Pieces of Clay
   

	Tom Paris shifted restlessly in his chair, trying to look attentive.  He couldn’t believe the sheer number of Starfleet brass that had already spoken at his father’s funeral.  And he couldn’t believe the number still waiting to speak.  He had perked up briefly when his captain spoke and carefully hid his cynical smirk as she enumerated his late father’s supposed graces.  Personally, he couldn’t find the grief he knew he should be feeling.  There was only a guilty sense of relief, a sort of sighing ‘well *that’s* over with.’  A slender Andorian took the stage, his head-stalks quivering with perfectly presented sorrow.
	“Just shut up already”  His sister Moira hissed under her breath.  B’Elanna Torres, sitting on the other side of Tom, glanced over at Moira in shock.  The funeral, only a few weeks after the crew returned to the Alpha Quadrant, was the first time she met Tom’s older sisters.  She didn’t know exactly what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t the women sitting to her left.  The oldest one, Eileen, was a willowy, graceful blonde.  She could have been Tom’s twin, save for the vague, nervous hollowness in her eyes.  Moira was small and dark, with a bird’s delicate, quick hands and a brittle, angry mouth.
	“-a man who loved his Federation, his commission and, above all, his family.”  The Andorian admiral concluded.  Suddenly Eileen burst into a hysterical cry.  She pressed her long fingers to her face and slumped foreword.  Tom and Moira jumped to her side, naked relief on their faces as they lead her out to the room.  B’Elanna felt a chill run up her spine as the trio walked past her.  While she understood the distinction was occasionally delicate, she could have sworn the woman was racked with peels of laughter, not sobs.
					**********
	“You’ll have to excuse my sister.  She lived with our father most of her life.  This is very difficult for her.  They were close.  Unlike myself, I’m afraid to say.”  Tom was suddenly stuck with a wave of agitation, gazing at this roomful of admirals and captains who probably sympathized with poor Owen.  Stuck with that utter failure of a son.  Tom gripped the edge of the podium, his knuckles bleaching with the pressure.
	“Uhh, I, um, hadn’t seen my father in about seven years, but we did have a chance to talk a few days ago.  We managed to make a sort of peace.  I had hoped we would have many years to continue to make peace but . . .”  Tom let his voice trail off.  His gaze dropped to the beautiful face of his girlfriend.  He wanted to get off this podium and feel her strong hands squeezing his.
	“My father demanded a great deal from his children.  He was the best and expected nothing less in return.  If, at some times he pushed us-”
	‘Get in here before I lose my temper completely!”  Tom felt his head slam against the wall and the dark closet was magnificently illuminated by thousands of fireflies swarming behind his eyes.
	“-Uh.” Tom fumbled, his thoughts completely shattered by the sudden, vivid memory.  The occupants of the room glanced at each other in confusion, a few murmured quietly.  Moira fixed Tom with her needle like gaze and leaned a little foreword in her chair.
	‘Uh, um.  I’m sure. . . I’m sure he meant well.  Thank you.”  Tom stumbled from the stage, feeling queasy and lightheaded.  He couldn’t begin to comprehend what just happened, he felt as if the room had shifted and his balance was no longer sure.  B’Elanna reached out and pulled him down beside her.  Sliding her arm through his she bent toward him.
	“Are you all right, Tom?”  She whispered. Tom worked his mouth a little and stared blankly at Moira.
	“I. . . I don’t know.”
				**************
	“That was the oddest funeral I’ve ever been to.”  Harry said softly to Chakotay.  Chakotay shook his head in agreement.
	 “You don’t have to convince me.”  He responded.  ‘I said something to Moira Paris about how young their father was and I could have sworn she mumbled something like ‘I thought the old bastard would never die.’ Harry almost dropped his glass.
	“Whoa.”  He gave a silent whistle. “The only one that seems at all upset is the older sister.  But there’s something about her. . . she gives me the creeps.”  Harry instantly felt guilty for discussing his best friend’s family.  
	“I’m going to check on Tom, Commander.”
	‘I’ll come with you.  I’d like to say goodbye to him before I leave.”  Chakotay wasn’t very close to the young pilot, but Tom had flow and fought them out of enough scrapes to earn Chakotay’s respect, if not his friendship.  Harry and the commander worked their way through a mob of officers, reporters and political figures, bumping into B’Elanna on the way.
	“Leaving so soon, Lieutenant?” Chakotay asked.  She smiled simply in apology.
	“ I have a refit on the ship I need to oversee.  Tom seems to be fine for now.  He’s in the back room with his sisters.”
	Chakotay and Harry wrestled their way to the farthest door before being halted by an angry shout on the other side of the door. 
	“-I swear to God, Thomas!  My colleagues were in that crowd!  Who the hell comes to their father’s funeral *drunk*?!
	“Just calm down, Moira.  She’s upset.  She was closer to Dad than any of us, God knows why. . .”
	“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.”   A faint voice slurred.  “Besides, there’s someone at the door.”  Chakotay and Harry blanched as the door was yanked open.  Tom’s face, flushed but quickly composing appeared before them.
	“Commander.  Harry.”  He said faintly as he straightened his dress uniform.
	“We were just coming to say goodbye, Tom.”  Chakotay responded swiftly.  Tom eased the door open a little farther, stepping back a step.  They could see Tom’s two sisters, Moira, paused in mid-rant and pace, Eileen slumped in one of the chairs.
	“Commander.  Ensign.”  She greeted smoothly, half-rising.
	“Sit down.”  Moira snapped, shoving her sister back with one hand.  At Tom’s pleading look Moira grudgingly released Eileen.  Tom turned his pained smile back to his crewmates.
	“I’m sorry about her.  She’s . . . unstable.”  Harry’s awkward nod and Chakotay’s commiseration were interrupted by Eileen’s light voice.
	“’sorry.’”  She snapped her fingers as if suddenly reminded of something.
	“sorry.  I forgot to tell you I’m sorry, Tommy.  I swear, Tommy.  I swear I didn’t know the environmental equalizer was blown out. I never would have let him put you in there.  I swear I didn’t know.”
	“What?”  Tom asked, momentarily forgetting about Harry and Chakotay.
	“I’m sorry I let you take the blame for the broken window-”
	Window. Window. Tom’s face dropped in horror when he realized what she was talking about.
	“Eileen, be quiet.”  He said firmly, moving towards her.  She continued to ramble on, oblivious to Tom’s voice.
	“-I didn’t know he was in a bad mood that day, Tom.  I just didn’t want him to find out about Finn. I-”
	“Eileen, be quiet.”  He repeated, advancing hard o her.
	“Tom?  Is everything all right?”  Tom nearly cried out in alarm as Kathryn Janeway  appeared in the doorway beside Chakotay.
	“-there was so much blood and Moira kept yelling-”
	“Eileen, shut up!”  Tom shouted, shaking her by the arms.  Everyone in the room froze in shock.  While he was prone to heated arguments with B’Elanna, none of his colleagues had ever, ever seen affable Tom Paris lose his temper.  He took a deep breath and pulled Eileen to her feet.
	“I apologize for this.  My sister is distraught.  I think we better leave.”  Holding her arm in an iron grip, he dragged the older woman from the room, Moira following close behind.
				**********
	Eileen tried to listen to her brother and sister arguing in the other room, but the voices rising and falling in her mind kept drowning them out.  She needed something to drink, but Tom had taken them to his sparse temporary quarters on Starfleet grounds and there wasn’t a drop to be found.  Her head swam with ancient voices and after a while she gave up and followed them down into the darkness.
	[Ellie Paris pressed the hyperspanner against the window lock and prayed silently.  If her father found out about the window. . . The spanner emitted a wounded shriek and a shower of white sparks sprayed from the panel.
	“Damnit!”  She cursed, rubbing her hand.
	“Ellie?”  A small voice asked from the doorway.  Swallowing her temper so hard it brought tears to her eyes, she turned around and opened her arms.  Eight year old Tom Paris rushed across the room and flew into her lap.
