The BLTS Archive-Gravity Well #3: Repercussions by monkee (wiecek@earthlink.net) --- Author's Note: This is a J/P story. Other pairings, past and future, and friendships, are touched upon, but for SoS purposes, it should be considered J/P. Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and all its characters. Dedicated to SuzVoy, as they were inspired, in part, by her wonderful 90210 series. --- Help from an Unlikely Source (later that night) --- Chakotay rubbed his hands distractedly through his hair and took another swig of coffee. He called for the time from the computer. 0230. He sighed. He ought to try to get some sleep, but Voyager's encounter with the gravity well had generated extra reports from a lot of the departments and, with Kathryn out on medical leave, they were all his responsibility. Still, he may as well take care of them now -- it was unlikely that he'd be able to sleep anyway. The whole situation was unsettling, and he was very concerned about Kathryn. She'd insisted on taking care of the message to the Gryzindars personally. They'd spent several hours in astrometrics trying to track them down, and she'd been edgy and tense the entire time, brushing aside all of his suggestions to let him handle it, and deflecting his efforts to talk to her on a personal level. For the hundredth time since Voyager's journey began, he wished they had a trained counselor on board. She needed one, and Paris undoubtedly did too. He wondered what would happen with the two of them. They'd grown much closer in their three years on the planet and had clearly become involved. But what would Kathryn do now that they were back on Voyager? He suspected that she would pull away from Paris, and he didn't know how he should feel about that -- sad for both of them, or relieved for himself. He really wanted to know where they both were right at this moment, and was tempted to ask the computer. He didn't need either of them in an official capacity, though, so he suppressed the impulse. It really was a violation of privacy, he felt, although he certainly had done it anyway a few times over the years. He tried to force his attention back to the PADD he was holding. He was reading it, but none of it was actually getting through to him. The words were starting to go out of focus when he was startled by the sound of the door chime. He flinched, and coffee sloshed onto his hand and the desk. He swore, but felt a flutter of optimism. There was only one person who would come to see him at this hour, and he hoped he would finally be able to get her to talk to him, and open up a little. "Come in," he called, and the door slid open. It wasn't her. He really should have been expecting this. "Tom," he said, standing up. "Come in. Sit down." He came in, but did not sit. Instead, he paced back and forth in front of Chakotay's desk, clearly agitated. "You have to help me," he said. He didn't elaborate, but he didn't have to. Chakotay knew exactly what he was talking about. "What the hell is wrong with her?" he asked, although he seemed not to expect an answer -- he was mostly talking to himself. "How can she even consider ending it. I mean, how can she even CONSIDER it?" Chakotay's first impulse, as always, was to defend her. Defending Kathryn was something that he did automatically, without thinking. He defended her to himself, to the crew, to an imaginary Starfleet review board. Force of habit. "Tom," he said, gently, shifting to sit on the edge of the desk, "Don't be too hard on her. She's really the only one who knows what it's like to be the Captain of this ship. She's the only one who knows what she can handle. She has to do what she thinks is right." "I LOVE her, Chakotay!" he said, too loudly. He winced apologetically, then lowered his voice. "And I know she loves me. How can you just decide not to love someone anymore? It's absurd!" Chakotay said nothing. He didn't really know what their relationship was like. Kathryn certainly hadn't given him any clues. Until he had a way to gauge how they felt about each other, he didn't know what to say. And frankly, he wasn't sure how much help he wanted to give Paris. This was difficult for him. He loved Kathryn, too. Paris plopped dejectedly down on the couch against the wall. "I know my instincts about relationships haven't always been all that great," he said. "But I was so sure...It was the first time in my life that I felt so right about something." Chakotay narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but Paris looked up suddenly and raised a hand to stop him. "Don't get me wrong, Chakotay," he said quickly. "I loved B'Elanna. I mean, I really loved her. Fiercely. But she and I...we were both such a mess half the time. And we each had our own issues to deal with. But with Kath, down on the planet -- I think it was my first completely adult relationship. She and I were so in sync. I always knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling. And she laughed at all of my jokes -- even beat me to the punch line a lot of the time. Down there...Everything was stripped away: the difference in our rank, the difference in our ages. We were just two people, and it was so RIGHT." Paris was staring straight ahead, unfocused. He was almost talking to himself, again. It seemed as though he had momentarily forgotten that Chakotay was even there -- and he certainly seemed oblivious to the pain his words were inflicting. "And when we made love," he continued, "it was so intense. We were so connected. I just can't believe that she could forget all that so easily..." Chakotay closed his eyes, trying to block it all out: his words, the images flashing through his mind, the sharp jealousy. He heard Paris' voice trail off, then heard him swear. When he opened his eyes, Paris was grimacing and rubbing his forehead and eyes vigorously. "God, I'm sorry, Chakotay," he groaned. "I'm a thoughtless bastard, aren't I? This has to be hard for you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here..." He stood up, but he didn't leave. Instead, he resumed his pacing, back and forth, in the small area in front of the desk. "It's just..." he said, waving his arms vaguely. "I don't know where else to turn. You're the only one who can possibly understand what I'm going through. You're the only one I can talk to. And you're probably the only one who can talk to her. She listens to you." He stopped pacing, and his voice cracked as he added, "She sure as hell isn't listening to me." Chakotay swallowed hard. Part of him hated Tom Paris right now. He felt a surge of anger that he knew was irrational. This wasn't Paris' fault, but...Why couldn't it have been him? He and Kathryn had all of that on New Earth, too, and would easily have found it again. But another part of him empathized completely with what the younger man was going through and wanted to help. Whatever had happened on that planet had changed Tom Paris. The sarcasm and bravado was gone, and he was talking simply and honestly about his feelings. He was in pain and, for the first time since Chakotay had known him, was not trying to cover it up with cynical quips. And from what he had revealed, Chakotay had the impression that Kathryn was probably hurting just