Title:  Holding Tom
Author:   Julie Evans
Email id:  Juli17@aol.com
Rating:  PG13
Codes:  P/T
Summary:  Tom feels the need to make amends for his 
actions in "Alice," despite the fact that he was acting 
beyond his control, and that no one, least of all 
B'Elanna, blames him.  Set several days after the 
conclusion of "Alice."

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

Notes:  Some readers may recall that I wrote a coda to 
the fourth season episode "Random Thoughts" which I 
titled "Holding B'Elanna."  This is not a sequel to 
that story in any different sense than the episode 
"Alice" is a sequel to "Random Thoughts," i.e., all the 
later episodes are sequels in the continuing story of 
Voyager and the evolving relationship between Tom and 
B'Elanna.  With B'Elanna's apparent resolution of some 
of her inner conflicts in "Barge of the Dead," and her 
more easy acceptance of intimacy that seemed evident in 
"Alice," I decided that it was Tom's turn to be on the 
receiving end of comfort after his brain was 
traumatized (as B'Elanna's was in a different manner in 
"Random Thoughts").  So I guess there is a connection 
of sorts :-)

A sincere thank you to Cheile for beta reading.  I give 
my okay to archive this story to the ASC, PTF Archive, 
PTC Archive, and BLTS.  All others please ask the 
author for permission.


"Holding Tom"
by Julie Evans

I wonder how many people have asked me how Tom is 
doing?  Probably most of the crew by now.  Not that 
they can't ask Tom himself, and perhaps have asked him, 
but they seem to think Tom would say that he's fine 
whether he is or not.  They know him too well.

The first two days, while Tom was more or less confined 
to quarters on orders from the doctor to rest, I'd 
gotten that question every time I walked into the Mess 
hall, or into a meeting, even into Engineering.  I 
don't know what they all thought they were going to get 
out of *me* other than a pat "he's fine."  That seemed 
to be enough though, so maybe knowing that I was 
spending my free time in his quarters keeping an eye on 
him was reassurance of some sort.  And it was hard to 
resent that they cared about Tom.

Naomi asked me if I needed help nursing Tom.  I was 
gentle with her and thanked her, but assured her that 
Tom was doing much better and would be well very soon.  
Harry overheard and asked if he could help nurse Tom 
too.  I wasn't gentle with him; I told him he would 
need his own nurse as soon as I broke his arm right 
there in the Mess hall.  He wasn't exactly intimidated, 
as he used to be by me.  I guess he's grown out of 
that.  He just smirked a little, but he did drop the 
subject.

Tom didn't need any real nursing, which was a good 
thing since that certainly isn't my strong suit.  In 
fact he barely let me do anything for him.  He'd 
replicated our dinner himself by the time I arrived at 
his quarters after my shift, then regaled me with ideas 
for new holodeck excursions he had planned for us to do 
together once he was feeling better.  He actually did 
rest a lot during those two days, which wasn't like 
him, but I could see that he was physically and 
emotionally exhausted from his ordeal.  Besides 
completing his report on the whole "Alice" incident, he 
indulged himself in some favorite reading (I noticed 
"Captain's Courageous" on a datapadd on his nightstand 
one evening), and he worked at learning some more 
Klingon phrases.  He greeted me with several of those 
when I came to his quarters after my shifts.  

The doctor released him to full duty two days ago, and 
since then he has been applying himself to his work 
doggedly, "catching up" on his duties he'd neglected 
over the previous week or so by putting in near double 
shifts on the bridge and then in Sickbay.  That means 
we haven't have much time together, though I understand 
Tom's need to reaffirm his place, and his commitment to 
his responsibilities, after everything that happened.  

And still I kept getting that question, getting pumped 
for details about Tom.  He was back on duty, sociable 
at meetings, amiably telling jokes in the Mess hall, 
clearly "himself" again, so what did they want to know?  
What did they expect me to say?  That Tom was having 
nightmares every night, and I was holding him, or 
something equally none of their business?  I don't 
think so.

The captain was one of the few who hadn't asked me 
about Tom, so I was a briefly taken aback when she 
finally did ask about him, in Engineering.  She'd come 
to my office to go over the quarterly warp core 
diagnostic, and we'd discussed the results, traded 
technical terms, and pondered the fuel efficiency level 
and how it could be improved.  After twenty minutes of 
work-related conversation, there was a brief pause as I 
handed the captain my datapadd so she could initial in 
the required places.  She took the padd, and without 
looking up she asked me, "How is Tom doing?"

Captain Janeway and I haven't often been in the habit 
of discussing personal issues, particularly over the 
past year, though recently our relationship has changed 
a little.  And she rarely involves herself in the more 
private aspects of her crew's lives and relationships, 
probably not wanting to compromise her role as captain 
too much.  Yet I knew she was asking about Tom from a 
personal standpoint.  She'd been with him on the bridge 
for the past two days, and earlier today.  She could 
see for herself how he was performing his duties.  When 
I was slow to answer she looked up at me, her 
expression watchful.

"He's fine," I said, using the pat answer I'd become 
adept at, though my smile and my reassuring tone were 
not impersonal.  Tom *was* fine.

"Good," Janeway replied as she punched in several 
authorization codes that served as her signature of 
approval on the datapadd.

"Didn't you have breakfast with him the other morning?" 
I asked.  Tom had mentioned it; the breakfast in the 
captain's ready room two mornings earlier when he'd 
started back on duty.  When the captain had assured him 
that there would be no repercussions from the whole 
"Alice" incident, which I told him was no surprise.  He 
hadn't done anything wrong.

"Yes, I did," Janeway said.  She leaned back in her 
chair and gave me a penetrating look.  "Tom *said* he 
was fine, and he apologized for the problems he'd 
caused."

"It *wasn't* his fault," I said quickly, and maybe a 
little snappishly.

Janeway stared at me for a moment.  Then she smiled and 
her voice was almost gentle when she spoke.  "B'Elanna, 
I know it wasn't his fault.  I don't blame Tom because 
an alien entity forcibly controlled his mind.  Lord, if 
everyone in Starfleet who was ever inhabited or 
controlled by an alien entity were held responsible for 
being victimized, there would be a very serious 
reduction in the ranks.  On Voyager, I'm not sure 
there'd be anybody left."

Janeway's wry look when she said that elicited a small 
snort out of me.  I couldn't help it.  It was so 
ridiculously true.  One of those common perils of 
Starfleet service that should be written into the 
contract: you will be periodically possessed and 
manipulated by alien entities.  Especially in the Delta 
quadrant.  Aliens conducting scientific experiments, 
aliens who steal bodies, aliens who enjoy wiping 
memories and forced holodeck battle simulations...

 I sighed.  "I know you don't blame, Tom," I said, and 
I did know.  Captain Janeway was a generally a fair 
person, if to some, including myself, overly rigid at 
times in her adherence to Starfleet protocol.  And I 
could still leap incautiously to the defensive when I 
felt myself, or someone I loved, being threatened.  
That I saw no reason to apologize for; it was a part of 
my temperament I didn't plan to change.   

