Disclaimer:  Star Trek and its characters are the 
property of Viacom/Paramount, and I am just borrowing 
them for fun, not profit.

Synopsis:  A coda to the episode "Thirty Days".  Tom 
meets B'Elanna for dinner, as "ordered".  Reflections 
on the events of the previous thirty days follow, for 
Tom and B'Elanna, and separately, for Janeway.  P/T, J.  
Rated NC17 for sexual situations (not graphic however).

Notes:  In "Thirty Days"  B'Elanna ordered Tom to meet 
her for dinner at 0700 hours.  My impression from 
"Infinite Regress" (filmed after "Thirty Days") and 
from "Counterpoint" is that Tom was not consigned to 
the graveyard shift so to speak.  He is still on the 
bridge in the thick of things at critical moments.  And 
unless Tom and B'Elanna are *both* on the third shift, 
I think if B'Elanna wanted Tom to meet her for a meal 
at 7 in the morning she would refer to it as breakfast 
(it would still be her "breakfast"). And, finally, for 
my story, I prefer that they meet in the evening.  So 
I'll just consider the reference to "0700" a mistake by 
the writers of the episode, or perhaps even some sort 
of code phrase meaningful only to Tom and B'Elanna.  

Although I've kept within canon, the status of the P/T 
relationship, and the thoughts, motivations and actions 
(and meaning ascribed to those actions) of Tom and 
B'Elanna, and of Janeway, are simply my 
interpretations.  Others may have totally different, 
and equally valid interpretations.

This story may be archived to the ASC, BLTS, and PTF.  

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"Believing"
by Julie Evans (Juli17@aol.com)

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"Pizza?"

Tom stared at the small table in B'Elanna's quarters, 
covered with a white table cloth.  On it sat a pizza, 
the steam still rising from it indicating that B'Elanna 
had replicated it just before he'd arrived.  Topped 
with pepperoni-- his favorite, and olives-- hers.  Next 
to the pizza was an uncorked bottle of red wine.

"A Sonoma Valley merlot,"  B'Elanna said, following his 
gaze to the wine.  "One of your favorites, I believe."

Tom nodded slowly.  He finally moved from the spot 
where he'd stopped in the middle of the doorway for 
several surprised seconds, stepping further into the 
room as the door slid closed behind him.  He stopped 
next to B'Elanna, and his mouth tightened for a moment, 
then he pulled his gaze away from the table and looked 
down at her.  "Thanks, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna noted the husky catch in his voice, and the 
genuine gratitude in his eyes.  She wanted to start 
erasing the memory of how Tom had spent the past thirty 
days, and she knew from Neelix that he had only been 
allowed food of  "nutritional substance".  Like leola 
root stew.  "I figured you'd welcome a menu change 
after Neelix's limited offerings lately."

Hell, yes, he would.  His replicator ration account was 
empty right now, part of his punishment.  Lunch in the 
Mess hall had been another Neelix leola creation today.  
Though Harry had offered to loan him some replicator 
rations, he'd declined.  He'd prefer to earn back his 
replicator rations, rather than borrow from his 
friends.  But this gift from B'Elanna....  

"It looks wonderful,"  Tom said softly, and it did, 
though as he finally really focused on B'Elanna he 
found his thoughts of dinner fading into 
insignificance.  She was wearing her short black 
sleeveless dress, the one that revealed the soft tanned 
slope of her shoulders, and hugged her slender curves, 
a dress he'd always liked.  Really, really liked.  Her 
legs were bare, and she wasn't wearing shoes, as she 
often didn't when she was in her quarters.  Just that 
little black dress, and whatever might be underneath.  
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.  "You 
look...beautiful."

B'Elanna smiled at the slight tremor in his voice, and 
her hand captured his.  She rubbed her thumb over his 
warm skin.  "So do you,"  she said softly.  Actually he 
looked tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping, despite 
the fact that he'd had little opportunity to do much 
else in the brig.  But the soft shadows under his eyes, 
the slight loss of weight she could detect on his lean 
frame from the fact that he'd been subsisting on 
Neelix's cooking, didn't detract anything at all.  And 
though he looked a little subdued, as if the past 
thirty days had been difficult, he also looked 
composed, as if what he'd endured had somehow given him 
some inner peace with himself, some new inner strength.  
Yes, he most definitely looked beautiful to her.

Tom's hand tightened over hers and his gaze on her 
practically seared her skin.  And she knew that hers 
was no less smoldering.  It was all she could do not to 
rip his shirt off right now, not to bury herself into 
him.  It had been thirty days after all.  And it had 
seemed much longer.  So much longer.

"B'Elanna..."

B'Elanna stepped back as Tom moved forward to embrace 
her, taking a deep breath to steady her own racing 
heart.  "Tom...pizza first.  We have plenty of time, 
and we've waited this long."

Tom nodded slowly at her determined tone, though he 
didn't miss the hastily drawn breath, or the small 
quaver in her voice.  Long and difficult as their 
separation had been-- far more difficult than he'd 
imagined-- neither of them had tried to make immediate 
contact with the other when he'd gotten out of the brig 
early this morning.  She'd already been on duty in 
Engineering, and he'd reported to the Bridge, detouring 
only long enough to reacquaint himself with his 
quarters, and to shower and change.  It was as if 
they'd both wanted to wait until there could be no 
interruptions, until they could completely focus on 
each other-- completely be with each other.  Tom 
suppressed the need to completely be with her right 
here, and right now, and gave her a small cocky smile 
instead.  "I exist to comply with your orders, maam."

B'Elanna's mouth quirked in response.  "That's good to 
hear, Tom, because I'll have quite a few of 
those...later on.  And you are going to need your 
strength."

His eyes darkened at the teasing, suggestive tone of 
her voice.  She turned before he could reply and tugged 
his hand lightly.  He resolved to enjoy the pizza 
because it did look good, and she'd gone to this 
trouble just for him.  But he knew every little way he 
was going to pay her back, over and over, and he 
probably *would* need all the strength he could get.  
He just hoped he could stand the wait.

She led him to the table, determined to eat the pizza 
though her appetite-- for food-- was nonexistent.  She 
wanted Tom to eat, she felt a strangely protective urge 
about that, and she wanted him to enjoy one of the 
things he'd been denied for the past thirty days.  More 
than one of the things.  She also intended to enjoy 
what she'd been denied during the past thirty days.  
She just hoped she could stand the wait.


The meal progressed quickly.  They spoke little.  Tom 
didn't mention his incarceration, instead he asked 
B'Elanna a few inconsequential questions between sips 
of wine, about the ship's activities and the latest 
gossip he'd missed.  B'Elanna answered his questions 
briefly, distractedly, while picking at her pizza.  
Mostly they stared at each other, perused each other up 
and down, their gazes when they met becoming more bold 
and more intense.  Under those very stressful 
circumstances she managed to finish two pieces of pizza 
to his six, and she couldn't help a satisfied smile as 
he polished off that last piece.

"All done,"  Tom said softly as he swallowed the last 
bite.  "I guess I really was hungry.  Thanks, 
B'Elanna."  He pushed his plate aside, then smiled 
slowly at her, his eyes boring into hers, the message 
in those blue depths clear.  Enough waiting.  

B'Elanna abandoned the last bit of her pizza, and 
pushed her own plate aside as Tom stood and walked 
around the table.  He stopped right in front of her, 
and quirked an eyebrow.  "Since you provided dinner, 
how about I provide the dessert?"

She pushed her chair back and stood slowly.  He didn't 
move back despite the fact that he was definitely and 
purposely invading her space, and their bodies 
virtually slid along each other's as she rose.  She 
could feel his body heat warming her through his 
clothing, through her clothing, across the mere 
millimeter or so of electrified space that separated 
them.  "You may be a bit overdressed for dessert, Tom,"  
she said, her voice husky.

Tom smiled wolfishly.  "Would that be the lieutenant's 
way of ordering me to...strip?"

