Rating: PG-13

Summary: Think of that nice place in the center of the hurricane, when you think, for a second, that things aren't as bad as you think, or will get better. Well, that's my interpretation anyway. Tom thinks, Seven thinks, Harry thinks, and B'Elanna *does*. Other crew do other things.

***********************

"...it will be found that some things which seem virtues would, if

followed, lead to one's ruin, and some others which appear vices

would result in one's greater security and well-being."

Machiavelli (on virtue or lack thereof)

"The Prince"

***********************

Tom accessed his logs as soon as he walked in the room, barely pausing to call for lights. His first temptation--go to the replicator and order something alcoholic--was quickly squelched by the bitterly amused notion that he really didn't need to drink to forget.

His once glance at his quarters told him what he needed to know. There was nothing here. The barest of rooms (though he hadn't exactly decorated much before either) in the most general, blankly inoffensive tradition of Starfleet.

Sitting at his workstation, he gave a glance to the terminal.

"All right, Tommy boy, let's find out what you missed."

Tom was pretty certain that being insane would be a step upward in his development. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair--{Shorter. That's interesting.}--and as the program loaded, walked to the bathroom to look at himself.

Just curious.

Two years had changed him. Just a little. The hair--he shook his head with amusement. A harder set to his face, which could be simply because of what he was experiencing now.

No, that man wasn't unrecognizable, not at all.

Except for the fact, of course, that he was married.

No matter how many times he turned that over in his mind, it wouldn't fit together. Wouldn't become real. Even with the wedding ring in his pocket, which he now took out to look at, before dropping it on his sink.

Tom walked back to his chair, then changed his mind, heading for the replicator.

"Gin," he instructed, waiting the seconds it took for his drink to appear. He tasted it, taking a moment for the familiarity of the action to calm him, then returned to his seat.

Ah. Log entries.

What he really wanted to do, he couldn't. Talk to Harry. Talk to B'Elanna.

Talk to Seven.

A shudder ran up his spine.

If ever.

But B'Elanna--

He winced at the memory, taking another drink to cool the sudden frustration. He couldn't. He remembered her reaction. It had apparently been a long time since they had been together.

{But not to me.} He took another drink. {For me, it was only hours ago.}

They both had moved on, apparently in very different directions, to new lives. Was she also seeing someone else? How had he screwed up this time with her, when he'd been so determined to make it work? He shook his head, looking down at the glass without really seeing it.

He glanced at the logs, then scrolled to the last one he could remember, and began to read.

* * * * *

Captain Janeway picked up her third cup of coffee of the night as she scanned Harry and Seven's reports on the secondary diagnostic program. No flaws. Nothing to account for the fact it had not caught even a trace of that microfissure.

Kathryn Janeway loved a mystery. But not when it almost killed a member of her crew. Almost destroyed her ship.

Taking a drink, she winced at the flavor of the coffee. {Cold.}. Then took another drink, because she was damned if she would get up from her comfortable seat at her desk to fix it now. She had come to an understanding with her body--it would continue to function, would let her think clearly and make rational decisions, but only under the condition that she didn't make a single unnecessary movement. So far, it didn't object to picking up a coffee cup, but she wasn't going to challenge it right now either.

She read the PADD again, noting Seven's report and then Harry's. Secondary diagnostics were just fine. No breaks in code, no problems in the tests they'd run using other objects both malfunctioning and otherwise.

Yet, somehow, it had missed that little fissure. And Janeway didn't know why or how.

Her door chimed. She closed her eyes briefly, then checked the chronometer. {2300 hours. Wonderful.} With a sigh, she put down the PADD.

"Come."

Harry Kim shuffled in, and Janeway gave him a smile (he seemed to need it), straightening a little.

"Ensign. Sit down. What did you find?"

He extended the PADD with one hand that trembled a little. Sympathetically, Janeway touched his hand as she retrieved the PADD. He'd been working on the problem since she'd sent him and Seven to track down the diagnostics. Hours ago.

"I've tried everything, Captain. Seven pulled up old Borg algorithms to apply, and still there's nothing. I can't find a reason that those secondary diagnostics came back with no result."

"What about the primaries?" She scrolled down the information he'd given her, then glanced up to see the handsome face pale.

"N-nothing, Captain. There's not even a log entry to explain why it found something the first time and then disregarded it when the program was re-run."

Janeway leaned back, picking up her cup again and taking a drink, ignoring the taste.

"Harry, two separate diagnostic and tricorder readings failed to catch this. The log files aren't showing any sign that on the original scans, something was found. I'm getting worried. I need an explanation." She gave him a long look, which seemed to make him sink even farther into his chair.

