The Star Trek:Voyager premise and its characters belong to Paramount Studios, a Viacom company. No infringment on Paramount's rights is intended. This round robin group story was written by fans and is meant for fun only, not profit. Echo of a Nightmare Captain's Personal Log, stardate 50114.2: I will not waste time with hindsight; it will not help anyone. We received a subspace distress call from the Triliad system and proceeded to investigate as both Starfleet protocols and my own personal philosophy require. It is inconsequential that the automated beacon was still operational long after the occupants of the ship, whoever they were, had perished on such an inhospitable moon. We had to go and we went. Now my operations officer lies near death; a victim of circumstance in a pointless mission. But Harry Kim is a fighter and it is my profound hope that he will cling to life long enough for our EMH to heal his injuries. Tom Paris is also a fighter, but, unfortunately, he is facing very powerful adversaries -- guilt and doubt. I knew as much when Tom gave me his initial report, such as it was, in sickbay. I wish he could have told me more, but it was not the time or place to press for details. He seemed desperate to be anywhere else despite his own very serious head injury. Although we know practically nothing for certain, I sense Tom blames himself for the crash, the loss of the shuttle, and the injuries of the others. The look of resignation Tom gave me when I summoned Ensign Hudson to sickbay was almost heartbreaking, but it was imperative that Tom stay to be treated -- forced to stay, if necessary -- as soon as the doctor had Harry stabilized. Both Ensign Simms and Ensign Lamont were injured themselves and in no condition to assist should the situation deteriorate. Simms at least was glad to see Hudson. Still, I wish I had not felt the need to call security. I was somewhat surprised by Lieutenant Garvic's obvious agitation. Of all the crew on board the shuttle he survived the crash with the fewest and least serious injuries, yet he seemed to be greatly upset. Perhaps this can be attributed to Garvic's lack of experience with extremely stressful situations, something my bridge officers are becoming entirely too familiar with. Once again I found myself glad of Chakotay, my solid wall of calm support. I don't know yet what Chakotay said to Garvic, but whatever it was, it eased some of the tension. Simms, Lamont, Garvic, Kim, and Paris. I could have lost any or all of them, and I could still lose Harry, and perhaps, something of Tom as well. Certainly command has its down side; sometimes I feel as if the only side is a down side. Well I remember the day when I was promoted to captain. What was it Mark said? "Congratulations, I'm sorry." I laughed at the time, but I am certainly not laughing now. I hope the reports presented at the afternoon staff meeting will shed some light on this horrible set of circumstances, but I go into it with a feeling of foreboding. Chakotay would say the spirits are trying to tell me something. Trouble is, do I want to hear what they are saying? Voyager's senior staff gathered in the briefing room to review the shuttle crash incident. All were there with one notable exception; Ensign Kim was missing. He still lay unconscious in sickbay, wavering between life and death. B'Elanna paced back and forth as she tirelessly recited her report, going over areas they had already covered several times in the past hour. Everyone's eyes were on B'Elanna. Everyone except Tom, who sat staring sightlessly at the tabletop in front of him, his hands tightly clasped together atop the table. B'Elanna concluded her report, saying, "We really don't know at this point what caused the shuttle accident. We still have several areas that will require further investigation." "I think we all know what caused the accident." All looked in the direction of the unusually subdued voice. Paris raised his eyes, their blue hue appearing more vivid than usual due to the paleness of his face. He looked around the table, boldly meeting all their gazes. "B'Elanna's trying very hard not to say it, but the fact is, and the reason she can't find any faults in the systems, is because the accident yesterday morning was due to pilot error." "Are you admitting -- " Tuvok began. "He's admitting nothing," Janeway interrupted, sending an admonishing glance in Paris' direction. "As of yet, we have no conclusive proof one way or the other." Tom shook his head adamantly. "No, Captain. I refuse to run away from it this time. The accident was my fault. Harry being in sickbay is my fault. I'm lucky he's still alive and I'll be even luckier if he lives." Tom tiredly rubbed a hand across his forehead. He gazed around the room once again, but then his courage faltered and his gaze was drawn back to the tabletop. Speaking softly, he said, "I can't remember what happened. Harry is in no shape at the moment to answer questions. Garvic, Simms, and Lamont were otherwise occupied and are unable to verify events. B'Elanna has checked and double checked systems and found nothing wrong. That only leaves us with one conclusion, doesn't it?" Tom's voice turned bitter. He raised his eyes to meet Janeway's and for a moment it was as if they were the only two in the room as he made his admission. "Pilot error," he uttered tightly. "MY error." "We don't know that for certain, Lieutenant," Janeway told him. "Let's not jump to conclusions." Paris, his own expression condemning himself, opened his mouth to retort, but one look at Janeway's stern expression and he snapped his mouth shut without uttering a sound. His bleak gaze became shuttered. "Lieutenant Garvic, Ensign Simms, Ensign Lamont," the captain addressed the other officers directly involved in the shuttle accident, "do you have anything to add at this time?" Jack Garvic, his expression carefully neutral, shook his head. "Sorry, Captain. Like Paris says, my attention was elsewhere at the time." Simms, his green eyes troubled, replied, "No, Captain." Janine Lamont likewise indicated she had nothing to add. Both Simms and Lamont looked apologetically in Paris' direction, feeling somehow as if they had let him down. Paris, his eyes once more downcast, failed to see their sympathetic looks. Realizing that there would be no quick answers in this instance, Janeway instructed, "B'Elanna, I want you to keep looking into things on your end. Tear that shuttle apart if you have to. Tuvok and Chakotay will be examining the computer records. And if any of you," she said to Paris, Garvic, Simms and Lamont, "remember ANYTHING I want to hear about it right away. Does anyone have anything they wish to add?" "If I may, Captain," spoke up the EMH. All eyes turned to the viewscreen, where Voyager's holographic doctor's image appeared. "Yes, Doctor?" prompted Janeway. "You should be aware that the blow to Lieutenant Paris' head may or may not be the cause of his memory loss concerning the accident." Leaning forward, Chakotay said, "Meaning?" "Meaning," elucidated the doctor, "that there are several possible scenarios that could be causing his memory loss: one, the blow to his head could have caused severe enough physical damage to result in permanent memory loss; two, The damage may not be permanent and Mr. Paris may regain his memory; or three, Mr. Paris may be purposefully blocking the memory subconsciously." Now all eyes turned to Tom, who sat staring at the doctor's image with a perplexed look on his face. "You're saying maybe I don't want to remember?" "That is a possibility you should consider, Lieutenant." "Can his memory be jarred, Doctor?" asked the captain, her gaze still on Tom. "It may be possible, Captain. I would suggest Mr. Paris take a trip to the site of the accident. Revisit it, so to speak." At the sudden strained expression on Paris' face, Janeway replied, "Thank you, Doctor. We'll take that under consideration. What is Ensign Kim's status?" "That has not changed, Captain. He still remains unconscious. However, his readings are holding steady and have not deteriorated any further." Nodding slightly, Janeway once more looked round the room. "Any further comments?" she asked. Silence greeted her inquiry. "Very well. Dismissed." Tom was the first one out of his chair. He quickly exited the briefing room, avoiding all eye contact. The others followed more slowly. Chakotay hesitated a moment and Janeway indicated he should remain. After the others had gone, he asked, "Do you think it was pilot error?" "My instincts tell me no," she replied softly. "I've watched Tom Paris pilot this ship for the past two years. He's an excellent pilot. One of the best I've ever seen." "But?" urged Chakotay, sensing she was leaving something unsaid. Frowning, Janeway said, "But so far there's nothing to indicate that it wasn't pilot error." "The reverse could also be said," Chakotay offered. "Neither is there anything indicating that it was pilot error." "Let's give Torres a bit more time," suggested Janeway. "I'm hoping she can come up with something." "And if it does turn out to be pilot error?" quizzed Chakotay. "We'll deal with that situation when and if it arises," replied Janeway. She joined Chakotay at the briefing room door and they exited together. Stepping onto the bridge, Janeway's eyes drifted to where Paris manned the conn. His back was very erect, and there was a certain stiffness in his bearing that she had never seen before. He had put barriers up around himself and she feared they would not so easily come down again. Taking her seat, Janeway realized with a surprising pang of regret that she missed the usual cocky grin Tom almost always threw over his shoulder at her whenever she stepped onto the bridge. She prayed everything would work out. This ship needed the best possible pilot, and that pilot was Tom Paris. By the same token, Tom Paris needed this ship as badly as it needed him. B'Elanna beamed down to the moon where the shuttle had crashed. Carey and Hogan were there, working over the wreckage of the shuttle. "Nothing?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "Sorry, Lieutenant," said Carey. "Guess the briefing didn't go very well?" he quizzed, recognizing the expression on her face. "No. Paris is convinced it was pilot error, and I didn't have a single thing that could refute that." At this piece of news, Hogan's head popped out of the shuttle compartment he had been examining. "Pilot error? Do you think that's what happened?" "No, I don't, and don't be spreading any rumors to that effect either. There has to be another reason, and I'm going to find it." B'Elanna strode into the wrecked shuttle, a fiercely determined look on her face. Hogan threw Carey a knowing look. Carey shrugged. "I suggest we help her out. The sooner we get this settled, the sooner she'll be back to her lovable, charming self." Grinning, Hogan went back to work. Jack Garvic strode down the corridor toward his quarters. His thoughts were troubled. Had he done the right thing? It had only taken a moment. Paris and Kim had both been unconscious. Simms had been digging Lamont out from beneath some rubble. It had been so simple. He hadn't even had to think about it. Reaching past the unconscious Paris, he had punched a series of orders into the console and the deed had been done. Simple. So why was he now having these doubts? It was time Paris got what was coming to him. Garvic frowned. He should be thrilled over Paris' obvious agony that had been on display in the briefing, but somehow it didn't feel as rewarding as he had thought it would. He had been near to confessing his deed in sickbay after the emergency beam-in until Chakotay had stepped up to him and quietly advised him now was not the time to be airing his difficulties with Paris, whatever they might be. It had angered Jack that Chakotay, of all people, should side with Paris. So Garvic had kept his mouth shut, and now it looked as if his spur-of-the-moment decision aboard the shuttle had been the right one. Yes. Tom Paris would get what was coming to him. It was long overdue. Helmsman's Log, stardate 50115.7, Lieutenant Tom Paris recording: The investigation into the crash in the Triliad system continues. So far there have been no indications there was any kind of mechanical error or systems failure. The only damage to the shuttle is consistent with the damage that would have been sustained in a crash landing. The sensor's log recorded nothing unusual until the moment of impact. As far as I am concerned, that leaves only one possible explanation. Pilot error. Personal Log : I knew that it would happen sooner or later. Just like every other time. I had hoped that here in the Delta Quadrant, away from the pressures of my family and living up to the Paris name, I wouldn't screw up again. But I have. Just like I did at Caldik Prime. And it may just cost me the best friend I've ever had. I know everyone -- B'Elanna, the captain, Kes -- tells me there is nothing to prove it was pilot error. They don't know what caused the crash, but I do. I know. I was at the controls. We crashed. There wasn't anything wrong with the shuttle. None of the sensors recorded anything unusual. So the only thing left, the only possible reason that shuttle went down, is that I made a mistake of some kind. And the worst part is I don't even know what I did wrong. Not that it matters, or that it will change anything, but it would be nice to know just what I did to put Harry in a coma. I just wish I could remember. I don't want to make that kind of mistake again. Besides, I don't deserve to forget. That sounds strange, "I don't deserve to forget." But it's the truth. If I can't remember what happened, maybe the others will convince me, or at least a part of me, that I'm not to blame, that something else caused the accident. That way I might not have to live with the guilt of what I've done to Harry. Harry. How do I face him when, IF, he gets better? He trusts me. Why, I have no idea, but he did. Does. Even after I told him that I wasn't exactly a good luck charm and the smartest thing he could do was stay as far away from me as possible. But for some reason he didn't. Biggest mistake of his life. I'm really no good for people. All I do is hurt them. I don't try to hurt anyone, I don't want to hurt anyone, but somehow, it always happens. Jackson, M'Rual, Gianelli. My father and the rest of the family. Even Chakotay and the other Maquis who trusted me. Now I've added Harry to that list. Harry and so many others. B'Elanna, the captain, Kes. I should have known it would happen again. It was only a matter of time. *** "Sickbay to Lieutenant Paris." Tom groaned as he rolled over onto his side and pulled a pillow over his head. Maybe if he kept quiet the doc would just go away. But, of course, that would be wishing for too much. Thirty seconds later the computer chirped again. "Mr. Paris, I know you are in your quarters. If you don't answer me, I will have to assume there is a medical emergency and beam you directly to sickbay," the holodoc calmly threatened. "Doctor, there is no medical emergency." Irritated, Tom reluctantly sat up, taking the pillow with him and holding it to his chest. "Can't a guy get any sleep around here?" he muttered irritably to himself. The computer's finely tuned sensors, however, picked up the remark. "Mr. Paris, it is 1800 hours. It is unlikely that you would be sleeping this time of day unless you are ill, of course. Are you experiencing any side effects from the accident, Lieutenant? Did you have trouble sleeping last night?" the doctor asked, continuing on before Tom could answer. "That could explain the personality change the crew has been commenting on. It has been noted that you have become distant and withdrawn, which is quite the opposite of your usual, if occasionally annoying, affable, sociable, sardonic self. Are you experiencing difficulties, Mr. Paris?" "Maybe I wouldn't have any 'difficulties' if people would just leave me alone!" Tom replied dryly. "Doc, just why exactly did you call me? Much as I love hearing your take on my personality, if I'm not going to get any sleep there are plenty of other things I could be doing now." "I called because I feel a follow-up exam is warranted." "I was fine after the last exam. Why do I need a follow-up?" "As I just said, your behavior today has been uncharacteristic. While your injuries did result in a memory loss, the tests I ran didn't indicate anything that would have altered your personality. While you may very well be suffering from depression, I must also consider the possibility of a chemical imbalance which I did not test you for before. Therefore, I believe that it would be prudent to run the tests now." Exasperated, Tom sarcastically replied, "Well, you know, Doc, considering the circumstances, I really don't think you have to worry about any chemical imbalances." "Mr. Paris, it is my duty to worry about the health and well-being of this crew. All physical and medical possibilities must be ruled out, so I am ordering you to sickbay for tests. Immediately. Sickbay out." Tom reached sickbay just as Neelix was leaving. "Tom!" Neelix greeted him enthusiastically, grabbing his shoulders in a brief hug. "I'm so glad I ran into you. I just dropped off a little late afternoon snack for Kes, and quite a sumptuous one if I do say so myself!" He bobbed his head in self-congratulations. "I'm just heading back to the mess hall. Why don't you join me? I haven't seen you in the mess hall at all today. Never fear, I have a pot of tomato soup simmering on the stove as we speak. I was going to bring the soup to your quarters in a little while anyway." Neelix lowered his voice and said warmly, "I know things have been rather . . . difficult lately." Neelix squeezed his arm. "Tom, you're the best pilot in the quadrant. Don't you worry - this will all be cleared up before you know it." "Thanks, Neelix." Tom managed a weak smile. "I appreciate the support. But everyone makes mistakes, you know. And I've made more than my fair share -- you can't dispute that. It very well could have been my fault. If only I could remember," he finished quietly. Neelix could hear the frustration in his voice. Tom continued, "But, I'll tell you, it's times like these when you really find out who your friends are." "Oh, come now, Tom, you have plenty of friends on board," Neelix protested. "Do I?" he asked. "I wonder if -- " "Mr. Paris, I didn't request your presence here for a social call," interrupted the doctor as he walked over to his console and began working the keyboard. "Please come in already and lie down on the biobed. Mr. Neelix, you can bring Mr. Paris his soup