B'Elanna looked at Tom for a long assessing moment, 
then smiled back slowly, with obvious anticipation.  
"No.  The lieutenant would like to have that fun 
herself."  She stood on tiptoe then and pressed her 
body against his, felt him shudder slightly, then 
looked at his mouth, his lips slightly parted and 
inviting her in.  She'd forgotten how enticing that 
mouth was, and she was barely able to resist plunging 
right into the warm responsive depths.  Instead she 
pressed her face close to his, and spoke softly, her 
breath whispering across his cheek, teasing at his 
earlobe.  "Do not move...ensign, whatever I do.  Is 
that clear?"

Tom simply nodded.  His breath was caught in his 
throat, and he didn't trust himself to speak.  It was 
all he could do not to lock his mouth onto her 
beautiful full lips and kiss her until they both passed 
out.  She moved back, just enough to allow him to 
regain his control.  For the moment.

B'Elanna put her hands on Tom's shoulders, and curled 
her fingers into the black material of the t-shirt he 
was wearing.  Then she jerked her hands down in one 
swift motion and ripped the t-shirt from shoulders to 
waist.  Tom's wrists were caught in the short sleeves 
of the shirt but he had no time to disentangle them 
before B'Elanna pushed his arms back and pressed her 
mouth against his throat.

"Don't move,"  she repeated, as her tongue tasted the 
salty tang of his skin.  He groaned as she slowly moved 
her mouth down his torso, her teeth nipping and her 
tongue leaving a wet trail through the soft tangle of 
chest hair, down to the spot where that hair narrowed 
into a V and disappeared into his pants.  She quickly 
ripped the rest of the t-shirt away and grabbed the 
waistband of his pants, but her fingers fumbled on the 
finer act of unfastening the button.  She realized that 
her hands were trembling.  That she was trembling.  And 
so was he.

She looked up at him then and the dark hungry look in 
his eyes was as undeniable as the ravenous need she 
felt coursing through her.  She stood abruptly, 
unsteadily, abandoning her efforts to get her nerveless 
fingers to cooperate, forgetting all about the game 
she'd planned.  She couldn't wait any longer.  "Get 
them off, Tom," she said, her voice urgent, trembling.  
"I need you now."

Tom's hands quickly pushed hers aside as he unzipped 
his pants.  She slid her arms up and locked them around 
his neck, gripping the short silky hair at the nape of 
his neck.  She gave him one burning look, then slammed 
her mouth into his with enough force that their teeth 
clattered as they voraciously began to savor and devour 
each other, releasing the need that had been pent-up 
for weeks.  As he pushed his pants off his waist and 
down his hips, she literally crawled up him, wrapping 
one leg around his waist and using the other foot to 
help him push his pants down to his knees.  Then she 
wrapped that leg around him too, and he grabbed the 
edge of the table with his free hand so he could 
balance himself and step out of his pants.  His other 
hand was grasping her hair tightly, pressing her even 
closer as they explored and plundered, and 
refamiliarized themselves with the warm wet contours of 
each other's mouths with breathless abandon. 

Tom stumbled toward the bed, supporting B'Elanna's 
weight wrapped tightly around him, and with his free 
hand he pushed her dress up past her waist, then could 
go no further while their bodies were virtually glued 
together.  His hand slid down her lower spine and came 
into contact with edge of her panties.  He slipped his 
hand in and cupped her derriere and drew her hard 
against him.  She frantically began pushing his boxers 
off his hips with one hand, while her other hand was 
still clasped tightly in his hair, keeping his mouth to 
hers, except for brief moments when they took harsh 
quick breaths and murmured inarticulate words before 
their mouths locked together again.

Tom literally walked into the edge of the bed, and his 
quick sharp yelp of pain was swallowed by the searching 
warmth of B'Elanna's mouth as he dropped onto the bed, 
easing her down onto her back and leaning over her.  He 
moved her hand out of the way and raised up to pull his 
boxers off, and she used the same moment to pull her 
dress over her head and toss it off the bed.  She 
wasn't wearing a bra which he'd already happily 
observed, and he took advantage of the opportunity, 
leaning down to suckle one breast as he helped her tear 
her panties off.  She quickly pulled his mouth up to 
hers again, and her other hand tangled with his as she 
reached down, closing her hand around him and stroking 
him once roughly, while his fingers delved into her 
slick wetness and stroked her several times, nearly 
sending her bucking off the bed.

"Now, Tom.  Now,"  She said desperately against his 
mouth.  She wrapped her legs around him again, 
encouraging him, and he obliged, entering her in one 
swift, hard movement as her head fell back and she 
moaned raggedly.  He answered with a deep satisfied 
groan.

For all their frenzy getting there, they both paused 
then for a moment, Tom holding himself perfectly 
motionless and B'Elanna's strong thighs around him 
stilled, keeping him securely deep inside her.  They 
looked at each other, after a month of not even a 
glimpse shared between them, both seeing reflected in 
the other's gaze how agonizingly long the waiting had 
been, and how much they'd missed this, their bodies 
joined for a few brief exulting moments as one.  How 
much they'd missed each other.  And the shared 
understanding that the past thirty days had made them 
both realize all over again how much they needed each 
other. 

"B'Elanna..."  Tom said her name slowly, reverently.

"Tom..."  Her voice was a mere answering whisper.

Their mouths met again and they moved together, 
thrusting against each other in strong hard movements, 
no longer frenzied but deep and full, tinged with a 
timeless awareness of the moment they were sharing.  As 
they approached the peak, that explosive moment when 
their souls seemed to touch the sky and the stars, and 
to fuse together so closely it was as if they were one, 
B'Elanna pulled her mouth away from Tom's and her teeth 
sank deeply into his cheek.  Tom's cry was triumphant, 
B'Elanna's no less so, and they clung together as wave 
after wave of sensation washed over them.

As the waves gentled and faded into a soothing 
afterglow, they lay together for several moments, spent 
but sated, completely fulfilled.  Tom's weight was 
sprawled heavily, bonelessly, on top of B'Elanna, and 
he could feel the pulse of her breath still harsh and 
fast against his shoulder, and their hearts were 
beating together in almost perfect pounding sync.  He 
breathed in the scent of her hair, and buried his face 
in the soft tangled tendrils.  Finally he raised his 
head and looked into her eyes, still smoky with 
passion.  "God, I missed you, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna pulled him down again and pressed her face 
against his shoulder, taking in his scent, the clean 
musky smell of sweat, evidence of their exertions.  She 
pressed her lips to his throat, her tongue tasting the 
salty damp sheen that slicked his skin.  She felt him 
still trembling slightly.  "Not as much as I missed 
you, Tom,"  she whispered against his throat.   

He rolled to the side, pulling out of her, but his arm 
stayed nestled beneath her head.  B'Elanna shifted 
slightly so that her head was cradled in the crook of 
his arm, and she threw one leg over him.  They lay side 
by side, still breathing hard, but content to simply 
feast their eyes for a moment and revel in their 
ability after so long to simply hold each other, to 
have their fill of looking at each other.  Tom thought 
he could stay this way forever...he could live the rest 
of his life doing nothing but looking at her.  And 
making wild satisfying love to her....

Tom's thoughts stilled and his eyes widened, as he 
registered the stinging sensation of broken skin 
touched by salty perspiration.  Not an unusual 
sensation after he and B'Elanna had made love.  After 
all, over the past year he'd endured quite a few love 
bites from B'Elanna, and delivered not a few of his 
own.  It was simply an indication of their enthusiasm 
and passion, a part of Klingon, and sometimes human, 
lovemaking that he found completely stimulating.  Some 
nights he'd been marked on half a dozen spots on his 
body.  But tonight, this spot...  He touched his cheek, 
then brought his hand slowly away and stared at the 
blood on his fingers.  And it finally, belatedly, 
occurred to him what B'Elanna had just done.  He looked 
at her, his expression stunned., and questioning.  
"B'Elanna..."

