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Chapter Text

Prologue

It’s not like Tom Paris had never been dumped before. If he stopped and counted, he probably would need all his fingers plus all his toes to tally the number of women who had told him variations of, “Get your stuff and get out.”

But he never thought he would hear it from B’Elanna. 

“We didn’t exactly have many choices on Voyager,” she said, then added, “I’m sure you can see the truth of that.”

He didn’t. Nor did he like the new man in B’Elanna’s life: human, a bit shorter than Tom but more heavily muscled, and a genius of a chief engineer. When Starfleet decided Voyager’s Maquis crew members could shadow established personnel to prove readiness to serve, B’Elanna was assigned to this guy. That was nearly six months ago. Since then, B’Elanna, Tom, and Miral had lived on the Denmark, where B’Elanna was an assistant engineer on alpha shift and Tom took the helm on beta shift. 

“I fought this, Tom, I did.” B’Elanna’s clenched hands uncurled. “But I can’t change how I feel. I’m sorry.”

Tom arranged for an immediate leave of absence. He packed his things, kissed Miral goodbye, and told B’Elanna to keep the television set. A week later, she sent the divorce request. Tom was in a passenger shuttle on his way to Earth. He pressed his thumbprint to the padd to consent, and just like that Tom Paris was single again.

Tom did what he’d done the last time he was single in the Alpha Quadrant and not in prison. He went to a bar. He found a spot not too close to the bartender but not too far away and decided to drink until he felt like stopping. How many days ago was that? Tom wasn’t sure. He liked the feel of a glass in his hand. Solid.

“Anyone sitting here?” 

The husky voice was familiar. Not just the voice, but hearing it by his shoulder.

“Captain,” he said, slurring only a little as he turned toward her. 

“Admiral,” she corrected. “But we’re drinking buddies now, so call me Kathryn.”

She eased onto the barstool next to his and signaled for the bartender to bring her whatever Tom was having.

He hadn’t seen her since the homecoming party. It had been a formal, Starfleet gala, which meant classical music, finger food, and boring speeches. Now, in this dive bar in Marseille, Kathryn Janeway was every bit her Alpha Quadrant self. Hair pinned. Boots shined. She was even wearing her uniform for chrissakes.

But something in her eyes was a thunderstorm.

“How did you know where to find me?” Tom asked. 

A swig of her whiskey disappeared. “Your commbadge.”

Oh. He was wearing his uniform, too. Tom had forgotten.

“B’Elanna told me what happened.” Kathryn signaled for another drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” 

Tom had an ex-wife, half custody of his daughter, and no idea what to do next besides order another whiskey, which he did.

“Starfleet is initiating a research project at Jupiter Station on open-door holodeck simulations as a tool for crew community-building and morale.” Kathryn took the whiskey the bartender meant for Tom. “You’re on the team.”

Tom bristled. “I don’t need your help.”

Her thunderstorm eyes took in his three-day stubble and disheveled hair. They lingered on his whiskey-wet lips and the empty place where his wedding ring used to be.  

“Of course you don’t.” 

She drank his whiskey, then finished her own. She slid off her barstool. Tom was used to Kathryn’s sinuous movements. But something was different, more loose in the hips and shoulders. Her head was tilted. Her lips didn’t quite meet. She kept a hand on the bar for balance.

“We’ve never tried to change each other, have we, Tom? We’ve always brought out the best in each other.”

“Sure.” Tom put an elbow to the bar and swiveled to face her. “One ocean planet notwithstanding.”

But the rank pips on his collar now showed full lieutenant — not under her command. She ran a fingertip along the bumps, her knuckles brushing Tom’s jaw. His eyes drifted closed. Her fingertips moved to his neck, his cheek. Tom’s lips twitched.

Kathryn’s hot breath swirled in Tom’s ear. “How drunk are you?”

Tom knew that timbre in a woman’s voice. Low. Sensual. The side of his mouth curled as his eyes opened. “Drunk enough to want to find out what you have in mind.”

Her knowing grin set him racing across the street to his hotel room, grabbing his duffel bag, then returning to the bar slightly out of breath as she tapped her badge and called for transport. 

They materialized on transporter pads in the lobby of a Starfleet apartment building. It was night in San Francisco. 

“Thank you, Cadet Watkins.” Kathryn was already stepping off the transporter pad.

“Admiral.” The cadet behind the console stood at attention. “You’ve received several deliveries. Would you like me to —”

“I’ll get them in the morning.” 

Kathryn and Tom took a lift to a high floor. She led him to a door and tapped at a keypad. She cursed as her finger slipped over and over. Finally, Kathryn called out the code and Tom keyed them in.

Her apartment door slid closed behind them. 

Tom dropped his bag.

She was in his arms, pulling him down so she could kiss him more deeply. Tom didn’t like that, so he lifted her up, his hands tight on her rear end. She was an undulation of whiskey and wine, insistent hips and a straining chest. 

He pushed her against a wall and wrenched his lips away just long enough to form the word. “Here?”

The legs tight around him began to shake. Panted words and twists of her fingers guided Tom to her bedroom. He let the backs of his knees buckle against the bed, falling with her on top.

There was a contented growl, then slim fingers curled around the waistband of Tom’s uniform trousers.

Chapter 1

Tom woke up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and Kathryn Janeway in his arms. A lock of auburn hair fell across her face. Tendrils shifted as she snored slightly, the way people did when they were sleeping off being ...

“Drunk,” Tom groaned. 

Her eyelids fluttered. Tom was held in place by muscles that ached too much to move, so Kathryn blinked into consciousness with her head on Tom’s bicep and her butt pressed against his stomach. An entire wall of her bedroom was windows, but San Francisco fog meant the light wasn’t too painful. Still, her hands went to her forehead. 

“Oh my God,” she moaned — not in a good way, not at all the way she had moaned the same words the night before.

“I’m sorry,” Tom mumbled. “I shouldn’t have —”

“Shouldn’t have what?” She sat up, then, realizing they both were naked, held the blanket against her chest. “Shouldn’t have taken me up on my … invitation? This is my fault, Tom, not yours. I shouldn’t have even left home after all the wine I’d had … and then those whiskeys … and then I took advantage of you when you weren’t in your right mind. I just thought — no, that’s not important. I’m going to comm headquarters and have myself put on report for assaulting a Starfleet officer. It may not mean much, but it’s something. I’m sorry, Tom. I —”

“Wait.” Tom grabbed Kathryn’s wrist as she moved toward the other side of the bed. He expected her to glare at him, but she slid back down until her head was on a pillow, her warm wrist still in his hand. Her other arm went over her eyes. “You didn’t take advantage of me, Kathryn. You asked how drunk I was and I answered you. I could have said no. Please, don’t feel badly about this. I don’t.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked if he wanted some coffee. When he said yes, she slipped off the bed and pulled open a dresser drawer. 

“Here.” She tossed Tom a t-shirt. “This might fit you.” 

The shirt smelled like lemongrass and chamomile tea. It smelled like Chakotay.

The coffee was good. 

Of course it was. She had the beans, the grinder, and the element that added hot water. The mugs were comically large. Kathryn replicated toast and Tom took a bite.

“Jupiter Station?” he said. “You mentioned something about Jupiter Station.”

She nodded, momentary tension around her eyes the only indication the head movement had to hurt like hell. They were hunched over a two-person table in her kitchen. Kathryn hadn’t bothered to comb her hair, but she was covered from neck to ankle in a light blue robe. Tom wore the too-wide t-shirt she had given him but he’d pulled his own boxer shorts from the floor.

“The posting is yours if you want it. You’d start Monday.”

It was Saturday. 

“Pretty quick turnaround.”

She sipped her coffee. “You’ll be fine. You adapt quickly.”

Tom thought about commenting on her use of the Borg-like word. He thought about mentioning some of the quick adaptations he’d made the night before as Kathryn made her bedroom preferences known. He thought about how quickly his life was changing. Two weeks ago he had a wife and a baby he got to see every day. 

Kathryn mistook his silence for embarrassment. 

“Tom,” she set down her coffee mug, “I saw the description for the research project and knew you would be perfect for it. I placed a subspace call to let you know and that’s when B’Elanna told me what happened. I would never presume to —”

Her door chimed.

“Ignore it,” she said. “I told Cadet Watkins I would get the deliveries in the morning.”

“It is the morning.” Tom glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the kitchen and living room. “If someone took the trouble to bring deliveries up here, the least you can do is receive them.”

She held her coffee mug tight in her hands.

The door chimed again. 

Then there was a knock.  

Tom stood. “I can’t take it. I’ll go help the cadet.”

“Tom,” Kathryn warned from her chair. But he found the keypad next to the doorway and tapped it. The door slid open. 

“Paris?” Chakotay’s voice was disbelieving. 

“Oh, hey,” Tom said.

A second later, Chakotay’s right fist connected with Tom’s left eye.

Chapter Text

The captain and commander were arguing in angry tones. A dermal regenerator hummed. Tom figured he must be in sickbay.

“Of all the childish, immature, ridiculous things you could have done, punching him in the face really —”

“You’re calling me immature and ridiculous! Tell me, Kathryn, did he sleep on my side of the bed? How long has he been here?”

Everything came to Tom in a rush of images. B’Elanna’s pained face as she explained she didn’t love him anymore. Whiskey after whiskey on the bar. Kathryn on top of him, sweaty, her mouth parting as she cried out his name.

Tom opened his eyes. 

The hum stopped. 

He was lying on the hardwood floor just inside the front door. Kathryn was crouched next to him in her robe, the dermal regenerator in her hand. Chakotay was leaning against the closed door. He wore civilian clothes but had a Starfleet commbadge on his chest.

“Sorry.” Chakotay spat the word at Tom. “You took me by surprise.”

“Same here.” Tom pushed himself to sitting. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t have your boxing gloves on.”

Chakotay didn’t acknowledge the joke. 

Kathryn stood and addressed her former first officer. “As I have asked you numerous times, please get the rest of your things and don’t come back. If those deliveries downstairs are from you, take them, too.”