in an hour." "Yes, doctor. Bye, Sweetie," he cooed to Kes. He gave Tom a final look that said "hang in there" and he was gone. Tom looked over to where Harry was lying, still unconscious. "How is he?" he asked, concern clouding his blue eyes. Kes took his arm and led him to an empty biobed. "He's still in a coma, but his life signs are continuing to get stronger. Just give him some time, Tom. Come and lie down here and we'll begin the tests." The doctor attached a device to Tom's forehead. "Now, Mr. Paris, these tests will take about an hour so you may as well relax. Might I suggest you use this time to catch up on some sleep?" "Like I'm supposed to sleep with you two watching me and this thing beeping in my ear and the lights shining in my eyes? I would have been better off in my quarters, Doc," Tom snapped. Kes touched his arm reassuringly. "Tom, why don't you at least try to relax?" she asked soothingly. "Computer, dim the lights 50 percent." Tom looked at her, suddenly feeling like a jerk. He never wanted to do anything to hurt Kes. She was the one person he knew would never judge him. "I'm sorry, Kes," he apologized. "And you, too, Doc. I know you're just doing your job," he sighed. "Close your eyes, Tom," Kes said softly. Tom closed his eyes. He was tired. It wasn't long before he could feel himself drifting off. *Maybe I'll be able to sleep after all,* he thought to himself. *He was at the helm of a shuttle, monitoring the controls, but the readouts didn't look right. Nothing looked familiar. Where was he? Just as Tom looked up at the viewscreen there was a loud explosion and he was thrown from his chair. The warning Klaxons wailed and the computer rattled off systems failures as he struggled to make his way back to his station. Voices behind him were shouting, but Tom couldn't make out what they were saying. As he pulled himself into his chair, the helm controls began to melt. Suddenly, what was left of the helm flew up into his face. Tom's hands instinctively covered his eyes, but nothing hit him. When he looked again the helm controls were solid but they weren't the same controls. It was a different shuttle, but it was still chaos. He could hear the screams, could smell the smoke and fire, could feel the shuttle spinning out of control. He frantically tried to work the controls, but nothing would respond. They were going to crash . . . . * He sat straight up on the biobed with a strangled cry. He gasped for air, his hands clenched to his chest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the doctor approach and heard the hiss of a hypo. Instantly he was able to breathe again, but his heart still raced. The doctor said nothing while Tom collected himself. It took a few moments before his heartbeat slowed to almost normal and his body stopped trembling. Finally Tom was able to speak. "Thanks, Doc," he said weakly. "You're welcome, Lieutenant," said the doctor. "How do you feel?" "I'm . . . better, thanks." Tom looked around the room and noticed that Kes was gone and that it was even darker in sickbay than before. He looked at the doctor suspiciously, "What time is it?" "It is 2330 hours," he reported calmly. "2330!?" cried Tom incredulously. "Why didn't you wake me after the tests were done?" "I saw no reason to. You're not on duty, you didn't sleep last night and since you were able to sleep here it didn't make any sense to wake you up just so you could go back to your quarters," he answered matter-of-factly. "And in case you're wondering, the tests were negative." "I could've told you that," replied Tom, already sounding like his old self, although he was still feeling more than a little shaky. "Well, it's just as well you were in sickbay when this occurred. How often do you have nightmares and panic attacks, Mr. Paris?" demanded the doctor. "And how long has this been going on?" His eyes seemed to bore right into Tom's. Tom straightened his back and returned the doctor's stare. At first he wasn't going to say anything, but decided quickly that the doctor wasn't likely to give up. "Every once in a while I get these stupid nightmares," he replied. "It's really not a big deal. I've had them for years. They just come and go." The doctor continued to stare at Tom as though he didn't believe him. "Everyone has nightmares now and then, Doc. You know that." "Most people don't have the same nightmare for years, unless there's a reason. Would you care to tell me about it?" "No!" Tom practically shouted as he jumped off the biobed. "I don't want to talk about it, okay, Doc?" That was the last thing he wanted. "I'll work it out, okay?" "Uh huh," was all the doctor said. Tom turned to look at him. "Now, what's THAT supposed to mean?" "Well, if the past two days are any indication of how you intend to 'work it out,' I'd say you're failing miserably." The doctor paused and looked Tom straight in the eye. Before Tom could say anything the doctor continued. "Mr. Paris, you have just been through a traumatic ordeal and the final outcome still remains to be seen. It is understandable and to be expected for you to have strong feelings and emotions surrounding this event. As capable and self-reliant as you are, this is one thing you cannot handle on your own, much as you'd like to believe otherwise. You need to talk about this, Lieutenant." He paused. "Did you ever discuss what happened at Caldik Prime with anyone? I thought not," he nodded to himself when Tom looked at him without answering. "I realize we don't have a certified counselor on board. I am, however, fully capable of fulfilling that role," he stopped and watched Tom, who had begun pacing around sickbay, shaking his head. "If, however," he continued dryly, "you're not comfortable talking about this matter with me, there are plenty of others who would be more than happy to lend an ear: Kes, Neelix, Lieutenant Torres, the captain, Lieutenant Tuvok, Commander Chakotay." Tom stopped his pacing and stared at the holodoc. "I can't talk to any of them about this!" he cried out desperately. "And why not? They are your friends and they want to help. They have all expressed to me their concern for you. Why don't you think you can talk to them?" "Tuvok and Chakotay came to you about me?" Tom retorted with disbelief. "Yes, Lieutenant, they did. Everyone is very concerned for you." "But they think I'm guilty." He was pacing again. "And I probably am," he concluded with exhaustion as he sat back down on the biobed. "Nothing has been proven yet, Lieutenant. They are conducting an investigation which requires them to consider everything -- your actions included. From what I've heard most of the crew doesn't blame you for what happened." Tom looked over to Harry and then back again at the doctor who continued, "Maybe, Lieutenant, you should stop blaming yourself." The doctor walked over to one of his cabinets. "I'm going to give you a sedative now and then I want you to return to your quarters. This will help you sleep again, but you won't feel the effects for a few minutes. In the meantime, I suggest you enjoy the dinner Mr. Neelix left for you. The soup is in that container over there and should still be hot. And I am ordering you to speak with someone about this. About the accident yesterday morning, as well as the incident at Caldik Prime and anything else related to it. I am placing this order into your medical file and will inform the captain in the morning. Do you understand, Lieutenant?" The doctor looked at him sternly, and Tom thought he saw what almost looked like concern in his eyes. *But how could that be?* he thought to himself, wincing at the sting of the hypospray. *The holodoc is a computer generated program. And yet, he seems to be becoming more human every day. Tom, you need to get some sleep!* "Yes, sir," he responded crisply and walked out of sickbay, picking up the soup on his way out. The doctor stood there for a moment, staring at the door, slowly shaking his head. Tom entered the turbolift. Fortunately the hallways were deserted and he didn't run into anyone. He just couldn't deal with trying to carry on a conversation, or even worse, facing the accusing silence and curious looks. Again. The turbolift reached his deck and the door opened. His heart sank. The hallway was also deserted -- except for B'Elanna, standing in front of his door. "B'Elanna, what are you doing here?" Tom asked her tiredly. "Looking for you. I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions." "It's late. Why aren't you asleep?" "I could ask the same of you. Can I come in?" Tom realized that they were still standing in the corridor, outside the door to his quarters. "Yeah." They entered and he took off his shoes and sat down, rubbing his drowsy eyes. "I just came from sickbay. The doc gave me one of his mystery shots so don't be shocked if I drop into a deep sleep at any second." His usual sarcastic tone was missing, causing the comment to sound more pitiful than anything else. B'Elanna looked at him sympathetically. "I couldn't sleep. I just -- " She snapped back into her professional demeanor. "I wanted to ask you some questions. Do you mind?" "It's late, B'Elanna. I'm so tired." He could feel the medicine kicking in already. She looked at him, and he looked so terrible that she almost reached over to rub his shoulders before she caught herself and sighed. "You've been so reclusive these last two days. Are you doing okay? What did the doctor have to say?" "Absolutely nothing. I'm fine. No brain aneurysms, no broken bones, no radioactive DNA, no chemical imbalances. At least not yet." He was growing more groggy by the minute, and he couldn't think straight. "I just want to sleep. Please, B'Elanna. Just leave me alone and continue the investigation later. The whole thing's useless anyway." His comments stung B'Elanna. She told herself to calm down, that he was medicated and stressed out and had had a terrible time lately, but it still upset her. She said slowly, "What do you expect me to do, Tom? I'm trying so hard to get through this mess, and you're not helping me at all. It's like you WANT this whole thing to be your fault!" She paused, her frustration still getting the best of her. "I'm not ready to give up yet, Thomas Paris, but you gave up before I even started! I don't know what to do! This isn't something I can do without you!" "No one asked you to be my hero, B'Elanna. Don't feel obligated to save the day." Tom was aware she was getting upset, but not awake enough to deal with it. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and lost. She looked at him, standing with her palms open, and couldn't think of anything to say. So she simply turned around and walked out of his quarters. "Good night, Tom." He didn't hear her leave, he was already fast asleep. B'Elanna returned to her quarters exhausted and dejected. Had it really been just two days since she had played pool with Tom and Harry in Sandrine's? She had been winning, too, when they first heard the distress call from the Triliad system and had to end their game and report back to duty. A few hours later, in the morning, they had reached the system and launched a rescue. Now Harry was in a coma and Tom was a complete stranger to her. "This is so wrong!" she cried out to the empty room. She knew she should try to get some sleep, but there was no way she could sleep now. Not after just witnessing Tom's heartbreaking despair. She didn't think she had ever seen anyone so listless and despondent. *Why has he given up before we have even begun?* B'Elanna wondered angrily. She ordered a cup of hot chocolate from the replicator and sat down on the edge of her bed, thinking about Tom. She was very concerned about him, yes, but she was also extremely angry with him. After everything he'd been through already -- after everything THEY'D been through - why did he choose now to give up? *And why won't he let me help?* she wondered. *He's always been the first to help anyone else. Khayless knows, he's been there for me whenever I've needed him.* She thought about the Borg ship and the Vidiian mines. The entire crew owed him their lives. How he'd managed to get past the Kazon in that shuttle when they had been stuck on that barren planet, she'd never know. Not to mention all the times -- too numerous to count -- that he'd piloted Voyager through battles and treacherous space and managed to get them through alive. It just didn't make sense. She knew she had to have missed something in her investigation. Tom was just too good a pilot to have crashed the shuttle, especially when conditions were good. The sensor logs didn't reflect any anomalies -- or did they? They were in uncharted space. Could there be some sort of energy force or creature out there that their sensors didn't recognize? What if there was a life form out there, sentient or not, that just decided to wipe out the shuttle for the fun of it? The Q didn't show up on their sensors -- could one of them have retaliated for granting asylum to one of their own? B'Elanna's head pounded. They had been looking for rational, logical explanations. *But out here almost anything goes,* she reminded herself as she began to undress. *Maybe we need to look at it illogically. Tuvok's gonna love that!* she smiled grimly to herself. *Should I call him now?* she wondered. *Maybe it would be better to give it a little more thought before I approach Tuvok with the logic of illogical ideas.* She opened her closet door and reached for a hanger for her uniform. Inadvertently she knocked down another hanger - and the red dress Tom had given her fell to the floor. She caught her breath, slowly bent over to pick it up, and held on to it tightly as tears pricked her eyes. *Why did I take this thing out of the drawer?* she asked herself. The memory of Tom's gift came flooding back to her -- how he had so gallantly tried to amuse her during their terrifying capture by the Borg. Was Tom ever going to be the same again? Even if -- when -- they proved his innocence? They all needed him. And in the back of her mind, very softly, a voice said 'YOU need him.' But she pushed the voice aside. She couldn't deal with that now. The thought of Tom continuing to suffer galvanized her. Headache forgotten, she threw the dress on her bed and grabbed her uniform back off the hanger. Illogical or not, there had to be something out there that would explain the accident -- and it wasn't pilot error. "Torres to Lieutenant Tuvok," she called, suddenly energized again. "Tuvok here," replied the security officer. "Lieutenant, I have some ideas about the investigation that I'd like to discuss with you. Are you free now?" "I am available. I am in the mess hall reviewing the -- " "I'm on my way!" Torres interrupted and marched out of her quarters. *** The mess hall was deserted except for Tuvok sitting in his usual corner reviewing his data padd when B'Elanna walked in. He glanced up at her arrival and she paused a moment before approaching him, doubts suddenly entering her mind. She pushed them away with a silent shrug and sat down across from him. "What do you have there?" she asked him, trying to peer over the padd to see the display. "I am running another analysis comparing the shuttle's sensor logs to the ship's logs," he replied. "Have you found anything useful?" "I have not." He placed the padd on the table. "Neither the ship's nor the shuttle's logs reflect any anomalies at the time of the accident." "What about prior to the accident? Could something have happened before they took off that triggered a delayed reaction of some kind?" "I have found nothing to indicate such an occurrence. Have you made any new discoveries in your investigation of the shuttle?" inquired Tuvok. B'Elanna shook her head slowly. "No," she sighed. "Lieutenant Carey and I have gone over the shuttle with a fine tooth comb. Nothing." "Then perhaps Lieutenant Paris is correct in assuming responsibility for the accident," Tuvok calmly stated. B'Elanna's head snapped up. "How can you say that? You know he's an excellent pilot. It was a routine mission. How could he have screwed up?" "To quote an ancient human saying -- 'To err is human.' As Mr. Paris is undeniably human, and public record clearly shows that he has, as you just so succinctly phrased it, 'screwed up' in the past, it is not an illogical assumption to believe he has 'screwed up' in this case." "Well, I don't buy it, Tuvok," B'Elanna retorted. "I think we should look for an alien presence or energy source that may have eluded our sensors." Tuvok simply looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "What? Isn't it possible that the all-powerful Starfleet technology missed something? You can't tell me that we're going to be able to recognize everything we encounter out here?" she defended herself hotly. The security chief paused before answering. "Lieutenant, the possibility of what you have just postulated does exist," he conceded. "However, I must point out that the probability is quite low." "You really think he did this, don't you?" B'Elanna accused. "At this point there is no evidence to the contrary. But as Commander Chakotay pointed out to me earlier, there is no evidence directly implicating Lieutenant Paris, either. It is a most puzzling situation," Tuvok admitted reluctantly. He even looked a little perplexed. Or at least as perplexed as was possible for a Vulcan. "Can't you think beyond the logical, Tuvok?" B'Elanna asked, exasperated. "There has to be some explanation. We're just not looking in the right place!" "Perhaps it would be best to suspend our investigation until tomorrow. It is late and you require sleep. Your thinking may not be so clouded by emotion in the morning." B'Elanna looked at him and said indignantly, "I have made a thorough and professional investigation of the shuttle, Mr. Tuvok. My belief that Tom is innocent is no less valid than your belief that he's guilty." "I would disagree, Lieutenant. I believe that your emotional attachment to Mr. Paris has affected your ability to view this situation clearly." B'Elanna glared at Tuvok. "What emotional attachment?" she demanded. "We're friends, just like I'm friends with Harry and Chakotay and a few others on board. What's wrong with believing in your friends? Is that concept beyond Vulcan logic?" "It has been apparent in recent weeks that your relationship with Mr. Paris has been evolving into something other than a simple friendship." B'Elanna was shocked. "It's been 'apparent' that something is going on between me and Tom? To whom? What are people saying?" Just then the mess hall doors swooshed open and Chakotay walked in. "The computer told me I could find you two here. Do you know what time it is?" he inquired. "It's 0100 hours," he answered himself, "and since you're both due to be on duty in six hours you might want to consider calling it a night." "I had just suggested the same thing to the Lieutenant," responded Tuvok. "Oh, is that why she looks like she's about to pounce?" Chakotay smiled knowingly. "I could feel the tension as soon as I walked in." B'Elanna looked at Chakotay and then Tuvok, clenching her fists and wishing she could throw them both across the room. Instead she said tightly, "I was just leaving. Good night, gentlemen." After she left, Chakotay turned to Tuvok. "Care to tell me what that was all about?" "Lieutenant Torres adamantly believes Mr. Paris is innocent. I merely pointed out that her judgment may be clouded by her emotional attachment to the Lieutenant." "Ouch," chuckled Chakotay. "Obviously she didn't appreciate that remark. The most logical person on board acknowledging the emotions between probably the two most emotional people on board before they do. That's irony for you." "I fail to see the humor in this situation, Commander." "That figures. We have a briefing at 0700. I'm going to bed, Lieutenant. I suggest you do the same. Good night." Three hours later, Tom Paris awoke with a jerk, remembering the events in sickbay. He also remembered, vaguely, upsetting B'Elanna, and that was enough to make his mood just that much worse. Sullen and disturbed, he headed for Sandrine's. He just wanted to be alone to drown himself in self-pity and synthehol. Sandrine's was deserted. Tom deleted the lights, except for the fire, and after finding a glass and what looked like a suitable bottle of something, he sat down to think things through. His mind wandered to how terrible it was that he had hurt and upset the people he cared about without even trying. His father, Harry, the captain, he had even upset B'Elanna, and she was only attempting to help. This puzzled him, too. *Why would she want to help a scoundrel like me?