was she standing outside his door, in her black work out
pants and snug gray regulation tank, hands on hips wondering if she
should trip the chime. Just because he was a junior officer and this
was **not** a duty call? Since when have you been a coward, Kathryn?
She thumbed the pad.

"Come."

She entered.

"Be out in a minute," he called from the open bedroom door. Kathryn
moved into the day room and over to the door. Just in time to see Tom
pull gray sweat pants up over his white clad backside. Too bad--nice
backside.

He picked up a white t-shirt, yanking it on as he turned.

"Oh," they both said, equally embarrassed at being caught.

Kathryn lowered her eyes, aware of the color scorching her face, but
she couldn't help the smiled touching her lips.

"Is there something I can do for you, Captain?"

Insolent pup, the grooves of her smile deepened at his tone of voice
and she raised her head to face him.

"I wondered why you weren't playing volleyball."

Aware she wanted an answer but not sure of what to say, he began
picking up the various rubbish cluttering his quarters. When he opted
out of the volleyball, he knew she was gonna check up on him, but she
showed up at his door.

"Are you going to clean up or answer my question?"

Tom cringed. Then he sighed. Then he turned to her, shoulders sagging
a fraction, sorry to see her 'I'm-the-Captain', hands-on-her-hips
stance. "Just a little homesick, Captain."

//Home sick? Tom?// That wasn't what she expected, her brows drew
together.

"No big deal," he said as he moved to stack the pile of padds strewn
across the couch. He sighed at the futility of moving stuff from one
end of the sofa to the other. "Happens every once in a while," he said
to fill the silence. "Special days come around--" he didn't finish the
sentence, just looked away.

"Today is?" Janeway prompted. She moved to stand near him, above him.

He blinked and looked up at her. "Terran date May 5th."

"May 5th?" She'd keep prompting 'til she understood.

"Your family are traditionalists?"

Janeway frowned at the non-sequitor. "Yes. And?"

"My grandfather was a traditionalist married to an Admiral."

She understood: it wasn't easy being a traditionalist in Starfleet.
The whole thing was one big, fat contradiction.

"Your grandfather wasn't in Starfleet."

"No," Tom raised his smile to Janeway. "But he knew Starfleet was in
me." He sifted through the padds before handing one to the Captain,
who sat to read it.

"We Seven, by the Astronauts Themselves?"

"May 5th is the anniversary of the first manned American space
flight," Tom supplied.

"John Glenn." Janeway nodded her understanding.

"Nope." Tom shook his head. "He was the first to orbit. The first
flight just got out of earth's gravity."

She frowned and turned to the padd in her hand for the answers. "Alan
Shepard," she finally said.

"Yup. Grandpa knew I wanted to fly, so he'd read me that and
'Americans into Orbit'. We watched the 2-D documentaries, did the
holoprograms. I devoured it." He paused at the memory. "20th century.
That's the place. Kitty Hawk in the beginning of it, the orbiting
space station at the end. Love that 20th century." He turned an
exuberant smile to the Captain.

She smiled back, "So anniversaries of obscure earth flight milestones
make you homesick."

Tom frowned at the facetious tone. "Sometimes." He moved from the
couch to the replicator to order two pieces of cherry pie--a cup of
coffee and a glass of milk. He brought the tray to the couch and set
it between them. Kathryn looked up from the padd, giving an absent
smile. She picked up a fork without a word, engrossed in her reading.
Tom sat back with his pie and glass of milk to watch Captain Janeway
read.

On his couch. In his quarters. As comfortable as if she did it all the
time. But she'd never been to his quarters--never had a reason to. He
doubted if she'd been too many crewmen's quarters. Chakotay? Tom tried
to keep his irritation at that thought from his face--not show what
the thought did to his insides.

But, no. She'd never been there either. Too much protocol in her blood
to visit her first officer's cabin. But she was here in his quarters,
legs curled up under her, totally relaxed in his presence. She flicked
a smile, saving her coffee cup, when he cleared the dishes. Yet she
kept reading.

Tom came back with his own cup of coffee, and picked up a padd as he
rested deeply into the cushions. The only sound in the room were padds
being exchanged for others and sipping sounds. An occasional question
was asked by the Captain--answered by Tom in as little or as much
detail as was required, impressing her with his knowledge of prewarp
engineering, propulsion and physics.

After a while, Tom looked over at his companion, who silently studied
him. He blushed under the scrutiny, raising a brow, instantly nervous,
"Yes?"

"Did you ever go to the July 20th celebrations?"

That required a serious expression? "On the moon?" He said it like
there was only one moon in the universe.

Janeway nodded.

Tom smile made his eyes glisten. "Oh, yah." He moved half way across
the couch in his eagerness. "Every year. Grandpa would sneak me in--at
the general admission gate. We didn't go near the VIP gate. How about
you?"