as much. He cleared his throat. "What did she say?" he asked. Paris snorted. "She said she needed time, but I know she's just trying to put off telling me. She can't get past the protocol, and you know how she gets..." Well, of course he did. He thought about the situation and shook his head. It really didn't look good. Once Kathryn had her mind set... "I'll try to talk to her, Tom," he said. A look of relief and gratitude washed over Paris' face. It was premature. "Don't get your hopes up, though," he added. "She listens to me, but sometimes she doesn't really hear me." Paris nodded, understanding. "It might help though. Thanks. I appreciate it. And Chakotay, I'm..." His voice trailed off, and he gestured helplessly. "I'm sorry." Chakotay couldn't help but smile a little. The old Tom Paris would never have apologized for something that wasn't his fault. "It's all right, Tom," he said. "I can certainly understand how you could fall in love with Kathryn Janeway." Paris chuckled softly, then nodded once and headed for the door. Just before the sensors activated it, though, he stopped. He turned his head slightly to address Chakotay, still behind him. "I still can't believe you made her a damned bathtub," he said. Chakotay smiled. "Someday," Paris continued, "you'll have to tell me how you did that. I'm genuinely curious as to how you turn a tree into a wooden bathtub." With that, he moved forward and out the door, leaving Chakotay with his troubled thoughts and fond memories. --- Bleeding (the next day) --- She stalked into sickbay and came face to face with the one person that she absolutely did not want to see. Just her luck. This was becoming one of the worst days of her life, second only to yesterday. Come to think of it, she'd had a lot of 'worst days of her life' these past few years. Damned Delta Quadrant. She stared at Tom Paris and couldn't think of a single thing to say. What could she possibly have to say to him? Two days ago, he loved her. But then he got pulled into some kind of temporal anomaly for three years and fell in love with someone else -- the Captain, of all people. It was a completely unbelievable scenario -- like something out of a bad holonovel -- and yet, it had happened. She'd managed to avoid confronting him last night, but here he was, in the flesh. He looked to be somewhat at a loss for words himself. He stood, stunned, in civilian clothes, just staring at her. She gradually became aware that there was a great deal of activity in the room. Just behind the speechless Tom Paris, the Doctor and Ensign Wildman were bustling around a prone male patient on a biobed. The Doctor spotted her and hurried over, wielding a medical tricorder. "What happened to you?" he asked, as he scanned her injured forehead. "I dropped something," she replied, tersely. Actually, a hydrospanner that she'd hurled at a recalcitrant relay had ricocheted and caught her on the temple. It was just a gash, probably nothing serious, but it was bleeding impressively, and Lieutenant Carey had insisted that she to go to sickbay. "I see," the Doctor said, wryly. "It's nothing serious, so you'll have to sit down and wait. I have a rather delicate tibial regeneration to take care of first." He turned and addressed Tom. "Mr. Paris, I'll have to ask you to come back for your follow-up physical later this evening." Then he looked tentatively over her way, and added, "Unless you wouldn't mind...I know you're not back on duty yet..." The Doctor's entrance had jolted Tom from his shock. He picked up a medical tricorder and said, "No problem, Doc. I think I remember how to use a dermal regenerator, at least." The Doctor looked uncertainly at him, and then her. "All right," he said, dubiously, as if he wasn't quite sure this was a good idea. Then Ensign Wildman called him back and he hurried away again. There was an awkward silence as she and Tom regarded each other, but it was broken by a scream from the biobed. She peered around Tom, and this time noticed that whoever it was had a badly mangled leg. Forgetting her own considerable troubles for the moment, she asked, "What happened?" "Crewman Lessing," Paris informed her. "One of the anti-grav units malfunctioned and a storage container crushed his leg. The Doc can fix it, but it's got to hurt." She shook her head sympathetically, but suddenly remembered the jumble of conflicting emotions she felt for the man before her. When he began scanning her injury, she jerked away. "Actually, " she said, desperately, "I think I'll just come back later. It's really nothing." She turned quickly, and headed for the door. "B'Elanna," he called after her, "Come back. You're bleeding. You can't walk around like that. Please." She took a deep breath. He was right, of course. It would only take a minute. She could handle this. Reluctantly, she turned around, sat on the nearest biobed, and nodded at him, curtly. He checked her once more with the medical tricorder, then reached for a dermal regenerator. The injured tissue stung as he began to close the wound, but that wasn't why her eyes suddenly filled with tears. It was the gentle touch of his fingers on her forehead that did it. Angrily, she shut her eyes, pushing the tears back. But they wouldn't stay. "You love her," she stated, her voice catching. "Don't you." He stopped working on her forehead and drew a sharp breath. He grimaced -- on the verge of tears himself, she realized -- and hung his head down until it was nearly touching hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry." She'd already known, of course. She'd known the instant she saw them together, but there was a painful finality to hearing him actually admit it. She shoved him away from her, mostly because she just didn't want him touching her, crowding her, apologizing to her, feeling sorry for her. She swore softly in Klingon. "How could you just..." she started, but stopped herself. She looked up at the ceiling and struggled to take slow, deep breaths. What was she going to say? 'How could you just forget me so easily?' That was hardly fair. "B'Elanna," he said, anguished, "it took me a long time to get over you. It did. And I never told you, and I should have, but I loved..." "P'Tak!" she spat. "Don't tell me now. It doesn't do me any damned good now, does it?" The volume of their discussion had increased enough that they'd drawn the attention of the Doctor, who looked over from his work in the other bay. He looked concerned, but was apparently satisfied that no one was being bodily injured. Distracted by his own medical tasks, he returned his attention to Lessing's leg. "I'm sorry," Tom repeated, looking miserable. Sorry didn't do her any damned good either. She was so angry; she knew she wasn't thinking clearly. "And with her, of all people," she snapped. She wanted to shut up, really, but the words were coming out of her mouth of their own volition. The problem was that there was no one to blame here. She was just lashing out in every direction. "I can't believe that after stringing Chakotay along for all those years, she'll just settle down with you now..." The look on his face stopped her short. Her words had actually made him wince, as if she'd slapped him. And that could only mean... "Ah," she