* His dark thoughts, the lingering sedative, and the synthehol sent his brain into a state of depression, and, feeling completely alone, he soon curled up on the floor and no longer cared how long he had been in there or when he would come out and face the real world. Kes got the holodeck doors open by using the manual override to bypass the privacy lock. Sure enough, Sandrine's was there, it just wasn't populated by either the crew or the holographic people Tom had programmed. At first, she wasn't sure Tom was there either, but then she heard a sound of clinking glass behind the bar. She crossed the room to the bar and leaned over it. Tom was sitting on the floor. He had apparently been there for some time. He had given up using the glass and was now drinking wine straight from the bottle. He looked terrible, and he didn't look happy to see Kes. "What are you doing here? How did you -- Nah, never mind," he waved the bottle at Kes. "Whatever. Go away!" Kes hated seeing her friend like this. "Tom, what are you doing?" she asked sadly, not really expecting an answer. She got one nevertheless. Tom frowned up at her. "I have three hours 'til I report for duty and I'm trying my best to get drunk. It's harder than I remember, though. Why do you suppose that is?" "Tom, please get off the floor." Kes walked around the bar and extended a hand. Paris reached up and grabbed her arm and levered himself almost upright. He staggered and grabbed at the bar to get his balance. "Hey, all the blood rushed to my head. That's an idea!" Paris enthused. "I'll stand on my head! Then the wine will get there faster." He began to study the bar, looking for a wall to lean against. His thinking was evidently not very clear. Kes towed him around the bar to the nearest table, pushed him toward a chair, and eased him into it. "Tom, the reason you're having trouble getting drunk is because that's synthehol. It's not real alcohol. You have to be relaxed for synthehol to work. When you tense up, your body throws off its effects. You know that." She had found that concept amazing when it had been explained to her. Now she was just grateful it was true. Paris propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "You're right. Didn't I tell you that? Does anybody have any real stuff?" The slight buzz he'd had from the synthehol was already wearing off. "I remember on the Exeter, there was this engineering ensign who set up a still that made the best -- " "You don't want to do that, Tom. Talk to me. You've been depressed and upset -- there's got to be more to it than just the accident. I know you're worried about Harry, but he's in stable condition. What is it? Let me help." Kes couldn't think of anything else to say. For a moment she thought Paris was going to laugh as he threw his head back, and so did he, but the movement almost instantly became a grimace of pain. His blue eyes filled with tears that he refused to let fall as he brought his head down and studied his friend. "'Stable?'" My best friend is 'stable!' Whoopee! Is that all I can hope for?" He waved his hand extravagantly as if letting something go. "Whatever. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do. I'll get over it. It was just . . . the timing." "Tom, I know I don't have a lot of experience -- " Paris hooted. "You can say that again. How old are you now? Two? What do you want for your next birthday?" Kes refused to let him change the subject. She grabbed his arm and got his attention. "I can listen. I may not be able to help -- or do anything -- but if you need to talk, I can listen. And I can keep secrets, if that's what this is about." Paris cut the clown act and took a deep shuddering breath. The holodoc had ordered him to talk to somebody. If he had to talk, maybe Kes was the one to talk to. She wasn't Starfleet or Maquis. She could be objective and non-judgmental. He nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, Kes." He rubbed his eyes. "Wow! Sandrine needs to dust this place." He hadn't talked honestly to anyone in so long, he was no longer sure he remembered how. Oh, he'd made a try with B'Elanna -- *and I did so well, too,* he thought sarcastically. Kes sat patiently and waited for Tom to get a better handle on his emotions. She owed Tom; he had saved Neelix's life and her own, and for that matter, the whole ship more than once. And he had been one of her first friends as well as one of those who took time to teach her. Paris gave Kes a cocky smile. "Do you know the date, Kes?" Puzzled, his friend replied, "Of course. Stardate -- " "No, not the stardate. The date -- old calendar style -- not relative." Kes didn't understand why it was important. She'd been told that Starfleet ships used the relative times of stardates which were easier to adjust. Planetary populations used old style calendar dates. "I'm sorry. My people don't use the same measure of time. Your dates wouldn't mean anything to me." Paris took another swig of the syntheholic wine. "Well, it doesn't really matter if you know the exact date anyway. It just matters to me. Anyway tomorrow . . . tomorrow is the anniversary of the accident at Caldik Prime." He let the words just fall out and lie there. Kes didn't know what to say. She had heard other crewmembers talking about Tom and his reputation as a troublemaker. She'd heard several versions of what had happened at Caldik Prime -- several conflicting versions. She had even been advised by a few well- meaning "friends" to stay away from him. She was young and inexperienced, but she also could sense the basic goodness in Tom Paris and see beyond his wisecracks and cool demeanor to the sensitive, vulnerable man who really needed a friend. First Harry, then she, then Neelix had met that need for him -- now Harry was lying in a coma due to an accident that Tom assumed was his own fault. After a moment she said, "Tom, do you want to tell me about it?" "No!" Tom blurted angrily, thrusting his fingers into his hair and tugging on it. He caught himself at once as he met her soft blue eyes. "God, Kes, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, too! Maybe you should just leave -- don't come near me. I'm not good news for anyone!" He slammed his fist onto the table. He was half afraid she wouldn't leave it alone, and half afraid she would. It would be easier for him to talk to Harry, but Harry wasn't available and might not ever be again. Kes waited patiently till he finished, then slipped her hand over his clenched fist and squeezed it gently. "Tom, tell me about it. I want to understand." With a shaky sigh, Paris decided to give in. "Okay. I never thought I would have to tell this story again. It seems to have a life of its own. It spreads everywhere without any help from me. That's part of the problem with being famous -- or my family being famous. The downside to being from a family of heroes -- the public thinks it knows everything about you -- or should." "I don't know what you mean." "Of course not. You aren't Starfleet. My family is a tradition -- an honorable tradition -- in Starfleet. There has been someone named Paris at almost every critical event in Starfleet history -- every major battle and every major treaty talk, you know. All of them heroes in one way or another -- three of them made admiral, including my father. I'm my father's only son. He didn't pressure me, not aloud anyway, but it was always there in the back of my mind that I was going to carry on the Paris family tradition and enter Starfleet. I didn't mind. I wanted to go into the service." Tom seemed more thoughtful than angry now. "The problem came when I had to decide on a career track in my junior year. I wanted to go into the test piloting program." Kes gave an encouraging murmur, but her eyes asked what he meant. "That's where the best pilots want to be. You get to fly experimental spaceships, shuttles, new prototype designs, and sometimes even get some input on designing and engineering better ships," Tom explained. "And your father didn't want you to do this?" Tom shrugged. He unclenched his fist and flattened his hand on the table beneath hers, then turned his palm over and clasped her hand. "He said -- and it's true -- that it was dangerous. It is risky. Sometimes there are design flaws that don't show up till someone tries out the prototype. Pilots are killed or injured in crashes -- " The word seemed to freeze in his throat. Kes squeezed his hand so he would focus his attention on her and turn his thoughts outward again. "What did your father want you to do?" Paris smirked. "Nothing less than command, my dear. Of course, I was supposed to beat my aunt's record and make admiral by thirty- seven." "I thought you said there was no pressure?" She pressed for an explanation of the apparent contradiction. "There wasn't, exactly. Nothing was said, it was just . . . understood." He seemed to think that was clear and obvious. She frowned at him quizzically. "Understood? By you? By them? By whom?" "Everybody." With one hand, Paris made a flamboyant gesture meant to be all inclusive of the world. His other hand, however, gripped hers a little more tightly. "I was the Golden Boy. I had the Paris name! The last male in the line! My sisters' kids won't be named Paris. Great things were expected of me! Whether they came right out and said it or not." "But what happened? Tom, I don't understand." Kes couldn't bear his pained expression that said more plainly than his words that he felt he had never been able to meet the expectations of his family. "What happened at Caldik Prime?" To buy himself a moment to get the lump out of his throat, Tom turned their clasped hands over and began tracing patterns in her palm with his index finger. It gave him something to concentrate on so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. He didn't want to see her reaction. "I was in my senior year at the academy. We were playing war games -- practice fighting. I was leading a fighter squadron -- those are small one man ships. I came up with a plan of attack that called for precision flying. Everyone in the group had to move at the same time, keeping our positions relative to each other at each change in direction. It was difficult, but we were all good pilots. We were the best -- cream of the academy." Kes nodded to show she was following what he was saying and to encourage him to go on. "Anyway, there was a screwup. At those speeds, a few centimeters can make all the difference. As we banked around the moon at Caldik Prime, we ran into the opposing team's fire. When we went into our evasive pattern, three of our ships collided. All three pilots were killed. It all happened so fast!" He sounded amazed even now. "But at the same time, it was as if each second took forever to go by. They couldn't eject or beam out. It was just so fast! Three friends -- Jackson, M'Rual, and Gianelli -- gone! Just like that." He snapped his fingers. Then he reached for the wine bottle. "What caused the collision?" Tom's mouth twisted wryly. "In the first report, I said that Jackson must have moved too soon, that he must have clipped Gianelli's fighter with a wing tip and sent it flying into M'Rual's ship. No one could prove it was true or that it wasn't. There just wasn't enough hard evidence to use in assessing responsibility for what happened. Then when I found I couldn't live with that lie on my conscience, I stepped forward, admitted to falsifying my report, and took the blame." "That doesn't sound fair!" exclaimed Kes. "You're a wonderful pilot! How could it be your fault?" Tom regarded her patiently, thankful for her defense whether it was a logical reaction or an emotional response. "Oh, it could be my fault, all right. I was their squad leader. It was my responsibility to be sure they knew how to execute each command. I was supposed to take care of them. I had trained with them for months. They were my friends as well as my trainees." "But you didn't cause them to crash into each other!" Tom shrugged, released her hand, and patted it comfortingly. "Didn't I? After I admitted to falsifying the first report, I was court-martialed. The irony is that if I had just told the truth in the first place, I probably would have received a reprimand and had to retake a few classes, but still have stayed in Starfleet. But once I blew it, there was no way to keep the incident quiet. It made media headlines all over the system -- another drawback of being from a famous family. My picture was everywhere. And everybody had an opinion about the whole thing that they wanted to express, usually very loudly and sometimes with their fists." He stood and stretched as if he couldn't sit still any longer. "How did your family react?" Kes came to stand next to him. "They were hurt. My father still had to face the people in Starfleet every day. I couldn't take it. I couldn't bear to see the pain they were going through. I was just keeping the media's attention focused on them. So I left. I guess I was always a coward. I ran out of the system on the first ship I could get with a contract as pilot. I left them to try to live it all down without me stirring it up." He began to pace. Kes paced next to him. He stopped and confronted her. "What are you doing?" "Trying to keep up with you?" Kes ventured, an impish grin tugging at her mouth. Tom smiled reluctantly. "Your legs aren't long enough," he said, looking down at her from his lofty height advantage. "My legs are just as long as yours," Kes rejoined. "They go from my body to the ground, don't they?" Paris tried to laugh, but he was afraid he wouldn't do a credible job of it. There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes as he gazed down at her. "Thanks, Kes. Thank you for being my friend. But being my friend doesn't seem to be very healthy for anyone. Maybe you and Neelix should keep your distance." Kes suddenly looked as stubborn and hardheaded as any Missouri mule. "I choose my friends. I chose Neelix. I chose you. You have never let me down, Tom Paris. And as for keeping a distance -- " She wrapped her arms around him in the Ocampan version of a bear hug. "I don't think so." Tom was so moved he didn't trust himself to speak. He just hugged her tightly. He was almost relieved when he heard the throat clearing from the doorway. There was Neelix, as always looking for Kes, eyeing the two of them quizzically. Tom tossed him a careless grin and hoped his voice didn't sound choked as he said, "Neelix! Purely a therapeutic hug I assure you!" Kes turned her head toward her love and beckoned him closer, letting him know he was welcome, not intruding. She was so glad he and Tom had become friends and that the three of them could help each other. "Group hug?" Neelix inquired, and threw his arms around both Kes and Paris with great enthusiasm. In his exuberance, he nearly toppled all three of them onto the floor. Kes began to giggle, which in turn set off Paris and Neelix. Neelix, sure that Kes had been trying to cheer up Tom Paris, decided to continue the good work. "I came looking for you two. I want you to try my new recipe -- I call it Voyager Surprise!" "Don't tell me," Tom drawled, "the surprise is it has leola root in it!" He couldn't resist teasing the Talaxian about his fondness for the spice that most humans couldn't stand. It had become almost a ritual. Neelix shook his head. "No, the surprise is, it doesn't!" Tom, Kes, and Neelix laughed and exited the holodeck, arm in arm in arm. Captain Kathryn Janeway took another sip from the steaming mug she held cradled in both hands. Peering through the enormous picture windows of her ready room she leaned back into her chair and sighed. It was going to be a long day. She had summoned Tom Paris to meet with her at 0900 hours. She glanced at the chronometer on her desk. He was due to arrive in five minutes. She still had a few moments to collect herself before beginning what she knew would be one of the toughest interviews she would ever have to conduct. She lifted her mug once more to her lips, drawing in another mouthful of the robust, fragrant liquid. She'd replicated herself an entire pot of genuine Colombian roast, knowing she'd need it to help her get through the next several minutes. It had taken an entire day's replicator rations but it was well worth it. Somehow, she suspected, Neelix's coffee surrogates would not do the trick. Noting the time, she drained the rest of the coffee and placed the empty mug in the replicator. As she turned back to her desk, the door chime alerted her to Tom's presence. *He's nothing if not punctual,* she thought to herself. "Come," she called out. Settling back, she braced herself for his entrance. Then Tom Paris stood before her. She had