The BLTS Archive- In the Space of Seven Days
by Jenn (jenn@thegateway.net/)

---

Archiving: PTF, ASC, ASCEM, and BLTS.  All others, ask permission
first

Disclaimer: I don't own them, pretend to own them, or want to own them
(usually, too much trademark hassle, more fun to borrow).  Just took
them out for a spin and a sail, so to speak, don't sue unless you
really want my cat, the only thing I truly own I think, in which case
I will hand him over, he has been acting oddly anyway.  Will return
all characters in the same condition I found them, though I hope they
had fun.  (They told me they did.)

Credits:  Thanks to Sorcha, Sara, Annie M., SY, and Khameleon for all
the help, definitely the most demanding team of beta-writers in fanfic
history. If this story works, it's only because of them.

Author's Note:  Flashback intensive on this Part.  Be prepared.
Thoughts use { }. Emphasis uses *.  Please enjoy.  Feedback
appreciated.

---
Part I:  An Alteration in Seating Arrangements
{Day 4  0200 hours} Present Time
---

The Big Chair, everyone assumed, was the most comfortable piece of
furniture on board the Federation Starship Voyager.  Maybe the whole
mystique of the Big Chair was somehow wrapped up in that belief.
Here, the Captain sat, giving her orders.  Here, the central power of
this ship, its soul, its determination, took on human form in the body
of its Captain.  It was well-cushioned leather, with
comfortable-seeming armrests that fit the arms perfectly of whoever
sat there in command, no matter who that was.  The seat itself seemed
to invite one to fall into its lush depths, surrounding a person with
soft, warm comfort and absolute authority.

Tom Paris, the only member of the Senior Bridge crew left on Voyager,
knew better.

The Chair might look soft, but as it enveloped, it suffocated,
burdening one with the incredible weight of command.  He'd never truly
realized that before, and he was Starfleet, born and bred.  Starships
had been a second home to him for most of his life, and for the past
almost five years, this one had truly *been* his home.  Yet in that
time, seeing countless captains, countless officers, he had never
realized the true significance of the Big Chair.

Until his butt was firmly rested in it and perfectly aware that no one
was going to get him out of it anytime soon.  {What I wouldn't give
for someone else to sit here. Anyone.  How did the Captain stand it?
Every day, she sat here, our mainstay, our guide, our muse, and in a
chair that feels like it's trying to eat you alive.}

He couldn't stand the silence of his own thoughts anymore.  He tapped
his comm badge.

"Paris to Sickbay."

:::Sickbay here.  What can I do for you, Mr. Paris?:::

At least the Doc sounded as testy as ever.  A constant in a world that
quite literally made no sense to him, and hadn't for some time.  For
three days--{only three days?  Three months, three years, three
decades, rather}--nothing had been right. And unless something gave,
it never would again.

Tom didn't know why he called Doc.  Maybe just to hear someone's
voice.  He looked at the viewscreen as if will alone would fix the
wrongness, this quiet on a ship that was supposed to be bustling with
life.

"You know, I have no idea.  Paris out."  He clicked the channel
closed, let his hand fall back to the armrest limply.

And he stared at the false stars.  Unable to imagine what the hell he
was supposed to do, when nothing could be done.  And that was the most
damnable part.  He had no idea what could be done that hadn't been
already tried. {And failed.}

:::Janeway to Voyager:::

Startled, he winced, stood up instantly, as if she had caught him
doing something inappropriate.  It almost made him smile.  Wondered
again what she was using to communicate with.

:::Janeway to Voyager.  Tom, I know you can hear me.:::

He knew that too.  He raised a hand to touch his comm badge,
hesitated, then laced his fingers together behind him.  He couldn't
afford to break, not now.  Not now, of all times.

:::Tom, *answer* me.  Surely we can talk about this.:::

{Sure we can.  But what's the point?  I know what you'll say and
unless I vary my arguments it will be a repetition of the same scene
we've played for the last few hours--there's nothing left to be said.}

:::Tom, listen to me, I don't understand what is going on--:::

{Liar.  You know even better than I do.}

:::but beam *me* up to Voyager so we can talk, face to face.  There
must be something.:::

This was new.  Not in the script. He touched his badge.

"You know I can't do that, Captain."  He regretted his action as soon
as the words were out of his mouth.

:::This is *mutiny*, Mr. Paris!:::  Her husky voice had an acidic lash
in it, meant to arouse his shame, his guilt, his feelings of betrayal.

That was new too, at least from her.  But he heard that word echo in
his head, every second, so it certainly wasn't unexpected.  He had
finally lived down Caldik Prime and the Maquis, something he had never
believed possible. He had managed it by exceeding his own crimes, and
in such a spectacular fashion. He looked again out the viewscreen,
watching endless stars.  Never in his life had he felt so hopelessly,
utterly alone.

"I know."

---
{Day 3  2000 hours} six hours earlier
---

"Vorik?"  His voice was low, even though there was no one on the
Bridge who would be a danger to them if they overheard.  {Habit.
Instinct.  Old friends, welcome home.}  A bitter thought.

Vorik, standing at stiff attention, nodded from his post by the
engineering station.  Tom, standing by the Big Chair, as yet unaware
of its ominous properties, took a long, deep breath, trying to center
himself, as a long-ago Betazoid girlfriend had taught him.

{It gets you in touch with yourself.}

And it did, though not in the way she had meant it.  Tom had long
utilized that precious center to control himself, to practice the fine
art of deception, to set his mind on a single goal and let nothing,
not sentiment, not emotion, not circumstances, stop him from achieving
it.  It wasn't pretty, it wasn't at all romantic, and it was never
meant to be used in such a way, (at least, that was what Kelara would
have said) but Tom's post-Starfleet years had been spent on the
streets, where his excellent Starfleet education meant crap.  That
centering technique.it came in handy. An emotional anesthetic, in a
very real way.  For as long as it took, he could forget feelings,
forget ties to anyone and anything, and do what needed to be done.

Tom looked around the Beta shift crew, with whom he had volunteered to
work today.  Ensign Vorik, at engineering.  Ensign Samantha Wildman,
cross-training at Ops.  Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, at tactical, due
to her cross-training with security.  Ensign Pablo Baytart, his own
second, at the helm.  A full complement was on the Bridge, unusual
during a routine orbit of a class M planet, as yet unnamed.  Luckily,
no one had bothered to notice that.  Standing in the center of the
ship, by that Chair, he took one last look around, trying to feel
confident.  {Carey, I hope you're there.}

Only one word was needed.  His hand tightened on the chair beside him.

"Ready."

It happened fast.  That was something.

Vorik signaled engineering (and incidentally Carey, who was supposedly
off-ship) through his console.  He was aware of Tom's prohibition on
the use of the comm badge during this time. Carey, upon receiving the
signal, would start his particular coup immediately to get the engines
back online. Samantha quickly reprogrammed the ops station to emit
false readings in case anyone should check to see how the engines were
doing, then passed control to Susan at tactical and locked down her
board.  Sam then darted to the environmental console and loaded the
virus program Tom had written that afternoon.  Luckily, he was not
only a good programmer, but he had B'Elanna's old Maquis virus code as
a template to work with.  He had barely been able to finish in time,
with Vorik adding the final touches only hours before.

:::Authorization of Captain requi--:::  The computer voice cut off,
ending with a low humming.  Samantha froze, watched the screen dance,
and then blank.  Tom watched the half-hysterical smile spread briefly
across her strained face, a smile of unbelieving relief.  He
understood the feeling. So far, it was working.  Environmental control
was theirs.

"Environmental controls locked in, sir, set to go off in thirteen
minutes," she told Paris in a shaky voice.  Tom nodded shortly, and
checked the chronometer.

"Three minutes."  The countdown had begun.

"Yes, sir," said Baytart, setting the course Tom had given him earlier
that day.  Sue left tactical, taking Vorik's position at the
engineering station as he finished loading the final, and most
complicated, virus.  Vorik then walked to the conference room doors
with cool Vulcan aplomb, where the senior staff of Voyager, Captain
Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant
Torres, and Ensign Kim were meeting.  Tom knew Neelix, Seven of Nine,
and a member of his own department were also in there, and for once
was glad Neelix and Seven participated in Senior Staff meetings so
often.  It made his job so much easier.

On the off-chance they came out, Vorik pulled his phaser out from
where it was hiding in the recesses of his tunic. Tom took a deep
breath, convincing himself again he was doing the right thing.

Six crewmen poured out of the turbolift, almost on cue, one throwing
Tom a phaser rifle.  He checked it quickly, assuring himself that
Ayala and Henna had adjusted the settings to the specs he had given
them, then tossed it to Vorik, and caught the second one Ensign Henna
tossed his way, checking it, before hitting his comm badge.

"Paris to Carey."  {Be there, Carey, be ready, we only have one
chance.}

An eternal pause, broken by--

:::Carey here.:::  Tom felt himself breathe normally again, until that
moment unaware he had been holding his breath.

"Two minutes."

:::Aye, sir.:::

Funny, how they all kept calling him 'sir'.

Sue worked over the engineering console, then let out a short cry.
Tom spun to face her, and she nodded quickly, a very slight smile
spreading her lips as she entered the last set of pilfered codes.  He
nodded back, waving Henna and her crew into position by the conference
room doors.  Sue left the engineering station and took the other side
of the door, opposite Vorik, and Baytart, after locking down
navigation, sped about the Bridge locking down all other controls.  No
mistakes could be made now.

"Computer, recognize Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris."  {My voice sounds so
normal.  That can't be right.}

:::Recognized:::  {The computer sounds perky.  How disquieting.}

"Transfer all command codes to Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris,
authorization Alpha Alpha Tau Omicron 1 2 3."

A breathless moment, and Tom thought Samantha, frozen by
environmental, might faint.

:::Authorization accepted.  Transfer complete.:::

The entire group let their collective breaths out, and Tom checked the
chronometer.  Twenty seconds.

"Computer, transfer bridge control to Lieutenant Carey in
Engineering."  He looked at the door of the conference room.  Then at
his group, meeting each pair of determined, terrified eyes.

:::Transfer complete.:::{Don't they have just a little variety in
acknowledgement?}

He watched Sam receive her phaser rifle from Larson and take her
position behind Sue.

{Ten.}

"On my mark."  He set the rifle again, clicking the safety off, the
snap audible in the desperately quiet room, then glanced at his
shipmates.

{Nine.}

:::Carey to Paris:::

Tom hit his comm badge with an unsteady hand.

"Paris here."

:::Ready, sir.:::

{Six.}

"Hyposprays?"  Tom asked sharply, and received quick nods from
everyone.

{Three.}

"Ready?"

Nods again, this time almost in unison.  Tom gave them all a small
smile, which some were actually able to return.  Grimly.  {Kind of
like whistling past a graveyard.}

{One.}

Tom hit his comm badge to signal shipwide, eyes fixed on the goal, the
conference room door.  All eyes turned to him for a brief moment,
anticipating his next order.

"Now."

Vorik hit the controls on the conference room door and ducked in front
of it, crouching, his rifle aimed at a very surprised looking Captain
Janeway. Susan went in ahead of him at his short confirming nod,
covering the left side of the room, and Sam ducked in behind her,
taking the right. Tom drew a deep breath, raised his rifle, and heard
Henna and her team flare out around him.  He followed.  Within three
seconds they were all in the room, Vorik's rifle neatly placed against
Captain Janeway's neck.  A sight that Tom couldn't help finding
amusing, in a gallows humor sort of way, contrasting the cool, utterly
expressionless Vorik the Vulcan Terrorist to Captain Janeway's
gaped-mouth, disbelieving shock.

Tom waited as the team each sighted someone, then spoke.  He kept his
voice low and cool. Calm.  A laugh.  He shook inside.  {Is this real?
Have we come to this?}

Then, he met his Captain's cold blue eyes.

"I suppose you weren't expecting us, Captain."  His rifle was in a
relaxed position against his shoulder, ready to be armed at the first
sign of trouble.  Considering the complete immobility of the staff, he
found it doubtful.

Captain Janeway opened her mouth, closed it, then finally spoke.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Paris?"  She choked the words out,
her usual husky voice scratchy, as if she had been using it for
purposes other than talking.

He glanced around the room, letting a slight smirk set over his
features, knowing how much she hated it.  Needing to remember that at
this moment he was not the Captain's subordinate officer, that these
officers weren't his friends anymore, this woman not his Captain, that
in the space of twelve hours everything had changed.  {This is unreal,
in the most literal definition of the term.  She isn't my captain, not
anymore.}

"I would think that would be obvious."

"Computer--"  she began, but the feel of the phaser-rifle against her
windpipe cut her off. Vorik was turning into quite the little
terrorist. Tom hadn't thought he had it in him.

No one else spoke.  Maybe it was the phaser-rifles, but he doubted it.
It was disbelief.  They could not believe that he, Tom Paris, could do
what he was doing.  Would be able to do it.  Mutiny.  {Underestimating
the enemy is always the worst mistake.  I won't make it.}

At his nod, Samantha and Ensign Henna began hypospraying the senior
staff, while Ayala and the security team Henna had recruited kept
their weapons trained on each of the officers, almost daring them to
move.  When Sam nodded shortly to Tom, bringing her weapon back up and
pointing it in the general direction of an unnaturally still Harry, he
spoke again, hoping his voice wouldn't betray him.

"I'm sorry."  {You have no idea how much.}

He hit his comm badge, glancing at Henna, who left the room to secure
the Bridge, and set his communication for a ship-wide declaration.

"Report."

:::All secure in engineering, sir:::  The most placid voice in the
world. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.  {Carey,
I have no idea what I would have done without you.}

:::Decks 1-5 clear, sir:::  That was Ensign Megan Delaney, sounding
shell-shocked.  It was not every day that one took prisoner one's twin
sister and one's lover.  But he trusted her, knew she would pull
through.

He listened to the rest of the reports, while Ensign Baytart removed
the comm badges from the senior staff, placing them in a chair far
from the silent officers.  Tom hit his badge again.

"Paris to Transporter room."

:::Zephyr here.  Ready sir.:::  The feminine voice that answered him
was shaky but clear and relatively calm.  {Good job, Zephyr, you're
holding up a lot better than I expected.}

Tom let his eyes run quickly over the senior staff at the table,
watching each pair of eyes that stared at him with such fury,
betrayal.  Neelix, jovial face a mask of anger.  Seven and Tuvok,
impassivity breached, pulsing with rage.  Chakotay.  Janeway.
Finally, he looked at B'Elanna, who was standing very straight in her
place, as she had since they had entered. Larson's phaser rifle near
her ear, but no fear clouded her dark eyes.  Only raw hatred.  He knew
it would hurt later.  But nothing could hurt now, not the way Harry
held one delicate hand in his, not the unhealed bite on Harry's face.

{Not now.}

He took another breath.  {Time.}  He took out the extra hypospray,
tossing it on the table, tacitly telling the others to do the same.
The Senior Staff watched this little show with hypnotic intensity.

"Beam the occupants of this room with a solution of iron hydroxide
directly to the planet's surface.  On my mark."  He listened for her
acknowledgement, then looked at the Captain, at the hatred and anger
that was completely foreign to the woman he would have followed to the
ends of the universe. His mouth was dry.

"Energize."

---
{Day 4  0210 hours} Present Time
---

"Mr. Paris?  Tom?"

Tom spun around from his thoughts, phaser already out, to see the
Doctor (one very startled Doctor at that, but he tried not to show it,
quite aware of what Tom was going through) who was watching him with
undisguised sympathy.  He reholstered his weapon absently, began to
sit in the Chair, shuddered, and returned to his old helm seat.

"What are you doing up here?"  He tried not to sound defensive.
{Besides the fact I called and you probably think I am losing my
mind.}

The Doctor shook his head.

"You should rest. Why are you here alone?"

Tom smiled a little.

"I sent non-essential bridge crew to clean up the mess.  Some of the
decks are--less than pristine, you know.  Hiding in this nebula
doesn't give us much to do, so I sent Baytart and Nicoletti off to
eat, they should be back soon.  I can certainly handle anything that
might happen up here in their absence."

The Doctor could read between the lines.  Tom had wanted to be alone
for a while.

He took the First Officer's seat, studying the young man in front of
him.

"I haven't talked to you since I was reactivated."  He watched Tom
carefully.  He noticed Tom's slight wince.  B'Elanna had been the one
that almost destroyed his matrix.

Tom shook his head quickly, and a bitter laugh escaped before he could
stuff it back in.

"No, Doc, thanks, but I definitely do *not* want to talk about it."

"You might feel better."

"Mutineers aren't supposed to feel better, Doc."  His voice was sharp,
the words bitten off.  "They're supposed to feel like hell for
betraying their captain.  And I do.  But it isn't as bad as I thought.
Not much real guilt. Just--a kind of numbness." he trailed off,
realizing what he had revealed. The Doctor, however, did not jump in.
He had learned the fine art of patience.  Instead, looked at the
viewscreen, the false view of stars on black-velvet night.

"You didn't have a choice, I know.  I am sorry, Tom."

Tom Paris laughed then, couldn't help it, and tried to stop, but six
hours had been too long, and he couldn't find his center.  He laughed
until his eyes burned, until his throat closed over, until he couldn't
breathe.  He felt the Doc's hand touch his head, then begin to pat him
on the back, a little awkwardly, but there it was, a definite pat.
After a few seconds, a lifetime of discipline asserted itself, and Tom
lifted his head, roughly wiping his face on the sleeve of his uniform
jacket.  With a sudden, violent movement, he pulled the jacket off,
tossing it on the floor.

"Yeah."  He watched the red and black settle stiffly to the floor,
hypnotized.  "I ran the internal sensors seven times.  There are no
more of them left."

"How many crew are still on board?"

"Sixty-five."  At the Doctor's look of shock, Tom smiled a little.
"Yeah, I know what you mean.  Sixty-five can't run the ship."

The Doctor had to agree.

"I'm meeting with our new acting department heads tomorrow to discuss
the situation.  It's funny, when we were planning this, we didn't
realize just how many people we were going to lose."  His eyes went to
the conference room doors.  He hadn't been able to go in there
since--{well, *since*.}

"Such as Lieutenant Torres?"  The Doctor's voice was gentle.  Tom
shivered, trying to avoid the intense pain her name brought him.  The
thought of her brought him.

"A lot of good people.  The senior staff, Jenny Delaney, a lot of the
crewmen, almost all of security.  I guess that's not a surprise,
considering who it was that beamed down to that planet first."  He
turned away, checking the readings at the helm, where he had
transferred all major functions of the Bridge.  More to keep his face
from betraying him to the Doctor than because he thought there was
anything to see.

The Doctor nodded slowly, getting up.  He had no idea what to do.
This situation was certainly not one the Doctor had ever been
programmed to handle.  For that matter, he doubted any Starfleet
Doctor could have handled it any better.  He would just sit back,
watch, do what a doctor did, and hope it was enough.

Tom stared at the panel, watching the lights, until they became a
single bright blur.  His fingers drummed a discordant rhythm on the
edge of the unit, putting the Doctor more on edge.

"I didn't think there was another way."  His voice was low, hoarse,
almost as if he was speaking to himself.  Carefully, the Doctor eased
himself back into the chair.  He knew Tom, had worked with him for
almost five years. Exasperating, frustrating, sometimes far too
flighty in attitude to be considered a valuable officer.  But the
Doctor saw also something Tom did not overtly display.  An intense
loyalty to the Captain who had quite literally changed his life.  A
superior intelligence, even though it was almost completely focused on
flying.  An ability to set aside inconvenient emotions when they
interfered with his professional duties.  But more than these
things--an absolute, unwavering determination to do the right thing
that, once set free, could be neither denied or ignored.  When the
Doctor had been  re-activated by Megan Delaney and briefed on the
situation, it had not surprised him that Tom would lead a mutiny.  Nor
that he had gotten so many crew to follow him.

What surprised him was the cool, almost emotionless way he took the
desertion of B'Elanna Torres.  For like the Captain, B'Elanna had his
loyalty.  Yet he had been able to turn his back on them both, when he
had to.

To save them all.

And the Doctor wondered what had happened.

---
{Day 3  1503 hours} eleven hours earlier
---

"You each have a specific job to do.  There will be no communication
until three minutes before 2000 hours, when the countdown begins.
According to Vorik's calculations, three minutes is as long as his
virus will distract those on the planet and keep the Senior Staff from
finding out what we are up to.  We have to have control by that time."

"Question, sir?"

"Go ahead, Ensign Delaney."

"How will the transporter room know who to beam?"

"That is what the hyposprays are for.  Each one of you will have at
least three.  When injected into a crewman who is infected, it will
emit a radioactive signal.  The transporter room will fix on anyone
who gives off that signal and beam them to the surface.  Got it?
Ayala, you are in charge of procuring the weapons, I don't care how
you do it.  Here are the settings for them, and be exact, I have
tested this frequency and it works on them. Ensign Henna, you will
lead the team to the Bridge.  Everyone know their assigned decks?
Good.  Use the modified tricorders, watch for the yellow light, that
will tell you what you want to know.  When in doubt, hypospray, it
won't affect an uninfected crewman in the same way.  At 2012, everyone
outside the Bridge must retreat to the Mess Hall or engineering and
lock yourselves in.  It will be a tight fit.  Carey, you know how to
lock down both areas?"

"Yes, sir."

"We will gas all the decks.  It will take ten minutes for the gas to
disperse enough to allow safe exit.  Ensign Henna, Lieutenant Ferris,
Lieutenant Ayala, and Lieutenant Nicoletti will lead the sweeper teams
to check every room in every deck.  We cannot afford to miss even one
infected person, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Aye, sir."

"Vorik, can you check my program?  Will it work?"

"Yes, sir.  Crewman Stein and I will have two minutes to open the
security files and get the command codes.  I can finish the coding
this afternoon."

"Are you sure you can you do it?"  Impatient.

"Yes sir."  Faintly offended.

"No one is to eat or drink anything until after this is complete.  I
am not risking the effects of some of the stuff brought from the
planet, and it is possible hydroponics has been contaminated.  Until
we can do a sensor sweep, stay away from anything edible, it's
apparently the way the contaminate is spread.  Ensign Vorik and
Lieutenant Carey will conduct a quick sweep of the Mess Hall and
Engineering replicators after we are finished here, but try to avoid
anything edible.

"You have your orders.  Anything else?  Good.  You all know to be
armed at all times, understood?  Crewman Zephyr brought the harnesses
you will use under your uniforms to hide your phasers.  Let me check
the settings before you go.

"All right.  Dismissed."

---
{Day 4  0215 hours} Present Time
---

"Sweeps are complete, sir."

Tom glanced up at Susan Nicoletti, who had the unenviable task of
being his first officer.  {First Officer.  She looks as miserable as I
am.  I wonder if the First Officer's seat is as bad as mine?}  The
expression of distaste she could not hide when she sat down told him
it was.  He took the PADD she offered, which held the new crew
assignments, then the sweeper report.

All suspicious food had been taken to the Mess Hall under the auspices
of Crewman Stein.  Vorik and another crewman were busy scanning
hydroponics. Internal sensors had found all the remaining
contaminants, including food, liquor, and, oddly enough, a box of
replicated fudge that had been a gift from Gerron to Megan after he
had returned from the surface.  Luckily, she had received it after
witnessing her sister and Gerron engaged in--{Tom, just say it, they
were having sex}-intimate relations, and had thrown it away
immediately.  So far, so good.  The internal sensors, run by Doc, were
regularly checking the remaining crew for a possible infected or
contaminated crewmember, but nothing had come up.

"Has the Doctor found anything yet, sir?"  Nicoletti looked a little
pale, but oddly calm.  {Probably shock.  A lot has happened lately.}
That thought made him smile again.  {A lot indeed.}

"He's working on it.  It's not quite a virus, or a disease, or--well,
anything.  The Doctor will know soon, I hope."  At her look of
curiosity, he bit his tongue.  He couldn't afford questions just yet.
"I was right about the food, everything from the surface or
deliberately contaminated by infected crewmen had a hallucinogen in
it, with a little suggestibility thrown in for kicks.  That explains
why everyone was so hot to get down to the planet, all at once.  From
what I have been able to find out, the hallucinogen causes the person
to want to get planetside.  Infection with whatever is making our crew
act--well, act unlike themselves--is separate." He was glad she didn't
question his sudden knowledge.  Maybe real Captains were omnipotent,
but he was not one of them, relying on more concrete methods of
discovery.  He leaned into the Big Chair, trying to keep from sinking.
At least, that was the impression he was getting from it.  {Like the
damn thing is trying to bury me.}

"Can we be infected?"  She sounded worried.  Tom tried to be
reassuring.

"Doc thinks not unless we beam down to the planet.  I am more worried
about someone being accidentally contaminated by the hallucinogen and
trying to take us back. How are repairs?"

She checked the PADD in her hand.  He noticed, almost as if for the
first time, that her black hair was several different shades, sheening
to midnight blue in some places, other spots sooty dark, currently all
wearing an equal layer of dust and--{is that blood?}--sweat.  One
strand hung in front of her ear, curling slightly against her cheek.

It brought back memories.  They had been lovers for only a little
while in their first years on Voyager, more of a casual once in a
while situation, when they had time and opportunity.  A higher level
of distraction, and Tom had never been known to turn down a
distraction that was as beautiful as Susan.  In those early days,
before B'Elanna, sex had still been his main source of relief from his
problems.

One slender hand went up and pushed the strand back absently, and it
fell forward again, brushing against her cheek, oddly familiar.
Almost unconsciously, Tom reached out and pushed the strand into place
behind her ear.  His hand lingered.  Susan glanced up, their eyes
locking for a moment, then they both looked away.  Hot color stained
Susan's cheeks.

{Selfish.  Unforgivably inappropriate.  What the hell are you
thinking?}

Tom didn't need to remember what he was thinking.  What he was trying
to forget.  It was branded into his mind, the entire scene he had
witnessed earlier that day.  Then the conference room, where he had
seen Harry's cheek.  B'Elanna's hand in Harry's.  The lovely brown
eyes filled with hate.

{It hurts.  But that isn't an excuse.  I'm not just a pilot now, who
can afford to bed anyone in sight to distract myself.  I am de facto
captain of a starship with my captain on a planet I trapped her on.  I
am the man who only a few hours ago vaporized all three of this
planet's ships in orbit.  I did beam the crews off first, but if that
hadn't been possible I would've blown them up anyway.  If our crew
gets off that planet, if they really are contagious--}

Not thinking, refusing to think, of the only real reason. {B'Elanna.}
That hurt too much.

"We have everything online, there really wasn't much to do once you
authorized the computers to let us do something," she blurted out.
For a reason unknown to any of them, Captain Janeway had set in new
sets of command codes that had locked out many important functions of
the ship from the general crew, even those whose usual duties required
access to those functions.  After an uncomfortable pause, Susan said
thoughtfully,  "I didn't know that a Captain could literally take over
every function of a ship just via command codes."

Tom laughed.

"Impressive, I know.  My father once told me about it, and fortunately
I listened, or I would have had no idea how to get past all those
lock-outs."  He handed the PADDs back, sighing.  "Hopefully, the
Doctor can find a way to uninfect our people.  Once he figures out, of
course, what's wrong with them." Sue glanced down at that, playing
with her PADD absently.

Blue eyes darted back to him, he saw the speculation, the question she
would not voice.  Knew everyone wondered what had triggered his sudden
action. Susan had been suspicious from the beginning, some of the
others had noticed the oddness, but Tom had been a staunch supporter
of the Captain until he had suddenly called the meeting in cargo bay
one.

"You want to know what changed my mind?"  His tone was weary
resignation, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

"Well, sir--" she trailed off, flushed.  He shook his head, glancing
at the useless viewscreen.  He hated looking at the swirl of gas
around them, had put this more long-range view in to calm himself.
Stars had always been his comfort.  He was a pilot.  They were where
he belonged.

"We have time to kill, I don't see why not.  Actually, you were
there--"

---
{Day 3 1030 hours} sixteen hours earlier
---

"How's the leola root casserole, Tom?"

Surprised, Tom looked up into the smiling face of Ensign Harry Kim.
He hadn't seen him in some time {ever since he went down to the
planet, actually, like most of the senior staff}.  As he sat down, Tom
tried to think of a response.  Couldn't find one.  After all, leola
root was terrible, what need was there to say more on the subject?

"It's been a while,"  Tom offered, chewing.  Neelix was still on the
planet, so someone had been kind enough, or sadistic enough, it was a
toss-up, to lay out the leftovers from--well, it could have been
anytime in the last four years, leola root always tasted the same no
matter what.  "How have you been?"  He was genuinely curious.

Harry grinned.

"Great.  Wonderful.  *Fabulous*."

Tom's eyebrows went up.  He noted that Harry had no food on his tray.
In point of fact, Harry was simply carrying around an empty tray, his
fingers uncharacteristically drumming on its surface, a nervous
gesture Tom did not remember ever seeing before.  He decided, in the
spirit of friendship, not to comment, but Harry's earlier words took
root.

"How good?"

Harry's cheery grin changed to a sly, rather muddled smile, an
expression Tom had never seen on his friend's face before.  To be
honest, he had never seen that look on *anyone's* face before.

"I think you can guess."  {Is that smugness?}

Tom whistled softly.

"Do I know her?"

Again, that sly smile.  {Where the hell is that coming from?}

"Yes."  He held up a hand, dramatically.  "Ask me no questions and I
will tell you no lies.  I am too much a gentleman to impart
information on the identity of the lady."

Tom laughed dutifully and nodded, looking down at his plate to hide
his face as he fished for another bite.  His very reliable instincts
were itching again, and it was bothering him.  They had begun doing
that, off and on, since Sue had talked to him the day before about the
odd way she felt those on shore leave were acting, but he hadn't
really taken them seriously.  Yet when he had come in the Mess Hall
today, he had caught himself retreating to a table against the near
wall, close to a door, his back to the wall.  A space where he could
keep his eye on the room, see who entered and exited. He thought he
had broken this particular habit living on Voyager.  There was no
reason for him to feel this way, no *reasonable* reason anyway  {Say
that two times fast.}  Harry's slightly maniacal grin was grating,
though, he had to admit it.  And the empty tray.  That was really
beginning to bother him.

"So how is the planet, anyway?" he asked, changing the subject.

Harry blinked.  The smile vanished, replaced by a kind of blank,
general-issue frown.  Tom took that frown in, and his mind, all on its
own, began to play connect-the-dots.

"You haven't been down yet?"  Even his voice was blank.  Tom hid his
expression beneath his glass.

"No."  Tom took another bite of the casserole, keeping his voice
off-hand. "The Captain had me on the bridge skeleton crew."

"But you got off this morning, right?"  {Whoa.  Since when have you
been so incredibly interested in my shifts?}

"Uh-huh."  Tom swallowed carefully, certain he would choke if he
wasn't vigilant.  His entire mind was devoted to this moment,
concentrating on Harry's words.  Harry's expressions.  Or lack
thereof.

Harry's face still had that very odd frown.  {Like he borrowed that
expression from someone else, but never learned to use it.  What the
hell am I thinking?}  He took another bite, more for something to do
than because of hunger.  All his wonderful prison reflexes were making
a big comeback.  A cold adrenaline rush swept his body.  The room
suddenly seemed to be brighter and clearer, he was able to note the
entire complement of the Mess Hall was a little too still, a little
too quiet, a little too--what was the word?--*calm*.  Tom felt every
muscle in his body tense, and for the life of him couldn't figure out
what it was alerting him.  It reminded him of a pattern he had once
seen on a wall, with a picture in it, but you couldn't see it
directly.  It took almost a corner-of-your-eye approach to see what
was inside.  Tom had the feeling he was looking at one of those now
and the only reason he wasn't seeing the picture was because he was
looking for the wrong thing.

The big picture, so to speak.  Just out of view.

"Well, B'Elanna was wondering if you wanted to meet her planetside
this afternoon."  There was an eager expression now, replacing the
frown.  {Way too eager.  Way, way too eager for me to get to the
planet--Tom, that is called paranoia.  Maybe he missed you.  Maybe she
misses you.}

{Maybe this is just a little too much enthusiasm for my company,
charming though it may be.}

Tom stopped chewing for a moment.  Replayed what had been said.
Matched the tone of Harry's voice with his memories.  {He's lying.  I
just watched Harry Kim lie to me.}

On the heels of that, {Why would he lie?  You're starting to sound
paranoid, you know.  You're imagining things.}

Tom finished the mouthful and swallowed, dropping his fork and fixing
his expression into an earnestness he knew disarmed.

"What did she say?"  He kept the exactly right amount of curiosity and
eagerness in his voice.  Never had he used this particular talent on
Harry. Never thought he would have to.

Harry's face formed the frown-thing again, and Tom caught himself
gritting his teeth.

"Just that she missed you." A mild shrug accompanied that, which could
mean anything.

"Did she tell you why we fought?"  {I can't believe I'm doing this.
This is my best friend--who is acting really weird, but--}

"Yeah, she did."  Tom let out his pent breath slowly, evenly, not even
realizing until that moment he had been holding it.

"I didn't mean to break that vase in her room.  I know her father gave
it to her."  A deliberate lie.  He watched Harry.

Harry smiled reassuringly.

"She said just replicate her a new one and bring it down, Tom.  You
shouldn't worry so much."

Tom found his center, sat there for a brief second.  {He lied to my
face. Cool and premeditated, and without the slightest hint of apology
or remorse. Tuvok cheerful after I got off shift, Chakotay being
incredibly friendly and well-meaning in the hall, now Harry.  All of
them want me to beam down. Now.  What the hell is on that planet that
is so damned important that everyone is trying to get me down there?}

"You know, you're right, Harry."  His voice sounded incredibly
natural, incredibly easy.  He picked up his tray.  "I'm going to go
replicate it right now.  Are you going down soon?"

"Yes."  The eagerness was unmistakable.  Tom's stomach turned to ice
around the leola root casserole.  He knew he was going to be sick.

"Tell B'Elanna I'll meet her down there as soon as I'm done." He stood
up, tray in hand, and half-turned to the door.

"She'll probably come looking for you if you don't."

Tom's hair began to stand on end.  That was a threat.  He could feel
it, no matter what kind of smile played on Harry's face, no matter how
playful his voice sounded.  Tom nodded slowly, moving away backward,
unable to make himself turn his back on Harry.  Too worried about what
would happen if he did.

"See you later." {How am I keeping my voice so damned calm?}

"You *idiot*!"

Tom started, spun on the ball of his foot. {Captain?}  He
automatically put the tray on the nearest table.  Stared.

The Captain was beside the buffet table, where Crewman Anna Zephyr was
standing, shaking, a cup of coffee in one small trembling hand.  Or
what had been a cup of coffee.  If Tom had to extrapolate what just
happened, he would guess that, from their positions, Anna must have
run into Janeway on her way out.  Now the Captain, in her uniform--{it
looks as if she wore it to sleep for the last two days}--was standing
over the very short crewman, her tunic splotched with stains.  She had
a look on her face Tom had never seen before.

Then, with cool deliberation, the Captain drew back her arm and
backhanded the crewman across the face.

Zephyr's head snapped back and she hit the floor without a sound.

Tom didn't move.  Couldn't, really.  A part of his mind was waiting.
For someone else to react.  Time in several prisons and "detention
centers" {I've always liked that particular euphemism} in his misspent
youth--{ha, how many years ago was *that*, seven, eight?}--had
conditioned him to keep very calm during a fight, especially if you
didn't want to join in one already in progress.

No one reacted.  They all continued whatever they were doing.  Harry
was walking to the door, and Tom watched in appalled shock as he
stepped directly over the young woman.

Janeway left, and he slowly walked to Zephyr's side.  {Why didn't I
stop this?  Why did I just stand there?}

{Good question.  Here's another.  Why did the Captain just hit one of
her crew?}

It seemed to take forever to reach Zephyr, and finally he got to her,
helping her up.  Her mouth was bleeding, but just a cut lip, nothing
more serious.  He hoped.  Not looking back, he walked out the door,
keeping a grip on her other arm.  He noticed, from the corner of his
eye, Susan Nicoletti standing paralyzed just inside the door, her
empty tray forgotten in one hand.  Zephyr didn't resist much, she was
obviously in shock.  He didn't blame her.  He was too.

It was a very silent walk from the Mess Hall.

Sickbay was equally quiet.  Tom took Zephyr to a biobed.  She began to
speak and he touched her lips closed.

"Don't talk.  I want to make sure your mouth is okay.  Computer,
activate Emergency Medical Hologram."

:::No such program exists.:::

Tom did a double take.  He noticed Zephyr was silently crying, and put
aside his shock and confusion.  {Worry about that later.  If there is
a later. There is something desperately wrong here.}  He was a trained
medic, he could fix her.  He ran the medical tricorder over her face,
then found the dermal regenerator and applied it.  In a few minutes,
her mouth was fine, and he gently wiped the blood from her chin,
unable to do anything about that on her tunic.  Silently, she began to
twist her blonde hair back from where it had come loose from the
ponytail she had had it in.  The blank green eyes glistened with
unshed tears.

"What's going on?  What is happening to everyone?"  she whispered.
Tom looked around the Sickbay.  No one was nearby.  He jumped up on
the bed beside her and gave her a Paris smile.  It worked to relax
women.  It did work this time.  Barely.

"Tell me what's been happening, Anna, on the ship.  What you've seen."
He kept his voice gentle, encouraging her to open up, aware that his
position as a senior officer would naturally make her a little
nervous.

Officers fighting for no reason.  Megan Delaney's story was already
circulating.  The odd obsession the crew who had been planetside
seemed to have in getting the rest of them down there.  "I used to
read about religious fanatics who would kill you if you didn't convert
to the religion of choice.  I got the feeling that--well, my bunkmate,
she had the oddest expression when I said I didn't feel well enough to
go down.  Something's wrong with them."  She gave him a quick glance,
as if expecting him to ridicule her statement.

Tom studied the young woman's face.  The honest, terrified expression.
And knew she was right.