"Captain..." he stopped, obviously searching for the words, and she realized how exhausted he really was. For the first time, she wondered when the last time he'd slept had been. "Captain, we'll find it. There has to be something in common with those failures. Though from the information B'Elanna gave me, I think that perhaps the tricorder couldn't have detected the anomaly unless it was directly over it at the time--and from the schematics of the Flyer, it is possible it wasn't in range of the tricorder. However--" he stopped again, taking a breath, and Janeway broke her truce with her own exhaustion to stand up and go to the replicator. Getting a cup of coffee for Ensign Kim also meant she could get a fresh one for herself. As she picked up the two cups, she considered what he had said.

"B'Elanna's tricorder scans are the only thing we have now, right?" she asked, handing him the cup, which he took gratefully between hands that seemed to tremble. Coffee splashed into his wrist--he didn't even seem to notice.

"Yes. I haven't had the opportunity to download her information yet, as the tricorder was left in the Shuttlebay when B'Elanna beamed out. I think it may be in engineering now--the salvage team must have gotten it during the retrieval of the Delta Flyer."

Janeway nodded, sitting back in her chair.

"Do you think those recordings may solve the mystery?" Janeway asked. Harry shrugged a little, taking a long drink before responding.

"Seven thinks so. She told me B'Elanna had the tricorder recordings. And Seven is pretty sure B'Elanna downloaded the results of the secondary diagnostics into her tricorder to look over. But I think the memory core of the Delta Flyer would do more good, actually. And Vorik and Carey think they can retrieve it."

Janeway sat up straighter in her chair, focusing on the young Ensign.

"What?"

Harry nodded, almost to himself, and Janeway noted, somewhat distractedly, that the long fingers twitched in their grip on the cup.

"I checked Tom's original designs--he and B'Elanna designed in some safeties for the computer core. I haven't had a chance to talk to her about it yet, but I think the main core should be retrievable--and if it is, those final diagnostics should be on it."

This was interesting. Janeway drew in a breath, considering the problem from all angles.

"Get as much help as you need, Harry. I want to find out what happened two days ago."

"Aye, Captain." He finished the cup and gently placed it on her desk, rising to face her. She could see the dark circles under his brown eyes, and softened.

"But not before you get some sleep."

{Ah, he looks awake now.} Brown eyes opened wide.

"Captain?"

"Sleep. Tonight. I'm calling a senior staff meeting tomorrow to discuss what's happened. And I need you awake." She stood up, reaching to gently brush his shoulder with her fingers. The skin beneath his uniform twitched at the contact, and she drew back. "That's an order, Ensign. Go to bed."

"Yes, ma'am. " No enthusiasm, but this was workaholic Harry Kim. Janeway briefly wondered if she needed to give similar instructions to Seven, then discarded the idea. She knew Seven would regenerate if she couldn't sleep--if she took the time.

And she knew that, at least right now, Seven preferred to be alone.

She nodded her dismissal to Harry, and he left, his step lacking any of its usual energy, and she took a moment to worry if he would obey. But this was Harry Kim--she grinned and returned to her coffee, then decided that perhaps she should call it a day too.

The door chimed. Janeway almost knocked over her coffee.

"Come." She failed to control the testiness in her voice.

Chakotay walked in, PADD in hand, and Janeway sighed.

"Late night?" The amusement was subtle, but his lips twitched as he went to the replicator, getting himself some water, before returning to take the seat on the other side of her desk. She shook her head, bracing her head on her hands.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't like not knowing what happened, Chakotay." She punctuated the statement with a smack on her desk top that made him hide a smile behind his glass. She still saw it. "I see you're burning the midnight oil as well."

He shrugged.

"Just crew reports I should have gone over much earlier." He gave her a wise look. "You don't have that excuse."

Janeway leaned back, hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly as she considered his unspoken question.

"You're right--I don't. Seven and Harry could handle this--under any other circumstances. But Harry's best friend, Seven's husband...I don't know..." She let the sentence drift off briefly. "Chakotay, personal feelings shouldn't be an issue--but this is personal, for both of them."

"They're professionals, Kathryn."

She nodded, not exactly agreeing, not really disagreeing either.

"Exactly. They're professionals and I'm putting them in a position that matters to them personally. . But there isn't anyone as qualified with the computers as Harry or as skilled as Seven--frankly, I need them both."

"Did you think about assigning someone else to work with them?" His finger was spinning circles on the edge of her desk--Janeway now saw where B'Elanna had picked up that habit.

"Who?"

"B'Elanna."

One eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"She wouldn't be my first choice," she answered. "I want less personal feelings, not more."

Chakotay leaned forward, voice dropping a little, as it always seemed to when he tried to persuade her of something. {Damn him.}

"Kathryn, she's a good engineer--the best we have. And she would be a good foil for both of them."