thought she would be prepared for this moment. She wasn't. He looked somehow smaller, as if he had drawn into himself. He did not directly meet her gaze, staring at a spot on the floor several centimeters in front of her desk. His face wore a haggard, lifeless expression, far removed from his usual brash, exuberant demeanor. His skin had a pallor that cast doubts into her mind about his physical health let alone his mental and emotional well-being. But the worst was his eyes. There remained no trace of their customary impudent sparkle. Instead, they stared off into space, vacant, empty, haunted. This man standing before her could not be Tom Paris. This was only a specter, a doppleganger come to stand in his stead. This man was bereft of all life. This man had surrendered all hope. They remained there, the captain and her lieutenant, neither of them breaking the arduous silence that settled upon the room. Finally, gathering herself and steeling her emotions, Captain Janeway motioned to the chair in front of her. "Please Tom, come in and sit down." He moved mechanically, seating himself without taking his gaze from its focal point on the floor. Janeway cleared her throat. Suddenly, inexplicably, she felt very awkward, uncertain of the best approach. Straightforward, no-holds-barred, that was best. It had always worked for her in the past. "Tom," she began, "to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure where to start." She'd had a vague notion of offering solace and support to a member of her crew who was suffering indescribable guilt while still maintaining a professional detachment as befitted their relationship. Now, after seeing the extent of his physical deterioration, she knew that would not be possible. He meant more to her than that. They all did. She was the matriarch of this extended patchwork family. She had grown to care about all her crewmembers on a deeply personal level. Rising, she smoothed her uniform and wandered over to stand near the windows, looking out at the panoramic view of starry space that spread before her like a mural. She kept her back to him knowing that the sympathy, the concern she felt for him played across her face, as easily read as one might read a padd. She knew also that he wasn't ready to accept such feelings yet. Not from her or anyone. "I know that the last few days have been incredibly difficult for you, Tom." She turned to face him, making an effort to keep her expression carefully neutral. "Several people have come to me on your behalf. They're worried about you. The doctor reports that you've complained of nightmares that are affecting your sleep. Kes is afraid that you aren't eating or taking care of yourself physically. Seeing you now, I am forced to conclude that their worries are well-founded." Her words trailed off for a moment as she studied his slumped form. "Tom? Are you listening to me?" He glanced up at her then, but there was still no spark in those azure orbs. She caught herself looking away again, towards the window, the floor, anywhere to avoid that desolate blue stare. This was much worse than she had realized. True, he was suffering, but he almost seemed to reveling in it. It was up to her to jolt him back into the land of the living. Hoping to goad him into further response, she drew herself up and reprimanded, "Lieutenant, I am still your commanding officer and you will answer me when I address you." She saw it then, the faint flash of angry embers, smoldering just below the surface. "Yes, ma'am," he fairly spat the words at her, his eyes like blue flames. *Good,* she thought. *Get angry with me!* At least he was reacting. Anger was a much healthier emotion than the despair that was hanging over him like a noxious cloud. Anger she could deal with. Placing her hands on her hips she retraced her steps, crossing to hover restlessly near her desk. She brushed her fingers over the cool smoothness of its surface, hesitating a moment, pausing to consider her next words carefully. This was turning out to be even more difficult than she'd imagined. "Tom," she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "you have to understand that I wouldn't have called you here if I hadn't felt it was absolutely necessary. Normally I make a practice of letting my people come to me if they choose. But," she continued, "I can't let this go on any longer." She leaned against the corner of her desk, crossing her arms in front of her. She didn't like what she was about to say, but he had to hear it. "Your behavior has become self-destructive. For the past two days you haven't eaten, you haven't slept, and frankly I'm having doubts as to your ability to perform your duties. You're falling apart." She lowered her voice, speaking more gently, "I know that you feel responsible and I know that you're hurting. But beating yourself up won't help Harry and it won't change what happened any more than it did at Caldik Prime." She stopped, conscious of the fact that she'd struck a nerve. She was well aware that the anniversary of that incident was drawing near. She watched as his entire body stiffened at her mention of the accident. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, rising to his full height to tower above her. Janeway did not so much as flinch. "Permission to speak freely, Captain?" His words were strangled, sounding cold and unnatural. "Of course." She nodded her assent. "With all due respect, you don't know how I feel about Caldik Prime. You weren't there, and you certainly weren't responsible for the deaths of three of your best friends!" His voice shook with emotion and his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. "It's not the same, Tom," she admonished him. "We still don't know what caused this crash. You've appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner before all the evidence is even in." "Oh, isn't it obvious!?" Throwing up his arms he turned and paced across the room then whirled around to face her. "It was pilot error. MY ERROR! Plain and simple! I killed those people at Caldik Prime ten years ago, and now I may have killed the best friend I ever had!" He covered his face with trembling hands as he fought to calm his ragged breathing. Janeway remained where she was, motionless, feeling for all the world like a voyeur as she witnessed the monumental struggle being played out before her. He was at war with his conscience. His brain knew that his words were not true, but his heart wouldn't accept it. She sat for a moment longer, lost in thought, allowing him the time he needed to regain his composure. She recalled the shock, the abject fear she'd seen reflected in the face of Admiral Paris when he'd heard about the accident involving his only son. She'd been glad then that she had no children, would never have to know that anguish first hand. Looking at Paris, she knew now she'd been mistaken. He stood quietly, hands at his sides. He appeared much calmer although his eyes glittered brightly and two spots of vivid color had risen in his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was icy, emotionless. "I guess my father was right. If there's a way to screw up, I'll find it." "Tom," she began. "No, Captain, it's true. I had a chance here to put my past behind me, to start over again. Things were just going too good for me, that's all. It had to happen. It was inevitable. It's like I have this built in self-destruct mechanism. Every time it seems like I might actually be making a life for myself . . . ." The words caught in his throat, forcing him to pause for a moment. When he was able to continue, his voice was thick. "How do I live with what I've done?" Janeway felt her heart wrench in empathy. Caldik Prime would forever be, she knew, a raw, open wound on his soul. It could never be allowed to heal for that would require him to forgive himself. This man could never forgive, or forget. Although Tom Paris had a great propensity towards tolerance for others, he was merciless when it came to his own all too human flaws. This shuttle accident had been a horrible tragedy, even more so because of the timing. It was salt, rubbed in an already festering wound, compounding the pain and the guilt to insurmountable proportions. He was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of plunging headlong into a vast, dark cauldron of seething destruction from which there was no salvation. *I won't allow you to fall!* she thought fiercely to herself. He searched her face with hollow eyes. For a brief moment, mirrored in their cerulean depths, she saw Tom Paris, vulnerable, exposed, stripped of his devil-may-care facade. Those eyes were begging for help even though the man was too proud. "You need help," she said softly. "You can't deal with this alone." He did not respond. Instead he shifted his gaze toward the windows and the vacuum of space beyond. Janeway rose from her perch on the corner of the desk and walked to him. "You've got to let someone in, Tom. Maybe you could speak to the doctor. He's the closest thing we have to a ship's counselor." This was met with a scornful laugh, "Yeah, I'm sure he would understand." His voice dripped with derision. *His shields are back in place,* she mused ruefully. The Tom she had glimpsed so fleetingly was gone as if he had never existed. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder which he promptly shrugged away. "If you don't mind, Captain, my problems are my own business. I'll handle them myself." His tone was acerbic, bordering on insubordination. Janeway took a step back and eyed him surreptitiously. "Then, Lieutenant, you are relieved of duty until further notice. I expect you to follow through with this and report to sickbay for counseling." She said this evenly, every syllable measured, but her tone brooked no argument. He started as if to protest but she held up a hand, halting him in his tracks. "Dismissed, Lieutenant." He held his ground an instant longer, then twisting about, he headed tacitly for the exit. " . . . and Tom," she added less severely, "don't force me to make that an official order." He paused momentarily at the doorway as she spoke, not bothering to turn around. Then he was gone. Janeway retreated to her desk and collapsed into her chair. There was still half a pot of lukewarm Colombian roast awaiting her in the replicator. Somehow, it just didn't seem so appetizing anymore. Tom stalked out of the captain's ready room. "Relieved of duty," he muttered to himself. "Well, you had to know it was coming." He closed his eyes and tiredly rubbed his temples where a pressure was threatening to blossom into a huge headache. "Sir?" Tom jumped. Ensign Ethan Simms stood just beyond the bulkhead. "Can I talk to you?" "Sure, Simms, go right ahead," Tom snapped. "But kindly make it quick. I have to report to sickbay," he said sarcastically. "I'm a sick man. That's where sick people go." Simms resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was his superior officer after all. "I just wanted to say thank you." Tom's eyes widened with surprise. "Thank you? What for? I crashed a shuttle you were in. You could have been killed." "Sir, something made our shuttle crash. I wish for your sake I knew what, but, of course, Ensign Lamont and I were scanning for life forms and not really paying attention to you and Ensign Kim. Then after we lost power, it was too dark and too noisy to figure anything out. I have to admit I was pretty scared, and not just for myself. I've never been in a situation like that. Getting the bejeezus bounced out of me, getting slammed onto the floor. Getting Ensign Lamont dropped on my lap, whacking my face on the back of her head, crushing my -- " "Yeah, Simms, if you get near a point, be sure to wave to it as you go by." Simms looked Tom square in the face. "This is the way I figure it, sir. We were in a life and death situation. Maybe if we hadn't had Starfleet's best pilot at the controls, we'd all be dead. So I just wanted to say thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I have to attend a seminar on self defense. We may run into some more Ferengi someday." Simms turned and crisply walked off, leaving Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris completely dumbfounded. Five minutes later a very thoughtful Tom walked into sickbay. The holographic doctor, who had taken to turning himself off during his off hours, was nowhere to be seen. Even Kes was missing. Tom quietly went to stand by Harry's biobed. It had been two days since the crash and Harry had still shown no real signs of coming out of the coma that held him prisoner. Tom leaned on the biomed board that curled over Harry's inert form. *Well, the captain did say to report to sickbay and talk to somebody,* he thought to himself. "See what happens, kid, when you hang around with me too long? You get yourself bashed to bits. You get . . . ." Tom faltered, and took his friend's hand. "God, Harry, I am so very sorry. I really screwed up big time, but I swear I didn't do it on purpose. I really don't take chances anymore. Not with other people's lives, I mean. You have to believe that. You have to. I used to think -- " he gulped as a sudden blinding pain exploded in his head. "Ahhh . . . computer, activate . . . ." He slumped to the floor, still holding on to Harry. Harry Kim very slowly opened his eyes. "Tom?" No answer. "Tom!" Harry gasped, leaning over the edge of the bed to see his friend. The blood rushed to his head, and he almost lost consciousness again, but somehow he managed to whisper hoarsely, "Activate Emergency Medical Holographic program!" "Please state the nature of the medical -- " the hologram began. "Ensign Kim . . . Lieutenant Paris!" "You have to help him, Doc," Harry managed between ragged breaths. Tom's hand still held a corner of his hospital gown in a death grip. "Please help him!" In his dream, he was in the shuttle again. The vessel's impulse engine had just overloaded, the explosion tossed the craft violently off-course. They were losing altitude fast. The stars pinwheeled dizzily on the forward viewscreen. "Can we make it to the moon?" Harry Kim yelled over the wailing Klaxon. The shuttle felt as if it were shaking itself apart. Cooling pipes cracked and broke overhead, spewing a thick cloud into the cabin. He coughed, unable to breathe. Now the barren surface of the Triliad moon filled the viewscreen. A new roar filled his ears as the atmospheric friction threatened to tear their craft to shreds -- Jack Garvic bolted upright in bed. The stench of his own breath burned his nostrils. Shakily, he rose from the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. The dream had been so real, as if he'd been trapped in the dying shuttle all over again. It was guilt, he knew. Guilt over what he'd done after the crash. Garvic shook his head violently. He'd had to do it. And it had worked -- no one suspected a thing. His head reeled, and he was momentarily on the shuttle again. He could hear the computer's warnings, he could smell the smoke and feel the sheer panic in the cabin. He realized these must have been the last things his fiancee had experienced that night over Caldik Prime. Jack Garvic fell to his knees, vomiting. "What's Tom's condition, Doctor?" The question came from Kes, but the doctor program wasn't sure to whom he should direct his response. Both Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay were eagerly awaiting his answer, and Ensign Kim was watching them intently from his seat on a nearby biobed. "Lieutenant Paris is suffering from a severe stress-induced migraine," he reported simply. "I've managed to stabilize him." "Then he'll be all right?" Chakotay asked. The doctor let out a facsimile of a sigh. He had learned he could always trust humans to resort to the basic questions in a time of crisis. "For the moment, he's stable," he repeated. "He's resting now. His recovery, however, will depend largely on understanding and eliminating whatever is the cause of this apparently unmanageable stress." "We've all tried to help him," Kes protested. "There doesn't seem to be any way to convince Tom the shuttle accident wasn't his fault." "Tom thinks the accident was his fault?" Harry suddenly said from his bed. "What gave him that idea?" "Lieutenant Paris suffered cranial injuries in the crash," the doctor stated matter-of-factly. "They may have led to a loss of short-term memory." Janeway held a hand up, her quiet way of silencing the doctor and asserting her own authority. "Mr. Kim," she asked carefully, "do you know what caused the crash of your shuttle?" Harry hung his head momentarily, then looked up again at his captain. His face was set in a grim frown. "It was Garvic, Captain. Garvic caused the crash." "Garvic?" Janeway finally said into the stunned silence that followed. The ensign nodded. "I can't believe it either. But that doesn't change the facts." "What facts?" Chakotay interrupted. "There aren't any facts. The shuttle's recorder marker is blank. B'Elanna checked the sensor records herself -- there wasn't any unusual activity in the area at the time." "I don't know anything about that," Harry replied, shaking his head. "All I know is that Jack somehow managed to overload the fusion reactors. That led to the cascade failure that destroyed our impulse engine. The blast knocked our systems off line." "That's what caused the shuttle to lose altitude," Chakotay concluded. "But why would Garvic overload the fusion reactors?" "I don't know if he meant to," Harry admitted. "It was just an accident -- he didn't know what he was doing. I'm just glad Tom was able to re-establish some control. If it weren't for him, we would have had an uncontrolled descent." He didn't need to say anything further. Everyone in the room knew what the disastrous effects of an uncontrolled descent would have been. "Why didn't the sensor log show any of this?" asked Chakotay. "I don't know -- and right now, I'm tired of not knowing," Janeway said determinedly. She hit her comm badge. "Lieutenant Torres, we need you in sickbay immediately." There was nothing but silence on the other end of the connection. "Lieutenant Torres . . . Lieutenant Torres, please respond." Janeway frowned. "Computer, locate Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres." "Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres is not on this ship." It was Janeway who most clearly enunciated the thought of the others. "Where is she?" The surface of the moon was barren and cold. B'Elanna Torres could see nothing on the distant horizon but rocks and the scarred shuttle that had crashed nearly three days earlier. She was determined to find the cause of the crash. In his report, Tom had mentioned something about the crash that bothered her. He had vaguely remembered something about no response from any systems. "Think B'Elanna, think. Now what could cause no response from the systems? A power surge? An electrical overload? Oh great," she said, "now I am talking to myself." *Come on B'Elanna, you have to find some answers. There has to be something, some proof of what caused this to happen.