"Zephyr, I want you to do something for me.  I want you to look in the
hall and see if any of those crew who are acting oddly are out there.
If there is, tell me."  {She looks about fifteen.  But then again, she
is only half human.  What else?  Damn, can't remember, anyway, maybe
they all look this young.}

She nodded, but her slow movements were a giveaway of her nervousness.
Tom ran a hand through his short hair distractedly, wishing he hadn't
cut it quite so much, so he had something to fiddle with.  Slowly, the
young woman went out the door and he waited, loading a hypospray.
Calmly, as if he wasn't risking his career just now.  Risking his life
if he was right.

The doors opened, and Zephyr had done him proud, she *brought* in a
crewman-woman, rather.  He gave them both a professional smile and
stepped forward, hypospray behind his back, meeting the eyes of the
obviously irritated and ill-at-ease crewmember

"This is my roommate, Crewman Ricarla, Ensign Paris," she said
breathlessly, her voice too high.  "You said you wanted to see her?"

"Yes, crewman."  He glanced at the doors, and then at Ricarla, whose
expression was changing to suspicion, and thanked whatever benevolent
being watched over reformed convicts that he worked in Sickbay.
"Computer, initialize Emergency Privacy Lock authorization Paris Beta
Beta Iota."

Ricarla started, and Tom caught her around the waist, then pressed the
hypospray against the side of her neck.  She collapsed before she even
realized she was being assaulted.

"That was fun," he told Zephyr, throwing her a grin, hoping it would
calm her.  She grinned back. With Zephyr's suddenly enthusiastic help,
he placed the crewman on the biobed and initiated a containment field,
then worked the medical tricorder over her.  Twice.

"Computer, display baseline vitals for Crewman Ricarla."

The panel across from him lit up, and he studied it for a moment, then
back at the tricorder.  {That can't be right.}

Just to make sure, he ran the tricorder again, then checked the
baseline to make sure it really was hers.  It was.  He noticed she was
waking up.  {That hypospray should have knocked her out for at least
half an hour, I know the dosage.}

The closed eyes opened, not blearily, not slowly rising, but fast,
almost snapping into place, and when those muddy green eyes looked at
him, he wanted to disappear.  The feeling shocked him.  Zephyr
whimpered, retreating, and that he couldn't blame on age, he wanted to
do the same thing.  But he was Tom Paris, a senior officer, he wasn't
able to indulge his terror.  He filled the hypospray again,
deactivated containment, and wrestled her down, pressing it against
the bare flesh of her arm when he couldn't get to her neck.  More
disturbing than anything else was her silence.  As if she didn't know
how to scream.  Her mouth opened, but no words formed or sounds
emerged before the muddy eyes closed.  For good measure, he gave her
another dose. He didn't think it would be long before she woke up.

"Crewman?"

Zephyr turned huge eyes on him.  He gentled his voice.  "I need you to
do something for me.  You can tell who is affected by this?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

A feeling, sir."  He gave her a sharp look.

"Are you empathic?"

"Yes, sir.  My mother was half-Betazoid."

{Should have guessed, considering how strongly she is reacting.}  In
Tom's mind, a plan was forming.  But he needed to be sure.

"I need you to take a message to someone for me, Zephyr.  Susan
Nicoletti. She isn't affected, is she?"

The delicate head shook, and he took a deep, calming breath.

"Tell her cargo bay one, 1400 hours.  Bring friends.  That's all.  I
want you to come to the meeting too.  After you talk to Nicoletti, I
want you to go somewhere that you can be alone.  Will your
quarters...?"  She shook her head frantically, and he remembered how
very crowded the crew quarters were. "Go to hydroponics.  No one is
there this time of day."  He caught himself speaking very slowly, as
if to a small child, and stopped himself.  {But she looks so damned
young, it's hard not to, especially right now.}

"Go now."

A few minutes later, he watched the young woman on the biobed, now
contained, wake up.  Again, her eyes snapped open, and they found him
unerringly.  This time, he was ready, and didn't give react to the
hostility he sensed from her.

"Good day, crewman.  Maybe you can help me with something."  His tone
was easy, and he slapped the hypospray against his hand lightly as he
circled her.  He knew very well the power of visual stimuli to
convince people to do something.

"I don't understand, sir."  Her voice was oddly flat for a plea.  He
pulled up a chair, turning it backward so he could rest his arms on
the back and, incidentally, make sure she saw the hypospray dangling
from one hand.

From the look on her face, he didn't think she missed it.

"What is wrong with this crew?"  Tom watched her try to struggle
against the containment field with a little amusement.  He had changed
the settings and set the paralytic field in place as well.  The Doctor
had shown Tom how to use it only a few days before arriving on the
planet, during some minor back surgery on a crewman.  He kept his eyes
on the medical tricorder, watching her adrenaline and endorphin
levels.  Reading the vitals that no longer matched her baseline.
Wondering if whatever was wrong with her might possibly break her
free.

He didn't want to test that.  This would have to be fast.  He locked
down the sick feeling rising in his stomach, knowing what he had to
do, but he would be damned if he would like it.

"I don't know what you are talking about, sir."  {You are as lousy a
liar as Harry.}

"I think you do."  He held up the tricorder, then picked up the other
hyposprays he had prepared before she woke.  Centered himself.  {I
haven't done anything like this in a very long time.  Another skill in
my checkered past, I am a good interrogator.}  "And I think you will
tell me what I want to know."  He stood beside the bed, looking into
muddy green, that now flashed with hatred, and brought down the
containment field, leaving the paralytic, hoping whatever was wrong
with her wasn't contagious.  "And soon."

---

It hadn't taken long, and he knocked her out again (with an incredibly
high dosage he never, never would have considered using, but having
the readings from her to work from he was aware it was the only way to
keep her unconscious) before beginning his search for the EMH.  Gone.
He checked archives, checked the main computer, even the holodeck
programs.  Nothing. Then considered who would have both the
authorization and the ability to wipe the Doc.

Two people.  One,  the Captain.  But she had been in the Mess Hall the
same time he had been.  He had visited Doc only a few minutes before
going to get something to eat.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Torres."  A part of him hoped he was
wrong.

:::Lieutenant Torres is in her quarters.:::

{And there she is.}

Tom left the office and walked to the biobed, wondering what he was
going to do with his prisoner.  Odd, how easy it was to slip back into
a life of crime.  But what she had told him had been enough.  Scared
him and set his goal.  Clear the ship of every one of those infected
until he could find a way to reverse it.

"You know, all I have ever wanted to do is fly.  I don't want to
interrogate and I don't want to instigate a mutiny."  He heard himself
talking to an unconscious woman and stopped himself.  {I'm snapping.
Always knew it would happen eventually.  I need a vacation.}

Tom thought.  Hard.

And had an idea.

He released the paralytic/containment field and picked Ensign Ricarla
up. She was heavier than she looked.

"Paris to Nicoletti."  {I hope they aren't observing us.  Okay, Tom,
*that* is paranoia.}

:::Nicoletti here.:::  Her voice sounded wary.

"Had any visitors, or are things pretty boring down near the
transporters?" Nicoletti worked in engineering.  He could almost see
her thinking.  Making the connection.  {Intuition is a wonderful
thing, Sue, use it.}

There was a long pause, and Tom held his breath.

:::Lonely, but okay.  Not many people around for transporting.  One or
two people came down to gossip, you want to start a new betting
pool?::: {Zephyr, good job.  You are brilliant, Sue, I owe you big
time.}

"Not now, no extra rations, you cleaned me out during the last
holographic game of pool we played."  He kept his voice light,
playful.

:::That was in Holodeck Two, right?:::

"Yeah, it was.  Can you do me a favor?"

:::*Anything* for you, Tom.:::  He grinned unwillingly at the
exaggeration.

"Will you check my logs and see if there are any discrepancies?  You
are better with computers than I am and I got some false readings in
my logs last time I checked.  Direction was way off."

:::You need it done now?:::

"I'd love it if you have the time.  I really need to get this done
before I see the Captain."

:::I have a break coming.  I can do it now.:::

"You're an angel.  Paris out."

Tom hefted Ricarla's weight again.  {I need to work out more.}  At
least, now, he wouldn't have to worry about anyone tracing this quick
transport.

"Computer, initiate site-to-site transport, Sickbay to Holodeck 2."

The shimmering covered him, and if his molecules hadn't been in state
of flux, he would have smiled.

---
{Day 4 0230 hours} Present Time
---

Tom glanced at Nicoletti.

"You have great intuition."

She shrugged, but the awkward moment between them had passed, and they
both were more relaxed.

"I *have* known you for a long time."

"I *knew* I would be a bad influence on the crew!"  They laughed
together for a moment, not really because of anything he said, but
because they needed to.  Sue looked exhausted.

"You should go to bed," he said gently, catching her laugh become a
yawn.

"Yeah, and when is the last time you slept?"  Tom realized he couldn't
remember, and flushed a little under her knowing smile.  "I thought
so. Vorik and Ensign Henna are going to relieve *both* of us in an
hour."

"I can't."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Her sudden formality startled him, and he nodded.

"We need you, if we are going to get the others back.  And I know
you're tired."  Her face betrayed real concern.  "Tom, take the time
until Alpha Shift to sleep."

"I don't know if I can."  The admission hurt.  The idea of what would
dance through his mind the minute he was alone and his eyes closed did
not bear examining.  Sue seemed to see that, and she reached out,
taking his hand.

"Tom." She frowned, started again.  "Sir, I saw--in the conference
room--"

He shook his head sharply, and she didn't speak further.  They sat
together in silence.  Finally, giving her fingers a squeeze, he
nodded.

"You're right, I do need some sleep."

"Nothing is going on.  I can hold out until Vorik gets here."  She
nodded to the ready room.  "You could sleep in there, if you want.
That way if anything happens, you'd be right here."

That hadn't occurred to him before.  {Anything to keep me from my
room.}  He smiled, squeezed her hand again, and found he had some
difficulty letting go.  Quickly, he stood up, realizing just how tired
he really was.  {Four hours won't be much, but at least I will get my
edge back.}

Sue watched him leave, lips tight.  Knowing something else had
happened to Tom before their meeting that afternoon.  The set look on
his face, the battle between blankness and anger in the blue eyes
during their meeting, his odd sharpness.but more, the way he had
thrown himself into their mutiny, heart and soul.

Alone on the Bridge of the Federation Starship Voyager, Susan
Nicoletti began her diagnostics of the systems on Voyager.  There was
nothing else to do right now, and the thoughts she entertained did not
bear more examination.

Not now.

---

Tom gave the leather couch a dubious look, but it was better than
nothing. Luckily, a blanket was lying in the corner, and he picked it
up and spread it, then took off his boots.

"Computer, initiate privacy lock."  {Just in case.  Though I have no
idea why anyone would want to come in here.}

Carefully, he removed his shirt and debated removing his pants (he
vividly remembered the last time he had slept in them, uncomfortable
had been an understatement).  Then he considered the ramifications of
an emergency, running out to the Bridge in his boxers, and decided the
pants would make acceptable pajamas.

"Computer, lower light to five percent."

He liked the dark, it gave him a sense of privacy.  Carefully, he felt
his way down on the couch, wondering why he hadn't waited until he was
actually laying down before killing all illumination.  His feet
stopped well before his head was low enough to touch the small pillow
he made of his turtleneck, and he looked at the ceiling to regain his
temper before drawing his legs up.  Squelched into a tiny ball, he
somehow maneuvered the blanket into place over him.

{How the hell am I going to sleep like this?}

He rolled  onto his side carefully, making sure the blanket didn't
catch under him, and tried to bury himself in the pillow.  An
injudicious movement brought his jaw in contact with the arm of the
couch and he swore, rubbing the spot

---
{Day 1 1600 hours} (three days earlier)

"B'Elanna, what difference does it make?"  She was mad.  Not angry,
not pissed, but mad, Klingon-violent mad, and he knew it the second he
walked in her quarters, just by the way she sat on the couch.

Somehow, Tom had hoped for something more pleasant.  They were
arriving near a quiet M-class planet that day and he had wanted to
sign up himself and B'Elanna for shoreleave.

This mood told him it wouldn't be happening like that, and Tom was
getting impatient.  He had pulled double shifts for almost two weeks,
Sickbay and Bridge, had looked forward to spending more than a few
hours at a time with his lover.  Not to mention getting some rest.

After forty-five minutes of a B'Elanna temper tantrum, Tom's patience
gave out.  He acknowledged that if he had gotten up earlier, he could
have had it regenerated in sickbay, and if he would keep spare power
cells in his room, this wouldn't have been a problem.  He tried.
B'Elanna didn't, and Tom was tired.  More tired than she knew or cared
at that point.

B'Elanna stared up into the blue eyes of her mate.  Then, pointedly,
to the bite on the point of his jaw.  That had been there all day, to
her utter embarrassment.

"It makes a difference.  The crew--"

"Fuck the crew.  Since when do you care what anyone thinks of you? The
whole damned ship, thanks to Seven, is quite aware of how we spend our
nights together, what difference does it make if I'm wearing a little
proof? Are you that ashamed of me?"  His voice picked up heat and
volume.  It spurred B'Elanna on.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?  The only time I ever see you is when we are in bed
together. Oh, I get a lunch or dinner once in a while, if your
precious engines can spare you, but it hasn't escaped my attention
that we *never* eat in public alone together without Harry if there is
a possibility a large number of the crew might see us together,
especially the Maquis.  And I won't even *discuss* our professional
relationship at work, the type where you pretend I don't exist."

"You're overreacting!"

Tom lost his temper.  That was new. Annoyed, irritated, even upset,
she'd seen them all, but never truly angry.

"The hell I am!"  His hands bunched into fists in his discarded tunic,
he met the startled eyes of the angry engineer.  "I have been
*underreacting* for so long you think it's natural!  Now, I
*apologized* that I didn't get the dermal regenerator out to fix this
before shift today, but *if you remember* its power cell ran out last
night.  Hell, the damned thing was in *your* hand when it did!"

B'Elanna blinked, stepping back.  Aware she had reached his limits of
patience, and took a more conciliatory tone.  For her, anyway.

"Tom, I just don't want to advertise--"

"That you fuck me every night?"

The chill bitterness in his tone startled her speechless.  So did the
crudity.

"Is it that bad, to be with me, B'Elanna?"  His voice was deathly
quiet.

"Of *course* not--"

"Or is the reason you are so secretive is that all this relationship
means to you is sex?"  Tom's voice dropped lower, quieter, and somehow
that was worse than yelling.  "Would anyone have done, or did you want
to see if everything Sue and Megan have said about how good I am in
bed is true."

He was cut off by the uppercut across his jaw.  His head snapped to
one side and he lifted his face, touching the blood at the corner of
his mouth with one finger. B'Elanna took a deep breath, holding her
hand, which stung from the contact.

"Then the sex is over," she whispered.  "Get out."

"Gladly."  And he turned and walked out the door.

---
Part II:  Essentials
{Day 4 0700 hours} Present Time
---

Tom woke for Alpha shift, surprised he had slept at all.  He stretched
out slowly, found the couch was too small (one of the reasons he was
sleeping in a fetal position in the first place) and stood up.  {Ouch.
One cramp, two cramps, three cramps, four.... why on earth do they
make these couches so small? Of course, people aren't supposed to
sleep in the ready room, either, but a little foresight.}

He picked up his turtleneck off the floor.  Remarkably, sleeping in
one's uniform pants wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as he remembered
--{though when you are tired enough you can probably sleep in an
stasis unit equally well--oooh, I didn't need *that* kind of imagery
this morning}-- but now they were wrinkled.  He looked at the blood on
his turtleneck from Ensign Zephyr and sighed.  It needed to be washed;
if he was going to play Captain, he needed to look the part at least.

Slowly, still working out the cricks in his back and neck, he wandered
over to the replicator.  {Did Vorik check this one yet?}  Tom hit his
comm badge.

"Paris to Vorik."

:::Vorik here, sir.:::

"Did you sweep the replicator in the ready room?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom appeared satisfied.  Then a thought occurred to him:  Vorik hadn't
been to the Bridge after the mutiny.  Certainly not before Tom had
appropriated the ready room for a bedroom.

"Vorik, *when* did you scan it?"

A very long pause.

::While you were sleeping, sir.  Lieutenant Nicoletti informed me you
would probably wish for coffee this morning and I was to make sure the
replicator was safe for use."

{That was excellent, Sue.  A commendation for saving my ass this
morning. And Vorik old man, you are becoming quite the criminal
hacker.  We can share a cell at Auckland.}

"Good work, Ensign.  Carry on.  I'll relieve you in," he checked the
chronometer, "fifty minutes."

:::Yes, sir.:::

"Paris out."

{You gotta love Vulcans.  No unnecessary conversation, get straight to
the point and just do it.  Very, very nice.}

Tom went to the replicator.

"Large espresso, hot, bill to Tom Paris, authorization Paris Psi Tau
Kappa."

The cup appeared, and it was indeed large.  Tom rubbed his eyes and
picked up the cup.  {Gods, this is bitter.  Maybe I should have asked
for raktajino.}  But it had the desired effect, waking him up quite
thoroughly. Feeling a little more alive, and the cramps gone, he
leaned against the wall by the replicator.

"One pair of uniform pants and one shirt, size Tom Paris, bill to Tom
Paris, authorization Paris Psi Tau Kappa."  {I hope I have enough
replicator rations for that, I can't go to my room looking like this
and I'll be *damned* if I will send someone to get me clothes.}

However, his luck was still with him, and the items appeared
instantly. Setting down the cup, he stripped off his clothes and
redressed.  His uniform jacket was still outside on the Bridge.

{Ah, no it's not.  Bless Vulcan efficiency, Vorik must have brought it
in.} His jacket sat on the chair by the desk.  He fished his original
turtleneck up and removed the pip and put it on his clean uniform.  He
wished, rather wistfully, that he had time for a shower.  {Later.}

He sat down at the desk, closed his eyes, and took a long shot of very
hot coffee.

He knew he would need it.

---
{Day 4  0800 hours} Present Time
---

"Report."

The Bridge was at half-strength, with Baytart holding down the conn,
Vorik in command, and young Ensign Larson, actually a member of
security, sitting in at Ops.  Tom had made significant changes to the
command the night before, combining some tasks with others to keep as
many people possible fixing the extremely odd changes that had
occurred during the "shore leave crew's" few returns from the planet.

The warp core had almost been completely detached, and the computers
infected with what appeared to be a kind of information-gathering worm
virus that had kept Vorik and Crewman Stein up half the night fixing.
The environmental controls had been subtly changed to slowly add more
nitrogen to the air, and the replicators had only just been cleared of
the presence of the hallucinogen.  Carey had yet to leave engineering,
still hard at work re-attaching power relays and plasma conduits that
had been sealed shut. It was slow going for all the crew.

Those with even minor medical training were charged with helping the
Doctor find out exactly what they were dealing with.  Before the
takeover the night before, Tom had run med scans on seven of the
infected crewmen to be compared with the baselines they had on record
in Sickbay.  Just to see if what Ricarla had told him was true

She had disclosed some information--{under duress, but information is
information, however you get it, and I don't really think she would
lie}--but it was not enough.  Not nearly enough.

"All systems are back on-line, sir," Vorik announced, standing up from
the Big Chair.  Tom looked at him speculatively, but he didn't seem to
feel the same discomfort Tom had sitting in it.  {Interesting.  Maybe
it's just me--and Sue, perhaps.}

"Did you finish setting the command lock-outs?"

"Yes, sir.  The computer will not accept commands from anyone not
currently residing on Voyager."

"Double check and make sure all codes belonging to the senior staff
are erased.  We can't afford mistakes, Vorik."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain Janeway also has two sets of override commands set in this
system, instituted after Seska's takeover of the ship.  I need those
found and disabled, on the off-chance she could get into the Voyager
computers from the surface."  He glanced around the quiet Bridge,
checked the chronometer, and almost on cue Susan Nicoletti walked in.
He gave her an acknowledging nod.  Just behind her, Samantha Wildman
exited the turbolift, going to her station as the new acting head of
Ops, relieving poor beleaguered Larson.

"Not bad, Ensigns."  They each flashed a tentative smile back, and
took their positions.  Tom handed Sue the PADD Vorik had given him
detailing the latest repairs, and she set herself to work.

"Vorik, go to bed."  At Vorik's arched eyebrow, the Vulcan equivalent
of shock, Tom was hard-pressed to keep from laughing.  "I need you
during both Beta and Gamma shift today.  Staff meeting at 1200 during
lunch, it will be here in the conference room.  Don't worry, anyone,
there will be food!" More smiles from assorted members of the crew, a
little less tense, more real.  "Where's Ensign Henna?"

"She's in engineering, sir, Lieutenant Carey requested her assistance.
She should be back within the hour to relieve me," Baytart reported.

Tom, with some dark humor, wished he had pulled his mutiny at the
beginning of the Gamma shift, rather than the middle.  Beta would be
the first shift with a more or less complete complement of crew in the
major departments Tom had prioritized.  Running with half a shift's
complement made Tom nervous, but the choice between keeping a full
Bridge complement and getting all the systems clean was no choice at
all.

The assignments had not been easy.  Somehow, they had managed to keep
most of his own conn department, and everyone in engineering except
B'Elanna. {Don't think, don't think, not now}  They had lost most of
security, ops, and several important subsystems, including computer
maintenance.  Crewman Joseph Stein was now in charge of that
department, with only two extremely junior crew to help him.  Sue
hadn't been able to assign him anyone extra, but Joseph was an
incredible programmer, as well as a good leader. Vorik was helping him
with some of the more advanced functions.  Stellar Cartography and
most of the sciences had been temporarily disabled, the crew moved to
the prioritized areas, but it still left a huge gap.  Whatever had
been on that planet had gone after the most skilled and most senior
officers first.

{When Janeway ordered all the senior officers down there, I should
have protested, we should have been more careful; what the hell were
we thinking?}

It was pure luck that Tom hadn't gone down.  His fight with B'Elanna
had led him to volunteer for skeleton bridge duty while the first wave
of officers went down, and it had been a full twenty-four hours, well
into the second day in orbit, before Captain Janeway had ordered
general shore leave for the rest of the crew.  His competing Sickbay
and Bridge duties, as well as a general fit of the sulks, had kept him
from signing up for leave.

His discoveries on the third day had, of course, assured he would not
be going down ever.

{Luck.  Unbelievable luck, really.}

Tom shook his head, then hardened his expression, turning to Susan
Nicoletti.

"How are weapons?"

Surprised, she looked up from the data PADD she was perusing.

"Weapons are fully charged, sir.  They weren't affected by the fight
last night."  He nodded acknowledgement.

Tom studied the viewscreen.  For the sake of variety, it had been
switched to an interior view of the nebula.  The choice of hiding
place had been based on Tuvok's earlier comments on its density and
the wave patterns, which, as Tuvok so succinctly put it, "could hide
any number of hostile vessels."  At the time, Tom thought Tuvok's
usual professional paranoia was amusing.

{Where the hell was that professional paranoia when we got here,
anyway? What the hell were we thinking?}

"Susan, I need a complete diagnostic and report on weapons and shields
done immediately.  Is anyone assigned to tactical this shift?"

Susan scanned her PADD.

"No, sir, on Gamma shift Ensign Ayala will be assigned.  Ensign Barker
is on during Beta.  Is Ayala needed, sir?"

"Where is he now?"  Tom caught his fingers tapping impatiently on the
arm of the chair and stopped.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Ayala?" queried Susan.

:::Lieutenant Ayala is in his quarters.:::

She glanced at Tom.

"He received notice to be here for the staff meeting, sir, at 1200."
Tom nodded, knowing Ayala would be pulling more than Gamma shift
tonight.

Tom went to tactical himself.  It wasn't his specialty, but he had
enough knowledge to at least begin what would have to be done.

"That's be fine, Susan.  Carry on."

Tom listened as Susan fielded inquiries and complaints from all over
the ship.  {One nice thing about being a Captain, at least I don't
have to deal with that.  Sue is much better at that sort of thing than
I am, anyway.} Shaking the thought aside, he began re-running the
diagnostics that Vorik had performed at the end of Gamma shift.

Susan Nicoletti was turning out to be an excellent exec.  After their
coup had been completed, they had worked out the new crew rotations
and assignments.  She was one of those people whom everyone was on
good terms with, and was able, after a little consultation with those
in question, to reassign personnel from non-essential areas to
essential systems whose departments had been reduced.  Even better,
she didn't question his priorities on which systems needed the
quickest relief.

"Have you decided who will be temporary Department Heads?"
{Temporary.  I hope.}

Tom gave her a crooked smile.

"My co-conspirators, of course.  Who ever told you crime doesn't pay?"

Susan laughed, but truthfully, she was impressed with Tom's planning
skills. When she had received Tom's message through Zephyr, she had
been floored, and yet, somehow, Tom had pulled it all together in
record time.  The plan for the coup had been complete before the first
crewmembers crept into cargo bay one, and this had been a huge relief
to all involved.  The plan had been perfect, taking everything into
account, even turbolift speed and computer response time.

To be honest, she shouldn't have been so surprised.  While Tom's
current position on Voyager had been a reward from Captain Janeway,
Tom had been Starfleet and made it through Command School.  He had
been groomed his entire life with expectation that one day he would
captain a starship and rise to Admiral.  While the Caldik Prime
incident had destroyed this particular dream, and his Maquis
activities finished driving that expectation into the ground, there
was no question that those abilities were still present.  Polished
even, after serving under Captain Janeway.

Sue found some irony in the fact every one of them had so naturally
followed Tom when he chose to lead.  Perhaps because of his lack of
previous loyalties when he was given his position on Voyager, most of
the crew had come to trust him.  Not all, but the vast majority. He
had become, in many ways, a symbol of everyone's struggle to integrate
Starfleet and Maquis, outsider and insider.

Watching him work, she marveled how easily he had taken command.  No
one had dissented his right to do so, and no one had questioned that
authority since.  {Of course, when you have the top twelve remaining
officers doing the unquestioning support thing, I suppose it is only
natural no one wants to rock the boat.  Besides, the only security
people left are Ayala's closest friends, since none of them wanted to
go down to that planet without the others, so personal loyalty there.
Tom's department has incredible loyalty to him, so no problems there
either.  Engineering is mostly Maquis, but they have strong ties to
Carey; if he tells them black is white, they'll agree.  I'm beginning
to suspect, too, that something happened in engineering with B'Elanna
when she returned to the ship that last time. Carey had that black
eye, and only said it was an engineering accident but I wonder.  I
really do.}

Sue pushed herself from her thoughts at Tom's voice.

"Yes, sir?"

He had a very slight smile on his face, and Sue remembered that smile
from what seemed like so long ago.  That "I'm thinking of doing
something really crazy, care to join in?" smile that he had used on
her more than once to convince her to pursue such activities as
rock-climbing, sky-diving, and Tae Kwon Do on the Holodeck.  She still
did Tae Kwon Do with him once a week or so, though careful not to
bring this to B'Elanna's attention too much, knowing the Chief
Engineer's temper, and her possessiveness.  {Well, not possessiveness,
but she knows Tom and I dated, and doesn't particularly enjoy the idea
of him spending too much time alone with me.  To be honest, if I were
in her shoes, neither would I.}

"I need some help.  Care to give me a hand?"

She put down the PADD, getting up from the Second Chair (as she
referred to the First Officer's seat) in barely disguised relief, and
made her way to tactical. That Chair, since the beginning, always
seemed to be trying to suck her in, drown her in its leather depths.
She wondered if Tom felt that way about the Big Chair.  {Probably not.
He was born to sit in one of those.  He looks so at ease in it, I'll
bet it fits him perfectly.}  It was disheartening.

When she looked at what he had done to tactical, she blinked.  Then
she did a double take.

"Like it?"  He sounded a little smug.  Her lips quivered in response.

"If I knew what you'd done, I'm sure I could compliment you on the
artistry."

Tom's muted laugh was the most natural she had heard since--well,
since they arrived at this godforsaken planet.

"I'm separating Tactical and Security temporarily. Each one will be
controlled by a different officer.  Vorik will be all over Department
Head and hold Tactical, and Ayala will act as his second there and
head of Security."

"Why is the separation necessary?"

Tom gave her a long look, but she could see his mind was far away.

"If you can hold your curiosity until the meeting, I can tell you
then.  I need to talk to the Doc first.  Sam?"

Samantha, running diagnostics, looked up quickly.  Flushed.

"Sir?"

"I want you to run continuous sensor sweeps of everything around us,
at increased and decreased sensitivity, randomly."

Samantha blinked.

"Sir?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going crazy, I'm being creative.  If anyone
comes near the planet, they will, of course, be checking for ships.  I
don't want them to find us, but I don't want them to escape our notice
either because our sensors alert them.  Make it look like random wave
patterns from the nebula."  Abruptly, he remembered her specialty
wasn't Ops.  Best not show less than confidence.  He left Susan at
tactical and joined Sam at her station.

Tom had done a little cross-training on Ops (it helped that his best
friend was head of the department) and Tom had learned several tricks
from Harry. Combined with his own rudimentary knowledge of procedure,
he was able to set his ideas on course.  After he was finished, Tom
gave her a PADD he had put together before he came on shift.

"It's just some simple instructions on Ops so if you get confused, you
have a reference."  He gave her his famous Paris smile, or the
"parismile" as some of the younger crewwomen called it.  She smiled
back, a little tentatively, and Tom turned to the Bridge at large.

"If I'm needed, I'll be in Sickbay for the next hour. Lieutenant
Nicoletti, you have the Bridge."  He disappeared into the turbolift.

Sue nodded in acknowledgement and went back to work.

---
{Day 4  0950 hours} Present Time
---

"What've you got, Doc?"

The Holodoc glanced up when Tom entered, then his eyes flew over to
the group of biologists and other hard science specialists gathered
around the different diagnostic panels.

"As much as can be expected, I suppose, Mr. Paris," he answered.
"Anything you need?"  He sounded impatient.  Not unusual.  Tom often
wondered if the Doctor believed there was a conspiracy on the ship
aimed specifically at annoying him, spearheaded by Tom himself.  At
the moment, the thought was tempting.  He crossed his arms and
casually leaned against the doorway.

"Just a talk.  Care to take a walk with me?"

The Doctor blinked, considering Tom for a long moment.  The casualness
did not fool him for a moment.

"Very well.  Ensign Orial, you have Sickbay.  I will be with Mr.
Paris."

Tom led the way, the Doctor following in silence until they reached
Tom's quarters.  Tom solemnly ushered him in, and invited him to take
a seat.

"I assume you wish my report to be private."  The Doctor's voice was
testy, but there was understanding there too.

"What do you have?"

"The physiological changes are very interesting, to say the least."
Tom might have groaned;  nothing could keep the Doctor from enthusing
on the joys of expanding the frontiers of medical science.  "The
stomach has been altered somewhat, though I cannot yet find out the
reason, the lungs can now process much less oxygen-intensive air as
well as process, of all things, an atmosphere based on pure nitrogen.
The most interesting change was in brain tissue itself.  While I
cannot be certain, the changes seem to affect only gray matter tissue.
However, all the changes are very easily reversible. What I cannot
understand is the behavior that is attributed to those affected. Their
normal brain wave activity seems to be equal to the readings you took
on those infected crewman, despite the brain tissue changes, but you
did have them sedated when you took those readings, did you not?"

Tom's slightly nasty grin answered that, so the Doctor didn't bother
to ask for verbal confirmation.

"If I had an infected crewmember to examine, it would be easier."

Tom's grin changed, and Doctor, who had worked very closely with Mr.
Paris for several years, instantly recognized it.

"I thought you evacuated the ship to avoid contamination."

Tom leaned back in his chair.

"I did, with the exception of those--umm, volunteers."  The light in
his eyes made The Doctor wonder.  "They're on Holodeck 2, in one of
the very best brig programs yours truly ever wrote.  None are aware
any of the others are there, and I've been monitoring from the
Bridge," Tom said smugly.

"Who else knows?"

"Lieutenant Ayala and Ensign Vorik, that's it, since they helped me
hunt for them.  Vorik's watched when I haven't been able to.  I cut
off access to that holodeck and Ayala made up the damage report sheet.
So far, no one has tried to break my codes.  I've been there only once
since--well, since the forcible evacuation, and everything was fine.
Don't look like that, I chose those particular crewmen because of
their lack of programming skills, on the off-chance something went
wrong."

"Who do you have?"

"None of the senior officers, if that's what you mean.  They were too
dangerous.  A few regular crewmen, lower officers, ones who wouldn't
be missed too quickly."

"You haven't told anyone else?"

"Not until we have some results.  My--" he stopped, and the Doctor
watched Tom's face change.  Paler?  Uncomfortable.  "From one of them
I received a lot of information.  I need confirmation that what she
said is true before I tell the others."

Watching Tom's face, the Doctor debated asking him under what
circumstances he had received the information.  And then said nothing,
merely nodded.

"We'll go there now.  Are you ready?"

The Doctor noticed the medkit sitting at Tom's feet and both eyebrows
went up.

"You are certainly prepared."

"I've always played a good game of chess, Doc."  He picked up the bag.
"Computer, initiate site-to-site transport program Paris Gamma 3,
authorization Paris Alpha One, Alpha Two, Beta One."

---
{Day 4 1200 hours} Present Time
---

As promised, Tom delivered on lunch.  He had always believed that
staff meeting should include food, and as a youth at Starfleet
Academy, he had seriously considered launching a petition so that by
the time he came on board a starship, snacks would be required. He had
asked everyone to bring some kind of fingerfood with them, and as they
arrived the first meeting of the Acting Senior Staff began to look
something like a party.   {Well, maybe a wake.}

Tom, in the Captain's uncomfortable Chair at the head of the table,
waited for his eleven co-conspirators to settle down before rising.

"To open our meeting, I will begin by naming the new Acting Department
Heads.  All of you know what your own position is, but a general run
through wouldn't hurt, so you know each other."  He smiled at their
light, but forced, laughter.  He wanted desperately to keep it light
right now--in far too short a time, that would be quickly changed.
Ayala and Vorik looked a little solemn, but Vorik *was* Vulcan, how
could he be blamed?  Ayala's usually cheery face betrayed him--dark,
solemn, even when the full mouth was stretched into an unconvincing
smile.  Well, unconvincing for Tom, maybe the others were fooled.

"Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, Acting First Officer," he introduced.
"The helm will be headed by Ensign Pablo Baytart, with Ensign
Elizabeth Henna, as his second.  Ops is now headed by Ensign Samantha
Wildman, with Ensign Megan Delaney as her second.  Lieutenant Joseph
Carey heads Engineering, his second will be decided when he decides,"
(muted laughter) "and the Head of Tactical will be Ensign Vorik."

He looked at Ayala, then Vorik, then the room at large.  He'd prepared
for this explanation since he had first discovered the secondary
danger they were in.  It didn't make it any easier.

"For the purpose of finding a way to help our lost crewmembers, I have
split the security department into two separate sections.  Tactical
will be Ensign Vorik's department, and, due to our extremely limited
crew, Sue will assist him when necessary.  Lieutenant Ayala will head
up ship security.  The people assigned to you both will be
interchangeable, and your duties will intersect, but I think it's the
best arrangement.  For now, at least."

Both nodded, and Tom moved on.  He knew they understood why.

"All natural scientists have been moved into The Doctor's department.
Now, Lieutenant Yolanda Ferris will head Ship's Services,
Reclamations, and all other non-essential systems.  Transporter Chief
is our new Ensign Anna Zephyr."  All eyes turned to the young woman
sitting at the end of the table, with a brand-new pip on her collar,
and there was a round of quiet, though sincere, applause.  "Finally,
patient Crewman--no, that's Ensign--Stein, who will cover computer
maintenance."  He waited for the applause to die down, and gestured at
the food.  "Take some time and eat before we continue."

Tom knew he wouldn't be able to look at food for a while, so didn't
bother trying.  Vorik seemed disinclined to anything but the crackers
that Tom had replicated earlier, and Ayala simply closed his eyes and
rested his head back on his chair.  As he had been on shift all night,
no one considered it unusual for him to take a short break, and the
group proceeded, if not merrily, with a great deal less tension than
might have been expected.  When the different dishes were reduced to
scraps, Tom called the meeting back to order, and was pleased to see
how professional everyone became on cue. Carefully, he folded his
hands and looked at them all.

"Under Federation law, as you all know, we are mutineers, and could
face a court-martial when we find a way to cure the captain."  He kept
his voice sure, they *would* find a way to cure her, one way or
another.  The thought of not--it didn't bear mention.  "I don't think
it's very likely."  He tried to sound confident.  "However, I do not
want to risk the possibility that any of you will be tried for other
than that mutiny, which we can plead the inability of the Captain to
lead us."  He took a breath.  "From this moment on, I'm taking full
responsibility for all orders given, so if it comes to a
court-martial, none of you can be implicated in anything else."

Sue leaned forward, eyes flashing.

"With your permission, sir?"  Formality again.  He nodded, sitting
back in the chair.  Shifted to make himself comfortable.  "Whatever
orders you give, I will obey, all of us will, there is no question of
that.  But I, at least, claim equal responsibility for whatever we do.
When accepting the position as your First Officer, I became as heavily
implicated as you, and if there should be a court-martial, not over
the mutiny, which falls under definite extreme circumstances which
even a Starfleet court run by my great grandfather would call
necessary, but over the method by which we command this ship, I can
and will claim full responsibility for my actions."  She paused to
catch her breath and glanced about the room, seeing the heads nod in
agreement.  So did Tom, and he didn't like it.  He had given this a
lot of thought and studied the regulations to make this work, and Sue
led the revolt against him.  It made him reluctantly smile.

"When you hear what I am planning, you might take that back, Sue," he
said softly.  The aqua eyes flashed back without the slightest hint of
uncertainty.

Lieutenant Ayala's grip on his PADD grew visibly tighter, and Tom
decided to act.

"Under regulations as they stand, there is no way around Federation
Policy regarding the ethical treatment of prisoners or captives,
except in circumstances not applicable here.  However, I have decided
that these circumstances warrant it.  We're under half-power, and the
half of our crew that is here is among the lower orders of officers
and specialists.  We lost our Senior Staff, most of our department
heads, and all the Starfleet information in their minds. As Starfleet
officers, we cannot afford leave a large group of our own people in
this situation, with the possibility that they can use their
information against the Federation."