“Fine.” Chakotay stalked toward the bedroom.

“Tom,” she said, “give me the shirt you’re wearing and then finish fixing your eye in the guest bathroom.” She motioned toward a door. “I’ll explain later.”

Tom traded her the shirt for the regenerator. He stayed in the bathroom until he heard Chakotay’s parting words — “You were right. I didn’t see who you truly are. I saw someone better.” — and the sound of the front door hissing shut. Then Tom stood in the bathroom doorway in his boxer shorts and said, “I’d like that explanation now.”

Kathryn told him to get a shirt from his duffel bag and then join her in the kitchen.

Over fresh coffee, she spoke haltingly at first, then, as Tom listened, the story tumbled out.

Seven and Chakotay split up a week after Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Chakotay went to the Janeway farmhouse and asked Kathryn to take a trip with him. “Let’s give us a chance the way we never could out there,” he’d said. “Just you and me and we’ll see what happens.”

Of the seven days she’d been home, Kathryn had slept for most of five. Feeling refreshed and hopeful, she said yes. Her mother took her aside and suggested waiting a few more weeks. “I know what I’m doing,” Kathryn had snapped.

The trip was four days and five nights in Jiuzhai Valley National Park. It was the most beautiful place Kathryn had ever seen. She and Chakotay walked hand in hand, ancient trees towering above them. They swam in crystal clear lakes. They listened to birdsong through their open hotel room window. When Chakotay kissed her, she kissed him back.

But when she returned to work a few weeks later, fractures began. Chakotay thought, now that she wasn’t on Voyager, Kathryn wouldn’t bury herself in her job. He thought she would want to settle down, not take every starship mission headquarters offered her. He thought she would want to have children with him.

They had spent seven years on the same ship, a week apart, and less than six months together before their every interaction was an ugly argument. Chakotay loved the woman who had been stranded on New Earth with him, but that’s not who Kathryn ever wanted to be. She was a workaholic and an explorer. She couldn’t bring herself to even think about the responsibility of children when she’d just finished leading a crew across the galaxy.

“Do you understand, Tom?” she said, her hand palm-up on the kitchen table. “Do you understand why I had to get him out of here?”

Tom held her hand. “I understand,” he said. “I understand you’re turning into Owen Paris and Edward Janeway and every other admiral who thinks Starfleet is more important than anything else.”

She lowered her head to the table and cried. 

The rest of that day and into the night, their voices interlaced. A soft growl twined with a smooth rumble to talk through his short marriage, her even shorter love affair … and their readiness to find more suitable partners.

“Someone who will fight if she needs to, but not for sport.”

“Someone who doesn’t take himself too seriously.”

“Someone who knows all the things I’ve done and still … and still …”

“… wants all of me.”

“Yeah.”

It was a one-bedroom apartment. 

When their words slurred from fatigue, they pulled the blanket on her bed to their shoulders, the San Francisco sky inky black through the windows. Tom asked Kathryn if she wanted him to hold her. She said yes. In the morning, there were whispers and touches, wandering mouths and quivering legs. He pushed inside her. “So good,” she murmured. “So good.”

Tom had missed having sex. Late in B’Elanna’s pregnancy, the baby would kick more when Tom and B’Elanna fooled around. It made them both uncomfortable. Then, there was the stress and fatigue of a newborn, plus adjusting back to life in the Alpha Quadrant. On the Denmark, B’Elanna had been too busy or wanted to read an engineering journal or claimed one of her stomachs ached. Tom had choked back his hurt feelings and stopped asking.

But Kathryn rocked against Tom, her fingertips exploring the curl of his ears, the trail of hair that started at his chest, the soft skin between his thighs. He was on his back, on his hands and knees, standing while holding her hips against the edge of the bed, then on his knees once more before a final collapse onto her back. “Holy fuck,” she breathed, her body still twitching under him. “Holy fucking fuck.” He laughed so hard, the bed shook again.

The sonic shower waves were warm on their bodies when she asked him, “Do you want to stay?”

She could have meant for another night.

But they both knew it was an open-ended invitation.

His lips met hers and he murmured, “Yes.”

They set his front door code together. 

Kathryn showed Tom which dresser drawers and closet spaces he could use. As he unpacked his small bag, she sat on the edge of the bed and asked if he had anything in storage he wanted transported over.

“No.” Tom pushed closed a drawer that now held his uniform pants. “What you see is what you get.”

“Same here.” Kathryn gave a quick nod. “Glad that’s settled.”

At 0400 on Monday, Tom awoke to Kathryn zipping up her admiral’s uniform, snapping on her belt, and calling over her shoulder that she hoped he had a great first day at Jupiter Station.

He actually did. The commute was an easy shuttle ride. The project was more interesting than the routine piloting he’d done on the Denmark. Other officers on the research team seemed nice. The work could strengthen esprit de corps for crews across Starfleet.

That night, Tom waited for Kathryn to get home. He was eager to tell her how right she was about the posting being perfect for him. He wanted to thank her with his words and with his body. 

But when the chronometer showed it was nearly the next day, Tom gave up and went to sleep. He rolled over at 0200. Kathryn was in bed next to him, her breathing even and deep.

“It’s like a drug, you know?”

It was Saturday and Tom had barely seen Kathryn since Monday morning. When he would wake up overnight, she would be there. Once, she had been on her stomach. He’d put his hand on her back and heard her soft sigh of contentment.

“What’s like a drug?” he asked. They were sitting at her kitchen table. It was a clear day and, through the wall of windows, Tom could see the humpback whales frolicking in San Francisco Bay. 

“The admiralty.” Kathryn took a bite of the oatmeal she’d replicated for breakfast. “I thought all week about what you said about our fathers prioritizing work over their families. I can understand why. Being an admiral means big decisions with critical implications. It’s like the captaincy, but exponentially more of every variable: personnel, ships, dangers.”

“So our dads were drug addicts?” This made a certain amount of sense to Tom.

Kathryn waved her spoon. “Metaphorically.”

“Do you plan to be a drug addict?” Tom kept his eyes on the silvery blue backs of the whales.

“I’m making sure that doesn’t happen.” Kathryn scooped up another bite of oatmeal. “That’s why I work so much during the week — to protect my weekends as completely off duty. If I take leave, that time would be sacrosanct, too. Since I know the pitfalls, I can avoid them.”

Tom’s gaze shifted to Kathryn’s confident smile.

“You’re positive you can do that?” he asked.

She winked. “I am, and that’s a promise.”

Tom nodded. He understood the demands of a high-level job. But that understanding was forged by a father who nearly always brought work home or would arrange for leave, then get called in to headquarters. After the recent upheaval in his life, Tom wanted stability more than anything. If he knew what to expect, Tom told himself, then everything would be fine.

Kathryn leaned toward him.

“Tell me about Jupiter Station,” she said. “Tell me how you’re settling in here. Tell me everything.”

So he did. 

Then he asked about her. 

Kathryn pressed her lips together.

“Sorry.” She nested her empty oatmeal bowl in the one Tom finished while she was still drinking her first cup of coffee. “Classified.”

“What about things from this week that weren’t work?”

She tilted her head questioningly. 

Tom’s commbadge was on the table and it chirped. He tapped and B’Elanna’s voice filled the small kitchen.

“You’ll never believe what Miral did! She walked from her crib all the way to the door! I’ll get a holo-video for you next time, but I had to tell you right away!” 

“That’s great.” Tom tried to sound cheerful about the milestone he had missed. “I can’t wait to see the video.”

B’Elanna knew where Tom was and who he was living with. He had told her a few days before. There had been a few seconds of silence on the comm line, then B’Elanna had said in a small voice, “I suppose I deserve that.” Tom had no idea what the remark meant and he didn’t ask.

As B’Elanna chattered about Miral’s latest accomplishments, Tom watched Kathryn silently recycle the bowls and spoons. As she padded out of the room, her hips swaying as her back retreated, something she had said the week before shot through Tom’s brain like a phaser blast — Kathryn didn’t want to even think about having children.

Tom had a child. 

When he finished listening to B’Elanna, Tom stalked through the apartment to find Kathryn. She was reading a book in her gigantic bathtub, bubbles up to her neck, her hair tied in a towel. The water smelled like gardenias, heavy and sickly sweet as Tom’s oatmeal tumbled in his stomach.

“Congratulations on Miral becoming a toddler.” Bubbles clung to Kathryn’s arm as she handed Tom her book. He laid it on the countertop. “I thought you might want some privacy.”

Tom shrugged and steeled himself for the discussion he was cursing himself for not thinking to initiate before he folded his pants into Kathryn’s dresser drawer.

She drew in breath as if to begin a speech. “Look, Tom —”

He flinched, wrestling the panic rising in his chest. 

“What?” she asked, her shoulders becoming visible as she sat up straighter in the water. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t want kids. I have a kid, and half custody means she’ll live with me six months out of every year,” he spat. “You’re going to tell me to get my stuff and get out, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “She’s your child, not mine. Why would I ask you to leave?” 

Tom’s hand went to the countertop as he sagged with relief. 

“My concern, Tom, was whether you miss your daughter more than you expected and regret moving so far away from her. I don’t dislike children. There were times in my life when I wanted to have my own. But I’m not Miral’s parent and would never take that distinction — or that responsibility — from you or B’Elanna.”

What had been panic melted into a warm relaxation that spread from Tom’s chest to his entire body. He inhaled what had become a perfectly sweet, heady aroma of gardenias.

“I do miss my daughter, but I want to stay here, with you. In fact, I was wondering,” his boxer shorts hit the floor, “if you might want to,” his shirt went over his head, “spend a little time together.”

Their grins were identical, in relief and in mischief.

Kathryn tapped the small computer interface to drain a few centimeters of water from the tub. Her hair towel landed on top of Tom’s clothes. Bubbles rose as Tom settled against the tub’s sloped edge and he pulled Kathryn’s back against his front, her head resting on his shoulder, her legs between his legs. 