"When I told Tom that I certainly didn't hold him 
responsible for his actions while he was under the 
control of 'Alice'..." Janeway said that name as if she 
found it a little distasteful, an attitude I shared, 
"Tom appeared to accept my conclusion readily."  She 
smiled again, ruefully this time.  "But we both know 
Tom.  He could manage to appear completely unconcerned 
while someone was stabbing him in the heart with a 
dagger."

"You think he still feels accountable even though no 
one else thinks so," I said.  It was a statement rather 
a question, since I already knew the answer.  Tom's 
rational mind told him that the neural restructuring 
'Alice' had forced on his brain had compelled him to 
act the way he had, but his heart and his memories told 
him that he had done those things anyway, compelled or 
not.  He knew it wasn't his fault, but he did feel 
responsible.

"Tom has certainly been applying himself to his duties 
with a great deal of intensity the last couple of 
days," Janeway replied.  "A departure from his more 
usual...casual competence."

The captain's tone was amused, but not condemning, and 
I knew what she meant.  There was nobody on this ship, 
perhaps in Starfleet, maybe even in the entire galaxy, 
who could do his job with such apparent lack of 
attention, even carelessness, as Tom, while doing it so 
well.  At the helm it was because it truly came so 
naturally to him that it was nearly effortless.  In 
Sickbay, his and the doctor's intentional combativeness 
with each other masked the fact that Tom performed his 
duties there with proficiency too.  Whatever impression 
Tom gave of being lackadaisical and at times less than 
dedicated, an attitude that sometimes irritated even 
me, it was belied by the results he achieved.  He 
wouldn't be chief helm officer otherwise, and the 
doctor would have given up on him long ago.  

I shrugged in response the captain's question.  "He 
fell behind on some of his reports and duties for 
awhile," I pointed out, which was certainly common 
knowledge.  "He had a lot to catch up, so he felt the 
need to put in some extra hours."

Janeway nodded and studied the padd again.   She was 
clearly aware of extra hours Tom had been putting in 
over the past couple of days.  I'd wondered myself if 
that was a good idea, but I also knew the doctor would 
have summarily dismissed Tom from his extra Sickbay 
shifts if he thought Tom needed more rest.  Whatever 
enjoyment the doctor and Tom got out of their mutual 
harassment of each other, the doctor was...well, Tom's 
doctor first.  

"And maybe Tom does feel the need to make amends," I 
admitted, as Janeway punched in another authorization 
code on the padd.  

Janeway looked at me and nodded.  "I've noticed that 
myself," she said.  "He doesn't bear any fault, but 
it's obvious he does feel some responsibility for his 
involvement, involuntary or not."

I was a little surprised by the captain's clear 
perception of Tom's feelings, and the fact that we'd 
reached the same conclusions about his reaction.  
Though maybe I shouldn't be surprised that Janeway 
knows Tom nearly as well as I do.

"Tom's attitude is commendable," Janeway said, sounding 
rather pleased as she leaned forward and handed the 
padd over the desk to me.  "And even when there is no 
real misdeed to amend, atonement can be very healing to 
the soul," she added softly, perhaps trying to reassure 
me.  She nodded at the datapadd now in my hand.  
"Voyager suffered nothing more than superficial damage 
in any case."    

"The damage was minimal," I agreed.  "But I don't think 
that makes Tom feel less guilty about not being able to 
stop 'Alice' from forcing him to do her bidding."  I 
could feel how my teeth clenched when I said that name, 
but it *was* annoyingly the easiest way to refer to 
that loathsome shuttle, or whatever manner of sentience 
had inhabited it.  Even thinking of that sentience as 
female was almost inescapable, since that was how it 
had presented itself to Tom.    

Janeway was looking at me curiously.  "B'Elanna, did 
you read Tom's report?" She asked.

I knew she was referring to the official report Tom had 
composed, relating everything he could remember about 
those few days when he'd been controlled by "Alice."  
The report had been very thorough, and uncompromising.  
I'd read it, and it had infuriated me.  "Yes," I said, 
my taut voice not exactly encouraging further 
conversation on that subject.

Janeway wasn't deterred by my forbidding tone.  But 
then, our captain is a woman who wouldn't be deterred 
by a phaser canon aimed at her head.  I couldn't help 
but admire that trait in her, most of the time.  
"Something did sever 'Alice's' control briefly, 
B'Elanna," she said, her own gaze on me almost stern.  
"Or rather, someone.  You.  When 'Alice' tried to kill 
you, that got through to Tom despite the neural 
restructuring."

I knew that very well.  And I felt guilty for a moment 
that the captain might think I didn't appreciate the 
resistance Tom had been able to muster with his brain 
half scrambled by the neural restructuring, or that he 
had mustered that will to fight back because of me.  
Because of how he felt about me.  "I do know that, 
captain.  Believe me, I'm not angry with Tom over what 
happened."

The captain looked satisfied with that, though I 
wasn't.  I *had* been angry with Tom at the time, at 
the way he was treating me.  But now I was angrier with 
myself that I hadn't stayed there after the 
confrontation between us.  I knew that Tom wasn't 
himself, that 'Alice' had done something to him.  It 
was the only way he'd behave so violently, so out of 
character, but even so I'd had to restrain myself from 
thrashing him for his behavior.  I ran away to get help 
instead, thinking that was the wisest course, the best 
way to rein in my own temper and to rescue Tom from 
whatever that damned shuttle had done to him.  It was 
only later, after I'd read his report, that the better 
action occurred to me.  If I had stayed and used my 
anger against the real offender, if I had just grabbed 
a real weapon and blasted that hunk of malicious metal 
into scrap--whether I had to knock Tom aside to do it 
or not--I could have ended it then.  And 'Alice' 
wouldn't have been able to torture Tom in the 
turbolift, and force him to go to the Shuttlebay 
instead of Sickbay.  Or stuck all those damned tubes in 
him that I could literally feel frying his brain when I 
was hooked into him via the neural link.  

"B'Elanna."

I looked up at the captain and realized I'd virtually 
forgotten her presence.  I was squeezing the padd in my 
hand tightly enough to nearly break it.  I deliberately 
loosened my grip, and ungritted my teeth.

"The shuttle and whatever kind of alien intelligence 
'Alice' was, it's gone now, vaporized in the particle 
fountain," Janeway said softly.  I don't know if she'd 
deduced from my expression everything I was thinking, 
but she could clearly see where my anger was still 
directed.   