He took a deep breath.  This was hard.

"I am--I am dismissing all Federation policy regarding the ethical
treatment of prisoners.  Six hours before we took the ship, Lieutenant
Ayala, Ensign Vorik, and I took seven prisoners to Holodeck 2, members
of our crew under the influence of noncorporeal lifeforms that call
themselves the K'eya."

The conference room was very silent.  Tom took a deep breath and
continued.

"Before I enlisted the assistance of Lieutenant Ayala and Ensign
Vorik, Ensign Zephyr and I apprehended her roommate, Crewman Ricarla,
who was under the K'eyan influence. After Zephyr left, I proceeded to
interrogate Ricarla using chemical coercion techniques."  He kept his
gaze fixed over their heads, breathing deeply, hoping he looked as if
he were still in control. "The information she gave me is here."  He
passed the PADDs around, first to Ayala, who handed it off, already
having seen the report.  He waited while everyone looked it over and
copied it onto their own PADDs for later viewing.

Sue was the first to speak.

"They are being held right now in the Holodeck?"  Her voice was tight.

"Yes.  The Doctor is with them right now performing a complete medical
scan. Ensign Zephyr," he turned his attention quickly to the young
ensign, avoiding Sue's darkening eyes, "the Doctor wishes you to
report to him at the end of your shift, he thinks he may have a use
for your empathic skills."  At her shy nod, he continued.

"The K'eya apparently infect the host bodies using the hallucinogen we
found in the food onboard the ship and a property of the planet's
atmosphere. While on the planet, they are able to remain within a host
body long enough to affect the physiological changes necessary for
them to assume control of that body."  Tom looked around the room.
"What we know now is that these creatures, if they are separated from
the body while off the planet, will die.  What we don't know is how to
accomplish the separation or how long it will take before they die."
Tom noticed their relaxation and felt his own body mirror them.  One
less problem.  Infected crewman with body-jumping parasites abounding
on Voyager.  A nightmare he knew Sam had worried about since their
mutiny, restricting Naomi to quarters at all times.

At least, that much they could be thankful for. Unless they went to
the planet's surface, they were safe from infection.

"Now, the second item of business.  The reason for the modification of
security."

Again, Vorik and Ayala already knew.  Tom saw Sue's curious glance at
them, then her gaze darted back to him.  She wasn't pleased to be left
out of the loop.  He suddenly understood how Janeway must have felt
when she had concealed Tom's activities as a "malcontent" from
Chakotay.

"From Crewman Ricarla, we discovered the name of the species that
trapped the K'eya on the planet.  They are called the Da'Oon, a
corporeal spacefaring race.  The K'eyan entity I spoke to did not know
why the imprisonment occurred, and frankly I didn't care, so I didn't
push the issue much.  There are two things about them, however, that
give me pause.

"They sealed this system over a millennia ago.  We broke that seal."

Sue started, eyes wide.

"How?"

Tom shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine.  Voyager didn't detect any anomalous
readings when we entered this system, but the Th'alin were here first,
so perhaps the seal, by the time we got here, was gone."  Sue nodded,
and Tom went on.

"There is a high probability that the Da'Oon will be aware that the
Th'alin ships we destroyed yesterday and Voyager are both in this
system, and it is no longer sealed.  From what I understand, they will
most likely attack first and ask questions later, when they find us.
I have no doubt they will find us, and I want to be ready."

"Couldn't we explain we aren't K'eyan?" asked Sue, jotting notes into
her PADD.

"I don't think they'll believe us, but yes, we'll try diplomacy first.
This is the big club we are bringing to the meeting, our new weapon
systems." His look now was slightly feral.  "The weapons modifications
Vorik will be working on during Beta shift were culled from the brains
of several of the prisoners this morning.  I hope that it will be
enough.  We have some Borg technology on the Delta Flyer, but I am not
Borg and our only Borg is not capable of volunteering.  I don't have
the knowledge necessary to make our weapons more powerful, hence Vorik
will be doing all.  You have Seven of Nine's weapons designs from the
Delta Flyer, correct?"

Vorik nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Good.  If it comes to a fight we can't win, we run.  Period.  I don't
want to leave the crew any more than anyone else, but I won't risk the
rest of you either."  He looked around the room, reading the
agreement.

"I separated the departments to better facilitate the interrogation of
the prisoners currently enjoying Voyager's hospitality on the
Holodeck."  The amusement in the room was slightly malicious, and Tom
couldn't say he didn't feel the same.  It felt *good* to have at least
some of those who had taken over their crew.  "Ayala and I will
personally be handling this assignment, with Vorik's help."  He looked
around the room, noting the expressions. He'd expected some shock,
some disapproval.  Either they trusted him unquestioningly, or they
understood the logic behind what he had chosen to do.  Or maybe they
saw it as payback for their own abuses by the K'eya in the bodies of
their crew.  He didn't know.  "Vorik will mainly be responsible for
the changes in tactical and weapons from this time forward."

"Drills will be started on Gamma shift tonight as soon as Vorik gets
the weapons on-line, to prepare for the possibility that the Da'Oon
will decide to show.  Sue, did you get the new shield modulation
calculations I gave you?"

"Sam and I are running simulations now, sir," she answered briefly.
"We should be able to implement by Gamma shift if not before."

"Excellent.  Any questions?"  He hadn't thought there would be, at
least until they all had a chance to read his report.  "All right.
Lieutenant Carey will have the Bridge during Beta shift today.
Dismissed."

Sue stood up but didn't leave. Seeing this, the others hastened their
way out.  Slowly, she walked to the head of the table, looking
straight into Tom's eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, and her hand came down, hard, on the table, making him
wince. {I knew what the reaction would be, how would I feel to hear--}

"I am your First Officer, Acting First Officer, and I--Tom, don't you
trust me?"  Her face changed, and he saw the anger had hidden hurt.
"If we are going to get through this, you have to trust me.  This-"
she said, fingers brushing the PADD,"-you could have shared."  She
pulled a chair up and sat down.  "Tom... for a minute, let's be
friends, not officers, okay?"

He nodded slowly.  Surprised there was no horror, no disgust.  No
disillusionment.

"Tom, did you really think any of us would have a problem with doing
this? They're holding our people hostage in their *own minds*, and do
you think any of us would stop at *anything* to get them back?  If it
took thumbscrews and whips, I would do it."  She glanced down at her
hands, face pale and set.  "Sir, I request that I be put in charge of
this assignment."

Tom couldn't help it, her switch between formality and informality was
charming.  He smiled slightly.

"I'm taking it during Beta shift, with Ayala's help, but thank you.  I
need you on the Bridge."  He changed the subject.  "Have you gotten
any word about how long it will take to get the warp engines back?
Lieutenant Carey said he'd given his report to you."

"Joe gave me his report while you were in Sickbay.  I can get it to
you now. Do you want to read it in here, sir?"  She stood up, and they
were officers again.

"No, on the Bridge. "  He stood up, and followed her out of the room.

---
{Day 4  2100 hours} Present Time
---

The Doctor was alone, for the first time that day, when Tom appeared
in Sickbay.  He wasn't surprised when Tom walked in, wearing the face
of a man who had crawled through filth, and sighed, to himself.  He
knew what Tom had been doing since the end of Alpha shift.

"Computer, activate-"

"I'm here, Mr. Paris."

Tom was too exhausted to even turn quickly.  He stood, back to the the
Doctor for a long moment, then turned around. Black circles under
bloodshot blue eyes, hard lines around his mouth.  Anything he had of
careless youth was gone, perhaps irrevocably.  And the Holodoc, to his
own surprise, somewhere in his subroutines, mourned that loss.

"Can I do something for you?"

Tom nodded slowly, jerkily, and walked to the biobed.

"I need a stimulant."  His voice was hoarse.

"I assume we aren't talking about coffee."  Tom shook his head, and
the The Doctor slowly approached the biobed.  "You know this is not a
good idea."

"If you have a better one, I'm listening."  His voice was sharper than
the Doctor had ever heard it before.

Truthfully, the Doctor didn't.  He would have liked to tell Tom that
he should go to bed, sleep, he needed it.  He wanted to say that Tom
wasn't needed every second, that he could afford to rest, but he
didn't.  It wasn't true, and of all the people on this ship, the
Doctor knew it best.  Slowly, he replicated the strongest stimulant he
could find and loaded it into the hypospray, then pressed it into
Tom's neck.

"The effects will last twenty-four hours at most."

"How long can I take it?"  Tom rubbed his neck lightly.

The Doctor tilted his head.

"How long do you need it?"

Seeming more awake, Tom jumped down off the bed, stretching his back
reflexively.  The Doctor could actually see the energy pour into him,
and the lines of his face, while they did not disappear, eased a
little.

"Until I can get those parasites out of the crew."

{Parasites.  Nice term, though hardly official.  Must be something Mr.
Paris coined, though I suppose it's as good a term as any.}

"I can give you one more injection before worrying about neural
decay."

"Humans can go longer than that without sleep."  Tom ran his fingers
lightly through his hair.

"Humans that aren't using prescription drugs to stay awake, yes.  Of
course, those humans are usually subject to fits of paranoia and
unclear thinking, both of which I assume you wish to avoid.  Everyone
is different in that respect, Mr. Paris."  He put the hypospray away,
and Tom began leave.  The Doctor stopped him.  "How long has it been
since you last ate?"

An unguarded expression of bewilderment crossed his face, chased
by--anger? Hurt?  The Doctor couldn't tell, and it was all sealed up
in a neutral expression before the Doctor could interpret.

"A while."

"Stay here.  I will replicate you something."

Surprisingly, Tom flushed.

"I can do that."

"But you won't.  I am still Chief Medical Officer on this ship, and I
am telling you, you will eat.  Come to my office."

Even more surprisingly, Tom obeyed.

Sitting on the other side of the desk opposite the Doctor, Tom ate the
tomato soup and sandwich, giving The Doctor a wry smile at the choice
of meals.  When he was done, the Doctor ran the tricorder over him, to
Tom's vocal protests.

"Better.  Much better."  He closed it and set it aside.  "Do you have
any new information you wish to share with me?"

Tom looked at the Doctor carefully.

"You know why I don't want to, other than the most necessary."

"Yes, yes, court martial, la te da. Of all the people on this ship, I
am probably the only one that wouldn't be affected.  I *am* the only
Doctor."

Tom grinned then, and the Doctor felt several subroutines relax in
response.

"True, but there are other considerations. You have ethics
programming, and I can't afford for you to interfere if that
programming snaps into effect regarding my methods."

The Doctor hesitated, not wanting to inquire further as he watched the
lines of strain appear again.  But he was a doctor, and it was his
duty to care for the crew, all of them.

"You could disable the ethics parameters," he said calmly.  Tom
started, blinked, staring at the Doctor as if he had never seen him
before.

"Do *what*?"  His voice was edged with utter disbelief.

"Disable the ethics subroutines.  I could *try* to do it myself, but
after my last experience with altering my own program, I don't think I
want to try *that* again.  In any case, you have the option of using
my expertise."

Tom shook his head and smiled, and the Doctor felt himself relax more.

"That's very kind of you, Doc, but you know I wouldn't do that to
anyone."

"*Could* you disable the ethics of someone else?  I thought I was the
only one programmable."

As jokes went, it was lousy, but Tom chuckled.  The Doctor warmed at
the sound.

"Nice idea, but no.  Thanks for the offer, though."

Tom didn't seem in any hurry to leave, and finally slid a PADD to the
Doctor, with the recordings of information received from the
prisoners.

"Nothing very new.  They say the original hosts of the body are
unaware--unconscious, is the way I think they put it.  I still haven't
found out what happens to the original owners.  I don't think they
know either. But they get to keep the perks--memories, skills, general
knowledge." Tom shook his head.  "If they had been better actors they
would have gotten away with it, but apparently for some of them this
is the first time in a corporeal body and they got a little carried
away."

The Doctor read over the report and sat it down to download a copy
into his database.

"Mr. Paris." He stopped, trying to decide how to frame the question he
wanted to ask, aware he was facing one of the most skilled
manipulators on Voyager, who could easily answer a question without
giving an answer at all. "Tom, if I ask this, will you give me an
answer that is relevant to the question?"  {Honesty occasionally
works.  Not often, but sometimes.}

Tom tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly into blue crescents.

"Yes."

"After you beamed the crew to the planet, there was a fight with the
other ships."

Tom nodded.

"How did that happen?"

"Ah."  Tom understood now.  "You mean, did I pick a fight?  Yes.  I am
guessing you want to know exactly what happened, though, huh?"  Tom's
eyes darted to the chronometer, then he seemed to settle back in the
chair. "This is one of those times I need a drink, but don't say it,
alcohol and stims don't mix, especially with command.  I know, I
learned that.  Hope your holomatrix is comfortable, it is actually
kind of funny."

---
{Day 3  2045 hours}
---

{Very lucky for me, that I don't have the time to let the shock wear
off.}

Tom looked out the viewscreen, standing at tactical, waiting for his
crew to return.  They didn't disappoint him.  In seconds, like a
well-oiled machine, they poured out of the turbolift and onto the
Bridge, running for positions. Samantha Wildman, however, looked
nervous at Ops, and Tom turned to Lieutenant Nicoletti as Baytart took
the Conn.

"Sue," he said softly, "we're about to finish this.  Go help Sam with
Ops, will you?" Louder, "Vorik, how are weapons?"

"Fully charged, sir."  {I love Vulcans.  Who can't love perfect
efficiency and succinctness all in one pointy-eared package?}

"Paris to Carey.  You all assembled in engineering yet?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

"Good.  We'll need you in a moment.  Get ready for some extreme
unpleasantness."

Though they had talked about this, knew what they had to do, it was
still difficult to actually start firing on quiet alien vessels who
did not seem to have hostile intent.

"Shields?" he asked.

"Still at maximum, sir."

He glanced at Susan.

"Hail them."

"Channel open."

Tom took a deep breath.  He was about to announce his take-over, and
he couldn't help his sense of humor getting itself up, in pure
self-defense, he was sure.  How many Starfleet officers got the chance
to take over an entire ship?

"This is Thomas Paris of the Federation Starship Voyager.  You have
three minutes to evacuate your crew planetside before we open fire."

He waited.  They all waited.

:::Starship Voyager.  We will not comply.:::  {Succinct as well.  I
wonder if the Delta Quadrant has its own Vulcans? Nah, that smacked of
Borg.}  The ship shuddered a little at the impact of fire against
their shields.  He glanced at Susan, who quickly shook her head.

"No effect, sir."

"How much of our technology did they get?"  {Another brilliant idea,
free trade with an alien race.  Again, what was I thinking not to
realize what the hell was going on sooner?}

Susan thought carefully, then glanced at Vorik.

"They have the transporter technology," Tom's heart stopped, "but they
haven't installed it yet, if the sensors are correct."

The very concept that any of the Senior Staff might be able to get up
on one of those ships via transporter made Tom's blood run cold.  {And
we definitely don't want them to figure out now how to make
transporters work.}

He turned to Vorik.

"Fire at will.  Target engines and life-support." He felt the feral
smile stretch his mouth.  "Let's encourage them to our way of
thinking."

Vorik obeyed.  It wasn't easy to watch the maiming of the ships, but
Tom believed in the concept of amputation, and the destruction of
those warp-capable ships would go a long way toward assuring him that
not one of the crew could get off the planet.

Suddenly, the ship rocked.  Tom grabbed at the armrests for support,
looking back at Vorik, then at Sue.

"Shields down to 75%."  Susan looked pale.  "They have photon
torpedoes!"

"Wonder where they got those?" Tom said softly.  "Vorik, how long
until they're disabled?"

"Approximately twenty minutes."

"How long would it take to blow them out of the sky?"

Vorik thought.

"Four minutes, fifteen seconds."

Tom looked around his crew, seeing their expressions, their loyalty,
and their conflict.  No different than that going on inside himself.

"Their shields are lousy, sir," Susan offered.  Tom had an idea.

"Can we beam through it?"

Susan's face lit up.

"Yes sir."

"What is the crew complement on those ships?"

"Sixty people per ship."

Tom calculated.  He hit his comm badge decisively.

"Paris to transporter room.  I have a job for you."

---
{Day 4  2123 hours} Present Time
---

"It was easier to transport everyone off and blow the ships than wait
to disable them and then convince them to leave," Tom explained.  "We
sustained some damage when we modified our shields, but we were lucky
they had bad aim and lousy weaponry."

"Why did you consider them a threat?"

Tom started.

"No one told you--no, I guess not.  The ships belonged to a race known
as the Th'alin, basically scavengers.  Think the Delta Quadrant
equivalent of Ferengi without the ethics."  The Doctor winced.  "They
agreed to help the K'eyan find and destroy the Da'Oon in exchange for
the technology on Voyager.  I couldn't take the risk that the K'eya
controlled crew would get up into those ships.  It would be way too
easy for them to take over Voyager.  No matter how good the remaining
crew is, the senior staff of Voyager is better, and." he broke off.
His knuckles had gone white from clenching on the edge of the desk..
"Too big a risk."

The Doctor could see that.

"After the ships were destroyed, we were able to finish the repairs on
the ship.  The entities changed the environmental controls quite a
bit, did some damage to the warp core.  Apparently, they were trying
to find a way to detach it for the Th'alin to transport easily,
without being too obvious about it and alerting the rest of the crew."

"Is that when you sent Ensign Delaney to look for my program?"

"Yes.  She found it by accident, actually.  It was hidden in a
subsystem." Tom broke off.  Looked at the Doctor.

"Was B'Elanna trying to destroy you or disable you?"

The Doctor shuddered, he couldn't help it.

"Delete, Mr. Paris, though her terminology was quite crude."

Tom stood up, not to leave, but to pace.  This was unusual. Tom rarely
paced.  Usually, he found something useful to do when dealing with
excess adrenaline.  More efficient.

"That can't be right."  Almost to himself.

Now the Doctor looked confused.

"I assure you, Mr. Paris, that is exactly what happened.  I was here,
I remember."

Tom shook his head slowly, and when the Doctor saw his face, there was
something there, the expression just dawning, not quite able to put
his finger on it--

"Doc, the parasite had the knowledge to delete your program.  Why
didn't she?  Why hide it?"  Tom's demands were rhetorical, and The
Doctor caught the direction of Tom's thoughts quickly.

"My matrix was badly damaged."

"But fixable."  Tom straightened.  "Do you have a baseline for
B'Elanna on file from her last physical?"

"Yes."

"Excellent."  Tom smiled, and the Doctor recognized the sudden hope,
relief. At the same moment, he realized what Tom was about to do.

"You are going to beam her up."  Holographic voices were apparently
not meant to convey disbelief.  His tenor voice hit soprano.  Tom's
smile became a heady grin.

"Uh-huh.  Doc, whatever it is, she's fighting it!  Somehow, she didn't
delete you, but I believe the parasite thinks it did.  She got around
it."

"No other crewmember has."  He tried and failed to keep the hope out
of his own voice.

"Maybe they have, but we didn't have the proof."  Tom shook his head.
He tapped his comm badge even as he jogged out of Sickbay, calling for
Vorik. The Doctor watched him go, then resigned himself to finding
B'Elanna's baseline scans.

Organic lifeforms could be so demanding.

---
Part III:  The Slow Slide Down
{Day 3  1400 hours}
---

{Filthy, crawling through her mind, leaving tendrils of cold thought
like slime, heavy and clammy, dampening her own thoughts, her own
being, violating her mind, sifting through her memories, mocking
them--}

B'Elanna watched Tom walk into her quarters, glancing around the dark
living room.  She could see over Harry's back, between the moans and
sighs, the movement of his body.  Her eyes were open, had to see it
all.

He paused at the door, not quite letting it close behind him,
hesitating to invade her privacy, even with the suspicions, the
*knowledge* her parasite knew he had.  B'Elanna knew this had been
planned, for him to see this.  She had come back up to the ship when
Harry called--*ordered*--her up.

One last chance to get the only remaining senior officer to go down
voluntarily.  Though the parasite knew why, B'Elanna herself had no
idea what this would accomplish.  {Keep away from that planet, Tom.}
She could only hope it would keep him from the planet, the shock of
what he would see now.  For that reason alone she did not go insane
with what her body was forced to do.  {Stay here.  Be safe.  Get away,
Tom.  Please.}

Slowly, he walked into her living area, and she heard herself moan
louder, catching his attention. His head turned sharply towards the
sound, and she saw the disbelief, the *incredulity* in his face, as he
came slowly to the door, not wanting to see what he knew he would see,
what he would *know*, once he walked to her door.   She couldn't keep
the next scream from coming, louder, more obvious, driving the knife
in deeper.

Harry rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and she braced her
hands on his shoulders--{my hands?  Kahless, make this stop}--no
privacy, no way to fight, no place to hide, she experienced it all as
her body rode him, as her body responded, as the thing within her
laughed and enjoyed both the pleasure Harry gave her and her own
horror at what she was forced to do.

She could still see him.  It *wanted* her to see him and to suffer;
it *liked* her pain. Harry had turned them both so she faced the door,
had to watch his approach.  her eyes refused to look away and her body
refused to curl up in shame.  She watched him come to the door, the
blue eyes look into hers--

.and *felt* the smile curving her lips, brown eyes locked with blue.
Watched the way his face did not move, yet changed, as she moaned
again, and Harry levered himself to sit up, one hand roughly in her
hair, pulling her down for a kiss--

--her eyes locked with Tom's until Harry blocked her sight--

*--and it liked how she felt.*

When she lifted her head, he was gone.  Her climax hit and Harry was
rolling her onto her back, covering her, forcing her deeper into the
mattress.  She screamed his name.

Not Harry's name.

Tom's.

---
{Day 5  0800 hours} Present Time
---

"You're crazy."  Sue's voice was utterly flat.  Tom, under other
circumstances, would have agreed.  But his mind was already running
with the idea, desperate, perhaps, to believe.  To have found a way.

"You know we can't risk one of the senior staff up here.  Hell, even
Captain Janeway would be safer than B'Elanna!  She's an engineer, she
knows everything about this ship.  Damnit, Tom, she wrote the virus
that we used to take control!  Okay, she didn't write the whole thing,
but I saw it, and her fingerprints are all over it."

"Yeah, she taught me well."  Tom could be very patient when he was
certain he would win.  He sat back on the couch, studying Sue, looking
for a weak spot, the place he could put the lever in and push, to make
her agree.  A smile played around his mouth, placed there by his
knowledge that he would win.

She recognized that smile.

Sue knew her approach wasn't working and jumped to logistics.

"How will we separate her from the others?"

Tom grinned, and her stomach sank, knowing he had this planned out.
Hell, he probably had the whole thing already meticulously detailed in
his mind, perfectly coordinated so nothing would go wrong. He was a
*good* planner. It was the one place she couldn't fight him on, the
Plan.  Tom had one, very possibly a fool-proof one, and there was
nothing in it she would be able to pick apart.  Damn it.

"Just beam her up, directly to the holodeck.  Pick up her genetic
code, and we're done."  {Does he sound smug?}

"We don't have a sample of her."  She was grasping at straws and knew
it. Worse, so did he.  But he humored her

"We don't need one.  She has an original on file in Sickbay.  The
parasite didn't change her entire genome, it couldn't have.  And there
is only one half-Klingon on the planet, you know."

Sue shook her head slowly, not exactly negating, not agreeing, just
needing something to do so she could think.  {Maybe stall.}

It was only an hour ago that she had gotten the story from Carey about
what B'Elanna had done to him in Engineering.  {Black eye my ass.}
And though a part of her *knew*  that it wasn't B'Elanna that had done
those terrible things, it was still hard to believe it.  Hard because
of the nature of the parasite, that could use their memories, their
experience.  Their lives against them.

Tom, as always, could follow the track of her thoughts on her face.
That may have been one of the reasons she had never wanted more than a
casual relationship with him; that uncanny ability disturbed her.  It
had made him a good pilot, a good friend, and an incredible lover, but
it left little in the way of secrets.

"Sue, you know it's not them, not really."  His voice was incredibly
gentle. He took her hand, patting it gently.

"I know."  A thready whisper.

He stood up and walked to the large window, a habit she'd observed in
Captain Janeway and apparently, either consciously or unconsciously,
had been adopted by Tom.

"When we get them back--and *we will*--do you think you can still obey
the Captain?"

"Of course."

"Talk to Harry?  Eat lunch with your friends?  Stay with your lover?"

She flushed and looked away.  Tom understood instantly, and was
annoyed he hadn't sooner.

"Did you see him with someone else?  The K'eya chose--well, some of
them were, for lack of a better term, bonded to each other, and that's
what caused the random pairings."  He shrugged slightly.  "Random to
us, anyway. You have to know he would never betray you."

Sue glanced up, quickly, then out to the nebula outside.

"Do *you*?"  she whispered softly.

For a brief moment, something crossed his face, something she had not
seen before, and she shivered.

"Yes."  It was definite, certain.  Sue nodded with him.

"And Harry?"

Every muscle in Tom's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, then
relaxed as he asserted control.

"I hope so."  An admission she had not thought he would make.  He sat
down. "This is *not* what I want to talk about."

"But is it something you've thought about, Tom?  Seriously, when we
get them back--I have faith we can do this, I have faith in you--how
will the rest of the crew respond to them?  Zephyr, Megan, me, you,
Carey."

"Carey?"  Sharply.  She cursed herself and pushed on, ignoring the
implicit question.

"Tom, what will happen?"  She clasped her hands in her lap to still
the shaking, meeting his eyes.  "How will we go back?  I saw the
Captain hit Zephyr, Megan saw Gerron with her sister... and you saw
Harry and B'Elanna in the conference room.  For you, perhaps, it
wasn't quite as bad."

She stopped speaking.  Two feet from her, and he was as good as gone,
expression carefully blank, the hands clasped behind him tightening
visibly.

{He knew.  He walked into that room knowing what he would see there.
How the hell did he do that?}

"Yeah."  A whisper.  She stopped herself from asking the question.
What he had seen.

"What about them, when they get back?"  she asked, wanting him to come
back, wanting to distract him from whatever demons haunted his lone
hours... glad, so glad, for once, that she had never been in love, so
she didn't have to feel what he felt.

It worked, the blue eyes returning to her as if they had never left.

"To be honest, I'm trying not to worry about that yet," he answered.
"If it's true, that they are unconscious, then perhaps they won't
remember." he trailed off, aware that they didn't know.  They just
didn't have enough information to be sure what the crew would remember
about their experiences controlled by the K'eya.

"How will we trust them?" she whispered, and Tom gave her a sharp
look.

"How did you trust me, Sue, when you met me?  How did you trust me
when we took the ship?"

She flushed.

"That was different."  She couldn't meet his eyes then.

"Was it?"  Softly.  Tom had never discussed with her, or anyone, their
semi-relationship after it had ended--well, maybe with B'Elanna, but
Sue couldn't be sure.  She didn't particularly want to, either.  "How
different?"

"In the beginning, Captain Janeway trusted you enough to give you a
commission, make you a senior officer."  she trailed off, knowing she
was explaining this badly.  Couldn't find the words;  the only ones,
the truth, would do no good now.

But Tom understood instantly.  A small grin appeared, a bitter grin,
instantly becoming her commanding officer, not her friend.

"Vorik and I will consult on the best method of keeping Lieutenant
Torres incarcerated.  You have the Bridge.  If I'm needed, I'll be in
Holodeck 2." At her weak nod, he turned smartly on his heel and was
gone.

{Stupid, stupid, stupid!}  She leaned against the table for a moment.
He'd never asked why she had invited him to her bed.  Never wanted to
know, perhaps never cared.  Back then, when he was so new and a little
lonely, and she was too, and just wanted someone who could keep it
casual.  {And he certainly did that.  Very casual.  But always fun,
always enthusiastic, always very, very good.}

She pushed those thoughts aside, aware that their friendship had
suffered a blow.  Maybe not a mortal one, but definitely a blow that
would take time to recover from.  Now was not the time to try to fix
her blunder, her own tacit admittance that she *hadn't* trusted him
that time they were together.  She had used him, just as then she had
thought he used her--until she knew him better, knew him as more than
the former Maquis pilot, the convict.

As a man she liked.  As a friend.

Then, it had been too late to have him as a lover too.  She'd never
realized just how much she'd regretted that, until now.

She straightened, turning her face to the door, carrying herself as
the officer she was, and went out to the Bridge.

---
{Day 5  0900 hours} Present Time
---

Tom had tried not to think about what had happened in B'Elanna's
quarters those long two days ago.  Now it was back, no way to fight
it, ignore it. Just remember it, every hellish second.

{Thanks, Sue.}

That was unfair, but he wasn't feeling particularly fair.  Now that it
was lodged in his mind, he couldn't escape it, the memory.  The
feeling.

The implacable, cold anger that kept him able to torture fellow
crewmembers without a second thought.  When he looked in the mirror
now, he saw something disturbingly familiar, something he'd thought
he'd left behind in a Federation prison--{rehab colony,
Tommy-boy}--along with an anklet they'd used to monitor him there.
Shed like an old skin, to be something better.

Perhaps he'd always known, somehow, that it would come back.  That
coldness that let him do *anything* that had to be done, no matter how
filthy, no matter how low.  {I never thought I'd agree with you on
something, Dad.  But irredeemable definitely applies here.}  He kept
his face expressionless, his step light and firm.  No one could have
guessed his thoughts.  If they had--{Well, that would be inconvenient
for them, I am in charge of this ship.  Dad, you'd have an apoplexy if
you could see what I am doing in the name of Starfleet.}

B'Elanna.  Dear God, B'Elanna.  He locked his jaw, fighting the
intense desire to hit the wall with one closed fist, just to get rid
of some of the anger.  He would channel that anger later, watching
with uncomfortable glee as the imprisoned crew writhed under IS117's
influence while he asked the endless questions, holding the antidote
in one perfectly still hand.  Where they could see it, know that
relief was within their grasp, if only they told him what he wanted to
know.

He wondered what Ayala thought when he watched Tom performing the
interrogations.  Wondered if he even wanted to know.  Then wondered
why he cared.

B'Elanna.

{That smile.}

Yet, for some reason, his feet took him back to her room, and he
punched in the sequence quickly, before he changed his mind.  He
walked in, not caring what kind of etiquette or regulations he was
violating; he had certainly performed enough crimes that a simple
invasion of privacy seemed rather tame.  Kind of nice, actually.  He
walked into the bedroom.

Her bed was still unmade.

He could remember it all, especially the smile, that vicious smile
that had stopped him cold, had frozen him.  For what had seemed an
eternity, he had wanted to kill Harry Kim, his best friend, once his
only friend.  Kill him, watch him die, and stomp over the remains with
fierce satisfaction, with *pleasure*.  Tom didn't like that part of
himself, had kept it well occupied for the last five years by engaging
it in less homicidal pursuits. Piloting.  Rock-climbing.  Martial
arts. Any sport that would exhaust his body, his mind, and purge the
aggressive instincts for the moment, control them as he controlled
every other aspect of his life.  Impulsive he was, but never, since
setting foot on Voyager, in circumstances where impulsiveness was
unwise.

B'Elanna had been the first impulse of his new life that he hadn't
tampeddown, killed on contact, locked away until he could forget it.
The first time he had willingly lost control of his life, unable to
help it, stop it, finally stopped *wanting* control over it, glad to
give it up, hand over everything he felt, everything he was, to the
control of someone else. Become vulnerable.  {And where has that
gotten me?  Breaking into her quarters.  Yeah, you've changed *so*
much, Tommy boy.}

On Voyager, he had learned the finest points of self-discipline, never
wanting to return to being the man he had been those years after
Caldik Prime, before prison, before the Maquis even.  One who had done
things he still couldn't think of without a shudder, who had forgotten
everything he had ever known about honor, about morality.  A man who
sold the skills he had to the highest bidder, then had learned new,
less savory skills to sell for even more.  {And how ironic I have to
use them here.  For Starfleet. Fate, God, Q--whatever force decided
this has a decidedly unpleasant sense of humor.}

He couldn't erase the past.  He'd always known that.  He'd confessed
to the Caldik Prime incident for that reason.  He'd accepted the early
derision of the crew for that reason.

Hell, he had accepted a lot of things for that reason.  You couldn't
change some things.  Memories.  Actions.  Words spoken.

Maybe you couldn't change who you are, either.  Beneath the uniform he
wore, he hadn't changed, not really.  The same Tom Paris who'd lied at
Caldik Prime to save his career.  The same Tom Paris who'd sold
himself for alcohol.  Nothing changed, not really.

Staring at the bed, taking in the rumpled sheets, he allowed himself
to relive the entire sequence of events, the smile, the way she moved,
the way Harry had touched her.

He wanted to kill them again.  Enjoy watching it slow and easy.
*That* would be closure.

Unfortunately for him, non-corporeal lifeforms were exceedingly hard
to kill.  So far.  {Not for much longer, little K'eya.  Your time is
running out.}

He wanted them dead, all of them.  But not for what they had done to
him. Not even for what they had done to the crew, though he hated them
for that.

What they had done to B'Elanna, forced her do, feel, *experience*.
smear her with that kind of filth, making her live that long
nightmare.  For that alone, they were forfeit.  Fuck the Prime
Directive and fuck Starfleet, he didn't care what it took, what he had
to do, he would do it.  Get her free.

{Even if it turns out that  everything I said during our fight is
true, it doesn't matter.  I love her.  I don't care if she was using
me, I don't care if she doesn't love me, or if she did and doesn't
anymore.  I love *her*. I'll get her out of this, and every damned one
of them will pay.  Whatever she chooses to do about us afterward, if
there even *is* an us, that doesn't matter.  She matters.}

He looked at the sheets for another long moment, then stripped them
off the bed, tossing them into the recycler with a great deal of
satisfaction.  When she came back here, when she walked in this room,
it should be ready for her.  No reminders of what she couldn't
control.  {For that matter, no visible reminders for me, either.  Kind
of cathartic, actually.  Closure on a less grand scale.}

Turning to the replicator, he ordered new sheets, then carefully made
her bed, pulling up the bedspread, fluffing the pillows.  He did it
automatically, having done it many times before.  Slowly, he went
through her quarters, straightening the mess that the parasite had
made of them, picking her clothes back up.  Somehow the activity
calmed him, such a normal thing for him to do, cleaning her room.

Before he left, he noticed her console was on, and went over to touch
it off.  Then he realized what it was, and ducked down, sitting in her
small chair, shifting to get comfortable.  He checked the time index.
{It's been on since the first time she went to the planet.  Damn, she
must have been distracted, to forget to turn it off.}  An idea came to
him, and he tapped in a few commands, listening for her voice,
wondering if the parasite had said something, *anything* he could use,
in an unguarded moment.

After ten minutes, he heard it, and for another ten minutes he sat
there, mind slightly blank.  Slowly, he shut down the log and got up,
going to her bathroom to look in the mirror, bracing himself for what
he was about to do. Wondering, rather inanely, whether she would ever
look at him again, whether the chocolate brown eyes would ever light
up when they rested on him, whether... he stopped himself.  It didn't
matter.  Not in the big picture, so to speak.  He turned the faucet on
and splashed some water on his face, rubbing it dry with a towel.

When he was done, he let himself out, and walked to his own room.  As
quickly as he could, he took a shower, and changed his uniform,
preparing himself for what he was about to do.

Then, very slowly, he took out the hypospray from below the sink.
Stared at it for a few minutes, studying the color.  {You know this
isn't a good idea, right?}

{Yeah.  I know.  When have I been famous for my good sense, hmm?}

The stimulant was already loaded in, an alternate version of the one
the Doctor had given him.  He was a medic, he knew the long-term
effects of stimulants.  He was also a programmer, and knew how to get
the replicator to give him what he wanted, since he knew the Doctor
wouldn't.  Vorik's program, of course, helped with that.  He tapped
the hypospray lightly into his palm for a moment, then set it against
his neck, feeling the cool rush of air as he released it into his
bloodstream.  He could judge to a hair exactly how much was safe to
take, knew he was treading that edge now.

He hadn't always been so careful.  Since those days, he had learned.

In the hall, he paused.  Stared down the hall, body reacting fast to
the stimulant, giving him energy, removing the lethargy that led to
his more introspective mood swings.  A side effect of prolonged use,
he reminded himself, mood swings.  As he thought of B'Elanna, however,
he shuddered slightly.  He straightened his back, raising his head,
ignoring the sudden tension in the pit of his stomach.

Whatever it took.

---
{Day 5  1500 hours} Present Time
---

The Doctor was already ready in Holodeck Two, having been briefed by
Tom a few hours before.  He knew what he was here to do, after which
he would be dismissed from the room.  He understood Tom's reasoning,
that ethical subroutines were a bitch to get around, and Tom didn't
want to have to fight the K'eya and the Doctor over his methods.

It was a good representation of the Brig, and the Doctor was
impressed. Each prisoner believed himself or herself to be alone;
with all the careful manipulation Tom had done on sound and sight, he
had made sure of it.  What the Doctor liked a great deal less was the
odd smile on Tom's face after these sessions.  Chemical coercion was
not a particularly cruel method of retrieving information, and the
Doctor knew that few Captains in Starfleet would be above it if it
involved the common good of their crew, but it still hit his ethical
button every time.  The Doctor had decided not to ask about it, simply
ignored the crewmen Tom periodically sent to Sickbay to replenish
supplies that they couldn't or wouldn't replicate.  That way, he could
pretend he had no idea what Tom was doing to assure cooperation.

The one bit of information Tom hadn't been able to extract was how to
get the K'eya out of their host bodies.  Even the K'eya didn't know
this, and it had taken some time before Tom had been satisfied this
was true.  The Doctor shied from that thought.  B'Elanna, however,
could change everything, if Tom was correct, and the Doctor was
hoping, almost praying, that he was correct.

It was all they had left.  Everything else the Doctor had explored had
failed.  They knew so *little* about lifeforms like this.  Ones who
bio-formed bodies instinctively, took minds and memories.