	“What are you doing?”  He asked, resting his head contentedly on her breast.
	“Oh, the window lock is broken. I was just trying to fix it before Dad comes home.”
	“Moira said Finn broke it sneaking into the house to give you flowers.”  Eileen gasped, almost knocking Tom from her lap.
	“Tommy!  How did you-!  She told you-!  Oh my God.  Dad is going to kill me.”  Tom twisted in her lap, his clear blue eyes wide with concern and adoration.  He took her slender face in his small hands.
	“Don’t worry, Ellie.  I won’t tell Daddy.  I wouldn’t let him kill you anyway.  I’d kick him and I’d smash him so hard with my rocket ship. . .”  Ellie laughed and hugged him tight, planting a soft kiss on the crown of his head.
	“I love you, Tommy.”  She whispered into his little boy scent of grass and milk.  He grinned that impish grin which always reminded her, heartbreakingly, of their mother.
	“More than Finn?”  He teased.  She laughed again. pulling him closer.
	“More than anybody.”  She assured him.
				***********
	Owen Paris stumbled into his large house in the Portollo Valley, dropping a briefcase full of data PADDs onto the floor.  Thomas had left his model sail boats scattered across the living room floor and a sharp breeze from the open window had them clattering loudly against each other.
	“Thomas!”  He shouted, picking his way across the rug to the window.
	“Thomas Eugene Paris, get down here this instant and clean up your toys!”  He kicked Tom’s cherished clipper ship out of the way and tapped the panel beside the window.  Instead of sliding smoothly closed, it sparked and a small wisp of ozone floated up.
	“What the hell?”  He asked, tapping the panel again.  Tom entered the room and began silently collecting his playthings.
	“Did you break this window, Thomas?”  Tom rose to his feet, clutching his clipper and licking his lips.  He shot a glance to Ellie who had followed him into the room.  Her face was stark white and he could see the purplish vein in her neck thumping.  Tom didn’t remember much about his mother, but he knew she looked just like Ellie.  So much like Ellie he sometimes couldn’t tell if the woman in his infant memories was his mother or Ellie. 
	“Yes, Daddy.”  He said meekly.
	‘How did you break it?” Owen put his hands on his hips and glared crossly at his youngest child, feeling inexplicably and uncontrollably infuriated by the boy’s cowering stance. 
	“I don’t know.” Tom mumbled.
	“You don’t *know*?”
	“Dad-”  Eileen interrupted softly.  Paris held up his hand in the girl’s direction.
	“Eileen, be quiet.”  He snapped, never taking his eyes off Tom.
	“Why and how did you break the window, Thomas?” Paris repeated slowly and clearly.  Tom shifted his feet, looking over to Eileen again.  Paris’ hand shot out, snatching the child’s chin in his large hand.
	“Look at me when I’m talking to you, goddamnit!”
	“Dad-”
	“Eileen, shut up!”  Eileen wrapped her hand around the door jamb, tears filling her eyes.  She wanted to walk over and pull Tom away, but her feet were frozen.  If Dad found out. . .  Paris continued glaring at Tom.
	“I am ordering you to tell me how the window broke.”  His voice was low and dangerous.
	“I don’t know.”  Tom whispered, flinching.
	“You disgust me.”  Paris hissed.  “Get to your room.”  He squeezed Tom’s chin tighter and shoved his arm out, hard.  Tom, light and small for his age, was tossed off balance, his boat flying from his hands and the back of his head cracking sickly against the corner of the table.  Eileen screamed and Paris gasped as Tom crumbled bonelessly to the floor.
	“Tom!”  He cried in horror, rushing to kneel beside his son.
	‘Admiral Owen Paris, you have a message from Starfleet command.’  The computer’s cool, faintly feminine voice called out.
	“Damnit.”  Paris muttered.  He reached out and grabbed Eileen by the wrist, dragging her over to Tom.
	‘Get him treated and cleaned up.”  He ordered, stalking to the comm station in his room.
	Eileen felt the crazed thumping of her heart as she reached for her young brother, a large pool of blood already spreading out under his head.
	“What’s going- Oh my, God!”  Moira raced down the stairs, skidding to a halt above her brother.
	“What happened? What did he do to Tommy?”
	“It was an accident.”  Eileen said quickly.
	“I’m calling the police.”
	“Just stop it, Moira!”  Eileen pulled Tom’s limp body into her arms, smearing blood along her arm.
	“I’m going to help Tommy.  You clean this place up.”
	“What?  You’re just going to let him get away with this?”  Moira’s dark eyes blazed with cold fury.  Eileen’s eyes turned equally cold and she pinned Moira with their defensive fierceness.
	“Accidents happen, petite soeur.  Now do as I say.”
	Eileen laid Tom on the cool bathroom floor and frantically tore through the first aid kit, scattering hypos and regenerators across the floor.  Tears rolled down her pale face as she scanned her brother with a home tricorder.  Moira reappeared several minutes later, panicking ever so slightly.
	“Well?  What’s wrong with him?  Should we call a doctor?”  Eileen shoved her fingers through her hair, tangling them.
	“I think. . . I think he just has a concussion.”  Biting her lip, she ran the regenerator over the gash on the back of his head, pushing away his fine, blonde curls.  Tom came to a little, moaning and whimpering.  He opened his eyes, the normal lucid blue murky as lemonade.
	“’Lie?” He whispered in a rice paper thin voice as Ellie silently soothed him.  She and Moira flinched at the sound of their father’s heavy footfall.  Eileen covered Tom’s mouth with her fingertips, pantomiming him to close his eyes.
	Owen Paris stood in the doorway, looking down at his children.  Eileen was sitting on the floor, cradling Tom’s head in her lap.  With her hair around her shoulders and her ice-blue eyes, clearer and brighter than any gem, Owen felt he was looking at his wife from across the grave.  Guilt and love burned him so strong he feared he would cry.  Thomas looked so small, faint purple bruises marring his baby soft skin.  Swallowing a bitter mouthful of bile, he squared his shoulders.
	“Is he all right?”  He asked gruffly.  Eileen nodded simply.  Moira turned her face from him.
	“No thanks to you.”  She mumbled, hardly audible.  Eileen caught Moira’s silent, furious eyes and knew, to her reluctant relief, that Moira wouldn’t be telling anyone what happened.  A law of silence, deeper and older than the blood in their veins, had just been enacted in the Paris household.
	If that incident had been it, maybe, maybe Eileen could have forgotten.  Maybe Moira could have forgiven.  And maybe Tom could have grown up just fine.  But there were always more-- little cutting comments, snide remarks, disgusted sighs, unyielding pressure, endless criticisms and the relentless demand of perfection.  Day after day, Eileen’s smile became fainter, Moira’s fire eating eyes burned darker and Tom, the child of their mother, got left behind somewhere.  Owen rarely lost his temper physically after the window incident, but his methods of keeping Tom out of his warpath were pyrrric at best.  A pair of shale blue lips flashed through Eileen’s chaotic mind.  Baby blue lips. . .
	“Get in here before I lose my temper completely.”  Owen Paris shouted, dragging his only son by a fistful of his jumpsuit.  Tom scrambled to remain on his feet, even at ten he barely reached past his father’s waist.  Tom stumbled into the closet and felt his head strike the wall sharply as his father keyed the closet lock.  Through the cloud of pain lights flickering before his eyes, Tom watched the last sliver of light disappear.  He sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees.  Tom tried to remember exactly what he had done wrong this time, but couldn’t recall a specific incident.  He knew there were many, many reasons why his father would be angry with him.  He had gotten several problems wrong on his last calculus exam. Stupid, stupid mistakes.  Tom helpless pounded one small fist against his leg in sudden, blinding self-hatred.  “Stupid, Thomas.” He scolded himself.  The blur of pain gave him something to think about, something to keep from crying.  The only thing that angered his father more than his stupidity was his weakness.  ‘I won’t cry.’ Tom told himself firmly.  He could hear someone moving in the room beyond the door.  He knew it was Ellie.  She always waited for him, always hugged him tight and sang to him.  The closet was slowly becoming unbearably warmer.  This was odd, in all the times he had been placed in here, the environmental equalizer had kept the closet the same temperature as the rest of the house.  His father felt Tom could better evaluate his behavior in the dark, distraction-less silence of the closet.  Tom felt the air grow thinner and his chest began to ache with the effort to haul in enough oxygen. 