said, with a sudden comprehension of the situation. "She won't just settle down with you now, will she?" She answered her own question, absently. "No, she would never..." The development surprised her. In the cabin on the planet they had looked so...settled. Natural -- like they were more than established as a couple. How could Janeway even consider giving it up? Not that it made any real difference to her. Her relationship with Tom was over now. He was in love with Janeway, not her -- whether Janeway acknowledged it or not was irrelevant. But not to him, clearly. Her words had hurt him; he looked dazed and pale - like someone had just punched him. She felt a flash of sympathy for him. She realized, suddenly, that his life was going to be much like Chakotay's now. He was in love with someone who couldn't, or wouldn't, return his feelings. Some of her anger evaporated as she looked at him, so vulnerable. She sighed. "Tom, I'm sorry. I'm not...taking this well. I'm angry, and I'm hurt, but I know none of this was your fault, or hers...it just happened. And I'm sorry things aren't working out for you now. I really just want...I just want you to be happy. And I hope..." But she couldn't bring herself to say anything more. She wanted the best for him, she thought, but she wasn't ready to actively bless his relationship with another woman. She felt tears forming in her eyes again. It was all catching up with her. The realization, the hurt, the anger -- all mixed up with her love for him, her affection and respect for Janeway, some jealousy, and a strong sense of loss. She had to get out of there. She needed to be alone. She stood abruptly and walked over to where he stood. "I have a dermal regenerator in my quarters," she said. "I have to...I'll take care of this myself." He nodded, uncertainly. He drew in a breath, then said, "All right, B'Elanna. And I really am..." He stopped himself before he apologized to her again. She nodded, turned, and hurried out of the room. --- By Her Side (that night) --- Chakotay entered her quarters when the doors opened to admit him, then stood just inside as his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting. "Hello, Chakotay." He followed the sound of her voice and discovered her sitting on her couch. She sighed in apparent relief, then ordered the lights up to fifty percent. She probably had half-expected him to be Paris. He made his way carefully across the room, then perched on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of her. "I came to see how you were doing," he said gently. "You've been holed up in here all day." He scrutinized her face as he spoke. She still looked tired. Her eyes were dry, but red and puffy. She sighed again, then let her head fall back on the couch. "Well," she said, "I guess I've been better." Back on the planet surface, he'd known immediately that she and Paris were involved. Now, with one look at her face in the half darkness, he knew that her feelings ran quite deeply. "You love him," he said. "Don't you." She lifted her head up to look at him. She exhaled sharply and shook her head, and he realized that she was close to tears. "Yes," she whispered, "I do." She rolled her eyes. "God, what a mess." He looked down at the floor and quelled his sudden and intense feeling of loss. As much as he'd wanted things to be different, he really had no claim on Kathryn, and what she needed right now was her best friend. He looked up at her until she met his eyes. "Talk to me, Kathryn," he said, softly. "Tell me about it." She flashed him the briefest of grateful smiles, then brushed a tear from her cheek. She took a slow deep breath as she gathered her thoughts. He waited. A couple of times she nearly started talking, but couldn't seem to settle on where to begin. Finally she leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees, and began to speak. "It was a miserable planet, Chakotay," she said. "Nothing at all like New Earth." She smiled slightly and snorted a bit, remembering. "I think even Tom would have to agree that it's good to be back." She gazed off into space for a few moments, then turned her attention back to him. "It was awful...primitive. Most of our equipment didn't work. The soil was bad, and we never got enough rain. Yet somehow, working with him, it was...bearable. He hated it there, too, but he always made me laugh." She smiled again, a broader smile this time, and said, "He used to serenade me while we were gardening. All those old Earth songs..." Chakotay had to smile, too. He could picture that. Her smile faded, but didn't disappear completely. "After a while, it just felt so natural to be with him. And then..." Her voice trailed off and she looked at him and stopped. He was touched by her efforts not to hurt him by going into too much detail. She sighed. "I fought falling in love with him," she said, then added wryly, "Of course." "Of course," he said, smiling. "But in the end, it was...inevitable. There's just something about him..." She sat shaking her head, smiling affectionately, then sobered. Her countenance grew troubled and dark again. She looked down, resting her forehead on her fists. "But that was down there. Everything was so different. And now...God. What am I going to do?" She looked up at him, and repeated, "What am I going to do?" He was briefly taken aback by the question. Oddly enough, she had never once asked him that before, even though he was her first officer. She was secure with her professional decisions -- too secure at times, in his opinion -- but was less certain when it came to her personal life. He wasn't about to give her a direct answer, however. He doubted that she actually wanted one. "I'm sure you'll do what you feel is right," he said. She stood, quickly, and began pacing - she looked very much as Paris had in his office last night. "What's right?" she asked, in an incredulous tone. "What's 'right' is that I can't do this. I can't! It would be...unconscionable for me to get involved with someone under my command!" "Kathryn," he pointed out gently. "You already are involved with him. It's not like you set out to do it, it just happened. You can't just shut off your feelings for him, and you can't order him to shut off his for you." "But how would I know that I wasn't being biased?" she argued. "I'd have to second-guess every decision that I made about him. It's against everything that I've always believed in." "This is the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn," he said. "Sometimes we have to bend the rules out here, or make our own. You can...adapt. And I can help you. I'm your first officer -- I'll let you know if you're being biased." She stopped pacing, and although she was still distressed, her expression softened when he spoke of helping her. She returned to the couch and sat down across from him. "Oh, Chakotay, you're so..." She sighed. "This must be...difficult for you. You and I..." He moved off of the coffee table then, and knelt down on the floor, taking her hands. "I just want you to be happy, Kathryn," he said. "You and I...we hadn't crossed the line on New Earth, so we really had no choice but to pull apart when we returned. It nearly killed me, and I know it hurt you