“You’re thoughtful,” he murmured as, under the water, his fingers began to explore her stomach.

“I’ve been told.” 

Her eyes drifted closed as one of Tom’s hands shifted higher, the other lower. One thumb brushed the soft underside of her breast and the other traced the contours where her legs met her body. Kathryn’s shudder sent ripples through the water. She flipped over and cupped Tom’s face with her wet, soapy hands.

“I’m glad you want to stay.”

“I’m glad you want me to stay.”

Their slick bodies slid against each other slowly at first, then faster. The tile walls echoed and neither of them paid any attention to water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

Now that he was truly home, not on the ship Starfleet happened to choose for B’Elanna, Tom set out to build a life for himself.

He ate lunch with colleagues and the group had beers after work a few evenings a week. Because they were a bunch of hologram researchers, they recreated famous bars from McSorley's Old Ale House to The Trafalgar Tavern.

He joined North America’s chapter of the Automotive Aficionados Association. Everyone in the club loved tinkering with ancient cars or racing them. Tom became the go-to guy for vehicles from Earth’s mid-20th century.

He chatted by subspace nearly every night with Miral or Harry or his parents. Shortly after Voyager got home, Starfleet assigned Tom’s father, Admiral Owen Paris, to lead rebuilding efforts on Betazed. Tom’s mother, Julia, was an oceanographer. She showed Tom holo-images of Betazed’s oceans and told him he absolutely had to come sailing with her sometime. Tom’s sisters sent him chatty letters and he replied.

But Tom spent more time alone than he would like. In the three months he had lived with Kathryn, he’d rarely seen her awake during the workweek. When she went on missions, she would be gone for days. Nearly all of her work was classified. When they were together and awake, though, everything felt right. Tom had always known she was kind and generous. But he was learning how they were as a couple — funny, affectionate, talkative.

“You told your sister what?” He was propped on an elbow one lazy Sunday morning in bed.

Kathryn was sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed, hair flowing over her shoulders, nightgown pooled around her legs. She was laughing so hard she could barely speak. “I told her I only pick you up where there’s bars! Prison. A dive in France. We’re … we’re a pair of bar magnets!”

Tom started laughing, too. “Did you just tell a science joke?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t tell her the rest, though.”

“The rest?”

Her grin was wicked. “I didn’t tell her the first time taught me about your piloting skills … and the second taught me about talents I’d never imagined.”

Tom clasped his hands over his heart, pretending to be offended. “You never imagined my talents! Not once in seven years?”

She bit her smiling lips together. “Well, maybe ‘never’ was too strong of a word....”

He made a warp ten joke and she chortled. 

“C’mon,” Tom got to his hands and knees, “let’s have a talent show.”

She burst out laughing. “That’s such a cheesy line!”

He began to lift the hem of her nightgown. “But it’s going to work, isn’t it?”

In one fluid motion, she pulled off the nightgown and tipped backward as the thin material arced through the air. Tom scrambled off the bed and plucked the fabric from the floor. Kathryn was on her back, her neck angled to follow his movements.

“What are you doing?”

Tom folded the nightgown into a long, thin strip. He held it in one hand and pushed Kathryn’s wrists together with the other. At her knowing chuckle, he bent to kiss her forehead.

“I do like your talents, Tom,” she drawled.

He tested the knot he’d tied, then gently bit her earlobe before whispering, “Call me Mr. Paris.”

Her mumble of “holy fuck” was the last coherent thing she said for the rest of the morning.

Intellectually, Tom had known Kathryn never truly went off duty on Voyager. How could she? But, at home, he delighted in their Saturdays and Sundays when she could be lazy or active, serious or silly. She loved to be outside. She would lead Tom on hikes through the San Joaquin Valley, an agricultural region not far from San Francisco. 

“Since when do you like to hike?” Tom had asked on their first day trip to the area. 

“Since when have you known me when I had the opportunity?” Kathryn had replied, then bent to re-fasten her hiking boots as she told him about when she was nine years old and hiked the Grand Canyon with her father.

Her missions were often last-minute, so Tom would have no plans when Kathryn would be called away, transforming a cozy weekend into a dark, skinny, lonely tunnel he had to crawl through to emerge on the other side. Tom would take walks through San Francisco, read, or comm friends and family. He would check and re-check the time, unnerved by how slowly it was moving.

She had been gone the last three weekends.

But it was a Friday and Kathryn was due home from a two-day mission. Tom expected to see her sometime overnight, so he was surprised when he keyed in his apartment code after work and she was there. 

“Beware lounging admirals,” she called. 

Kathryn was stretched out on the sofa in her robe, a book in her hand. Her hair was damp, a signal she had gotten home, stripped off her uniform, and soaked in the tub for a while.

“Playing hooky?” Tom sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“In a manner of speaking.” She lowered her book. “The mission took less time than expected, and I know my workload is taking a toll on you, on me, on our relationship. I’m trying, Tom, I really am. I thought coming home early would make you happy.”

“It does.” He smiled. “I missed you.”

She scooted over and Tom slid alongside her on the sofa. His lips met hers in a slow kiss of gentle, closed lips. But what Tom had intended to be unhurried foreplay turned hungry. His teeth tugged at her lower lip. She unzipped his uniform jacket and wormed her hands under his shirt. There was a gasp, a moan, and the urgent beep of a computer terminal with a priority one, secure communication. Kathryn jumped up to take the comm in the bedroom. Then she was leaving the apartment with her hair up, uniform on, and boots clicking against the floor. 

“Duty calls,” she said simply.

Tom turned his head, as if not seeing her leave would keep it from happening. His jacket was still unzipped and his turtleneck bunched up, exposing his stomach. 

She came home late that night. Tom usually slept through her comings and goings, but Kathryn woke him as she curled her body onto his. “In the morning, let’s pick up where we left off, okay?”

“Sounds great,” he murmured. 

He fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. But, when dawn lit the windows, Tom was alone. A padd on his nightstand had a note: Got the comm at 0300. Four-day mission. Classified. Hoping next weekend will be back to normal.

Three days into the mission, Tom got a notification from Starfleet. There had been an incident.

Chapter Text

No one would tell Tom what happened, but Kathryn got home from her four-day mission after eight days. All she wanted was to be held and all she would say was how good it felt to be in his arms. Tom watched her undress and didn’t see regenerated skin or other signs of physical trauma. He told himself that was a good sign.

The first overnight seemed normal. 

After that, at least once most nights, Tom would startle awake to Kathryn’s screams. She would be twisted in the blanket, her trapped legs trying to kick her way out. 

Every so often, Tom could catch a word. He was sure he heard “no.” He suspected “stop.” He would stroke her shoulder, try to bring her to enough consciousness to know where she was. That technique failed miserably when Kathryn punched him, breaking his nose. Pain spiderwebbed across Tom’s face and he cried out. Kathryn’s eyes flew open to see blood spurting through Tom’s nostrils. She gasped. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom.” She ran to get the medkit in the bathroom. Tom followed her, pinching his nose shut. “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?”

“It’s all right.” His voice was nasal. “I just wish you could tell me what happened on that mission.”

She looked away.

He fixed his fracture, she changed the bloody sheets, and they went back to sleep.

Kathryn went down a uniform size, but wouldn’t talk about it. 

She would only have sex with the lights on and told Tom to stay in her line of sight. 

The nightmares disturbed what little sleep she got during the week, so she slept more on the weekends. Tom asked, but she rarely had the energy to go hiking anymore.

When Kathryn left for another mission, Tom jumped at every comm chirp the whole time she was gone. He hugged her tightly as soon as she walked in the front door. She sagged against him.

“I know you can’t tell me what happened, but do you want to talk to a counselor?” he asked, shifting her Starfleet duffel bag onto his shoulder.

“A counselor can’t give me more hours in the day or a promise future missions will go smoothly,” she replied. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

“But a counselor can —”

“Tom, please.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading. “Just let me relax when I’m home.”

Guilt pooled in his stomach for pressing her. He suggested they soak in the tub together. She smiled the biggest smile he’d seen from her in weeks as they walked hand in hand toward the bathroom. 

***

Tom was at Jupiter Station when he got the comm call from Starfleet Medical. The nurse told him Kathryn’s aide had found the admiral unconscious on the floor of her office at headquarters. She was stable. The diagnosis was exhaustion brought on by overwork and exacerbated by insufficient sleep and poor nutrition. She was on mandatory one-week leave. She hadn’t woken up yet. Someone needed to come get her.

Tom realized on the shuttle ride that Kathryn had made him her medical contact.

“Absolutely not.” Tom heard Kathryn’s voice as he walked down the hall toward her hospital room. “There are critical negotiations in progress, worrisome reports out of classified sectors, and I have at least three captains who need new orders.”

He stood just outside her door’s sensor range. 

“Your duties have been temporarily reassigned,” another, deeper voice replied. “Every time this happens, my patient thinks their admiralty is the only thing protecting the Federation from a dire threat to its very existence. If I could order you to a month off, I would.”

Tom knew from his time in Voyager’s sickbay where this was headed. He stepped in to see Kathryn sitting on the biobed, her legs dangling off the side. She was in uniform and the doctor stood in front of her. Their heads swiveled and their faces flooded with relief as Tom entered the room.

“Ask him.” Kathryn motioned toward Tom. “He knows I don’t even pick up a padd the weekends I’m home. I work hard, but I’ve kept it contained. A moment of vertigo in my office doesn’t merit removal from duty.”

Tom didn’t have a chance to weigh a response. 

“Your medical contact can talk all day,” the doctor retorted, “but nothing will change my orders. Your superiors have been briefed and if you even attempt to log on to Starfleet systems or to enter the Starfleet Command complex, I’ll petition to extend your leave — and I’ll win.”

Kathryn jumped off the biobed. The doctor stepped back. Even in her heeled boots she was at least 20 centimeters shorter than he was. Yet, her chin rose. The doctor, outwardly nonplussed by her defiant posture, instructed her to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner; to try to cut her caffeine consumption; and to consider taking a vacation. 