* B'Elanna stepped inside the shuttle to look it over one more time. The interior was black from smoke. The co-pilot's station was a mass of wires and melted plastic from the apparent explosion on impact. It seemed a miracle that Harry had lived at all, judging from the seat that he once occupied. The science stations on the side of the shuttle were damaged also. *This whole situation is baffling,* thought B'Elanna. *If there was some type of systems failure, why didn't the logs show it? The computer system was damaged but all of the logs were still intact.* B'Elanna thought aloud again. "What if someone could have erased the logs? But who? Who would have done that? And why?" B'Elanna walked over to the pilot's seat and sat down. As she looked over the console, she thought of Tom. He must have been concentrating on landing the shuttle on this moon. He could not have known what the others behind him where doing. Most likely they were trying to get the main systems back on line. She turned around in her chair and stared at the three empty seats behind her. All three crewmembers claimed to have been busy when the power loss occurred. Busy doing what? Were they sabotaging the shuttle to crash and erasing logs to cover their tracks? Or were they actually working as they all claimed to be? "All right, now I am jumping to conclusions. I have no proof that anyone on this shuttle caused the crash. Simms and Lamont have alibis for each other. Harry was obviously knocked unconscious. Garvic claims to have been trying to get the inertial dampers on line. Before Tom was knocked unconscious, he was busy trying to land the shuttle in one piece." As she tried to reason it all aloud, she came to two possible scenarios. The only two people who could have erased any logs with proof of guilt or innocence were Tom Paris and Jack Garvic. *But if Tom erased the logs, then why would he be insisting that it must have been his fault? Then again, why would Garvic have cause to erase any sensor logs? Unless -- * " Janeway to Lieutenant Torres," beeped her comm badge. "Torres here, Captain." "What, may I ask, are you doing down there, Lieutenant? I don't remember giving you authorization to return to the moon." "Well, Captain, I felt that there was more to be investigated down here. I know that we must have missed something. There must be some sensor log information that was either damaged or erased in the shuttle's computer core." Torres almost sounded like a detective hot on the trail. "I think that I may have stumbled onto something here, Captain." "Well, B'Elanna, we need you back on the ship. I've just returned to the bridge from sickbay. Harry has regained consciousness and has information that sheds some new light on the situation. So I suggest that you stumble on up to the ship before I have time to think up proper punishment for leaving it without permission." Janeway sounded as if she were getting fired up. "And Lieutenant, that is an order." "Aye, Captain." The words were barely out of her mouth when B'Elanna heard the soft chime of a transporter wave. She scrambled out of the shuttle wreckage and found herself face to face with Lieutenant Jack Garvic. She took in with one discreet glance the phaser attached to his uniform. Garvic studied B'Elanna with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked her calmly. "I could ask you the same question," replied B'Elanna sharply. "What's it to you?" Garvic ignored her retort. "You've been working awfully hard on this accident," he said, coming up close and getting well into her limited Klingon personal space. "Coming and going, checking logs, reconfiguring everything. Trying everything you can think of to get him off the hook, aren't you?" B'Elanna's Klingon temper exploded. "You did something to this shuttle, didn't you? I haven't got it quite figured out yet, but I know you did. Sabotage. The last thing we would ever have thought of. You made this ship crash and you let Tom take the blame for it. I should have known. He's twice the man you are, Garvic." She realized her mistake as the last words came tumbling out. Garvic's expression darkened. "Tom Paris is a murderer. Three innocent people -- pilots, no less -- died because of him. He should have died too. He deserved it." "That's not for me or anyone else to judge, Garvic. And certainly not YOU. You could have killed everyone on board this shuttle including yourself." "Just so long as he gets blamed, I don't care, and unless Kim lives to figure it out, that's just what will happen. Your boyfriend is self-destructing, Torres." "You're crazy!" "You listen to me, you little Klingon -- " "Janeway to Torres." "Torres, here, Captain," replied Torres, turning away from him in disgust. "Lieutenant, perhaps we have a failure to communicate. 'Right away' does not mean 'when you feel like it.'" "Captain, I -- " She gasped as Garvic grabbed her from behind, yanked off her comm badge, and tossed it into the wrecked shuttle, where it landed with a clink. "Captain, this is Lieutenant Garvic from Sciences. Perhaps you remember me. Tall guy, not bad looking. Good at destabilizing dilithium." "Mr. Garvic," Janeway's voice was icy. "I have some very serious questions for you." "I'm sorry, Captain. You'll have to learn to live with very serious questions, just like I did after Caldik Prime." Janeway whirled around to Tuvok at the tactical station. "Get him up here. Now." "I'm sorry, Captain. Lieutenant Garvic has done something to block the locator signal from his comm badge. I cannot get a lock on either him or Lieutenant Torres while they are standing so close together." "Yes, Captain," said Garvic, overhearing this exchange. "You'd be surprised how handy a geology background is. I'm sure I won't have any trouble finding a new career here in the Delta quadrant." Janeway caught on at once. "What do you want?" "Neelix's ship, fully outfitted for deep space flight." "I can't do that, Garvic. Let her go, and I promise you, you will be treated fairly." "There is no FAIR in life, Captain. Haven't you learned that? We're stuck out here a lifetime away from everything we cared about. Is that FAIR? It is only if you're Lieutenant Paris. He gets to get out of prison and fly starships as his reward for murder! Now you tell me what's FAIR about that? You have 15 minutes to get someone down here with that shuttle. Garvic OUT." "You'll never get away with this, Garvic," B'Elanna hissed. "Captain Janeway will never let you off this moon." "I'm not going to rot in my own quarters like Suder did," he replied vehemently, tightening his hold on her as she began to struggle. "It was inhuman what Tuvok and Janeway did to him. And I'm not even a murderer." B'Elanna drove her elbow into the geologist's midsection and launched herself forward, breaking free of his grasp as Garvic gasped for air. Without even looking back, she began running. "I need answers, people, and I need them NOW." Kathryn Janeway studied the frozen faces surrounding her on the bridge. They were as dumbfounded by Garvic's traitorous turn as she was. "Didn't Ensign Kim say that Garvic didn't know what he was doing?" Chakotay offered. Rising from his seat the first officer moved to stand beside the captain. "Garvic might have been the cause, but the perhaps the cause was an accident. Surely he's not a villain." Jutting her chin as she turned to face him, Janeway considered Chakotay's remark. "Yes, but secretly transporting to the lunar surface isn't the act of an innocent man. God only knows what he's doing to B'Elanna." Kathryn knew what was driving the man. *Revenge,* she thought to herself. *He wants revenge for something Tom did to him. But if he didn't deliberately cause the crash, why is he doing this?* She turned away from Chakotay and strode up the ramp to the security post. "Tuvok, what do you recommend?" "Giving Lieutenant Garvic a shuttle will not resolve -- " "I have no intention of giving him that shuttle. There's only one way he's getting off that moon." "We might use his demand as a means of subterfuge, Captain." "A security team," she said, her words echoing the Vulcan's thoughts. "But will they be able to overpower him without harming either Garvic or Torres? I don't want him killed -- I want the truth." "B'Elanna, come out, come out wherever you are!" Garvic called out in a childish, sing-song voice. He tried to track her furtive movements as best he could, but she had an unfair head start, and he was hampered by the craggy terrain. "I'm not such a bad guy, you know. If you can put up with Tom Paris, you could certainly learn to appreciate a man who hasn't committed half the crimes HE has." From her temporary hiding place behind a boulder, B'Elanna listened to Garvic's taunts as she tried to catch her breath. At first she hadn't been concerned with what he was saying as she'd concentrated on a plan of escape, but as the man spoke, his words piqued her curiosity. And her fury. "I promise I won't kill you. I like you too much to do that." He hefted himself up and over a rocky ledge. "You'll be the means by which Tom Paris realizes the error of his ways." "You're insane, Garvic! What did Tom ever do to you?" She heard him moving closer, so she lowered herself to her hands and knees and began crawling away from her hiding place. If she didn't keep moving, Garvic would catch her. "If you hold still long enough to let me find you, I'll tell you a fascinating story." "No deal!" she snarled as she arose and began climbing up the side of a monolith. "I know about Caldik Prime. Tom paid for what he did. You tell me why you're letting him take the fall THIS time!" Garvic followed the sound of her voice and saw her scrambling up the cliff face. He smiled to himself as he thought, *All too easy.* It was too easy not to pass up! A simple push of a button would set things back in their natural order. He pulled his phaser off his uniform. "Paris will be back in prison where he belongs, and I . . . I will finally be able to get on with my life," he shouted. Gripping the weapon in his sweaty, dirty palm, Garvic raised it slowly and began to take aim at the lithe woman clutching the rock face. The phaser sang out. A tiny explosion of rock followed. Garvic missed. "I even have Paris himself convinced he is the cause! Do you know how satisfying it is to see him suffer?" There was unmitigated glee in his voice. "All I had to do was sit back, keep quiet, and enjoy his demise!" He took aim again and fired. Miss. *Dammit, hold still!* "But oh no! Everyone has to come to HIS aid! No one wants to believe Tom Paris has screwed up again! Especially you. You just have to help him, don't you? What do you see in him?" he asked with disgust. "Everything should have been so simple . . . ." Garvic saw she'd stopped moving. "Gotcha," he said quietly. The phaser sang out once more. The members of the security team gathered in Transporter Room 2 as quickly as they could. Garvic had given the captain fifteen minutes, and Janeway was determined to use those minutes to her advantage. However the fugitive had anticipated that some kind of action would be taken to apprehend him and had taken appropriate countermeasures to stop the attempt. "Captain," Tuvok's calm voice rang out over the comm line and across the bridge, "we are unable to initiate transport to the moon. It appears that someone has tampered with the ship's primary transporter controls." "Garvic," the captain said slowly, not really surprised by Tuvok's information, yet still appalled that one of her officers could act so maniacally. "Take a shuttle, Mr. Tuvok," she then ordered bluntly. "Get Garvic and Torres back on this ship. Janeway out." After cutting the link, she turned to Chakotay. "Monitor that shuttle. I want to know the instant it leaves the surface and who's at the helm." "If Garvic wants that shuttle badly enough, he'll do almost anything to get his hands on it," he responded. She nodded and lowered herself into the chair beside him. "I'm not going to lose another shuttle." Kathryn began massaging the bridge of her nose, acutely aware of the throbbing pain in her head. "And I'm not going to lose another officer." "Captain, the shuttle has cleared the shuttle bay doors," Lieutenant Camacho called out from his post at Ops. Janeway turned and studied the young man who'd assumed Harry Kim's post after the shuttle crash. He was a confident officer and appeared to have a bright future ahead of him. "Very good, Mr. Camacho. I want you to keep scanning the surface. If we can locate Lieutenants Garvic and Torres we can make the security team's job a little easier." The shuttle glided smoothly through the lunar atmosphere and landed with a slight jolt a few meters from the wreckage of its one-time companion. Within moments Tuvok's security team filed out. They were dressed in cold weather gear and already had their phasers and tricorders at the ready. "This is our plan," Tuvok began without preamble. "Nerval and Hayworth will scan the area ten kilometers south of this point. Yaf'fey and I will move the same distance north while Hudson and Simms will cover the area east. Because of our delay, Lieutenant Garvic has had the opportunity to flee the immediate area. We must assume that Lieutenant Torres is being held as a hostage." He received nods of understanding from his team members. "Keep in constant communication. All right, head out." The two person squads dispersed in the direction they'd been assigned. The chilling wind threatened to deter their movements and hamper their search. Within minutes the teams were no longer visible to one another. Hudson stared at the rocky edifice looming before him and Simms. "Oh sure, Tuvok makes US climb the mountain." He turned to his best friend. "This job doesn't get any easier, does it, Ethe?" Simms ignored the complaint and concentrated instead on his tricorder. "I think I've got something." "Yeah, a cold." "Come on, Mik, let's go. I'm picking up residual phaser emissions ten meters ahead." "You mean ten meters UP?" Narrowing his eyes as he stared at Hudson, Ethan Simms holstered his own phaser and readjusted his gloves, preparing for the climb. "It means Garvic's got a phaser, and you KNOW that CAN'T be good news for Lieutenant Torres." Hudson jabbed his elbow into Simm's side. "I bet Lieutenant Paris would want to be here, rescuing Lieutenant Torres." "Well, Mik, he can't because he's still in sickbay -- out for the count, or so I've heard. So why don't we do him a favor and get this rescue under way!" Mikel nodded. Here was their chance to be heroes in everyone's eyes -- the captain's, Tuvok's, Torres' and Paris'. "All right. Let's climb!" The blast caught B'Elanna on the back of her thigh. She fell off the rock face and landed hard on her rear end. A stabbing pain shot up her spine and her ears rang. She shook her head trying to clear it. By the time she did, Garvic stood above her, blocking the soft, eerie light reflecting from the planet that filled the moon's sky. "Hurts doesn't it?" he asked. "I got shot with a phaser once. You'll be down for the count for ages." He sat down comfortably beside her. "Good thing I had it set on stun," he added, patting the phaser, "or you'd be down for good." B'Elanna closed her eyes against the agony of the burning pain in the back of her leg. She had been shot once too, by a Cardassian spy, and the horrible memory came flooding back. "I'll kill you for this, Garvic," she gasped. "Oh, look out. The big bad Klingon warrior. Let me tell you, Torres, you're not that scary. Especially when I'm holding the phaser and you're holding a bum leg." B'Elanna opened her eyes and gave him a level look. "What did you do to the shuttle, Garvic?" she grunted out from between clenched teeth. Garvic looked out over the rocky terrain. For a moment, there was silence except for the soft keening of the wind between the standing stones. "I didn't mean to hurt Kim and the two others. I tried to stop the cascade failure, but at that point, there wasn't much I could do." "But you did mean to hurt Tom?" asked B'Elanna, catching his wording. Watching him constantly, she very slowly began feeling around behind her back for a loose stone. "I destabilized the dilithium in the shuttle's warp engines." "I heard you say something like that to the captain. Surely you realized that would cause the shuttle to explode." Nothing. She shifted her weight, wincing against the flood of agony the movement caused, and eased away from him. "I knew." "What?! And you did it anyway?" "Yes," he said simply. "The captain said she needed me to accompany Paris on an away mission. I got to the shuttle bay first, and I did it. It's easy. She didn't say there would be others." "All this time Tom has been going crazy thinking it was his fault, and you let him. You tried to kill him, and when that didn't work, you laid the guilt on him." Ah ha. Not a stone. This object, whatever it was, was long and smooth, more like a stick, but hard as a rock. It would do. "Why?" she asked. "Because I'm sick of the whole thing. Living out here in the middle of nowhere. Watching Paris save the day time after time," he snapped. "Thinking about . . . trying to live while remembering what happened," he said. "Remembering that he lived and she died. She was everything to me," he added softly, "and he killed her. Ten years ago tomorrow." B'Elanna froze. "You're talking about Caldik Prime." Garvic whirled around with a jerk. "Of course I am, you stupid girl." Stupid girl? STUPID GIRL? It was everything B'Elanna could do not to bash him then and there, but she had to hear this -- this part of Tom's life that she was locked out of. And she had to wait until he turned around again, so she could catch him unaware. Garvic's next question took her by surprise. "How can you possibly be attracted to him?" "What makes you think I am?" she retorted. *Turn around, you idiot.* "You're not going to try to deny you're lovers." B'Elanna's grip on the object tripled. *Whoa, there, 'Lanna. Don't break it. Not 'til you get it over his head, anyway.