too, but it was the responsible thing to do. It was the right thing, given our professional relationship. But you and Tom...I think it could work. And I think it might be good for both of you." She smiled dubiously, then tugged at his hands until he moved up onto the couch beside her. She sighed when he put his arm around her, and leaned onto his shoulder. "I just don't know..." she said, uncertainly. "It doesn't have to be black and white, either, Kathryn," he reminded her. "You can try it for a while. If it doesn't work out you can deal with that when it happens." She said nothing, but reached up to hold his hand, against her shoulder. "Will you think about it, at least?" "I will," she said. There was still a lot of doubt in her voice, and he knew she was far from being able to decide, but he felt that he had gotten through to her. She would at least be seriously considering it, now. They sat quietly for several minutes; both of them lost in their own thoughts. It was very comfortable. He began to think that perhaps it might even be better, in the long run, just to be close friends with nothing else hovering between them. But that didn't mean there wasn't some regret, and some curiosity... "Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Anything," she said. "How long did it take...I mean, when did you and Tom..." "One year," she replied, smiling, but a little mystified by the question. He nodded, and couldn't stop a self-satisfied smirk from forming on his lips. "It wouldn't have taken ME that long," he observed, glancing sideways at her. She burst out laughing, and turned on the couch to face him. She touched his face affectionately, and said, "No, I don't guess it would have." She grew serious, and brushed her finger against his cheek. "I did love you, Chakotay." "I know," he told her, shifting his face and kissing her palm. He pulled her back against him on the couch, resting his head briefly on top of hers. He'd lost a dream tonight, because he'd always hoped that someday -- perhaps when they returned to the Alpha Quadrant -- he and Kathryn would be together. He knew now that it would never happen, but it wasn't as devastating as he thought it would be. He felt...released, somehow. Free now of the invisible ties that had bound him to her all these years. Now he could finally and completely move on with his life. He still loved her. He would always love her. He would still stay by her side, doing all that he could to make her burden lighter. That would never change. He just hoped that she would do the right thing, and allow herself to be happy. She deserved it. They all did. --- Protective (the next day) --- Paris watched Harry line up yet another shot. The afternoon was falling into a pattern. He would take a shot and miss, and then watch Harry sink the solids, one by one. Harry had been honing his game. But no, he couldn't have been honing his game. Only a day or two had gone by for Harry. He, on the other hand, had been pool table-less for three years. He'd lost his touch. Or maybe his heart just wasn't in it. It didn't matter, though. He hadn't really come here to play pool. He just wanted to spend some time with his best friend. Harry had suggested 'Captain Proton,' but he wasn't in the mood for that. He wanted to just sit around, have a beer, and relax. He didn't want to have to think. So here they were. And it was nice. Comforting. Harry seemed to understand intuitively that what he needed right now was casual conversation and banter. Harry glanced briefly at him, then clicked the 6-ball into the side pocket. "So," he said, with a forced lightness, "Do you want to talk about it? You? The Captain? What's going to happen..." So much for Harry's intuition. He sighed. "Not really," he replied. "I'm tired of thinking about it. She's going to do what she wants. I feel like I have very little control over what's going to happen to me. It's frustrating. So, no -- I really don't want to talk about it. But thanks." Harry looked at him skeptically, but didn't push it. "All right," he said, easily depositing the 4-ball in the corner pocket, "Just...if you need to talk..." He smiled. "I know," he said. He'd really missed Harry. "Thanks." Restless, and perhaps a little bored with watching Harry set up and sink shot after shot, he started wandering around the bar, still holding onto his beer. The place was empty -- they'd deleted all of the other characters. He picked up a candle from one of the tables, stared into the flame for a few seconds, then put it back down. He peered out the window at the holographic Parisian streets, dark and glistening with rain. Then he strolled past the bar, trailing his finger along the dark mahogany. God, he'd missed Sandrine's, too. He'd missed everything. He should be so happy right now. He would be, if things weren't so uncertain with Kath. They should be celebrating their return to civilization together. He turned his attention back to Harry, whose dark eyes were narrowed as he considered his next set-up. He felt a flash of fondness, and it occurred to him that he'd begun to take Harry's friendship for granted over the years. He would never make that mistake again. Harry was a good friend. And a good friend to B'Elanna as well. He knew that Harry had been spending a lot of time with B'Elanna over the past two days. "Harry," he said, "How...how is she?" He watched as Harry stiffened -- saw his lips press into a thin, tight line, for just an instant. He was, Paris realized, angry with him. Just a little. Harry recovered quickly, and schooled his features, but when their eyes met, he knew that Paris had seen the look. "She's all right," Harry replied, almost apologetically. "I didn't mean to hurt her," Paris said, quietly. "Of course not," Harry said quickly. "I know that. It's just...well, she is hurting, and it upsets me. And I feel like I'm in the middle." Paris nodded. He could see that this had to be hard on Harry, too. "She'll be all right, though," he said, and he wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. Was he trying to reassure Harry, or himself? Harry smiled. "Yeah. Of course she will. She's B'Elanna Torres. Eventually, she'll be all right." After a moment, Harry returned his attention to the pool table. Paris continued to look at him, speculatively. He knew Harry'd had a bit of a crush on B'Elanna in the first year of the voyage, and they'd always been close. He found the flash of protectiveness that Harry had displayed just now to be...endearing. Significant, perhaps. For the first time, it occurred to him that Harry and B'Elanna might actually be well suited for each other. They would play to each other's strengths, rather than their weaknesses. It was an odd realization, and he found himself nodding his head absently. Harry noticed. "What?" he asked, mystified. After a beat, he replied. "Nothing." He'd keep his mouth shut about it. He didn't want to make Harry self-conscious. But he wouldn't be surprised if, somewhere down the line...well, stranger things had happened. Shrugging, Harry called his shot and put the 8-ball into the corner pocket. Instead of racking the balls again, however, he leaned slightly on his cue and studied Paris. "You know," he said, "you've changed. A