"I read Tuvok's addendum to Tom's report," I said 
flatly.  It hadn't been anything about Tom, since Tuvok 
considered Tom's actions as involuntary as everyone 
else did.  Tuvok's addendum had focused on the nature 
of the "Alice entity," now the official Starfleet term, 
an entity that still remained a mystery.  It wasn't 
completely clear if the entity had been part of the 
shuttle's computer brain, and it had expected Tom to 
fly it through eye of the particle fountain to the 
other side, where its planet of origin was located.  
Hell, it still wasn't clear to Starfleet or to us if 
there *was* another side through a particle fountain.  
No one had ever gotten there.  Which had led Tuvok to 
surmise that is was possible the "Alice entity" had 
hijacked the shuttle for a ride, much as it had 
hijacked Tom to provide the piloting, and that it might 
be a separate entity altogether, perhaps even an energy 
being that lived in a high energy field--like a 
particle fountain.  If so, maybe it had gotten what it 
wanted after all.  

"Either way, it's not of much consequence now, 
B'Elanna," Janeway pointed out in her most implacable 
tone.

I knew she was right, at least in the way she meant it.  
Whatever the "Alice entity" was, it wasn't going to 
hurt any of us again, probably not anyone else at all, 
whether it was vaporized with the shuttle, or reunited 
with its energy being friends in the particle fountain.  
But it did matter to me.  I wanted to know that it had 
been destroyed for what it had done to Tom.  But I 
acceded anyway, in words.  "No, I guess it doesn't 
matter."

The captain no doubt noticed the lack of conviction in 
my voice.  "I know it's a trite statement, but my 
grandmother used to say it, and it is true.  'All's 
well that ends well.'  And this ended well enough for 
us."  A stern look flitted briefly across Janeway's 
face.  "Though I do think we learned one lesson."

I frowned.  "The neurogenic interface."  I was 
surprised I could say it so calmly, because I was still 
pretty irritated about that too.  "It checked out."  It 
wouldn't have gotten on Voyager if it couldn't make it 
through the standard Shuttlebay entry scans, though 
their intent was to detect viruses and obvious hardware 
and software incompatibilities.  "But we should have 
tested it thoroughly before simply assuming it was the 
standardized interface it appeared to be."  

"Agreed," Janeway said.  "Starfleet's screening methods 
aren't designed to go beyond the surface unfortunately, 
though the neurogenic interface hardware was what it 
seemed.  It was the...sentience of the shuttle's 
computer, or the entity within it, and its ability to 
manipulate and remodulate the interface, that we 
couldn't detect."

"Didn't detect," I corrected harshly.  We could have 
detected it, if we had actually bothered to look 
deeper.  That oversight sure as hell wasn't going to 
happen twice.

"You're absolutely right," Janeway agreed.  "That is 
*not* going to happen again."

It was as if she had read my thought, but I know that 
Captain Janeway and I simply have the same intractable 
disposition in certain situations.  Or maybe it was a 
trait we shared in general.

"Next time--should there be a next time--we'll be 
paying a little more attention."  Janeway frowned.  "I 
will be paying a little more attention.  To 
everything."

I knew the captain was referring to Tom's behavior.  
I'd lain awake myself wondering why *I* hadn't realized 
sooner that something wasn't right with Tom's obsession 
about that shuttle.  He'd certainly been passionate 
about his hobbies before, especially when it involved 
something he could fly, or certain holoprograms he 
designed.  But he'd usually only carried his enthusiasm 
to extremes when something was amiss in his life, or in 
our relationship.  Like when he'd used his garage 
program to salve his restlessness that he felt he 
couldn't explain or share with me, or when he'd stayed 
up day and night working on the Delta Flyer after I'd 
practically pushed him out of my life during my 
depression.  But just lately we'd been doing fine--
great, actually.  He'd seemed as content and settled as 
I felt, with us, and with himself.  Instead of 
questioning why he'd abruptly lost interest in 
everything except working on that shuttle, to the point 
of ignoring me and everyone else, I had just dismissed 
it as another of those "phases" in our relationship 
that I told myself would pass.  "I should have realized 
sooner that something was wrong."

Janeway shook her head.  "We all too often ignore 
changes in the behavior of people close to us, and make 
excuses in our minds, until the change becomes extreme 
enough that we have to face it."  

The captain sounded completely nonjudgmental, and as if 
she spoke from experience.  But I couldn't help 
thinking how her words have applied so directly to Tom 
and I in our relationship, first when Steth had taken 
over Tom's body, and later when I had slowly lost 
control during my depression.  Tom and I have had a 
history of looking the other way as long as we possibly 
could. 

"The doctor said the neural pathways in Tom's brain 
were so restructured that he probably didn't even have 
the ability to grasp that something was amiss," Janeway 
said.  "Not until your life was in danger anyway.  We 
know now that Tom talked to 'Alice' in the form of a 
person for several days, not even once thinking it was 
the least bit odd that someone who wasn't a member of 
the crew was approaching him in corridors and striking 
up conversations with him.   And she was cunning enough 
not to force Tom *too* far from the normal parameters 
of his behavior, until it became necessary to advance 
her cause by pressing him to steal parts, and 
eventually take the shuttle where she wanted to go." 

And vicious enough to rewire Tom's brain and torture 
him to get him to do her bidding.  I still felt coldly 
infuriated every time I remembered feeling the agony 
she'd inflicted on him in the shuttle, trying to force 
him to bend completely to her will.  And watching in 
Sickbay, once he'd been beamed back to Voyager, slumped 
and unconscious after that final assault on his mind, 
as the doctor rushed to undo the neural damage before 
it became permanent.  The doctor had repaired the 
physical damage, though I knew the memories left behind 
were a kind of injury in themselves.   That...bitch.  
"I wish I'd seen him actually talking to *her,* just 
once." 

Janeway raised her eyebrows at the snarl in my voice.  
"B'Elanna, you did realize something was wrong before 
anyone else did.  And I'm sorry I initially questioned 
your perception." 

The captain's expression was genuinely apologetic, and 
I accepted it with a nod.  "Don't take this the wrong 
way, captain, but I wouldn't ever come to you to 
discuss personal problems between Tom and myself," I 
said adamantly.  Then I qualified without thinking, 
"Certainly not while I was on duty."  

Janeway looked at me reflectively for a moment, and her 
lips quirked.  "Point taken, B'Elanna.  I know you 
wouldn't bring your personal problems to me as captain, 
unless it was something that affected the ship's 
safety, or the safety of someone on the crew."  Her 
pause was brief but palpable.  "Though I hope that 
doesn't mean you'd rule out coming to me as a friend."

I don't know if she said that in response to my own 
qualification.  Our sometimes chilly relationship has 
thawed a lot recently, and after my experience in 
Gre'thor we'd had talked a couple of times, not as 
captain and chief engineer, but as...friends.  I knew 
part of the shift in our relationship was because I'd 
changed, but I think the captain has changed a little 
too.  We seem to have put the issues that have strained 
our relationship at times over the past year to rest, 
and moved on to a new, if tentative level of rapport 
with each other.  At least I thought so, but I still 
felt uncomfortable saying so.  I just nodded briefly 
instead, opting to seem noncommittal.
  