To her credit, she thanked the doctor. It was through gritted teeth, but Kathryn did say, “I appreciate your concern.” Then she strode over to Tom, took his hand, and walked with him toward the transporter room.

“I apologize,” she said. “Starfleet Medical shouldn’t have interrupted your workday. I was fine.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tom squeezed her hand. 

She stopped. Took a deep breath. Looked up at Tom, her eyes big and blue and open. “Thank you for always understanding.”

Tom prided himself on being an easygoing guy and was gratified to be appreciated for it. He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

When they materialized in the lobby of their apartment building, Gretchen Janeway stepped toward them. She was a whippet-thin redhead with the same jawline and nose as her daughter. In the five months Tom had been living with Kathryn, she had barely mentioned her mother. 

“Tom, go take a walk.” He hadn’t heard Kathryn’s command voice since Voyager, but before Tom’s automatic “yes, ma’am” came Gretchen’s equally forceful order.

“Don’t you dare, Kathryn.” Gretchen’s hands went to her hips and Tom flinched. “Julia’s son is going to hear every word of this and so are you.”

On the lift ride, Kathryn asked her mother how she knew what had happened.

“I make it my business to maintain connections at headquarters,” Gretchen snapped.

In the apartment, Gretchen extended her hand toward the sofa. Kathryn and Tom sat next to each other. 

Kathryn’s arms folded over her chest. 

Tom tried to breathe normally. He’d watched plenty of arguments between his mother and one or both of his sisters. Never had he felt tension like this.

When Gretchen spoke, every word was a knife thrown at her daughter. “What … the … hell … is … wrong … with … you?”

Kathryn didn’t move to answer the question. 

In a second, Tom understood why. 

“Starfleet killed your father. It killed your grandfather. It killed both your grandmothers and you’re going to let it kill you, aren’t you, Kathryn?” Gretchen paced, her finger jabbing the air. “You said captain was going to be it, that you wouldn’t go any further. But then they dangled that promotion and you jumped. Right into the family fire. Now this. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Starfleet didn’t kill Daddy.” Kathryn glared at her mother. 

Gretchen strode over and sat on the coffee table in front of her daughter. “We are not having this argument again. Now, how are you going to fix this?”

Kathryn’s arms tightened across her chest. “I have a week to figure it out.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Gretchen stood. “We’re having lunch together at the restaurant of your choosing.” She addressed Tom. “Have the nightmares started yet?”

Tom’s eyes widened. He turned to Kathryn. She gave him a slight nod of permission.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said to Gretchen.

Gretchen shook her head. “Put a pillow in front of your face if you try to wake her up. My husband broke my nose twice and my cheekbone once before I thought of that trick.”

Tom stared at her.

Gretchen laughed — a brittle, hard sound.

“You look exactly the way your mother did when I gave her the same advice. Your dad was a goddamn mess after those Cardassians.”

Kathryn drew in air and Gretchen whirled on her. “I don’t give a shit what’s classified and what’s not, Kathryn, so don’t start.”

Gretchen turned to leave, then paused. “You comm me if you need to, Tom. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom said again.

Gretchen saw herself out. 

Tom exhaled. 

Kathryn closed her eyes. 

For a few seconds, Tom couldn’t even hear her breathing. 

“My mom used to be the kindest, gentlest woman.” Kathryn’s eyes were still closed. 

Tom wanted to take her hand, to touch her in some way to show he was there for her, but Kathryn seemed to be somewhere far away even though she was only a few centimeters from him on the sofa.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A Starfleet schematics engineer missed a design flaw in the ship that killed my father,” she said, her eyelids scrunched so tightly shut that her eyelashes were like tiny, dark thorns. “The engineer just … approved the plans. He figured someone higher up the chain of command would double-check his work. He was wrong.”

Tom spoke through a too-tight throat. “So your mom blames all of Starfleet?”

“She blames the demands of Starfleet.”

“Do you?”

Kathryn opened her eyes and looked straight at Tom, her pupils shrinking rapidly. “I blame the engineer who didn’t do his duty. A little laziness can be the difference between life and death.”

***

In the morning, they had breakfast together. Tom had tried the pillow technique overnight. He’d sent Gretchen a silent prayer of thanks when Kathryn’s fist connected with the fluff instead of his face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the day off, stay with you?” Tom asked. 

Kathryn shook her head. “Save your leave time for when Miral comes next month. You’ll want to be with her. I’ll get the living room partitions up today so her room will be ready ahead of time.”

The plan was for B’Elanna and Tom to co-host a birthday party for Miral, then Miral would come home with Tom to spend half the year with him. For this first visit, a corner of the living room would be Miral’s makeshift bedroom.

While Tom couldn’t wait to see his daughter, B’Elanna had informed Tom that not only would B’Elanna’s boyfriend be at the party, but Chakotay and his new girlfriend would be there also.

Tom hadn’t asked for details.

When he told Kathryn, she had said they all were adults and it would be fine.

Tom was thinking about this when he was supposed to be scaling one of his community simulations to a standard holodeck on a Galaxy-class starship. His computer terminal lit up with an incoming subspace call.

B’Elanna. 

She looked like she’d been crying. 

“Tom,” she gasped, “I know what I agreed to, but I can’t let my baby go for six months. Please, can we talk about this?”

Tom’s knuckles went white against the sides of his chair.

“You know I promised myself I would be a better dad than my father ever was,” he hissed. “How could you think I would be willing to lose any more time with Miral than I’ve already lost?”

B’Elanna’s head fell into her hands. She shook it, took a deep breath, seemed to gather herself.

“What if you come back on the ship?” she asked. “Or a different ship? I can put in for a transfer soon. We could try for Sovereign class — big enough that we would barely see each other, if that would help.”

“I’m part of a research team, B’Elanna,” Tom said. “I can’t break that up and I don’t want to. I went on the Denmark for you and that didn’t exactly work out. You owe me Miral.”

Tom’s own words echoed in his ears and turned his stomach. You owe me Miral. His daughter wasn’t a trophy. 

“Wait.” Tom ran his hand over his hair. “Wait.”

B’Elanna stared at him through the screen. 

“Is Miral happy?” Tom asked.

B’Elanna told Tom about Miral’s friends in the ship’s daycare. She smiled a little when she mentioned Miral’s favorite places — the arboretum, the forward lounge, the viewport ledge where the stars seemed to streak around her when the ship was at warp. Klingons aged faster than humans during the first few years of life. Eleven-month-old Miral was essentially a three-year-old who had a daily routine that made her feel secure and loved.

Tom and B’Elanna made a deal. Starting in the fall, Miral would attend Klingon kindergarten in San Francisco. B’Elanna could live wherever she liked, but Miral would stay with Tom when school was in session and with B’Elanna during breaks. They would keep this arrangement until Miral graduated high school. This way, Miral would attend classes with other Klingons and would have stability in her education.

“Thank you, Tom,” B’Elanna said over and over.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Tom replied. “I’m doing it for Miral.”

They agreed to tell Miral together during Tom’s next subspace call. B’Elanna would still take leave for the birthday party. The timing would be tight — days of travel for just a few hours on Earth — but B’Elanna would do it. 

“See you then,” Tom said and cut the comm signal. 

He sent a message to the cadet on duty at the apartment building to inform Admiral Janeway no floorplan alterations were necessary and further information would be forthcoming. With Kathryn’s banishment from Starfleet systems, Tom wasn’t sure how else to contact her. 

It took him another hour to realize he had radically changed his custody agreement without consulting the woman with whom he shared a one-bedroom apartment.

“I messed up,” Tom said when he got home. 

Kathryn was in her robe on the sofa. He sat on the coffee table and told her what he’d done. Tom braced himself for an argument, but Kathryn shrugged slightly.

“It’s fine, Tom. You’re doing what’s best for your daughter. We can apply for a bigger apartment since she’ll be older when her visits start and she’ll spend more time here.”

“But I didn’t ask you first.”

“That would have been nice, but I know my place in the command structure when it comes to Miral,” Kathryn said. “You and B’Elanna are in charge.”

She faux saluted him and Tom’s tension escaped in a chortle.

He took her hands in his. 

“You’re amazing. How was your day?”

She admitted to putting up and then taking down the living room partitions. Her lunch with her mother hadn’t been terrible. She’d soaked in the tub afterward and spent the afternoon with a book and a few cups of coffee. 

“So, pretty good.” She grinned. “Six days to go and my sentence will be served.”

“What about the changes you promised your mother?”

“I‘ll talk to my superior when I go back,” Kathryn said. “Surely there are ways to manage my workload.”

It nagged at Tom’s brain that Kathryn had told her mother she would consider options during the week off but now was pushing the decision until later. But, he reasoned, maybe that was the best idea anyway, to get advice from a more senior admiral.

“Now,” Kathryn said, standing. “We can have dinner first or we can have dinner afterward.”

That’s when Tom learned Kathryn wasn’t wearing anything under her robe. 

Since Miral wouldn’t be staying with them as planned, Tom did take time off toward the end of Kathryn’s leave. They went to Hawaii for the day. Tom thought they would explore the islands, but, once her sun protector was in place, Kathryn just wanted to stay on her beach towel. 

“Mmmm,” she said, whether Tom’s question was if she wanted another piña colada, needed more sun protector, or cared if he decided to join an Andorian rock band. 

He practically had to carry her to the transporter station.

The next morning, she told him her dreams were of the ocean waves. 

They went to Bondi Beach, then Azarujinha Beach. Tom didn’t think redheads could tan, but Kathryn’s skin went from pale to … less pale … and the blonde highlights in her hair became more pronounced. 

When they got home from their third day in the sun, Kathryn told Tom she loved him. Instead of having sex that night, they made love. His tongue caressed the hollows of her collarbone, the fullness of her breasts. She kissed a trail down his stomach and took him into her mouth. When she shifted to move above him, her fingers gently stroked his cheek as his trembling hands grasped her shoulders, her back, her rear end.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

“I love you so much.” 