"And you think she can keep strict impartiality?"

"No one can do that on this ship, Kathryn." He sighed, shaking his head. "But she--"

"Blames herself." Janeway could understand that, at least. Everything that went wrong with the ship B'Elanna took personally. "And since it was Tom who got injured--"

"Exactly." And he actually seemed to believe he'd made a point, too. His hands tightened on the glass of water as he began to make his case. Janeway crossed her arms, waiting for his logic. "She does. And she'll want, even more than either Seven or Harry, to find out if or what she did wrong. She'll be volunteering if you don't assign her, and don't think she won't study the problem off-duty, either."

And Janeway couldn't deny that.

"Still--"

"She, Harry, and Seven made up the core of the original design team for the Flyer."

"Tom designed it."

"B'Elanna and Tom, then, and Tom credited her with a lot of the engineering aspects of the original plans, long before we decided to build it. No one knows it better."

{Certainly not Tom.} The unspoken thought was written on both their faces, and Chakotay's little smile faded. Almost as if to cover for the sudden silence, Chakotay took a sip from the glass in his hand.

"All right." She gave Chakotay a long look. "Have a talk with B'Elanna tomorrow, see if she thinks she's up to it."

"She will be." Chakotay drained his glass and stood up, handing her the PADD, which she took with an undisguised look of disgust. "And get some sleep."

"Is that an order, Commander?" She had to fight to keep her lips from twitching.

Chakotay grinned openly.

"Think of it as a friendly warning. Or I could call up the EMH--" he trailed off, grinning again, and she was glad to see it. She waved the PADD at him irritably, but with a smile of her own.

"Fine."

"When?" And he looked prepared to wait all night. She sighed, putting the PADD down and standing up.

"You going to wait around and watch?" The challenge was unmistakable.

"Actually, I was thinking of walking you back to your quarters."

"I was going to--"

"Sleep here, wake up and work instead." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Come on."

And Janeway laughed. It felt good.

* * * * *

Seven touched the her PADD off and heard her door chime. Resolutely, she placed the PADD on the cushion beside her, noticing her fingers trembled before she clenched her hand into a tight fist in her lap.

"Come."

Harry stepped in tentatively.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, glancing quickly at her before focusing on a spot just above her head.

"No, Ensign. Please come in." She rose, belatedly remembering the 'manners' she'd studied in the database. She had rarely entertained visitors when Tom wasn't with her, giving her cues on behavior. "Would you care for something to drink?"

"No, Seven." He shuffled awkwardly to the chair near the couch. "I just came to see--see how you're doing."

She fought back the sudden tightening in her throat and sat back down.

"I am well, Ensign." She could control her voice, her expression--even the reactions of her body. She could not control the drain of blood from her face and knew he saw it. He shifted to the edge of his seat, hands clasped loosely between his legs.

"Seven, you don't have to pretend this doesn't affect you." The look of undiluted concern on his face made her teeth lock briefly behind her lips. "I can--understand. It can't be easy."

"It is not." She didn't want to admit it. Slowly, she forced herself to relax into the couch. "But the Doctor has assured me that Tom is otherwise undamaged and should be fully recovered within a few days."

Harry glanced sharply at her face.

"That's not what I meant, Seven."

"I do not wish to discuss it, Ensign." And she could hear the coolness in her voice, and didn't bother to conceal it.

"You need to talk about it, Seven, what you want to do now."

She stared at him, not answering. Harry sighed.

"Seven--he's my best friend. I'm worried about him too. About what happened to him. What is happening to him, for that matter. This can't be--I mean--is it--" he broke off, and she noticed his eyes grow distant suddenly.

"Is his memory loss permanent?" She finished the question for him. "The Doctor believes so." She watched the golden face grow pale. "You are worried about him. I understand your need to discuss the situation." And she set herself to do just that, despite the sickness that permeated her every time she thought about it. "He is currently in our--his former quarters." The correction disconcerted her, and she took a moment to even her breath before continuing. "I had his logs loaded into the workstation there, anticipating his desire to perhaps review his actions over the course of the last two years."

"I see. Good thinking." But his voice was mechanical, and Seven wondered what else was on his mind.

"Ensign Kim, is there something else you wish to discuss?"

To her surprise, hot color stained his face, replacing the paleness. Instantly, he stood up, fiddling with his uniform with what appeared to be nervousness.

"No! No, Seven, I just wanted--wanted to see how you were holding up, that's all." He turned to the door, then swung back around. "If you need anything, Seven--anything at all--call me, okay?"

She frowned a little and nodded, rising from her seat.

"Of course, Ensign Kim." The door opened as he came within range and he smiled at her, but to her eye it seemed strained. "Good night, Ensign."