Kathryn made a face. "I was stuck with the VIP's"

"In the grand stand?" Tom curled his nose in distaste.

"Uh-huh."

"With Admiral's that weren't even humans."

"I know--"Janeway shook her head at the memory. "I know we're a
Federation, but it always seemed like Bolians were always giving
speeches--"

"Long speeches," Tom interjected.

"Did you enter the derby races?"

He could tell she knew the answer even as she asked the question.

"S'Yeah. Under aliases, of course."

"Of course." Her eyes twinkled.

"Couldn't disgrace Grandma." His crinkled with laughter.

"Heck no," she mocked him, leaning closer.

"Not that I ever disgraced her." He took her lead and inched forward.

"Not possible," she agreed. She could smell the coffee on his breath,
it tantalized her.

"Always won my age group."

"Then disappeared before you collected your medal."

"That was me." Their lips were nearly touching, their words were
breath on each other's skin.

"I remember," she said as her lips touched his and eased away. "Oh,
what the hell," she muttered and did what she wanted to do; what she
wanted to do for sometime.

She launched herself into a full body tackle, knocking padds and
coffee cups to the floor and sprawling the surprised lieutenant flat
on his back.

Her body molded to the length of him, her hands cradling his head,
nose touching his. He came out of his daze with an infectious smile.
"Now, this is how to celebrate May 5th."

Kathryn smiled, but her answer was a kiss. Her lips touched his gently
at first, tasting him, but when his lips relaxed and opened, she
surged forward into his mouth, her tongue setting the pace, his tongue
letting her.

It was excruciatingly slow at first, she wanted to know everything.
Most of their past kisses had been playful, almost light hearted
interludes that gave Kathryn the lift she needed. But last week in the
holodeck, in da Vinci's studio the mood had definitely changed.

She moved her mouth in a slow, tortuous exploration of his face. He
had come to her last week and told her things, declared his
feelings--indirectly in words, very directly in actions. He hadn't
declared his love. Yet. But he told her he was there. He understood
the protocol, had been brought up on it like she had. He knew how to
behave when they were together in public, and just how far he could go
in private. He had been trained up in Starfleet in spite of himself,
and his efforts to shake off the yoke.

She'd almost succumbed that night on the holodeck--thrown caution to
the wind--any number of trite euphemisms for screwed him blind. But,
he, Tom Paris, had broken the spell, reminding them they might not be
prepared for the consequences of the momentary loss of reason.

She was fairly close to losing reason now, she noticed as she licked
his neck in the general direction of his Adam's apple. Tom's hands
were insinuated under her shirt and exploring her back; nudged under
her bra, he grasped the flesh he found there.

Kathryn moved back to his moist, waiting mouth to kiss him with
renewed ardor. Tom answered with enthusiasm, his hands not stroking
the smooth skin; working his way into the waist of the tight work out
pants, under the regulation underwear the smooth perfect skin off her
rounded buttocks. His touch was sure as he gently pushed her off his
body and to the side, rolling with her, never breaking the sweet
contact with her mouth.

His fingers grasped the hem of her tank, beginning to ease it over her
ribcage.

The door whizzed open behind them. "Tom, you sure missed a great--"

Tom disengaged his mouth from Kathryn's with a strangled oath. "Harry,
get the hell outta here now or I'll kill you." He rose part way up on
his elbow to fully hide the Captain from view. Shock and fear cascaded
across her face. His **had** to look the same.

"Oh, uh, sorry. I didn't know," the ensign stammered.

"**Harry**," Tom warned, his back still to his friend.

"See you tomorrow, Tom."

The door hissed shut and Tom sagged. "If I don't murder him first." He
propped his head on an hand. "I think I just heard the bubble
bursting."

"Seems like it." Janeway looked up at him and then up at the ceiling.
She sighed heavily. "The gods must be telling us something."

Tom laughed, pulling her into his arms and back to a sitting position.
"Yah, they're telling us if we want to be together, we'll just have to
work harder at it."

Janeway snorted as she tried to push her hair wayward back into place.
"You might be right." She stood to tuck her shirt tail back in. "You
realize Mr. Kim will have no difficulty figuring out who was here with
you."

"Figure out what? He asked the computer as soon as the door was shut."

At the first sign of her frown, Tom brought her into an easy embrace.
"He won't tell a soul. You're the Captain. He wants to advance in
Starfleet, even if Starfleet for us is limited to Voyager. Your secret
is safe."

She allowed herself a few more moments in his arms. "Thanks for a
lovely evening. I don't know when I've enjoyed one more."

Tom smiled down into her face, thinking her life must be pretty
boring. "Walk you home?"

---

The End