“Oh my God, I love you.”

When she belted her uniform the morning her leave was up, Tom heard her sigh. 

“You okay?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

“I will be.” She pushed him back down and smoothed the blanket across his chest. “I’ll remember how wonderfully this week turned out and I’ll find a way to make accommodations at work so we can have more time together. Thank you for your patience with me, Tom.”

He kissed her until she needed to run to get to her first briefing on time. 

That night, she didn’t get home until he had been asleep for hours. “Had to catch up,” she whispered when he stirred. “An aberration.”

“Did you ask your superior about modifying your duties?” he mumbled. 

“Shhhh.” He felt her curl around him. “Go back to sleep.”

She worked late every night after that. When the nightmares returned, Tom wasn’t even surprised.

Tom commed his mother late one evening while Kathryn was at work. Julia was on a sailboat on the Opal Sea. 

“Tom!” she said, the wind whipping her blonde hair. “How are things in San Francisco?”

He told her about the 1967 Camaro he’d raced across the Mojave Desert and the prank he’d been part of at work in which a holo-character slowly, over weeks, shifted in appearance until it was a duplicate of one of the researchers on the team.  

“Oh, Tom.” Julia dissolved into giggles. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I learned from the best.” He winked. 

Julia updated him on her work and some of her social activities on Betazed. “Now,” she said. “I only have a few minutes until my seawater chemical composition results are ready, so tell me — what’s bothering you?”

Tom asked how she knew something was bothering him and she cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Mom,” he said, “did Dad ever have nightmares?”

Julia shot forward, her face filling Tom’s screen. “What happened? Did Kathryn hurt you? Do you have any phasers in the bedroom? Since when does Starfleet put first-year vice admirals on those kinds of missions? How did —”

“I’m okay.” Tom spoke quickly over his mother. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Julia was practically shouting. “I’d been married to your father for a dozen years before the nightmares began and they nearly tore us apart. He refuses those missions now and if he ever took another one, I don’t know what I would do.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to lean forward. “They can refuse missions?” 

There was a beeping from somewhere behind Julia. Her chemical results were ready. She ignored the sound.

“Tom, admirals who don’t push back get pushed around. Starfleet will keep adding duties until they break. But that doesn’t have to be your problem. You and Kathryn may be together for now, but you need to look after yourself, all right? Will you promise me you’ll do what’s best for you — whatever that might mean?”

Tom’s dinner pitched in his stomach like Julia’s sailboat on the sea, but he promised. She gave him the pillow advice and he said Kathryn’s mother had already told him. Julia sucked in air between her teeth. 

“Gretchen Janeway,” she breathed. “That woman knows everything. Whatever she says, believe her.”

That Saturday morning, Tom told Kathryn what his mother had suggested about pushing back at Starfleet.

Kathryn sighed. 

She said she had to prove she could follow orders after being out of headquarters’ chain of command for the vast majority of seven years. 

She said she didn’t have the seniority to choose her missions.

She said Tom’s father had already commed her at work and yelled at her so could Tom please just drop it.

Against his better judgment, he did.

Miral’s party was on a Friday, her actual birthday, and both Tom and Kathryn had secured the day off months ahead of time. It was also, of course, the first anniversary of the day Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Kathryn didn’t have a nightmare overnight and, that morning, Tom felt her arms slide around him.

“Can you believe it?” she said. “Home for a whole year!”

With a sleep-lazy grin, he asked, “How do you want to celebrate?” 

Kathryn was pushing him lower and hooking her legs over his shoulders before he finished the question. He licked his index finger and made a joke about helm control that had her chortling just before she gasped.

Three hours later they held hands sitting side by side on a passenger bench in a civilian transport. They were on their way to the park in Florida that B’Elanna had chosen to hold the party. Miral’s present was in a brightly colored bag on Tom’s lap. Clouds whipped past the transport’s viewports.

From its place on Kathryn’s civilian t-shirt, her commbadge chirped. Instinctively, she tapped it with her free hand.

“Admiral Janeway, report to headquarters immediately,” a male voice demanded.

Her whole body tensed. Tom felt the tight squeeze on his hand. 

“Sir, I —”

“Problem?” Even tinny through a commbadge, the word was a challenge. 

Tom watched Kathryn breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m out of uniform, I’m not on a Starfleet vessel, and I don’t have access to a transporter.”

“We can transport you from here. Are you able to stand for beam-out?”

Tom didn’t think the squeeze on his hand could get any tighter but it did. 

“Remind him you’re on leave today,” he whispered. Tom knew when Kathryn Janeway made a promise she kept it, and she’d promised she would protect her leave time. 

“Sir, I arranged for —” 

Irritation came through the commbadge loud and clear. “We have an urgent situation so I need an answer: Are you able to stand for beam-out or are you not?”

Kathryn untangled her hand from Tom’s.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

She stood. 

“Ready, sir.”

She demateralized, her face turned away from Tom.

He couldn’t help but extend the hand that had held hers seconds before. Where the woman who professed to love him had just left him, Tom reached out and felt nothing.

Chapter Text

On the three-block walk from the transport station to the park, Tom refused to allow his mind to do anything but take note of the blue sky, puffy clouds, and soft breeze. Palm fronds rustled and iguanas blinked their circular eyes. Tom’s footsteps on the sidewalk were nearly silent. The brightly colored gift bag hung from his limp fingers.

Tom heard Miral before he saw her. She screeched, “Daddy!” and his knees sunk to the earth. Her small arms wrapped around him and Tom hugged her fiercely. He smelled her hair, marveled at her strength, and was amazed at how much bigger she was than when he’d kissed her goodbye on the Denmark. Sure, he saw her every few days on subspace. But it wasn’t the same.

“Daddy!” she said again, her smile toothy and dazzling. “We are together!”

“Yes we are, baby.” Tom kissed her ridged forehead. “Yes we are.”

B’Elanna and her boyfriend came by to greet Tom. The two men hadn’t seen each other since B’Elanna told Tom the truth about her feelings. They exchanged curt nods.

“Where’s the admiral?” B’Elanna asked.

“Duty calls,” Tom said lightly. 

But B’Elanna knew him too well. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding?”

Miral squirmed to be set free and Tom forced his arms to relax. She pulled on his hand to lead him to a play area. First, though, Tom handed B’Elanna the gift bag. “It’s a story collection. Actual books. I have another copy so I can read to Miral over subspace — since I’ll only see her through a screen for another eight months.”

Guilt may have been the low road, but it worked. B’Elanna didn’t ask any more questions.

As he followed Miral, Tom recognized people from Voyager’s engineering department and a few others from the ship. 

He wouldn’t let himself wonder how many of them knew the only reason the party was on Earth was because Tom was supposed to take his daughter home with him.

He wouldn’t let himself speculate whether they knew their former captain was supposed to be there.

He wouldn’t let himself do anything but spend every moment he could with Miral. He pushed her on a swing, cheered when she slid down the big slide, let her ride on his shoulders so she could see the whole park from up high. Her delighted giggles were infectious and Tom was sure her zeal for all types of play was his genetics.

Chakotay ambled over.

“I want to apologize for clocking you, Paris,” he said. “Honestly, truly apologize. I was out of line and, frankly, a little out of my mind.”

“Thanks.” Tom stuck his hand out, still a little dirty from the castle he and Miral were building in the sandbox. Chakotay shook it. “No hard feelings.”

“Good man,” Chakotay said. “Where’s Kathryn? I owe her an apology as well.”

Tom said the admiral was attending to Starfleet business. He ignored the slight shake of Chakotay’s head and the pitying look in his eyes. 

Chakotay called over and then introduced his girlfriend, a woman Tom knew slightly from Voyager — Ensign Sue Brooks, now Lieutenant Sue Brooks. She and Chakotay were working together on a Starfleet project to improve planetary defense systems for far-flung colonies. Tom shook her hand, too, then excused himself to continue building the sandcastle with Miral. 

There was the Happy Birthday song plus snacks and cake. Voyager's EMH took holo-photos and promised to send an album to both Tom and B’Elanna. Tom helped B’Elanna pack up the gifts.

Then it was over.

“I’ll see you soon on subspace,” Tom whispered into Miral’s ear as he held her tightly. “I love you so much, baby girl.”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Miral said. But it was normal for her not to see her father in person very often, and Miral trotted off with B’Elanna and B’Elanna’s boyfriend without a backward glance. 

Tom pushed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He just had to make it through the transport ride, Tom told himself, then he could let his brain process what had happened.

When Tom returned to the apartment, the computer console message light blinked. The text-only communique was: Three-day mission. Classified. I’m so sorry.

Even though he was alone in the apartment, Tom slept on the sofa that night. 

***

Of the half-dozen simulations Tom’s research team tested, the beach resort and Fair Haven both had scored highly as potential crew morale boosters. 

When Tom got to work the Monday after Miral’s party, he went into one of the holo-labs. He opened the parameters for Frannie Sullivan, wife of Fair Haven pub owner Michael Sullivan. Tom tidied her hair, darkened her lips, and made her chest more prominent. He upgraded her dress to a finer material. He altered her personality subroutines so she would be cheerful, slightly saucy, and funny. 

Tom walked around the holo-character, inspecting every centimeter of her from head to toe and back again. 

He nodded crisply.

“Computer, save revised character profile and apply to all simulations.” 

The doors hissed open and then shut as Tom stalked out of the lab.

***

Because Tom was still sleeping on the sofa, he woke up when Kathryn came home from her mission. He heard her tiptoe so her boots wouldn’t click, first to the bedroom, then she backtracked to the living room. 

“Tom.” Her hand was on his arm. He yanked it away. 

“No,” he said. 

A few minutes later he heard her crying in the sonic shower. 

In the morning, he found a padd on the coffee table. 

Please, her note read, let me explain. I’ll try to come home early today.

She didn’t come home early. 

The next morning, the note read: I was detained unexpectedly last night. I’ve already cleared my schedule so we can talk tonight.