"Good night, Seven." The door shut behind him. Seven considered his conversation as she walked back to the couch. Her gaze fell on the PADD lying beside her.

Without really thinking about it, she picked it up and activated it, scrolling until an entry caught her eye.

* * * * *

Seven of Nine, one PADD in hand, stumbled, quite literally, into Lieutenant Tom Paris as she turned the corner of the corridor. She couldn't place the blame on anyone but herself--her interest in the latest readings from Astrometrics had held her full attention since she'd downloaded them only a few minutes before.

"Lieutenant?"

Her first glance at the taller man's face was something of a surprise, and she searched for a moment for the correct word to describe it.

"Are you ill, Lieutenant Paris?"

The lieutenant did look ill--and something else, but Seven couldn't quite define it. Automatically, she extended one hand, touching his elbow, realizing he hadn't even noticed her.

"Lieutenant Paris? Are you ill?"

At the touch of her hand, he jerked back, blinking, and met her eyes. As if he hadn't even seen her until now.

"Seven?" His voice sounded strange too, and Seven took a moment to consider it. He did not seem to be aware of his surroundings.

"Lieutenant, do you require medical assistance?" She tapped her commbadge. "Seven of Nine to Sickbay."

"No." He caught her fingers, pulling them quickly down, and she blinked at the speed with which he forestalled her actions, the hard grip of his fingers.

:::Sickbay here. What can I do for you, Seven?::: The Doctor's cheerful voice was audible to them both.

Seven gave the lieutenant an uncertain look, then glanced down at her hand, still held in his. He met her eyes.

"No, Seven. I'm fine, I *don't* need medical assistance." He freed her hand, stepping back, but never looking away. He was one of the few who did hold her gaze easily--most looked away.

"I was--mistaken, Doctor. Seven out." She touched the channel closed. "Perhaps you should reconsider, Lieutenant. You do not look well."

A slight smile turned his mouth, but even to the former Borg, it did not look amused.

"No, Seven, I'm fine, thanks." And he turned away, walking down the corridor in the opposite direction that he had originally been heading, if his trajectory at the point of contact had been correct.

Seven did not believe in intuition, but she did believe in drawing conclusions based on fact.

Fact: Lieutenant Paris had not noticed her stumble into him.

Fact: Lieutenant Paris had not heard her when she first addressed him.

Fact: Lieutenant Paris' behavior was not consistent with the other interactions she had experienced with him.

Conclusion: Lieutenant Paris was not well.

"Lieutenant."

She saw him pause, then turn around, looking at her.

"Is there something I can assist you with?" she asked, taking two steps toward him before pausing again.

She could see, even at this distance, the sudden tensing of his jaw. A sign of frustration, she had learned, in many humanoids on board Voyager.

"Seven, there is nothing physically the matter with me, if that's what you are worried about. It's a--personal matter." He shook his head a little, one foot shifting, almost as if to escape.

"Very well." But something kept her in the corridor, watching him, and after a moment, he turned back around. "But perhaps you should consider some--recreation."

Both eyebrows shot up, and she knew she had his full attention.

"Recreation?"

"I have noticed that when crewmembers are under stress, they enjoy recreation in the holodeck." She thought carefully. "You enjoy Captain Proton. Are you going there now?"

That didn't get her the reaction she expected.

"'Adolescent fantasy role-playing of a hero to make up for my own cowardice'," he said softly, and Seven frowned, not understanding. "Somehow, it just doesn't seem tempting." He paused, then looked at the PADD in her hand, and she noticed a slight frown. "Shouldn't you be regenerating? Were you in Astrometrics this late?"

"This is the latest scans of nearby systems," she said. "I was--interested--in some of the sectors we are approaching."

Tom nodded, and Seven identified his unusual curiosity in her evening activities as a way to change the subject. People often did that to her.

"I'm sorry I have bothered you, Lieutenant," she said, a little stiffly, and turned to leave.

"You didn't, Seven. It has nothing to do with you." His voice had softened a little, and the pallor she had noted was improving. "I'm just having--well, let's say a really bad day?" He gave her a smile, not really convincing even to her, but she was willing to overlook it. "And you're right, I am going to the holodeck--to live a little fantasy, as it were. Care to join me?"

The one and only time Seven had ever been extended an invitation by Tom to join him in recreational activity had been interesting and she couldn't say that it had been a complete waste of time. She had learned a great deal about the human concept of recreation. She considered the offer carefully before responding. The Astrometrics scans were interesting, but the opportunity to learn more about social interactions was equally tempting.

"Yes." And again, the surprise. Then a little smile, that looked more convincing than his first attempt. She turned off the PADD and followed him to the Holodeck. "What program do you wish to run?"