lot." He snorted. He was more than aware that he'd changed, but wondered what Harry saw. "I'm not quite sure how I should take that," he said, wryly. "Oh, no," Harry hastened to explain. "Mostly for the better, I think. You're a lot more serious. You seem older, and more than three years older. You have more of a depth to you now..." He paused, rolling his eyes. "Not that you were shallow before, you know what I mean? I'm not saying this very well..." "No, I know what you mean," he said. "I know I've changed. On a very basic level, too. It's very strange to be back. It's like I'm walking around in someone else's life." Harry nodded, then grabbed the rack. He nodded toward the table. "Want to try again?" he asked. "Sure," Paris said. It probably wasn't going to require too much of an effort on his part, after all. "One thing is for sure, though," Harry said, glancing quickly at him as he centered the balls on the table. "The old Tom Paris would not be sitting around waiting to see what was going to happen next." "Harry," he explained, "This is the Captain we're talking about. She doesn't respond well to threats, or begging." "Maybe not," Harry acknowledged. "But the old Tom Paris would be trying to come up with a means of persuasion that was...uniquely Tom Paris. Something that had meaning for both of you." He had a point, of course. But what could he do? He furrowed his brow, considering. Harry smiled. "Might be worth a try -- that's all." "Maybe..." he said. "In the meantime," Harry grinned. "You want to break?" He picked up his cue, determined to sink some stripes this time. Perhaps his luck would change. --- Ain't Too Proud to Beg (late that night) --- Kathryn Janeway ordered yet another cup of coffee from her replicator and returned to her couch to continue staring out the viewport. She couldn't get enough of the stars. She hadn't expected to ever see them like this again. She pulled her legs up underneath her and tried to enjoy the peaceful moment, the richness of the coffee, and the feel of silk against her skin. Her hair was loose, still damp from an obscenely long bath. It was wonderful, but something was missing, and she knew damned well what - or who - it was. She wondered, as she had all day, how he was doing -- whether he was taking advantage of all the luxuries they'd long been denied. She hoped that he was. She hadn't spoken to him, though -- not for two days. In fact, she hadn't even left her quarters. She told herself, firmly, that she was most certainly not hiding. She was just trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. She was going back on-duty tomorrow, and she knew she'd have to talk to him soon. She just didn't know what she would say to him when she did. Whenever she tried to think about it, she got mired in endless 'I should, because -- I shouldn't, because...' loops. So she stayed in her quarters. She read a few reports, just to refresh her memory. She tried on all of her clothes. She took long baths and replicated large bowls of ice cream, and elaborate entrees. She had felt absolutely decadent, at first. Now, on the second day, the silence of her quarters was beginning to get to her. She was beginning to remember the stress and isolation that had defined her recent years on Voyager, before the gravity well. She wondered just how long a human being could exist like that before going mad. She wasn't sure she could do it anymore. Her troubled ruminations were harshly interrupted by a loud voice in her quarters. She jolted upright on the couch, sloshing her coffee over her hands and onto the cushions. Who the hell was that? Someone was shouting...no, singing. It was singing. "I KNOW you want to leave me, But I refuse to let you go. If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy, I don't mind, 'cause you mean that much to me..." "Oh, for God's sake!" she commented, to no one in particular. "Computer, halt audio." "Unable to comply," the computer replied, although it was difficult to hear over the noise. "Music controls have been locked out." She blew out an exasperated breath, but found herself smiling. "Computer," she said, loudly, "Reduce volume by fifty percent." Apparently volume controls were still functional, because the computer complied. She placed her mug on the coffee table, got up, and walked to the center of the room. With her arms folded across her chest, she listened to the next verse of the song, shaking her head and chuckling. "I know a crying man is half a man, With no sense of pride. But if I have to cry to keep you, I don't mind weeping, If it'll keep you by my side..." She threw up her arms, then moved resolutely into her bedroom to change. She couldn't very well prowl the halls of the ship in her pink silk nightgown... --- The door opened after she chimed and she stepped inside. He was sitting on his couch, turned toward the viewport, staring out at the stars. She smiled. When he saw her, he stood up, but made no move to approach her. She folded her arms across her chest. "Ain't Too Proud to Beg," she announced. He smiled. "And the artist?" he asked. Damn. She should have asked the computer before she came. "Um...Marvin Gray?" she ventured. He rolled his eyes. "It's Marvin Gaye, and no, it wasn't him. It was The Temptations." Of course. "I knew that," she said, quickly. He snorted with mild amusement, but then his smile faded and he regarded her warily. "Did you come here to play 'Name that Tune,' or are we going to talk about this?" She looked down at the floor, then back up at him. She sighed. "I'm not sure why I'm here. I...I miss you," she admitted. He closed his eyes briefly, and drew a deep breath. He took a few tentative steps towards her. "I miss you, too, Kath," he said. He stopped, but clearly wanted to say more. Tears filled her eyes at the obvious pain and sincerity on his face. "I can't sleep without you breathing next to me," he added, quietly. "Kath, I want you in my life as something other than my Captain. And I want to be a part of your life..." She leaned back against the bulkhead next to the door. She still had her arms folded across her chest. "Oh, Tom," she sighed. "You can't imagine what my life is like as the Captain of this ship. It's...I'm not sure you can fit into it. I'm not sure you'd even want to." He walked across the room and stood before her, close enough to touch her, but he carefully did not. "Isn't that my decision?" he asked, then added, fervently, "Kath, I LOVE you!" "You don't even know me," she whispered. "Not the way I have to be here." He moved slightly, resting his forehead on hers. "How can you say that?" he asked, desperately. "I know everything about you! I know...I know what all of your smiles mean. I know how the freckles on your nose stand out in the sun. I know when you just want to be left alone. I know how dangerous it is when you get quiet..." The words were pouring out of him, and she could feel his breath, hot, on her cheek. And then he touched her, his hands moving quickly from her waist to her arms, then up to her neck, and finally into her hair. She started to cry, and her hands were on his chest. "I know everything..." he continued, nuzzling her face, his tears mingling with hers. "I know how to make you