Ayala was waiting beside the empty cell that would house B'Elanna
Torres during her incarceration, and the Doctor decided to take a look
at it.  It was large, enough at least to hold her and her
interrogators {don't think like that} and it had a bunk.  Nothing
else.  Pretty much like the real brig.

Not for the first time, he wished that this could be done in Sickbay,
but the Doctor understood Tom's reasoning.  The parasite could do too
much damage if it got loose, with the mind and physical strength of
B'Elanna Torres.  So Tom had written in the biobed that was now
sitting just outside the Brig, waiting for the beam-in to proceed.

:::Paris to Ayala.:::

Ayala touched his badge.

"Ayala here, sir."

:::Ten seconds on my mark.  Mark.:::

Ayala unslung the phaser rifle, considerably disrupting the Doctor's
equilibrium.  Vorik appeared from around the corner, apparently also
having also received a message, and brought his rifle down.  Ayala's
look of fierce concentration was a study of contrasts to Vorik's cool
impassivity.   At any other time, the Doc would have considered the
contrast amusing.

In his mind, the Doctor counted the seconds, and finished 'one' just
as a swirl of bright light appeared in the cell.  Vorik, nearest the
door, hit the switch that activated the forcefield while Ayala covered
him, then stepped back, raising the rifle to point at the slender
figure in the cell.

It was indeed B'Elanna, with a look of unmistakable shock twisting her
face.

The first thing she did, very typically B'Elanna, was throw herself
against the forcefield.  She bounced back, angrily righted herself,
and looked at her captors.  Only seconds later, Tom materialized
outside the cell, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

"Welcome back to Voyager."  The smug look was added to by an
unendearing smirk as he pulled a chair from somewhere and sat down.
Ayala and Vorik were on either side of him, rifles still drawn.
B'Elanna got as close to the forcefield as she dared, meeting the
mocking blue eyes with enraged brown.

"I knew you'd make trouble,"  she hissed.  "B'Elanna's memories were
quite clear.  I *told*  them you would try to stop us."

"I didn't just try, I succeeded.  Don't look so put out, I had tons of
help. Your people have definitely pissed off of our crew, you know."

"We are your crew," she smirked, crossing her arms across her chest.
"In every way that matters."

"No, you're not."  He pointed to the stance.  "B'Elanna never slumps."

A look of outrage passed over her face, followed by a curiously blank
expression.  Tom took advantage of her distraction and motioned the
Doctor over.

"You and the biobed can go straight through," he said.  "Give me your
holoemitter, you don't need it here, and I won't take the chance
she'll get hold of it."  He waited as the Doctor nodded, removing the
emitter, and turned his face back to the woman in the cell, standing
unnaturally still, not like B'Elanna at all.  Watching him with an
expression of intense concentration.

"You miss her, don't you?"  He already knew what to expect from this
creature, was prepared for anything she could say.  Tom smiled.

"She knows the answer to that question."

"Did you like what you saw?  Her and--his name is Harry, correct?"
She seemed to see something in his face, no matter how hard he tried
to control his expression.  "Her body responded so naturally to his
touch.  Were they close before--well, before us?"

*That* smile.  Slow and cruel.  It couldn't hurt him.  {Much, anyway.}
Not now, not after what he had heard in the logs she had not turned
off.  The parasite had forgotten to end them, left them running.
Stupid.

"And *that's* why you yelled my name?"

The creature stiffened, and again, the blank expression.  The Doctor
was behind the holographic biobed that he had programmed personally,
pushing it into the cell.  The parasite found she couldn't stop
him--and being a hologram, he moved even faster than she did here.  He
was able to hypospray and get her on the bed with only a few
lighting-fast motions.  He used the tricorder and the holographic
display of the sickbay monitor to run the tests and study the results.
His face changed.  He ran them again, then again, frowning each time,
until his expression finally relaxed.

"You were right," he said to Tom, loading all the information into the
tricorder.

"Take her off the bed."  As the Doctor complied, Tom had the biobed
dissolved, and the Doctor walked out, carrying the readings.

"What's the difference?"

The Doctor couldn't stop the grin.

"The half-Klingon."  The smile grew wider.  "More precisely, the half
part. They seemed to have a problem making the physiological changes
stick because she is a fusion of two different humanoid species."  He
tapped a few commands into the PADD while Tom kept his eyes on the
woman in the brig's narrow bunk.  "The changes fluctuated, even while
I was reading them.  A constant battle for control over the body.
Without the physiological modifications, the entity can't keep
control."

"Would that be true for all those of mixed species?"

"I would say yes, unless the two species are more naturally
compatible.  I would need more information."

"Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of mixed species on the ship,
unless it's by removes of several generations,"  Tom mused.  "So they
are dependent on the physical changes.  I was told that, but I wanted
to make sure.  How long could they survive in a non-altered host?"

"Again, I need more research to know for sure, but I don't think very
long at all."

"I'll kill her first."  She was sitting up, eyes blazing.

Tom tilted his head slightly, studying her.  A cool, impersonal look
of calculation.

"That's a laugh.  You can't even keep her physiology from fluctuating,
so I doubt you have the bio-control to end her life.  And that
certainly wouldn't be very practical of you.  What will you do for a
host?"

"I can find another."  Her defiance was amusing.  Tom kept his grin in
place.

"But you can't survive off the planet without a host, can you?" he
answered pleasantly, hoping that was true, that the Ricarla parasite,
all the parasites, had not lied.  "And--let me see--I find myself
doubting you can just transfer from body to body like that.  I bet it
takes more than just a quick leap."  Mocking now.  He *knew* exactly
what it took for them to do that.  If those infected crewmembers
hadn't lied.

Her eyes narrowed, mouth opening, but no words came out.

{It's true.}

He felt himself breathe again, not letting her see his relief, his
light-headed excitement.  He decided it was time to push.  She beat
him to it.

"You want her back."  Searching for a weak spot.

"Yes."  Nothing more needed to be said.  He waited for her to respond.
He could almost see her looking for a way to twist this to her
advantage.

"You wouldn't hurt her."

"I wouldn't have to.  You said she was unconscious within her own
body.  I could pull out the thumbscrews and she wouldn't know, and I
even have the nice Doctor here to fix up whatever I break."  He nodded
amiably at the Doctor, who found his holographic stomach had just
cartwheeled.  {Do I know this man?  Did I ever?} "You don't like pain,
do you?  Your colleagues certainly don't."  She seemed to pale, and it
pleased him.  "I would never hurt her."  He leaned forward a little,
resting his elbows on his knees, looking straight into her eyes.
Smiled.  "But I would enjoy hurting you."

"She's not fully unconscious."  It seemed to be trapped.  Tom liked
that.

"Yeah, I know.  The Doctor's still alive, after all, isn't he?  It
makes me wonder why you took the time to deactivate him in the first
place."  He gave her another smile.  "What scared you so badly that
you would try to kill him off?"

She stood up, approaching the forcefield.

"She doesn't love you.  She's using you.  Everything you said to her
is true."  Naked desperation.  "You know I'm right.  You said it
yourself!"

Tom's smile never changed.

"It doesn't matter.  *She* matters."

He stood up, walking towards the forcefield, waving Ayala and Vorik
back, close enough so that only she could hear.  His voice was low.

"There is nothing I would stop at, nothing I would scruple against, to
get her back, do you understand?"  He looked straight into the brown
eyes without flinching.  "You were stupid, you let yourselves lose
your discipline, act out of character, instead of playing it safe
until you got all the crew down to that planet. I am *not* stupid.
You have something I want, the crew of this ship, and you hurt her.
Unless you get the hell out of her, the hell out of all the crew, you
*will* die, and I don't care how I have to do it."  His eyes narrowed,
his voice dropping lower. "Do you understand me?"

He knew she believed him.  She was intimidated, eyes huge and dark,
mouth slightly ajar.  B'Elanna was never intimidated.  Ever.  He
backed away, keeping his eyes on her until he sat back down, having
offered her the only deal he would accept.  One chance.

"Your choice."

---
Part IV:  Justify the Means
{Two weeks later  1400 hours} Present Time
---

"And that is  the sequence of events leading up to the physical exam
of Lieutenant Torres?" asked Captain Janeway, perched in her chair
uncomfortably.  {Is this room hot?}  She tried not to pull at her
uniform: beneath it, she was beginning to sweat.

No one else looked overheated.  She shifted once, leaning her chin on
one elbow, shifted again.

It wasn't environmental controls, she knew that.  It was her.

Tom was seated at the other end of the table, surrounded by his
co-conspirators.  He nodded shortly, eyes meeting hers without evasion
and with utter confidence.

Much like he was when I reduced his rank for the Monean incident, she
thought.  Perfectly cool.  Perfectly in control.  A Starfleet officer
to the tips of each finger, even in the relaxed yet alert attitude he
showed her, showed all the Senior Staff.  They were meeting today in
the conference room to hear the sequence of events leading to their
"awakening" so to speak, the week before.  This was the third day of
the Inquiry, and everyone was emotionally drained, forced to listen to
Tom coolly recited the events of that lost week.

She still shuddered from the memories.  Those first hours, the
knowledge of what she had done while infected began to seep into her
conscious mind, dreamy, intangible, but undeniable.  She couldn't look
at her First Officer, nor at any of her Senior Staff at all; each
glance resurrected a new memory or reinvigorated an older one, and it
hurt.  So she focused on Tom, on what had happened while she--

{Don't think like that.  Don't.  Not now.  We have too much to do
right now to indulge in memory catch-up.}

"For the record, Mr. Paris, please answer my question with a yes or a
no." She winced internally, hearing how harsh she sounded, and chased
her statement with a quick smile to remove the sting.  The group
surrounding Tom, however, did not respond to the smile.  Sam's eyes
narrowed, her hands, clasped together on the table, tightened
perceptibly, until the strain of tendons through pale flesh was
clearly visible.  Ayala's frown darkened, and Sue's look of attention
became more hostile.

Tom had earned their loyalty.

{Well, it would be hard to pull off a mutiny without it.  They have as
much to lose as he does here.}

That thought was unfair and she knew it.  Not one of them had come in
here expecting to be let off the hook, none had tried to deny their
roles in what had occurred, from the original mutiny to the chemical
torture of infected fellow crewmen.  Tom had deflected attention from
their actions as best he could, but Janeway was certain she had never
witnessed a group of people so eager to share the blame.

And there was already so much to go around.

Chakotay stirred beside her, and she returned her gaze to Tom.

"Yes, Captain, that is the sequence of events up to the exam of
Lieutenant Torres," he answered calmly, never looking away.

Tom had been here before, and she desperately wished it did not have
to be like this, that he had to be called again to a reckoning.  How
many times can a single person go through this kind of inquiry, and
still believe in themselves as much as Tom did?  She swallowed, trying
to make her voice more mellow, easier on the ears.  Not so condemning,
not making the crew wince with her every word.

She glanced around at the other officers present, taking in their
expressions.  Chakotay looked slightly distant.  Seven was as blank
and cool as always, only the long-fingered hands, twisted together in
her lap, betraying her own inner demons.  Neelix, no longer a bundle
of cheery energy, but had turned quiet, introspective.  Even Tuvok,
always impassive, no difference now, except for the slightest ashy
color beneath the dark skin.

And Harry.  She winced every time she looked at him, she couldn't help
it. Golden skin sallow, eyes haunted.  Under pressure, he had always
been full of nervous energy, yet here, he seemed drained, head down.

Never looking at Tom.

She remembered, unwillingly, the first day of the Inquiry, when Tom
and his cohorts first entered the room, and Tom's blank expression had
cracked on seeing Harry--just for the briefest moment, something had
shown, something.unhealed?  Still raw?  Then the clear blue eyes
darkened, and he had turned away, taking a seat.  Sue was immediately
beside him, and Janeway had watched with interest as she, too, seemed
uncomfortable when she saw Harry.

And B'Elanna, for that matter.

{No.  Not now.  I can't afford to lose perspective now.}  She cleared
her mind, focusing on the task at hand.

"And after the examination?"

Tom leaned forward on his elbows, looking around the room before
meeting her eyes again.

"The Doctor took the results to Sickbay to work on a way to remove the
K'eya from those infected."

How could he be so calm, when she felt as if she would break out of
her skin?  An aftereffect of the K'eya, she knew, and took several
calm breaths.

B'Elanna, to her left, was so unnaturally still it made her even more
jumpy. The lieutenant's head was up, her hands clasped in her lap,
seemingly attentive, but the brown eyes were focused on something far
away.  Not once had she looked at Tom; not when he entered, not when
he answered a question, not even through his description of her
examination.

B'Elanna may have fared the worst under the K'eyan infection.  Her
body had not accepted the physical changes, so her parasite had not
been able to take control completely.  While B'Elanna had not been
able to do very much to help herself, she had been witness, a
conscious witness, to everything the K'eya did, everything the K'eya
said, and everything that had been done to her.

Everything done, both by and to her.  Harry.  Tom.  Her two closest
friends, one her lover, both the causes and witnesses of her ordeal.

Janeway had debated asking what had been done to remove the parasite
while B'Elanna was present, knowing the young woman had the intense
memories of the procedure, which had not been pleasant.  But she had
to know and turned to B'Elanna.

"If you want to leave during the next part--" But B'Elanna was already
shaking her head, slowly, apparently willing to listen to Tom explain
what the Doctor had discovered.  A quick glance at Chakotay's set
face, then at the other members of the staff, and Janeway turned back
to Tom.

"At this time, we would like you to describe the procedure by which
you removed the parasite from the body of Lieutenant Torres."

It was the first time Janeway had seen Tom react during the Inquiry.
He paled, glancing shortly at B'Elanna, then quickly, back to the
Captain, and she saw something flicker in the blue eyes.  Sue placed
her hand over his clasped ones, and he met her eyes for a moment, as
if to draw strength.  He nodded, almost to himself, then let out a
breath and spoke.

"It was four hours after the Doctor removed to Sickbay to review the
results that he contacted me on the Bridge."

---
{Day 5  1900 hours}
---

Tom ran into sickbay at a full sprint, practically sliding into a stop
in front of the nonplussed group of scientists surrounding the Doctor.
It was an endearingly boyish action that brought smiles to many of the
otherwise solemn faces.  He blazed a cocky grin in their direction,
but his eyes were on the Doctor.

"You found a way?"

The Doctor nodded briefly, but Tom could tell he was far more excited
than he let on.  But--Tom had learned to read the Doctor like a book,
and knew there was something about this that would not be so pleasant.
He waited while the Doctor dismissed the group to their separate
pursuits, and led Tom silently into his office.  He surprised Tom by
closing the door and initiating the privacy lock, further irritating
Tom's suspicions.  Tom waited, standing in front of the desk, until
the Doctor sat down, motioning him to sit too.

After an endlessly long look from Doctor, Tom finally asked again.

"You found a way to remove the parasites from the crew?"  He was
treated to the unique spectacle of the Doc nervous, absently playing
with a spare PADD, fiddling with his uniform collar, finally settling
both hands on the desk, tightly clasped, and fixing Tom with another
long look.

It made Tom nervous.

"Spit it out.  What did you find?"

"There is a way to remove them," he said slowly.  "Rather easily,
actually, once the physiological changes are reversed."  He paused
again, as if searching for words.

Tom's irritation took a leap into actual fear.

"The drug you gave to the crewmembers during interrogation--"

"IS117."  Tom didn't like where this was going.

"An illegal drug of Cardassian manufacture," the Doctor said softly.
"In the doses you gave, it had certain properties relating to the
crew's physical responses, did it not?  It made them willing to
talk--" he trickled off.  He had not seen Tom conduct the
interrogations, had not wanted to, but needed to know now. Had to know
if he was correct.

"Yes."  Shortly, and the blue eyes darkened to indigo, his face
becoming professional, blocking out whatever thoughts and memories
tortured him during his private hours.  "Convulsions, erratic
heartbeat, hypertension, adrenaline spikes, endorphin drops--"

"Pain responses."

"Yes."  Even more short, the word spit out, hanging between them, and
the Doctor took a moment, letting Tom regain control.  When he did,
the Doctor continued.

"You ordered Ayala to bring me the medical vitals of Crewman Ricarla
from one interrogation."

"Yes.  She was the original test subject after we found the correct
drug. Ayala brought the results to you when you asked."  Very
professional, voice clipped and calm.

"During the interrogations, the entity seems to have--some difficulty
keeping connected to the host body."

Tom's face drained of what little color still remained.

"Does that mean the crew could remember--"

"What I am most worried about,"  the Doc jumped in, "is the length of
time we have between the repair to the physiology of the crew and the
administration of the drug."  He watched Tom carefully.  In his heart,
he knew, as few did, just how much a scientist the young man was, and
how easy it was to forget that, given Tom's reputation and
personality.  Give him a mystery he had some personal interest in and
there was no stopping him. This was one of those times.

Doc had no intention, however, of letting Tom know that there was a
real possibility the crew had perhaps become "conscious" during those
times. They simply needed him too badly right now.

"So what happens during those times of drug administration?" asked
Tom.  He hadn't forgotten it, but he was distracted.  That was a good
thing.

"During those times, the entity has to struggle to keep in touch with
the body.  If higher doses were administered, for a longer period of
time--" he trailed off, seeing Tom's face.

"You want me to torture them to death?"  His voice was calm,
expressionless--the Doctor was disturbed by the coolness in his voice.
{He's changed.}  And the words he used, the harshest possible.  Tom
leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.  Eyes narrowing,
studying the Doctor carefully.

"The crewmembers weren't permanently damaged, were they?" the Doc said
desperately, retreating into curtness to hide his own horror in what
he suggested.

Tom blinked, staring at him.

"No."  Softly. "No, Cardassians didn't want damaged prisoners when
they used that particular drug.  They wanted them broken."

"I've run several simulations," the Doctor continued quickly.  "Now
all we need is a test subject."  The Doctor kept his eyes on the PADD.
Tom stood up, walking to the replicator to get a glass of water.  His
hand was steady.

"A subject."

Their eyes met, knowing who would have to be used.

---
{1452 hours} Present Time
---

Tom paused, and by his elbow appeared a glass of water.  Gratefully,
he took a sip, giving Sue a smile for the thought, and glad, too, his
hands had something to do.  He tried to relax the muscles in his back
and neck, they had begun to tense badly, and would probably grow even
worse before he was done.

"So you decided to use the procedure the Doctor outlined?"  Janeway
asked. For the record.

"Yes."  Tom put the glass down on the table, but his long fingers
drummed lightly against its surface.  A characteristic gesture;  Tom
was famous for his inability to sit still.  His face was turned away
for a moment.

Janeway wondered how much more he could say.  How much more she could
listen to.

It was quiet for a long time.  Finally, a voice broke the silence.

"Finish it, Tom."

His head came up sharply, and all eyes went to B'Elanna, who no longer
seemed to be in another dimension altogether.  Her small hands rested
on the tabletop, brown eyes were fixed on Tom, her expression intense.

Janeway sucked in an audible breath while Chakotay found something on
the table to fix his gaze on.  No one else seemed able to look away,
watching with a kind of sick fascination as B'Elanna and Tom stared at
each other, almost daring the other to look away first.  A long,
breathless moment, and Tom closed his eyes, breaking the lock.  Sue
moved the water when he motioned at it, which surprised him as much as
anybody.  {First officers really are empathic.}  The thought should
have amused him, broken the terrible tension in him, but it didn't, it
merely added to it.  He braced himself.

And continued.

---
{Day 6  0800 hours}
---

"Mr. Paris?"

Tom held the carefully prepared hypospray in one hand, staring into
space, then shook his head sharply.

"All right."  He hit his comm badge.  "Paris to Ayala.  Are you
ready?"

:::Ayala here.  Yes, sir.:::

"On my mark, ten seconds, then cut the forcefield.  Is Sue in the
Holodeck with you yet?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom nodded, almost to himself.

"Paris out."  He hit his badge to cut the transmission.  Glancing over
at Vorik and Henna by the chosen bio-bed, he saw both were armed and
ready with phaser-rifles.  He took a deep breath.  Looked at the
Doctor, keeping his face neutral.

They'd run a dozen simulations since they'd decided on this course of
action.  They were as ready as they would ever be.

"Are you sure we have to use her?"  It wasn't really a question.

The Doctor nodded.

"She has the strongest resistance to the entity, Mr. Paris.  She's the
perfect test case to see if this will work at all."

Tom nodded shortly and hit his comm badge.

"Paris to Zephyr."

:::Zephyr here, sir.:::

"Activate transporter on my mark, from Holodeck Two to Sickbay.  Do
you have it programmed in?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom took a deep breath.  Looked at the Doctor, who held the hypospray
that would sedate her before transport. His strained face wasn't
comforting.

"Computer, initiate site-to-site transport program Paris Gamma 3,
authorization Paris Alpha One, Alpha Two, Beta One.  Lock on to the
Doctor's emitter.  Energize."

The Doctor shimmered out of sight, and Tom waited the eternal minutes
until his comm badge chirped again.

{Can't even use a sedative to keep her unconscious, can't keep the
paralytic field in place so her movements won't hurt her... dear God,
what am I authorizing?}

To his officers, Tom appeared perfectly in control, but the thoughts
were disturbing him.  Sedation took away the entire point of this
exercise:  if they couldn't feel the pain of IS117, then they couldn't
become "distracted."  The paralytic field stopped the physical
movements of the body, and couldn't be used for the same reason.
{Distraction.  Yeah, that's a word for it, all right.}

:::Ready, Mr. Paris.:::  The Doctor's voice sounded strained.  Tom
took another breath, hit his comm badge.

"Zephyr, Ayala, mark."

Vorik and Henna each took one side of the biobed, ready for
materialization.

The Doctor shimmered back into existence, holding B'Elanna carefully.
Looking slightly frazzled, he placed her on the biobed, activating
containment and paralytic fields.  Within seconds, he was ready to
begin to reverse the changes done to B'Elanna's body.  They had worked
out the times the night before, knew the period between the reversal
and the administration of the drug had to be short.  Tom looked at the
dosage in his hand again.  Shook slightly.

It was a fifteen minute procedure to fix the changes, and Tom was
ready the instant the Doc stepped back, just as B'Elanna became
conscious. She blinked, looked around her, and watched Tom approach
with the hypospray.

The brown eyes widened.

"Tom?"

Her voice sounded so familiar, so--so normal.  He forced himself
forward.

"What are you doing?"  Her voice took on a frightened edge.  {B'Elanna
wouldn't act scared, she'd be pissed.  This isn't B'Elanna.  It's
not.}

He checked the settings on the biobed, knew he was delaying the
inevitable.

"Tom?"  Her voice began to shake.  "Don't do this, Tom, please."
{B'Elanna wouldn't beg, she'd simply kill me.  This *isn't* B'Elanna.}

He realized his hand was beginning to shake, and he called up all of
his control to stop it.

"Tom, I am your B'Elanna, in every way that matters."  Her voice came
faster, breathlessly.  "I remember everything about us, Tom.  Please
don't do this.  I can be more to you than she ever was, Tom.  I'll
love you forever, just don't do this, please, don't."

He pressed the hypospray into her neck, and watched tears form in the
chocolate eyes, desperate fear twist her face, somehow having guessed
what he was going to do.  Her head, the only thing free of the
paralytic field, turned to meet his eyes.  Her eyes glistened wetly.

"I love you, Tom," she whispered.

He released the hypospray, the hiss making him wince, then released
the paralytic field, leaving containment. The restraints already in
place over her from the operation.  Wide, horrified eyes met his an
instant before they rolled back, and her body convulsed, arching her
spine.

Tom watched the restraints stretch.

She screamed then, and Tom stumbled back another step.  An arm caught
him, gently pressing him back, near the wall, and he recognized her
touch long before he opened his eyes.

"Sue?"

She stood beside him, one slim hand still on his arm, a wry smile
twisting her face.

"Privilege of rank.  Two of Ayala's security people were off-duty and
I ordered them into the holodeck for babysitting.  I didn't think you
would want to be alone during this."

"I'm not alone."

One eyebrow arched in an excellent Tuvok imitation.  He breathed out,
slowly, until another scream cut through him, and his eyes were torn
back to the bed, then to the readings on the panel above her on the
wall, where the Doctor tracked the entity possessing her.  Sue took
his hand in hers, letting him squeeze until her bones seemed to meet.
Her eyes followed his to the woman on the biobed as another convulsion
snapped the scream off into an eerie silence.

No one else in the room, except perhaps Vorik, was doing much better
than they were, and she guessed part of Vorik's calm came from the
fact that he had participated in several of these interrogations
already.  Henna looked as if she wanted to be sick, and the Doctor--if
a hologram could look nauseous, well, he was doing just that, hands
gripping the back of a chair nearby.

"How much longer?" Sue asked, trying to distract Tom.

"I don't know.  When the readings are completely clear.  They can't
stay in a non-altered body for more than a few hours."  His voice
sounded better, and he seemed almost grateful for something to
distract him from the biobed, focusing the entirety of the dark blue
eyes on her, a slight smile twisting his mouth.  "If the Doctor is
right about the drug--maybe a matter of minutes.  I never administered
more than 10cc at a time."  His voice was matter-of-face now, and Sue
once again found herself surprised by his coolness.

"Why couldn't something less--something else have been used?  Reverse
the changes and sedate them, since the parasite can't survive in the
host body without the changes?"

"It was a thought, but the entities have a certain method of
bio-control. They can kill the brain tissue of their hosts before
leaving.  I couldn't take that chance."  {*I*.  Not *we*.  He's taking
this personally.}  "When under the influence of IS117, they are
too--distracted--to do very much in the way of damage, and in itself
the drug doesn't permit the--recipient--to fall unconscious."  His
mouth tightened perceptibly.  Sue wished she hadn't  brought it up.

She lifted one hand to brush her fingers across his cheek, wiping away
the dampness that she hadn't seen until that moment.  The bright
Sickbay lights fell on his face when he looked at her, and she felt
herself pause, tensing, felt him tense at the contact.

"Tom!  Please, m-m-ma-make--" her voice ended in a moan that ripped
into the air.  Tom's eyes left Sue, darting to the bed, and Sue's
followed, watching B'Elanna's spine curve impossibly.  The Doctor
stepped forward, then stopped himself, and a low groan vibrated in the
air around them.

"The readings are showing her clear," he said, and Tom realized the
Doctor had moved to the diagnostic panel.  Quickly, he moved to the
bed, the antidote already in hand, until the Doctor's hand stopped
him.  Wide blue eyes met understanding brown.

"Three more minutes."

Tom stared at him.  Tried to find the words.

"What?"  His voice cracked.  Sue moved quickly to Tom's side, keeping
a small distance, but making him aware of her support.

"We have to be sure it's gone.  The projections show that they can't
live outside the body for more than a minute or two, but I don't want
to take chances and--" He trickled off, seeing Tom's expression.

"If she remembers nothing else, she'll remember this," Tom said
softly, his face so stark Sue felt tears fill her eyes.  "You didn't
tell me that.  Why the hell didn't you tell me that?"  His voice was
rising, louder with every word.  Vorik and Henna both turned to look
at him.  "We are *torturing* her for *three more minutes*, and you
didn't even *fucking* bother to warn me?"

"I wasn't sure you would go through with it if you knew," the Doctor
said calmly.  He checked the chronometer, even though imbedded in his
program was an already perfect time sense.  "Two more minutes."

Tom walked away from them, going to B'Elanna's side for a moment.
Blood slid down her chin from the lip she had nearly bitten through.
He hadn't thought to put something in her mouth, to keep that from
happening.  Her eyes were closed, her breathing so heavy Tom's chest
ached in sympathy, and he stood there, waiting for the brown eyes to
open, to see him, to condemn him, to *hate* him for what he was doing
to her.

"Tom, move back."  Sue's voice seemed to come from far away.  B'Elanna
twisted against the restraints, and he watched them strain.  Watched
her spine bend almost seemed in danger of snapping, eyes jerking open,
and another scream sliced through the room, through the occupants.
Through Tom.

"Tom, don't.  Please come here."

Then Sue's hand was on his shoulder, his arm, gently easing him back.
He didn't want to go, didn't want to move, but her gentleness was
stronger than he was, and he let her ease him away.

"One minute."

Tom shuddered, his face blank.  Sue kept her grip on him, hoping that
would hold him long enough, that he could last out this last minute.
Her heart pounding against her chest in an erratic pattern of fear and
hope, looking at the bed.

{This could be our cure.}

Tom was tense beside her, so tense the muscles under her hand had
become stone.  B'Elanna screamed again, mumbling in something in
Klingonese none of them could understand, hopefully not completely
aware of what was happening to her, probably aware of nothing but the
agony she was experiencing.  The delicate fingers were splayed, bare
feet pointed, head thrown back until a muscle spasm contracted her
body tightly, another kind of agony, before forcing it out again,
stretching her out to her full height, arms straining against the
restraints.  Blood trickled from her nose.  Sue remembered during an
interrogation that had happened, and wondered vaguely what caused it.

"Time."

Tom jerked forward, stumbling to B'Elanna's side to lower containment
and press the hypospray against her neck.  A brief few seconds, the
brown eyes looked up, met his--and closed as she fell unconscious.

The Doc checked her scans, nodding.

"It worked, Mr. Paris."

Tom nodded, staring down at her, face unreadable.  The Doctor gave a
glance towards Sue, who acknowledged the hint and gently took Tom's
hand.

"Come on. We have planning to do in getting the rest of the crew up
here." He blinked, nodded slowly, almost as if in a dream.  "Do you
want to go back to your quarters?"

He shook his head sharply, and she tried to smile.

"We'll go to mine.  I'll order some breakfast and we can begin the
logistics of getting the crew back up here.  You're the planner, Tom,
not me."

He nodded, rather absently, but followed her.  As she led him out the
door, she glanced back to see B'Elanna's brown eyes open, looking at
them leave, before closing again as the Doc gave her a sedative and
began working to repair any damage IS117 had done to her body.

---
{1600 hours} Present Time
---

The group in the conference room was silent for a long moment.  For
almost everyone, there was no memory of the torture;  it was either
blocked or delayed.  B'Elanna, however, had kept a clear memory of the
entire fifteen minutes she was under the influence of the drug.  Tom's
face was utterly expressionless, matching that of his cohorts, and
Sue's--Janeway noticed, not for the first time, how completely focused
the young woman was on Tom. As his First Officer, it was natural she
had learned that, but for some reason, and Janeway wasn't sure why,
she knew it wasn't that.

She derided herself for paying attention to something so trivial, in
the midst of what was happening now.

"Do any of you have anything to add?" she asked, breaking the terrible
quiet.  The conspirators looked at each other, then shook their heads,
almost in unison.  She glanced at the time, realizing how late it was,
and sighed.  They'd been at this since 0800 for the third day
straight.  The short lunch breaks had not helped the eternal tiredness
that seemed to have settled over her since her release from the
entity.  {Parasite.  Good description, I like it, damn protocol
anyway.}  She glanced around at her officers and rose.

"This Inquiry is adjourned until 0800 tomorrow, at which time we will
finish the sequence of events and I will decide on the appropriate
action. Dismissed."

Tom rose, and almost in unison, his conspirators followed him.  It
never ceased to intrigue her, the instinctive rapport Tom had built
with them; even now, they waited for his action before reacting
themselves.  Tom nodded and left the room, Sue beside him, the others
only steps behind.  When the doors were closed, Janeway sat down,
looking around her at the rest of the staff.  *Her* staff.

She took pity, and dismissed them as well.  Then she leaned back into
her chair, watching B'Elanna leave, her gait, as always, steady and
sure, her face calm, as it had been during the entire Inquiry.  As she
left the conference room, Janeway knew she was making her way to Tom's
quarters, where she had been sleeping for the last two weeks.  Where
she spent every minute off-duty as well.  Janeway knew Tom did not
share them with her.  He had taken up residence with Baytart when
B'Elanna had been released from Sickbay.

She wondered what had driven B'Elanna out of her own quarters, what
had been done there that she couldn't bear to face, and decided that
she didn't want to know.  Her own half-formed memories were enough to
keep her occupied, she didn't need the addition of anyone else's to
haunt her waking hours.

She stared at the computer that had recorded everything Tom and his
crew had told her over the last three days of questioning and wondered
what the hell she was supposed to do with it

She knew why she was asking, that was easy.  The question was dealing
with an unprecedented situation, at least as far as Starfleet records
went.  Half of the crew too traumatized by their possession to be very
reliable while on duty, the other half implicated in a mutiny, no
matter how justified. Neither side yet able to rebuild trust, rebuild
rapport with each other, the one thing that Voyager absolutely
required.

Not strictly true.  Tom and the unpossessed crew were just fine, they
all trusted each other, got along, performed their duties quickly and
efficiently.

But the others--the others were living through their own version of
hell.

She closed her eyes, fighting back her memory again.  She couldn't
afford it.  She wondered, yet again, why she had forced herself to
return to duty so quickly.  Tom and crew had been doing a fine job,
and she certainly could have used the time off.

She stood up, stretching her back, and looked down at her Chair in
distaste. She could almost swear the thing was trying to sink her.
Slowly, she left the room, entering the Bridge, hoping there would be
something to do.

Something to keep memory at bay.

---
{2200 hours} Present Time
---

Sue and Megan sat on Ensign Baytart's floor as Tom expertly dealt the
cards for poker.  The Big Twelve, as Megan dubbed them, had
voluntarily removed themselves from active duty until the Inquiry was
complete and Janeway gave her verdict on their fate.  That left them
with a lot of time on their hands, and none were comfortable wandering
around the ship.  They might meet a memory in the hall.  The Holodecks
were not an option either.  They were booked with those whose trauma
needed dealing with, so none of them had tried to get any time.

With an odd naturalness, they turned to Tom.

Sue and Megan had been bunking together since Jenny had been released.
Megan had forgiven her sister, but could not yet forget, and Jenny was
unable to face her twin.  The two had decided to separate until the
trauma had passed.  Trauma that had stretched to a week and a half, in
fact, with no sign of rapprochement.  Megan was not quite able to make
the first move, and Jenny was unwilling to face her sister.

Gerron didn't even try to see Megan, eager to try and drink himself
into insensibility.  Tom and Baytart had spent several nights drying
him out.  It was strange, but the "repossessed" ({sick joke, yeech,
who came up with that?}  Tom had to wonder about their sense of
humor.) turned to the unaffected crew whenever possible for comfort.
Sue spent a great deal of her time counseling Jenny Delaney, while Tom
and Baytart were often called, early in the morning, to come and
rescue a distressed or drunken crewman.

No one ever commented on Tom's living situation.  One look at his face
that first night had ended any speculation.

Life in the Delta Quadrant.  Weird--part of the job indeed.

Samantha Wildman and her daughter were present, though Naomi was
asleep in Baytart's bedroom with Anna Zephyr.  When Anna had tried to
enter her own quarters, she'd begun to hyperventilate, almost passing
out in her own doorway.  Samantha, ever one to nurse those with a
broken wing, had offered her a place to stay for awhile.  Anna's
strong empathy was a hindrance, it had very nearly kept her off-duty,
and only now was she relaxing enough to perform her duties.

Tom finished dealing and picked up his hand.  Carey, sitting beside
Sam, tossed out a comment.

"Engineering is doing well."

Everyone looked up.

"My department is fine.  Ivanovich is doing a great job holding things
together," commented Tom, as he prepared to discard.

"Stellar Cartography has been reopened," offered Megan as she tossed
her discards down.

"Everything seems pretty calm," offered Baytart as he picked up a
carrot stick from the vegetable platter Sam had brought.

They had this conversation every day, about the same time in the
evening, none were sure exactly why.  Maybe it was to convince
themselves that they had departments to return to.  That this inquiry
did not mean the end of their futures as officers.

Maybe just so life would seem more normal.  Not that it was normal to
be hunched up in Baytart's quarters, all of them, playing poker at
2200 hours.

Megan drew her cards and made the opening bet.  Sam reached for some
celery.

"We can't hide in here forever," said Joe Carey softly, staring at his
cards intensely.

"We can until the end of the Inquiry," answered Megan.

"We should at least go to the Mess Hall," offered Ayala as he
discarded two cards and reached to draw two more.  "A lot of the crew
are feeling nervous. They'd like us to be more visible."

Tom nodded as he decided whether to bet.

"You're right, but--" he shook his head, tossing the cards down.
"Who's up for a Mess Hall experience?"  They had yet to forget their
first entrance after Captain Janeway reclaimed her command.  The
silence of the repossessed crew.  The long looks.  Not hostility so
much as--what?  Distrust?  Fear, perhaps, shame, guilt, pick one, they
all fit.  *Their* crew had welcomed them openly, with intense relief,
and the Mess Hall suddenly seemed like a battlefield with two armies
encamped.  Once Maquis versus Starfleet, now Tom's crew versus those
once infected.  It had been desperately uncomfortable.  Worse, Tuvok
and Chakotay had both shown up, staring at the divided crew as if they
had never seen them before.

Then at Tom.  With that look.  {As if I am deliberately trying to keep
the crew divided.  Give me a little credit, if I wanted the ship that
bad, why the hell did I bother to bring you back?}  Tom shook the
thought away, knowing very well that wasn't what they had meant to
convey.  {But it sure as hell felt like it.}

But they had to face it sometime.  Tomorrow the questioning ended and
Janeway would make a judgement.  Tom looked around the ten faces
carefully, and stood up.  They followed, in that odd synchronicity
they seemed to have developed over the days of their command of the
ship.

"Tom." Sue said softly, catching his attention.  "I know what you're
going to try to do tomorrow and my advice is--don't."

His face didn't give a damn thing away. Carey, standing at her
shoulder, arms crossed, gave Tom a placid look.

"What do you think he's planning, Sue?" asked Carey, the corner of his
mouth twitching.

"Probably trying to take all the credit for our adventure," Megan
answered dryly.  They were all relieved to hear her sense of humor
return.  Tom's mouth quirked.

"He's such a hog for glory," Baytart grinned, leaning against the
couch. Vorik tried to do the same, but Vulcan posture did not allow
for much slumping.  Tom bit back a grin.