Tom paused about ten steps from the holodeck, glancing down at her again.

"Good question. Any preferences?"

"I have no preferences."

A grin, and he touched her elbow.

"Okay, give me a second--resort, no, Sandrine's, no, Proton, no--hmmm...recreation or play?"

Seven considered the given options carefully.

"I have not had the opportunity to 'play' as you refer to it. You mean physical exercise, do you not?"

"Yes."

His voice was tense, and Seven noticed the twitching of his fingers in her peripheral vision.

"I have not yet experienced something that Harry referred to as sailing. Taking a small wind-powered craft onto a large body of water."

She watched him jerk a little.

"Sailing on Lake Comono," he answered, and though they were only separated by inches, he seemed suddenly distant. "I have that program." The blue eyes came back to her with startling intensity. "You want to learn to sail?"

The question was sharp, but Seven was suddenly more than curious simply about the recreational human past-time. She wondered what had upset Lieutenant Paris.

"Yes, I would, Lieutenant."

"Tom."

She frowned a little.

"You wish me to change your designation?"

"When I'm off-duty, I'm Tom. Just Tom." He turned back to the controls and tapped in the command for the program. "You might get wet, you know."

"Irrelevant."

He cracked a grin.

"How did I know you'd say that?" He walked to the doors, giving her a look she interpreted as his desire for her to join him. "Ready?"

Slowly, she walked to stand beside him.

"Yes."

* * * * *

Seven shut down the PADD and stood up.

"Computer, set alarm for 0600 hours," she instructed, and walked into her bedroom. There, she removed her Starfleet uniform, placing it in the 'fresher, and continued on to the bathroom. After a brief sonic shower, she returned to her room and dressed for bed. It was a human custom that made little sense to her, but she had adapted to it, since she had discovered early on that Tom had unusual reactions to those times when she chose to sleep without clothing.

The night before had been the first time she'd spent the night alone since their engagement, and it felt oddly unfamiliar to lay down in the large bed without him. Slowly, she pulled the covers up to her shoulder, but sleep would not come, and she rolled onto her back, absently checking to make sure her hair remained braided for the night.

"Computer, lower lights to approximate earth night, please."

Then darkness enveloped her, and Seven curled onto her one side, facing the area of the bed Tom would have occupied. Resolutely, she gripped her pillow between her fingers and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

It was a long time before she slept.

* * * * *

Tom got another gin from the replicator and braced himself for the next set of log entries.

The ones that chronicled his relationship with Seven.

He stared at the glass for a moment before draining it and getting another, wondering how much his ration account would allow. Hopefully a lot. He was going to need it.

And repetition still wasn't working. Everything seemed relatively normal up until that.

Except, of course, for those lost three days of entries. From the way the last one ended, about the mission with the Delta Flyer, to three days later, where he noted he had to meet Seven in the holodeck for another sailing lesson--{on Lake Comono of all places, what the hell happened to me, anyway?}--there was nothing. Except that last entry had seemed to mark a closing of his life.

Her depression and the holodeck addiction were meticulously chronicled. The programs he'd written for her to "defuse" on, as he had so succinctly put it, and that said something, considering the sometimes verbose entries he would make, that he put it so simply. Chakotay confronting her about it.

Then...nothing. Her name didn't appear again for several months. He picked up the new glass and went back to his computer, skimming the entries until he found the one he was looking for, about her.

About the insect that had tried to kill her. About the way he had went to Janeway and asked for her life, despite her protests.

And the meeting with Seven directly afterward.

* * * * *

Tom wasn't surprised when he saw Seven waiting for him at the door of his quarters.

"I wish to speak to you, Tom." Her inflection was so precise his name became his title, and he stepped back mutely, allowing her entrance. She walked to the center of the room, turning to face him, hands behind her back, her face expressionless. At her Borg finest.

"What's wrong, Seven?" He moved to face her, leaning against the arm of the couch and crossing his arms over his chest, watching her carefully. She met his eyes coolly.

"Are you considering a reconciliation with Lieutenant Torres?"

A question he'd been asking himself since he'd returned from Sickbay. He'd been pretty sure she'd ask. He took a breath, trying to find a way to say what he was thinking. Seven never accepted anything but absolute honesty.

"Seven--sit down, please. I guess it's time we talked."

"I am more comfortable standing."

"Humor me." He reached forward, taking her elbow, and she reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the couch. After she was seated, he took the opposite side of the couch, hands clasped together, elbows rested on bended knee.

He'd never felt so guarded--everything he said now would be important, and he began to frame his responses, already knowing what she would ask, even how she would ask him--he knew her that well.

"Tom?"

He glanced up, meeting her eyes.