laugh. I know how to get through to you -- how to connect with you." His body was pressed against hers now, and she knew she was pressing back. "I know how to touch you," he said, right into her ear. "I know -- exactly -- how to make love to you, Kath...please..." Their lips touched accidentally, and then they were kissing deeply. His mouth moved over hers, then down to her neck -- she felt the flick of his tongue against her skin. She moaned, aroused, and overwhelmed by the moment. For she knew now that there was no way she could go back to the way she'd been before. The jumble of arguments in her head about continuing this relationship suddenly sorted themselves out. She couldn't turn him away, and live on this ship with him as just his Captain. He was right -- he knew her as well as anyone ever had. And if they still had a few things to learn about each other now under the new circumstances -- well, Chakotay was right. They'd adapt. At least they could try. She pulled away from him, slightly. His eyes snapped open, registering complete panic. Quickly she framed his face with her hands and looked into his eyes, trying to reassure him, but slow him down. She wanted to tell him before emotion and passion carried them both away, so they'd be sure. She held him there, and he relaxed. They both caught their breath. "It's not going to be easy," she told him, finally. He smiled. "I don't think it's supposed to be," he said. He pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his head on hers. "God," he said, relief evident in his voice. With the decision behind her, she felt like she was thinking clearly for the first time since she'd walked into the shelter, three days ago. This was right. She couldn't understand why something that had been so obvious to him, and even to Chakotay, had completely eluded her until now. She felt a stab of remorse for what she'd put them both through. She pulled away from him again -- looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Tom. For the last couple of days." He smiled, and affectionately brushed a wisp of her hair back, then traced her ear with his fingertip. "Just don't ever do that to me again," he said. She pushed slightly off of the bulkhead, a movement that pressed her squarely into him. She smiled to herself as she felt his erection against her stomach and his lips on her neck again. It hadn't entered consciously into her decision until now, but if they continued their relationship, she was going to have an incredible lover to come home to at night. She could certainly live with that. "You know what I want?" she whispered, suggestively. "I can't imagine," he chuckled into her neck. She grinned, and, using her body, began nudging him toward the bedroom. "I want to make love to you in an actual bed," she said, moving her hands down his chest to the waistband of his pants. "Sounds good to me," he agreed, reaching for the hem of her shirt, and pulling it over her head in one motion. He stopped and looked appreciatively at her in the half-light of his bedroom. "Damn," he said. "It's good to be home." --- Conversation in the Dark (same time, different place) --- At the very edge of unconsciousness, he vaguely registered the swish of the opening door, the soft footsteps that padded across his quarters. Waking, he felt the bed shift as someone plopped down beside him. "Harry," a voice hissed. "Harry, wake up!" Groaning softly, he pulled his sleeping mask off. When he opened his eyes, he found B'Elanna perched on the edge of his bed. It didn't phase him. He was quite accustomed to women bursting into his quarters in the middle of the night, usually to talk about other men. Lindsey used to do it all the time, as did both Jenny and Megan, in the early years. B'Elanna was a regular nocturnal visitor. Given her situation, however, he was inclined to be more tolerant than usual. "What is it, B'Elanna?" he asked, still groggy. She exhaled sharply, and he saw how stiff she was holding herself. She was quite agitated. "Do you ever torture yourself with the internal sensors?" she asked him. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. She looked up at the ceiling as she addressed the computer. "Computer, what is the location of Tom Paris?" "Lieutenant Thomas Paris is in his quarters," the computer responded. "Computer," B'Elanna continued, still looking up. "What is the location of Captain Janeway?" "Captain Janeway is in Lieutenant Thomas Paris' quarters." The voice sounded cold, relentless. Harry reached for B'Elanna's hand on his sheets. "Oh, B'Elanna," he sighed. "Don't do this to yourself." He didn't tell her that he was quite adept at torturing himself with the internal sensors. Hadn't he done it all the time when she and Tom had first gotten involved? He still remembered how it made him feel. Sick. Dizzy. And very much alone. Losing both of them to each other had been hard to take. But he didn't tell her that. Instead, he squeezed her hand, and repeated, gently, "Don't do this to yourself." She looked down and studied her other hand, which was resting in her lap. She sighed, looking rather resigned. Her eyes were dry. "You know what just kills me about all this?" she asked. "What kills me," she continued, when he didn't respond, "is that the two of them are better suited than Tom and I ever were." He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand to stop him. "No, really. It's okay. It's true. Tom and I...it's hard to explain. We fought all the time, but we never seemed to confront each other about the right things. Like when I found out about the Maquis. He knew what I was doing to myself, but he didn't know how to handle it. So he did nothing. And I wasn't much better. I never pushed him to stop being so irresponsible; to stop spending so much time on the holodeck; to stop taking everything for granted. We just never held each other accountable enough." Harry silently agreed. It was something he'd observed about their relationship over the years. B'Elanna shook her head. "SHE will, though," she said. "And he can probably help her, too, if she'll let him." She sighed again, and turned her head to look out the viewport off to the left. He could see her face in profile. She looked almost forlorn. "It still hurts, though," she admitted. "I still love him. And when it was good...it was a lot of fun. We were happy. I'm going to miss it." He smiled sympathetically and gently shook her hand, which he was still holding. He didn't know what else he could do for her besides listen, and provide plenty of distraction. "You're off duty tomorrow afternoon, right?" he asked. She nodded affirmatively. "So am I. Why don't you meet me on holodeck two at 1400 hours?" he suggested. "Wear work-out clothes." She narrowed her eyes and scowled at him. "Why -- what are we doing?" "I'm not sure yet," he replied. He thought she could use a change of scenery, perhaps. Something outside. And definitely something physically demanding. He grinned, remembering the long hill on the academy grounds that his cadet prep squad commander, Lieutenant Nimembeh, used to make him run up. That might be just the thing. Surviving to get to the top had always effectively cleared his mind back then. Still looking at him