Janeway smiled, not looking the least uncertain, and 
our gazes held for a moment.  Then she spoke, lightly 
but firmly,  "The important thing right now is that 
this incident is behind us.  We all survived it intact, 
and we got Tom back."

I knew she was right.  We had Tom back, and he would be 
okay.  That was what was really important.  And neither 
she, nor anyone else, had considered giving up until we 
did get him back.  

"Thank you, captain."

Janeway looked at me, clearly not sure what I meant.  
"For what?" 

"For getting Tom back."

Her brow furrowed a little, and there was a strangely 
intent look on her face.  "*You* did that more than 
anyone, B'Elanna, through the neural link.  As for 
going after Tom, did you really doubt that I would?"

I shook my head.  "Not for a minute."

We smiled at each other, satisfied, and then the 
captain stood.  "I'd better get back to the bridge.  I 
have several quarterly reports to review there also."  
She glanced at the padd I'd laid on my desk.  "As for 
the warp core, I leave that in your very capable hands 
as always, B'Elanna."  She smiled and moved to leave, 
but she turned at the door and looked back at me again 
with a rather sly look on her face.  "And Tom too."

I stared at her blankly for a moment, before I realized 
what she meant.  

"You're good for him, B'Elanna," she said simply.

Janeway had certainly never said anything like that to 
me.  In fact I had once assumed she probably thought 
the opposite, especially after I'd implicitly 
encouraged Tom to disobey her orders regarding the 
Moneans.  But maybe that interpretation had been a 
reflection of my own sense of guilt, and my lingering 
resentment over the forced treatment by Crell Moset.  
And, truthfully, she might have assumed that Tom had 
been good for me more than I'd been good for him, 
because that had often been the case in the past.  "It 
works both ways," I said quietly. 

"Yes, it does," Janeway said without hesitation.  After 
all, she had been there in Sickbay when Tom had stayed 
by my side after I'd insisted on going back to the 
Barge of the Dead.  She also knew Tom had been openly 
supportive of my emerging interest in Klingon culture, 
and had started exploring it with me, at least until 
we'd come across Abbadon's junk yard and Tom's time had 
been monopolized by "Alice."  But I knew Janeway didn't 
hold Tom's behavior while he'd been unwittingly 
victimized against him.

"If I haven't said it before, B'Elanna, I'm very happy 
that you and Tom have persevered, and haven't given up 
on each other," Janeway added, her voice completely 
sincere.  "I know it's not always easy."  

"No, it isn't," I agreed.  Sometimes even I wasn't sure 
how we'd managed to do it, but we had.  "I guess Tom 
and I are both pretty...stubborn," I said.  "And we do 
love each other," I added softly, and maybe just a 
little defensively.      

"I don't doubt that, B'Elanna," Janeway said.  "The 
love or the stubborness."  She shook her head and a 
small, ironic smile touched her lips.  "Love may be the 
foundation, but perseverance is probably half of a 
successful relationship.  You have to be willing to 
hang on through the tough times, no matter how 
insurmountable they seem, when love alone isn't nearly 
enough."

I wondered from the melancholy look that flashed across 
Janeway's face if she was thinking about Mark what's-
his-name, the man she'd been forced to leave behind, 
who'd subsequently left her behind.  It was so easy 
sometimes to forget all she'd personally lost by being 
stranded in the Delta quadrant, and how lonely she must 
sometimes feel, when her focus on Voyager always had to 
be on the well-being of everyone else, rather than 
herself.
 
Before I could say anything--if there was anything I 
could say--her pensive look faded and she changed the 
subject.  "Speaking of Tom, again, how are the plans 
progressing for tomorrow night?"

I grimaced a little.  "Neelix has everything 'under 
control,' so he says."  The captain and I exchanged 
amused looks, though mine was just a little 
apprehensive.  "I'm afraid to ask for the specifics.  
Hopefully Tom will forgive me some day."

Janeway laughed lightly.  "I'm not the least bit 
worried about that.  I'm sure Tom will endure all the 
attention good-naturedly, no matter how overboard 
Neelix goes.  This kind of torture is what family and 
friends are all about, after all."

I smiled at the captain's unremorseful look.  "Yes, I 
guess it is."

"And you know Tom has plenty of family and friends 
onboard, B'Elanna."  She stepped through the doorway 
and gave me a final sanguine smile.  "I'll look forward 
to seeing you both there tomorrow."

I stared at the door contemplatively as it closed 
behind the captain.  Though I had no doubt she was 
concerned about Tom, I wondered about the direction of 
our conversation.  I had the feeling Janeway had 
brought up the subject of Tom not only to assure 
herself that he was fine, but that *we* were fine again 
too, Tom and I.  Maybe she thought that Tom couldn't be 
truly "fine" if he and I weren't fine; that his 
happiness was tied up not just in his own well-being, 
but the in well-being of our relationship too.  It was 
just as true for myself.

It was a sobering thought, that our happiness partly 
depended on each other.  Individually we'd both 
struggled hard to find ourselves, and our place--and 
trying to do it together it had proven even more 
difficult.  The idea that our happiness was bound to 
each other's, that I could so deeply affect Tom's well-
being and vice versa, didn't arouse the same kind of 
denial in me that it often had n the past.  In fact, 
when the thought returned to me several times during 
the rest of the afternoon, I found it surprisingly 
reassuring.
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^


After my shift that evening I went to Tom's quarters, 
as I had for the past five nights.  I don't usually let 
myself into Tom's quarters unannounced, though he gave 
me the code long ago.  He doesn't often walk into mine 
without announcing himself either.  It's not that we 
don't spend plenty of time in each other's quarters, 
even leaving personal items mixed together wherever we 
were last.  And more and more I know I have a standing 
invitation to be in his quarters, as he does in mine.  
But we both were still have some hesitancy, this 
feeling that we might be invading the other's privacy 
if we walk in uninvited.  However, I'd pressed Tom's 
door announcer twice and gotten no answer, so this time 
I punched his code to let myself in.

I knew he was there, since Chakotay had told me he'd 
cancelled Tom's voluntary sickbay shift tonight and 
ordered Tom to limit himself to his single assigned 
shifts for the next two days.  Voyager is running 
smoothly, and in the interest of maximal efficiency of 
the ship and health of the crew, Chakotay said he 
couldn't countenance any of the crew working over the 
maximum hours recommended under normal operational 
conditions.  Or something like that.  Chakotay has 
those kinds of regulations memorized.  I'm sure he 
loved using one of them on Tom, and he told me that it 
was for Tom's own good, of course.  Chakotay's a 
wonderful friend, and he no doubt is looking out for 
Tom's best interests, but sometimes his paternalistic 
platitudes can be a little overbearing.  Still, I 
appreciated his implied dismissal of any need for Tom 
to make amends, not to mention the opportunity it gave 
Tom and I to spend some time together tonight.  