	“Ellie?” He whispered, pawing for the door in the absolute darkness.
	“Hush, Tommy.”  She called back.
	“Ellie, please, I can’t breathe. . .”  Tom felt a shrieking rush of panic eclipse his mind.  He tried to rise to his feet, but he wobbled like an infant lamb and fell foreword.  It was so dark-- The only light came from the blood-red taint beginning to edge over his eyes.  He tried to focus his thoughts, tried to relax, but the gasping terror of his labored breathing cast his control off like a burial shroud.  He wanted out, he wanted Ellie and in the fading recesses of his mind, just before darkness overwhelmed him, he wanted his mother.  
	Eileen paced in front of the door, twisting her hands.  Tom had never pleaded with her to release him.  But the equalizer in the house would ensure that he got clean, fresh air.  She tried to convince herself it was another of Tom’s ploys, but she couldn’t erase his fading whimper from her mind.  She knocked softly on the closet door.
	“Tommy? Tommy, are you all right?”
	“What’s going on?”  Moira asked sourly from the doorway.
	“I don’t know.  Tom’s in the closet and he said something about--”
	“The closet?”  Moira cried, racing to the door, shoving Ellie out of the way.
	“The environmental equalizer blew out in last night’s power surge!”  Her hands shook as she frantically keyed the closet open.
	“What?” Eileen’s face contorted in terror.  The doors splayed open and Tom sagged into the room like a bag of flour.  Moira swiftly turned him over and gasped.  His face was a smooth, berry blue.  Eileen screamed, quickly bending over him.  She pressed her lips to his, noting with bone-deep horror the marble chill of his flesh.  Tom’s chest rose up with the force of her air, hesitated and began to move tentatively on its own.  Moira touched the juncture of his neck, nearly passing out with relief when she felt the faint, but steady beating of his heart.  She lifted her brother onto his bed, her face closed.  She whirled on her sister, tackling her and driving her to the floor.
	“You stupid, stupid bitch!  You could have killed him!”  Eileen twisted under her, openly weeping.
	“I didn’t know.  I didn’t know. I swear, Moira, I never would have let-”
	“You never would have done anything!”  Panting she rose, looking down at her sister with unfettered, undying hatred.  
	“You disgust me.”  She swore in a voice low as the earth.  “ I look at you and I look at the admiral and I think maybe Tom would be better off if you let Dad kill him.”  Eileen pulled back and slapped Moira with a sharp crack.
	“No, Moira.”  She covered her wet eyes briefly.  “I love Tommy. I love him more than anyone.”  Moira held her stinging cheek and spat viscously at her.
	“Coward.”
				********************
	Tom paced woodenly back and forth in front of the window, his back so taunt he could feel a hot press of pain growing between his shoulder blades.
	“Would you sit down, you’re giving me a headache.”
	“Oh, would you just-” Tom bit back the anger in his voice when he saw the flicker of fear in his older sister’s steel eyes.
	“I’m sorry, Moira.  Okay? I just lost my temper.”  He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder.  Tom sat back down, driving his hands through his hair.
	“We just need to think.  We’ll be all right if we just calm down and think our way out of this.  I just-- damn!  She couldn’t have picked worse people to do that in front of.  Okay.  Okay.  She was drunk and . . . distraught.  If anyone brings it up, we’ll just say--”
	“I’m not lying anymore, Thomas.”  Tom jerked up in surprise. Eileen shadowed the doorway, her hair snaky, eyes red-rimmed and old.  Moira sighed in disgust.
	“Well, that’s just too damn bad, Eileen.  Did you ever give a though to the fact that Tom and I had colleagues there?  Friends?  No, of course not.”  Tom squeezed Moira’s arm gently.
	“Moira’s right, Ellie.  There’s no point in. . . reliving.”
	“No point?  How about some peace of mind, Thomas?  How about our father’s precious reputation having to pay, even in some small way for what he did you us?”  Tom jumped to his feet, eyes blazing like the august sun.
	“Peace of mind for who, Ellie?  You?  Its always about you.”  Ellie half-sat against the window seat.
	“What is that supposed to mean?”  Tom hesitated.  He loved his sister and part of him would rather die than hurt her.  But another part, a darker, eight-year old part, was brazen with sheer terror.
	“You never did a thing when we were children because you couldn’t live with the truth.  And now you’re telling us we have to throw everything away because you can’t live with the *lie*?  No!  I have worked too hard for everything I have.”  He brushed at his eyes, frantically swiping at a smooth face unused to public tears.  He lowered his voice to a soft plea.
	“ I don’t want to see my face in the news reels again, Ellie.  I don’t want my name whispered across Academy Grounds.  I don’t want admirals wondering where the Paris’ went bad.  I don’t want to see that truth in my captain’s eyes.  Not ever, ever again.”  Tom stopped suddenly, took several shaking breaths and walked over to Eileen, lightly touching her hand.
	“Ellie, please.  I just want to fly my ship.  Go out with my girlfriend.  Play pool with my crewmates and pretend I don’t have a past.  Please.”  Eileen’s cornflower eyes softened as she watched the man before her turn into a six-year old with stars in his eyes.
	“Petite friar  Moira and I, we’re part of that past.  Don’t you see?  All those little isolated incidents, all those senseless accidents, they’ll always be between the three of us.  We can’t be a family until they’re gone.”  Moira stood up and snatched her coat.
	“The three of us managed to live this long without being a family.  I think we’ll survive.  You listen to me, Eileen.  This isn’t just your burden. This isn’t your decision. You have absolutely no right to drag Tom and me into your penance.  Do it on your own time.  I mean it.”  She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, stalking so fast she nearly toppled over B’Elanna.
	“Oh, hi.”  B’Elanna said, embarrassed.  “Tom, I was just stopping by to see you.”  Moira glanced at Tom, message clear.  He nodded almost imperceptibly at her as she stormed off.
	“I think I’ll leave as well.”  Ellie brushed past Tom, paused and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.
	“My little brother.  Did I tell you how much I missed you?”  Tom’s lips twitched fractionally.
	“I missed you, too.”  His voice cracked with sincerity.  
	“Speaking of missing, I brought these for you.”  She dug about in her jacket pocket, slipping a few data chips into his hand.
	“I found them when I was cleaning out Dad’s stuff.”  She smiled politely at B’Elanna, shutting the door behind her.
	“How much of our conversation did you hear?”  Tom demanded without preamble.
	“I wasn’t listening to your conversation, Tom.”  She snapped back, irritated and confused.
	“I was just about to signal the door.”  She edged closer to him, resting her hand on his arm, leaning in to share warmth.
	“What’s going on, Tom?”  Looking into those endless pitch eyes, Tom wanted to tell her.  He wanted to blurt it all out and have her lay her head on his shoulder until the sun came up.  He wanted to feel that particular shiver he felt the first time he woke up curled next to her.  Back when they were always going to be on the way back to Earth.  Always on the way, but never quite getting there.  The one voyage he hoped would never end.  Instead he shook his head, turning the data chips in his hand.
	“Uh, wanna see what these are?”
	Tom inserted the chips into the computer, sitting on the couch as the view screen flickered to life.  B’Elanna snuggled up next to him, knowing from their pre-dating stage that Tom was always in the mood for some low-key cuddling.
	A long, clear river came into view.  It was dotted with sail boats and kites.