suspiciously, B'Elanna nodded. "I'm not sure I like the way you're smiling, but all right," she said. She shifted on the bed as she began to rise, and her hand brushed across his sleeping mask. She picked it up and dangled it between her thumb and finger. "I can't believe you still wear this thing," she said, smiling. "I told you, I can't sleep unless..." "Unless it's completely dark," she finished for him. "You know what I think? I think maybe you just like to wear a mask," she said, her voice laced with innuendo. He chuckled, but found himself glancing quickly at her face to read her expression. In the darkness, he couldn't see really see her clearly. Her eyes were dark -- shadowed. A week ago, he'd have thought nothing of the comment. She always teased him -- it was part of their friendship. And he knew that she didn't mean anything by it now, either, really. It just seemed different, somehow. Their relationship was different now. It made him uncomfortable, but in an...interesting way. He hoped she'd leave soon, though. Her close proximity on his bed in the darkness was arousing him, and he didn't want to embarrass either of them. She drew in a deep breath. "I'd better go," she said. "Let you get back to sleep." He was sure that he detected a bit of awkwardness on her part, too. As though she were making an effort to keep her voice normal. She stood beside his bed, and he propped himself up on his elbows. She reached out towards him, uncertainly. He took her hand again, and squeezed her fingers. "Thanks, Starfleet," she said, gratefully. "For everything." "Anytime, Maquis," he told her. "I'll see you tomorrow." As the door closed behind her, he leaned back with his arms folded behind his head. He wondered why, after all these years, they'd reverted back to their early nicknames for each other. Perhaps they were looking at some kind of new beginning, too. He found himself smiling in the darkness. --- Pizza Crust and Motown (about a month later) --- They crawled through the Jeffries tube side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders. Janeway felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Not only had they finally figured out what was wrong with the engines, they'd also taken some big steps towards restoring their old relationship. In the weeks since she and Tom had returned from the planet, B'Elanna had, understandably, distanced herself from both of them. She was respectful and completely professional, but all of Janeway's tentative overtures towards initiating any kind of personal conversation had been politely rebuffed. She hadn't pushed, figuring that B'Elanna needed her space, and some time. She knew that Chakotay was keeping an eye on her, and that she'd been spending a lot of her off-duty time with Harry Kim. Janeway was confident that the two of them would help her through this. Then, two days ago, they'd started having mysterious intermittent problems with the engines. B'Elanna had welcomed her help in engineering -- they worked well together in these types of situations. They'd always been more comfortable talking about warp particles than anything else, and over the past two days, they'd easily found their old professional rapport. After countless diagnostics, futile adjustments to the intermix ratio, and unnecessary phase inducer re-alignments, they'd finally tracked down the source of the problem, a rare but simple mechanical problem with one of the relays in this Jeffries tube. Triumphant and relieved, they were on their way to repair it. Any junior engineer could have handled it, but they felt they'd earned the satisfaction. Arriving at the correct junction, they settled themselves on the grated floor and took out their equipment. B'Elanna pulled the panel off the wall, and Janeway smiled as she scowled at the offending relay. She began, carefully, to remove it. Janeway handed her equipment as it was needed -- just enjoying the moment. It was always nice to get off the bridge and muck around inside her ship, and she loved watching B'Elanna in action. It was also the first time they'd been completely alone since Janeway's return. "B'Elanna," she began, unsure about bringing up the subject, "Are you still angry?" B'Elanna glanced sharply at her, surprised, then drew in a breath and returned her attention to her work. "Of course not," she replied. "It wasn't anyone's fault. I know that." "Really," Janeway replied, not making it a question. She shifted on the floor of the Jeffries tube, until she was sitting with her back up against the wall. She glanced at B'Elanna again. "I was angry," she said. B'Elanna raised her eyebrows but couldn't look away from her work just then. "When Mark moved on..." Janeway continued. "When I found out he'd gotten married. I was angry -- because he hadn't waited for me. It was awful -- so selfish of me, really. It had been four years, and the poor man thought I was dead, but I was still angry. It took me a long time to get past it." B'Elanna snorted softly and smiled as she picked up a tricorder and began scanning the new connection. "I suppose I might still be a little angry," she admitted, mildly. She nodded with satisfaction at the readings on the tricorder's display. "There," she said. "That's done it. We're back in business now." She began gathering up her tools, then looked up at Janeway. "I'll get past it, though," she said, continuing their previous thread. "I'll be all right." Janeway nodded, smiling. "I don't doubt that for a minute." She handed B'Elanna the panel. "He really did love you, you know," she said. "I know," B'Elanna said. "And I miss him." She snapped the panel back in place. She glanced over at Janeway, a subtle twinkle in her eye, smiling slightly. "But I don't miss the pizza crusts," she said. Janeway winced. She'd found one on the desk in her quarters just yesterday. B'Elanna chuckled at her expression. Encouraged by the ease of the conversation, Janeway had to ask, "Did he...sing to you?" B'Elanna groaned. "Oh God, yes," she said. "It drove me insane. All that twentieth century Earth music. I never understood that." She tossed another piece of equipment into her case. "And he couldn't carry a tune to save his life. It would have been intolerable if he wasn't just goofing around." She paused, considering. "I have to admit, though -- I kind of liked the...what was it? The Motown." "Yes!" Janeway exclaimed. "I'm partial to The Temptations, myself." She handed B'Elanna the last stray piece of equipment, a hydrospanner. "There was one song that I absolutely hated," B'Elanna said. "I don't think it was Motown. I just could not get him to stop singing it. God, it was awful. It was...the somebody brothers, I think...How did it go?" She tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then her eyes widened. "I remember!" She held the hydrospanner up to her mouth, and Janeway laughed. She'd seen Tom adopt the same 'microphone' posture dozens of times with various gardening tools. B'Elanna began to sing, in a mocking tone. "You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips, And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips," Janeway groaned dramatically. She certainly was familiar with this one. B'Elanna continued. "You're