If Tom was awake.  I noticed as I stepped into his 
quarters that the lights were dimmed, and for a moment 
I thought he might be asleep, though it was just after 
1900 hours.  I briefly wondered if he'd been less 
recovered than the doctor had believed, or if his sleep 
had been less restful than even I'd been aware of.  For 
a moment I was worried.  Then I heard the water 
running.  

He was in the shower.  As I stepped further into his 
quarters I could see the brighter strip of light under 
the bathroom door, and I smiled.  Perfect.  I needed a 
shower.

I shrugged out of my uniform jacket and kicked off my 
shoes before I even got to the bedroom.  I pulled off 
my tank top and managed to struggle out of my pants and 
my socks as I walked, all without tripping myself.  I 
left them on the bedroom floor.  The bathroom door slid 
open as I approached and I stepped inside, unhooking my 
bra and tossing it on the counter by the sink.  Then I 
stepped out of my panties and kicked them aside.  Tom's 
form was clearly visible through the steam in the 
bathroom and the fogged glass door of the shower.  He 
had his back to me, and his face lifted to the spray, 
letting the water stream over his neck and shoulders.  

I stepped in and closed the door behind me.  He didn't 
hear me over the sound of the water, and when I wrapped 
my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his 
back he started.

I felt a little guilty as he turned in my arms, his wet 
skin slick and slippery.  "I'm sorry--"

He shook his head and slipped his arms around me.  I 
readjusted my position and snaked my arms around his 
neck, and we hugged briefly.  "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," I said.  "I could use a shower."

"You've come to the right place then," Tom murmured, 
rubbing my back lightly as the water sluiced over both 
of us now.  It was not as scalding as I usually liked 
it, but it still relaxed my tense muscles, though not 
as much as Tom's hands did.

"Um, that feels good," I murmured appreciatively.

"I have soap too," Tom said, his voice teasing.

I glanced at the green bar of soap sitting on the 
shower ledge.  Generally soap seemed a time-consuming 
and unnecessary step to me, which was why I usually 
preferred the all-in-one process of a quick sonic 
shower.  But Tom liked the feel of water on his skin, 
and the lather of soap, old-fashioned bar soap.  He 
always used the same soap that had a clean, slightly 
spicy scent that Tom thought smelled a little like the 
sea.  I just liked it how it smelled on him, whatever 
it was.  I sniffed his neck, inhaling deeply and with 
pleasure.  "Ummm...you're clean already."

Tom reached over and snatched the bar of soap from the 
ledge.  "I'll do you then."

That was okay as far as I was concerned.  I didn't mind 
the smell of Tom's soap on me either.  Or the feel of 
his hands on me. 

"I was thinking we could have dinner at that little 
cantina you liked on Cozumel tonight," Tom suggested as 
he started soaping my back.  "And there's that jazz 
nightclub there where we can dance--"

"Tom, stop."  Even though I murmured the words into his 
shoulder he heard me, and his hands stopped moving 
across my back, which wasn't exactly my intent.  I 
looked up at him.  "I meant stop doing all this extra 
stuff for me.  You don't need to think up special 
holodeck programs, or spend all your rations on me."  
I'd found flowers on my desk in Engineering for the 
past five days.  I suspected Harry or Joe had been in 
collaboration with Tom, putting them on my desk every 
morning before my shift.  Flowers were Tom's favorite 
method of apology, and mine too, when I wanted an 
apology.  "Not that I don't appreciate the gestures, 
but you don't have anything to make up to me."  I 
attempted a little humor in case I was coming down too 
hard about it.  "Besides I'm running out of vases."

His gaze held mine for a moment and he nodded as he 
resumed soaping my lower back.  "Okay, I'll stop, if 
you want me to."

"I do," I said, kissing his cheek.  I stroked my 
fingers lightly across his chin.  "Let's just grab 
dinner in the Mess hall and stay in tonight.  Get back 
to normal, okay?"  My lips quirked.  "We were actually 
doing pretty good at that, almost a miracle considering 
how remarkable being 'normal' is for us."

Tom smiled at that.  Then he sobered a little.  "I know 
I don't *have* to make anything up to you, B'Elanna.  
But I just want to make sure you know that my feelings 
never changed, even when I was ignoring you, when 
I...wasn't myself."

"I do know that, Tom."  He had said so more than once, 
and it wasn't like I didn't believe him.

He knelt down and his hands began to soap the length of 
my legs.  "And I do feel like I have to make up to 
everyone else, especially to the captain."

"You don't, Tom," I said softly.  "Though I know why 
you feel that way."  I tousled his hair as much as I 
could, since it was soaking wet.  The shower spray was 
mostly on me now, streaming over my shoulders. 

"The captain went to a lot of trouble to help me, even 
when I was firing at Voyager and endangering everyone," 
Tom said glumly.

I had to snort at that perception.  "Sorry, Tom, but 
that was 'Alice's' doing, and quite honestly she was 
complete piece of junk compared to Voyager."  My tone 
was deeply disparaging, and Tom glanced up at me and 
gave me a wry grin.  "We were hardly in any danger from 
*her*," I added, then I frowned a little.  "Only you 
were."  Especially if we hadn't been able to stop her, 
and she had dragged Tom into that particle fountain 
with her.  I didn't care to think about that though.  
"Besides, the captain isn't going to stand by and let 
anyone or anything hurt one of us, or walk away when 
one of us is in trouble.  You should know that by now."

Tom stood up, blocking the shower spray, and his hands 
slid slickly up my wet body.  "I'm sure as hell glad 
she didn't." 

"The captain does have a soft spot for you, you know," 
I murmured, as he started on my front, soaping my 
shoulders.  

"She used to, anyway," Tom said.  He intercepted my 
look, and shrugged.  "Maybe she still does.  Though 
I've never been sure she's completely forgiven me for 
the Monean incident."

"She has," I said.  "I'm not sure the captain ever 
*forgets* anything, but she does forgive.  And she 
certainly doesn't draw any parallels between that 
incident and this one."

"How about this and Steth?" Tom asked, his tone light, 
though I wasn't fooled.

I shrugged this time, as his hands brushed over my 
stomach and hips.  "Neither was your fault.  Steth took 
over the captain's body too if you recall.  Though I do 
think the captain should order *you* not to get 
possessed by aliens any more."  I cuffed his chin 
lightly.  "Let it be someone else's turn."  I was 
partially teasing, since I didn't want to see anyone on 
Voyager being manipulated against his or her will.  
We'd all been through that more than once now.  But 
Tom, of all of us, had certainly endured more than his 
fair share.

Tom smiled a little and quirked an eyebrow.  "Maybe the 
doc can encode a 'no trespassing' barricade across my 
brain."

"That's really not a bad idea, Tom," I said dryly, 
playing along.  Hell, if it would work I'd do it 
myself. 