"I can't say the thought hasn't occurred to me, Seven."

Her jaw tightened and Tom drew in a deep breath, trying again.

"I was with her the entire time that--thing, insect, whatever it was--was attached to her, killing her. And I was scared, Seven. I won't deny that, either. I do--I still have feelings for her."

For a moment, he stared at something far away.

"But--Seven, having feelings for someone when they are in danger is normal. I don't--I mean, I--dammit."

"You need not resort to profanity to get your point across, Tom. I understand." And she began to rise. One hand shot out and caught her arm, stopping her half-way up.

"No, Seven. What I'm trying to tell you--and I'm doing it badly, I know--is that having those feelings doesn't mean that I want to--well, reconcile, so to speak."

"But you have feelings for her."

"I have feelings for you too."

Blue eyes darted to his, and he watched surprise spread across her face. One talent--he certainly could keep the women in his life uncertain. Disliking himself for that, he shifted closer, feeling her sink back into the couch completely.

"Seven, I'll probably always have feelings for B'Elanna--I was in love with her, and we were together for a long time. But--but that's as far as it goes." Looking at Seven, at the curious vulnerability her face reflected, even in its lack of expression, he knew he had to say this right the first time--as he knew, second chances were too rare. He smiled, shifting his grip from her elbow to her hand, caressing the long fingers gently. "No, I don't want to initiate a reconciliation between myself and B'Elanna, Seven. Too much went wrong--and it's been too long." He shifted a little closer, lifting her hand gently. "And it just so happens I come to be very much attached to you."

And Tom watched in fascination the myriad emotions that played across her face, then the sudden flush of hot color on her cheeks. He leaned forward, one hand brushing across her jaw, and kissed the warm, slightly parted lips. He laced their clasped fingers together, and she shifted closer herself, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh as she leaned forward, balancing herself.

He'd kissed her before, but she'd never responded quite like this. The hand on his thigh tightened as she brushed her tongue against his teeth, and he tightened his grip on her jaw, drawing her even closer, trying to move closer himself. And she tasted--he didn't have words to describe it even if he'd been clear-headed enough to try. A little sweet, a little tart, so warm and soft

After a moment, he pulled back, looking into slightly drugged blue eyes. The pink tongue crept out, licking her lips slowly, unconsciously, and he followed the movement with his eyes, feeling his breath quicken.

"Will you stay for dinner?" His voice sounded a little breathless.

She nodded slowly, uncharacteristically subdued, and he stood up, noticing his own slight shakiness. Slowly, he walked to the replicator, ordering something in a low voice, he had no idea what, then turned around to look at her.

She had leaned back, almost reclining, hands clasped on her knees. The blonde hair had come loose, and several soft golden strands curled around her neck and ear, one delicious curl brushing over her eye. She was watching him with an expression he recognized, though he'd never seen it on her face before, though he'd certainly seen it on his own, on countless others.

But something else--surprise, maybe wonder--definitely pleasure, with a light flush staining transparent alabaster skin. Without meaning to, he walked back over, hearing as if from a distance the replicator humming, but sat back down beside her, bracing himself on one arm against the back of the couch, and leaned over to kiss the full lips. One arm went around his neck, pulling him against her, opening her mouth fully beneath his.

A kiss he felt all the way to the bottom of his feet. She took over, as she always seemed to--long fingers running up and down his back, her other hand tightening on his shoulder, and he locked an arm around her waist, pulling them both up, then slipped her into his lap, leaning against the back of the couch. She accepted the change in position easily, parting her long legs to straddle him, sliding as close as clothes would allow them, then pulled her mouth back, taking a long breath as she looked into his eyes.

"What?" His voice sounded breathy, a little strained. Certainly not unusual, considering.

"I feel--" She glanced down at the position she was in, then back, and Tom laughed softly.

"Yes, well--male response to stimuli. Especially stimuli like that." He caressed her cheek, watching with fascination as she leaned into the caress.

"I would--" she stopped, frowning a little, and he let his hand travel the line of her neck to her collar. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I would like to continue this activity."

"No problem."

She frowned, and he watched again as she searched for the words.

"I would like to engage in coitus," she finally said, looking down at Tom with that cool, determined look he knew very well. He'd seen it in a lot of situations.

Just not this one.

"Sex?" He knew his voice must have jumped at least an octave, but Seven, usually perceptive, did not seem to notice.

"Yes." She leaned back a little in the circle of his arm, watching him. Tom tried to remember the last time someone had surprised him like this.

"Seven--" he took her face in one hand, looking up into clear eyes. "I don't know if you're ready for that."

"I have discussed this with Captain Janeway."