B'Elanna was staring at his cheek, and her own fingers 
trailed lightly along the small even indentations, the 
outline of the mark her teeth had left on his skin.  
She looked at the trace of blood on her own fingers, 
then at him.  "You don't mind, do you, Tom?"  she asked 
softly.

Tom heard no hesitation, no indication of uncertainty 
or regret in her voice.  Only a simple straightforward 
question, to which he hoped she already knew the 
answer.  He shook his head.  "No..."  he said slowly.  
Not so long ago he might have minded.  For fear that he 
didn't deserve it, and couldn't live up to what it 
meant.  The last time-- the only time B'Elanna had 
marked him this way-- on the Sakari planet-- she'd been 
under the influence of the pon farr.  He'd joked it off 
then, knowing that she didn't have any real idea what 
she was doing.  That she didn't mean what she was 
implying, what she was promising, by biting him on the 
cheek.  But now...  "B'Elanna, do you..."

"Know what this means?"  B'Elanna asked quietly.  "Of 
course.  I am the half Klingon here."

Tom touched his cheek again.  He felt some ridiculous 
need to give her a way out, not unlike she'd offered 
him a way out after she'd first told him she'd loved 
him.  "Are you sure?  After everything that's 
happened..."  he paused, and gave her a wry smile.  
"And now that I've just served my second prison 
sentence,  I might be a bad risk."

There was a small pause before B'Elanna spoke.  "Do you 
know why I didn't visit you while you were in the brig, 
Tom?"

Tom shook his head, not so much at B'Elanna's quiet, 
unexpected question, but at his own confusion, his 
efforts to clear his mind, and to believe....  "Why?"  
he finally asked softly.

"It wasn't because of the captain's orders...I could 
have ignored them, or I could have asked her to 
reconsider like she did for Harry, though at this point 
I still can't quite bring myself to ask her for any 
favors..."

Tom nodded.  He knew that B'Elanna still harbored some 
bitterness toward Janeway after the incident with the 
alien parasite when the captain had ordered the doctor 
to treat B'Elanna against her wishes.  And he suspected 
that his thirty days in the brig hadn't done anything 
to alleviate that sense of bitterness.  He certainly 
couldn't regret B'Elanna's loyalty to him on that 
score, nor would he deny her the time and distance she 
needed to come to terms with the captain again.  "I 
know.  And I wouldn't have wanted you to disobey her 
just to see me.  I think one of us disobeying orders at 
a time is more than enough."

B'Elanna heard the rueful tone in Tom's voice and shook 
her head.  "Tom-"

"B'Elanna, honestly, I didn't want you to visit me,"  
Tom said quietly.  Then he flashed a brief, barely 
perceptible smile and added, "I might have begged you 
to break me out, and what would that have done to my 
image?"

He was teasing, she knew, but she could tell the humor 
was forced, and she felt him shudder slightly under her 
hand.  "That bad, huh?"  she asked, her voice 
deliberately light.  She stroked him, her fingers 
brushing through the soft hairs on his chest, caressing 
his warm skin.  She had her own memories now of laying 
awake nights thinking about him, missing him, wondering 
if those thirty days would ever end.  But at least in-
between the bouts of sleeplessness she'd had the run of 
the ship, and her duties in Engineering to occupy her 
thoughts.  Tom hadn't had any such respite.

Tom closed his hand over hers.  "Would you want to be 
surrounded by four walls for thirty days with only *my* 
thoughts for company?"  he asked dryly.  

B'Elanna couldn't help the small smile that lifted the 
corners of her lips.  She shook her head.  "That is a 
scary thought."

He smiled at her attempt to humor him, then sobered.  
"Truthfully, B'Elanna, I was glad you didn't try and 
find a way to visit me.  To have shared only a couple 
of minutes, a few brief words, while Security was 
standing there monitoring our every movement, and then 
have had to watch you walk away again..."  Tom 
shuddered again, then squeezed her hand tightly.  "That 
would have been more unbearable than not seeing you at 
all.  For both of us I think."

B'Elanna nodded at Tom's words.  To see him locked up, 
alone, suffering under the weight of the complete 
isolation Janeway had forced on him...  She wasn't sure 
she could have stood that, and she hadn't wanted to 
inflame her anger, tempt herself to do something rash, 
something that would have impugned his own honor and 
hers.  "I was afraid if I saw you, even for a minute or 
two, it would just make what you were enduring-- what 
we both were enduring-- even more difficult."  She 
paused, and frowned.  "But also...Tom, I don't know if 
I can explain this, but I didn't want to diminish the 
sacrifice you made for your principles, or undermine 
your dignity, by interfering.  That's why I didn't make 
an effort to see you, though I wanted to so badly.  I 
didn't want to...dishonor you."  

"B'Elanna, I do understand,"  Tom said quietly, smiling 
gently at her earnest, troubled expression.  She'd 
respected and supported his decision to take a stand on 
what he believed was right, and equally respected and 
believed in his ability to accept and shoulder the 
consequences, even if he was sure she hadn't realized 
at the time how extreme his action might be, or how 
severe the consequences.  "I knew the price I'd likely 
have to pay.  And it was my decision alone."

They both knew he was talking about what she'd said in 
the Captain Proton program.  He knew that her comments, 
and the question she'd posed to him, had never been 
more than an encouragement to him find his own way, his 
own answer.  She had never tried to tell him what he 
should do, she'd simply let him know that she trusted 
him, and that whatever his decision might be she would 
stand by him.  How rarely in his life had anyone 
trusted him to do the right thing, believed that he 
could or would do the right thing, then supported that 
belief without doubt... 

He brushed a hand over B'Elanna's cheek, and cupped her 
jaw lightly.  "You encouraged me to make the decision 
for myself, B'Elanna, to follow my own conscience."  He 
gave her a genuinely grateful look.  "The simple fact 
that you supported me, unconditionally-- and that I 
knew you were here waiting for me-- that alone has made 
the past thirty days bearable."

"I knew you would do what was right, Tom,"  B'Elanna 
said quietly, with complete conviction.  "For you.  Not 
for me, or Janeway, or Starfleet.  You followed your 
own heart, despite the possible consequences.  You made 
your own honor."    She turned her face enough to press 
a quick kiss into his warm palm, then looked at him 
again.  "I am proud of you, Tom.  And sometimes I think 
your heart is more Klingon than mine."

Tom wasn't sure that B'Elanna, who'd come so far 
herself to accept and value her Klingon heritage, could 
pay him any greater compliment, and he couldn't speak 
for a moment.  He traced her lower lip with his thumb, 
then finally managed a small smile and shook his head.  
"I don't know about that.  But I do know that being 
around you-- being with you-- has changed me, B'Elanna.  
You've changed me."  He brushed a soft strand of hair 
off her cheek.  "Thank you for that."

B'Elanna shook her head.  "Don't give me so much 
credit, Tom.  You've done most of it yourself."

"I've had support.  Especially from you, but also from 
Harry, from being accepted on Voyager as part of this 
crew, and ironically enough, from Captain Janeway, even 
if she's still spitting angry with me right now."

B'Elanna heard the regretful tone in Tom's voice.  She 
knew how hard it had been for him to disappoint the 
captain, to go against her orders, and how much 
strength it had taken for him to stand by his 
principles in the face of her condemnation.  She didn't 
know exactly what the captain had said to Tom, but she 
was willing to bet it hurt as much or more as thirty 
days isolation in the brig.  "She won't be angry 
forever, Tom."

Tom shrugged, looking unconvinced.  "I know she took it 
personally, though I never meant it that way."

"Maybe she did,"  B'Elanna agreed.  She didn't add that 
she'd taken Janeway's own actions personally too, 
especially when she'd found out after the fact that 
Janeway had fired at the Delta Flyer, had been fully 
willing to sacrifice Tom's life to stop him.  But she'd 
resolve her own anger at Janeway in her own way and 
time.  As for the captain's anger at Tom...  "The fact 
that you acted on your principles, she must realize 
that means something.  That it says something about 
you.  Everyone else on the ship does."