That night, Tom heard her come home after he had been asleep for hours. He kept his breathing even so she wouldn’t know she’d awakened him.

The note he found in the morning was: I’ll go to counseling. By myself or with you. If you still want that.

Tom made the appointment for Friday at 1500 hours and instructed Starfleet Medical to relay the time and date to Admiral Janeway’s official calendar. He would leave work early and she would have to as well. If Kathryn didn’t show up, Tom would know her priorities and he could make decisions from there. His back hurt like hell from sleeping on the sofa.

But when Tom walked into the waiting room at Starfleet Medical, Kathryn was already sitting in a chair, padd in hand. He sat as far away from her as he could, pulled a padd from one of the waiting room tables, and tried to read. 

A few minutes later, a counselor emerged. She tapped Kathryn’s shoulder, then Tom’s. Tom watched the back of the counselor’s head as he and Kathryn walked side by side down a long hallway. The counselor opened a door and they followed her into a windowless room. There was a couch with two armchairs facing it.

Tom strode over to an armchair and sat.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kathryn sit in the other armchair. 

The counselor settled on the couch and introduced herself. She explained the purpose of counseling, common psychiatric methods used to help Starfleet personnel, and why counseling could be useful at any point in a Starfleet career. 

Tom frowned.

“Why are you talking like we’re a couple of first-year cadets?” he demanded. 

The counselor addressed him coolly. “Starfleet Medical guidelines suggest clarifying the counseling process at initial intake.”

Tom blinked. 

He looked at Kathryn, really looked at her, for the first time in nearly a week. 

Her uniform was pristine, her hair pinned perfectly in place. But her cheeks were sunken. Her eyes were dull. Her hands were folded in her lap, her wrist bones more prominent than Tom remembered. 

“You’ve never, ever seen a Starfleet counselor?” he asked her. 

Slowly, she shook her head. 

Counseling could be strongly encouraged, but not ordered. Tom had seen a counselor many times over the years from his depression after Susie Crabtree dumped him his freshman year at the academy to frustration with professors or commanding officers to guilt over the accident at Caldik Prime.

Tom knew, since Kathryn joined Starfleet, her father and first fiancé had died, she’d fought hand-to-hand in trench warfare against Cardassians, and, of course, she had returned home after seven years of commanding an isolated starship through uncharted territory. He had no idea what else she had been through that could be classified. 

He turned to the counselor. “Can we have a minute?” 

The counselor looked to Kathryn, who nodded slightly. 

The counselor stood and left the room, the door hissing closed behind her.

“You’ve been in Starfleet for twenty-five years — and you’ve been through hell more than once,” Tom said. “Why have you never seen a counselor?”

Kathryn stared at him.

Tom realized he hadn’t heard her voice in days. 

“Are you here because of me, because I suggested counseling?”

With agonizing slowness, she nodded. 

The anger that had filled Tom’s chest for close to a week turned into a chill. They both knew a Starfleet counselor, as a medical officer, could relieve personnel of duty. There was a real chance Kathryn was risking her ability to do her job — and she was doing it for him. 

Tom’s head dropped into his hands. Minutes ticked by and he couldn’t do anything but hammock his head as if the weight inside it was too much for his body to bear.

“Moving into my freshman dorm room at Starfleet Academy was one of the worst days of my life.”  

Kathryn’s voice was raspy, and Tom’s head lifted to look at her. 

She continued, dull eyes fixed on him.

“My father had been working obsessively for years. The Cardassian War was coming and he was almost never home. But he’d promised he would take me for move-in day.”

Tom didn’t want to press her, but, when the silence stretched, he finally asked, “What happened?”  

“Tactical conference on Vulcan. I moved in by myself.”

Mindful of what he had seen of Gretchen Janeway, Tom phrased his question carefully. “Why didn’t you ask your mom to help you?”

Kathryn’s shrug was nearly imperceptible. “I didn’t want her anymore. I was just … broken by disappointment, you know? The lie hurt worse than anything. He had said he would be there for a once-in-a-lifetime event and he chose his job over me. Again.”

Tom thought of his own move-in day. The Cardassian War had been going on for close to a decade. Owen was back on active duty after a mental breakdown that Tom, thanks to Gretchen, now knew had something to do with the Cardassians. But Owen had been by Tom’s side, jubilant and asking Julia to take holo-photos of everything. Tom had pretended to be embarrassed, but he’d actually been proud. They disappointed each other many times before and after, but move-in day was one of the best times Tom and Owen had shared.

“I’m sorry your father did that to you, Kathryn,” Tom said.

A ghost of a frown tugged at her lips.

“Tom, I did the same thing. I knew how important that birthday party was to you — being with Miral, having to see B’Elanna with her boyfriend, facing Chakotay again. I broke my promise to keep leave time sacrosanct. I hurt you and I’ve been hurting you and I don’t know how to stop hurting you because I can’t justify doing what’s right for us at the potential cost of lives I’m responsible for all over the quadrant. I don’t want to lose you, but, at this point, I really don’t know why you would stay.”

Kathryn seemed too exhausted to even cry. She sat there, motionless, her hands in her lap.

Tom could hear his mother’s voice telling him Kathryn’s problems didn’t have to be his problems. 

He could feel his daughter’s arms around him, confident her father would be where he said he would be when he said he would be there. The thought of Kathryn ever disappointing Miral turned Tom’s stomach.

But he also could see Kathryn. 

Her hands on her hips as she introduced herself that sunlit day in Auckland, the first step to Tom getting his life back on track. 

Her jawline, illuminated by the crimson light of countless red alerts, but always, always, set on bringing her crew home.

Her fingers curled around a glass at the dingy dive where she threw back whiskeys and propositioned him.

Her legs, strong and sure, leading him on hikes, trembling in her bed, stretched out lazily as she read on the sofa.

Her auburn hair, blocking her face from his view when she dematerialized from the transport as clouds whipped past the viewports.

And now her eyes, listless and almost blank, in a counselor’s office with walls that seemed to be closing in on Tom centimeter by centimeter.

Chapter Text

A secret to flying, Tom knew, was to think only about the space ahead. Life’s distractions had no place at the helm and clearing his mind was the best way to let his instincts take over.

Flying also required precision in speed and position with smooth changes to angle, power, and configuration.

Finally, it was critical to learn an individual craft, whether designed for water, sky, or space. Every vessel had its quirks and needed to be handled appropriately.

In the counselor’s office, Tom let his mind go blank. 

He allowed his body to rise, walk a few steps, then kneel.

His fingertips found Kathryn’s chin and he tipped it to look at him.

“Hey,” he said. “We’re bar magnets, right? You picked me up twice. This time, how about I pick you up?”

For a few seconds, Tom wasn't sure if Kathryn had heard him. Then, her voice still raspy, she spoke.

“Aren’t you angry with me?” 

“Yes, I am,” Tom said. “I’m angry and I’m hurt and all the things you probably already know. But, if you don’t want it to be like this, then that’s a first step toward making things better.”

With a slowness that Tom found increasingly frightening, she asked, “What’s the second step?”

“Kathryn,” he held her by the shoulders, “I understand you can’t break confidentiality with me. But you can with a counselor. How about I go and you talk to her and see if she can help you? But you have to do this for yourself, not for me or for us. For you. Can you do that? Will you do that?”

She bit her lips together. 

Closed her eyes. 

Inhaled deeply, then exhaled. 

“Yes,” she said. 

Tom stood, found the counselor in the hallway, and told her Kathryn would talk to her alone.

He walked through San Francisco. Conversation and clinks of silverware from couples eating at cafés, snatches of conversations, the woofs and yaps of dogs at the park — it all washed over Tom as he focused on the sidewalk ahead of him.

Two hours later, Kathryn came in the front door of the apartment. Tom was in the kitchen eating a snack, but Kathryn went straight into the bedroom. He dropped his peanut butter toast and followed her.

“Relieved of duty.” Her head was on a pillow. Her eyes were closed. Her face wasn’t blotchy or strained. It was like she was a hologram without a personality subroutine. “A month, maybe more.”

Tom wanted to ask Kathryn questions, but she was already asleep. He eased off her boots, gently pulled the pins from her hair, put the blanket over her, and tiptoed out of the room. 

***

Kathryn slept most of the first weekend of her leave. Tom would bring meals to the bed on a tray, then stroke her shoulder to wake her up. She would eat, thank him, then go back to sleep. 

At night, he slept next to her. When he woke up, she would be holding his hand. 

She didn’t have nightmares.

As his first workday approached, Tom told Kathryn that he wasn’t comfortable leaving her by herself. He’d hoped for an argument, her insistence she could manage while he reported to his post on Jupiter Station. Instead, she dipped a corner of her sandwich into a bowl of tomato soup. She chewed the damp bread and cheese, swallowed, and said whatever he preferred was fine, but she was scheduled for an entire day of psych tests, counseling, and mental health evaluations.

She finished the sandwich and soup, thanked him again for the meal, then went back to sleep.

In the morning, Tom went to work.

When he got home, Kathryn was just getting out of the bathtub. She wrapped herself in a giant towel and asked if she could hug him. 

He opened his arms, bit his lips together in gratitude that she was even a weak approximation of herself, enfolded her against his chest, and inhaled her gardenia smell. 

“I’m going to make things better,” she murmured. “I promise.”

But as sure as Tom’s uniform front was damp, he knew her promises didn’t mean what they used to. 

***

Toward the end of Kathryn’s first week of leave, Tom’s presence was requested at Starfleet Medical’s counseling division. 

The counselor asked Tom a few questions, then suggested he consider whether he had a tendency to sidestep confrontation.

“I was married to a Klingon,” Tom joked reflexively. “I know all about confrontation.”

But memories tumbled through Tom’s mind and his chest constricted. He asked for a computer terminal and a few minutes alone. 

“B’Elanna,” he said when her face appeared on the screen. “Got a minute?”

She did. 

He apologized.

She asked what the hell he was talking about. 