"Well, can you blame me, look what it got me!" Tom countered,
motioning at Baytart's couch.  At that, they all broke out in slightly
maniacal laughter.

"Don't try it, Tom.  None of us have any intention of backing down on
this issue.  Equal blame, equal consequences."  Samantha looked
determined.

"Sam, I appreciate the gesture--"

"It's not a gesture," Sue interrupted.  "It's a fact.  No matter what
happens, all of us are equally to blame.  No matter what."

He shook his head slowly, but didn't answer.  Sue knew he hadn't been
quenched of this desire to assume blame, but she was confident they
could stop him before he did anything silly.

With the blue eyes filled with humor and his mouth upturned into a
smile, her heart skipped a beat, and she squelched the feeling
instantly, the regret that she hadn't known him better at the
beginning, before he and B'Elanna.  Before--before a lot of things.

She smiled and gestured to the door.

---

B'Elanna curled up on Tom's couch, staring out the viewport at the
rushing stars, wrapped firmly in Tom's robe, so she could breathe his
scent, feel closer to him.  She knew where he was now, had found out
easily, and imagined him in Baytart's quarters, playing cards with
that innocent grin that had fooled far too many people into betting
far too high with too few decent cards.  It amused her, infuriated
her, hurt her beyond her ability to express.

Tom had not spoken to her since her release, though the Doctor, in an
uncharacteristic gesture, told her that Tom had been with her every
moment he could while she'd slept. He had run many of the scans
personally to ensure that she was clean of the infection, sometimes
just watching her when he wasn't needed on the Bridge.  When she'd
been released, though, Carey had been the one to meet her.

---
{Day 7  1000 hours}
---

She met the gentle blue eyes of her second in command and found
herself, to her horror, retreating.

Before she could move far, embarrass her self further, he reached out,
catching her elbow.  A smile of kind understanding curved his mouth as
he kept the distance between them, respecting her need for space, but
connecting them with his hand, to show her he was not afraid, not
bitter, not angry.

He didn't have to be angry.  She was bitter and angry enough for both
of them.

"It didn't happen," he said carefully, meeting her eyes again, forcing
him to look at her.  "What happened in engineering--B'Elanna, I knew
even then it wasn't you."

To her horror, tears stung in her eyes, but her Klingon side didn't
accept human frailty and they soon disappeared, leaving her eyes
bright but dry. Carefully, he pulled her arm.

"Tom sent me to take you to your quarters.  Or maybe you want to go
down to engineering and see what atrocities I've performed on your
engines?"  His mouth turned upward in a sly grin, and she found
herself answering it instinctively, despite what she had done to him.

"I don't know what to do first, get in uniform or check on my engines
to see if they're still in one piece," she joked, motioning at the
loose hospital gown and robe disparagingly.

"Tom gave you the next week off, but if you're really eager to finish
my reports--"  he suggested archly, the words dying when the look on
her face changed abruptly.

"Tom did?"  She made the connection suddenly.  "But--"

"You are the first we recovered," Carey explained as he led her out of
Sickbay.  "Do you remember?"

She shook her head shortly, and Carey, who had spoken to the Doctor,
gritted his teeth beneath his closed-mouth smile.  There was the
hopeful possibility that the torture had not registered in her memory.
This sometimes happened with extreme trauma, but the Doctor had not
been too sure of that, one of the reasons Tom had ordered Carey
off-duty to look after B'Elanna.  It would not be a good idea for her
to see Tom right away, and if she got her memory back and he was
near--Carey, like Tom, didn't want to hurt her any more than
necessary.

As they walked down the halls, B'Elanna became more and more aware of
the stares.  Anyone in a Sickbay ensemble might be stared at, perhaps,
but--distrust.  Dislike.  She had never felt so unwelcome before.  So
uncomfortable on her own ship.

Carey noticed too, but kept his head, not wanting to yell out that the
gawkers were idiots.  Instead, he chatted calmly with B'Elanna, trying
to make it clear to all who saw him that not only was he comfortable
being with her, he did not hold anything she had done against her,
either.

Both of them knew it would be a long time, if ever, before the rest of
the crew felt the same.

As they arrived at her quarters, she looked around the neat, clean
living-room and into bedroom.  She knew she hadn't left it like this,
but refused to remember the circumstances now, not when she wasn't
alone.  Yet, somehow, she found herself staring at the neatly made
bed, the images wouldn't stop, and she choked, her hand pressed hard
against her throat as she remembered more... and more.and more.

"B'Elanna?"

She shook her head, backing out, hitting the wall hard before
regaining her composure, searching for an explanation to give to
Carey.  By the look of sympathy on his face, she realized she didn't
need to bother.  He might not know what she had done, but he knew that
she was remembering something.

"I can't stay here."  {Did I speak?}

Carey hit his comm badge.

"Carey to Paris."

:::Paris here.  What's up?:::  His voice sounded jocular, almost
playful, more like the old Tom, and Carey suddenly hated to be the one
to tell him this.

"Are there any empty quarters right now?"

A long pause, and then Tom spoke again.

"Take her to mine.  I'll get a few things out later and stay somewhere
else."

Carey looked at B'Elanna, who didn't care where she went as long as it
wasn't here--{Harry, Tom, that damned bed--get it out of my mind it
wasn't me, it wasn't, it wasn't--}

Easy to think the words.  Harder to believe them.  Carey led her to
the couch, making her sit, and went to pack what she would need.
Under any other circumstances, she would have realized that his going
through her personal belongings would embarrass her, but she was too
deep in her memories to notice or care.  Her mind was full of random
images trying to paint a coherent picture that she did not want to
see, and when Carey took her arm to urge her to her feet, she didn't
even try to resist, caught up in her internal battle.

Walking into Tom's quarters was easier.  Carey planted her on the bed
and replicated her something dark brown with synthehol properties he
called Brandy.

"You need to sleep," he said gently.

"I've slept enough," she argued.

"No, you haven't.  B'Elanna, please, you are exhausted, I know you
are.  Get some rest.  You need it badly, trust me."

She'd agreed, finally, the liquor getting the better of her, and she
heard Carey call for the lights to go off as she closed her eyes.

---
{2300 hours} Present Time
---

B'Elanna, curled up in his robe, wondered if he would ever forgive
her.

She remembered everything now.  Her sleep was haunted by it.  When she
had awoke alone in Tom's bed every night, she heard herself gasping.
Half-killing Joe in engineering.  Sex with Harry--{and Tom saw it.}.
De-activating the Doctor.

She remembered the procedure that removed the entity--{the parasite,
the creature}-- from her body, all fifteen minutes of it.  The entity
within her had tried to cling to her body and she had fought it off,
almost welcoming the pain, the irresistible unstoppable force of it,
because it hurt with her, and then the welcome bliss of being free in
her own  mind--

{It was worth it, every damned second of it, every second.}

And her first memory free of both pain and parasite was seeing Tom
holding that hypospray, face set, eyes dark and unreadable.  Wanting
to reach out and touch him, smooth the set lines of his face away,
before she felt her eyes close and the Doc was between them--

The last time she saw Tom, he was leaving Sickbay, with Sue holding
his arm.

She hated that memory.  When Sue looked back, there had been something
in her face, something recognizable.

{She wants my mate.}

B'Elanna was Klingon.  She knew.  She knew it with ever fiber of her
being, and had wanted to deactivate the Doctor again when he
hyposprayed her into unconsciousness.

Doctor had explained why they were keeping her in Sickbay for
twenty-four hours and, at her insistence, gave her a brief history of
the last three days.  Tom in command.  Wow.  Doing a decent job.   No
big surprise to B'Elanna, she'd seen long ago the natural command
ability he possessed.

Doc had skipped parts, but the Inquiry had taken care of that.

Even now, B'Elanna burned at that.  {Inquiry.  Just looking for a
reason to court-martial them because they managed to save the ship
without her oh-so-necessary help.  Damn her, why the hell is she doing
this?  She could have simply taken back command, gotten a private
sealed statement from each of them, and moved on in getting this crew
together.  But noooo--that's not Starfleet procedure, we can't do it
any other way unless it's Janeway that needs the slack... and it isn't
helping the crew reintegrate either.  No one wants Tom and the others
court-martialed for what they did, even the interrogations they
performed, and she's splitting the crew worse every day continuing
with this ridiculous farce.  Half the crew won't talk to the other
half, my engineering section alone is a nightmare without Carey and
Nicoletti--}

She stopped there, taking in a deep breath.  Reminding herself she was
a Starfleet officer.

{Doc said they chose me first because they could tell I was more
resistant due to dual heritage--who knew it would come in so useful?
It took a week to uninfect the rest of the crew.  Kahless knows how
they did it, getting everyone off the planet all at once, putting most
of them in stasis so they couldn't hurt the bodies, and Tom
administering the dose that got rid of the parasites.watching it every
time, Doc said, what he put everyone through. He wanted to take all
the responsibility for what he called deliberate torture, would I have
done it any differently?  No, not if all the options were the same.  I
would have done it all, and there would have been no regrets.  I
wonder how long it will take before he forgives himself.}

She sipped the tea she had replicated, wrapped the robe closer around
her. Breathed him in.

{We have to talk.  We have to, soon, before the silence goes too long.
I've learned something, something he showed me, about not talking.
He'll let the silence stretch forever, like I wanted it to after
Sakari, I know he will.  No matter what happens at that inquiry
tomorrow, we have to talk.  We have to.}

---

Harry was curled alone in his quarters, staring at the walls.

He had always been a back sleeper, almost at attention even in rest.
Yet tonight, and for every night since his release, he had found
himself on his side, burying his head beneath a pillow, letting his
memory ride him until he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
Then the dreams would come, waking him again, pulsing with unpleasant
sensations, unfamiliar emotions, intense imagery that sickened him.

His door chimed, and he ignored it, as he had ignored everyone that
had come to his door over the last week.  He had taken up his duty
shift as soon as the Doctor had certified him physically capable, and
immersed himself in his work until he was too physically exhausted to
do anything but lie on his bed, unmoving, until sleep finally claimed
him.

The chiming didn't stop, and his temper snapped.

"Get the hell away!"

Instead, the door opened, and Harry sat up, blinking, trying to see
who it was entering.  Couldn't, the light in the hallway made the
figure a tall silhouette.tall.

"Tom?"  His voice cracked with disbelief.

The figure paused for a moment, hesitating, then moved in further, and
the door closed behind him.

"Computer, lights fifty percent."

Yes, it was Tom.  Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed,
unable to believe this was real, that Tom was standing here in his
quarters, watching him with an unreadable expression.

They looked at each other, unblinking, searching for words.

Finally, Tom pulled up a chair, turning it backward out of habit and
sitting, arms resting over the back, studying Harry on the bed.

"I know that it will be hard for everyone," Tom said quietly.  "That
recovery time is going to be needed.  Everyone needs to think and put
things in perspective.  I know that.  Gerron and Megan, Megan and
Jenny, Sue and John--B'Elanna and me."  A long pause.  "Me and you.

"I'm sorry for what I had to do to free you from that thing.  I know
you don't remember it, and, hopefully, you never will.  But if you do,
I want you to know that."

Harry didn't answer, and neither spoke for a long time.  Finally, Tom
got up, as if to leave.

"That's all?"  Harry's voice was high with disbelief.  {That is all he
is going to say, after what I did to him?}

Tom stiffened in the half-turn for the door, blue eyes narrowing.
Turning back to Harry, his entire body still, hands fisted behind him,
nails cutting deep into palms.

"What else do you want?"  A dangerous edge to his low voice, but Harry
was beyond caring.  There was nothing, *nothing*, Tom could do to him,
say to him, that he had not done, said, to himself.

"Why did you come here?  To ask *me* to forgive something I don't even
remember?  After what I--"

"Don't."  The quiet voice, utterly expressionless, did not even give
Harry pause.

"What I did to you--with B'E--"  Harry tried to force the words out.

"Don't!  For God's sake, Harry."

"With B'Elanna."  His voice was hoarse.  "You won't forgive me, I
kn--"

"It wasn't you,"  Tom sounded desperate.

"It was!"  Harry shuddered, too lost in his own private pain to hear
Tom's. "Not all of me, but it was me, and I can remember--I remember
the decision, and what happened--"

Tom moved then, grabbed Harry by the shoulders, shaking him roughly.

"Shut up, Harry!  That isn't what I came here to talk about!"

It quieted Harry, cutting through the fog of guilt and grief, freezing
him for a moment.  Tom's breathing was audible in the silent room,
half gasp, half pant, as he drew back, hands automatically moving down
his thighs, as if to wipe the touch of Harry from his skin.

"I'm sorry Tom," he finally whispered, head down.  "I'm so sorry, I
swear I never would have done that on my own, never thought about it."

"That's a lie."  Tom's voice was harsh.

Harry's head snapped up.  Met blue eyes that burned.

"You've thought about it."

Tom shivered suddenly, and he turned away.  Going to the door.  And
Harry knew Tom, knew that once he walked through, he wouldn't come
back, not ever.

"Please, Tom, listen to me!"

"It wasn't you, Harry, I know that."  Tom spun to face him, blue eyes
alight.  "I *know* that, don't you fucking get it?  I know it wasn't
your fault, there was nothing you could do, that you're guilty about
it and you need absolution.  I know, probably better than you think,
what you're going through.  And I want to say 'everything's okay,
everything will be fine, let's just forget it', but I can't!"  He took
a deep breath, shaking his head slowly.  "I can't forget yet, and I
don't want to hurt you further now, by showing that to you.  Letting
you see how much I resent it."

"I hate myself more than you ever could," Harry whispered, head still
lowered.

Tom slowly sank into the chair, gaze fixed on nothing.  His breathing
hadn't evened out yet, it seemed to fill the dark room.

"I could've pretended, Harry, but I owed you better than that.  It
doesn't have anything to do with forgiving, there is nothing to
forgive.  I know you never would have done that to me.  Nor would
B'Elanna.  But it isn't easy, Harry.  I knew it wouldn't be easy, I
knew that.  But I didn't think it would be this damned hard, either."

A low laugh reverberated through the room, bitter, angry.  Harry felt
himself shiver through his T-shirt at the sound.

"I told myself a long time ago I wouldn't live in the past."  He
lifted his head, now looking at Harry with dilated blue eyes that
seemed frozen over. "We need time, all of us, to remember how not to.
You went through so much--no, I don't know how much, Harry.  I don't
pretend to, not your experience, not anyone's, just like you don't
know what we went through when you and the others were taken."

Harry, until that second, had not really thought about anything beyond
his own crushing guilt.  He looked at his friend, really looked at
him, for the first time since he had awakened in Sickbay, to see the
face of his best friend over him, removing the hypospray.  Harry
remembered he had wanted to smile--memory had not yet returned--wanted
to ask what had happened, but Tom had turned away too quickly, and
then the Doctor had intruded.

Now he saw the ashen color beneath the pale skin, the bloodshot blue
eyes, the incredible tightness of every visible muscle.

"But every time I think that, I remember what happened in that room,
what I watched--what was *deliberately* planned for me to watch, with
a message from B'Elanna waiting in my quarters, with the privacy lock
off her door. Maybe--maybe if I had found out that something happened
between the two of you under the influence of that thing, but didn't
see it--that wouldn't have affected me as much. But I watched, Harry.
I watched you with B'Elanna.  I watched you touch her, I watched you
kiss her, I watched you have sex with her, and possessed or no, it was
real.  You both remember it. And so do I."

Harry's eyes blurred as he listened to Tom's words, in that
frighteningly flat voice.

"That doesn't mean I blame you, Harry.  But it does mean it's hard to
look at you right now and not think of it.  To look at you and not
hate you for what happened.  To look at you and not--"  Tom broke off
abruptly, looking away.

Harry didn't need for Tom to finish that statement.  He nodded.  After
another breath, calmer, more steady, than the last, Tom spoke again.

"I want you to understand that."

Tom got up, looking down at his friend.  Hesitated, searching--

"With time--" his voice trailed off, not having the words.  Maybe not
wanting them either, not extending false hope.  Harry understood that.

"With time," Harry echoed softly. And this time, he let Tom leave, and
closed his own eyes to try again to sleep.  Haunted by the blue eyes
of his closest friend, a new memory to keep company with the others.

Somehow worse.

---
Part V:  Aftershocks
{1100 hours} Present Time
---

"Do you have anything to add to the chronology you have given us, Mr.
Paris?"

"No, ma'am."

Captain Janeway stood up, letting her gaze wander around the room,
taking in the faces of her staff, then finally coming to rest on those
she had put on trial.  With one finger, she hit a button on her
screen.  Clearing the three days of data from the inquiry.

"I have found no evidence of criminal activity.  This Inquiry is
adjourned."

---
{0900 hours} {Two hours earlier}
---

"I think you're making the right decision, Kathryn."

He rarely called her Kathryn, and she loved to hear it when he said
it.  She hid her pleasure by busying herself with the PADDs on her
desk.

"I think so too.  It solves most of the problems, which is why I
decided to have an Inquiry in the first place."

"Instead of a court-martial?"  His tone was teasing, a little forced,
but they had time to learn to be comfortable with each other again.

"Court martial?" she answered.  "No.  There had to be some official
action, but a court-martial wouldn't have solved anything."  She
looked thoughtful, and Chakotay wondered what thoughts occupied her
mind now.  He understood why she had chosen this path;  no one, least
of all Janeway, had wanted to put the crew through a court-martial
when the evidence was so dependent on interpretation.  "I needed the
information, and this was the only way I could do that without
bringing formal charges."  Her smile was a little bitter.  "If the
crew would even have let me, that is."

Chakotay wished he could argue with that logic, but knew she was
right.  He also knew that if she had truly believed Tom and the other
conspirators had acted criminally, she would have nailed them to the
wall without giving a damn about crew opinion.

He was glad that she hadn't seen them as criminal.

"Tom needed to confess," she said softly, almost to herself, and he
realized she'd used his name.  Not "Mr. Paris" but Tom.  He hadn't
heard her say that since she'd taken back command.  "It was written
all over his face, even I could see it.  After the last time--" she
stopped short, and Chakotay, for a moment, thought she meant the
incident with the Moneans.  Her brow furrowed slightly.  "He didn't
confess last time.  He learned from his mistakes. More than I've given
him credit for, it seems."

Ah.  He understood.  Caldik Prime.

"Have you talked to the rest of the Senior Staff?"  He wanted to
switch the subject a little--after all she'd been through, though she
certainly didn't look it, she was far too vulnerable.

"Every one of them."

"Including B'Elanna?"

She winced a little, her smile becoming a little twisted now.

"Oh, yes."  Chakotay grinned, more naturally, at her rueful tone.
"She had a few things to say to me about the whole concept of an
Inquiry.  Many words I didn't understand, but I am guessing were the
Klingon equivalent of profanity.  What she used in Standard she
certainly didn't bother to edit by much.  I've never been able to use
the same word as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb in one sentence,
but she managed admirably.  I haven't been that impressed since one of
my Bolian instructors at the Academy was accidentally pushed down a
cliff during a field trip."  She smiled, reminiscing.

"How about Tom's cohorts?"

"What about them?"  Her smile faded--she was back to business.

"What are you going to do about the rank changes he made?"

"Keep the rank promotions, but somehow I don't think Sam would
appreciate it if I made her Head of Ops, and Harry no doubt would be
equally displeased. The Acting Heads are no longer heads, and I think
they'll be relieved to hear it.  Ensign Zephyr and Ensign Stein--well,
they both served well in a high-pressure situation.  I see no reason
to reduce them in rank; I'll just have to find officer's quarters for
them both." She chuckled, then her smile faded.  "I thought
integrating the Maquis and Starfleet was difficult, but this--this is
worse."  She picked up her cup of coffee, staring distractedly over
his shoulder.

"I know."  He met her eyes for a moment, and they both looked away,
trying not to think of what had happened on the planet.  Between them.

---
{1103 hours} Present Time
---

"I don't understand," Tom said blankly.

"The Inquiry is over.  I have your statements, and I do not find any
action meriting criminal prosecution.  You are all returned to your
ranks and positions aboard the Starship Voyager without prejudice."

Sue made some sort of noise, he wasn't sure what it was, because he
couldn't think through his shock.

"You can't do that," he said finally, rather like a small child, and
she forced her grin down and away.

"I just did, Tom."

He nodded, rather dazedly.  Janeway looked around the room, noticing
the equal shock of the others, but not her senior staff, who seemed
simply... satisfied.  B'Elanna wasn't smiling, her entire attention
was focused on Tom, to the exclusion of all else, and Janeway wondered
when she would finally make Tom talk. Maybe tonight, hopefully very
soon.  The scars created by this couldn't be healed overnight, but she
had hopes at least they could be finally bandaged a little, begin to
heal.

"Why?"

She smiled then, letting him see it.

"Because I found no evidence of a crime committed."

Tom's blue eyes widened, and for a moment, she toyed with the notion
his jaw might drop.

"I--"

"Tom, we can do this officially, if you want.  No crime.  I find you
and your crew innocent of any wrongdoing.  You are restored to your
rank and position, as are your associates, effective immediately."
She had another reason for having an inquiry and clearing the
incident--of all things, she did not want to arrive back in the Alpha
Quadrant and have Tom face another kind of jury, a group of Admirals
who probably hadn't left Earth since the beginning of time, playing
the 'what if' game and second-guessing his every decision.  She had
been through that too many times to count, and refused to make Tom go
through it.

So she simply watched him, watched the blue eyes cloud over for a
moment, and raised one hand in a dismissive gesture to her senior
staff.  They complied quickly, with a little rustling, though she
noted, from the corner of her eye, B'Elanna was less quick, eyes still
on Tom, speculatively.  The captain kept another smile from surfacing.
Tom glanced back at the other stunned ex-mutineers and nodded quickly.
They dispersed, and Janeway wondered when they would again look to her
for orders

{It's only been a week.  Give them time to be back.}

Sue also stayed behind for a moment.  One slender hand touched his arm
lightly to get his attention, and she said something that Janeway
could not quite hear.  Tom nodded, a slight grin turning the corner of
his mouth.  Sue glanced at Janeway, nodded shortly, and left.
B'Elanna was a step behind her, and Janeway briefly debated following
to see what would occur.

She recognized Sue's attentions now, even if Tom did not.  So,
apparently, did B'Elanna.

When the room was clear, Tom approached her, smile gone, eyes on hers.

"Captain--" He stopped there.  The enormity of what she had done had
utterly stunned him.  Hell, the enormity of what she had done stunned
her, had when she had first thought of it.  The simplest solution to
the problems Tom's command and actions had posed.

"Sit down, Mr. Paris," she said, seating herself.  He perched on the
edge of the chair near hers, too tense to sit back.  "You want to know
why I chose this course of action, don't you?"

Both eyebrows jumped at the obvious, but he remained silent.  Instead,
he leaned an elbow on the table, waiting for her.

"For obvious reasons, charging you with mutiny would be ridiculous."

"But the charges regarding the use of an illegal substance, torture,
and murder, are true."  {Right to the point.}

Janeway leaned back, studying him carefully.

"I understand why you think what you did was unforgivable, because to
some it would be.  If we were in the Alpha Quadrant, then your methods
would certainly be called into question, starting with how you got
your hands on IS117, a story I think I would like to hear.  Your
version, not Vorik's." At his startled look, she smiled gently.  "He
volunteered the information that he broke the replicator codes to get
the computer to synthesize it when no other drug available
proved--useful in interrogating the entities, the K'eya."

"That little--" Tom choked off the words, a rueful grin that he
couldn't control appearing on his face.

"Hmm.  He said something to the effect that you might try to--how did
he phrase it?--take a little too much upon yourself.  Tom, I want you
to understand this.  I am Starfleet Command out here.  I came down on
you regarding the Monean incident because what you did was wrong.  But
this--" She gazed over his shoulder for a moment.  "I don't pretend to
understand what led you to your decisions, but the one thing I know is
that you have to believe in what you are doing if you are going to do
it.  You believed this was the only way to free us and keep the K'eya
from possessing the rest of the crew.  What's more, I don't believe
that in your position, I would have done anything differently."

He nodded slowly, eyes dark.  Gently, she laid her hand on his
shoulder, wondering if he would pull away.  She wondered if he had a
memory of her she didn't, something that would make him flinch from
her touch, but he didn't. For a moment, the clear blue eyes looked
into hers.

"Tom," she said quietly.  "I know I can't understand what you are
going through, but I will try.  Captains have to make snap decisions
and later, they wonder if they made the right ones.  If I had done
this instead, I could have avoided this or that.  It always happens.
You were raised Starfleet, you know it as well as I do.  But after
you've made the decision, and you've gone through with it, you
can't--you can't relive it every second, and wonder."  She knew, and
so did he, what decision she meant. What decision she had made that
still haunted her. "You learn from it and move on, knowing next time,
there is that much more information for you to draw on.  You did your
best, I know that.  I think, deep down, you do too." She squeezed
gently.  "I'm proud of you for what you've accomplished."

His tentative smile warmed her.  He stood up, saluting gravely, and
left at her nod.  She turned to stare out at the stars.

---
{1700 hours} Present Time
---

Tom keyed his door open and walked in.

"Computer, raise lights to--"

"Seventy-five percent," a voice finished.  He turned around, startled,
to see B'Elanna coming out of the bathroom.  He stared at her for a
moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here," he said inanely, trying to
connect the fact that he *had* seen her leave this afternoon, for beta
shift, in uniform, with the fact that she was now here, out of
uniform, watching him. He'd asked the computer for her location before
he left Baytart's quarters, and it had said she was in engineering.
She leaned against the bathroom door, observing him with a slightly
calculating look in her eyes.  He'd seen her look at her warp engines
the same way when they were doing something she didn't think they
should be.  It was unnerving.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

{Nothing like getting straight to the point.}

"I'm not."  He winced at that automatic lie.  One eyebrow arched at
him and she crossed her arms over her chest.  He tried again.  "Okay,
I was.  I just thought you needed time to--"

"Recover?" she said pleasantly, and Tom gritted his teeth.

"Yeah."  He actually felt himself backing to the door.

"Computer, initiate privacy lock."  She sounded a little smug.

He spun to look at it.  He tried it.  Yes, it was sealed.

"You can't do that."

"I'm Chief Engineer, I can do almost anything."  She hadn't moved,
still watching him.  His skin began to tingle with the feel of her
steady gaze. "I didn't think you would talk to me voluntarily;  this
method seemed more--appropriate."

Tom couldn't believe it when she smiled, a little predatory, a little
pleased, a lot B'Elanna.  It abruptly occurred to him, as it always
did at these moments, that as a Klingon, she had gained a hunter's
instincts with her heritage.  Rarely did he see it, rarely did she
give into it, but here it was, reminding him that the woman he loved
was probably one of the most dangerous people on Voyager.

{A hell of a thing to think about when you are locked up with her,
Tommy boy.}

"I would talk voluntarily."  He hated sounding stupid, but he hadn't
been prepared to see her, much less converse with her.  She tilted her
head, the slightest curl of her lip telling him she thought he was
full of shit.  And he was, they both knew it.  "Why aren't you on
duty?"

"Chakotay gave me today off.  I don't report until Alpha shift
tomorrow."

"Oh."  {Thanks for the warning, Chakotay.}

"You only come here when I'm on-duty, and at Baytart's you're never
alone. This seemed the best method."

And Sue said he could plan.  It was to chuckle.  The woman was an
engineer, she could plan circles around him.

"I left my comm badge in engineering," she added, almost as an
afterthought. Why did Tom get the feeling Carey was in on this?  {So
much for honor among thieves.}

"What do you want to talk about?"  Might as well face the issue.  Not
that he had a lot of choice.

"Why are you avoiding me?  The real answer, Tom."

"Why do you think?"

"If I knew, why the hell would I ask?"

Point taken.

"After everything that's happened--"  He tried to find a way to say
it, but the words stuck in his throat.

"With the parasite?"  she asked helpfully.

"With the parasite."  He felt himself nodding and stopped.  "Yeah.
After... after."

"After you injected me with the cure--" she trailed off, one hand
outstretched a little like a magician on stage, and that thought
brought some weird imagery for Tom.

"A Cardassian drug. IS117," he said softly.

She nodded.

"I recognized the effects."

He imagined she would.  He imagined every one of the Maquis had
recognized it instantly.  More than a few had probably been exposed to
it directly, long before Tom began playing with it.

B'Elanna wasn't giving him any clues, and it kept him on edge,
wondering what it was she wanted.  An apology?  An explanation?  To
remove his skin? He tried to read her face, but B'Elanna had been with
Tom for almost two years, and evidently she had learned a few tricks
from him, not the least of which was his most blank expression.

"Okay, I give up.  What do you want?  An apology?  A reason to kill
me? What?"

She gave him a long look, slightly predatory, slightly understanding,
very B'Elanna.

"I want you to tell me that everything you said to me was true."

Tom tried to take that in.

"What?"

"What you told me--the parasite.  In the brig--or rather the Holodeck.
What you told it, was that true?"

"Which part?"  Tom felt a little dazed.

"Tom, we've played these games for--damn, it's beginning to feel like
forever.  I guess that tells you something.  You try to get me to
talk, I don't;  you chase, I push you away.  Get the parts down right.
This isn't your role, Tom.  You are supposed to want to discuss the
situation and I'm supposed to want to toss you into the hall."

He didn't move, didn't breathe, was B'Elanna *joking* about what he
had done?  It made no sense.

"Instead, I've been reduced to *stalking* you.  I want an explanation
and I want it now.  Did you mean what you said to the K'eya about me?
Did you mean it or was it only meant to keep her off-balance?"  Her
voice took on an edge he hadn't heard before.  "Or is it that--that
what you saw--that what happened between me--"

She came to a stop, trying to find words, a euphemism to avoid saying
what they both knew she meant.

"And Harry?"  The slightest edge to his voice.

"Yeah."  She didn't say anything further, and he wasn't sure what it
was she wanted to hear.

"B'Elanna, I don't understand.  You-- B'Elanna, you think I blame you
for that?"  He seemed honestly surprised.

"It's the second time," she said softly, and he remembered, at that
moment, Steth.

"That isn't--B'Elanna, you know me better than that."

"Yes and no, Tom.  This was different, though, wasn't it?  Different
for both of us."

"There is a difference.  It wasn't you."

"Yes it was."  Her voice changed, and Tom found his breath catch.  "I
remember it all, every second.  The look on your face, I remember
that!  I lived the whole thing, I watched it and experienced it,
and--"  She stopped, trying to find the words, but there weren't any.
"You sent Carey to meet me when I was released, you wouldn't talk to
me.  You've been avoiding me--what am I supposed to think?"

"That's not why I sent him.  I didn't think you would want to see me."
His voice was quiet.

"Why?"  She unconsciously stepped forward, searching his face.
"Because of what you had to do to get rid of that thing inside of us?
Inside me?  Did you think I wouldn't understand that?"

"I don't know!"  He leaned back against the wall, and she studied his
strained face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, eyes that wouldn't
meet hers, and knew she had finally found what was holding him back.
"I don't know because I don't know how I would have felt in that
situation.  I don't know because there should have been another way to
cure you, and there wasn't, I couldn't find it.  Because the person I
was before this happened--"  He stopped short, his breath coming
faster.

"Because you think what you did made you into who you used to be.
Before Voyager."

He didn't answer.

She couldn't just say that he *was* the same, because he wasn't, and
they both knew it.  What he had done, however necessary, had changed
him, his perception of himself.  He realized now the limits he would
push to get something done.  A fundamental change in the way he saw
the world, saw Starfleet.  That he knew that, acknowledged and
accepted it, surprised her in some way.

"That's why you're being so open at the inquiry, why you're trying to
assume all the responsibility, isn't it?  Not just to protect the
others.  You want everyone to see you as you see yourself."

"Do you even know how I see myself?"

"No.  I don't look in your mirror.  But I can see on your face you
don't think much of it."

"I don't."

The silence stretched, and neither looked at the other, unsure where
to go with this, how far too push--if they even wanted to push;
hadn't they been here before?  Tom's withdrawal into his holodeck car
programs, her withdrawal into dangerous holodeck scenarios.  They had
found their way back, but it had never been easy.

But she didn't remember it being this hard, either.

"What do you want, Tom?"  She heard her voice, calm, so much like her
normal tone she didn't recognize it.

"To wake up."

She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the throbbing bitterness
in his voice, the low-key frustration, the helpless anger.

"I wouldn't have done anything differently," she said softly.  He
looked up now, eyes on her.  "I thought about it, when you gave your
testimony.  I thought about what you did, and I thought, would I have
done what he did? And it's always *yes*.

"I don't know what else to say.  I spend all my free time just sitting
in here, thinking, remembering.  I try to convince myself that I
really had nothing to do with this, that it was just some kind of
dream, but I know it's not.  I lived it, every second, every minute,
trying to stop that thing in me any way I could.  Sometimes I
succeeded, but not often."

"It wasn't your fault."  His voice was so certain.  She wished she
could believe him.

"What happened with Harry.and with Joe.and all the other things that I
did. No, it wasn't me, but it was, because I remember it, all of it.
Do you remember the Enaran dreams I used to have?"

He nodded.

"It's almost like that.  The entity's emotions, my emotions, I
couldn't tell the difference sometimes.  Guilt, anger, rage, hate--and
I want to kill them all, I wanted to kill myself just so that thing
inside me would die.  I've never felt like that before.  I watched
myself do all those things, and." she stopped.  Not knowing what else
to say.  If there was anything left.

Silence again, and B'Elanna knew, somehow just knew, that if they
didn't start now, they never would.  That it would end like this,
trapped in their own memories, their own minds, apart.

"Did you mean it?"  She finally got the words out, and he looked at
her for a long time, knowing what she referred to.

"Yes."

She moved, or maybe he did, and finally, she was in his arms, her
heart racing, her eyes burning with the tears she would not shed,
could not shed, but wanted to.  She contented herself with clutching
him close, until they found their way to the couch.  They sat there
for a long time, not speaking, not thinking, just enough to be
together.

Tom pushed her hair back from her face gently, studying it, tracing it
with his fingers over each ridge, over her eyes, nose, mouth, down her
chin.  So carefully.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.  She knew what he meant and nodded.

"If you are."

"I am."

"Everything is changed, but I think I can handle that."

"So can I.  If you want to."

"I want to."

She took his face between her hands, gently, rubbing her thumbs over
his cheekbones, meeting his eyes.

"Do you want to know what I see?  When I was in the Maquis, I did
things I--things I am not proud of.  You know that.  So did Chakotay,
so has every one of us.  We believed in our cause so strongly that the
ends justified the means.  Whatever it took to succeed, to leave an
impression.  Sometimes just to cause pain to match what they caused
us.  It don't feel honorable admitting to that, and we--we tried to be
noble, but sometimes we didn't live up to our own ideals.  Sometimes
we forgot those ideals and sank down to the level of those we were
fighting.

"So when I look at you, I see that.  You did what you had to, the ends
justified the means.  And if you--if you--"

"Liked hurting them?  Didn't find a way to get rid of them and not
kill them?  Didn't care to find a way?"  His voice was challenging,
but not to her.  To himself.

"Then what does that make you?  Very human."

"It doesn't excuse it."

"It doesn't have to.  You acknowledge it, you live with it, you move
on."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

She brushed a finger across his nose.

"I know."

They looked at each other for a long time.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were released.  It was selfish.  I
did it to spare you, but--"

"You also did it to spare yourself.  You don't have to be selfless all
the time, Tom, or you'd be boring."

"God save me from being boring."

"Amen."  Her mouth quirked, and she closed her eyes as he leaned to
kiss her, gently, a brush of the lips across her mouth.

"We can get through this."

"I know."

---
{0300 hours} Present Time
---

Tom awoke to the feel of a mouth touching his.  He lay still,
responding to the caress, the feel of a warm tongue brush across his
lips, into his mouth. He knew there was something not quite right
about this, but sleep had dimmed his mind too much to be sure of
anything. He lifted one hand to touch her face--

--and immediately found that hand pinned to the bed.  He opened his
eyes, more than a little surprised, B'Elanna's most aggressive
tendencies tended to come out early in the evening, not early in the
morning.

Her nightgown was already off, and that was uncharacteristic enough to
snap him from the drowsy arousal and try to sit up.

Nothing doing.  His other hand joined his first, and he realized she
wasn't playing.  He couldn't break her grip.

"B'Elanna?"

She leaned down, catching his lip between her teeth, and he felt the
flesh break, tasted iron in his mouth, before she moved down.  Her
mouth settled on the junction of his neck and shoulder, a favorite
place, to lightly bite, then apply more pressure.

This wasn't right.  He tried to move his hands again, and didn't even
get an acknowledgement for his effort.

"B'Elanna!"

She growled in answer, and leaned down to cover his mouth with hers,
an aggressive kiss that should have been exciting--but wasn't.  It
scared him.

She maneuvered her hips over his, sliding down over his erection, and
he caught his breath--{whoa, it's been a long time}-- and her lips
moving down his chest, catching the flesh between her teeth.  He
gasped softly at the feel, but something wasn't right, he knew it,
could feel it in the way she moved, the almost desperate--

{Oh, damn, B'Elanna, no.}

"B'Elanna.  Stop."  He struggled to enunciate each word clearly.  It
was a struggle.

He might as well have spoken Romulan, for all the attention she paid
to him. He pulled against her grip again, trying to free his hands.

"Tom," she whispered huskily, licking at one nipple before lifting her
head, meeting his eyes, letting him see what was in them.  "I've
missed you."

He tensed every muscle in his body, then flipped her, a practiced
motion she never quite anticipated soon enough to counter it.  He
pinned her down, breaking the hold on his wrists, catching her hands
and pinning them to the bed.  She moved her hips against him, watching
his undeniable reaction.

"Come on, Tom.  Do it."

And he wanted to.  And didn't.  He forced his body under some sort of
control, trying to stop her moving.  It didn't help.

"B'Elanna, you don't want this."  His voice was breathless.  {Or maybe
she does.}  For all the wrong reasons.