Tom quirked an eyebrow.  "Really?  It doesn't say 
something that I've served my second prison sentence?"

B'Elanna frowned at his sarcasm.  "I don't think 
there's anyone who doesn't understand that you breached 
protocol and disobeyed the captain's orders because you 
were doing what you believed was right.  That is very 
admirable in some circles, especially among the former 
Maquis.  They won't condemn you for it."

Tom had in fact noticed that he'd barely been treated 
any differently on his first day back on duty.  A few 
crew members had kept some distance, and now that he 
thought about it, those few had ironically been dyed in 
the wool Starfleeters.  But most, including the former 
Maquis, had greeted him as if nothing had happened.  
And now that he thought about it he wasn't sure that 
anyone, other than Tuvok in a surprisingly mild tone, 
had referred to him as "ensign".  Even Chakotay had 
addressed him as "Mr. Paris" when relaying orders.  Of 
course, the captain had been absent from the bridge all 
day...

"What you did doesn't diminish the respect you've 
earned from everyone on this ship, Tom,"  B'Elanna 
added.  "And the captain will eventually come around, 
too." 

Tom nodded, wanting to believe that.  "Maybe you're 
right."  And he was still working on one incongruity 
that had occurred to him while he was in the brig.  
He'd initially been shocked at the sentence of 30 days 
in the brig-- in isolation no less-- rather than a 
simple confinement to quarters.  It was a rather harsh 
but also unconventional punishment, outside the 
Starfleet suggested guidelines for an offense such as 
his.  And Tom had grown up a Starfleet brat, he was 
well aware of those guidelines.  Janeway would have 
been well within her rights to have stripped him of not 
only his rank, but of his position, and even his 
commission.  Certainly his father would not have 
hesitated to do just that to someone who repeatedly 
defied his orders.  She could have removed him from the 
crew altogether and confined him to quarters as an 
unwelcome civilian for the duration of Voyager's 
journey back to the Alpha quadrant.  Instead she'd only 
busted him in rank.  And he still wasn't sure if the 
fact that she'd delivered a harsh but short term 
punishment, but conversely had punished him very 
lightly in the long term, had simply been a matter of 
expedience, or if it had other significance.  Perhaps 
she hadn't completely lost faith in him because of one 
action he'd felt conscience bound to take.  Unlike 
others before her...

"Tom?"

Tom refocused on B'Elanna, who was looking at him 
worriedly.  "Well, at least my reputation is only 
mildly sullied.  Again."  He gave her a wry smile, and 
added,  "On Voyager, anyway."  

"What does that mean?"  B'Elanna prodded softly.

Tom gave her a long pensive look before he finally 
spoke.  "I dictated a letter to my father while I was 
in the brig."  He paused, then shrugged.  "Not that I 
know if he'll ever read it."

B'Elanna heard the hesitation and the dismissiveness in 
Tom's tone.  "Good for you, Tom."

"He may never read it, and if he does, it probably 
won't change anything.  But I had to tell who I am now, 
who I've become.  Even if I still make mistakes, even 
if I can never be exactly the person he wanted me to 
be, I'm also not the person he despised any more."

 B'Elanna brushed her hand over Tom's chest again, 
letting it rest over the spot where his heart beat 
solidly against her palm.  "If he does read it some 
day, I think you might be surprised.  Maybe your father 
*will* understand, and will respect the fact that you 
acted for a good reason and then stood by your actions.  
And I think he might even respect you for the man 
you've become.  Even if you're not a carbon copy of 
him."

Tom smiled a little at the disdain in her tone when she 
said dismissed the idea of him being like his father.  
"Maybe you're right.  He never really believed much in 
me, though I can't say I gave him, or anyone else, much 
reason to, in the past."

"Or maybe you just never believed enough in yourself, 
in who you *really* are, not the person you let other 
people think you are, or the person you pretend to be 
to protect yourself,"  B'Elanna said softly.  Then she 
paused and stared at Tom, suddenly aware of the irony 
of her words.  How long had she not believed in 
herself, denied half of her heritage, used anger and 
hostility to protect her real feelings, been afraid 
that who she was wasn't good enough?  It was Tom who 
had seen through her cover, had seen the real her 
underneath, then had determinedly pushed and cajoled 
his way in.  He'd encouraged her to accept herself, to 
believe in herself.

Tom had read every thought, every expression that 
crossed her face.  He smiled slowly.  "I guess we're a 
pair, aren't we?"

B'Elanna nodded.  She lowered her head and pressed her 
cheek against his shoulder and her hand stroked his 
chest lightly.  "Maybe that's why we keep gravitating 
back to each other, even when things between us 
get...difficult.  Because we can see each other for who 
we really are, no matter how much we try to hide."

Tom looked down at her face buried against him and 
smiled.  He knew how she embarrassed she got when she 
started feeling sentimental.  His fingers combed 
through her hair.  "So you do know who I really am, 
B'Elanna?"

"I've known for a long time, Tom,"  she answered 
softly, raising her head to look at him.  "I wouldn't 
be here otherwise."

Tom pulled B'Elanna's hand to his lips and kissed her 
palm lightly, his lips brushing against her warm smooth 
skin.  "If I haven't said it before, thank you, 
B'Elanna, for believing in me."

B'Elanna shifted and rolled on top of Tom, her face 
close to his.  She pressed her hand against his mouth, 
brushed the tips of her fingers across his lips.  "You 
said that I've changed you, Tom.  Well, you've changed 
me too, you know.  You've also believed in me, even 
when I didn't believe in myself."  

She kissed his mouth then, in a quick gentle caress, 
then she trailed her lips lightly across his cheek, 
coming to a stop at the bite she'd given him.  She 
kissed the injury gently, then looked at him, catching 
the startled but warm look in his eyes.  "Tom, you 
asked if I was sure about this, after everything that's 
happened.  Maybe it's *because* of everything that's 
happened."  She looked away, her gaze returning to the 
mark she'd made, and she stared at it, her gaze 
unfocused.  She brushed her fingers across the spot 
she'd just kissed.  "Even when I pushed you away 
repeatedly, when I was angry, and sad-- about a lot of 
things-- you didn't give up on me.  You gave me time, 
you waited me out.  You gave me space, but you never 
walked away.  You never left."

Tom tweaked her hair, just enough to get her attention, 
to bring her gaze back to him.  "And I never will, 
B'Elanna."  Their eyes held for a long moment, then she 
smiled tremulously.  "Besides, I might say the same 
about you.  More than once I've given you plenty of 
reason to wash your hands of me, but you haven't.  You 
waited for me to figure out who I am, how I feel.  
About myself...and about you..."  Tom reached up and 
pressed her hand fully against his cheek.  "About 
us..."

B'Elanna looked at his larger hand covering hers, and 
felt the rough edge of the wound she'd given him under 
her palm.  The claim she'd made, on the spur of the 
moment.  The action had been long coming, but her heart 
had already been there for a long time.  "Tom, you 
don't have to reciprocate.  This is my choice.  Your 
heart isn't my heart-"

"Yes, it is, B'Elanna," Tom interrupted her, looking a 
little perturbed.  His fingers tightened over hers.  
"Your heart is very much my heart.  I hope you know 
that by now."

"I do know that, Tom,"  B'Elanna assured him.  "I just 
mean...we've never talked about anything...permanent."