"I just don't need any more setbacks," Tom murmured.  

I knew what he meant.  Months after the Monean 
incident, Tom had begun to wonder whether he'd been 
seriously misguided in taking action against the 
captain's orders.  I hadn't expected him to go so far 
myself, but I couldn't deny the heart and courage 
behind his decision to act.  And if I was the only one 
who felt that way, I didn't care.  Though I knew I 
wasn't.  Maybe he'd acted rashly, but his motives had 
been honorable, and that was what counted to me.  "This 
isn't a setback, Tom.  No one holds any of it against 
you.  They know it was all 'Alice.'"

"I hope so."  Tom moved his hands away and 
straightened, and I realized that I was soaped head to 
foot, where the water hadn't already rinsed the soap 
away.  He pulled my head toward his shoulder and leaned 
back so that the warm spray hit my hair, resoaking it.  

"You'll be a lieutenant again, Tom," I said into his 
shoulder.  "And more."

"It's not the rank I care about so much," Tom said as 
he threaded his fingers through my plastered hair.  

"It's the captain's respect," I said.  I understood.  
Tom really wasn't someone who cared much about rank and 
position, as long as he was doing the job he loved to 
do.  He wasn't interested in power, or particularly 
concerned with obtaining a command of his own, but he 
did know that rank equated in some ways with respect.  
I know he believes that once the captain gives him his 
lieutenant rank back, that will mean she has no doubts 
about him, no lingering feelings about the Monean 
incident.  It will truly be in the past. 

"The captain never questioned getting you back after 
'Alice' abducted you," I pointed out, as Tom squeezed 
shampoo into my hair.  That was what it had been--an 
abduction--since 'Alice' had infiltrated Tom's brain 
and forced him to leave Voyager.  "*No one* questioned 
for a minute going after you and getting you back, 
whatever it took."

"I know."  Tom sounded both grateful and a little 
chagrined at the thought of so many people willing to 
go to that much trouble for him.  

"We're all family now," I said.  "We're willing to do 
whatever it takes to stay together...."  My voice faded 
as my attention faltered.  Tom had started working the 
shampoo into my hair and his long supple fingers 
massaging my scalp felt heavenly.  I couldn't help a 
small moan of pleasure at the sensation.  If we had the 
time and opportunity, I think I'd let Tom shampoo my 
hair every day.  It was almost as good as sex.  Almost.  

"You were willing to get inside my head," Tom said.  I 
half-opened my eyes, still a little lost in my own 
personal ecstasy, and he smiled knowingly.  His fingers 
deftly massaged the base of my skull.  He was well 
aware of what he was doing to me, making it hard for me 
to think coherently.  "That must have been a little 
scary for you."

Scary?  Right, inside his head.  We really hadn't 
talked about that experience, but his tone was teasing, 
and I snorted lightly.  "I'm sure it would have been 
terrifying to know your deepest thoughts, Tom," I 
retorted dryly, teasing him back.  "But I really 
couldn't sense anything past the...pain."  I frowned at 
the sudden memory, my amusement gone.  It was true.  
Tom's deepest thoughts had been safe, drowned in the 
agony "Alice" was inflicting on him.  I'd been trying 
not to remember how that had felt.  It *had* been 
scary, though not in the way Tom jokingly meant.

"I'm sorry."  I must have shuddered at the memory, 
because Tom whispered those words softly against my 
forehead, and tightened his hands in my hair and hugged 
me close to him.  

"It was far worse for you, Tom," I murmured.  "I'm 
sorry you have to remember."

I felt him shrug.  "It's fading," he said as he pushed 
me back, and started kneading his fingers in my hair 
again, working the shampoo into the ends.  

"It is?" I asked, both hopeful and skeptical.

"Yes.  Except maybe at night a little," he admitted, 
then shrugged again, dismissively.

I was aware of that.  We'd slept together the past five 
nights, ever since he'd been released from Sickbay.  
I'd made sure of that, no matter how late I got off 
shift, or he did during the past two days.  I think 
there'd only been one night of the five that he hadn't 
woken me, restless, and plagued by unpleasant dreams 
about being on that shuttle, and being controlled by 
"Alice." The first night he'd been literally thrashing 
in the bed.  I'd grabbed his hand, since he'd 
inadvertently hit me in the stomach, and had to 
forcibly uncurl his clenched fingers.  When I slipped 
my hand into his, he'd gripped it so tightly it would 
have been truly painful if I were fully human.  I'd 
stroked his sweat-soaked hair with my other hand, and 
repeated his name several times, before I'd finally 
managed to wake him. He'd shot upright in bed then, 
almost shrinking away from me, until his eyes had 
focused and he'd realized who I was, and that he wasn't 
on that damned shuttle anymore.  Thankfully his dreams 
hadn't been quite so disturbing after that, but I knew 
he was still having them.

"You don't have to babysit me every night, B'Elanna."

I moved back, dislodging his hands, and looked up at 
him, giving him a reproachful look.  "Don't act like a 
martyr, Tom," I said.  "It makes it sound like I don't 
really want to be here."  He started to shake his head, 
but I continued.  "Besides, do you think that's the 
only reason I've been sleeping with you?"

"I think you've made an effort to be here every night, 
even when I've worked late the last couple of nights," 
he said, his voice quiet.

"So?"  It was true that when our shifts were long, or 
our schedules didn't coincide, and we didn't have an 
opportunity for a meal or some recreational time 
together, we sometimes let whole nights slip by without 
even seeing each other.  Sleeping together was as often 
as not the end result of an evening together that 
culminated in sex.  Or sometimes a source of comfort 
after some particularly traumatic experience.  It 
wasn't something we were committed to every night.  At 
least it had been that way in the past.  "I think we 
let our schedules and...other things interfere too much 
in that area," I said.

Tom's eyebrows rose at my meaningful tone and he smiled 
a little.  "You do?"

"I like sleeping with you, Tom," I said.  It was true.  
"And if you have a bad dream I don't mind holding you."  
That was true also.  I liked being the person who could 
truly offer Tom comfort.  I was learning to appreciate 
that tender, more human side of me, as well as my 
Klingon side.  It was strange to realize that in 
rejecting the Klingon in me I'd neglected the human 
also without realizing it.  Though Tom had quite often 
been willing to offer me comfort, whenever I would take 
it.  I slipped my arms around his waist.  "I seem to 
remember you holding me after a bad dream or two when 
my brain was...violated by the Mari."

Tom looked at me soberly, clearly remembering that 
time.  Our gazes held for a long moment, until it 
occurred to me that we were still standing in the 
middle of the shower with the water running over us.  
It was mostly spilling over Tom's shoulders, but enough 
had splashed on me so that the shampoo in my hair was 
starting to drip into my face.  I blinked and rubbed at 
the foam that was starting to get into my eyes. 