“Those months on Voyager,” Tom said, “when you were hurting yourself in the holodeck. I should have been the one to help you, not Chakotay. I should have reported that something was wrong instead of figuring you would handle it on your own. I’m really sorry, B’Elanna.”

“It’s okay, Tom,” she said, Miral visible over B’Elanna’s shoulder playing with toy spaceships on the small sofa in their quarters. “It was a Maquis thing, so Chakotay was the friend I needed.”

The words tumbled from Tom’s lips. “Did you fall out of love with me because I didn’t push you to spend more time together when we were on the Denmark? Would we still be married if I had been more forceful?”

B’Elanna glanced at Miral to ensure the toddler was occupied, then turned to Tom, solemn-faced.

“When you and I met, we were lonely people on a small, isolated ship. I always knew something wasn’t right. I just channeled it into the fear you would abandon me.” B’Elanna looked down and then back into the screen. “I apologize for the irony.”

Tom swallowed hard.

“Tom, why are you asking these questions? Are you and the admiral having problems?”

Tom bit back the temptation to lie. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

To his surprise, B’Elanna said she was sorry to hear it.

“When I told her we broke up, the admiral seemed so sad,” B’Elanna added. “I tried to explain how it had been over longer than I’d wanted to admit, but I ended up babbling about what a great guy you are, even if you and I were mismatched. I didn’t exactly think you and she would get together. Still, I hope you two can patch things up.”

Tom cut the comm as quickly as he could without being rude. 

He stared at the darkened screen. 

Should he be mad at B’Elanna for talking about him to Kathryn? 

Grateful? 

Tom pushed the computer terminal away. 

When the counselor returned, she and Tom discussed ways he could productively express his feelings to Kathryn. 

“Not just once,” the counselor warned. “This will need to be a consistent effort on your part.”

Tom said he understood. Then, wiping his damp palms on his trousers, he asked if a lot of admirals’ partners needed this type of advice.

The counselor shook her head. 

“We send communiques to all admirals a few times a year and reach out to specific admirals when they get injured or have a significant life event like a divorce. But, I’ve been here a dozen years and, of the hundreds of queries we’ve sent, I’ve seen maybe three replies.”

At Tom’s incredulous look, the counselor added, “You don’t get promoted to the admiralty by complaining, arguing orders, or showing weakness. More often than not, Starfleet Counseling becomes involved at the memorial service to assist survivors.”

***

When Tom got home, he asked Kathryn if he could touch her face. 

She blinked. 

“All right.”

His fingertips traced her lips, her cheeks, the arc of her eyebrows. He gently pinched her earlobes, ran his thumb along her jawline. 

“I was so angry at you,” he murmured. 

Her eyes were closed, her head tilted toward his roaming touch. “Then why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because only someone I want to be with could hurt me by staying away. Only someone I value could make me miserable when it became clear that I was a sorry second to her job. Only someone I love could —”

Tom clamped his mouth shut. 

Guilt stabbed at his stomach. 

His hands dropped to his sides.

Her eyes opened slowly. “Only someone you love could make you so angry you hated her?”

“I’m sorry,” Tom mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You didn’t.” She took his hands. “But you could have and I would have understood. Let’s talk.”

Once again, the soft growl twined with the smooth rumble until late in the night. He told her about his anger, his loneliness, his frustration with himself for expecting more when he knew what Starfleet demands could be like.

She explained how she’d felt much of the same, only her anger was turned inward.

He asked if she wanted to leave Starfleet. She said no. Starfleet was all she ever wanted and she couldn’t see herself anywhere else.

She asked if he expected her to never take another mission, never work late, never have to cancel plans. He said no. The job was the job, but her work needed to be an outlet for her humanity, not an infringement upon it.

He asked if they were only together because of what B’Elanna had said about his good qualities. She said she’d be lying if B’Elanna’s words hadn’t echoed through her mind as she drank wine alone in her apartment. But it was seeing Tom at the bar, all whiskey-wet lips and tousled hair, that shifted Kathryn’s mission from professional to personal. 

They fell asleep with her head on his chest and their legs tangled.

***

Starfleet counselors could appeal confidentiality, so, as she became able, Kathryn shared her experiences with Tom. 

She told him how she still got headaches in the exact spot where a Cardassian fist had drawn blood when she was an ensign. Officially, she hadn’t even been on the Starfleet shuttle that was captured, much less held in a cage as a prisoner of war.

She told him how, as a lieutenant, she was the only survivor of an away team whose members were executed, one by one, when they refused to disclose information about Starfleet shield harmonics to a Ferengi weapons dealer. The rescue team arrived just as the Ferengi was lining up his phaser to shoot her. “Unwise to risk diplomatic relations with the Ferengi Alliance,” Starfleet ruled when it restricted information about the incident to flag officers only.

She told him how one of her first orders as a commander was covert, straight from headquarters, to ensure crewmembers immediately surveyed a volcanic moon. The moon was a possible base for Breen extremists. When the crewmembers were injured, she finished the survey herself, incurring burns that Starfleet Medical erased except for a small scar above her left eyebrow that was too inflamed to fully repair. But Starfleet got the top-secret information it wanted. 

When she told these stories, it was always in bed with the lights out. Tom would hold her as she relayed events, not emotions. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. When he asked, he felt her shrug slightly. 

“Just listen,” she said, “and keep loving me even though I can’t tell you everything.”

His arms tightened around her. 

One night, late, in the darkness of their bedroom, she blurted out, “Tom, does my telling you things make me less attractive to you?” 

Tom had been drifting toward sleep, but he jerked awake. “What?”

“You haven’t seemed interested in sex lately.”

They cuddled often, but they hadn’t done more than kiss since the morning of Miral’s birthday nearly three weeks before. Tom hadn’t been avoiding intimacy on purpose. It just hadn’t occurred to him as Kathryn was working through her problems.

“Hey.” He reached to hold her hand. “Just tell me when you’re ready, okay?”

She guided Tom’s hand higher and sucked on his middle finger, hard, her curled tongue shifting up and down. 

Tom shuddered.

“So … um …” he managed as blood-fueled engorgement made his boxer shorts increasingly uncomfortable.

She nodded, suction holding his finger in her mouth. 

Boxer shorts and a sleep shirt landed on one side of the bed, a nightgown on the other. 

He pulled her on top of him and her kisses were on his neck, his chest, his mouth. 

She slid down and he was inside her and her hiss of pleasure brought a hint of a smile to his lips. She rocked against him gently, then harder and harder.

She stopped. “What’s wrong?”

Chapter Text

Nothing had been wrong. 

Until, when she was kissing him, everything became wrong. 

Tom had tried to continue moving, to stay in the spirit of the coupling. 

But she had broken her promise, beamed away when she knew he needed her. 

She had looked at him in the counselor’s office with eyes that were dull and listless, almost blank.

She had known her workload was hurting him and she hadn’t asked her superiors for help when she said she would.

Tom’s instinct was to try to clear his mind, avoid the argument, and just let his body do what it had wanted only a few minutes earlier.

But, despite B’Elanna’s assurances, Tom worried that very instinct had contributed to a marriage that either shouldn’t have happened or shouldn’t have ended.

He needed to force himself to be honest. 

So, he did. 

Kathryn listened. He softened inside her and fell out and she kept listening. In the darkness, Tom could just see her hand over her mouth.

“I’ll ask my counselor about this tomorrow,” she finally said.

“Can I go with you?” Tom wrapped his arms around her, held her close. “I want to be with you.”

She shimmied away from him and pulled her nightgown off the floor and onto her body. 

“Whatever you want, Tom.” 

They slept with their backs toward each other, flushes of embarrassment fading only once they both fell asleep.

***

The counselor told them sex wasn’t their problem. They were able to talk about sex, to ask each other for what they wanted. They both were opening up emotionally and they were committed to each other. The counselor advised them to keep trying, to recognize it was normal for other changes in their relationship to affect intimacy.

“Do your best to stay in the moment,” she suggested. “Keep the lines of communication open.”

That night, in bed, Tom asked Kathryn if she was game to try again.

“No,” she said. 

For a second night, they slept back to back.

The next evening was Tom’s car club meeting and he invited Kathryn to attend. 

To his surprise, she agreed. 

An hour after he taught her how to drive, she completed an entire obstacle course in a 1967 Aston Martin DB6.

“Helluva gal you’ve got there, Tom,” one of his club buddies said. 

“Don’t I know it,” Tom replied, shaking his head as the clouds of dust stirred by the Aston Martin’s tires wafted away.

On the transport ride home, Tom asked Kathryn if she’d had a good time. They were sitting side by side and when he reached for her hand, she let him hold it.

“I enjoyed meeting your friends,” she said. “I like how nice they are to you.”

Tom didn’t think his car club pals were particularly nice or not nice, but he took the opportunity to suggest they get together with some of Kathryn’s friends. 

She looked out a viewport.

“Tuvok is on Vulcan. I’ve apologized to Chakotay and even told him that his concerns about my workload were justified, but I don’t think he and I can truly be friends again. My ex-fiancé was my best friend and I tried to socialize with him after Voyager got home, but it’s not exactly relaxing to spend time with someone who keeps looking for glimpses of who you were, not who you are.”

The transport arrived at their stop. Walking the two blocks to their apartment, still holding hands, Tom suggested Kathryn join a club for Velocity or tennis or one of her other interests.

She replied with a noncommittal hum.

The sonic shower was lifting the dirt and grime from car club when Tom inhaled sharply. Chakotay hadn’t seen Kathryn for who she thought she was. From what she’d said on the transport ride home, Mark had done the same thing. In bed, Tom had repeated their mistake — she was trying to change and he was seeing the past only, not using the past to understand the present.

He ran out of the shower before the cycle was complete. Kathryn had showered first and was reading in bed. 

Tom pulled the book from her hands.

“Hey!” she started to complain, but she looked up and saw the hunger in his eyes — and that he was naked. “Hey,” she said again, only slowly, her voice lower than usual.

“I was wrong,” Tom blurted. “Well, not wrong but misplaced. I can explain now or I can explain later.”