Tom nodded slowly.  That was an understatement.  Since 
their relationship had begun, they'd by a silent sort 
of mutual agreement taken it day by day, resisted 
trying to define what was between them, keeping any 
hopes they had about whether it would last closely 
guarded within their own hearts.  It had seemed the 
smartest, and safest, thing to do.  After all, rational 
souls denied the concept of fairy tale endings, 
especially souls whose lives up until now had been far 
from fairy tale material.  And in the past few months, 
as their relationship had been shaken repeatedly by not 
only unexpected events, but by their own individual 
emotional struggles, the subject of permanence had 
seemed best left unaddressed.  It had seemed an 
achievement at times that they had managed to salvage 
their relationship at all.  But now he realized that 
they'd done far more than that.  After everything 
they'd gone through, the fact that they were here right 
now, wrapped in each other's arms, flushed and content 
from making love, and for maybe the first time 
believing, truly believing -- not just in each other-- 
but in *them*, in what they had together...  They'd 
done far more than just hold on.    

"And this..."  B'Elanna was saying as she brushed her 
fingers across the mark on his cheek again.  "I meant 
it, Tom, but if you're not ready-"

"You've laid your claim on me, B'Elanna,"  he said 
softly.  "And don't think for one second that I'm going 
to let you take it back this time."

She shook her head.  "I'm not going to take it back, 
Tom."

He knew that.  When B'Elanna made a commitment she kept 
it.  There might still be no guarantees, especially on 
Voyager, as they'd all learned painfully over and over 
again.  But he knew this was nothing less than a sacred 
promise to B'Elanna, one she would not break willingly.  
A mating bite on the cheek might not be as binding by 
Federation law as marriage, but it was every bit as 
binding by Klingon tradition to the heart.  To 
B'Elanna's heart.  And to his.  "Even a couple of 
months ago, B'Elanna, this would have scared the crap 
out of me."  He pressed her hand against his cheek 
again and held it there.  "I would have doubted whether 
I was ready-- and maybe whether you were ready.  But I 
am ready now.  In every way."  And he had every 
intention of laying his own claim before the night was 
over.

B'Elanna didn't speak, she simply pulled his hand away, 
and pressed her lips against the bite on his cheek 
again.  Her claim.  A claim she never planned to 
relinquish.  Then she raised up slightly and looked at 
the clearly visible outline of her teeth.  "You might 
want to use the dermal regenerator before tomorrow, 
Tom, or you'll get some strange looks.  And the rumor 
mill will go into full force."

Tom shook his head.  "Forget it.  Let everyone look, 
and think what they want.  If they know what it means, 
that's fine.  If they don't, well, that's fine too.  
I've never cared what others think about us, B'Elanna, 
or if they get *us* at all.  All that matters is that 
we know what this means."

B'Elanna nodded, and smiled down at him.  He looked up 
at her for a long moment, and returned her smile with a 
slow one of his own, then he deliberately shifted a 
little against her, so she could feel his arousal.  And 
he could definitely see hers.  He watched her eyes 
darken and smolder, the sure sign that she wanted him 
to make love to her.  To love her.  "Is it about time 
for the lieutenant's follow up orders?"  he asked 
meaningfully.

B'Elanna smiled provocatively and rubbed her body 
against his.  "I believe I do have one or two for 
you...ensign,"  she drawled.  Then she paused, as if 
she'd realized something, and her expression sobered.  
"Tom..."

"It doesn't bother me," he said, reading the change in 
her expression.  "I honestly don't care that much about 
the reduction in rank."  He smiled.  "And after I've 
unmercifully teased you about my previously marginally 
higher rank, I guess it time I got my comeuppance.  But 
don't worry, I'll take it like a man."

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow.  "You will?"

"Oh, yeah."  He shifted again and she felt some 
definite comeuppance--  the sure sign that he was ready 
to take it like a man-- pressing enticingly against her 
belly.  She grinned and lunged to kiss him, teeth 
bared, when he cupped her face with both hands, 
stopping her.  "B'Elanna..."

B'Elanna looked at him impatiently, and started to push 
his hands away.  His intent gaze stopped her.

"Just in case you have any further doubts,"  he said 
softly,  "I want to make sure you understand.  I can 
lose my rank, even my position, I can live without 
Starfleet, without creating 20th century holoprograms, 
without pizza, even without flying, without just about 
anything.  Except you.  *You* are all that really 
matters to me, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna stared down at him, feeling his hands gently 
cupping her face, his body warm and aroused beneath 
hers, seeing the love for her shining naked in his 
eyes.   She didn't say anything, and he brushed his 
thumbs high on her cheekbones, across the slight 
moistness at the corners of her eyes.

"Aren't you going to order me to kiss you now?"  he 
finally asked softly.

"Kiss me, Tom,"  she whispered, as he laced his fingers 
into her hair and pulled her mouth down to his.  Her 
hair fell over his face like a silken veil as they 
kissed, and they began again to do the dance they'd 
mastered but never tired of, despite its familiarity, 
that each time felt like the first time, like another 
beginning.  

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^


Another beginning.  That's essentially what it would 
be, she realized.  For her, and certainly for Tom.  How 
many times had Tom started over in his life?  Too many, 
she knew.  She'd rarely started anything over, rarely 
misstepped or diverted from the expected, condoned 
course of action.  Until she'd found herself in the 
Delta quadrant.  Until she'd found herself a captain 
separated from the influence and assistance of 
Starfleet, as the one who could change the rules on a 
whim.  The knowledge of that dichotomy had crossed her 
mind more than once during the past several weeks, and 
again today.  

Janeway curled herself into the corner of her couch and 
raised the cup cradled in her hands to her lips.  She 
was a coffee person, to a stereotypical degree, and 
without her morning coffee she imagined that she 
couldn't function properly.  But in the evening, before 
bed, she usually chose herbal tea instead.  She took a 
sip of the tangerine blossom tea, her grandmother's 
favorite, that she found soothing both by taste and 
association.  And lately she had felt in need of a 
great deal of soothing.  Of comfort.  But comfort for 
her came only from inanimate things like tea, and from 
what solace she could manage to conjure up within her 
own mind.  When she could manage it.

She could have talked to Chakotay, or Tuvok.  They 
would have listened.  She had talked to them in fact, 
about the practical aspects of what had happened, how 
it affected the ship, about what it would change, or 
not change.  But about the deeper significance, the 
wound to her pride and soul, the after the fact 
agonizing over her decisions, both on the bridge and 
later in her ready room, those feelings she did not 
share.  Instead she counseled herself, as she always 
did during times of deepest personal turmoil.  And 
sometimes, as she had since the beginning of this 
journey, she talked to those whom she didn't have to 
face, who didn't depend on her for answers and for 
their survival, who wouldn't tempt her to strain the 
boundaries that were necessary in her position or want 
more from her than she could give, who in fact could 
take or give nothing but silent support, since they 
were not even here.

Janeway leaned forward and set her cup of tea on the 
low table, then picked up the datapadd lying next to 
it.  She'd filled a good portion of the memory space of 
the padd now with dozens of letters.  Some were short, 
like letters of condolence to the families of lost crew 
members or brief accolades about the exploits of 
certain crew members that she'd wanted to personally 
relate.  Some were longer and chatty like the ongoing 
letters to her sister and mother that recounted the 
more amusing or touching events that had taken place on 
this journey.  And in a couple of continuing letters in 
particular she had spoken of more introspective 
matters, of her exhilaration and her insecurities about 
her command, about the difficult decisions she'd 
struggled with along the way, about both the losses and 
the successes of the journey, all the joys and 
heartaches of her position, and of the life she'd been 
both forced into, and had with resolve forged as fully 
as was possible, on Voyager.

Janeway slipped back against the cushions again and 
curled her legs underneath her, then activated the 
screen of the padd.  One of those two letters she had 
abandoned almost a year ago now.  The other appeared on 
the screen, the flashing cursor prompting her to 
continue, as it had several times over the past few 
weeks when she'd stared at it for long minutes before 
deactivating the padd again.  This letter had been 
ongoing for over four years now, since the day after 
she'd blown up the Caretaker array and by her action 
had stranded Voyager in the Delta quadrant.  It had 
been a repository, a sounding board, for professional 
more than personal reflections, though the latter had 
crept in also.  After all he'd been a mentor and a 
friend, if perhaps more a flawed one than she'd like to 
admit.  But she still trusted and valued his counsel, 
imaginary as it was, and over the years she'd shared 
with him with both her decisions, and her feelings 
about being responsible in so many ways as a captain to 
a stranded crew, a crew that had become in essence a 
family.  