trying hard not to show it..." B'Elanna paused, looking at Janeway expectantly. "Baby..." Grinning, Janeway provided the back-up vocal. "But baby, baby I know it..." B'Elanna put the hydrospanner back in the case, and closed it. They both headed back out the Jeffries tube, the way they'd come in. Janeway joined her for the chorus. "You've lost that lovin' feeling, Whoa, that lovin' feeling, You've lost that lovin' feeling, Now it's gone...gone...gone, Whoa." By the time they emerged back into engineering, they were breathless with laughter. Much of the song had been too low for them. Judging by the smirks and bemused looks that they were getting from the engineering staff, Janeway deduced that they'd perhaps been singing with a bit too much gusto . She decided that she really didn't care. She was the Captain, Dammit, and she could sing off-key in the Jeffries tubes if she wanted to. --- All Right (several days later, in the mess hall) --- B'Elanna nodded at Chakotay, and slid her tray onto the table across from him. "This seat taken?" she asked. "It is now," he smiled back. She was just getting settled in her seat when she heard the mess hall doors hiss open behind her. Chakotay glanced up and, just for an instant, looked somewhat disconcerted. She knew who it was immediately, of course, but Neelix's voice confirmed it. "Captain! Tom! Good morning! What can I get for you?" Chakotay smiled, a little wistfully, as his eyes followed the couple to the counter. They'd moved into her peripheral range of vision, and she watched them for a moment as they scrutinized the breakfast selections suspiciously, exchanging subtle but amused glances when they came upon the leftover leola root stew from last night's dinner. B'Elanna sighed. She'd recently begun to restore her relationship with the Captain, and whenever she ran into Tom, their interactions were strained, but cordial enough. But she was never quite prepared to see them together, even though it happened fairly often. It would have been pointless for them to try to keep their relationship a secret, so they weren't even trying. After all, the whole crew knew they'd been on that planet together for three years. There was talk, but everyone seemed to be accepting it. They didn't flaunt the relationship -- in fact, they never even touched each other in public. But it was obvious that they were a couple in the comfortable, close way that they would stand together, and converse with each other. Chakotay leaned forward, his eyes concerned. "Are you okay?" he asked, quietly. She folded her arms on the table, and leaned on them. She smiled, touched once again by his thoughtfulness. "I'm getting there," she said. She felt a sudden stab of guilt at the kindness in his eyes. He'd been there for her with his unwavering support over the past month, but who was helping him? It occurred to her that letting go of an unrealized dream might be every bit as difficult as what she was going through. "I'm sorry, Chakotay," she said, leaning in closer to him and speaking softly. "I've been pretty self-absorbed lately. How about you? Are you all right?" He smiled affectionately -- a big enough smile to draw out his laugh lines and dimples. "Yes," he said. "I think I really am. It's difficult, but I honestly think it's better this way." He glanced over to a table by the viewport, where Tom and Janeway had just joined Tuvok. "They seem happy," he observed. "I think it's working out for them, so far." She nodded her agreement, and they were quiet for a few minutes. Then Neelix came bustling over, trying to entice them to have some more kahla melon. Just as they began talking to Neelix, Harry walked in. He tapped her on the shoulder, smiled warmly, and told her to save him a seat. She watched him as he headed over to the breakfast counter. She sighed -- her spirits felt lighter than they had since this whole thing began. She was going to be all right. They were all going to be all right. --- Sunshine on a Cloudy Day (two months later) --- He turned away from the replicator when she walked into her quarters. She was reading something on her PADD and barely seemed to realize that she'd entered the room. "Hello, Kath," he said. She looked up, somewhat startled. She didn't look entirely happy to see him. He knew she'd had a lousy day -- Voyager was low on ___again, and in the midst of some tense negotiations to get through Klaborn space. She was preoccupied and tense -- and he wanted to help. "Well," he said, studying her face, "you look like hell." She tried to glare at him, but couldn't quite do it. "Thanks," she said, wryly, trying to suppress a grin. "Bad day?" he asked. "Yes," she replied, rubbing her temples. "But I don't want to talk about it." "Good!" he said, cheerfully. "Because I don't want to hear about it." That earned him a lop-sided smile. He tried to hand her the glass of wine he'd just replicated. She shook her head vehemently. "No, no. Tom, I can't. I have too much work to do..." He put a finger on her lips. "Listen to me," he said. "Bath and a glass of wine: 30 minutes. A slice of pizza and a salad: 15 minutes. Coffee and conversation: 15 minutes. One hour, total, and then I'll get out of your way and you can do...whatever it is you do all the time." She looked at him for a moment, clearly tempted. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Where will you go?" she asked suspiciously, not trusting him to really let her get any work done. "I have the holodeck reserved tonight," he replied. "Harry and I are going to do Chapter __, finally." She smiled. "That's the slave girl one, right?" "Yep," he said. "I've been promising Harry slave girls for three years, now." She tilted her head, and sighed. He knew she was beginning to relent. She really needed the break, and she certainly needed to eat. He was pretty sure she hadn't had lunch. "One hour?" she asked. "Well," he said, reconsidering, "maybe an extra ten minutes if you actually want to chew your food." She laughed and took the wine that he was still holding out to her. "All right," she said. "One hour and ten minutes. I think I can handle that." She brushed by him on her way to the bathroom. Then she stopped, turned around, and gently kissed his lips. "I love you," she said, sincerely. "Of course you do," he said, firmly. "Why wouldn't you?" She chuckled, and smacked him on the chest. She started to move away again, but he reached out and stroked her hair. "I love you too, Kath," he added. Smiling affectionately, she turned and started undoing her uniform jacket. As she rounded the corner, he heard her call out to the computer, "Computer, music. Play 'The Temptation's Greatest Hits, track two." Grinning, he headed over to the replicator to start programming in the salads. He heard the first ascending notes of 'My Girl,' and whistled along with the opening lines: "I got sunshine on a cloudy day, When it's cold outside, I got the month of May..." Still whistling, he headed over to set the table and light the candles. This was working. He was really making her happy, really making a difference. It felt right. This was the way it was meant to be. He heard the bath filling up, and then he heard her humming along with the music. He smiled. --- The End