"Just see how much I want it," she purred.  The sound always made his
skin tingle.  He ruthlessly suppressed the sensation, knowing this
wasn't right. After all that had happened, after what had been said,
he still hadn't been able to make her understand.  {Failed again, no
surprise.}  He forced the thought from his mind, controlling his
impulse to just give her what she wanted--{Not like this.}

B'Elanna watched the play of emotion on his face, thrust her hips up,
maneuvering until he was between her legs, and they were pressed
together. {Dear God.}  He could feel just how much she wanted it,
wanted it now.

"B'Elanna, no.  We can't."

"Since when?"  She broke his hold on her wrists, he and had to admire
the speed she did that with, pushing him over on his back.  She
over-calculated  the momentum needed, and he hit the floor.  Not a
problem for her.  She followed before he could catch his breath,
straddling him, working her fingers at the edge of his shorts.  He
caught her hands in his, then grabbed her face, forcing her to look at
him.

"No!  B'Elanna, stop!"

"Why?"  She ground herself against him, a very practiced movement she
often used quite successfully, and Tom bit back the gasp, trying to
keep his mind clear.  He wanted her so badly--

"Don't do this, B'Elanna.  Listen to me!"

"Stop fighting me!"

"You don't need to prove anything."  He finally found his balance and
sat up, putting an arm around her waist and pushing her back against
the side of the bed.  "B'Elanna, don't do this."

Wide brown eyes looked into his.

"You want me."  Was there uncertainty in her voice?

"Since I first saw you.  That's not the point."

"Then what the hell is the point?  We've been doing this for two
years, what the fuck is your problem?"  She began to struggle in
earnest, with a desperation he did not recognize.  He tightened his
grip, wondering how long he could hold her.

"I've never heard you use language like that, for one."  He kept his
grip on her head, not letting her look away.  "I know why you're doing
this.  I told you it doesn't matter what happened with Harry.  You
don't have to do this."

"I want you, Tom."  But he could see her eyes, and knew she didn't
mean it. He stared at her, and she looked away,  lowering her head,
and he gentled his grip.  "I want to make love with you."

"No, you want to have sex with me. There's a difference."  His breath
was coming too fast, he had to make an effort to slow it.  "You want
to erase a memory.  I won't do that for you.  You'd hate me if I let
you."

"I love you!"

"You don't have to prove it to me!  I know that."

She shook her head, slowly.  Refusing to listen, yet knowing he was
right. Slowly, her struggles ceased, and she lowered her head.

"Maybe I need to prove it to myself?" she whispered, and felt him
stiffen for a moment.  Then he nodded, carefully moving her onto the
edge of the bed so he could stand up.  He didn't join her, instead
stood perfectly still, and she couldn't read a damn thing in his face.

"B'Elanna, do you have feelings for Harry?"  She'd never heard that
tone before.  Nothing in it but the coolest, most disinterested
curiosity.

"No.  Not like that."

She thought she saw him relax, just a little, but it was hard to see
in the almost complete darkness of the room.  She felt him sit on the
edge of the bed.

"Then why do you need to prove it to yourself?"  He reached out, as if
to touch her, but instead moved his hand back, leaning on it to study
her. "Computer, lights, twenty-five percent."

The illumination made their faces clearer, especially for eyes
adjusted to the dark.  Her face was unreadable, a good trick for
someone whose every emotion played on her face constantly, whether she
wanted it to or not.  You always knew where you stood with B'Elanna.
Except for this one time.

"That it was all the K'eya.  Not me."  Her voice was a whisper, barely
audible.

Tom closed his eyes for a minute.  Tried to find the air.

"Your entity had feelings for Harry's."  Hadn't he told Sue that?
Gods, he could have lived the rest of his life not knowing this.  "You
remember how it felt, because you felt it too."  His voice was
incredibly calm.  He wanted to yell.  He didn't.

She nodded slowly.  Tom took a deep breath.

"How do you feel about me?"

"I love you, Tom, that hasn't changed."  She sounded desperate.  He
couldn't remember ever sounding like that before, and it was because
of him.  Because of the K'eya.

"But now you think you have residual feelings for Harry?  From the
K'eya?" He tried and failed to keep the slightly sarcastic edge from
his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded.

"I don't want him, Tom.  I don't.  But the K'eya's feelings were real,
and I can remember that."  She stared at her hands, trying to make
sense to herself. He heard her breath catching, knew it meant her
Klingon side has just successfully controlled a bout of tears.  The
sound never ceased to hurt him when he heard it.

"You didn't tell me that earlier."

"I didn't want to make you think that--it was anything."  Her voice
was uncertain.  Another catch in her voice.  He closed his eyes for a
moment.

"It is something!"  He didn't remember ever feeling so out of control,
out of his element, he wasn't a psychologist, damn it, he was a pilot,
why in the name of all that was holy was he trying to figure out what
this meant? And suddenly, viciously, he wanted to hurt her like she
had hurt him, and the words he could do it with came so naturally, so
easily--he bit them back.  Remembered what he had told the K'eya.

That it didn't matter.

He'd lied.  It did matter, but not in the way she had thought.

{What did I think?  One talk and everything would go back to normal?
Was I really that naïve, to think there wouldn't be consequences for
what happened to us? Not over anything I did, how ironic that I was
worrying about that. Over what it made her do.}

The trick was, knowing what to do now.

More than anything, he wanted to be out of this bed, far away from
this room, be somewhere else, anywhere else.  The temptation was so
strong, just to get up and go.

Leave her behind.

Two simple choices, leave or stay.  Leave or stay.

He remembered what he had told the K'eya.  Remembered what he had told
himself that first day, that he wasn't just a pilot, but a leader.  He
was no longer a leader (at least, not of an entire ship, he couldn't
express his relief enough for that), but he wasn't just a pilot.  He
was this woman's lover, her mate.

{I don't like the man I used to be, before Voyager.  He would have
walked away, not given a damn once the door was closed.  He would have
left and never looked back, never thought it worth the effort to work
through it.  I know differently now, I *know* it's worth the effort,
is it just I want the easy way out?  So I don't have to hurt anymore,
either?}

"You need time to come to terms with what happened," he said finally,
carefully.  "I understand that.  Do you want me to leave?"

"No."  She sounded sure about that, at least.

{I can do this.  I can live with this, move on from this, put the past
behind, and help her.  I can do this because she matters to me, more
than anything else, anyone else.  I don't want to lose her.  I won't
cut and run. She needs me and I need her.}

"Computer, lights off."  He pulled the blanket aside, sliding under
it. Almost by accident, he found her hand.

"We'll get through this," he said softly, making himself believe it.
And was rewarded with a squeeze of small fingers, before she curled
close, her forehead touching his shoulder, her hand clasped tightly in
his.  He could feel the warmth of her body against his side, heard her
breathing try to even out.  Knew neither of them would sleep much.

{Time.  Time, time, time. Well, we have about fifty years left, I
guess we certainly have the time.}

He thought about that, and turned over on his side, lifting her face
with one hand for a moment, looking into her eyes.

"I can wait."  She nodded jerkily, and he put his arm around her,
drawing her close, then remembered she was naked.  {Gods, I forgot how
that feels.} Despite what had happened, hell, maybe because of it, he
heard himself emit a slight, involuntary laugh that she caught.  They
looked at each other for a moment, wary smiles on both mouths.
Slowly, they settled back down.

"Do you want me to put my nightgown back on?"  she asked softly, next
to his ear, making him shiver.

"No."  He leaned over, speaking just against her ear.  "I missed you,
B'Elanna.  I meant everything I said to the K'eya and I meant
everything I said to you tonight.  We have time."

He felt her body relax against his, and she nodded.  Relieved.

---

When her breathing evened into full sleep, Tom carefully disengaged
himself from her arms and got up.  He dressed quickly in some civvies
he had in the back of his closet.  Quietly, he made his way out the
door, entering the dark halls with some relief, but determined, at
least until he got where he was going, to think of absolutely nothing.

The Holodecks were, for once, unoccupied, and he programmed in what he
wanted, then reconsidered.  Wondering if this was what he wanted to
do.

"Kathryn."

Tom stiffened and turned to see his Captain, semi-visible in the dark
of the corridor.  Chakotay was with her, and he realized, from their
casual attire they must have just left the Holodeck themselves.  They
stood close together.

Tom knew he should have just gone straight into his program, but
didn't.

"You know this is a bad idea," the Captain said softly.  "What
happened on the planet... that wasn't us."

"Wasn't it?"  Tom had never heard that timbre in the First Officer's
voice before.  Low, gentle... but something else too.  {He's
remembering what happened between them.  And why am I standing here?}

They looked at each other for a long time, unmoving, then, very
slowly, the Captain moved toward him, lifting one hand to touch his
face.  He turned his head into her palm, brushing his lips against it,
gently clasping the slightly trembling hand in his, before looking at
her again.  They moved together, bodies barely brushing, her hand
still beside his face, still held there by his.  He leaned down, mouth
touching hers for just a moment... a breath of time, then they were
pressed together, hungrily, and Tom stumbled back into the Holodeck,
the doors closing as he looked at them, trying not to think what this
could mean for him, for B'Elanna.{They've been attracted to each other
for years, you know that, hell, you started the betting pool! Which I
just won, by the way.}  Somehow, it didn't make him feel any better.

He regained his breath, looking around Sandrine's for a long moment.

And walked to the bar replicator and ordered a drink.

---

Sue could not have said what led her to the Holodecks.  They had been
in constant use for the last week and a half.  She had no illusions
any would be open now, but despite that, maybe just to have another
deck to walk off her dreams, she went by there anyway, and looked at
the settings.  One had a privacy lock, one did not, but both were
running.  She checked the program on the unlocked one, and knew,
almost instinctively, who was running it.

"Computer, location of Ensign Paris?"

:::Ensign Paris is in Holodeck One.:::

He was, in some ways, as predictable as a Ferengi is trustworthy.
Always wore his comm badge.  She touched the panel to open the door
and walked in.

Not surprisingly, he was sitting at the bar.  No holographic people
were around, she noted, not even Sandrine.  She debated walking over,
almost deciding to leave quietly, when she heard his voice.

"You couldn't sleep either?"

{How the hell did he know it was me?}

"No," she said, joining him at the bar.  There was a large bottle of
purple liquor near him, roughly close to one-quarter empty.  Ever the
gentleman, he poured her a glass and handed it to her.  One taste told
her why only a quarter of the bottle had been consumed.  She choked.

She caught his grin.

"What the *hell* is that?"  she asked when she got her breath back.

"Romulan wine.  If you think that's harsh on the throat, try the ale
one day," he said.  He drained his glass and poured himself another,
seemingly focused completely on the liquor in front of him.

She was beginning to feel the effects already.

"I won't even ask how you got *that* out of the replicator," she said,
taking another very cautious sip.  He laughed softly, and the sound
was so natural, like his smile.

She thought about that.  About that unconsciously flirtatious smile
that warmed her, the soft, easy laugh, placing it in her memory.
Something was not right, she knew this man, had spent the last two
weeks with him almost constantly.  Her mind connected the alcohol with
that smile, and sighed softly.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"Why do you think something happened?  You know me too well."  Another
grin, more intimate, and she felt her face flush.  She took a drink to
hide it, a larger swallow than necessary, but this time she didn't
choke.  It actually wasn't bad, a very fruity taste with a hint of
cloves.  Not entirely  unpleasant, once you got used to it.  Really,
not bad at all.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  she asked finally, leaning one elbow
on the bar, as he was doing, facing him with no expectation that he
would tell her.

Again, he surprised her.

"Just adjustment problems," he said noncommittally.

"For you?"

He shook his head in wry amusement.

"For everyone.  Just catching up with me, I guess."

"Bullshit."

The blue eyes widened exaggeratedly.

"Sue!  Such language from an officer and a lady."

"When did I claim to be a lady?" she retorted, grinning despite
herself. "You don't have to talk about it, Tom, but if you need to, I
am here."

"You always have been, haven't you?"  He put both elbows on the bar,
eyes turned straight ahead, missing the expression that crossed her
face when he said that.  "It's not that big a deal, it's
just--remember when we were talking about how the crew would adjust to
the formerly infected crewmembers returning?"

She nodded slowly, watching him.

"I told you that we could find a way to move on, something to that
effect right?  That we would be able to separate what they did as
entities and who they are now that they're free.  Well, I didn't
realize how hard that would be, and only recently did it occur to me
how hard it would be for them to separate those two things as well."

She bit her lip.  Something had happened with B'Elanna.  Baytart had
said Tom had gone to his room that afternoon and that B'Elanna had
taken that shift off, presumably so they could talk.  Tom hadn't been
seen since, and had not returned to Baytart's quarter that night.

Something had happened.  Apparently, it hadn't been good.

"Have you and John talked?" Tom asked softly, lifting the glass to his
mouth and finishing the considerable amount within.

"Yes.  Mostly to the effect we need time, yadda-yadda-yadda, you know
the drill.  I think--I know it's not going to work out."

"Are you sure about that?"  He was looking at her again, with a steady
blue gaze that unnerved her.

"Yes."  She looked straight back, unmoving.  Almost not breathing.

"I saw the Captain and Chakotay in the corridor.  It seems what
happened on the planet has changed their relationship," Tom said
softly, eyes still fixed on her.  "I won a bet.  I should have guessed
only alien interference could have caused that to happen.  Somehow,
left on their own, I doubt it ever would have."

{He isn't talking about the Captain anymore.}

"You think so?" she said softly.  Tom didn't answer for a minute.

"Yeah."

Sue felt her hand grip the glass tightly, warming the liquor with her
skin, and he lifted a hand, brushing the stray hair back from her
face, the tips of his fingers brushing her cheek.  Lingering there for
a moment, unmoving. Stopping her breath.

"Or maybe it was inevitable."  It hurt to say it.  {But I won't be a
replacement.  Won't?  Can't?}

"Inevitable?"

"I don't know, I don't live in their heads, but the signs were there
for so long.  Anyone could see it, even me."  She wasn't talking about
the Captain either.  "And when it happens like that, maybe it's
because it wasn't the only way, but the most convenient way, the
excuse needed."  She took a deep breath, hard to do with those blue
eyes on her like that.  Knowing what she said could be taken either of
two ways, and wondering which he would choose.

Which one she wanted him to choose.

For a long time, he didn't move, she didn't know if he even breathed.
Then he nodded and stood up, leaning down to brush her cheek with his
lips, an absent, gentlemanly gesture, and it took all her self-control
to keep from turning into that kiss.  Knowing just how much he wanted
comfort right now,

Knowing there was a real possibility he wouldn't turn away.

{But I won't be a proxy for someone else.  I won't, I can't.}

With a sad smile, he walked out.  She listened to the Holodeck doors
close behind him, and stared at the bottle, mesmerized, before filling
another glass.

--- Part VI:  Reality in Absentia
{0600 hours}
---

B'Elanna woke up slowly, head sore, face buried in the pillow.  She
reached out, feeling for Tom.

Except where he should be, the bed was cold.  Something in her froze.

"Good morning."

She lifted her head, pushing her hair back from her face.  Tom was in
uniform, sitting on a chair near the bed, apparently reading a PADD.
The relief that flooded her was instant, and she smiled.

"Dressed already?"

"It's my first day back on duty.  Are you hungry?"

She blinked, thought about it, and realized she could smell something.
Banana-ish.

"You replicated breakfast?"

He grinned.  Dropping the PADD, he crawled onto the bed to reach her,
gently flipping her onto her back before leaning close, noses almost
touching.  Her smile widened at the sudden playfulness.

"Yep."

She smiled, couldn't help it.  Pushing herself up on her arms, she
forced him to sit up a little, blue eyes still looking into hers.

"What did you make?"

"Pancakes.  Banana."  Her smile faded, the brown eyes darkened with
emotion. "I'm sorry.  You told Neelix--"

"Yeah."  She shook her head quickly.  "Thanks.  Give me a minute to
get dressed."  Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled the sheet up.  He
chucked softly.

"Who says you need to get dressed?"  He slipped off the bed and picked
up the tray and arranged pillows behind her carefully.  "Breakfast in
bed, my lady."

She noticed there was only food for one, and gave him a look.  She
gave him credit, he was good at interpretation, at intuiting the
questions she would not ask.

"I ate already," he explained.  "When I went to Baytart's."

Her mouth went dry.  He wasn't staying.  She had no idea, even now,
why it was so important to her that he didn't leave, but it was.  She
felt her fingers bend the fork in her hand, and he gently rescued it.

"Just to get a few things," he continued, as if he hadn't just watched
her bend solid metal in half.  "That is, if you still want me to
stay."  He dropped the fork in the recycler and found another one,
hopefully sturdier than its mate, and handed it over.  The hand that
took it from him trembled slightly.

She nodded and Tom took a deep breath, smiling gently.

"I'm going to my shift early, it's been a while since I was at the
Conn."

"As if you'd forget."  Her tone was almost teasing, almost normal.
But not quite.

"Do you want to meet for lunch in the Mess Hall?"

She squared her shoulders unconsciously, setting her expression, and
he remembered that few, if any, of the de-infected crew ate in the
Mess Hall anymore.  He made a mental note to mention it to Captain
Janeway.

"Yeah.  Twelve hundred?"

He nodded, brushed a finger over her cheek, and left, quietly.  She
watched him go, thoughtful, before turning her attention to the
pancakes.

In the hall, he turned to the turbolift, keeping his mind carefully
blank. Wondering again whether this was such a good idea.

{Before this, we weren't nearly at the point where we were ready to
move in together.  I know B'Elanna would not have considered it.  But
if I leave now, she'll see it as a rejection, no matter how I put it.
Well, my couch is comfortable enough.I suppose.}  He seemed to have
spent a lot of time on  couches recently.  Fondly, he remembered what
a bed felt like.  He certainly wouldn't feel it again anytime soon.

He fought a reluctant grin.

{Before, if she had said she wanted to move in with me, I would have
been thrilled and scared and everything else, but now.it seems almost
inevitable. Maybe because she looks so comfortable there, or because I
see her things near mine, or maybe... maybe I am more ready than I
thought, but I worry about us doing this.  It could help us or make
matters worse.  She does need someone with her now.  I don't want her
alone, especially at night, not if last night is any indication of how
her dreams are.  Who else could stay with her--Harry?}

He stopped for a second, remembering Harry would be on the Bridge.

{It's not his fault.  Why am I angry with him but not B'Elanna?}

That was an easy one, and Tom shook his head as he came to a stop by
the turbolift doors.  He loved her, he didn't care what happened so
long as he had her.  {How odd.  How very wonderful and very odd, and
why the hell aren't I panicking right now?  I just took on one hell of
a commitment here, after a very bad night, and I don't even care.}

He remembered coming back into his quarters the night before, headache
already starting, a perk of drinking Romulan wine.

---
{0450 hours} One hour earlier

Headache, headache, headache.  He'd forgotten just how bad one could
be, and detoured to Sickbay.  As a medic, he knew what to take for it,
so he didn't bother calling up the EMH and subjecting himself to a
lecture about propriety and hangovers.  As likely as not, the Doc
would not give it to him anyway, as a lesson.  Tom, however, had the
Alpha Shift, his first day back at the Conn in--{two weeks?  Three? I
can't even remember how long it's been.}.  He had no intention of
suffering while piloting, not to mention the other symptoms inherent
in overindulgence in alcohol.

He was intimately familiar with every one of them.

Quietly, he found the correct medication and dosed himself, then made
his way to his quarters.

Sue's words had taken root.  Insomnia wasn't helping his shift in
mood.  He looked down the dark grey of the corridors.

{Inevitable.  Me or Harry?  I've never seen anything between them
before, though.  Friendship, really like siblings more than anything.
Then again, when B'Elanna was under Vorik's Pon Farr, she approached
me, and there really wasn't much warning for that either.}

He considered that train of thought as the carpet rustled beneath his
feet. He looked down, noticing the wear on it. It had been used for so
long, without the usual replacements that occurred after a few years.
{No excess power for the replicator to replicate more, no spacedock to
fix it in, and hell, do you want to be the one that recarpets this
entire ship? Interesting idea for discipline on ship, though.  Wonder
why Tuvok never thought of it instead of resorting to the brig?}  It
boggled the mind, and he wondered idly how many square kilometers of
the ship was carpeted, the length of time it would take to pull it all
up and replace it, the amount of glue or whatever was used to hold it
down, and, all on its own, his mind worked out what seemed to be a
brilliant equation to figure it out.  Tom loved math (he really didn't
have much choice, piloting and holoprogramming both required it) but
these kinds of applications of it to everyday life were unusual, and
he understood where it came from.

Not wanting to think.  At least he could recognize bad habits
returning, he thought darkly.  Avoidance of issues.  He was good at
that.  He'd had years of practice.

This time, however, Tom decided to be different.  He set his mind to
the problem of B'Elanna Torres, and walked into his own quarters,
still undecided.

And he sat down in a chair near his bed to watch her sleep.

She was half-curled on her stomach, head pressed to the pillow.  Her
hair fanned around her face, covering one eye.  The sheet was pulled
down to her waist, but her position revealed only a deliciously ridged
spine (a grace he wasn't sure he was thankful for).  Her lips were
slightly parted in sleep, one small hand clutching the pillow.  She
looked so young when she slept, so at peace, unlike her existence in
the real world.  He wondered what she dreamed of.

Wondered if it was pleasant.

And refused to think further along that line at all.  He lifted one
leg over the arm of the chair, watching her soft, even breathing.

Inevitable.

{When she told me she loved me, it wasn't under pon farr either--it
was the Cataati and she thought we only had a few seconds to live, of
course she thought she was in love with me, I was there.  She probably
would have told Chakotay the same thing under those circumstances.
Ick, I didn't need *that* mental image, thanks.}

{Why?  Too close to home?}

Tom ignored the inner voice for a moment, watching her stir.  Her
fingers dug more deeply into the pillow, and she made a soft sound,
her entire body twisting.

{The question before us is this, Tom, no matter how you dance around
it.  Do you trust her?}

Well, that would be the one he had been avoiding, all right, since the
beginning.  A particular kind of trust too.  It had been hard to
pursue her, knowing that his reputation, a well-deserved reputation at
that, was one huge black mark against him.  He had thought he had
plenty of time to change her mind--and plenty of time to work out how
he would react when she did.

Vorik had completely unbalanced that emotional equation.

{Why did I want her?  Because she disliked me so much on contact I
just had to change her mind?  Because she was the ultimate in
unattainable--a half-Klingon who didn't seem to need anyone?  Was it
any or all of these things, or was it something more instinctive?  Why
the hell am I asking myself these questions?}

Well, it all came down to the trust issue.  Accepting her declaration
of her feelings, beginning a relationship, sleeping together.all of
those things were easy compared to opening up.  He'd never doubted her
fidelity to him, not once, but he had doubted her ability to want him
for not only what he was now, but with the memories of what he had
been before.  One of the reasons he'd never shared those things with
her.  And all of that had just come out on Voyager, all of those lost
skills he would have traded almost anything not to have used, that
streak of coldness that had let him do it with little regret--and his
own disgust at how little it truly affected him until he had to
practice those skills on B'Elanna.

So easy to slip back into that role, that man.  Terrifyingly easy.

{So you want to cut and run because of the possibility she won't want
you, when she already knows what you did and doesn't seem that scared.
That isn't logical.}

{Well, love never is, is it?}

He smiled to himself at that.

{What makes you so sure that your bond with her is weaker because of
what happened with Harry?  You've been together almost two years,
possessed by an entity he had her three days--well, a little more,
actually, but lets not think specific--and suddenly she's going to
throw herself at Harry?  Do you believe her when she says she loves
you?}

{Yes.}

{Then why are we tracing the same track again?  For some reason, I
thought this decision was made.  You would stay because you love her
and need her. Trying to talk yourself out of it?}

{Yep.}

{Then do it better, there are too many holes in these arguments.  Just
make a decision and for once in your life stick to it!}

Ouch.  Hurts when your conscience sounds like your father.

So he watched the small body turn slightly on the bed, twisting the
sheet around her, tried to imagine years with her, remembering what he
had seen.  Wondered if he really could wake up one morning and not see
her and Harry together in his mind's eye.

If he could ever touch her again and not see Harry doing the same
thing.

Not comfortable thoughts, these.

{Maybe we should have had sex last night.  Maybe it would have purged
both our memories.}

"Tom?"  Her voice was laced with fear.

His eyes went back to the bed, but she wasn't awake.  She'd rolled
over and her face was pale, oddly contorted, teeth gritted together.

"Don't watch.  Don't.  Gods, let me go!  Get out of my mind!  Stop it,
Harry, no!"

She struggled against an unseen adversary, and Tom remembered Sue
telling him, in a choked voice, about Jenny's worst nights, the
screaming and struggling about being trapped and no way out, among
other things Sue would not describe except with tight-lipped silence.

He carefully eased down on the bed, touching her face.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's only a dream."  He caught one flailing hand,
relieved his reflexes were faster than hers, and pinned it down.
{That would have hurt.}  Gently, he stroked her face, whispering words
he remembered from childhood, when his mother had awakened him from
nightmares, hoping the soothing tone would be enough, because beyond
that he had no idea what to do.  After a few more minutes, she stopped
moving, her body relaxed back into quiet sleep.  He eased himself
away, wrapping the blankets tighter around her and remembering, very
suddenly, she was sensitive to the cold.

"Computer," he said softly, "increase temperature by seven degrees."
The room warmed quickly.  He sighed, sitting back, then remembered he
hadn't talked to Baytart about moving out, and decided to do that now.
With a last glance at her, he walked out.

---
{1200 hours} Present Time
---

The duty shift was so uneventful that it was positively anticlimactic
for Tom.  Lunch came as a relief.

So did the sight of B'Elanna, waiting just outside the Mess Hall.  He
had to smile. She had that look, that very brave, very determined
look.  Very B'Elanna.

{If there were any enemies to fight in there, they wouldn't stand a
chance.}

He did nothing to indicate that her waiting outside for him, instead
of finding a table inside, was unique.  He understood how she felt.
He hated going in there alone too these days.  No telling when a
memory might hit you, and he had too many people remembering things
about him for it to be very comfortable.

So he put on a cocky smile and gestured for her to precede him.

She did one better.  As she passed, she caught his hand.

Now that was really new.  B'Elanna was not exactly the demonstrative
type. (Though the crew might have disagreed, after the odd alien
experimentation that had occurred to them soon after they began to
become serious.)  He blinked, looking at her, seeing her smile, her
determined expression, and smiled back, brushing her palm with his
thumb before walking in, looking around the room carefully for anyone
they knew.

And saw someone.

{Harry.  It had to be.  Fucking hell, this is not what she needs, and
why didn't I think of this?}

B'Elanna stiffened, and Tom abruptly turned them around, walking back
out. The brown eyes were so dark they had turned black.  She took a
sharp breath, followed by another, too quickly.  He gently pressed her
against the far wall, ignoring the curious gazes of passing crewmen.

"Take a deep breath.  Another one.  That's it.  B'Elanna, do you want
to eat lunch somewhere else?"

She nodded, trying desperately to regain her composure, her breath
still too fast, and Tom glanced back as the doors opened, saw some
crewmen look out at them curiously.  Didn't give a damn.

"Come on."  He pulled her close, feeling her tremble.  Wondering what
it could possibly be like to see the someone you'd been the unwilling
lover of, see him when you weren't prepared--{It must have been
tearing her up to sit in that damned conference room during the
Inquiry.}

Made Tom hate the entities even more.

In the quiet of his quarters, he ordered something from the replicator
and sat her on the bed, crouching to look at her.  Not touching her
yet--B'Elanna wasn't as tactile as he was, she needed space to be
comfortable enough to speak.

"Tell me what you felt."

"Huh?"  She started involuntarily.  Tom balanced himself on the balls
of his feet and met her gaze steadily.

"We have to work on this.  You know that, so do I.  Tell me what you
felt when you saw him.  No, I'm not asking out of jealousy or anger, I
want to know what happened.  Trust me on this, not talking does a hell
of a lot more damage.  Please talk to me. Tell me what's going on in
your head."

"Anger."  She didn't argue.  Would wonders never cease?  Or perhaps it
was her vulnerability at the moment, which he had every intention of
taking advantage of.  He remembered their fight before she left the
ship for the planet, remembered what he had told her.

Wondered if she remembered.  If she even wanted to.

And, somehow, he would have to trust her, and she'd have to trust him,
or all the intentions in the world wouldn't help them get through
this.  Talk. About themselves.

"Frustration."  Her voice was low, almost soft but for the underlying
malice in it.  "Hate.  And affection and fear and--"  She broke off,
shaking her head.  He caught her chin, not letting her look away,
wondering vaguely to himself where he got the courage to push a
Klingon engineer further than she wanted to go.

"What else?"  She tried to pull away, one hand on his wrist,
tightening slightly.  He gritted his teeth.  He wasn't afraid of her.
"You'll have to break it to make me stop asking, so just tell me."

Her eyes darted back to him, startled, and he tilted his head.
Waiting.

"Wanting, and repugnance.  It doesn't make any sense, I can't sort it
out!" She hadn't let go of his wrist, but she hadn't broken it either,
that had to be a good sign.

"It's okay, it'll be hard at the beginning, but you need to think it
through.  You dreamed last night, do you remember that?"

She swallowed.  He took that as an affirmative answer.

"So far so good.  B'Elanna, I want you to tell me about the dreams, no
matter what, even if you have to wake me up to do it.  Okay?  When you
remember something that bothers you, tell me.  If you have a headache,
tell me."  He smiled at the last.  "We've done the emotional distance
game, and it didn't help much.  We'll try openness, because I don't
want you to feel like this.  I want to help you, but I can't do a
damned thing unless you talk to me."

He still remembered her holodeck times, her addiction, a time he hated
to think about at all. Days he'd helped her hide her injuries, fixed
her up, never knowing why she was doing it, taking her explanations at
face value. Bad explanations in retrospect.  But at the time.God, at
the time, he'd been glad to get any of her attention, whether it was
sex so rough he wondered if anyone could possibly call it lovemaking,
or merely running a dermal regenerator over her, fixing her wrist, her
ankle, her face, and sending her out to do it again.  Of course, she'd
never brought him the worst injuries. Not after the first time.

He'd ask the questions again.  He'd learned fast not to ask. She'd
leave if he did that.

Well, not the same mistake this time, he'd learned.  So he took her
hand in his, lacing their fingers together, determined to help her in
every way he knew how, no matter what it took.

"Start at the beginning, when you saw Harry in the Mess Hall.  Just
start there, think it through."

---
{1600 hours} Present Time

The first full meeting of the Senior Staff was difficult for everyone.

Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay, Tom noted, spent most of their
time not looking at each other.  Harry stared at the table unless
asked a direct question by the Captain.  Tuvok was as unflappable as
ever, as was the Doctor, but neither looked particularly comfortable.

B'Elanna stared directly and intensely into her PADD, answering
questions posed to her in her usual sharp manner, eyes staring
fiercely over the edge of the PADD as if to challenge anyone who spoke
to her.

Tom, head leaned into one palm, tried not to be amused, but he
couldn't help it--no one could accuse Tom of having no sense of humor.
Harry's low, nearly monosyllabic answers opposed to Tuvok's long,
endlessly comprehensive replies, B'Elanna's quick jabs of retorts--and
Janeway's unending and all-encompassing patience that was visibly
strained.

"Anything from the Conn, Mr. Paris?" she nearly snapped.  Tom's head
jerked up from his regard of the other occupants of the room, and he
shifted in his seat.  He'd noticed this, her sudden impatience toward
him.  With a smile that he knew would set her teeth on edge, he
answered.  He couldn't help it any more than he could help
breathing--damn he was tired of hostility from the recovered crew.
Even her.

"The usual, Captain.  Absolutely nothing of interest."

Blue-grey eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, before she nodded
sharply. She looked around the room for a few seconds before speaking.

"Our biggest worry right now is crew morale, as you are all aware."
She glanced at Tom, who put on his most absorbed face and watched her
with careful attention.  "The crew needs to pull together.  I
understand the difficulties involved, but in each of your departments
I expect you to actively promote re-integration."  Her gaze challenged
the senior staff to disagree.

"I've had fourteen requests for shift changes," Chakotay said, tapping
his PADD with one finger.  "Just this morning.  I think it would be
wise to allow it."

"I don't."  Classic Janeway, face a problem head on.  Subtlety be
damned. Tom leaned forward on both elbows.

"I have to agree with Commander Chakotay, Captain."  Blue eyes on him
again, not exactly friendly, not overtly hostile, and he strangled a
sigh.  "Many of those who requested shift changes I have talked
to--"--her eyes narrowed, {That was a mistake, telling her they talked
to me first.} "--and I think it would be easier for them, as well as
the others involved, to grant the requests."

"I don't.  There aren't any easy answers, Tom."

"I don't think anyone is looking for easy answers, Captain."  Chakotay
caught her gaze.  "Just an answer.  A stopgap.  I've counseled several
of the crew for the last week, and I have to admit I don't have any
better idea how to deal with the situation.  We can't just chain them
together and tell them to forget what they went through, both the crew
that was infected and the crew left behind."  He held her eyes, trying
to get his point across, and Tom leaned back in his chair, glad
Chakotay was making the argument he would have had to make himself.

Captain Janeway's eyes flickered across the room, taking in the
expressions of the staff.  Noticed their silent agreement, including
Tom's.  He braced himself against the mild hostility radiating from
her.

{I shouldn't have said a damned thing.}

Finally, the Captain nodded slowly, relaxing into her seat.

"If that is what you think is necessary, Chakotay, authorize the
changes. But temporarily.  This crew has to start working together,
and I expect you all to contribute to the re-integration of the crew."
Satisfied, she glanced once more around the room.  "Dismissed."

---

"She's didn't seem too happy with you, Tom."

To Chakotay's surprise, Tom spun around in the narrow corridor,
backing off one step as he did so.  An instinctive reaction, Chakotay
recognized it from Tom's early days on Voyager, after the crew
integration.  He'd noted Tom's almost reflexive paranoia in the
Maquis, had vaguely wondered what had happened to the young man that
made him twitch at unexpected contact.  Since that time, he had gained
control over his instincts.

Though, apparently, some habits were hard to break.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Tom said finally, and Chakotay found
himself fascinated by the body language the young man expressed, the
coiled tenseness that hadn't relaxed, the way the blue eyes watched
him warily.  He and Tom might not have ever been friends, but he had
never done anything to merit this suspicion.

Though something was vaguely pushing at the back of his mind.  A
memory.  A corridor.

And it hit, with the force of a disruptor to the head, and he blinked
hastily.

"Tom--"  But he couldn't think of anything to say to that.  Tom hadn't
backed away further, seemed comfortable with six full meters of space
between them.

"I know it wasn't you," Tom said finally, meeting Chakotay's eyes.
Then, oddly, he smiled.  With an openness Chakotay hadn't expected
from Tom, the younger man continued.  "I led a sweeper team after I
beamed all of you down to the planet, to get the ones we hadn't been
able to find.  Corridors make me edgy."

That was interesting.  And understandable.  But there was something
else, something Chakotay had noted since he'd resumed his duties as
First Officer. Tom's energy level was incredibly high.  Even at rest,
he'd noticed Tom twitch at sudden movements, more than edginess would
allow for.

"Tom--"  They looked at each other for a minute.  "I'm sorry about
what happened.  You never said anything."

Tom shrugged slightly, but the tenseness hadn't relaxed.

"I don't really see the point.  One more bad memory for you, why bring
it up?"  Tom touched his jaw lightly.  "That was a hell of a right
punch, Chakotay.  Remind me not to box against you."

Pure Paris, humor to lighten a situation.

Chakotay wished he could remember what had prompted the attack, but
the memory was fuzzy.  Maybe nothing.  The entity that had held him
had been extremely hostile, Chakotay remembered that clearly.  He
hadn't been able to keep calm, to keep control, as the Captain had
suggested.

Maybe the entity had been reacting to Chakotay's own unresolved
animosity for the young man.  He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.  Introspective as Chakotay liked to
be, he didn't want to resolve this today.  Yet.

"Tom--"  he frowned.  "I know we aren't the closest friends, but if
you need to talk--"

Tom shook his head slowly.

"No.  Don't worry, Commander, no hard feelings."  He smiled, backing a
step down the corridor.  "I don't hold a grudge."

And Tom turned away with another quick smile, moving at an easy stride
down the corridor, away.

He'd hit Tom, broken his jaw, Chakotay remembered that.  The entity
had been careful that morning before the mutiny, per the Captain's
instructions, trying to be friendly, a thing neither Chakotay nor Tom
were used to.  That afternoon--

{Maybe it was seeing Tom still on the ship that triggered the anger.}

Chakotay didn't want to examine it further.  He looked at the corridor
walls, noting the unevenness of the metal, yet to be completely
repaired from the on-board fight for control between Tom and his crew
and the infected crewmembers.  Tom had been remarkably open about
everything, but he had glossed over most of what he called the 'sweep
efforts' to contain and remove the infected crew.

Tom had entered the turbolift.  The young man turned around, facing
him briefly, then the doors closed.

Another unresolved issue, as if there weren't enough already.  Kathryn
and him, for one.  He shook his head.

He didn't have time to do everything.  He'd handle what he could.

He wondered what Kathryn was doing at that moment.  They hadn't really
talked since the night before.  They would need to, soon.  Very soon.

---

Captain Janeway gritted her teeth as she sat quietly in her chair,
watching the Senior Staff leave, just as if it were any other day on
board the starship Voyager.

She was angry with herself.

She knew she had no reason to snap at Tom, but seeing him there, so at
ease, so normal, set her nerves on edge.  She'd regretted her behavior
even as she expressed it.

{You're acting like he slept with your lover.}

She grinned a little bitterly at that.

{Well, in a way, he did.  He had Voyager.}

Chakotay's presence had equally unnerved her, and for no good reason.
The night before had been everything she hadn't dared even think of
for four long years.  Everything she had told herself she didn't need.

{What happened between us had nothing to do with K'eya influence.  It
was us.  We've both wanted this for a long time.}

That was true, she wouldn't deny it.  Yet--yet why, then, did she feel
so uncomfortable, so wrong?