	“This is a home video.”  Tom said in wonder.  “I didn’t think we had any of these.”  She took his hand, resting her head on hiss arm.  Young voices filtered in.
	“There they are, Daddy!  Mom and Tommy are at the edge of the river.”  The camera zoomed in on the figures by the bank.  A woman, almost the double of Eileen, sat cross legged, a small child, no more than three or four, tucked in her lap.
	“Is that you?”  B’Elanna asked.
	“Yeah.”  Tom responded, almost as if he didn’t believe it himself.
	A light breeze brushed across the child’s fine hair and his eyes shone with such unadulterated, unshuttered love that B’Elanna felt her chest quicken.  She had never thought much about motherhood, but to be looked at like that!  Just once would be enough for a life time.  The woman pulled the boy closer and began to sing in a rich, mellow voice, completely unaware of the camera.
	“Moon River, wider than a mile/ I’m crossing you in style, someday/ Oh, dreammaker, you heartbreaker.” She tapped her son on the nose as she sang the word tenderly, just to him.  “ Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way/ Two drifters, off to see the world / There’s such a lot of world to see / We’re after the same rainbow’s end / Barely ‘round the bend / My Huckleberry friend / Moon River and me--”
	Tom abruptly clicked the view screen off and left the couch.
	“I don’t feel like watching this right now.”  He sat on the edge of his bed, scrubbing his eyes with his palms.  She eased down next to him, lightly rubbing his back.
	‘Tom, what’s wrong?  What is this with your sisters?  Is it about your father?  I know you weren’t close, but its okay to be sorry-”  Tom wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head against the silky curve of her neck.  She slid her fingers through his hair, brushing her lips against his temple.
	“Can we just not talk about anything for a while?”  B’Elanna sighed, resting her chin on Tom’s head.  Chakotay had warned her about this, before they started dating.  ‘He’s always around but never available.  I respect a man who keeps secrets from his face, but I distrust a man who keeps secrets from his eyes.’  It was something she could never figure out, whether one should accept such a thing about a loved one or try to tear those secrets out.  She couldn’t help the hurt when, at times like this, she realized that there would always be more places in Tom she wouldn’t be allowed than not.  But tonight, while still wearing his funeral clothes and having just heard his mother’s voice for the first time in over twenty year, wasn’t the night to solve those problems.
				***************** 
	Tom Paris sat on the edge of one of Sandrine’s antiquated bar stools, slowly running his fingers along his glass.  As confusing and nerve-wracking the less few weeks had been, with the return of Voyager to the Alpha Quadrant and the death of his estranged father, nothing compared to the anxiety Tom now felt.  He had sat in his quarters, playing Eileen’s enigmatic message over and over.
	“We need to talk, Tommy.  There is much we left out of our conversation with Moira.  Could you meet me somewhere?. . .”  
	Tom was so fixated by on the memory of her purposeful, flat voice, he nearly fell from the stool when a large hand clapped his shoulder.  Chakotay laughed as he helped steady the younger man.
	“I’m sorry,” Don’t say Ensign, don’t say Ensign “-Tom.”  Tom gracefully shook off his commanding officer’s hand.
	“That’s perfectly all right.  What brings you to Chez Sandrines?”  Tom asked, licking his lips nervously as he eyes the door, silently begging the fates to delay the dangerously unstable Eileen for just a little while longer.
	Chakotay caught Tom’s glances and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  He knew full well that Tom wasn’t the same young man that deserted his crew almost ten years ago, but that didn’t mean he trusted him with his B’Elanna.  And he rarely felt guilty for his vigilant protection of her.
	“I just wanted to see the real thing.  I have to admit, those pool players have nothing on Gaunt Gary.” 
	Tom smiled thinly, his eyes focused on the door.
	“Few do.”  
	Chakotay slid into the chair next to him, blocking Tom’s view of the door.
	“Waiting for somebody?”  He asked, trying to keep is voice neutral.  But Tom was always more perceptive than Chakotay gave him credit for, at least when it came to veiled criticisms.
	“Yes,” Tom responded coldly. “My sister.”  As if answering his summons, Eileen stepped through the swinging door of the bar.  Her long blonde hair was piled neatly on the top of her head and she carried herself with a stately, learned grace.  Tom breathed a silent sigh of relief through his teeth.  Predicting Eileen’s moods was a little like predicting Midwestern weather.  That had always frightened Tom, the way she could start a sentence weeping and finish it slapping.  How she could effortlessly slide from a protective mother figure to a cowering daughter.  He learned early on not to depend upon her mercurial courage.  Tom rose without another word to Chakotay and intercepted Eileen.
	“Let’s sit on the upper level, Ellie. There are fewer people there.”  She smiled politely at Chakotay, noting his watchful eyes. The upper level of Sandrines was dark and smoky.  Eileen had to hold tightly to Tom’s arm to avoid bumping into the furniture.  It made her smile slightly, to be lead about by the same person she used to help across the street.  Tom waved the waitress away, not wanting a repeat of the scene at his father’s funeral.  He folded his hands on the table, trying to catch her eyes.
	“What did you want to talk about, Eileen?”
	“Can’t two siblings meet for a drink?”
	“Let’s not be coy, Eileen.  I’m not in the mood for it.”  She raised her brows coldly.
	“A sharp tongue on you, petite friar.”  When Tom didn’t respond she simply shrugged.
	“Fine then, Thomas, if that’s the way you want to play it.  I don’t think you and Moira took me very seriously the other night.  Now, of course I understand, I was a little . . . overserved at the time.  But I was very serious.”  Tom shot his hands into the air in helpless frustration.
	“Why are you making such an issue of this, Eileen?  It was years and years ago.”  Eileen’s cool composure shifted to indigent ire.
	“You weren’t there, Tom? You weren’t at the same funeral I was?  Didn’t you hear the way they talked about him?  After all the things that happened, you’re going to let him be remembered that way?”
	“There’s no nobility in fighting a dead man, Ellie.  That’s not courage.  What happened all those years ago happened.  There’s nothing we can do about it now.  The issue is academic.”  Eileen brushed a lock of hair from her face, raising her shaded cobalt eyes to met his, the barest trace of a knowing smile dancing on her lips.
	“No, I don’t think it is, Tom.  There’s something I forgot to tell you and Moira the other night. You see, little brother,  I killed him.”  
				************
	Chakotay jumped from his stool at the sound of a chair crashing to the floor.  He could see the shadowy form of Tom Paris through the smoke, standing over his sister.  Chakotay’s sharp ears caught fragments of Tom’s voice.
	“--. . . a Starfleet officer, for God’s sake . . . can’t tell me these things. . . responsibility. . .--”
	Chakotay moved quickly up the stairs, instinctively acting to defuse the situation.  Eileen had risen to stand toe-to-toe with her younger brother.
	“I’m sorry, Tommy.  But Moira was right, this wasn’t my decision to make.  Now its yours and hers.”  Before Tom could respond, he caught sight of Chakotay, hovering just within earshot.  His gaze stuttered back and forth between his sister and his C.O.  He snatched Eileen’s wrist and pulled her towards the stairs.
	“You go home, right now.”  He ordered sharply, pointing his finger at the door.  She stiffly nodded, leaving with her back straight.  Tom glared up at Chakotay once before following her out the door.  
	Chakotay sighed wearily.  When Voyager docked safe in Earth orbit last month, Chakotay felt like his soul had been returned to him.  And when they found out the Dominion had been destroyed and the alliance with the Cardassians had been reevaluated, he felt certain that the ship luck forgot had finally gotten its comeuppance.  It was time for some happiness, some security, time to cross some lines that had been necessary on that long trip.  As he made his way to the comm station in the back of Sandrines, he couldn’t help but feel their happy ending had been delayed indefinitely.  Again. 
				*************
	“Well, you can just forget about that!”  Moira snapped, slamming a cup of coffee in front of her brother.  Dawn was beginning to seep in through the windows of her home on Luna.  
	“I have an obligation, Moira!  I took an oath.”  