And from the beginning it had been impossible to talk 
to him without mentioning his son.  First she had 
simply relayed day to day activities and observations, 
as a way to keep him involved in a life she hoped he 
missed and wanted to know about.  As time had passed 
she'd also begun to put her own interpretation on her 
observations, tried to openly influence his feelings, 
to impress on him the pride and trust she felt in his 
son for the way he'd turned his life around, and the 
hope that he would feel the same when he read this 
letter, or better yet when he and his son were one day 
reunited.

Thirty one days ago everything had changed.  And she'd 
stared at the datapadd, as she was now, perhaps a dozen 
times over the past thirty days, wondering what to say.  
Trying to decide exactly what she felt, what she wanted 
tell him.  

Janeway activated the padd's voice recorder.

"Hello, Admiral.  It's stardate 52209.9.  I know it's 
been several weeks since I've spoken.  Not since I 
rambled on so long about B'Elanna and the decision I 
made to save her life against her wishes.  I hope I 
didn't bore you too much with the moral arguments, 
ambiguous as they were.  That aside, my chief engineer 
is doing well, perhaps she's even forgiven me.  For 
that anyway.  That's one decision I definitely don't 
regret.  And Tom, well, I'm sure you can guess that he 
doesn't regret it either.  The two of them are doing 
fine, by the way.  From what I can tell, more than 
fine.  Whatever difficulties they've gone through 
lately, it appears that their relationship has 
weathered them all, and then some.  I'd say Tom's 
personal life is very satisfactory right now, for which 
I'm sure he's grateful.  And deserving.   As for his 
professional life....

Well, I'll simply say it.  I released Tom from the brig 
this morning, where he has spent the last thirty days 
in isolation, on my orders.  I can imagine the 
disappointment on your face as you read these words.  
It's no greater than the disappointment I felt when I 
handed down the sentence.  After all I've told you 
about Tom's accomplishments, about the way he's changed 
his life and made himself into a valued crew member and 
a trusted officer....

The truth is, he deserved everything I did to him, and 
maybe more.  He commandeered Starfleet property without 
permission, he was insubordinate, and he disobeyed my 
orders...several times.  He did have a reason for doing 
something so...extreme.  He wanted to help a 
civilization whose planet is dying, and whose 
population is involved in a internal conflict about how 
to deal with it, an internal conflict that will 
probably continue until their home dies around them, 
and perhaps they die with it.  In his opinion that was 
a good enough reason to take matters into his own 
hands.  He acted on principle, trying to force the path 
that in fact probably would have saved that 
civilization.  And he was completely wrong in doing so.

His efforts failed because I stopped him forcibly.  And 
in doing so I put his life in jeopardy.  He took that 
chance with his life, knowing that I would be forced to 
take that chance too.  I think that's what made me the 
angriest, what hurt the most.  After all we've been 
through, after I've come to consider him far more than 
just a member of my crew, it felt like nothing less 
than a personal betrayal, and I told him so.  The fact 
that I might have killed him, that I might have had to 
live with...that...

I'm sorry, Admiral, I know I'm drifting a little here.  
And what might have been doesn't really matter anyway.  
The fact is, he was wrong and I punished him.  I'd like 
that to be the end of it, but of course it's not.  Not 
in my mind, nor in his I suspect.  He accepted my 
condemnation and my judgment without flinching, and he 
still stood by his actions.  He didn't try to deny 
anything.  He also accepted his punishment, and he 
didn't ask for any special consideration or try to play 
on my sympathy, of which I certainly had none at the 
time.

I said I was angry with Tom.  I was in fact furious.  
In some ways I still am.  But I've spent the last 
thirty days thinking about this, while he's been in the 
brig.  Honestly feeling sometimes as if I was being 
punished as much as he.  I left Tom with nothing but 
those four walls, and his own thoughts.  What those 
thoughts were, I don't know.  I don't know if we'll 
ever speak of it.  But I do know what my thoughts were, 
thoughts that came to me mostly at night when I found 
it hard to sleep.  And after all that thinking I've 
come to several conclusions.

I stripped Tom of his rank when I delivered his 
sentence, and busted him down to ensign, but I left the 
option of further punishment open.  I finally decided 
not take away his position or his commission, though 
I'm well aware that by Starfleet's guidelines it would 
have been the standard acceptable punishment.  I could 
hardly throw Tom off Voyager in the middle of the Delta 
quadrant, though had we been in the Alpha quadrant I 
might have done just that, as angry as I was when I 
first confronted him.  I'm glad now that I didn't have 
that option.  As for demoting him and replacing him as 
Chief Helmsman and Conn officer, I did seriously 
consider that.  But Tom is far and away the best pilot 
on this ship, and we need everyone's skills put to 
their best use if we're going to get home soon and 
safely.   I simply couldn't waste Tom's abilities.

I know what you're thinking.  Of course Tom piloting 
skills and contribution to Voyager would remain the 
same whether he was head of the Helm department or not.  
And whatever Tom's faults, I know he would never deny 
me or this ship his knowledge and abilities, no matter 
what his position.  And as valuable as Tom's skills 
are, nobody is completely indispensable on a starship.  
Not him, not even me.  So you're right, my decision 
isn't only based on a desire not to undermine the 
efficiency of my crew.  

Those conclusions I said I've come to aren't all based 
on my position as captain.  Some are conclusions based 
on my personal feelings, about what Tom did and why.  
About what it says about him, and about where it leaves 
us-- Tom and I.  Not only as captain and crew member, 
as mentor and protégé, but also as...friends.

Tom was wrong, Admiral, no doubt about that.  But 
there's no one on this ship who really condemns him for 
his actions.  I speak of my crew, from first officer on 
down, leaving myself out of the equation for the 
moment.  Most of them have a sneaking admiration for 
Tom's adherence to his own principles.  As good an 
officer as he's proven to be-- up until now-- I'm not 
sure that most who know about his past, which is 
essentially the entire crew, truly believed he would 
stand so steadfastly on principle.  They trusted that 
he would be willing to make a sacrifice if it 
ultimately benefited him, or even to help others of the 
crew, but simply for principle...no, I don't think 
anyone believed that of him.  I'll amend that to say 
that B'Elanna was probably the exception, and perhaps 
Harry Kim.  I admit I might have even had a doubt or 
two.  How ironic that is, I trusted Tom as an officer 
who would do exactly as I told him but perhaps 
somewhere deep down, I still doubted his true strength 
of character.  I not only couldn't imagine him defying 
me, but I couldn't imagine him standing firm in the 
face of the consequences either.  It almost shames me 
to say that.

As you can probably ascertain from what I just said, 
your son has not destroyed the respect that he's worked 
long and hard to gain on Voyager.  In fact, he's 
probably solidified it, especially among the former 
Maquis.  And, I can now admit, a small part of me feels 
that way too.  It's a *very* small part right now.  I 
don't exonerate him for what he did.  To his credit, he 
doesn't exonerate himself either.  And I'm still given 
to nearly shaking with fury when I think about what he 
put me through.  But as disappointed as I am in him as 
a Starfleet officer, I find that disappointment 
tempered by the respect I can't help feeling for his 
integrity in standing by his principles, misguided as 
they were, and accepting the consequences of his 
actions with what I suppose my chief engineer would 
simply call "honor".  