She didn't want to examine it now.  There was too much to do, too much
to think about;  she simply couldn't handle another crisis.

She glanced down at the PADDs on the table in front of her, then
gathered them distractedly.  She had work to do.

---

Harry had seen B'Elanna's reaction in the Mess Hall.  Knew she had
remembered something else.  It hurt.  God, it hurt more than he could
have imagined.

In his quarters, he stared at his clarinet.  He wanted to play it,
knowing music could take him outside himself, at least for a while,
but his hands shook too badly.  Gently, he set the instrument down,
staring at it as if it had betrayed him.  Music had always helped.

But not today.

His door chimed.

And opened.  Apparently, someone had taken a page from the Paris Book
of Protocol.  He spun to see who it was.

"Sue."  He couldn't have been more surprised if Tom had shown up
again.

She smiled, the door closing behind her, and took a seat on his sofa,
eyebrows arched playfully at his expression.

"Hi, Harry."

She had her instructions.  Well, Tom hadn't meant it to sound that
way, but he'd been in command mode, unconsciously giving her an order,
and she'd instinctively obeyed.  {Funny, it really was instinctive.  I
may even have said 'yes, sir'.}  She wondered at his concern a little,
noticing how utterly calm he was when telling her what Harry needed.

"You and Harry didn't interact when he was under the influence of that
entity.  He needs someone to talk to."  Leaving out the obvious--that
the two people he would have spoken to when upset were the ones who
were avoiding him, whom he was avoiding.  She, of all the crew, was
closest to him.  She would have to do.

{Megan, Jenny, now Harry.  Tom working on Gerron and any other
crewmember in need of someone to talk to, the rest of us just trying
not to flinch when we see them--Joe Carey's been great about helping
out, he and Baytart both. And Tom's talked to Megan too, but somehow I
don't think it's working well, she's too sensitive to everything right
now, and she and Tom were lovers once, a help and a hindrance.  How on
earth do you talk to an ex about a current lover?  But he's in her
situation now, I guess that isn't such a surprise she listens to him
occasionally.}

Sue hadn't believed it would be easy, the reintegration of a
traumatized crew to a traumatized crew.  But she had never thought,
even during her most cynical moments, that it would be like this.
Looking at Harry's sallow face, shadowed eyes, his thick black hair
limp and glossless as soot, fingers clenched into tight fists at his
side.  She fought the same vicious rage that she'd struggled with
since the first day the K'eya had invaded them.  Harry didn't need to
see her anger--he needed to talk.

Reality had been so confused for so long.  She wondered if she would
ever walk into a room and see her friends again as friends.  If there
would come a time she'd wake up in the morning without a gasp and a
start of fear.

If she would ever go down the hall and not flinch from the sight of
people she had helped torture.  Not directly, but she'd been witness,
asked the questions, even if she had never administered the drug.

She wondered if Tom would ever be able to move on.

She wished she knew.

"Sit down, Har," she said softly, patting the couch invitingly.  "Tell
me how everything is."

---

"B'Elanna, it's just a dream.  Wake up."  Tom held her hands down
carefully, finally forced to use the weight of his body to stop her
thrashing.  He'd talked to the Doctor earlier that day and gotten her
a sedative, but she'd refused to take it.  A Klingon thing, he
supposed.  Or maybe she was punishing herself, he didn't know.  He'd
heard her scream and jumped off the couch to see her gripped in a
nightmare that was twisting her on his bed, trapped in the sheets.

He shouldn't have fixed that.  As if she were reliving her experience
under IS117, her spine arched underneath him as he tried to keep her
down, almost knocking him off his straddled position above her, trying
to keep her from hurting herself and him, her wrists becoming slippery
with sweat and harder to hold.  He'd forgotten how strong she was,
easily his match.  The low sounds she made hurt to hear.  Finally, he
pinned her arms beneath his knees and slapped her across the face.

That had been Doctor's best advice.  It hurt to do it, but he figured
if nothing else.

The shock opened her eyes wide, dark, not recognizing, and he moved
quickly, feeling her body tense.  He sat on the edge of the bed,
watching as she lifted herself on her elbows, breathing hard, face
flushed, one cheek dark red with blood.  He waited for her to see him.

Finally, she drew a deep, trembling breath, calming herself down.  He
went to the bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth and gently
patting her face with it.  The flush receded slowly, but her reddened
cheek did not, and he stifled the spurt of guilt.

"All right.  Tell me what it was."

She shook her head.

"I'm not sure."

Tom settled himself.  No mistakes this time, he wanted to do this
right.

"B'Elanna, give me an idea.  Start at the beginning.  Tell me what you
saw in that dream."

Her eyes narrowed, but Tom didn't bother reacting.  He was perfectly
prepared to wait all night.

---
{0300 hours} Present Time
---

Sue wasn't surprised Sandrine's was running--in all honesty, she was
glad. She checked for a privacy lock, found it was not in use, and
walked in.

Tom looked tired;  that was the first thing she noticed.  Tired in a
way she recognized.  It had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

He looked up, seeing her, and motioned her over to the booth.  He
didn't look particularly surprised to see her either, and she wondered
if perhaps he'd been expecting her.  She slumped down across from him,
taking the glass he offered silently, and downed the blue liquid in
one gulp.

"Bad night?"  His voice was laced with the thinnest edge of irony.

"All nights are bad nights," Sue said softly, staring at her glass.
"No different tonight than any other since we stopped at that fucking
planet. Bad nights, bad days, bad in-between, what do I say?"  She
took the decanter and filled her glass again.  "How's B'Elanna?"

"I gave her a sedative after she went to sleep," he said softly,  She
was somewhat surprised he was telling her, hadn't expected anymore
than a 'fine' or an 'okay'.  "It'll keep her sleep dream-free for
tonight at least.  Or so Doc assured me when he handed it over.  He's
prescribed a lot of those lately, sleep aides."  He sighed, staring at
his glass with a wry expression.  "Responsible officers don't drink to
ease their troubles."

Sue toasted to that and downed the second glass without flinching.
she suddenly remembered her hangover from the night before, and the
small hypospray Tom had left in her quarters.  Megan had told her he
had come by with it.  It made her grin.

"Is this alcohol or synthehol?"  She tapped the glass meaningfully.

"Synth.  Too much of the real thing does strange things to my reflexes
after a while."  He made no move to refill his glass, staring at it
with hypnotic intensity.  "I want to kill them again.  It's not very
comforting to see myself in the mirror anymore, you know, seeing that
hate, seeing what they did to the crew, to B'Elanna."

"To you."

"Ever one to thrust honesty down another's throat, aren't you, Sue?"
His grin wasn't very convincing.

"'Cold hands, cold heart,'" she reminded him with a smile.  His grin
became more real and he nodded, filling his glass again.  "I wish this
wasn't real."

"Don't we all."  He drank to that, lightly touching his glass to hers.
The gentle sound of glass on glass echoed in the still quiet of
Sandrine's.  She watched him over the rim of her glass.

"You still aren't sleeping, are you?"  she asked softly.

"Not well.  Nothing life-threatening."

"Is that why you're still using the stims?"

His head came up, eyes wide, and she hid a smile.  He didn't bother to
deny it.

"Just for a little while more," he said finally.  "Not much, anyway.
As soon--"

"--as the crew doesn't look at each other suspiciously and make as if
to attack at a glance?  Are we talking years or decades?"

"You want to poke a fork in me too, and really watch me squirm?"  He
put his empty glass down, regarding her carefully.  She shook her
head.  The synthehol was getting to her fast.

"Not really.  You're too thin to use a fork on."  She'd noticed that
too, his weight loss.

He shook his head, a smile pulling on his lips despite himself.

"I should be with B'Elanna," he said finally, though he made no move
to go.

"I should still be with Harry, but I cheated and gave him a sedative
too, he hasn't slept well.  Luckily, he didn't argue when I suggested
it."  She sat her empty glass down and reached for the bottle.  "We
aren't dealing with this very well, are we?"

"No.  I guess we did all right during the crisis, but after?  That is
always the part everyone disregards, you know, the effects of after."
He leaned on one elbow, fiddling with his glass.

"The effects of after."  Liking how it sounded.  She nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I know.  How's Gerron?"

"Better than yesterday.  He and Megan are going to talk, that's
something. They'll survive, I think."  Tom glanced at the wine
speculatively, then poured half a glass's worth and studied it.  "I
know, actually.  And Jenny? How is she doing?"

"She's started talking to Megan again tonight.  It went well, they
were both crying and talking at the same time."  Sue sipped her
synthehol, enjoying the burn on the tip of her tongue.  "Tom, do you
want to talk about it? Really, you know you can."

"I don't like to do that."

"I know."  The edge in her voice caught his attention, and he looked
up, meeting her blue eyes with his, eyes that didn't look cloudy from
the synthehol at all.

"That's why you left me, isn't it?" he asked finally, calmly.  She
didn't like where this was going, and tapped her glass nervously.  He
didn't notice, or pretended not to, anyway.

"We both decided to end it."

"True."  He looked back at his glass.  "I need to get some sleep.
I'll see you later."

She watched him leave, thinking about what he had said.

---

"Where were you?"

Tom spun to see B'Elanna sitting on his couch, her face set.  She was
wrapped up in his blue robe, her feet tucked up under her, watching
him in the dark.

"Lights, twenty-five percent," she instructed the computer in an oddly
toneless voice.  "Where were you?"

"Huh?"  It was the best he could do at the moment.

"You left.  You've been gone for three hours.  Where did you go?"
Still in that oddly flat tone that made him want to hide, not a
feeling he relished. He wasn't afraid of B'Elanna.  He *wasn't*.

{That must be the reason you're looking for an exit, hmm?}

Sometimes, he wished that little inner voice would shut up and let him
have one decent, comforting fantasy.

"Just out."  It suddenly occurred to him that B'Elanna should be
asleep. Almost on cue, she tossed something his way, the empty
hypospray.  It hit his chest, tumbling to the floor with a soft plop.
Numbly, he picked it up, fingering it for a moment before tossing it
into the recycler.

"You misjudged the amount.  The dose you administered was too low for
a half-Klingon.  Forgot your medical studies already?"  Her voice had
picked up heat.  She stood up, walking up to him, he caught himself
backing away until his back made contact with the wall.  The brown
eyes widened, then narrowed.  "Where the hell were you?"

"On the holodeck."  Tom rarely lied to his lover.  He knew better.

"With Sue."  The low voice dropped further, chilling the room.

He stared at her for a long time.

"Like last night."  He winced.  Wondered how she knew.

{She's checking up on me?}  Maybe he was supposed to be angry or
defensive, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of tiredness.

"Yeah."

She didn't move for a moment, and he saw her hands were in fists.  Her
face gave her away, the way she bit her lip, the turn of her shoulders
as she moved away.  He had no idea what to do.  What to say.

"Why?"  Her back was to him.  It didn't make it any easier.

"Talking."

"In Sandrine's?  Drinking, you mean."

"You're keeping tabs on my movements, B'Elanna?"  He couldn't even
summon up a pitiful offended tone now.  Exhaustion seemed to seep
through him, and all he wanted in the world was to sit very still for
a long time, no thinking, no crisis, and no memories.

"Yes."  She turned around, fast, on the ball of her foot, eyes
accusing. "You didn't return after an hour, or two, or *three* and I
decided to find out where the hell you were."

"I couldn't sleep."

"And alcohol helps?"  Her voice dripped scorn.  He couldn't find an
answer to that.  There wasn't one.  Slowly, he moved to the couch,
sitting down, burying his head in his hands.  He felt her presence
rather than saw it.

"Do you hate being here with me that much?"

He lifted his head, fingers twining together loosely.

"No."

"Then what?"

He didn't answer for a long time, staring at her with an intensity she
didn't recognize.  She could feel his eyes trace her slowly.  His face
gave away nothing of the thoughts that went on behind his eyes, it
rarely did. She waited, watching him, watching those long, graceful
fingers twist tighter, knuckles white.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, eyes never leaving hers, voice
hoarse.  "I always think I remember, but when I see you again, memory
is nothing in comparison.  Every day, every night since.longer than I
can remember.  I look at you, and I wonder, why are you here, with me?
Of all the men on this ship, you wanted me."

He paused again, his head shaking slightly.  No more words, and she
didn't know what to say to that.

B'Elanna sat down on the coffee table.  Looking at him.  Tried to
piece together what was wrong, separate it from her fading anger, her
feelings of betrayal even she knew were stupid, her overwhelming
desire to lash out. Instead, she sat in silence, watching him, until
he lifted his head again.

"Talk to me."

He smiled a little, unconvincing, and it faded as soon as it began.
She reached out, touching his face, and he leaned into her hand for a
moment. The slight scratch of a face unshaven since morning, the silky
skin beneath.

"You've gone through enough, B'Elanna.  You don't need--"

"I need you."  He was intensely tactile, something she had learned
early on, and had noted on several occasions that he was most likely
to talk when being touched.  She slipped off the table, climbing into
his lap, quite aware of how vulnerable Tom was at that moment, and
that she needed to exploit it if possible.  And it was possible.  She
could do this.  "I need you to talk to me.  I need you to tell me
what's wrong.  Tell me if you have a bad dream.  Or a headache," she
added, and was rewarded with a slight, but real, smile.  "Talk to me."

He slid his arms around her, leaning into her gently, forehead against
her shoulder.  Breathing her in.

"You defended me at the Inquiry," he said softly.  She stroked his
hair, lifting his face for a moment.  "Privately, when you talked to
Janeway."

She caught herself in a soft laugh.  Surprised.

"Did she tell you?"

"No, it was recorded.  I was looking for Vorik's testimony and found
that record.  I think the Captain wanted me to hear it.  Your command
of Klingon profanity is impressive.  I didn't know Klingons had so
many variations on a  single Standard word."

"You'd be surprised," she answered noncommittally.  "Nice jump off the
subject, though.  Tell me what's going on in your head, why you go to
Sandrine's and talk to Sue."

The way she said Sue's name brought his head up again, looking at her
with raised brows.

"You don't like her."

"I don't like the way she looks at you."

"She's a friend."

"I'm friends with a lot of people but I don't look at them like that.
I'm Klingon, Tom, and a woman.  I can feel these things."

Tom considered what she said carefully.  B'Elanna could be incredibly
intuitive.  He wondered what she felt when she looked at him, and
resolved, in his own mind, never to let her know, or guess, that he
had considered what Sue had offered, consciously or not.  A bandage
over his tattered emotions, a way to find distraction.

Another step down the path.  He shook his head.

"She and John broke up.  She needs a friend," he compromised, deciding
this was the one thing he didn't need right now.  Even to think about.

"She has friends."  B'Elanna studied her lover, wondering--and left it
there.  Because she didn't need to know that.  She trusted him not to
betray her, or their relationship, but she did wonder if he had been
tempted.

As if she had some sort of monopoly on fidelity.  She shook her head
at the thought.

"Many of them were among those infected."  He didn't look at her.  She
tilted his head up, staring into the impossibly blue eyes.

"You and she were close during what happened, weren't you?"  Some
things couldn't be ignored.  He'd taught her that.

His gaze moved to her shoulder.

"She was Acting First Officer.  We had to be."

B'Elanna bit her lip, trying to think of a way to phrase what she
suddenly wanted, needed to know.  He met her eyes, reading the
question in them.

"No.  Nothing like that."  {Could have been, though.  Gods, I could
have, she might have, do I really want B'Elanna to hear this?  Does
she need to hear something like this?  What is the right thing to do
here?}  He leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes.  She pulled
gently back, framing his face with her hands, looking at him for a
long time, then slowly leaning forward, giving him the option of
pulling away.  He didn't, let her brush her lips across his, then
return, slowly, the gentlest touch.  Sweet.

She closed her eyes, felt his fingers in her hair, gently pulling,
twisting, deepening the kiss carefully, as if it were the first time
he'd kissed her, the first time he kissed anybody, tongue gently
brushing across her lower lip, tracing her teeth, then she opened her
mouth against the pressure of his, so carefully, wanting him to know
she wasn't trying to destroy a memory, that she simply wanted him.

And it felt good.

His free hand caught one of hers, lacing their fingers together
gently, and shivered, moving closer to him, arching her back slightly.
Felt him pull her closer, one hand flat against her back, supporting
her as he leaned her backward

It was a long kiss.  Finally, he broke it off, looking into her eyes.
A smile turned the corner of his mouth.  It made her breath catch,
that smile, tender, loving, and pleased.  She couldn't remember the
last time she'd seen him smile like that.  Tracing her face with one
hand, he leaned close again to claim her lips, tasting them
deliberately, gently, thumb tracing her cheekbone.  She felt his teeth
grazing her neck on an achingly slow path to her collar, the brush of
his tongue against her jugular, settling at the base of  her neck,
gently sucking before a crawl back up to her chin, easing her forward
so he could kiss her again.

He pulled back again, both their breath coming a little fast, staring
at each other.  Moving forward to touch again, taste each other, a
little less carefully, a little more passionately.  He freed her
mouth, cupping the back of her head, lips sliding down her neck,
tongue brushing her skin.  Finally, she felt him stop, breathing
heavily against her shoulder.

"God, B'Ela, what you do to me," he murmured.  She curled her arms
around him, and he lifted his head, his eyes a little dilated, dark as
indigo, and she caught her breath.

"Sleep with me.  Just sleep," she said softly, in answer to his raised
eyebrows.  "Is the couch really that comfortable?"  His answering
smile was reluctant, but it was there, at least.

He kept her gaze firmly locked with his for a few moments, then nodded
slowly.  Before he could change his mind, she stood up, holding out
her hand for him to take, leading him to the bed, then turned to
unbutton his shirt. She heard his breath catch at the brush of her
fingers against his chest,  felt the heat in her own face.  The
simple, familiar action of undressing him had become unfamiliar, as if
she had never done it before, and her fingers trembled at the closure
of his pants, freezing there for a moment as she tried to slow her
heart.

She couldn't remember the last time they'd actually stopped like this.

His hand brushed hers, then moved around them, unfastening his
clothes, letting them fall, stepping back.  Looked for a T-shirt, but
she stopped him, one hand pressing against his chest.

"Don't."  She tried to smile, but she couldn't help staring at him.
Her mouth had gone completely dry.  {I'm acting like I've never seen
him in only shorts before.}  She made an effort to regulate her
breathing, realized he was doing the same, and giggled softly.  "This
is ridiculous.  I've seen you undressed before."

He laughed with her, and the blue eyes seemed lighter than they had
been for a long time. He watched her shed the robe and noted she was
wearing one of his T-shirts, barely brushing the tops of her thighs,
and he was reacting to it, wondered how he hadn't noticed before, and
then wondered if this was such a good idea.

She turned, crawling into bed, still holding his hand, pulling him
behind her.  When he settled himself, she curled against him, achingly
familiar, one small hand splayed on his chest, her head on his
shoulder, some strands of her dark hair tickling his cheek.

Her breathing evened slowly, and, surprisingly, so did his.  He felt
pleasantly sleepy, the comforting smell of her around him.  Breathed
her in, winced in some humor as his body reacted to her closeness, and
thought he heard a suspicious giggle.  He tilted her face up.

"You're laughing at me."

"Well, actually at both of us," she whispered, eyes dancing, and he
liked that, her sudden, easy humor, the dark lifted from her eyes, at
least temporarily.  Her mouth twitched, and they both burst into
laughing, Tom rolling on his stomach to bury his head in the pillow to
muffle himself, B'Elanna helplessly leaning against his back, tears
leaking from her eyes.

When they finally slept, curled against each other, B'Elanna did not
dream.

She forgot he hadn't talked.

--- Part VII:  Closure --- {0200 hours} Present Time


"Computer, location of Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti?"

:::Lieutenant Nicoletti is in Holodeck 2.:::

---

Sue took a long drink from her glass, staring off into space,
thoughtful. Sandrine's was dark, barely at half-lights.  As she
shifted on the barstool, she thought about exactly what she was doing
here.

Actually, it was who she was waiting for.

She told herself she came here for a drink after another long day.
Even to herself, the excuse sounded weak. She wanted to see Tom.

{Stupid.}  Definitely that.  Stupid and very wrong, but she couldn't
resist the temptation, no matter how much she tried.  She wanted to be
here, to see him at his most vulnerable, and maybe, this time, when he
looked at her, he wouldn't leave.  Maybe he would touch her face
again, and she'd lean into the caress, look into those blue eyes.and
he would stay.  For her.

Maybe.

The holodeck doors slid open, and Sue resisted the urge to turn around
and look.  She took another short drink, bracing herself.

He didn't say anything as he joined her at the bar, taking the glass
she offered, giving her a tired smile.  He downed the amber liquid in
one gulp, staring into the dark recesses of the area behind the bar,
and she laid her hand on his limp one, squeezing gently.  The bones
under her fingers seemed suddenly fragile.

"You okay?"

He looked at her, blue eyes meeting hers, then turned toward her,
lifting her hand to his cheek for a moment.  She could feel the day's
growth of beard against her palm, and rubbed softly, feeling him lean
into the caress.

"Better now."  He reached out with his other hand, cupping her face,
thumb smoothing across her cheekbone with incredible gentleness,
before leaning forward, brushing his lips across hers, then drawing
back suddenly, eyes wide.

"I shouldn't have done that."  But he didn't let her go, simply looked
at her, and this time she leaned forward, gently pressing her mouth to
his, feeling him respond. One arm slid around her as he cradled her
close, pulling her off the barstool and into his lap, his hand laced
through her hair.  Quickly, he unfastened her shirt to the waist,
cupping her breast lightly through her bra.  He turned them so she
leaned against the bar, mouth locked on her neck as she slid her
fingers gently around his neck. His hand slid down her thigh, then
back up to her hip.  Taking her breath.

"Tom." she whispered.

"Hey, Sue."

Sue spun around at the sound of that voice.  Her breath froze in her
throat. She blinked, adjusting herself to the here and now, realizing
that she must have been deep in her fantasy not to have realized who
was standing there.

Hell, it had been real.  {So damned real.}

B'Elanna was leaning against the door, dressed in a simple dark tunic
and pants, her uniform boots for some reason working well with the
outfit.  Her hair was loose around her face, her brown eyes mild and
face relaxed.  There had been no malice in the soft voice.  Nothing
threatening in her comfortable posture, arms crossed across her chest.
An attitude she'd picked up from Tom;  Sue couldn't count the times
she'd seen Tom stand like that, a cocky grin turning his lips.

"B'Elanna."  She tried to think of more words, but there weren't any.
She stared, swallowing hard, remembering last night, when Tom had left
with that cryptic statement. Wondering why she was so nervous, as if
she had done  something wrong.  She hadn't.  She *hadn't*.

Yet.  {Only in my mind, Chief.}

With her normal stride, B'Elanna joined her at the bar, pouring a
glass of the dark gold sherry Sue had replicated.  She took a sip,
studying Sue over the rim of the glass for a moment, then took another
sip.  Her expression was thoughtful as she glanced down at the liquor

"Not synthehol?  I'm surprised."  She set the glass on the bar, not
moving her fingers from it, and Sue saw the strain of tendons,
wondered if B'Elanna was going to break it with one hand.  The woman's
face was profiled to her now.

"Tom told me you and John have called it quits."  It was a good way to
start the conversation;  Sue gave her points for striking at a weak
spot.

"Yeah."  Sue drained her glass and poured more.  "It wasn't working
out, it hasn't been for awhile.  I suppose this was as good a reason
as any to call it quits."  Giving a sidelong glance to the quiet Chief
Engineer.  She was so still, so quiet, like at the Inquiry, so much
different from how she'd been before.  Living energy leashed, always,
but not now.  It was more disconcerting than having B'Elanna interrupt
her daydream.  {Almost.}

"I thought you were happy together."  B'Elanna fingered her glass
gently before taking another drink.  She still wasn't looking at Sue.

"We had a lot of problems from the beginning."  Wondered why she was
telling B'Elanna this.

Then knew why, if the barest stiffening of muscles beneath the tunic
was any indication.  {What the hell am I doing?  He's not mine, never
will be, what makes me think I would ever be more than a distraction?
Why am I here?}

"Sometimes it's worth the time it takes to fix them."  B'Elanna turned
now, eyes veiled, and at this unfortunate moment Sue noted the very
slightly predatory look on the other woman's face.  Remembered
belatedly that this woman's heritage was from a species with the
instincts and reflexes of a hunter.

A woman who could fight and win against a Vulcan.  Geez.  {What the
hell am I doing?}

"You want him."  It wasn't a question.  Her voice was still
expressionless. Another mannerism of Tom's.  Sue wondered if B'Elanna
even knew how much she had adopted from him.

{B'Elanna is not noted for her diplomacy.}

"It's not--"

"I'm not stupid or blind."  Sue noted, with a kind of fascination, how
tightly B'Elanna gripped her glass.  "Don't try it.  Don't even think
about it."

Sue swallowed the last of her sherry into a dry throat, almost
choking.  Her fingers trembled;  she forced them flat on the bar.

"You've met him here for two nights.  Drinking.  Talking, I suppose.
I don't care what about, I don't want to know."

B'Elanna finished her glass and turned to look at Sue.  There was no
mistaking the naked threat conveyed by the cool brown eyes.

"We are going to pull through this, Nicoletti.  No matter how much you
want him, how much you think he may want you.  We are going to work
through this, so leave him alone."

Sue felt herself bristle.

"Isn't this his decision?"  {What the hell am I doing?  Am I crazy?}

B'Elanna stood up, and suddenly her small frame seemed larger, more
intimidating, the chill brown eyes focused on her to the exclusion of
all else.  Yet so still, as if waiting for something to give her a
reason to react.  Sue's mouth was completely dry.  She grabbed her
glass, taking a drink, hoping she wasn't shaking.  {Is it cold in
here?}

"He's tired, he's been through more than I or you can guess.  I know
him. If he--if he did turn to you, you'd both be hurt, and not just
because of what I would do to you, Nicoletti.  He doesn't need it."

"After what happened with Harry--"  Sue began hotly.

Sue never saw the hand raise, but she found herself on the floor with
a throbbing face.  B'Elanna hadn't seemed to move a muscle, watching
her from the other side of the bar stool.  Calmly, controlled, no
flash of pure Klingon violence.  Sue tasted blood on her tongue.

"Don't push me, Nicoletti.  I lost a lot of my human heritage under
the influence of that parasite.  I will be *damned* if I let you take
advantage of him now.  And that is exactly what you'd be doing.  You
know it as well as I do.  Back off, let him re-acquaint himself with
normal life.  Let him learn to forget, or at least put everything into
perspective, or you're no better than those parasites that used our
minds like a playground.  You'd use him."

Sue shook her head slowly, denying what B'Elanna said, but in her
heart--she wasn't so sure.  Her face throbbed in counterpoint to those
cool words.  She gingerly felt her jaw.  It wasn't broken, but it was
certainly swollen.  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to catch
her breath, even it out. Trying not to be afraid.

This was not the B'Elanna she knew.  Nothing like her.  No heat of
temper that would burn itself out quickly, no flares of humor.  This
was B'Elanna with a purpose, with a cause, all the layers of Starfleet
officer peeled away.

This was the woman who killed Cardassians in the Maquis.  Who killed a
psychotic radioactive monster in the bowels of an alien ship.
Reminding Sue that of all the people on this ship, B'Elanna Torres was
the one whose heritage glorified the art of honorable death.

Or honorable murder.  Take your pick.  She didn't answer B'Elanna,
instead focused on her pain.

"Leave him alone."  And B'Elanna was gone.  Sue picked herself up
shakily, walking to the barstool.

---

She re-entered the room quietly, undressing and putting her clothes
away quickly before putting on one of his T-shirts, her favorite
sleeping apparel.  Slowly, she walked to the couch, watching him
sleep, then sat on the coffee-table.

{Well, that was stupid as all hell.  Like a jealous wife.}

She lowered her head to her hands, breathing deeply.  Damned temper.
B'Elanna had never followed the "look before you leap" principle of
life. She preferred more direct methods of confronting external
problems.

And God, it had felt good to get back control of her life.  Just to
settle one thing, one concrete thing she could do something about.
One thing she could see, one thing that didn't exist only in memory.

Something to focus her rage on.  And if she'd overreacted--well, toss
it to Klingon genes and leave it there.  She didn't care.  Finally,
she'd done *something* besides stew in her own anger and helplessness.

It had felt pretty damned good, too.

She let her gaze move back to Tom.  He looked exhausted even in sleep,
something she hadn't noticed before.  {Well, I haven't exactly spent a
lot of time sleeping with him, either, and he usually goes to sleep
after I do.} But tonight, he hadn't gone to the Holodeck, that had to
mean something. When she'd risen to confront a problem that existed
outside her mind, he'd been sleeping.  Here.

Not awake, on the Holodeck, with Sue.

She bit her lip.  He would never betray her.  Never.

{In normal circumstances, no, probably not.  But this isn't even close
to normal.}

Her reasons for that little chat with Sue had been more than just
jealousy, though.  She knew Tom, understood him a great deal better
than he knew.  She could see, in the space of those seven days, how he
might be tempted by Sue, after seeing her and Harry, after everything
that had happened.  Jeopardy, she knew, could create quite a bond
between two people.

In this case, however, she had no intention of letting it go any
further than it had.  She didn't really think Tom would pursue such an
action.  But she wasn't nearly as confident that Sue wouldn't.

She shook his head.  He was trying to protect her, care for her, help
her get better.  The least she could do was do the same for him.  Even
if it had to be from himself.  He'd gone through enough.

She watched him sleep for a long time, bracing herself for what she
was going to do.  The Klingon in her was ready, the human was not.
{Stop separating your genome, B'Elanna.  This is not the time for
internal debate. Do it or don't.  Make a decision for once in your
life without being forced into it.}

Well, that certainly put things in perspective.

She shifted him over (the couch was wide enough, thank goodness) until
a reasonable space was formed.  Gently, she curled up with him,
pulling the blanket over them both, sliding one leg over his to keep
her position and burying her face against his shoulder, breathing him
in slowly, deeply.  One arm sleepily pulled her close, and she smiled
as fingers brushed her cheek.

"You know there is a whole bed over there, right?"  His voice was a
sleepy chuckle.  He drew her closer, the other arm going around her,
pulling her tight against him.  She brushed her fingers through his
short hair.

"No, I didn't.  You mean this isn't the bedroom?"

He laughed again, softly, turning his head and their lips touched.
B'Elanna felt herself shiver at the contact, felt him pull back,
meeting her eyes, and the look burned into her.  She hadn't seen that
look in so long--her breath stopped, and she could hear her heartbeat
increase suddenly, pounding against her chest.

For a moment, neither moved; then suddenly, he was kissing her,
pressing her deep into the couch, his whole weight on top of her, and
she clutched at his back, nails digging in to the T-shirt before she
pulled it up, out of the way, she wanted to touch bare skin.  He
quickly removed it, and hers, hands sliding down to her thigh, pulling
it up roughly against his hip, bringing them into intimate contact
with each other.  He kneaded the firm flesh of her leg before sliding
one hand gently up to her face, locking her chin in place, his mouth
moving down her cheek to her neck, lightly biting.  She caught her
breath at the feel of his teeth on her shoulder.

Suddenly, he stopped, and an odd smile turned his mouth as he looked
down at her.

"You set me up."

She blinked and felt his hand sliding down her hip, encountering no
resistance before slipping between her legs.  She caught her breath at
the feel of his fingers, lightly caressing.

"You aren't wearing underwear."

And she laughed suddenly, intoxicated by his smile, the way he was
looking at her, the feel of his fingers caressing her so gently--and
the sudden strength he took her mouth with, scraping by her teeth to
run across her tongue, and she pressed one hand into his hair,
gripping tight, using her other hand to push his shorts down,  her
foot to push them off, then slipping it around his waist, settling
them together, and she heard him groan softly.

"Yeah," she murmured, a smile curling the corners of her mouth.  "Did
it work?"

"Oh, yeah," he breathed, kissing her again, pressing against her as
she repositioned herself against his hand, closing her eyes at the
feel of skilled fingers.  Her breath came faster, harder, a light
gasp, and she caught his other hand in hers, caressing the palm with
her thumb.  He grinned against her mouth, and in that grin was
something she hadn't seen for awhile.

Tom wanted to play.

He flipped them both over so she straddled him, pulling her head down
so his breath brushed her lips, their eyes meeting.

"Are you still ticklish?"

Her eyes widened as he found that particular spot under her ribs, and
as his fingers touched the skin, she broke into laughter.  She bit
down into his chest, enjoying his low groan (she knew it wasn't pain)
and the way his fingers tightened on her hip before sliding over her
breast, making her breath draw sharply.  She nuzzled his neck,
squealing when he tickled her again, and finally grabbed his hands,
pinning them near his ears, putting her full weight on them.  Gave him
a wicked grin.

"Ticklish?  If I remember correctly--"

"You wouldn't dare."  His eyes challenged her.

"Never challenge a Klingon, Tom," she whispered, inching his hands
above his head until she could catch both in one hand--she wouldn't be
able to hold him like that long, but long enough.  As quickly as she
could, she slipped her other hand down to his waist, catching the skin
there with her nails, and then brushed his side with the lightest
touch of the tips of each fingers.

It felt good to hear him laugh like that.

He freed his hands, blocking her hands from further contact as best he
could, rolling onto his side and almost depositing her on the floor.
Then he turned them both and she found herself trapped under him
again, both of them giggling, until Tom's hand slipped down, and she
sucked in a long breath as his long fingers caressed her.  God, she
wanted him.

"You seem ready,"  His voice a low growl against her ear.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she whispered back, settling her hips and
reaching down to guide him in.  He murmured something as he completed
the stroke, and she arched her back, trying to pull him in deeper,
tightening her legs around his waist.  " God, Tom."  Brown eyes locked
into blue.  She wrapped both arms around his neck, drawing his mouth
down, pushing his lips apart hard, exploring his mouth with light
darts of her tongue.  "I've missed you."

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered when a move of her hips brought
a gasp.  She leaned up to gently bite his chin.

"Sweetheart?"  She caught her breath softly.  He licked along her jaw,
bit down into her shoulder, feeling her shudder beneath him.

"Term of endearment," he muttered in a staccato voice, his breath
coming faster, though she could tell he was trying to draw it out.
"You--have--a preference?"  He cradled her head with one hand,
brushing his tongue just around her lips, then traveling to her ear.

"B'Elanna?" she suggested, and he grinned, shifting his movements,
drawing out a growl from deep in her throat.  He bent to kiss the soft
flesh there, biting the long column of her neck, before lifting his
head again.

"How--about--baby?"  he rasped.

"I--don't think--so," she answered shortly, pulling his head down for
a kiss, biting his lip a little too hard, feeling the blood well up,
and licked it away.  "This is *good*, Tom."

"Thanks.  I--aim to please." His chuckle was lost as she tightened her
legs suddenly, feeling his body shiver.

"Faster," she breathed.  Pulling him closer, she looked into his eyes.
Saw the same intentness.  "Now, Tom."

The way he looked at her took her breath away.  She wondered what he
saw when he looked at her, what it was in her face that she never
noticed when she looked in the mirror.  It couldn't be what she saw
every day.  It couldn't be, or he'd never look at her like that, with
wanting, with need, with such incredulous wonder.  As if she were
something precious, something  wonderful.

He braced their joined hands against the couch, leaning down to kiss
her, sliding one arm under her shoulder, cradling her close.  Then
moved into her hard, making her gasp, neck arching, staring into those
impossibly blue eyes.

"I'd do anything for you, B'Elanna," he murmured, his hand under her
head, lifting it slightly as he moved again, picking up speed, not
letting her look away.  Watching, feeling her reaction.  Her eyes
closed, and he stopped.  "Don't close your eyes.  Look at me.  Don't
look away, not ever."Brown eyes locked into his again, and he thrust
into her, drawing out a low cry from his lover, felt her nails dig
deep into his back.  She caught his mouth in a hard kiss.  His teeth
sank into her lower lip then pulled back, and he met her eyes again.
That intense look on his face as he watched her react to him, to what
they were doing.

Close.  She knew she was close, and locked her ankles around his back,
meeting each thrust.  {God.}  So was he, his breathing told her that,
but she didn't look away from him.  No longer wanted to.

When the moment came, for both of them, he whispered something against
her ear, just before her body took her mind, washing her into her
climax.

She wasn't sure, ever afterward, what he said, nor did she ever ask
him.

But she thought he said 'I love you.'

---

"You did *what*?"

B'Elanna rolled over on the bed, where they'd finally moved, staring
at the ceiling.

"I hit her."

Tom took a steadying breath, reminding himself he was a Starfleet
officer, he had to keep his temper in check.

"Why?"

B'Elanna shook her head, and Tom raised himself on one elbow, turning
her chin so he could look at her.

"You don't see it, do you?" she said softly.  He looked away, and she
bit her lip.  "You know what I'm talking about.  You do see it."

"It isn't--I mean--"  He stopped, mouth tightening.

"I'll apologize," she said finally.  His mouth quirked a little.
"Tomorrow."

"Can I record it for posterity?  I doubt that will *ever* be seen
again." She hit his head with the pillow and he pretended to wince.
"You should apologize.  She's never done anything inappropriate."

"Hmmm."  B'Elanna remembered the look on Sue's face when she'd walked
into the Holodeck.

"I wouldn't betray you."  His hand curved around her face gently, and
with the words, he knew it was true.  He wouldn't.  Not for any
reason, ever.

{Would you have, during those days the K'eya had her?}

{I didn't.  I had opportunity, and I didn't.}

{But you thought about it.}

{Thinking stupid things and doing them are very different.}

He looked at her, the caramel face, the dark eyes that stared into
his, the way she bit her lower lip as he looked at her.  Wondered if
there was anything in the universe that would make him risk what he
had with B'Elanna.

{Probably not.}

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't try to tempt you to."  B'Elanna could
be unsurprisingly stubborn.  He sighed and shook his head.

"No.  She wouldn't."  Tom smiled, brushing his fingers along her cheek
carefully, watching her close her eyes, leaning into the caress.  "You
remind me of a cat sometimes, you know."