	“Yeah, that didn’t stop you before.” She responded, avoiding his eyes.  She could tell from his sharp intake of breathe that her cruel comment hit home.  For the briefest moment, she felt the urge apologize to this stranger across the table from her.  But no, there was too much at stake.
	“That’s true.  It didn’t.  But I’ve been given another chance and I *won’t* do that again.  I have a duty, Moira.”
	“What about your duty to me, Thomas?  To yourself?  You know the media will eat this up.  You know everyone on your ship is going to find out.  And you know what that look in their eyes will be-- pity.  Pity.  ‘Poor Tom’ they’ll think.”  Tom flinched, nausea welling in his chest.  Self respect was a relatively new concept to him and he knew it most likely wouldn’t withstand the public unveiling of his childhood.  And yet, the face of Kathryn Janeway kept creeping into his mind.  The way she looked when she reinstated his commission, the confidence in her voice and eyes.  And they way she looked when she demoted him, the sadness, the disappointment.  If he didn’t turn Ellie in, she would turn herself in, and his captain would know he disappointed her once again.  
	“I don’t have a choice, Moira.  And neither do you.  You’re a lawyer.  If the D.A.’s office were to find out that you, of all people, withheld information about a murder, you’d lose your job.”  And although this had occurred to Moira, it didn’t seem real until Tom brought it up.  She gripped her coffee to herself, clinging to her last thin argument.
	“We don’t even know that she actually *did* it, Tom.  She’s nuts.  She’s probably lying.”  
	“Maybe.  We’ll find out soon enough.”  They said nothing for a long time, in reality there wasn’t much left to say.  They had built firm and studious walls between themselves and the past.  And now the past had come roaring at them, with bloodied hands and shale blue lips. Nothing would be held sacred from the vengeful eyes of the law.  Fleet lawyers would tear Ellie to shreds in retribution for slandering a god, Ellie’s defense would paint them all into pathetic, cowardly victims.
	“She really worked us over good, Tommy.”  Moira said at last.  “She had this all figured out.”  Tom just turned his head to look out the window.
	“Its morning already?”  He asked.  Moira hesitated for a moment before speaking.
	“On the ship, on Voyager, did you miss mornings?  I can’t imagine what it would be like; long endless days with no twilight and no dawn.  I always get this feeling when the sun rises, like a clean slate, you know?” 
	“There’s no such thing as a clean slate, Moira. And I never missed mornings.”
				****************
	Moira Paris sat alone in a silent briefing hall in Starfleet Head Quarters.  She knew the process by heart.  Eileen would be taken to Intelligence for questioning, arrangements to retrieve the body from space burial would be made, an arraignment would be scheduled, prosecution would be appointed, defending consul would be arranged, a competency hearing would be held.  She reflected on what she had told her brother that morning.  Did she really believe Eileen was insane?  Did she really believe her sister had killed her father?  A small part of her was proud of Eileen, for lashing back at the Admiral for the first and last time in her life.  A much bigger part was frenzied with absolute fury.  It far surpassed the burn of humiliation she felt when she remembered the most shameful secrets of her past where about to be smeared across news reels through out the Federation.  The soft chime of the door signal distracted Moira from her fiery thoughts.  Tom entered the room without waiting for a response.  His face was pale and drawn, he crossed the room without a word and sat beside her, pressing his head against the back of the cushion.  
	“Well?”  Moira said after a long moment.
	“Its over.  She’s being held by Intelligence for questioning.  There’s already media lining up from here to the bay.” 
	“So, how did she do it?” 
	“She said she used Romulan poison.”  Moira’s half-lidded eyes popped open.
	“’Romulan poison’?  Where the hell would she get Romulan poison?”
	“She said she got it from Finn.”  Moira snorted in disbelief.
	“Finn?  Like he would really speak to her after what Dad did.”  	Tom shrugged, raising his eyes to meet her dark ones.
	“There’s one other thing. . .”
	“What?”  Tom took a deep breath.
	“She’s asked you to defend her at the trial.”
	“What?!”  The PADD on Moira’s lap clattered to the ground as she bolted upright.  Tom hopped to his feet and crossed his arms.
	“It’s not an entirely unreasonable request, Moira.  You’re a lawyer, she’s your sister.  The media would probably make a bigger fuss if you *didn’t* defend her.”  Moira looked toward the window, her eyes quick and calculating, as if she was trying to gauge how long it would talk her to dart through it and whether or not Tom would have to time to catch her before she got there.
	“Why do you let her mean so much to you, Tom?  Because she sang you to sleep twenty years ago?  Because she used to kiss your skinned knees?”  Her voice was high and ugly with mockery.  
	“Yes.” Tom responded simply.
	“Well, she never sang me to sleep.  Besides, I’m not a trial lawyer.”  She concluded flatly, clearing signaling the end of the discussion.
	“She’s your *sister,* Moira.  Aren’t you even curious?  We grew up in the same household, for God’s sake!  She killed your father!  How can you pretend you have no connection to this?”  Moira glared at the wall over Tom’s shoulder before driving to her feet.  
	“You place to much significance on family, Tom.  It isn’t destiny, it isn’t divinity.  It’s just luck.  A genetic crap shoot.  Sometimes you roll sevens, sometimes snake-eyes.  Why should I muddy my hands because we happen to share something as arbitrary as ‘blood’?  You can’t tell me you love Eileen and myself  more than those people on Voyager.  We may have grown up in the same house, but we are strangers, Tom.  Strangers with the same last name.  Neither the guilty party nor the victim mean more to me any other person in this universe.”  	
	She brushed past him, chilling the air around his body.  She paused before she reached the door, however and looked at the back of her brother’s head with something like regret.
	“I’ll make sure she gets someone good, Tom.”  
	“Yeah.  Thanks anyway, Moira.” She waited another moment before walking away.
				**************
	Moira Paris stepped into her spacious apartment on Luna, slamming the door sharply behind her.  She let a series of PADDs fall from her fingers as she headed for the liquor cabinet in the corner of her living room.  It was nearly six o’clock, just about time for a tall glass of scotch.  She didn’t bother asking the computer to play her messages, she didn’t want to listen to dozens of reporters begging for interviews.  She would have to request a message filter soon, maybe after the scotch.  After collecting her generously filled glass, she wandered aimlessly into her bedroom.  Tom’s words drifted in and out of her consciousness.  She’s your *sister.*  She killed your father.  She’s your *sister.*  Without truly being aware of it, Moira ended up in front of her tall storage cabinet.  She keyed the bottom drawer open and began picking through the few small momentos of her childhood she had bothered to keep.  A thoughtfully but childishly crafted Jacob’s Ladder, a dried corsage, the handstitched doll her mother made for her on her fourth birthday, and finally, a gold medallion.  Reverently, she lifted the glittering award up, recalling her wet palms and dry mouth as she recited her speech before the judges.  She remembered how Ellie and Tom sat for almost three hours as she practiced and practiced before them.  How neatly Ellie had dressed Tom for the contest, his curls damped to perfection, his nails scrubbed.  The way her father spun her up in his large arms when she won.  His dark eyes, so like her own, sparkled as she held onto his shoulders, spinning high above the ground.   Moira dropped the medallion as if it had burnt her fingers.  It spilled to the floor and bounced slightly before coming to rest.  Moira pressed her fingertips to her eyes, halting the spread of bitter, lonely tears.  She wondered what the poison tasted like, if her father felt a fierce burning or an icy numbing.  She wondered what Eileen was thinking when she dished those drops into his food.  She wondered what she said to Finn when she asked for it and what he said in return. She wondered what Intelligence was asking Eileen right now, and whether or not Ellie had broken down yet.  But most of all she wondered what it was like to nightly sing asleep a child you had no intention of protecting come daybreak and what that does to a good person’s soul.  
				************
	Moira spread several PADDs across the glossy table in an attempt to avoid her sister’s eyes.
	“Have you been treated well?”  She asked distantly.