Over the years all I've told you about Tom's 
accomplishments, about how much he's become a changed 
man, and an exemplary Starfleet officer...well, the 
last part is unfortunately not the case right now.  But 
that doesn't negate his accomplishments.  Or the fact 
that he has truly changed.  Tom told me himself, as I 
was giving him his punishment, that he's changed, 
partly because of me.  I took that as an effort on his 
part to make me feel better at the time, perhaps to 
exonerate me from my sense of failure with him.  And 
maybe I have influenced him.  Just not in the manner I 
expected.  I don't know if Tom will ever be that 
exemplary Starfleet officer in the sense that you or I 
would like, though I haven't given up hope yet.  It's 
difficult for some to accept Starfleet's rigid doctrine 
over personal tenets, even though it's there for a 
reason.  God knows I've wrestled with Starfleet's 
doctrines myself out here, and occasionally bent them 
and then told myself that I had good reason to do so.  
I don't know if a Starfleet board of review would agree 
that my reasons were any better justification for my 
actions than Tom's reasons were for his.  The only 
difference may be that I am the captain of this ship, 
and in the Delta quadrant I am not under anyone's 
direct authority.  That is a discomforting thought, to 
say the least. 

What I'm trying to say, Admiral, in my rambling way, is 
that whether your son ever becomes the Starfleet 
officer you'd wish, he is still a fine man.  A flawed 
man, yes.  A human man, with human faults, but also 
with human strengths, perhaps more of those strengths 
than I'd given him credit for.  Right now I'm not of a 
mind, or in a position, to tell him so.  Maybe I'll get 
to it eventually, once I can get over my own personal 
grievance with him, and past my responsibility as his 
captain to mold his behavior.  When I feel I can talk 
to Tom about this freely again as...friends, rather 
than as a disappointed captain to an errant protégé, 
then perhaps I will tell him.  But right now I'll just 
tell you.

I know you'll have to make your own judgment, of 
course, as I did both personally and professionally.  
My judgment was not without some internal conflict.  
I've punished Tom, perhaps lightly in the end, but I 
did what I believe was best, for him, for this ship, 
and for me.  And now I suppose we'll simply go on from 
here.

Tom resumed all his duties today, and by my first 
officer's account, acquitted himself both somberly and 
efficiently.  That's no surprise.  I wasn't there to 
observe, since I had a day's worth of inspections to 
catch up on.  A clearly transparent excuse I know, but 
I wanted to give myself, and yes, Tom, time to ease 
back into things.  Tomorrow I'll be on the bridge.  I 
don't plan to let Tom off easy, but I don't plan to 
make it difficult on him either.  It may be some time 
until Tom and I reach the true comfort level we had 
before, until I hear Tom joking around on the bridge 
again.  Until I want to hear it.  And I suppose our 
relationship may not ever be exactly the same again, 
though I've come to the conclusion that even if it is 
irrevocably changed by this, in some ways I suppose 
that's growth.  And growth is usually painful.

Well, Admiral, I can't think of much else to say.  I 
hope I've not only caught you up on recent events, but 
that I've conveyed something about your son.  I still 
have faith in Tom, in his potential, even if that faith 
has been sorely tested lately.  And I think you can 
still be very proud of him.  He's still in the process 
of defining himself, and while there are some rough 
edges, ironically, I think he's gained something 
valuable from this experience.  A stronger sense of 
self, a confidence in his own inner strength, a belief 
in his own integrity.  Maybe the price, for him, and 
for me, was worth it in the end.  He believes in 
himself in a way I don't think he did before, and 
despite everything I still believe in him.  I can only 
hope you'll find it in your heart to keep believing in 
him also, should you read this one day, or when you and 
he are reunited.

Thanks for listening, Admiral.  We are as always headed 
your way.  Until next time, Kathryn."


Janeway stared at the final words on the datapadd for 
several moments before she closed the file and 
deactivated the screen.  She sighed, feeling both 
relieved and satisfied.  It was a task she'd been 
almost dreading, yet now that it was done she felt 
strangely cheerful about it.  She didn't know for sure 
how Admiral Paris would react to what she'd told him, 
and perhaps events still to come in the time it would 
take them to get home would also influence his 
reaction, color his perceptions of his son.  But just 
the process of telling him had helped resolve her own 
thoughts and feelings.   

She pushed her cold tea aside, and rose from the couch.  
It was after 2300 and she was tired, both physically 
and mentally.  And for a change sleep sounded good.  
And perhaps attainable.  She walked to her desk and 
opened the top drawer.  She started to drop the 
datapadd inside, when she hesitated for seemingly no 
reason.  

There was a reason, of course, a thought that crept 
unbidden into her mind.  She frowned at the padd, the 
repository of all the personal letters she'd written 
and dictated over the past four plus years.  The padd 
was still nowhere near running out of memory space, so 
why was the thought that she should create more space 
again occurring to her?

 It was that letter again.  It contained over three 
years worth of her thoughts, her feelings, her hopes 
and fears.  Unlike the one to Admiral Paris, it focused 
little on her job, on her position, though occasionally 
on the effects of that position.  The loneliness it 
sometimes brought, the longing, the need for someone 
with whom to share her pride in her achievements, her 
turmoil over some of her more difficult decisions, her 
sadness at the losses she'd endured, the doubts she 
sometimes felt about herself.  A shoulder to cry on, 
someone with whom she could completely let her hair 
down, someone with whom she could be, simply, Kathryn.  
On Voyager her position forced upon her the knowledge 
always lurking beneath the surface of any interaction 
that she was the captain, set apart, and essentially in 
the deepest personal sense, alone.

She'd had someone to share all that with, all those 
joys and tears.  Even if he couldn't answer her, she 
knew him so well, she always knew what he would think 
and say.  And she'd had the knowledge that he was 
waiting for her, eager to hear everything.  Even when 
she'd begun to have small doubts that he might have 
given up and accepted her loss and moved on, not 
knowing for sure had left smallest bit of hope.  Had 
allowed her tell him the things she could tell no one 
else, knowing he was willing to share the burden with 
her.  Even though he was so far away, even as she'd 
slowly come to realize that their love, though based on 
genuine affection and shared interests, had been more a 
love of convenience than a love of passion.

And she had loved him.  Maybe not in an overly romantic 
way, but her feelings had been solid and real.  And so 
had his, at the time.  And their relationship had been 
perfectly suited to two people climbing their separate 
career ladders.  They could pursue those careers 
separately, always coming back periodically, to each 
other.  The duration of the time they'd spent together, 
in-between her starship missions and his business 
ventures, had never seemed particularly important.  
What time they could manage had been enough, those 
periods of respite from duty, from responsibility.  
Those moments when they could indulge in shared 
companionship, trade stories and experiences, derive 
comfort and warmth from each other's presence, not to 
mention very satisfying sex.  And even if the time was 
short, they always separated again feeling rested and 
restored, ready to face the rigors of their demanding 
professional lives.

And once she'd been given Voyager, little was supposed 
to change.  She might be gone for weeks at a time, but 
always with the knowledge that between the long weeks 
or even months of her missions, her home would be 
waiting for her return.  He would be waiting.  

She knew that it was the familiarity, the ease and 
comfort they felt with each other, that had probably 
kept them together, rather than any great overpowering 
passion.  But maybe comfort was underrated.  Still, 
she'd come to realize, after she'd received his letter 
from the Alpha quadrant last year, that although she 
missed Mark, missed his easy going companionship, it 
wasn't in a deeply broken hearted way.  She missed far 
more what their relationship had represented, and the 
balance it had given her life.   Sometimes she missed 
it very badly.

Janeway dropped the padd into the drawer and pushed it 
shut.  She should delete the letter, since she knew 
he'd never read it, she'd never place that kind of 
burden on him.  She *would* delete it soon.  He'd found 
a new life, and she really was happy for him.  If she 
was occasionally haunted in her dreams by the images of 
someone else curled up on the couch with him in front 
of the fireplace sipping coffee, sharing the printouts 
of the latest newsvids, smiling and commenting on what 
they were reading, occasionally reaching down to run an 
affectionate hand over Bear's silky head, she 
recognized them not as a sign of jealousy but as 
residual regret, the unconscious longing for something 
she'd lost.  