"Rinse," Tom said, gripping my shoulders lightly as he 
turned us around.  The spray hit me full on, and I 
stood there for several seconds as the water washed 
away the lingering soap on my body and the shampoo in 
my hair.  My eyes were closed but I sensed Tom's 
movement before his lips touched mine.  We kissed under 
the streaming water, Tom's hands on my shoulders and my 
hands resting lightly on his hips while our lips and 
tongues stroked and probed gently, until we 
inadvertently moved slightly and the angle of the 
shower spray sent water into our mouths.  

I coughed a little as we separated, and then opened my 
eyes.  "I think I must be clean now."

Tom leaned forward and sniffed my neck.  He smiled 
playfully.  "Ummm, you smell like a fresh, invigorating 
sea breeze..."

I rolled my eyes, and twisted slightly so I could palm 
the shower controls.  A moment later the water flow 
ceased.  "I think we've been in here long enough."  I 
glanced at my hands.  "I'm starting to shrivel."

Tom grinned.  "That was probably my water allotment for 
the week anyway.  Not that I mind."

"You can always use my shower," I said, as we stepped 
out of his shower together.  I gave him a smug smile.  
"As long as you wash my hair."

"Deal," Tom said as he grabbed one of the two fluffy 
blue towels from the rack.  He wrapped it quickly and 
expertly around his waist.  

I reached for the other towel but Tom beat me to it and 
draped it over my head.  "I'm glad Chakotay took you 
off double-shifts, Tom," I told him as he started 
drying my hair briskly.  My voice was a little muffled 
by the towel dangling in my face.  "Now that the 
quarterly warp core diagnostic is done, and you're back 
on your regular schedule, we can finally spend some 
real time together."

"Harry was asking me today about starting the next 
chapter of Captain Proton," Tom said.  "He wanted to do 
it tomorrow after our shift, but I'll put him off for a 
few days."

I shook my head under the towel.  "Don't do that, Tom."

Tom let the towel drop to my shoulders.  "I want to 
spend time with *you,* B'Elanna.  Captain Proton can 
wait."

"You enjoy Captain Proton, Tom, and Harry has been 
waiting patiently."

Tom looked at me a little askance as he rubbed the 
towel down my back.  

"We don't have to spend every moment together," I told 
him.  "Take Harry up on his request."  Then, before he 
could get really suspicious about my sudden generosity 
regarding Captain Proton, I added in a sultry tone, 
"Just don't plan anything for later in the evening."

Tom's eyebrows rose.  "You have something in mind?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something," I said 
suggestively.  "I haven't worn my red dress in a while.  
You know the one with the tight...skirt..."

My voice trailed off as I realized Tom wasn't 
responding to the provocation in my voice.  He wasn't 
paying attention to what I was saying at all.  His 
attention--and his gaze--had been diverted by something 
apparently more provocative than my voice.  

The hot water had had a relaxing effect on my body, but 
Tom's vigorous toweling was having a different kind of 
effect altogether, and Tom had noticed.  My skin 
tingled from the friction of the nubby cotton against 
my flesh and in one area the result of that friction 
was most obvious.  The warmth I felt spreading through 
me now wasn't lethargic at all, especially as Tom 
raised a hand and brushed his fingers slowly across my 
breasts, stimulating an even more conspicuous response.

Though it might seem surprising to some (or maybe not), 
once the tiniest ember is sparked between Tom and I, it 
can become a full-fledged conflagration in less than a 
second.  We can be talking about work, arguing about 
something, have our attention totally elsewhere, have 
anything but *that* on our minds, then all it takes is 
one look, or one touch, and we're gone.  In this case, 
it was both.  Tom's pupils dilated as they met mine, 
and the intensity of his blue gaze on me was almost 
scorching.  

I'm always grateful when this thing between us happens 
somewhere that doesn't require that we move very far, 
since we feel compelled quench the fire--soon.  I 
ripped the towel from around Tom's waist and it fell to 
the floor.  The towel he'd been using on me dropped 
from his hand and slid down my body, joining the other 
at our feet.  Our mouths merged heatedly, and our 
bodies, still sleek with moisture in some places, 
molded together.  We had made love the first couple of 
nights after Tom had been released from sickbay, but 
Tom had been on orders from the doctor to "rest," so 
I'd taken it easy on him.  This joining promised to be 
a little more elemental.

The space in Tom's bathroom is tight, and in the midst 
of our rather frantic groping we moved toward the door, 
intending to make it to the bed, I think.  We forgot 
about the wet towels crumpled at our feet, and they 
tangled around Tom's ankles, tripping him.  He took me 
with him as he went down.  Tom grunted a little at the 
impact as he landed on his butt, and it was only my 
quick action that kept him from slamming the back of 
his skull into the porcelain base of the sink as he 
fell backward.  As it was my hand was caught painfully 
between the two opposing forces.

"Tom..." I growled his name, less from pain than 
exasperation.  I love the man, but he does have this 
innate tendency to impact his brain over and over.  "I 
am not going to put up with any more neural 
restructurings, or hostile synaptic takeovers, or 
CONCUSSIONS!" I warned him indignantly, my face mere 
millimeters from his.  I wasn't completely joking, by 
any means.  "You've been brain-damaged enough.  No 
more.  Got it?"

He pulled us both into a sitting position, and he 
grinned insouciantly as I glared at him while at the 
same time barely able to keep a smile off my lips.  
"Yes, maam."  He grabbed my throbbing hand that had 
been cradling his head, yanked it out of his hair with 
a small grimace, and massaged it gently between his 
thumb and fingers.  Then he kissed my palm.  "Thank you 
for loving me as I am, brain-damaged and all."

"You're welcome," I murmured distractedly as his lips 
caressed my hand.  I was more or less straddling him, 
and the wet towels were still tangled beneath us.  He 
shifted a little, intentionally, and our bodies came 
into even more intimate contact.  Our eyes locked, and 
the fire, momentarily banked, reignited again.  I 
didn't give any more thought to the state of his brain 
as he dropped my hand, slid his hands down my waist and 
wrapped them around my hips.  I growled his name, with 
pleasure this time as he started to--

Well, never mind all that.  Suffice to say we didn't 
make it out of the bathroom.  Though we kept the mirror 
steamed up, and we did knock over a few of Tom's 
toiletries, we didn't break anything this time.  Tom 
also got a couple of bumps and bruises during our more 
vigorous moments, but none were to his head.  And, in 
the end, we'd both worked up an appetite.

We showed up in the Mess hall some time later, to 
partake of a typical Neelix mystery dinner.  Neelix 
served us with his usual bright enthusiasm, and he gave 
me several winks and conspiratorial looks which I 
barely kept Tom from noticing.  When Tom moved over to 
the replicator to get our drinks, I warned Neelix under 
my breath to desist before I hit him over the head with 
his own ladle.  He nodded with hardly a bit of 
trepidation and winked again right before Tom returned.  
I can't decide if it's good or bad that no one is 
really afraid of me any more.  