	“Of course.”  Ellie’s voice was guarded, cagey.  Moira’s presence was something she hadn’t expected despite her request.
	“I’m going to be asking you some questions, Eileen and I ask that you be honest and thorough.”
	“Of course.”  Eileen repeated.  Moira cleared her throat.
	“Computer:  begin recording.  State your full name and age for the record please.”
	“My name is Eileen Mareah Paris.  I am thirty nine years old.” 
	“Thank you.  Can you tell me, in complete detail, the events of Stardate 6557.15?”  Eileen tossed her hair back and spoke in a crisp, emotionless voice.
	“I awoke around eight o’clock in the morning and began to work.  I edit books for a living, Moira.  Did you know that?”  Moira’s dark eyes shot up from her PADD.
	“Please stick to relevant information, Eileen.”
	“Of course.  I took a break at around ten o’clock and read the news report.  My father, Owen Eugene Paris, came home for lunch at approximately eleven-thirty.  He asked me to bring him a plate of pasta from the replicator.  Before giving it to him, I placed six drops Tyuk’ph poison in the pasta.  I think he died at about eleven-thirty six, but I’m not certain.  At twelve noon, I called in a medical emergency.”
	Moira swallowed several times rapidly.  The image of her sister coldly killing their father burrowed its way into her mind.  Eileen, with her pretty long hair bobbing around her shoulders as she ate her lunch.  The clacking of her fork against the plate harmonizing with the sound of her father spasming on the floor beside her.  When Moira next spoke her voice skated unsteadily across her teeth.
	“Where did you get the poison?”  
	“Finnigan Egan O’Riley, a good friend of mine.  He lives, excuse me, *lived* on the Romulus/Federation border.  It took him almost two years to obtain the poison.  I received it three months ago.” 
	“You received it three months ago, but didn’t use it until last week.  Why is that?”  Eileen shrugged, toying with the sleeve of her prison uniform.
	“I asked for the poison in an angry fit, after two years I cooled off a little.  And then, when Tommy came home and seemed interested in forgiving the Admiral, it didn’t seem necessary.”
	“What event prompted you to ask for the poison?”  Moira tried to keep the honest curiosity from her professional tone.  She meant what she told Tom, she had no interest in getting to know Eileen.  Eileen’s motivations meant no more to Moira than legal motive.  At least, that was the way Moira wanted it to be.  
	“We got those letters from the Delta Quadrant, from Tom.  Remember? I sent you his.  Tom was *alive.*  He was safe and flying a ship again.  It was the happiest moment of my life.  And what did father do?  Did he tell Tommy he was sorry or that he missed him?  No, he wrote cruel things, angry, disappointed things.  Understand something, Moira.  All those incidents when we were children, they could be explained, even excused.  Things happen in red fits of anger, things one normally wouldn’t allow.  But that letter, he drafted it.  He proof-read it.  He signed it and sent it with no other purpose than to hurt Tom.  I wanted him to know that I could be every bit as cold and calculating as that.  And I wanted him to know that Finn helped me do it.”  Moira felt a sharp prick of anger at the Admiral.  She hadn’t known about the letter, Tom hadn’t mentioned it to her since his arrival back home.  Still, it served as the kind of motivation a jury would sympathize with, if not condone.
	“Do you know if he kept a copy of this letter?”  Ellie shook her head.
	“No, he’s not that stupid.  What if someone were to find it in a data file?”  Moira nodded, tapping her PADD with a stylus. 
	“I’ll have to get Tom to corroborate that.  All right.  So you wanted to kill him for hurting Tom.  But you didn’t, not for three months.  What prompted you to finally do it?”
	“I’d prefer not to answer that question, Moira.”
	“Well, that’s too bad, Eileen.  Because the prosecution is going to prefer that you answer it.”
	“Then I’ll ask you to turn around.  I won’t cry in front of you.  Tom used up all my public tears when he was twelve.”  Moira flinched ever so slightly at Eileen’s words.  The sound of the Jacob’s Ladder’s fluttering clatter pounded in her ears.  Moira turned her back, her acute mind pondering how she could be so far from someone whose hair she could smell. 
	“It was in the news reports that morning.  His name.  They said he was dead.”  Eileen’s voice crackled and Moira felt Ellie’s hidden tears burning into the back of her head.
	“A shoot out at the Romulan border.  And all I could think of was how he wanted to be an author.  He used to write these silly haikus, delicate ones that tasted like rose water in my mouth when I read them out loud.  Finn.  He was all, Moira, all I ever wanted for myself.”  	Salty prickles of moisture danced on Moira’s eyelids as she listened to Eileen’s grieving confession of murder.  Nothing was said between the sisters for a long time.  Finally, Moira turned back around and Eileen’s eyes were dry.  
	“I’m sorry about Finn, Eileen.  I know how much you loved him.”  It was the sympathy of acquaintances, not siblings, but there was a sincere compassion to it.  The fumbling of one hand in the dark, searching for the warmth of a similar hand.  Eileen smiled in the lull of hostilities, studying her sister’s small, dark features.
	“Remember how, when we were children, people never believed we were related?”  
	“Ah, they were fools.  We have the same teeth.  White and straight across our mouths.”  They shared a sort of laugh, more like a brief huffing of air through their noses.  Moira pushed the moment away quickly and they returned their focus to six drops of poison and the way a man dies on a Sunday afternoon.
				**************
	Tom and B’Elanna sat side-by-side outside the conference room where his sisters were sharing a brief moment of shared amusement.  They pretended they couldn’t hear the faint buzzing media personnel outside the building.  B’Elanna wanted to ask Tom if it was true, what the news reports were saying about his childhood.  She wanted to know what Tom knew of dark closets and broken windows.  She wanted to know if he thought more about the corners of end tables than most other people did.  She wanted to know what ugly things he and his sisters never spoke of and how they managed to side-step the hurdle of so many unsaid things.  But what she wanted to know and what Tom was willing to share would always be two very, very different things.  She couldn’t help but feel there was a very important lesson in this murder that they were unprepared to learn.  Something about how a man can live with a woman for thirty-nine years and find himself innocently eating a plate full of deadly pasta at the kitchen table.  Before she could dislodge the lesson from its murky hiding place, Captain Janeway’s coarse voice broke out across the hallway.
	“Lieutenant, Ensign.”  She greeted.  There was nothing written on her face, but her eyes were mournful.  
	“Captain.”  B’Elanna greeted, expecting Tom’s voice to chime in with hers in that comical way it often did.  Instead he remained silent, a petulant look of betrayal on his face.
	“You were speaking to the media, sir.”  He said, almost no trace of accusation in his cool voice.  Janeway looked as if she wanted to cross her arms defensively, but a captain’s dignity held her back.
	“Yes, Tom, I did.  The public has a right to know--” 
	“To know what?  That you’d like to see my sister hung for this?”  Janeway blinked a few times, shocked by his uncharacteristic insolence.  She remembered her frustrated complaints to Tuvok those first weeks in the Delta Quadrant.  ‘What a senior staff,’ She remarked over coffee. ‘A hologram, a rebel captain and three children.’ Three officers, barely in their mid-twenties.  She had left the parenting of B’Elanna up to Chakotay, whom B’Elanna trusted and adored.  Parenting Harry was an easy task, with frequent and visible rewards.  Mothering Tom was another story.  She loaded him with a random assortment of tasks and responsibilities, partly to keep him occupied and partly to make him feel valued.  She saw through the cocky, devil-way-care front he presented and knew that he would eat out of your hand if he thought you believed in him.  The hesitant, almost bashful half-smile and faint blush she saw after he presented his first report to her melted Janeway.  He seemed to shrink as if bracing himself for a blow.  When all he got was a smile and a ‘well done, Lieutenant,’ he was hooked.  He was hers and he would follow the chain of command until the day he died provided he would never lose that smile.  Janeway only needed to hear the sharpness, the audacious hurt in his voice to know his father’s murder had shaken him far more than he was willing to let on.