She didn't begrudge Mark, especially since he'd adopted 
Bear, whom she truly did miss.  And Mark deserved to 
have someone, to have that kind of happiness.  Maybe 
she did too.  But right now she knew it wasn't 
possible, no matter whether there was someone with whom 
she could easily take that step, let herself experience 
perhaps not just comfort and companionship, but 
passion.  But she would keep stopping herself before 
those feelings could take hold, before they could take 
her over that threshold of no return.  She owed her 
allegiance to this ship and her crew first, and she 
wouldn't-- she couldn't-- allow anything to compromise 
that.

"Computer, lights 1% illumination."

The computer complied and the room darkened to bare 
visibility as Janeway slipped into her bed and pulled 
the blankets up around her, nesting within their 
warmth.  She dismissed the thoughts that had 
inadvertently invaded her mind again, banished that old 
haunting need that gnawed at her gut with the quick 
ease of much practice, and focused her thoughts instead 
on tomorrow.  She had a crew member to start dealing 
with again, one very valuable to this ship and to her, 
one she still had every intention of helping recover 
his potential.  And even if she'd found her trust 
violated by his actions, even if that knowledge still 
hurt, she was still convinced he was worth her effort.  

She'd left one thing out of her conversation with 
Admiral Paris.  One thing she hadn't told him, or 
anyone, and probably never would.  She'd gone to the 
brig one night, about a week into Tom's sentence.  He'd 
been asleep, in the small bare room, on the narrow 
bunk.  She'd seen Tom asleep once or twice, on away 
missions, and had marveled at how young and untouched 
he looked when he was sleeping, how peaceful and 
innocent of cares.  He hadn't looked that way in the 
brig.  His face had been tense and strangely tired 
looking, as if even though he was sleeping it wasn't 
restful.  As she'd watched he'd shifted restlessly, and 
moaned an unintelligible protest, as if his dreams were 
unpleasant.  She'd stared at him for several long 
minutes, seeing the clear evidence that her punishment 
was taking its toll on him.  Then he'd uttered another 
protest, almost a cry, and had awakened, obviously 
disturbed, pulling himself to a sitting position 
abruptly.  By then she'd been slipping beyond the view 
of the doorway, but she'd caught a glimpse of the 
haunted vulnerable look in his unfocused gaze, and his 
quick movement as he'd run a shaky hand through his 
hair.

She left then, quickly, passing Ayala, who'd remained 
at attention in the outside corridor.  He'd studiously 
avoided her gaze, and she walked by without comment.  
And had spent the following three weeks still trying to 
convince herself that she'd done the right thing, that 
Tom had more than deserved his punishment.  The 
security reports she'd received by the last week had 
indicated that Tom seemed to have adjusted to his 
situation, to have accepted it, and that his sleep was 
no longer so disturbed.  She'd been sure he was 
resilient enough to adjust, but she was still relieved 
by those reports.

Kathryn pulled her blankets tighter around her, glad 
that tonight she didn't have to try and sleep any 
longer with the knowledge that Tom was alone in the 
stark confines of the brig.  A small smile crossed her 
lips as the thought occurred to her that tonight he was 
surely not alone at all, and was probably right now 
sleeping peacefully in B'Elanna's arms.  She'd never 
told them so, since as captain it really wasn't her 
place to comment on personal relationships unless they 
affected work habits, but she was genuinely happy that 
they had found each other.

And she was also genuinely glad that the past few weeks 
were over.  And that Tom was once again a functioning 
member of her crew.  She entwined her arms around her 
blankets, and held them close to her, then dozed off, 
comforted by that surprisingly gratifying thought.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^


Tom was in fact in B'Elanna's arms, and his arms were 
entwined around her, holding her close to him as they 
moved together in a fluid rhythm.  It was the third 
time they'd made love in as many hours, between quiet 
companionable periods of talking and cuddling.  And 
this time it was slow and easy between them, a softly 
exquisite coming together, a gentle rapturous ascent, 
toward a sweetly blissful tumble over the crest.  And 
at that transcendent moment, as they soared together at 
the peak, Tom's teeth sank into the soft tender skin of 
B'Elanna's cheek, he tasted her blood,  and he gave her 
his unspoken promise.  As she had done a short time 
before, he laid his permanent claim on her, heart and 
soul.    

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^


The next day, when B'Elanna reported for duty in 
Engineering, several curious glances were thrown her 
way.  She sensed those glances on her periodically 
throughout the day, but she didn't acknowledge them.  
She rather enjoyed the knowing half smiles, aware that 
her staff surmised that she and Tom had been perhaps 
overly enthusiastic last night after not being together 
for thirty days, but that few of them really understood 
the true import of the mark on her cheek.  Only Seven, 
who dropped by Engineering late in the morning with a 
handful of Astrometric data reports, actually made a 
comment.  She raised a Vulcan-like eyebrow, and asked 
B'Elanna somberly if she was aware that she had 
sustained an injury to her face.  B'Elanna gave her a 
curtly affirmative answer and no more, and Seven being 
Seven did not display any further curiosity.  Chakotay 
also stopped by shortly after B'Elanna had eaten a 
quick lunch in her office in preparation for a long 
afternoon of conducting the monthly warp core 
diagnostic.  He'd flicked the barest glance at her 
cheek as he'd asked for the preliminary diagnostic 
reports, and their eyes had met for a brief moment as 
she'd handed them over.  B'Elanna knew Chakotay had 
certainly seen the similar mark on Tom's cheek, and she 
knew that he was aware of the meaning behind them.  He 
said nothing, but just before he turned and left his 
mouth quirked in a small, satisfied smile, and she knew 
that he was pleased for her.  

Tom returned to the Bridge for his second day on duty 
after his time in the brig, his second day as an 
ensign.  He too encountered several curious, even 
amused, glances, but no comments.  He suspected that 
most of the crew simply figured B'Elanna's enthusiasm 
after the two of them had been separated for so long 
had gotten the better of her.  From Tuvok and Chakotay 
he received only the briefest of pauses when they first 
saw him, an acknowledgment but no particular show of 
surprise.  Though he thought he detected a ghost of a 
smile from Chakotay before the commander turned toward 
the Science station to check on some readings.  Harry 
stepped onto the Bridge shortly after Tom had taken his 
place at the helm, and he paused in midstride as Tom 
turned to greet him and his gaze fell on Tom's cheek.  
He stared for a long moment, then he flashed Tom a 
quick wide smile, a silent message of congratulations.  
And right before he turned to go to the Ops station, 
Harry mouthed silently,  "It's about time."

Janeway came to the Bridge an hour after Tom had begun 
his shift.  She greeted the entire bridge crew with her 
usual inclusive "good morning" and took her position.  
Tom gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment, not noticed 
in the general level of activity, and immersed himself 
in his duties.  Several minutes passed before he felt a 
presence behind him, and knew it was the captain.  It 
was not unusual since she tended to roam the bridge 
periodically, more out of a natural restlessness than 
out of any need to monitor her crew's activities.  
Generally.  Tom turned and looked up at her 
expectantly, whatever trepidation he was feeling at 
this first interaction between them in thirty one days 
masked by his composed expression.  She opened her 
mouth to speak, then slowly closed it, as her gaze 
locked on his cheek.  She looked the bite mark for 
several moments, then her gaze met his, and he thought 
he saw a brief flash of approval, even gladness, in her 
eyes, before she turned and glanced out the front 
viewscreen.  When her gaze fell on him a moment later 
it was businesslike again, fully the look of a captain 
to her helmsman, neither affectionate or censorious.  
Then, finally, she spoke.

He wouldn't remember later exactly which order she gave 
him then, whether it was for a minor course change, a 
small speed adjustment, or a recalibration of the helm 
controls.  He knew she wasn't going to forget what he'd 
done, that she wouldn't hesitate to address him 
formally, and that she would now expect him to prove 
his worth as an officer to her all over again.  But 
when she spoke to him for that first time since she'd 
delivered his punishment, when she gave him his first 
order again on the Bridge, she addressed him simply as 
"Tom."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^


The end.