* "That is NONE of your business, Garvic." Garvic snorted and turned to stare up at the planet that seemed to hang oppressively over their very heads. "Don't believe anything he tells you, Torres. Paris would say -- " B'Elanna whipped around as fast as her damaged spine would let her, and smashed him over the head as hard as she dared. The object did indeed break in two on impact. She quickly glanced at the half left in her hand, and saw that it was undoubtedly an ancient humanoid leg bone. She reacted without thinking and thrust it away from herself with a noise of disgust. She tried to climb to her feet, but a numbness controlled the lower part of her body, and she fell over into Garvic's lap. Garvic, stunned and bleeding profusely from the scalp wound, grabbed her before she could get the phaser. They fell over in a pile, the phaser between them. The tension on the bridge was palpable as Tuvok updated his crewmates on the search for Torres and, more particularly, for Garvic. "Simms and Hudson have detected residual phaser emissions one-point-two kilometers to the east of our landing site. They are moving in to investigate. Yaf'fey and I are approaching the area now from the north." "Be careful, Tuvok," the captain advised unnecessarily. "Understood. Tuvok out." Tense silence followed in the wake of the security chief's update. Janeway knew enough not to let her impatience and frustration show by pacing across the bridge, but she did let her eyes roam restlessly from one station to another. She hated being in a crisis situation without the majority of her senior staff. The ensigns and lieutenants scattered about the bridge -- Lamont, Camacho, Knorr and Golden -- were good officers, but they weren't Tuvok, Paris, Torres and Kim. "This is odd," Chakotay suddenly said aloud, interrupting her musings. "What is it?" Chakotay pointed at something on the display screen between their chairs. "The sensors are detecting tectonic movement beneath the lunar surface." "A moonquake?" Janeway asked. "If it is, it's unlike any I've ever observed," her first officer admitted. "Look at the Walman diastrophism stress markers. They're almost . . . unnatural." Janeway heard the turbolift doors slide open behind her. "Keep me appraised," she told Chakotay, turning to see who was entering the bridge. "Harry told me what's going on," Tom Paris said as he strode down to the center of the bridge. His sunken eyes stood out in his haggard face, but there was genuine urgency in his step. "He said Garvic's holding B'Elanna hostage on the surface of the moon." Janeway gave him as cool a stare as she could muster. Truth be told, it was good to see Tom looking so passionate about something once more -- but that didn't negate the fact that he'd inexplicably lost consciousness. "You ought to be in sickbay, Lieutenant." The words sounded convincing to her own ears, but Tom wasn't buying it. He gave her one of those "I-know-what-you're-thinking-Captain- and-you-know-it's-wrong" looks that only he could give, the one that told her she was only fooling herself if she thought she could fool him. Tom wanted to be back in on the action; he wanted it very dearly, indeed. "You have the conn, Mr. Paris," she finally acquiesced. "We're in a geosynchronous orbit." With a genuine smile -- the first one Janeway had seen from him in too long -- Paris turned briskly on his heel and took his station. "Get off me, Klingon!" snarled Garvic, his face red with blood and fury. B'Elanna grappled for control of the phaser, using her left forearm to pin Garvic under her while grasping the smoothly contoured handle of the weapon with her right hand. For an instant she felt the phaser's controls under her fingers, and the damage was done -- either the phaser was now set so low they wouldn't feel a thing if it discharged, or it would incinerate them both, leaving only the faintest traces of DNA for the doctor to use in identifying their remains. With an animalistic roar, Garvic struck out at B'Elanna, trying to push her off him. B'Elanna gripped the front of his uniform and held on tightly; Garvic's struggling only ground him further into the lunar soil. The cold, gray dust worked its way into his hair, his eyes, his mouth. With a sudden flash of realization, B'Elanna noticed that the roaring in her ears wasn't just Garvic's incoherent screaming. The ground crumbled beneath them, and they fell, sharp, rocky outcroppings battering their bodies as they sped past. For a handful of quickened heartbeats, they were in mid-air, and then they hit surface again, hard enough to knock the wind out of them both. B'Elanna gasped for air, clawing her way out of the rocky debris that had fallen on her. Her eyes stung from the dust, and she wiped frantically at her face. Slowly, her vision cleared and adjusted to the dim light filtering in from the hole above and found herself lying on a pile of humanoid remains. B'Elanna, not ordinarily a squeamish person, scrambled backwards off the pile of skulls and other bones as quickly as she could. She was in a hole, an underground cavern of some sort. Garvic -- Garvic had fallen with her, but where was he now? Under a pile of rocks and boulders? Buried in a pile of disconnected body parts? "Lieutenant! Lieutenant Torres!" The familiar voice came from above. B'Elanna looked up, peering through the clouds of dust. Standing at the edge of the hole, some ten meters above, were a pair of figures silhouetted against the dim planet. "Lieutenant Torres, can you hear us?" one yelled down. "Simms!" B'Elanna called back. "Hudson!" "Are you okay, Lieutenant?" they shouted, obviously relieved she hadn't been lost in the fall. "I think I'm okay," she replied. "I don't know -- " She was cut off by the whine of a phaser from above. She could feel the heat from the beam, it had come so close. B'Elanna whirled around instinctively. Behind her lay the crumpled form of Jack Garvic, his body still glowing from the stun blast that had been delivered by either Simms or Hudson. Clutched in the unconscious man's hand was the phaser they'd been fighting over -- its indicator showed the highest possible setting. A shudder passed through B'Elanna's body as she realized how close she'd come to being a dark spot in this cold desolate place. "I think I owe you guys one," she finally managed to yell up to the two junior officers above her. "Tuvok to Janeway." "Janeway here," the captain replied quickly, grateful to hear her old friend's voice again. "Simms and Hudson have located Torres," the Vulcan said precisely over the comm link. "They were forced to stun Mr. Garvic." The bridge crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Paris turned in his seat, a wide grin on his face. "Is Lieutenant Torres all right?" Janeway asked. "Lieutenant Torres has fallen into some kind of subterranean cavern, but she appears to be cogent." Static momentarily cut into the line, then Tuvok's voice returned, "-- also suffered several wounds from her fight with Garvic." "I want you all up here as soon as possible," ordered Janeway. The sooner everyone was back aboard Voyager, the happier she'd be. "Will we need to send down a medical team to assist you?" The static re-established itself. Janeway could only make out a few of Tuvok's words. "Tectonic disturbance . . . unable to . . ." "Captain!" Chakotay called out suddenly. "I'm detecting major moonquakes across the surface of the Triliad moon." "Tuvok!" shouted Janeway. "Tuvok, do you copy?" Her only answer was static. "Chakotay, can you pick up Tuvok's signal?" "Negative, Captain," he replied grimly. "The tectonic disturbances are sending dust into the atmosphere. The sensors are having trouble penetrating the particle cloud." "Boost power to the sensors," Janeway barked to Lieutenant Camacho at Ops. "I don't care where you get the power from -- I just want to find our officers." "Aye, Captain." Chakotay scowled. "It's not working. The particles in the atmosphere are too dense. Their comm signals are simply too weak to break through the disturbance." "Suggestions!" Janeway called out in desperation. Of all the people on the bridge, only Paris finally ventured an idea. "Captain, if this particle cloud is blocking their signals . . ." "Yes, Lieutenant? Spit it out." Tom's grin was positively cocky. "Why don't we take Voyager UNDER the cloud?" "Under the cloud, Mr. Paris?" responded Janeway thoughtfully. "Lamont, how extensive is this dust cloud?" "It's, um, about . . . Mr. Paris will not have much maneuvering room, Captain," she finished rather lamely. "Obviously the closer to the surface we are, the denser the cloud will get." "Just feed me the coordinates of any mountains and I'll handle it," said Tom. He turned in his seat and directed an intense look at Janeway. "Your orders, Captain?" "Do it." Ethan Simms and Mikel Hudson scrambled among the heap of bones, wading through the humanoid remains to reach Lieutenant Torres. "Keep still, Lieutenant," said Simms. "We'll get you out of here." "I'm all right," snapped B'Elanna, coughing from the settling debris. "With all due respect, sir, you are not 'all right,'" wheezed Hudson, scanning her with a medical tricorder. "You have a couple of damaged vertebrae. We're going to attach a couple of anti-grav units to you and float you out of here." "No, you most certainly are not, you big boy scout," snapped the irate engineer, struggling to get to her feet. Mikel and Ethan exchanged significant glances and knelt down beside her. As a team they gently but firmly held the excited Klingon down. "Let the record show," Hudson said to no one in particular, "that the chief engineer was temporarily mentally impaired and her orders were thus ignored." "Mentally impaired?! Hudson, I'll have you court-martialed! Let GO of me! Simms, I'll, I'll," her eyes narrowed, but a smile almost played with her lips. "I'll TELL." "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about," he innocently replied, attaching the unit to her filthy uniform under her shoulders. "Excuse me, sir, but I need to put this other unit under your rear end," said Hudson. "Ensign, you touch my rear end, and I will hurt you." "Ah, now, Lieutenant. Take it easy. Remember, I've seen you naked." B'Elanna's mind raced back to the night she and Tom found themselves trapped in a holographic pond uniformless. She shut up. The two crewmen worked to secure her back and legs and initialized the power to the anti-grav devices. "Mik," said Simms. "Go ahead and climb up. Try to contact Lieutenant Tuvok. I'll follow." "What about him?" asked Mikel, gesturing toward the form of Garvic, which was showing signs of life. "He'll wait." B'Elanna watched, fuming, as Mikel carefully began the strenuous ten meter trek back up the crevasse's sides. "I'll get you two for this, you know." "Danger is what Starfleet security people live for," replied Simms evenly. "Take your best shot, Lieutenant." "As soon as I get back to the ship I'm going to have a little talk with a certain blonde." "Oh, good shot." He paused, also watching Hudson's ascent. "Mikel, I think the Lieutenant needs a sedative." "Ethe, you've got to stop fighting with - ouch - women, you know." "Yeah, I know. They always win. No fun to play with." "I wouldn't - whoops - go that far." "I would. You about ready?" "Are you kidding? Who do you think I am? Captain Kirk? Whoa, loose rock here." "'Captain Kirk,'" snorted Simms. "In your dreams, Hudson. You ready now?" "Yeah, just about. Okay, Ethe. Let her rip." "Captain, we are well within the moon's atmosphere," said Mr. Camacho from his station at Ops. "Onscreen." A very rough and barren terrain materialized through the haze. Boulders and scattered rock formations littered the moonscape. Janeway was reminded of the stark beauty of southern Utah. "Engaging maneuvering thrusters, securing engine exhaust, compensating for gravity," listed off Paris, fingers tapping on the control board. "I'm taking inertial dampers off line and rerouting their power to the sensors." "I've got them, Captain!" said Camacho excitedly. "Janeway to Tuvok." "Tuvok here. Captain, I believe I can see you from where I am standing." "Mr. Paris, hold our position here." Tom raised his eyebrows a fraction of a centimeter. "Captain, a starship is not exactly like an old Harrier warplane." "Mr. Paris, I expect results, not excuses. Hold our position." "Yes, ma'am." "Tuvok, what's your status?" "Captain, Ensigns Simms and Hudson have recovered Lieutenant Torres. I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Garvic has eluded us." "What? How did that happen?" "The tectonic disturbance opened a fissure in the subterranean cavern. While the ensigns were retrieving Lieutenant Torres, Lieutenant Garvic escaped onto the plain below us. I have redeployed my team to search for him." "Captain!" interrupted Lamont. "Perimeter alert! A Vidiian ship is closing on us!" "Red alert! Get our people back up here NOW. Raise shields as soon as they're aboard," commanded Janeway. "But Captain --" "Do it!" "Yes, ma'am. Captain, we're being hailed by the Vidiian vessel." "Onscreen." "The dust is causing interference in the comm system, Captain." "Do the best you can, Lieutenant." Janeway stood and steeled herself to be ready for the hideous face. Instead, a rather handsome man of about forty came into view. He appeared to be totally untouched by the phage, and Janeway was struck by how similar to human physiology his Vidiian appearance actually was. "Captain Janeway, I presume," he said nervously through the static. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager," she replied, coming forward and putting her hand on the shoulder of a suddenly fidgety Tom Paris. "I am Betrim of Vidii. I have heard of you and your ship. Let me assure you, Captain, that we mean you no harm. As a matter of fact, it is my hope that you mean us no harm. This is a small cargo vessel. It is certainly no match for Voyager. Please bear that in mind." Captain Janeway glanced back at Chakotay. The almost imperceptible movement of his head told her everything she needed to know. Chakotay had analyzed the ship and concurred with what the Vidiian was saying. "What are you doing here?" Janeway demanded, returning to her seat. "I could ask you the same question, Captain," Betrim replied evenly, "with more right to do it, perhaps." Janeway conceded the point. "We are investigating a distress beacon on this moon." "Ah. I understand. It is not a distress beacon. It is a Vidiian homing signal to aid inexperienced pilots such as myself in coming to this place. We are on the very edge of Vidiian space here, Captain. Beyond this?" He shrugged. "No one comes here except for one purpose," he paused then resumed, "and military ships seldom come here at all." Betrim glanced toward someone on his ship just out of Janeway's view. "I have been here three times in two years," he concluded sadly. "Captain -- " interrupted Paris. "At ease, Lieutenant," snapped Janeway. "Betrim, what is this place?" she asked. Behind her the turbolift doors hissed open and Tuvok strode onto the bridge and assumed his position at the tactical station. Betrim looked surprised. "Have you not realized it, Captain? This is one of the places where we bring our dead. I am here with the body of a good friend." Janeway stole a look at Tuvok. "Confirmed, Captain," he said. "Betrim, we mean no harm to you or disrespect to your dead. We wish to go in peace. We are missing one crewman. As soon as we have retrieved him we will leave." "Captain, I do not know if your people are resistant to the phage or not, but I must warn you that this is not a very healthy place to be." "I understand Betrim. Thank you for the warning," replied Janeway, adding to herself, *but the transporter filters protect us anyway.* "You have nothing to fear from us. Janeway out." Jack Garvic, never one to miss an opportunity, had used the moonquake and the resulting opening in the cavern to creep away unnoticed. Amazingly enough, when he had located an opening to the surface, he had come out within a few hundred meters of the shuttle used by the away team Janeway had sent down. Jack had been rather surprised to find it deserted. After carefully checking the perimeter and finding no sign of the remainder of the away team, Garvic had tried to access the shuttle's interior, not surprised to discover the shuttle's door had been coded for entry. Garvic, rather resourceful where computers were concerned, hadn't had much difficulty in bypassing the code and gaining access to the shuttle. Once inside, he quickly fired up the engines and lifted off. Janeway had just turned her attention to Tuvok to ask for a report on what had taken place on the moon when Camacho's tense voice interrupted. "Captain, I'm picking up the away team's shuttle. It's lifting off the moon." Tom swung around to look at those behind him. "Captain, without Voyager's sensors to direct it through the particle cloud, that shuttle doesn't have much chance of making it off the moon in one piece." Staring at the viewscreen, Janeway said, "Mr. Camacho, open a hailing frequency to the shuttle." "Open, Captain," confirmed Camacho. "There's a lot of interference on the channel," he warned. "The shuttle has already passed the perimeter of the particle cloud." "Shuttlecraft, this is Captain Janeway. Lieutenant Garvic, please respond." There was a long moment of silence during which Janeway was sure Garvic had decided to ignore her hail, then, over a noise-filled comm link Garvic replied, "Captain, thanks so much for the shuttle. Perhaps I'll see you around the quad -- " His voice was suddenly cut off, although the comm link was still open. They heard a faint "What the?" then watched as the shuttle took a sudden nose-dive before shakily righting itself. Paris punched a control on his board, then spoke. "Shuttlecraft, the particle cloud is affecting your sensors and maneuvering ability. Adjust your inertial dampers and take a heading of 1043.67. I'll guide you through the cloud." "Paris?!" Garvic's tone was full of disbelief. "Janeway put you back behind the helm? You -- " "Mr. Garvic," interrupted Janeway, her voice stern, "I suggest you listen to Lieutenant Paris if you want to make it out of that cloud alive." "You've got to be kidding, Captain," jeered Garvic. "Paris would as soon run me into a mountainside as help me. No thanks. I'll do this on my own." Tom spoke, his voice strung tight with anger, but his demeanor professional. "Garvic, you have my word I'll do my best to get you out of there in one piece. Set a heading of 1043.67 NOW or you WILL run into a mountainside." There was a moment of silence as Garvic apparently contemplated his options. He wanted off the moon's surface and was not going to accomplish that without Voyager's help. Without Tom Paris' help. Voyager's bridge crew watched as the shuttle suddenly shot straight up, narrowly missing the looming mountain