	“I’m sorry that you are upset, Tom.  But I had a very close working relationship with your father.  He made me the officer I am.  I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of my respect for him and your sister’s claims.”  A muscle flexed tightly in Tom’s jaw and his voice was low and spiteful.
	“Oh, I’m not in the middle, Captain.  I know exactly where I stand.”  B’Elanna placed a restraining hand on Tom’s arm.
	“Tom-”  She began but he shook her off.  It was only the hurt talking and they all knew it.  Tom had never been able to align his adoration of the Captain with his stormy disagreement to her choice in idols.  Standing before him, completely unsympathetic towards his beloved sister, she was easy to blame.  But Kathryn Janeway had no interest in being a convenient target for her young officer’s resentment.
	“Very well, Ensign.”  It was her Captain voice, the one that snapped spines of titanium and it cleverly hid that traces of hurt.  She walked from him briskly.  
	“Tom, that was uncalled for.  You don’t even know what she said to them.”  Tom just shook his head, staring down at the space between his knees.  B’Elanna gritted her teeth in frustration.  Talking to Tom lately was like talking to an Andorian brick wall without a Universal Translator.  
	“I love you.”  She said suddenly.  His head jerked up in surprise despite the fact she made no secret of those words in the past.  Tom wanted to say them back, he could feel the words climbing up the back of this throat only to get tangled up somewhere behind his tongue.
	“You picked a great time to tell me.”  He repeated the words, reciting the conversation that had started so much good in his life, only this time without the irony or sarcasm.  B’Elanna smiled at him, score one for the Klingons.  
	Moira emerged from the conference room, a tired frown etched in her face.
	“How did it go?” Tom asked warily. 
	“Suffice it to say, an insanity plea is out of the question.  She planned this out, Tom.  For years.”  
	“Why, Moira?  Why did she do it?”  Moira held her arms out helplessly.
	“I suppose she had a lot of reasons.  Finn’s death being the biggest one.”  
	“Finn died?  When?”  Moira sank into one of the chairs, hating her father always wore her out.  
	“Eileen found out the morning she killed Dad.  Some shoot out at a seedy border station.”  
	“Border?  What border?”  
	“Didn’t you know?  No, of course you wouldn’t have known.  I wouldn’t have know myself only the case came through my agency.”  Tom knotted his brows in confusion, silently prompting the story from her.
	“When you were in the Academy, I guess you would have been about seventeen, Eileen and Finn decided to marry.”  Tom made a short, barking noise.  The more he learned of his sister the more he realized how much he never actually knew her.
	“Its true.  Father was furious.  Imagine his daughter marrying the son of miners!  Disreputable miners at that.  Its no secret his parents worked out trading deals with the Romulans, everyone on the border did.  It was that money that enabled them to send Finn to Terra for school in first place.  Dad pulled a few strings and had them arrested for trade violations and conspiracy against the Federation.  Finn had to leave Earth and run the family mines for them.  I guess Ellie blamed Dad for Finn dying at that station.”  Moira closed her eyes, trying to erase the image of Finn’s merry green eyes.  What had the sight of him done to Ellie, his kelly eyes dulled after years of working underground?  His smile hardened from the ruthless lifestyle lead by those on the fringes of civilization.  Were the daisies he broke the window to deliver the last he ever touched?  Moira tossed her head as if she could shake the images from her mind.
	“There was another thing.  She mentioned a letter Dad sent to you.  Do you remember what that letter said.”  Tom glanced at B’Elanna and shook his head.
	“I never got it.  Not all of the letters were retrieved.  Why?”
	“According to Eileen it was. . . unpleasant.”  Tom whipped out his cynical smile and directed a very I-told-you-so expression to B’Elanna.
	“That’s too bad, Tom.  That letter would have given us motive.”
	“Isn’t that bad?” B’Elanna asked, an unreadable discomfort in her voice.  Moira grinned the timeless, sharky grin of lawyers.
	“Now that depends on what the motive is.  I was thinking of pleading justifiable homicide.”
	“That’s very funny, Moira.” Tom snapped.  He had always known, deep down, that the letter wasn’t one of love and forgiveness, despite what B’Elanna assured him.  But that didn’t mean the truth cut any less deep.
	“I saw the letter.” B’Elanna said softly. 
	“What!” Tom and Moira demanded simultaneously.  B’Elanna’s expression was somewhere between guilt and conviction.
	“I didn’t think there was any point in giving you that letter.  It was cruel and unnecessary.”
	“You *lied* to me?  You *destroyed* my letter?  What gives you the right?”  B’Elanna stood up, equally angry.
	“Because I love you, you stupid p’tak!  I wanted to protect you.”
	“So you destroyed my property because you love me.  And what are you going to plead, Moira?  That Ellie killed Dad because she loves me?  Other people are loved without invoking a crime wave!”
	“Get over it, Tom.”  Moira ordered her in dry, weary voice.  She had to do more introspection today than in the total of her life.  As a result, she was in no mood for Tom’s self-pity.  “People do what they think is right.  Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t but all you can do is live with it.  We aren’t philosopher, Tom.  We don’t have the God’s Book of Right and Wrong to fall back on.”  Moira took a breath to finish her tirade when she stopped suddenly.  There was something in her own words she quite ready to realize, instead she picked up her brief case and headed home.
				*****************
	Moira carefully swept her eyes over the courtroom, fruitlessly seeking solace in the familiarity therein.  The judge, the jury, one balcony of interested parties and witnesses, one balcony of media.  The unblinking presence of the ubiquitous computer, recording everything, the single nonjudgemental party in the room.  Moira knew no matter one’s actions, everyone had a judgment, an opinion.  The lawyers rarely believed their own clients, the judges rarely believed *anyone,* somehow finding it perfectly reasonable to disbelieve two mutually exclusive statements, the jury wanted to believe everyone but easily came to conclusion.  The day of questioning had been long and tiring.  Usually the prosecution fell to the District Attorney, but Eileen was suspected of killing a member of Starfleet, and therefore a Fleet lawyer was appointed by the city of San Francisco.  Said Fleet lawyer was just concluding his examination of Eileen.  He had the carefully created affability and gentleness of all skilled lawyers.  He addressed Ellie with respect, even sympathy at times.  Nodding as if her actions were perfectly, perfectly justified and yet always managing to hammer in the fact that she was guilty as sin and loving it the whole while.  
	“Just one more question, Ms. Paris.  You are admittedly guilty of killing your father.  As such, what do you believe your punishment should be?”  A hush fell over the crowd, even Moira, well versed in lawyer tricks, sat in startlement for a moment.
	“Objection!”  She shouted, rising to her feet.  The judge opened his mouth to speak, but Ellie beat him to it.
	“Its all right, Moira.”  She said softly, holding up one hand.  The judge frowned mildly.
	“Normally I would sustain such an objection, but if you wish to answer the question, go ahead.”
	“That’s ridiculous, Your Honor.  To ask an untrained defendant to offer binding opinions on the nature of punishment-”
	“Untrained, Moira?”  Ellie interrupted.  The prosecuting lawyer watched the by-play with interest, deciding to let Eileen speak.
	“I am untrained in the nature of punishment?  And what do you know of punishment, little sister?  You who vanished before the smoke had a chance to drift from your eighteenth birthday candles?  My punishment was to stay in that house, to watch daily what I hadn’t the courage to stop.  I have much to say about suitable punishment, Mr. Tusconei.  But none of them will be dealt in this courtroom.”  Tusconei nodded at her than at the jury.
	“The prosecution rests.”  
	“Consul Paris, would you like to redirect?”  Moira looked up at her sister, knowing this was very well the last time she would address her as a free woman.  And despite what she had told Tom, what she had told herself, she *did* want to know.  Maybe she even needed to know.
	“Yes, Your Honor.  I just have one question for the defendant.”  Moira dropped her PADD and for the first time she could remember, she looked another person directly in the eyes.