She stood and her hands were on his chest, his hips, his rear end. “Explain now.”

Stammering, he did. 

Her fingers traced his jawline. “And asking me if I’m ‘game to try,’ as if sex is some kind of chore?”

Tom winced. “Also wrong.”

“I don’t believe in forgive and forget, Tom. I believe in forgive and move forward — for both of us. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He pulled off her nightgown and pushed her onto the bed. She fumbled for the light control and the room became dark. 

Dark. 

She had told him about her past, always with the lights out, because she felt safe in his arms as she set free secrets that had pained her for so long.

She had wanted to have sex with the lights off when they last tried — and Tom hadn’t connected that she must be talking to her counselor about whatever happened on the mission that had upset her so much.

And she hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks.

Tom’s eyes pricked with unshed tears of pride. She was working so hard. He needed to show her how much he appreciated it.

“Tell me what you want.” He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth.

She climbed on top of him and her lips found his. “You.”

His fingers were in her hair and her tongue was sliding and swirling on his. God, Tom had missed this. He shifted his hands lower and, with one on himself and the other on her hip, he guided her down.

Her whole body tensed.

“I’m here,” he said quickly. “Talk to me.”

“Give me a minute.”

Her legs folded on either side of his hips. Her body was flush against him. She rested her forehead on his temple and her breath curled against his neck. He was inside her and she didn’t seem uncomfortable, just pensive. 

Tom’s mind turned to the thoughts that had intruded on them the last time. Forgive and move forward, he reminded himself, and he acknowledged his anger but let it dissipate. 

He pulled the blanket over them and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed and it was like the small sigh of contentment she’d made in her sleep the first week they shared a bed.

She began to rock against him.

He met her movements, but didn’t change the pace. 

It was slow and it was different but, eventually, Tom’s breath became ragged and hers did, too, and it was quiet for both of them but it was good and, when the trembles eased, they whispered their love for each other.

***

Kathryn belted her admiral’s uniform — her usual size.

It had been a month since she’d last walked into the Starfleet Command complex.

She had attended twenty counseling appointments, four lunches with her mother, two car club meetings, and one Velocity league event that she told Tom was “all right, but car club is more fun.”

The uniform looked starched and official and Tom fought the panic in his chest. 

“What did the counselor say to remember?” he prompted. 

“A captain protects her crew,” Kathryn parroted. “An admiral protects herself so captains can do their jobs. The billions of people who live in my sectors of space are not my crew. I will contribute to the best of my abilities, then leave work at work.”

“You can do this,” he said, willing his words to be true.

That night, she came home at a reasonable hour, a broad smile on her face. 

The same thing happened the next night and they celebrated on the sofa with Tom’s uniform pants around his ankles. 

The night after that, she got back to the apartment a little later. 

She was even later the next night but Tom was still awake and she excitedly told him she had deferred a four-day mission on the grounds it would interfere with her recovery. 

The next night was Friday and she came home at a decent hour and proclaimed the week a victory. 

Tom agreed as he unfastened her uniform slowly, piece by piece, his mouth following his fingers until her knees buckled. 

Some weeks, she made it to car club. 

Some weeks she didn’t. 

She met with her counselor every few days until the meetings were once a week, then once a month.

When Kathryn and Tom started to go hiking again, she asked him which parts of the valley interested him, and they walked together through the leafy trails. 

Since she was around more in the evenings, Kathryn would wave hello to Harry or Miral or Tom’s parents when Tom chatted with them on subspace. His after-work beers with his co-workers had tapered off since one had a baby and another moved to a house that needed a lot of repairs. 

One night when Kathryn was detained at work, Julia asked Tom how he was doing — really.

“Good, Mom.” A grin spread across his face. “I know what you said and I believe what’s best for me is seeing this relationship through.”

Julia’s sailboat pitched and her hair whipped in the wind. “It’s not going to be easy, Tom, this life you’ve chosen. I’ve always liked Kathryn, but I want the best for you.”

“Don’t worry.” Tom leaned forward. “I want the best for me, too. And I’ve got it.”

When Kathryn returned from her first mission after the month off, she was so proud of herself that she practically strutted into the apartment. When she went on a five-day mission that took seven days, she shook Tom’s shoulder when she got home at 0300. Heart pounding, he rocketed to sitting straight up in bed.

“Are you angry?” she said. 

“That the mission took longer than expected, no,” he panted, a hand over his heart. “That you scared the shit out of me by waking me up, yes.”

She hugged him and they fell back asleep together.

They went to the Janeway farmhouse every few weeks and, one evening, Gretchen pulled Tom aside. 

“I don’t know what you did,” she told him. “But I’m getting my daughter back.” 

Tom glanced at Kathryn. She was arguing with her sister as they snatched at plates and silverware to clear the dinner table. Gretchen smiled softly when Tom said Kathryn had concluded on her own that she had a problem and did — and was continuing to do — most of the work.

“Generosity is a lovely trait.” Gretchen cupped Tom’s face in her hands. “But I’ve been around Starfleet my whole life and I’ve never known an admiral who walked into the counseling wing of Starfleet Medical. Tom, you’re an incredible young man. Thank you.”

In bed that night, Kathryn asked Tom what he and her mother had been talking about.

“You,” he said, squeezing her hand. “She’s missed you — for a long time.”

Kathryn pulled Tom into a kiss. “I missed me, too. I’m grateful you stuck with me when you didn’t have to.”

“What are bar magnets for?” he asked and, as her lips met his again, he felt them curl into a satisfied smile.

Epilogue

The rendezvous with the Denmark was fourteen hours away and Tom and Kathryn had just reboarded their shuttle after a stop to visit Harry.

“I like his girlfriend,” Kathryn proclaimed as she settled in the passenger seat.

From the pilot’s chair, Tom scoffed. “Sure, if Harry wants to spend the rest of his life playing Kal-toh. I never pictured him with a Vulcan woman.”

“And what’s wrong with a partner who is eminently logical?” Kathryn’s hand went to her cheek and she batted her eyelashes.

Tom snorted. “I’ll let you know when I have one.” 

He ducked as the stuffed giraffe they had brought to give Miral flew past his head.

B’Elanna had commed them every day for the last two weeks. She wanted to be sure they remembered Miral liked banana pancakes, Bajoran hasperat, and papalla juice. Miral wore a size 6 for clothing and size 2 for shoes. Miral was afraid of cats but loved giraffes. Miral’s favorite color was orange. Miral could comm B’Elanna anytime, even in the middle of the night. Oh, and Miral couldn’t wait to see the Golden Gate Bridge from her window.

Tom and Kathryn’s new apartment was a floor up from the old one and the layout was similar, but with an extra bedroom and bathroom. Miral, excited about living planet-side, had requested a room that was “green like a tree,” so Tom had painted her walls forest green and Kathryn had replicated bedding with a pattern of leaves. 

Kathryn’s counselor had helped her see that, though Kathryn wasn’t Miral’s parent, Miral would still look to Kathryn as a trusted adult. Kathryn and Tom had talked about how they could help Miral not be disappointed when Kathryn would inevitably have to cancel plans. They decided on “I’ll try to be there” instead of “I’ll be there.”

In the shuttle, Kathryn went to pick up the stuffed animal. Tom caught her wrist and she kissed his forehead. She stood with her hand on his shoulder as the stars streaked past.

In a few minutes, her commbadge will chirp and headquarters will ask for her location. Her fingers will clench Tom’s shoulder but her voice will be calm as she informs them she is on leave and will report for duty only if no one else is available. Her badge will be silent the rest of the trip.

In a few days, Kathryn will be the one to startle awake in the middle of the night and run into Miral’s room. The little girl will be weeping under her leaf-patterned blanket, missing her mother and the familiar people and sounds of the Denmark. Kathryn will yell for Tom, who will hold his daughter, stroking her hair. They will comm B’Elanna and Kathryn will watch as Tom and B’Elanna, together, soothe Miral back to sleep.

In a few weeks, Miral will get sick at school and Kathryn will cancel a meeting to take Miral to Starfleet Medical right away. When Tom gets there, he will tell Kathryn she can go back to work — and she will, but only once the doctor informs them Miral has a tummy bug and will feel better soon.

In a few months, Kathryn will miss Miral’s class reenactment of Kahless defeating his enemies on the field of battle, even though Miral chattered about it for weeks. But Miral will know the difference between “I’ll be there” and “I’ll try to be there” and, days later, the three of them will contentedly watch the holo-video Tom recorded. He will send a copy to B’Elanna and she will love it, too.

In a few years, during the height of the Federation-Ferengi War, Kathryn and Tom will fight so bitterly as she overworks herself that one summer day he will pack his and Miral’s things and request the first Starfleet apartment to become available. The morning the storage containers are supposed to be beamed to his new address, Tom will find Kathryn asleep on one of them. He will touch her shoulder and his blood will run cold when her eyes open and they are dull and listless, almost blank. Her mouth will open slightly and it will be barely perceptible, but her eyebrows will drift toward each other. Tom will cancel beam-out for the containers, demand site-to-site transport to the counseling wing of Starfleet Medical, and spend the rest of the day there with her. Even though the war will be raging, she will be ordered to six weeks off duty. It will take them months to mend their relationship. Not long afterward, Tom’s holo-research will help the Federation win the war when his simulations of Ferengi cruisers allow teams to configure precise detonation points for ultrasonic weapons.

In a few decades, Kathryn will shift to overseeing Starfleet research facilities instead of sectors of Federation space. She will proclaim she has never been happier. Tom will agree and they will host a party at a dive bar in France where their friends and family will chat and laugh and drink whiskey that may not be the best, but Kathryn and Tom will insist they’ve never had better. Miral will hear them call each other bar magnets and she will roll her eyes as they elbow each other and giggle.

But, none of that has happened yet. In the shuttle, his forehead is still damp from her kiss and her hand rests on his shoulder as the stars streak by. They are both a little nervous for the big change of Miral living with them, but they are hopeful, too. 

Because they are together.