"Really?"  She didn't open her eyes, and her voice was a low murmur.
He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her throat, and her neck
arched gently against him.  Damn, she tasted good.  He brushed the
skin beneath her ear with his tongue, feeling the indentations his
teeth had made earlier, and grinned slightly.  Made him want to find
the other marks, see how they felt, how they tasted.  "How?"

{Huh?  Oh, yeah, cat.}

"The way you move when I touch you."  The feel of a day's growth of
beard tickled her shoulder, and she lazily slipped a hand around his
neck, stroking lightly.  "Are you tired?"

One eye opened, regarding him for a moment.  She certainly didn't look
tired.

"Not at all."  A purr that sent shivers up his spine as her hand
tightened, pulling him down to her lips.  His low chuckle as he
obliged made her smile too.

Not tired at all.

---

Later that night, Tom woke up to watch her sleep.

It wasn't unusual, in their relationship.  Those first early days,
when she'd shared his bed, he had watched her sleep for hours, with a
sense of disbelief, because this just *couldn't* be happening;  she
couldn't be here with him.  Watching her breathe, the way she shifted
in her sleep. Memorizing everything because there might not be a next
time, and he wanted every minute, every second, burned deep into his
memory.

That sense of wonder had never completely diminished, and he suspected
it probably never would.

He raised himself on one arm, studying her face.  Wondered if tonight
would bring another nightmare.  She'd had too many already, he hated
to see it, hated to watch her relive the K'eya.  Maybe he'd exhausted
her.

Hell, she'd exhausted him.  He couldn't sleep, but he certainly didn't
want to move.

Especially now that he knew what the subject matter was.

One hand slipped over to brush her hair back from her face.  A very
slight smile faintly turned her lips and she sighed in her sleep.  No
one slept quite like B'Elanna, like an exhausted child, totally
defenseless.  It was endearing, one hand curled under her cheek, the
other clutching loosely at the blanket.

Nothing outside the bed seemed to matter as much anymore.  Not the
memories of what he had done, what she had been forced to do--it was
distant.

And God, he had missed her.  Not just their physical encounters, but
simply sleeping next to her.  The relatively simple pleasure of
watching her laying with such utter trust beside him.

He glanced at the chronometer, sighing softly.  Two more hours until
he went on shift.

---
Alpha Shift
---

Tom went to shift early, as had become his new habit, one B'Elanna
could not quite figure out.  She stepped into the shower, liking the
feel of the sonics cleaning her, relaxing each aching muscle.

Aching for the right reasons.  She smiled at that, the memory still
fresh. Very fresh.  She couldn't remember Tom being quite
so--enthusiastic--in a long time.

And energetic.  She'd fallen asleep before he did.  Unusual.

As she got out, she kicked something from beneath her foot and grabbed
her robe, pulling it on, before turning to fix her hair.  Glanced down
to see what she had kicked.

An empty hypospray.

A long moment.  {Why is there a hypospray on the floor?}

She knelt to pick it up, noticing the cabinet beneath the sink was
ajar.  It must have fallen out, maybe that was where Tom had moved his
medical supplies.  She picked up the hypospray, preparing to put it
back in the cabinet.

Then played with it for a moment.

It had been used.  Recently.  Very recently, if she was any judge.
Maybe this morning.  She studied it, looking at the residue inside,
then sat on the floor and took Tom's medkit out and checked through
it.  She wasn't seeing a certified field medic for nothing, she knew
exactly what belonged there.

Nothing was missing.  She frowned, knowing there was something here
she just couldn't see.  Still holding the hypospray, she sealed the
kit up and put it back, then walked into the living room.

Glanced at the replicator.

Using her authorization as Chief Engineer she made to a very simple
request of the replicator. Her eyes widened at its reply.

---

"Open this damned door, Vorik!"

Vorik answered, in uniform--{Does he sleep in the damn thing?  I know
he isn't on shift until beta.}--trying with almost pitiful
determination to keep an impassive expression at the sight of
B'Elanna, in a *robe*, at his door, looking fierce.  She pushed him
aside, letting the doors close, and a PADD was immediately thrust
under Vorik's elegant nose.

He glanced at it once, then at B'Elanna.  Blinked.  Tried to reconcile
the robe to the Chief Engineer.

"That is the program I used to break the replicator codes," he said.
B'Elanna's eyes narrowed.

"I *know* that.  Does it also remove the replication log?"

Vorik's finely arched eyebrows jumped.

"Not exactly, sir.  It encrypts the log."

B'Elanna ground her teeth, but she didn't lose her temper.  {He's a
Vulcan. He's very literal.  Spell it out.}

"I could see every replicator item I ordered, Vorik.  Does it encrypt
specific substances?"

"Yes."

B'Elanna took a calming breath and resisted the urge to just pick him
up and *shake* him until he told her what she wanted to know.

"Tell me what substances."

"IS117, sir."

B'Elanna stared at him for a long time while she counted to ten.
Slowly.

"What--else?"  She ground the words out with careful precision.

Vorik looked thoughtful, apparently trying to understand what it was
she was getting at.  She gave up.

"Can that program be used to replicate *anything*, and encrypt the
logs?"

Vorik nodded, now comprehending.  That was something, it saved him
from being tossed against the wall.

"Yes, sir.  The algorithm--"  a wave of her hand cut him off.  She
understood the theory.  She stared off to the area to the left of his
shoulder.

"I can't access those encrypted files, Vorik, even with my clearance.
Break into them and tell me what was replicated this morning."  With
enough time, B'Elanna knew she could have done it, but she didn't have
that kind of time now.  She had an idea, however, of what was on those
encrypted files and couldn't believe she hadn't realized sooner.
{Blind, willfully, selfishly blind, I didn't even notice.}

Vorik nodded with a Vulcan composure that made B'Elanna want to feed
him that PADD and crossed to his terminal to begin his work.

---

When B'Elanna returned to Tom's quarters, she remembered she was still
wearing her robe, and the hypospray was in the pocket.  Vaguely, with
one part of her mind, she thought she should be embarrassed.
Crewmembers passed with averted eyes.  She couldn't really summon the
energy to care.  On a PADD clutched in one had, she carried those lost
logs, and every once in awhile she would pause, staring at them for a
long moment, counting the days, the dates; a mantra.

Unable to believe she hadn't realized.  That no one had.  Even
guessed.

Or if they had, they sure hadn't done a damned thing about it.

All those sleepless nights.  Or nights with barely any sleep.  Spent
on the Holodeck with Sue, on late shifts.  And last night--

{Blind.  Oh, yeah.}

And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it until after Beta
shift.

"Damn!"  The doors closed behind her as she stepped into the living
room, staring at the replicator.  The logs kept excellent track of the
amounts he requested each time, steadily larger, though, as yet, not
quite at the lethal level.

Stimulants.  She should have guessed, just from the way he looked.
The way he was acting.

She dropped onto the couch, staring at the PADD but no longer really
seeing it.

Only one thought ran through her head.

{I should have known.  I should have known.  I should have known.}

What she didn't know was what to do about it.

---
Gamma Shift
---

B'Elanna walked in to see Tom reading something on a PADD.  He looked
comfortable, laying on his couch, knees drawn up slightly, absently
chewing on what appeared to be bubble gum (she knew he had a weakness
for it).  His hair was slightly ruffled ({How can anything that short
look rumpled?}) and he was dressed in his favorite off-duty clothes,
jeans and a grey T-shirt that never failed to make her mouth water.

"Tom."

He looked up, blinking to see her, then checked the time, a smile
turning his mouth.

"Hey. I didn't realized how late it was." He didn't move, however,
just looked at her for a long time.  Studied her face.

"You found the hypospray."

It would never cease to amaze her, how he did that.  She nodded,
slowly going to sit down across from him.  He still didn't move.

"How did you know?"  She couldn't hide her surprise.

"You decrypted the logs.  I found them when I was getting dinner."  He
was watching her, studying her, and the coolness of his eyes was a
contrast to that slight smile.

{He's angry.}

"How long, Tom?"  {When all else fails, attack.}

"The day after the mutiny."  He shifted, putting the PADD down on the
floor. "I couldn't perform interrogations and do everything else that
needed to be done in the time allotted.  Doc gave me the first dose."

Somehow, she had expected him to be defensive.  Not this cool,
matter-of-fact explanation.

"After that, I administered the doses to the crew to kill the K'eya,
and that took three days, around the clock.  I couldn't stop then
during that. I'm the only medic on board besides Doc."

She felt her nails digging deep into her palms.

"Now--well, I guess I really don't have an excuse for now.  Habit."

"You need to stop."

"I know."

Nothing else.  She didn't know where to go now.  She hadn't expected
this, and yet--it wasn't unexpected.  Tom was so deeply inside himself
right now, he didn't want to fight--more, he didn't want to talk, and
she would love to meet the person who could make Tom talk when he
didn't want to.

Where the hell to go from here?  Go back to mundane tasks, as if
nothing out of the ordinary had been said?  Maybe ask about dinner, or
some time on the Holodeck?  Maybe just sit here in uncomfortable
silence until one of them gave in.

He wouldn't.  She knew that.  Just by the way he sat on the couch.

"Do you really think the only reason I am with you is sex?"

A flicker in clear blue.

"You remember that."

"I remember *everything*, Tom."

He swiveled his feet onto the floor, one hand on each knee, regarding
her carefully.

"No.  I was angry."

"Yeah," she answered softly.  "Angry, I noticed that.  How angry,
Tom?"

He blinked.  She kept her satisfaction carefully hidden.  He hadn't
expected this change in tactics.

"I was sorry within a few hours," he answered slowly.  "You'd already
gone planetside."

"With Harry."  Again, a flicker.  She pressed a little harder.  "It
was interesting, you know.  I can remember that, the transition.  It
only took two hours for all of us to be--how would Seven put
it?--assimilated.  We didn't even know what was happening to us, just
that we were suddenly doing things we had no control over.  The
difference between them and me, was I remember past the transition.
Every damned thing that happened.  Every second it was in me.  Except
when it slept, and I slept too, and we dreamed together.  You scared
her, Tom.  You scared the K'eya in me.  In the Brig, she had
nightmares.  About you."

Tom didn't answer.

"I could hear you interrogate the other prisoners."  His head came up
sharply.  "You did that on purpose, right, so she--it--whatever the
hell it was--could hear what you were doing, what you would do to her.
If she didn't tell you what you wanted to know.  She couldn't tell you
because she didn't know."

"What are you doing?" he answered, voice dangerously low.  "Do you
think you were the only one who suffered?  Janeway, all of you--do you
think everything was easy for us up here, without you?"

"No, I don't.  I know it wasn't, Tom."  He'd cracked.  Just a little.
But enough.  This time, this one time, she'd do this right, be what he
needed. No pulling away, no distance, no letting him draw himself up
into himself, ignore the problem.

"Are you going to stop using the stims?" she asked.  The changes in
topic were deliberate;  she wanted to keep him off-balance.  Unsure.
Surprisingly, it was working.

"Yes."

"When?"

Eyes narrowed again.

"Now."

She tossed the PADD she'd kept in her uniform jacket at him, and his
incredible reflexes allowed him to catch it easily.  He glanced at it
cursorily, then, a slight frown marring his brow, read it again.

"It's the proper name of your stimulant.  Street version, right?
Though you made it a hell of a lot purer than you'd get on the
street."  He looked at her, blank.  She smiled gently.  "You don't
think I've been there, Tom?  On the streets?  What the hell do you
think I did between Starfleet Academy and joining the Maquis?"

Unblinking regard that seemed to last a lifetime.  She let him look.
Watched the thoughts that spun in his head.

"What did you do?"  His voice was so low she barely heard it.

"Survived."  They looked at each other.  "I should have guessed what
you were doing sooner, you know.  I've seen the effects among the
Maquis, truth be told.  Mood swings, though with you--well, its harder
to see, you keep such good control.  Not eating.  Not sleeping.  Going
to duty early--for you, that is right up there with a scream for
attention, isn't it?"

He didn't answer, still holding her in that unblinking regard, PADD
clenched tight between his fingers.  The metal would bend under that
kind of pressure soon.  She kept her distance from him, knowing
instinctively he needed space now.

He hadn't dealt with what happened.  Not yet, no time.  Well, she was
*making* time.  Too damned bad if Janeway needed him for something
else, or Sue wanted another heart-to-heart, or the crew was having
adjustment problems.  They could damn well fend for themselves.  Was
she the only one who saw what he was going through?

"Tom, how did you learn about IS117?"  A shudder, well-concealed but
still caught by her careful eye, ran through him.

"After Caldik Prime."  His voice so low, hard to hear.  She wanted to
move closer, but couldn't.  She couldn't break his concentration, when
he was opening himself up.  It had been sixteen hours since his last
dose, unless he had gone to another replicator, and she doubted that.
He'd want to cover his tracks.  It should be diluted enough in his
system to keep him off-balance, vulnerable.  {No mistakes, B'Elanna.
Watch your step.}

"What happened?"

"I'm an Admiral's son, B'Elanna, whether my father wanted to remember
that or not.  A former Starfleet officer."  A bitter laugh, mocking
himself.

"They thought you would willingly betray the Federation?"  She tried
to imagine that, couldn't.

"No.  They never thought that."  She frowned, trying to understand.
He wasn't seeing her at all now, looking over her shoulder with an
expression she didn't recognize.  Wasn't even sure she *wanted* to
recognize.

It came like a bolt of lightning.  Her mouth went dry.

"It was used on you."  Her nails broke the skin of her palms, blood
bubbling around her fingertips.

"Admiral's son," he whispered.  He wasn't in the room with her
anymore. "That's what they called me.  They wanted any knowledge I
might have; after all, Dad was involved in the war with Cardassia.
And disgraced Starfleet officer--who would notice or care what
happened to me?

"There were Maquis with me there.  They were rescued and so was I.
They didn't differentiate between the captives.  Soon after, I met
Chakotay.  He needed a pilot for a mission and, I jumped at the
chance."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Hands still clenched
into tight fists.

"That's how I knew to use it.  Cardassia adapted that particular drug
to function on a wide variety of humanoid species.  I did the analysis
on it after Vorik got it out of the replicator, and it worked just
beautifully with enhanced human/K'eyan physiology."  His voice was
toneless.  "The first drug I tried was a Federation-approved version,
used to treat epilepsy.  It worked on Ricarla pretty damned well, but
the doses I administered to keep her "distracted" were dangerously
high.  So I decided to find the Cardassian version, with its lower
doses and greater potency.  Tested it on crewmembers until I found the
right dosage.  Enough to keep them talking but not so much they
couldn't do anything except scream."

B'Elanna closed her eyes at the thoughtful bitterness.

"I used it on my prisoners for three days.  And I liked it, B'Elanna.
I liked hurting them after everything they'd done to us.  It was so
natural. I taught Ayala how to do it, to give the correct doses, ask
the right questions.  I taught Vorik to do it, too.  Even Sue learned.
I influenced the crew to approve of my methods.  Approve of them,
B'Elanna.  Not tolerate.  *Approve*."  She shivered at the low
intensity of his voice.

Her mouth was dry;  she'd never wanted a glass of water so much in her
life. Scratch that--she wanted something harder.  Something to knock
her senseless.  {This is what I wanted.  Him to talk.  He's talking,
all right.}

"They looked to me to lead them, and I did.  I certainly led them,
didn't I? And it all worked out.  Ends justified the means, you know.
The crew is free of infection, with some bad memories, but that's all.
No one died, a miracle there.  And the Captain tells me she's proud of
me.  God, B'Elanna. *Proud*."

The blue eyes were so dilated they seemed black.  He thought she
didn't understand.  Couldn't understand, maybe, how he felt, what he
had done, what path he had chosen to take.

He didn't believe, even now, how much he had changed and how far he
had come.  She had no idea how to make him understand.  {Like me.  I
never realized it before.  But there it is.}

She unclenched her hands unconsciously, rubbing her palms into the arm
of the chair.

"What the *hell* did you do?"

It was so fast, she couldn't quite catch up with him.  He knelt in
front of her, turning her hand over, running his fingers over the torn
flesh of her palms, then looked at her.  She was kind of surprised
herself, belatedly noticing the streaks of blood on the chair arms.
He had her other hand now, blood smearing the fingers that touched
her.  Eyes wide, slightly blank. She closed her fingers over his, and
he looked up.

"I just used a knife," she whispered.  Her voice seemed very far away,
dreamy.  "That's all.  We couldn't afford drugs, or much of anything,
but a disrupter was too messy, wasn't precise enough for what we
needed to do. Required frequent medical attention, and anyway, that
wasn't my thing."

"B'Elanna?"   His voice was hoarse.

"They had Maquis prisoners, caught in a raid in the DMZ.  We had to
find them."  She felt Tom's hands tighten on hers.  "It took almost
two days to make the Cardassians talk.  A society like theirs has a
lot of resistance to pain.  But one finally broke.  Finally.  Half the
Maquis in that pod were dead when we finally found them, but at least
we got some of them out."  She looked down at Tom, still holding her
hands.  "You didn't think I could understand.  I do."

She felt his hair brush her palms as he lowered his head, slowly, into
her lap, breathing deeply.  His hands tightened on hers.

"We're not so different, huh?" she whispered, lowering her head so she
could speak near his ear.  "When I told you I wouldn't have done a
damned thing differently, I meant it.  Not--one--damned--thing."

Neither moved.  She freed one hand, gently brushing her fingers across
Tom's head, caressing his neck gently, letting him take it in.

Needed.  Finally, Tom needed her.  Not wanted her, or cared for her,
but needed her.  For comfort, for redemption, maybe, or just to
listen.  It was a heady feeling, making her light-headed, making her
smile despite what had been said.  Needed *her*.

Finally, Tom stood up, pulling B'Elanna up with him, taking her to the
bathroom.  They both sat on the floor while he ran the dermal
regenerator over her palms.

And he took her face between his blood-streaked hands, looking into
her eyes, as the cold tile chilled their legs though their clothes.

"I don't know what to do, B'Elanna."

She leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling him
tremble against her.  Slid her arms around him, holding him bruisingly
close.  Slowly, his arms went around her, almost squeezing the air out
of her, and she closed her eyes.  {Needed.}

They sat like that for a long time.  B'Elanna didn't care how cold her
knees were becoming.  Tom, apparently, did.  He moved back, reaching
for a towel, wetting it in the sink, before washing the blood first
off her, then himself.

"Come on.  Are you hungry?"

She shook her head mutely, keeping one of his hands in hers as they
returned to the couch, sitting together in a comfortable silence.

"I guess I have to go see the Doc tomorrow, huh?"

She gave him a speculative look.

"Yeah," she said finally.  "What you replicated can have some
interesting effects on you.  It's slightly addictive in smaller
quantities, I have no idea what the effect will be in the doses you
were using."

He nodded.

"He'll tell the Captain."  His voice was quiet.  She leaned her head
against him.  "How can you stand to touch me?"

She blinked, lifting her head to stare at him.

"Huh?"

"After what I've done.  To you.  To the crew.  Knowing what you know
about me now."

Pure Tom Paris, voice light and conversational.  She'd expected that.
Gently, she brushed her fingers against his temple.

"How can you stand to touch me, Tom?  After what you know about me?"

Blue eyes darted to her, meeting for a moment, then flickering away.

"Don't look away.  Not ever, Tom," she said softly.  Brown caught
blue.  "So we're not perfect.  I never expected you to be."

He shook his head.

"You didn't sign on for this, B'Elanna."

She smiled then, a baring of teeth that made him smile reluctantly
back.

"Sure I did."  She took her uniform jacket off, dropping it on the
floor. Watched the instinctive dilation of his eyes.  "Can you handle
that?"

"Handle what?"

"Someone caring about you.  Can you handle being forgiven?"

His eyes darkened again.  She took his hand in hers, caressing his
palm. Knowing now, he needed the contact, needed the her touch, to
drive her point home.

"Can you handle someone knowing everything about you and still loving
you? Do you think anything about your past could make me walk away?
Talk, helmboy.  This is long overdue.  Tell me everything you didn't
talk about during the Inquiry.  Tell me what you had to do.  What kind
of compromises you had to make to get us free."  She leaned closer,
eyes darker, stroking his jaw with her fingers.  Watched as his breath
caught at the caress. "Tell me what you did, what you didn't do--then
tell me that you would do it again, if that is what you took, because
this crew meant more to you than your ghosts.  That you did whatever
you had to do to get us free."

She smiled again as his eyes widened. He blinked.  Fingers tightening
on hers briefly.

"Because what you did on this ship has nothing to do with who you were
before.  That man is dead, gone, the same as the Admiral's son and the
disgraced officer and the Federation convict.  Gone, for good.  You're
not the same person, and you don't have to punish yourself for what he
did.  Not anymore."

He lifted her hand, clasping it between his for a moment, a slight,
real smile turning his mouth.  He understood.  She breathed out.

"Yes, Counselor."

"I liked sweetheart, actually."  He chuckled.  "But don't let that get
around, okay, hotshot?"  She squeezed his fingers menacingly, eyebrow
arched in a scowl.

"Not baby?"

"No."  She slid her fingers up his cheek gently.  "Tom, you don't have
to be perfect, you know."

"Maybe not."  He glance down at their joined hands.  "I'll tell the
Captain myself.  And the Doc."

"I know.  You take your responsibility seriously."  She turned his
head to brush her lips across his cheek, letting her teeth graze the
skin lightly. "Can you forgive yourself, Tom?  For doing what you had
to do, even if you had to get dirty to do it?"

A long look.

"I'll try."

It was a start.

---

Captain Janeway stared out into the stars.  Tom, seated on the other
side of her desk, had not moved since he had told her what he had been
doing.

"Are there withdrawal symptoms?"  she asked finally.  She still wasn't
looking at him.

"Some, Captain."  Tom at his laconic best.

She began to pace slowly, and finally turned around, spearing him with
a look.

"Two weeks?"  She picked up the PADD the Doctor had sent her, giving
it a long glance, before dropping it again.  "What the Doctor named
here is very addictive.  And illegal."

His face didn't change, and she hated that.

"It's similar to the stimulant the Doctor gave me," he answered.  "The
formula is different.  But equally illegal."

She didn't bother to check the PADD for confirmation.  Tom simply had
no reason to lie.

"The Doctor's report says you're malnourished.  That you've lost
several kilos in weight." She tossed the PADD at him, watched in
veiled annoyance as he caught the unannounced throw easily.  Hadn't
affected his reflexes, apparently.  Yet.

"Yes, Captain."

She clenched her teeth, wanting a reaction, something, from him, at
least. Something to make her satisfied that he even had emotions.  He
played it like a Vulcan.  She didn't need another Vulcan.  She had
Tuvok for that.

"What the hell were you thinking, Tom?  You had command of a vessel
and you became a stim addict."

Blue eyes looked into hers.

"There wasn't much choice.  Half a crew, no senior officers, and a
mission. Captain."

The way he said the last word made her swing around to face him.

"This isn't the behavior I've come to expect of you, Mr. Paris."

"It shouldn't surprise you, Captain."

He regretted the sarcasm as soon as it left his lips.  He'd known she
would be angry and disappointed, no big surprise.  He tried to control
his erratic mood swings, tried to control his tongue.  All because
he'd dropped that damned hypospray.

Damn.  It would have been so much easier if he could have waited for
this.

{Yeah, you certainly sound like an addict.  And you've never been this
jumpy.}  Actually, he could feel himself begin to twitch at the
enforced inactivity.  A side effect of overuse of stimulants, he felt
edgy again, and it took effort to control himself.

Janeway noticed the edge to his voice.  She had the Doctor's report to
confirm what just looking at him told her.  {I didn't even notice.
Damn.}

Tom's fingers tapped on the chair arm discordantly.

{That's why I'm angry.  I should have seen something.}  She took a
deep, calming breath, sitting back in her chair.  The young man in
front of her faced her without flinching, but she could see his
fingers move against the arm of the chair, the set, expressionless
face, the eyes that gave away nothing.

Never had she been more ashamed of herself, as a Captain and as a
friend, for Tom was her friend as well as her subordinate.  She'd
never looked for it, she admitted it.  Perhaps, just perhaps, she
hadn't wanted to know.  God knew, there were so many problems right
now with her crew, and Tom seemed the least visibly affected by what
had occurred.  He'd been the one to counsel the crew, help them
through the adjustment.  Half the crew still looked to him for
leadership.  She had thought... but she'd been wrong.

But stimulants.  For two weeks, and in retrospect, she could see the
signs. The weight that had seemed to have melted away.  He looked
older, harder, more distant.

{The way I looked once, after my first difficult command decision,
actually. I've seen that look in the mirror.  After it three people
were killed under my command.  The first time I was truly aware of my
own power and what it meant to be a Captain.  That I had the ability
to send people to die, and they would go willingly because I *was*
Captain.}

"I'm relieving you of duty for the next week."  He nodded.  "Medical
leave. This won't go on your record."  A bare hint of a smile turned
the corner of his mouth.  {Yes, well, there are certainly worse things
on his record,} she thought, almost shaking her head.  "Dismissed."

He stood up, nodding with a jarring shortness, and went to the door.

"Tom?"

His back stiffened, and he slowly turned around.

"If B'Elanna hadn't found that hypospray, how long would you have
continued this?"

He considered the question.

"Too long, Captain."

And he walked out the door.

Captain Janeway knew she wasn't omnipotent.  But she expected, at very
least, to be able to see if something was wrong with a member of her
crew.

{Well, a lot of the crew is having problems.  Most.  Maybe all.}  That
was no excuse.  She'd known something was troubling him days before.
Yet she had done nothing.  Trying to finish her own recovery, to sort
out her complicated feelings for Chakotay, her frustration with the
fact that the crew just wasn't re-uniting as it should.

She hated to feel that lack of control.

{We have time to fix that.  Years and years of time for everyone to
relearn how to trust each other.  We can be a united crew again.}

She wished she could believe it.

---
{2000 hours} Present Time
---

Harry had barely made it into his quarters after dinner before his
door chimed.

"Come," he said absently, removing his uniform jacket.

The door slid open, and he turned to welcome Sue, with whom he had
planned to practice their duet tonight.  Music helped, and Sue's
company couldn't be discounted either.

But not enough.  Not nearly enough.

Instead, it was B'Elanna.

He started, but she didn't give him a chance to become horrified or
uncomfortable.

"Do you think we could talk now?" she said.  Her set face, the way she
shifted from foot to foot, told him how very little she wanted to be
here.

He gaped at her.

She didn't wait for an answer, in typical B'Elanna fashion, but took a
chair in his living room.  Brown eyes turned on him, waiting for him.

"Maybe we shouldn't--" he trailed off uncomfortably.  He realized he
was retreating to the bedroom and stopped himself.

"Shouldn't what?"  Her hands moved restlessly against the arms of the
chair, her lap, her knees.

"Does Tom know you're here?"  he switched gears.  It didn't seem to
affect her.  One dark eyebrow arched at the question.

"Yes."

Harry drew in a deep breath and slowly sat down.

"I don't need his permission to talk to anyone, Harry."  In this case,
she wasn't being quite truthful.  She didn't need it--but she wanted
it.  Too much had happened for her to want to risk Tom's trust.  Or
his increasingly unpredictable moods.  The Doctor had warned her. So
had Tom.

{Well, hell, he's babysat my moods for long enough.  I suppose this is
payback.}  It was comforting, and disconcerting, to see her lover snap
at things for no good reason.  {I've rarely seen him lose his temper.
Well, you get to see it now, B'Elanna.}

The mental picture of Tom, as she'd left him, popped into her mind.
Laying on the couch, with a headache he wouldn't describe except in a
look of undiluted dislike, a washcloth covering his eyes.  She'd
darkened their quarters before she left.

{When did I start to think of them as *our* quarters?}

The intriguing thought had to be pressed aside for the time being, but
it gave her courage.  She forced herself to relax.  Waited for Harry
to settle himself.

Watching Harry twitch, she spared him some sympathy.  But not much.
She couldn't.

"What happened between us--" she began, and completely lost the words,
if she had even had them to begin with.  What the hell do you say in a
situation like this?  {I hate you.  I know it wasn't you, but I can't
make that real to myself.}  She didn't want to hurt Harry.  {Yes I do.
Just like *I* hurt every time I think about it, or I waken from
another dream, or I see a certain expression on Tom's face and
remember what he had to watch, what we made him watch.}

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna."  His voice was low, it would have been
impossible to hear but the room was eerily silent.

She nodded.

"It's okay, Harry."  {Well, what else the hell was I supposed to say
there? No, it's not okay, you bastard.  This is Harry.  He never would
have--never would have done that to me.}  This was turning out to be a
bad idea, she had somehow known it would be, but something in her
wanted some kind of resolution, closure.  If for no other reason, to
make the dreams go away.

Uncomfortable silence.  They didn't look at each other.

{He's my best friend, and Tom's.  Am I willing to give that up?  Five
years of friendship, and we just drop it because of one time, one
unwitting betrayal?}

But that betrayal--she felt herself shiver.  Somewhere, deep inside,
she wanted to scream at Harry what he had done to her.  Take his
throat between her hands and just squeeze, thrown him against the
bulkhead and watch him die, no matter there was no K'eya in him now to
make him hurt her, how the hell do you deal with this?  {How did Tom
talk to Harry afterward?  How did he talk to me?}

"This was a bad idea," she muttered, standing up, moving to the door.
To her shock, Harry blocked her.

"No, B'Elanna.  There's something--"

"Get out of the way."  Her voice was a throaty growl.  Surprisingly,
he stood his ground.

"B'Elanna--"  He seemed desperate now.

"Get the hell out of my way!"  Her temper was reacting to her
fear--{Why am I afraid of Harry?  He'd never hurt me, never.}--and she
pushed against his chest, knocking him off-balance, leaving her clear
to the door.  She got two steps before he blocked her again.

"Hit me."

She stared at him.  Tried to make sense of the words.

"What?"

"Hit me."  The brown eyes looked steadily into hers, without
flinching. "Hit me, do something, just get it over with."  His hands
were behind him, as if he could ever be a threat to her, and he lifted
his chin, waiting.  "I deserve it, B'Elanna."

And it tempted her.  Her fingers tingled in anticipation.  Not just
one hit, but a series, punch after punch after punch, watch his blood
stain her fingers.  Watch him quiver at her feet because of what he
had done to her--done to Tom--

--her hand lifted, fingers clenching to her palm--

--she knew she was seconds away from doing just that.

And Harry just stood there, unmoving, ready to take the punishment for
something that had never been his fault.  Her clenched fist tightened
as she tried to think over the maelstrom of feelings.  Her harsh
breathing echoed in her own ears.

"The K'eya--they were bonded," she said softly, evenly.  "What
happened, between us, was them.  It has nothing to do with us."

Saying the words didn't make her believe them, but it did help cool
her. Tuvok would have been proud.

Harry didn't move.  The look in his eyes made her ache.

"I shouldn't have come here," she said finally, her voice still even.
And it took everything she had ever learned from Tom about control,
everything Tuvok had ever told her in her counseling sessions, to stop
herself from just hurting him.  He was in pain, she could see it in
his face.

But not enough.  Not the way she was.  She wanted to see pain she had
caused, that she had inflicted, she wanted visible proof that she had
injured him as deeply, as irrevocably, as he had injured her, whether
he had wanted to or not.

Just once, she wanted to use her rage to hurt someone other than
herself.

But Harry didn't deserve that.  The K'eya deserved that.  Not the
fragile man in front of her, who had done so much to help her, who had
been her best friend for so long.  He didn't deserve it.

She reached out, and in the bravest moment of her life, she touched
his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Harry.  Just--well, time, you know?"

He stared at her blankly, and she saw his mouth trembled.  The brown
eyes become liquid.

She put her arms around him and embraced him for a brief moment.
Refused to give into her fears, to the automatic stiffness of his
body.

He returned the embrace, and they moved apart.  Looked at each other.

He let her leave.

---

B'Elanna let the Holodeck doors shut behind her and studied the brig
program. Checking to see if it was what she remembered.

She had found the program after Tom mentioned it in the Inquiry.
Those official records had been ordered erased.  She had saved them,
having no idea why she was doing it, hiding them away so no one else
would know.

Hell, she didn't know, then, what possible use they could be, except
to hurt Tom.  She hadn't wanted to do that, but her fingers and her
voice had done the deed, even as she wondered what the hell she wanted
them for.

Now she stared around the incredibly well-lit brig program Tom had
created. She recognized the cell she'd been held in, but didn't
approach it. Instead, she walked around the program, intellectually
admiring Tom's work on this--he'd hate to know it, but it was very
possibly the very best holodeck program he had ever created.

This wasn't healthy, but she was tired of being healthy.  Tired of
being so confused, and so angry, and so bitter.  She turned on her
heel, spinning to face the control panel.  She didn't need to, of
course, but it was one of those idiosyncrasies she had developed on
Voyager.  She drew in a deep breath.

"Computer, run holodeck record Paris Delta Seven.  Crewman Ricarla."

:::Authorization?:::

"Torres Alpha Alpha Omega One.  Proceed."

:::Authorization verified.:::

She watched the figures appear--Tom, Vorik, Ayala, Ricarla, and the
biobed that would hold the crewmember while Tom coolly asked the
questions that the K'eya didn't know the answers to.

Watched her lover torture the K'eya.

Fascinated by the hypospray dangling from between Tom's long fingers
as he waited for Ricarla to answer.

---

He couldn't remember having a headache this excruciating in a long
time. Tom closed his eyes, laying back on the couch, trying to think
calm thoughts.  Calm thoughts.

B'Elanna had finally gone to see Harry.  He had wondered, vaguely,
when she would be able to do that.  If she would ever be able to do
that.  She'd looked very--Klingon--when she left.  He wished that he
could have gone with her.

To protect her?  Or Harry?  He'd seen that look before.  He crushed a
smile and was rewarded with a new spike of pain across the center of
his forehead.

He picked up the cool cloth B'Elanna had left for him and put it back
over his eyes.  The stimulant, or lack thereof, was causing a bout of
insomnia, which, in Tom's case, was manifesting itself as a terrible
headache.  He knew the signs, didn't even want to breathe. Every
breath was a new and unexciting experience in intense pain.  Hell,
even his hair hurt.  He kept his head still on the pillow.

B'Elanna had been amused by his sudden temper.  As she pointed out,
rather dryly, she was usually the one usually likely to throw a fit
over nothing and was he trying to take that place in their
relationship?  In that case, maybe they should "explore" his human
heritage more thoroughly, especially the human customs of meditation
and denial of luxuries to do penance.

No man could ignore a warning like that.  He'd shut his mouth and
concentrated on something less stressful--say, piloting through a
fleet of Borg cubes.  Then she'd sat down with him, giving him that
incredible smile that warmed him whenever he saw it, and told him to
lay down and relax until dinner.  He wasn't hungry.  She didn't give a
damn.  He would eat.

He entertained himself wondering what methods she would resort to if
he proved recalcitrant.

After she'd left, he had made the mistake of trying to get up and
since then hadn't dared move.

For the first time in--weeks?--no one was at the door needing
assistance. No one needed him to mediate, to talk to another crewman,
or anything.  He suspected it was B'Elanna who had assured his
privacy, not a sudden drop in complaints.  Or the fact the door was
very locked. B'Elanna had done it before she left, with only a
half-joking threat of locking him in if he didn't cooperate.

Sue had taken over that duty.  He winced at the feel of her name in
his head, and drove it out.  Bad habits be damned, he didn't feel like
handling this, he just couldn't face one more crisis right now.

"Tom?  How are you feeling?"  Her voice was soft.

He pulled the cloth away from his eyes.

"Fine.  I didn't hear the door chime."  He sounded short, and knew he
did. B'Elanna chuckled softly.

"I'm an engineer.  I can disable something as simple as a door chime.
So is this how I act when I am in a bad mood, hmmm?"  B'Elanna sat
down on the edge of the couch, taking his hand in hers.  "Is it
getting better?"

"I suppose if I said 'now that you are here it's much better', that
would be a little much, huh?"  She grinned and her fingers gently
brushed across his cheek.  "The Doc gave me a relaxant, and yes, I
took it a little while ago, but no, it's not better.  And at least
three days of this before I do."  He glanced at the chronometer.
"You've been gone awhile.  Are you okay?"  He studied her face in
concern.  The lights were too low to make out much, but he could see
her smile.

An odd look came into her brown eyes.  He couldn't interpret it, and
he knew he should be able to.

"Much better,"  she leaned down and brushed her lips across his cheek,
laughingly dodging the hand that tried to hold her.  "I'm going to go
get something to eat from the Messhall.  Do you want anything?"

Tom groaned theatrically and B'Elanna grinned her understanding.

"I'll replicate you something when I get back.  Just hush and try to
get some sleep."  She gave him a last long look and then placed the
cloth carefully over his eyes.  He heard her quietly leave.

---

"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?"  B'Elanna wiped sweaty
palms dry on her pants.  {If Tom knew--}  She tried not to think about
that.  He wouldn't find out;  he didn't need to.  This was something
she needed to do.

He gave her a long look.  His grim expression did not surprise her.

"Will it help?"  His voice was harsh in the silence of the dark room.

She drew a deep breath, pulling her chair closer.  Looked around the
dark, considering her options, and finally sat down.  Some ghosts just
don't leave.  Some you had to fight out.  And you had to win.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

{One more step toward control of my life.  One more demon dead.  I can
do this.}

"Yes."

Harry sat down a short distance from her, and she turned her head to
the console.  Swallowed in a suddenly dry throat.

"Computer, run holodeck record Paris Delta 7.  Crewman Ricarla.
Authorization Torres Alpha Alpha Omega One.  Proceed."

:::Authorization accepted.:::

{Some ghosts don't leave.  You have to fight them out.}  She clenched
her hand into a small fist on her thigh.

She was Klingon. She'd never been accused of turning down a good
fight. Especially one she would win.

And she would.

They watched the figures shimmer into existence, and B'Elanna, in the
silence of the dark room, felt herself smile.

---

The End