in its path. Taking that as acquiescence of his assistance, Paris spoke once more into the comm link, "Okay, now assume a heading of 2894.09." Tom watched his monitor, verifying that Garvic was following his instructions. As the shuttle wobbled precariously and its nose dipped again, Paris calmly instructed, "Adjust your inertial dampers. You need -- " "I know that, Paris!" snapped Garvic. "I'm not a complete imbecile. You and your so-called extraordinary piloting skills. Well, they didn't do you much good at Caldik Prime, did they?" The others on the bridge watched as Paris' shoulders stiffened. Janeway was about to intercede when Tom spoke. "Garvic, I know you think that we have some old score to settle. Whatever it may be, we'll have plenty of time for that later, but only if you listen to me. Now, adjust your inertial dampers and ignore whatever your sensors are telling you. They're useless in that cloud." Janeway was appreciative of Paris' calm demeanor in dealing with Garvic. She herself felt like strangling the man. "An old score to settle?" Garvic repeated, his reasoning gone. "Is that all those three people were to you, Paris? Do you ever dream of them? Dream of the people whose lives you snuffed out?" Now Tom did get angry. His face set in barely controlled lines of anger, he snapped, "Dammit, Garvic! Get off that subject for the moment and listen to me! Adjust your inertial dampers now or you're going to -- " He broke off as Garvic's shuttle took another nose-dive and headed back for the moon's surface, its descent uncontrolled. "Captain!" called Camacho, "I've lost the comm link with the shuttle." Tom barely restrained himself from pounding the helm in frustration. He watched, along with the rest of the bridge crew, as the shuttle continued its uncontrolled descent. Garvic wouldn't be able to pull it out in time. He was going to crash. As they beamed down to the site of the second shuttle crash, Tom couldn't help but wonder why the captain had allowed him on this away team, although he had a strong feeling she had sent Chakotay along to keep him and Garvic from each other's throats, assuming Garvic was still alive. They drew their phasers as they approached the crashed shuttle, which seemed remarkably in one piece, with little apparent damage. But it had hit hard. The groove gouged in the moon's surface as the shuttle had slid several meters was proof of that. Tom quickly slid to the front of the group and cautiously entered the shuttle before either Chakotay or the security team Tuvok had assigned to the away team could protest. Inside he found Garvic sprawled on the floor next to the pilot's chair. Kneeling beside him, Tom was caught off guard when Garvic's bloodied hand shot up to grab the front of his uniform and jerk him downward until they were nose to nose. Paris was peripherally aware of Chakotay and the security team entering and of Chakotay waving security off as he determined that Garvic was injured and unarmed. "You!" gasped Garvic. "It would have to be your face that I see right before I die. You're determined to haunt me even in the afterlife, aren't you, Paris?" As Kes knelt on Garvic's other side and ran a scanner over him, Tom said, "I have no idea what you're talking about Garvic. You weren't at Caldik Prime. I would have remembered." Garvic's hand tightened on Paris' uniform, partly in anger, partly in pain from his injuries. "No. You're right. I wasn't there. But my fiancˇ was. You remember Megan Gianelli, don't you?" Garvic's voice had turned sour and he smiled slightly as he saw he had scored a hurtful jab in Paris' direction. Tom's face whitened. Megan. Sweet, but stubborn Megan, who could charm bees out of their honey, but all in fun as she was engaged and deeply in love. His gaze returned to the injured man before him. "You? You were Megan's fiancˇ?" "You ever think about how many lives you destroyed, Paris, that day over Caldik Prime? Not only those three pilots, but their loved ones too? You should never have been allowed behind the helm again, and I hate Kathryn Janeway for giving you, YOU of all people, a second chance!" Garvic's eyes widened in surprise as he felt his consciousness slipping away. His grip on Paris' uniform loosened and his hand fell limply to the deck. Looking across to Kes, Tom saw her shake her head. Tom looked back down at Garvic, wanting to say more but unable to find the words. Chakotay, engrossed in the scene before him, was unaware they had company until one of the security guards tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir." Chakotay turned to see the Vidiian, Betrim, along with two other Vidiians, gathered in the shuttle's entrance. Taking in the scene, Betrim, who seemed to wear a perpetual look of sadness, said, "Your crewman is injured. Perhaps we can help." "What is Mr. Garvic's condition, Kes?" Chakotay asked before answering the Vidiian. "He sustained serious internal injuries, Commander, as well as numerous broken bones. I can stabilize him here but we need to get him up to sickbay right away." Kes looked up at the Vidiian and continued, "I would appreciate any help you can give me. And I'm sure the doctor would appreciate your assistance as well." Immediately Betrim was at her side, kneeling next to Garvic. He motioned to one of his companions who quickly produced a satchel. Betrim began to pull out medical equipment, some unlike anything the Federation crew had seen before. "Are you a doctor?" Chakotay inquired, fascinated by the technology he was seeing. "Yes, but most of my life has been devoted to research. When I was quite young my research led me to discover a treatment which helps slow down the phage. My government decided that I could better serve my people if I were isolated. I am therefore less likely to contract the phage while I conduct my research. My research staff and I have been living on a moon three thousand light years from here for the past 15 years." As Betrim spoke he continued to work on Garvic, explaining to Kes what he was doing along the way. Chakotay and Tom stood by, feeling helpless, as Kes and the Vidiian worked over the injured lieutenant. It wasn't long before Garvic's condition was stabilized. Chakotay tapped his comm badge. "Chakotay to Janeway." "Go ahead, Commander," replied the captain. "Garvic is ready to be transported to sickbay, Captain, and Kes has asked Dr. Betrim to accompany us back to the ship." Chakotay paused. "Captain, it looks as though the shuttle can be salvaged. I suggest beaming down an engineering team. Lieutenant Paris and I will stay behind to begin repairs." "Acknowledged," the captain answered crisply. "We can't afford to lose any more shuttles." She immediately ordered Lieutenant Carey to take an away team to the latest crash site. She hoped Chakotay was right and that the shuttle could be salvaged. They had already lost the one shuttle, although they would be able to salvage it for parts. But they could be out here for years and they needed every piece of equipment they had. Garvic, Kes and Betrim transported to sickbay and the doctor immediately began scanning the patient. "His vital signs are strong, considering the severity of the injuries he sustained," reported the holodoc. Kes looked at Betrim. "We're fortunate that Dr. Betrim showed up when he did. Without him and the Vidiian technology, I don't think Garvic would still be alive." "Yes, well, we'll see how grateful Lieutenant Garvic is after the captain is through with him," the doctor dourly replied. "Sickbay to Captain Janeway." "Janeway here." "Captain, Lieutenant Garvic is out of danger and should be fit for duty -- or whatever else you may have in store for him -- by tomorrow." "Thank you, Doctor. I understand from Commander Chakotay that we owe Dr. Betrim a debt of gratitude as well. I will be down shortly to offer my thanks in person. Janeway out." "Yes, Dr. Betrim," added the holodoc, "I wish to thank you, too, for your assistance. If you can stay and visit for a while I would enjoy hearing about your research and the medical advancements your people have made." "Doctor, I would be very pleased to visit with you. I have heard good things about you and your ship from Denara Pel. But first I must finish what I came here to do." The away team worked with Chakotay and Paris to effect repairs to the shuttle. A few hours later the shuttle was once again operational, although more repairs would be necessary once it was safely back aboard Voyager. Tom silently piloted the shuttle through the settling particle cloud. Other than a couple of questions to the engineering team, Tom hadn't said a word since Garvic had lost consciousness. Chakotay glanced over to him. He still looked pale and haggard but also very grim and determined. Chakotay wondered what was going through the young man's mind. He had obviously been surprised at Garvic's words. They had been on Voyager for two years and Garvic had never mentioned his connection to Caldik Prime. *No wonder he was always so antagonistic towards Tom,* thought Chakotay. He considered whether he should have investigated the reasons behind Garvic's attitude towards Tom. It was a tough call. How much should a first officer -- or captain, for that matter -- get involved in the personal matters of his/her crew? He knew Janeway struggled with that fine line nearly every day. There was no easy answer. He knew he'd be seeking his spirit guide's assistance on that question tonight. The shuttle reached the ship in record time. Not for the first time, Chakotay was impressed with Paris' piloting skills. He was glad that the accident had not been Tom's fault. It had taken him a long time to learn to trust and respect the young man. There were still times when he questioned the pilot's motives, but he knew how far he had come and how difficult that road had been. "Well, now," mused the doctor to himself, fiddling with his datapadd and humming snatches of song from the opera "Carmen." "Mr. Garvic is satisfactory and Mr. Kim and Ms. Torres are both well on their way to being returned to duty. All I need now is -- " He turned as the sickbay doors slid open. " -- Mr. Paris. How good of you to join us. As you may recall, you were not released as fit for duty. You will please be seated. I am not finished with you yet." "No, Doc, you don't understand. I just came to -- " "To report as ordered. Sit." "But I've been reinstated! I've -- " "You've got three seconds to comply, Mr. Paris," said the doctor calmly. Tom took the bait, and leaned in. "Or what?" he said slowly. "Or else he'll sing again," said B'Elanna from her biobed. "Please, Tom. I couldn't take it. Not even my Klingon nerves could stand it." "As a matter of fact," said the holodoc brightly, "I have been studying various arias from several Klingon operas that I'd certainly be glad to -- " "I'll sit," interrupted Tom. He pulled up a stool between B'Elanna and Harry, who seemed to be asleep. Jack Garvic was stretched out, apparently unconscious, in a private exam room across the bay, with a security guard standing nearby. "I'll be right back," said the doctor. "Lieutenant, don't move from that spot." With that he shimmered out of existence and reappeared, humming, in his office, positioned before the main computer terminal. "You okay?" Tom asked B'Elanna softly. "I'll be fine. The doctor just has to realign a couple of vertebrae, and do a little dermal regeneration." "I am so sorry, B'Elanna," said Tom, taking her hand. "You know, Tom," she said, "I think it's time you stopped being 'so sorry' and started being your old -- I don't know -- what word exactly describes it?" "Obnoxious?" came Harry's voice. "Irritating? Arrogant?" "Yeah, Starfleet, that just about covers it," she replied. "Your old obnoxious, irritating, arrogant self." "I thought you were supposed to be asleep," said Tom to Harry. "I am asleep. Fast asleep. Totally and completely asleep. You two just carry on as if I weren't here." B'Elanna snatched her hand away from Tom. "I, um, I'm just glad I got Garvic to tell the truth. You must be relieved. I heard you did a little fancy flying while I was down there with him on the moon." "It was nothing. I couldn't sit around up here with a minor headache while you were out there trying to help me." "I also heard you saved him from a worse crash than the one he took. He tried to kill you, Tom, and you still tried to save him." "Maybe he had a point," replied Tom. "Oh, how modest and touching," said Harry. "You know, for somebody who's supposed to be asleep you sure talk an awful lot!" snapped Tom. Harry snored. Tom snorted and turned back to B'Elanna. "Maybe we could talk this over later. Or maybe," he glanced across to Garvic's still form. "Maybe you don't think there's any reason to. I mean, some of the stuff he said -- " B'Elanna reached up and cupped Tom's face in her hand. "Later," she said simply. The sickbay doors pulled apart again and Captain Janeway strode in, Lieutenant Tuvok right behind her. If either noticed the scene before them, neither acknowledged it. The doctor materialized before them immediately. "Captain, I have some very serious news concerning Lieutenant Garvic. He's stable, but there have been some inexplicable changes in the biochemistry of his major physical systems. His blood, his DNA, even his brainwave patterns have been altered, and it seems to be continuing. In short, his physiology is more Vidiian now than human. I'm not sure I have the appropriate database to treat him, or the resources to do so even if I could assimilate the data." Janeway studied the doctor with an intense stare. "Are you saying he's dying?" "No, not exactly. Although before he left, Doctor Betrim told me he questioned the Lieutenant's desire to live. I am merely saying that I'm now not sure I can restore the lieutenant to health or maintain it if that is achieved." "I see. Thank you, Doctor. What about these other officers?" "Mr. Kim may report to his quarters to rest. Ms. Torres will need to stay a few hours. Mr. Paris -- " The doctor directed a stare of his own at the pilot. "That depends on whether Mr. Paris can sit still for a minute or whether he will go bolting out of here the moment my back is turned. Although, theoretically," he added thoughtfully, "I can program my eyes into the back of my head should that become necessary." "With the chief engineer here to keep him company I doubt that will become necessary, Doctor," intoned Tuvok. At this Tom and B'Elanna looked so fiercely indignant that Harry stifled a laugh and Janeway hid a smile. "I don't get it," said the holodoc, confused. "Doc, do you know any Gilbert and Sullivan?" asked Paris suddenly. "I am a perfect model of a modern major-general," the doc replied. "I am the king of pirate kings, the highest of high executioners, the -- " "Great. Sing." Captain Janeway set her cup down with a sigh of satisfaction. The rich Vidiian coffee-like substance Dr. Betrim had offered her had turned out to be quite an unexpected pleasure. Betrim noticed. "Another cup, Captain?" Janeway was tempted, but they had already slowly worked their way through an entire carafe, and she hated to leave Voyager for too long. She shook her head. "No, but I certainly thank you, Dr. Betrim. Now, let me make sure I understand. Your triage technology, based on assimilating organs from -- " she hesitated a moment, considered the word "victims" and, under the circumstances rejected it, "-- others is what is causing these changes in Lieutenant Garvic?" "I am afraid so, Captain. At the time I didn't stop to consider that consequence. I am most awfully sorry." "Don't be. Because of you a life was saved. But Garvic is a troubled man. I admit I don't quite know what to do with him now. He needs help. He needs discipline. He needs . . . I don't quite know what he needs." "I do," replied Betrim, setting down his cup. Janeway glanced at him, surprised. "What do you mean?" "I am a doctor, Captain. On my world, all doctors are trained to deal with the effects of despair. Combating both the rage and the hopelessness the phage brings is paramount to the treatment of its victims." Despite her overall feelings toward Vidiians, Janeway felt a great respect, even a camaraderie with Dr. Betrim. "Are you anywhere near a cure?" she asked with true concern. "A cure? No. And not a vaccine, either, which is my life's goal. But a treatment, perhaps. We are working with a mineral that, under certain circumstances, emits high levels of radioisotronic particles. The particles deter the phage's ability to reproduce, giving the patient's body a window of opportunity to throw off the infection of its own accord. But it is a slow and dangerous business. We never have enough time, manpower, or resources." "Is Lieutenant Garvic at risk?" "It is possible, but I would doubt it, Captain. The phage almost always manifests itself in our children, and is at its most infectious before symptoms even appear. Adults like me, who have never had it, are unlikely to develop it. But your Lieutenant faces other challenges now, challenges that have nothing to do with his Vidiian physiology." "His state of mind, yes. You said you know what he needs." "He cannot live for himself right now. Aside from his need for revenge, his life had no meaning. Instead of grieving for his lost loved one, he secretly nursed this need, and now that his secret has been discovered, he has lost his one reason to live. He must be convinced to live for others. He needs a job. A big job; an important job. In short, he needs to come with us." When Jack Garvic had come to, Voyager's sickbay had been completely deserted, except for one impassive gold-clad security officer by the door. Now he lay perfectly still on a biobed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking over his so-called life. He was filled with an emptiness such as he had never felt before. Megan seemed very, very far away. He knew his career was now officially ended, but also realized it had really been over for years. He knew his cynical attitude had held him back; he had slipped off the fast track of a Starfleet service career after he lost Megan. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. 70 years in the brig or 70 years in the lab. What difference did it make? None. At least in the brig he wouldn't have to look at Paris. Garvic waited for the cold fury that name always instilled in him, but for once it did not come. Only a numbness he could not fathom. Well, whatever. He swung his legs over the edge of the biobed and grimly noticed the subtle movement of the guard by the door. He took a look to see who it was. It was Ensign Simms. *Tuvok, you must be the dumbest security chief I have ever heard of. You left me to be guarded by a man I nearly killed? Or maybe that's the plan. As neat a solution to the problem as any, I guess.