We waved to the captain, who was there with Chakotay 
and Tuvok, having her after-meal cup of coffee.  Tom 
didn't notice, but her gaze lingered on us as we 
carried our trays toward a table.  My eyes met 
Janeway's for a moment, and she gave me a knowing and 
pleased smile before she turned away to resume her 
conversation with Chakotay and Tuvok.  

Harry came in and joined us as we were finishing our 
meal, and Tom agreed to meet him on the holodeck the 
next afternoon to continue their latest chapter of 
Captain Proton, "The Web of Pain."  I hadn't heard the 
title of the latest chapter yet, and the irony gave me 
momentary pause.  I glanced at Tom, but he didn't react 
to it at all.  I murmured my usual "maybe" when Harry 
invited me to join them, knowing I would be busy hiding 
out in the Mess hall with everyone else.  Tom had 
barely glanced up at Harry's invitation, aware that my 
"maybes" on that subject almost always meant "no, 
thanks."  I told Harry then that I might consider 
joining in a future chapter, if it contained a good 
juicy part for me.  This time Tom heard the 
contemplative tone in my voice, and he looked at me 
closely.  I realized I actually *was* considering it, 
but I didn't say anything further.  I decided to leave 
Tom to wondering if I might show up on the holodeck one 
of these days in a slinky dress, ready to match wits 
with Captain Proton, and take him down, one way or the 
other.

Seven came in for a cup of Tarkelian tea, a beverage 
she seems to have developed a fondness for, and she 
stopped by our table briefly.  A few months ago I would 
have been privately irritated that she'd picked 
something I liked, and wished she'd just drink tree 
bark or something of equally generic nutritional value.  
Now I contemplated how I might just goad her a little, 
pointing out that her apparent emotional attachment to 
a favorite beverage, and not a particularly nutritional 
one at that, belied her haughty Borg disdain for human 
sentiment.  

Harry spoke before I could, inviting Seven to join in 
the next chapter of Captain Proton.  Seven responded to 
that suggestion typically, curling her lip a little and 
noting that the program was "an unproductive 
expenditure of time, historically inaccurate, and 
filled with archaic gender stereotypes."  I didn't 
completely disagree with her assessment, but Harry just 
gave her a shrug that indicated it was her loss.  The 
exchange was so typical that I wondered for a moment if 
Harry had set it up as part of his diversionary 
tactics.

Seven provided no clue; she simply gave me a bland look 
as she pivoted to leave.  Then she looked at Tom and 
her eyebrow rose.  I followed her gaze and noticed the 
edge of a red mark just visible above the collar of his 
open-necked shirt.  Tom glanced at me and lifted his 
shoulder once, enough to rearrange the collar slightly 
and completely cover the mark.  I personally didn't 
care what Seven saw, as long as she didn't record it in 
any of her logs that I would have to search out and 
destroy.  In fact, I gave her a rather smug smile.  She 
looked at me again, then back at Tom, and informed him 
that she was pleased to see that he had made a complete 
recovery, and that everything had returned to normal.  
I thought detected a hint of a sardonic drawl when she 
said the word "normal," but she immediately wished as a 
curt good-night and departed before I found it 
necessary to comment.

I actually found myself smiling as I watched her leave.  
It was a little disturbing to accept, but Seven's 
observation, sarcastic or not, had actually pleased me.  
Everything *was* back to normal for Tom and I, even if 
what passes for normal for us was a mystery to many of 
our friends. 

Later, after Tom and I had returned to his quarters, I 
amended that thought.  I decided that Tom and I were 
actually a little better than normal.  Something had 
changed.  It wasn't that our relationship hadn't 
undergone adjustments before, but sometimes we've 
seemed to move in circles, battling the same problems 
over and over and never quite overcoming them.  Now, I 
thought that maybe we had finally left behind some of 
those issues that have dogged us for so long.  Perhaps 
I should be grateful to "Alice."

Like hell.  I still regretted that I hadn't gotten to 
blast all her systems and circuits to dust with 
something really overcompensating, like a Klingon 
torpedo launcher.  But maybe "Alice" had inadvertently 
cured Tom of his attachment to his old childhood 
longings, and his tendency to retreat from reality.  
Cured was probably too strong a word, but I knew this 
whole incident had opened his eyes, just as my 
experience in Gre'thor had opened my eyes.

I've finally realized that who I am and what I have in 
my life now are far more satisfying than clinging to my 
own childhood longings for something that I could never 
have, or never be.  Nothing can eradicate my Klingon 
nature, or reverse time and make my father love me as I 
am.  Just like that total freedom Tom longed for as a 
little boy, a way to escape from his father's too high 
expectations that always stayed just a little above his 
reach, was an unrealistic dream.   I don't need to hide 
or escape anymore, and I think--I hope--Tom feels the 
same way.  Our lives are pretty damn good just as they 
are, even if we've both let that fact elude us too 
often.  We are both good enough as we are.  And 
hopefully what we have together is good enough.  At 
least it feels like we can make a real effort at it 
now, and even if we take a few missteps, we won't keep 
repeating the same ones.  Maybe we're finally, truly 
ready to move on.  

Those were my thoughts anyway while I lay next to Tom, 
with my arms wrapped comfortably around him, feeling 
the warmth of his body against mine, and the soft even 
pulse of his breathing across my breast as he slept.  I 
glanced at his face, and he looked peaceful and young.  
Almost like a kid, despite the fact that he will be 
thirty-five years old in two days, though his friends 
will be celebrating that birthday tomorrow night at the 
party he doesn't know about yet.  Tom probably will 
enjoy all the fuss, since he still *acts* like a kid 
sometimes too.  Even if he's growing up in some ways, I 
certainly don't want to see him lose that generous, 
fun-loving side of his nature.  After all, he's taught 
me a lot about having fun.  

It seemed weird even to me to be lying here looking at 
the man I love, thinking that maybe he is finally 
growing up.  But I feel like I've just started to grow 
up myself, so it's not a condemnation.  Just because we 
jumped into this relationship before we were really 
quite ready for it--both still too isolated in 
ourselves, damaged by our pasts, far from perfect 
models for intimacy--that doesn't mean it can't grow as 
we do.  

Tom shifted suddenly, and I looked closely at his face 
again, thinking that he might be having another bad 
dream, ready to comfort him if he woke.  But he was 
still sound asleep, his expression serene, his mouth 
relaxed and curved slightly upward, and his brow 
unmarked by any unpleasant thoughts or images.   I 
snuggled a little closer, my arms secure around him, 
and closed my eyes, comforted by the warmth of his body 
and by his relaxed, contented slumber.  My own thoughts 
slowly drifted away from me, flowing sinuously and 
inexorably toward the calm, untroubled netherworld of 
pleasant dreams.

And so I fell asleep, holding Tom.

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


The end.