Tom lost color, and Seven worried she had upset him until he began to laugh. Arms tightening, he buried his head in her shoulder and laughed until he couldn't draw in enough breath. After a few moments, Seven freed herself from the tight grip and looked down on him with concern.

"Tom?"

Tom shook his head, trying to get his air back. If only he could have heard that conversation...

"You discussed it with the Captain." He grinned up at her. "No wonder she's been giving me such strange looks on the Bridge today." He shook his head. "To be a fly on the wall...what did she say?"

"Not to rush into a physical relationship, and to be sure I feel ready to make the transition."

"Are you?" He studied her face.

"I have considered all possible ramifications of this course of action..."

"That's good."

"And I cannot--I do not see any impediment to changing the nature of our relationship."

"You mean, have a relationship," he answered, and shifted straight, gently drawing down her face. "Seven, it changes a lot of things. If we have sex--or when, or whatever--it shouldn't simply be because we are attracted to each other. It should be because we have feelings for each other, and that we have a certain amount of commitment--" {I've changed. Three years ago I never, ever would have thought anything like that.}

"I understand this. I do not mean to suggest that we simply--" She stopped again, and Tom realized just how far she was out of her comfort zone by the way she spoke. "I would like to have a relationship with you, Tom. A--monogamous relationship."

He nodded slowly.

"Do you have feelings for me, Seven? More than friendship or attraction--I mean, do you feel like-"

"Yes. I have what is termed 'romantic feelings' for you." The long fingers clenched briefly on Shi shoulders as she thought. "I enjoy your company, and I have found that I--miss it after an extended absence. I--look forward to our time together. You have begun to occupy a considerable amount of my thoughts during the day. Does that qualify?"

"I'm glad I'm not the only one, then." She tilted her head, and he quickly reworded it. "Yeah. I think that qualifies."

He kissed her again, gently, then pulled back to smile.

"Do you want to eat dinner?"

"No." She shifted her position, deliberately, and Tom caught his breath.

"Here?" he asked softly.

"Yes." The soft voice was almost a purr. In a single liquid movement she stood up, and Tom, after a moment, followed her, taking her hand in his. The long fingers trembled a little, but when she turned to him once the door was closed behind him, he saw the smile--small, a little tentative, but most definitely there--turning her mouth.

"You don't have to do this--" She stopped him by stepping closer, blue eyes darkening almost to black, almost on level with his. "Okay, never mind that part."

"I've studied the recorded data on sexual intercourse, Tom. I understand what will happen." She met his eyes without flinching. "Are you worried because I have not had the opportunity to engage in this before?"

Softly, he caressed her cheek, then let one finger trail up to touch her eyebrow implant.

"No. Not that. Well, not really." Though Tom, in retrospect, was aware he had never, to his knowledge, made love to a virgin--and Seven of Nine was as virginal as they came. "But--mmm--well, you'll see." He slid one arm around her waist, kissing the parted lips, letting his hand slide down her face to her neck, to the collar of her jumpsuit, then to the back of her neck, finding the zipper without difficulty and sliding it down her back to her waist. Soft skin was beneath his fingertips, and the slightest ridges of wiring beneath her skin. He felt her quiver at the touch.

She pulled back, looking at him again, eyes wide, the smile on her face shaking a little, but definitely there, and her hand touched his cheek--almost hesitantly, almost with wonder.

And Tom Paris, without a second thought, fell in love with Seven of Nine.

* * * * *

This definitely rated as the worst day of her life. And, ironically enough, it had to fall around that damned Day of Honor crap--

B'Elanna left Carey in engineering to oversee the final scans of the remains of the Delta Flyer, now nothing more than a lump of twisted metal. Her tricorder had been retrieved from the Shuttlebay, somehow escaping decompression, though B'Elanna certainly didn't know how that was possible, and she'd ordered it taken to engineering for examination.

B'Elanna knew the Captain would want to see it. It might have the last diagnostics on the Flyer still on it.

Her quarters, when she finally returned to them, were a mess. B'Elanna dropped her uniform top on the floor by the couch, hearing rather than seeing her commbadge come loose to roll onto the floor. She stared around the quiet quarters she'd left this morning, not knowing what the hell her day would become.

And somewhere, Tom was reading about his life (she knew him well enough to guess that his first item of business would be his logs)--and she wondered what he would find there. About Seven, about his life--about her.

She'd asked that question a lot in her life. So far, no one had really been able to answer it to her satisfaction. She slowly sank down on her couch, drawing her legs to her chest, a favorite childhood position, and lowered her head onto her knees.

Janeway had called her in for a short chat. Her momma-Janeway chat. Just to see how she was. Apologizing for what had happened in Sickbay. Asking if B'Elanna needed anything.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Paris?"

What the hell was she doing?