* Garvic grew uncomfortable under the green-eyed stare. "No hard feelings, huh Simms?" The green-eyed stare became a green-eyed squint, but Simms said nothing. "Okay, hard feelings. Have it your way. But let me say just for the record --" Garvic stopped suddenly as the cold reality finally seeped into the emptiness within. *I almost got some innocent people killed. Starfleet people. I'm no better than Paris. God, I'm worse.* Aloud, he said, "I'm sorry, Simms." The doors came apart to admit Captain Janeway. Commander Chakotay was with her. She spoke without preamble. "Lieutenant, we need to talk." Tom was alone in his quarters. Finally. For a while he had thought the well-wishers would never leave. Harry, Neelix and B'Elanna had wanted to throw him a sort of "welcome back" party at Sandrine's but he had talked them out of it. Somehow, though, word had gotten out and people started arriving at his door. Before he knew it, his cabin had been full of people -- Starfleet and Maquis alike -- and Neelix and Kes were rolling in carts of food. *If you can't bring Mohammed to the mountain, bring the mountain to Mohammed. Or something like that,* Harry had grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. So he had put on a smile and pretended to have a good time. He knew he should feel like celebrating but he just didn't. Yes, the nightmare was over. He wasn't responsible for the shuttle crash or Harry's near death. Garvic was gone, having left with the Vidiians that morning. Tom had never had a chance to talk to him before he left, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn't forget what Garvic had said on the moon and he knew he could never erase the images in his mind of Jackson, M'Rual and Megan Gianelli at Caldik Prime. The nightmares that had returned this past week, and all the insecurities and guilt that went with them, had almost sent him over the edge. *Oh, admit it, Tom, you most definitely DID go over the edge,* he thought to himself. But it was different this time. After Caldik Prime he had been alone. Everyone and everything had disappeared -- his father, his family, his friends, his career -- his life. They had all given up on him. This time, though, it was just the opposite. HE had been the one to give up on himself while everyone else had gone to bat for him. This Starfleet and Maquis crew, who had all considered him a traitor and, basically, scum at one time, THEY had believed in him. He thought about the past few days and how so many had offered their support, their friendship, even a shoulder to cry on. So different from the last time. For as long as he could remember he had considered himself a failure, not worthy of anyone's consideration. Wasn't that what his father had insinuated often enough, even before Caldik Prime? His father. The one person Tom had respected more than anyone in the galaxy. The one he had always tried so hard to please. But he always fell short. His father had always expected him to try harder, be better, go farther than anyone. No matter what he accomplished it was never quite good enough. So finally he had stopped trying. And in doing so he had driven a wedge between his father and himself that had become a crater as large as Vulcan after Caldik Prime. He sat in front of his computer and stared at the monitor. He had intended to place an entry into his personal log, but now that he was finally alone he didn't know where to start or what to enter. So many thoughts were racing through his mind. Uppermost was the sense that for the first time in a long, long time he felt accepted for who he was, flaws and all. Even if he had made the worst mistake imaginable -- and, thank God, he hadn't -- he had friends who would stand by him. No matter how much he kept pushing them away. It was a very strange feeling for Tom Paris -- to have so many people who not only cared about him, but also seemed to respect him. Two things he thought he had sacrificed forever so long ago at Caldik Prime. Tom sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He still couldn't put his thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences. As he logged off his computer, his door chimed. "Great," he muttered. "Don't they know the party's over?" Raising his voice, he called out for the person to enter. Captain Janeway stood just inside his doorway. "Tom, I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said apologetically. Tom quickly got over his surprise. The captain rarely visited a crewmember's quarters. "Of course not, Captain. Please come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe? The good stuff? I have a few day's worth of rations left since I haven't really had much of an appetite lately," he said with wry humor. Kathryn was gratified to see his smile was genuine. Not so long ago she had thought the old Tom Paris had been lost forever. "I never turn down the chance for a real cup of coffee, Mr. Paris," she replied with a smile of her own. "May I offer you one of Neelix's delectable desserts? It seems I get to keep the leftovers from the party." He held out a tray while Kathryn selected a pastry. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but do you know what this is?" she asked as she studied the green and purple pastry intently, turning it this way and that. Tom chuckled and shook his head as he handed her the coffee. "Not really. But they were pretty popular and, as far as I know, no one got sick, so I think you're safe." She grinned as she took a bite. Actually, it was pretty good. Kathryn took a sip of coffee. Not quite as good as the Vidiian's, but close enough. She absently glanced around the lieutenant's quarters. "I see they left the mess for you to clean up," she commented dryly. "Neelix wanted to stay and clean up, but I was pretty worn out after . . ." he paused for a split second, "everything that's happened," he finished smoothly. But Kathryn had noticed the hesitation. "So he said he'd stop by after breakfast to finish up. I think I can live with the mess until then." Tom sat down across from the captain. There was a moment of awkward silence. He didn't know why she was here but he knew there was something he needed to say to her. He took a deep breath. "Captain, I owe you an apology. For my behavior the other morning. I know you were trying to help and I -- well, I was way out of line. I never meant to -- " The captain raised her hand, shaking her head to stop him. "Tom, please, you don't have to apologize. I understand you were upset and weren't thinking clearly. That's not why I'm here. Not exactly, anyway." She paused. "There are some things I want to tell you," she began slowly, trying to find the right words. "Things I probably should have told you long before now, but I was never quite sure how to bring them up. After what's just happened I think it's appropriate to tell you now." She looked at him and saw the puzzlement reflected in his eyes. She wasn't doing this very well. She leaned forward and began again. "I want to tell you some things about your father." Tom stiffened but said nothing. She knew the admiral was a sore subject with him but he was obviously waiting for her to continue. Looking him in the eye, she was struck once again by the vulnerability she saw there -- almost but not quite hidden behind the mask of cool self-confidence he always wore. Well, not always. The mask had definitely fallen and shattered this past week. But already it was back in place. "I've known your father for a long time. Ever since my academy days when I asked him to be my advisor for my junior honor's thesis." She smiled at the memory. "I have to admit, I was a little intimidated at the prospect of meeting him. He had a reputation for being rather stern and unyielding." She heard Tom give a little snort but still he said nothing. "But when we talked that first time in his office I knew we were going to get along just fine." She paused. "You know what I remember most from that first meeting?" she asked, knowing she wouldn't receive an answer. "I remember the pictures he had on his desk. Of you and your sisters and your mother. You must have been around ten years old. You looked like such a happy family, I knew he couldn't be the ogre everyone claimed he was. But he WAS demanding and expected the absolute best. I didn't mind, though, because I'm the same way. Maybe that's why we got along so well," she mused. "Did you know that it was because of him that I went into command rather than sticking with science?" Tom shook his head mutely. "In a way, I almost felt like he was my second father. My father was away so much and I spent so much time with the admiral. I learned a lot from him and I wanted him to be proud of me. The funny thing was, I always felt like I was in a competition. With you." She looked directly at Tom. He jerked slightly, as though struck, and opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. "I know this probably sounds absurd to you. For some strange reason parents have a difficult time telling their children how proud they are of them. But they have no trouble bragging to others about them," she smiled and chuckled. "Your father would go on and on about you. How you wanted to be a pilot from the time you were a toddler and how you insisted on trying the flight simulator when you were five years old. Do you remember going to the academy and running the beginning flight simulator there? You blew him away with that. He never got tired of telling everyone about it. And all of your accomplishments at the academy. I really WAS envious, you know. I wanted my father to be as proud of me as the admiral was of you. When I told my father that, he was shocked." She shook her head and laughed at the memory. "He told me he WAS proud of me, of course, and that he bragged about me even more than the admiral did about you." Tom was stunned. He stood up and started pacing his cabin. "Captain, I . . . well, I don't know what to say. Or to think. I honestly can't remember the last time my dad told me I had done anything well -- or right. That he would tell you or anyone else that he was proud of me is -- well, its practically impossible for me to believe. All I ever heard was that I could have done better or I should have done this or that differently. No matter what I did, it was never good enough." "I think that was just your father's way of pushing you to do your best. He wasn't one to coddle, that's for sure. I truly believe he thought he was trying to help you. It was obvious he loved you and was very proud of you." Tom stopped his pacing and turned to her. "Even after Caldik Prime?" he asked caustically. Kathryn stood up and walked over to him. "I was with him when he got the news about the accident. Tom, when he thought something had happened to you -- I can't even tell you how concerned and upset he was. Even the next day, when he knew you would be okay, he was still shaken. When you came forward with the truth about the accident it was a shock, to say the least. It was an emotional time for all of you and I'm sure things were said that shouldn't have been. You made a mistake, but you did eventually own up to it -- which, I think, says something about you. But the damage was done. Your father was hurt and disappointed. You felt guilty and ashamed. I think it's safe to say that you both keep your feelings inside and don't let people get too close. So things kept getting worse until finally you left." Kathryn placed her hand on his shoulder. "Tom, neither of you gave the other a chance. And when things went from bad to worse, it was too late. But it doesn't mean he doesn't love you or isn't proud of you. It's just difficult for him to express it. If he could see you now -- see how far you've come, against all odds, really -- he would be so proud. I know I am." Tom stared at the captain with bright, blue eyes that glistened with unshed tears. He took a deep breath. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until then. "Captain, -- thank you. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately -- about what happened at Caldik Prime, and my father, and why I did all the stupid things I did. I know I still have a lot to work out, but what you've just told me helps -- a lot." The captain headed towards the door. "Then I'm glad I finally decided to talk to you about this. If you ever want to hear more about your father, let me know. I have lots of stories I think you'd find very fascinating." "Captain?" Tom stopped Kathryn and she turned to face him. "When you came to New Zealand -- did you do that because of my father?" "No, Tom." She paused. "I came because I needed you for this mission." She smiled and continued softly, "At the time I didn't realize how much." Then she was gone, leaving Tom standing there while her words sank in. He was still standing there a few minutes later when his door chimed again. In a daze he opened the door and B'Elanna walked in. "Tom, what's wrong?" she asked, noting his expression immediately. *What else could possibly have happened between the party and now?* she wondered. He looked at her. "The captain just left --", he began, but B'Elanna cut him off, assuming the worst. "Why? She didn't relieve you of duty again, did she? You weren't -- " Tom shook his head and cut her off. "No. Nothing like that. She wanted to help me." "How?" Tom walked over to his couch and plopped down. "She told me some things about my father. She knew him pretty well, you know. Better than I ever did," he said sadly. B'Elanna walked over and sat down beside him. When he didn't say anything she took his hand in hers, encouraging him to speak. He looked at her with a faint smile. "Believe it or not, she told me how proud he was of me and how he used to always brag about me." His voice caught in his throat. In disbelief he continued, "She said she had been envious of me. Of ME, of all people!" He stood up. "She told me other things -- about me and my father." He looked at B'Elanna and saw that she was confused. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm too tired to think straight anyway. Why did you stop by again? Don't tell me you were craving more of Neelix's lovely delicacies?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood. She looked at him and realized he was shutting her out again. He never talked about his father. *One of these days, Paris, I'm going to get you to open up to me,* she vowed silently. "I think I've had enough of Neelix's culinary skills for one evening, thank you," she answered dryly. "You seemed awfully quiet at the party. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." "I'm feeling better than I thought I would, all things considered. I can't change anything that's happened. I know that. But . . . ." He hesitated and sat down again. "But what? You wish none of it had ever happened to begin with?" B'Elanna finished for him. Surprised at her insight, he nodded. "B'Elanna, I was responsible for the deaths of three people. And like Garvic said, it wasn't just three lives destroyed -- it was everyone around them, too. Garvic, my family, the other families. How many people?" "Tom, that was an accident. You didn't do it deliberately," she said. *Unlike some people we know* she thought to herself. As though reading her mind, Tom muttered, "Garvic had every reason to hate me. How can I expect him to forgive me when I can't even forgive myself?" He looked at B'Elanna and saw her concern for him reflected in her eyes. He sighed. "I don't think I want to talk about this right now," he said tiredly. "I know you're trying to help, B'Elanna, and I appreciate it. I really do. But I've just got too much running through my mind to think clearly. Do you think we can hold off discussing my innumerable problems until another time?" he implored. B'Elanna could hear the door slam shut in front of her. Again. She told herself she shouldn't be offended. It had been a rough week and he needed some time. "Fine," she answered smoothly. "But I'm afraid there's one more problem I have to add to your list," she said with a strained smile. He gave her a questioning look. "Well," she took a breath and proceeded resolutely, "it seems the crew believes there is something going on between us. We've been quite the topic of conversation this week -- or so I've heard," she finished lamely. For a moment there was silence, then she heard Tom begin to chuckle, which quickly turned into a full blown laugh. She stared at him incredulously. "I don't think it's THAT funny," she said indignantly. But it was nice to see him laugh again -- even if it was at her expense. "Do you mind telling me what's so funny about everyone thinking we're having an affair?" she asked. Still chuckling, he brushed the tears from his eyes and gasped, "This whole week I've been going insane and all this time what people have been gossiping about is an imagined affair? So who's been spreading these scandalous rumors?" he asked with a huge grin. B'Elanna saw the humor and chuckled softly. "Well, let's see. Besides Garvic, I believe there were Simms and Hudson and, oh yes, Tuvok, and -- " "Tuvok?!" Tom exclaimed incredulously. She nodded and added, "We had a rather interesting conversation about it the other night." Her smile disappeared and in a subdued voice she said, "Tom, I know you're tired and this probably isn't the time, but I think we really need to talk about . . . us." She eyed him nervously. Tom looked at her. He knew that she was nervous. So was he. But she was right. They would have to talk -- and soon. They had both been kidding themselves for far too long. But obviously they hadn't been fooling anyone else. Without realizing what he was doing, he reached for her shoulders and slowly pulled her towards him. Time stood still as they gazed into each other's eyes. Tenderness, friendship and respect, as well as confusion, were reflected in the brown and blue pools. Tom dipped his head and placed his lips on hers. Closing his eyes, he gently kissed her. Her eyes fluttered shut as she accepted the kiss. Long moments later a small sigh escaped her as he reluctantly pulled away. Tom looked at B'Elanna with a serene smile. "Yes, we definitely need to talk about this," he agreed softly. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and she leaned back. "However, I think that right now you should probably go," he added, wishing silently that she could stay. She nodded and smiled ruefully. "Goodnight, Tom," she said softly and walked out his door. "Goodnight, B'Elanna," he whispered to the closed door.