	“Why did you ask for me, Eileen?  Why did you want me for consul?”  
	“Your Honor, I question the relevancy of this!” Tusconei fretted, smiling his plaster smile for the jury.
	“You got a some leeway with your last question, Conselor.  I think we can let her say her piece.”   Eileen smiled up at him.
	“Thank you, sir.  But may I ask that Thomas Paris leave the courtroom.”  The faint rumble of conversation exploded as Tom got to his feet.
	“What?”  He asked, looking to his sisters like a child playing dress-up in his dress uniform. 
	“You can’t do that, Ellie.”  Moira hissed, blushing faintly.
	“This doesn’t concern you, Thomas.  Please leave.”  Eileen’s voice never losing that stately equanimity.
	“Doesn’t concern me?  What the hell are you talking about?  This is my family, for God’s sake!”  The judge pounded his gavel, wordlessly warning Moira that she had very little time to end this situation.  Moira could feel her tenuous connection to her sister slipping, and at that moment the desire to hear her sister’s words eclipsed all other concerns, and desires.  The room seemed to have narrowed to two women with the same last name and two girls kneeling on a bathroom floor.
	“Go on, Tommy.  Its okay.”  Tom looked back and forth between his sisters for a long moment before numbly stumbling out the door.  Moira nodded at her sister.
	“When I was fourteen our mother died.” She adopted the rounded speaking style of historians.  And she was that, in a way.  She was the only keeper of history in her fragile family.  The only one who allowed the past inside and breathed it in like oxygen.  
	“Dad was away on the Al-Baatani, out of communications range.  Moira and I stayed up with her that entire long night.  Even the doctors left after a time.  Tommy tried to stay up, but Mom told us to put him to bed after he kept nodding off.  I suppose death doesn’t seem like a very significant thing to a six-year old.  She was our mother almost up to the end.  When she started really slipping, she got desperate.  She kept asking us to bring the baby back out to her, but we didn’t want to leave her and we didn’t want him to see her this way.  I think it was the right thing to do, but its so hard to tell.  She never asked for Dad.  Maybe that was why he was so hard on Tom.  I don’t think he ever understood why she loved the baby so much more in those last few minutes.  After she . . . after it was over, I went into Tommy’s room.  I didn’t mean to wake him, I just wanted to sit on the edge of his bed and look at him.  It was dark and he was confused.  He looked up at me and said “Mom?”  I told him no, that she was gone.  He was quiet for a minute and then said ‘Oh.’ as if had told him his favorite holoprogram was off-line.  And then he said “Does that make you my mother now?’”  	Eileen gazed softly at her sister, the corners of her mouth quivering.
	“Don’t you see, Moira?  It was my job to protect him.  And I failed him, day after day. I wanted you to know that, to understand a little of that.”  Moira swallowed, dragging out the courage to keep looking Eileen in the eyes.
	“I can’t not blame you, Ellie. I wouldn’t know how to start.”
	“I’m not asking for that, petite soeur. Its only just to blame to guilty.  I’m asking you to forgive me.”
				**************
	Jacob’s ladders are confusing things, and even to this day, Moira Paris wasn’t entirely certain how they worked.  But she saw one at a fair and was delighted by its complex clacking and flopping, its ribbons and wooden blocks.  Tom, who loved giving gifts, spent all night by the computer station learning how to make one.  It was an arduous tasks, his hands trapped somewhere between childhood stubbiness and teenage clumsiness.  But he knew she would love it, and he bounded up the stairs to her room, picturing the smile that would shatter her dour face.  She was standing in the center of her room, like a tiny soldier.  His father was looming over her, storm clouds clashing in his eyes.
	“What do you want?”  He demanded sharply. Tom felt that familiar quiver of fear and his voice tried to tread the slender path between meekness and insolence.
	“I made you a present, Moira.”  He said softly.  Moira moved toward him, and he could see Ellie behind her.  He wondered why she was crying and why there was a suitcase on the floor beside Moira.  Moira knelt before him, taking the Jacob’s Ladder with gentle, grateful fingers. 
	“What’s going on?”  Tom asked in a helpless child’s frightened voice..  
	“Your sister is leaving, Thomas.  Some people forget what family means when they turn eighteen.”  His voice was harsh and accusatory.  Tom skirted instinctively out of his way as he pounded out of the room.  Eileen’s fragile weeping filled his ears.
	“What is he talking about, Moira?”  Unbelievably, there was innocence in that voice and Moira almost broke down.
	“It’ll be all right, Tommy.  In five years you’ll be at the Academy.”  She slipped the ladder into her pocket and snatched her suitcase.  Tom followed her down the stairs and out the door.  The reality of the situation failed to hit him until he saw the taxi waiting beyond the gate.  
	“Moira!”  He screamed, desperation making his young voice ragged.  He would have run after her, but his father appeared behind him, holding him by the waist.
	“Let her go, Tom.”  He demanded, almost kindly.  
	“Moira, please!”  Tom screamed again, the force of his cry bending his knees.  She kept walking, eyes fastened to the promise of that taxi.
	“Moira, please!  Please don’t leave me! *MOIRA!  PLEASE!*”  But Moira was gone, into the taxi and then up in the sky.  The sound of his cries following her up into the atmosphere and far beyond the moon.
				*****************
	“You’re late.”  Moira informed Tom as he eased into the seat in front of her.  Sandrine deposited a glass of synthehol next to his elbow and padded off.  
	“I was delayed.  I’m sorry.”  Tom walked to his apartment after being dismissed from the courtroom.  He sat alone in the living room watching the vids Eileen gave him.  There was one where Moira was playfully tickling his five-year old stomach.  Their father stepped briefly into view, smiling as he scolded the girl.  ‘All right, Minsie.  Be careful with the baby, don’t play so rough.’  It was then, and only then, that Tom Paris cried for the happy family on the screen who didn’t know they never had a chance.
	“It isn’t so bad.  Twenty years in a psychiatric hospital.  It could have been much worse.”  Tom ran his fingers over the moist surface of his glass.
	“Can we see her?”
	“No, not for a while.  I thinks its best that way.”  Tom nodded.  Moira let that familiar silence settle over them for a while before breaking the spell.	
	“You know, after I left, Tom. . . I tried so hard to forget you.  I thought, in a universe full of children, how hard could it be to forget one little boy. . .”  She shook her head, downing a generous mouthful of scotch.
	“And Ellie thought I knew nothing of punishment.  What I’m trying to say, Tommy.  It’s only that. . . Its only that I wanted you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for so damn much.”  Tom wanted to tell her that it was okay, but he knew it wasn’t.  Instead he just listened to the gigolo play the piano.  It was one of those old songs his mother loved so much.  That was one of the key ways he seperated his memories of his mother from those of Ellie.  If the memory played out to the twangy vibrancy of rock’n’roll, it was his mother.  The deep bluesy music drifted over the sad, silent pair.
	“Wanna dance?”  Tom asked, anything to keep the truth of the future at bay.
	“Yeah.” Moira agreed.  They moved to the center of the room, a mismatched pair of tall and short, light and dark.  Moira rested her head on her younger brother’s shoulder, letting him lead. Her hand felt cold in his and Tom wished there was a Voyager for her somewhere.
		Father, stop criticizing your son
		Mother, please, leave your daughter alone
		Don’t you see? That’s what wrong with the world today
		Everybody wants somebody to be their own piece of clay
	After a while, she looked up at him, not seeing a boy or a stranger, but a brother of flesh and blood.
	“What now, Tom?”  She asked slowly.
	“I think I’d just like to be your brother.  We could learn, Moira.  It won’t be that hard.”  And while she didn’t disagree, she doubted him.  But only time would tell.  
		We all talk of kindness, but its only a word
		Brother turn on sister in this cruel, cruel world
		That’s what’s wrong with this world today
		Everybody wants somebody to be their own piece of clay
	
	THE END