:::Lieutenant Paris is on Deck 6, Section 3."

{His old quarters.} She winced, closing her eyes. She could imagine what he was doing. Wondering what the hell had happened, maybe pulling up old log entries.

Maybe getting quietly drunk.

It was one of those things that B'Elanna had noticed over the course of watching the relationship between Seven and Tom grow. Tom's likeliness to give in on an issue. B'Elanna had never seen or heard them fight or argue, never even a whisper of it. Whatever issues they dealt with, they were private ones, and B'Elanna, with a kind of space-accident, sick curiosity, wondered sometimes how they got anything resolved.

She shook her head, unwinding herself from the little ball she'd made of her body, wondering if it would be nice to order some tea.

Or whiskey.

Her door chimed. She ignored it.

And there was no way she could stop the leap of her heart. The sudden breathlessness, the butterflies that congregated in her stomach, just waiting to leap into her throat and send her running for the bathroom so she could throw up what little she had been able to eat that day.

"Come." Her voice sounded unsteady. She got to her feet, one hand on the arm of the couch.

The door opened and Harry walked in.

Anticlimactic, to say the least. The butterflies settled, her heart-rate went back to normal, and she found herself clenching her joined hands together in--disappointment?

He stood uncertainly at the door, watching her with an unreadable expression. Then stepped inside and she bit down on her lip as the sallow face came into view. He looked terrible.

"Harry?" She took a step toward him, but he shook his head, moving quickly, almost defensively, to find a seat.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound fine--he sounded sick. The brown hands twisted together in his lap, knuckles white.

"Do you want something to drink?" The words popped out and he shuddered, shook his head, leaning back in the chair. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Nothing." He wasn't looking at her, and he would sound more convincing if he didn't look like death warmed over. She put Tom Paris out of her mind, reaching out to touch Harry's rumpled shoulder, trying to meet his eyes.

"Harry, is there something wrong?" She saw Harry's surprise at her sharp tone and forced herself to relax again. She tried to make a connection. "Tom's fine. But--"

"He lost his memory," Harry finished softly. His eyes had grown distant. "The Captain wants to call a senior staff meeting to discuss it. She's given him a month's medical leave."

That--that was not good. If he wasn't working, she'd see him more--he'd have time to think--to--

But the way he'd looked at her--and she couldn't deny she'd wanted it. Every second his eyes rested on her. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, controlling with some effort the threat of unsteady hands by clasping them in her lap. She took a deep breath, clearing her throat a little before responding.

Harry beat her to it.

"I talked to Seven," Harry continued. B'Elanna had to make an effort to stop the sudden tightness in her stomach.

Not easy. Not when she could still remember those eyes looking at her.

"Oh?" She tried to keep her voice disinterested. Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes closing for a moment.

"Yeah. She's--very controlled." Harry shook his head slowly. "I think she's upset."

B'Elanna tried and failed to imagine Seven Paris upset.

"More Borg than usual. Short answers." He shook his head, lowering it until she could see the top of his head. "I don't know what to say to her."

"No one does, Harry. You're doing the best you can." She felt her nails cut into her palm to stop her sudden, and rather violent, desire to confess, tell him what she had done--what Q had done, what he said she had done. The words choked in her throat.

"Maybe." He still wasn't looking at her. She focused on his sallow face, the dark circles that were beginning beneath his eyes--

The trembling of those hands.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry looked up, but his eyes were not on her as he answered.

"I guess I'm just--I don't know how I feel. I haven't talked to him yet--you know, since the accident. The Captain says he needs to be alone."

B'Elanna nodded, controlling her shudder with a little effort. Harry and Tom were close--so close, despite B'Elanna, though sometimes, she thought, maybe even because of her. She tried not to let herself grin at that thought.

And now...

"Seven sent his logs to him to look at," Harry continued. "Maybe--maybe that will help him."

"Really?" And B'Elanna stood up to walk to the replicator and ordered some juice. She knew he was reading them, but she sure as hell didn't want to hear about it. "You want anything, Harry?" She had to ask--it was as ingrained as saying thank-you--if your companion didn't have something to drink, you kept offering until he took one, most probably in self-defense.

Harry shook his head.

"Harry, something is bothering you. You want to tell me what it is?" {And get off this subject, please?}

He glanced up, then back down at the floor. She couldn't remember seeing him so utterly lifeless.

"The Captain has assigned Seven and I to track down the flaw in the diagnostic program," he said finally, and leaned back in the chair, shifting his seat. The long-fingered hands took the arms of the chair in a tight grip. "And to download what we can of the log files from the Delta Flyer. The Captain wants to rebuild it, but wants to find out what went wrong first, so we can avoid repeating the same mistake."

"I--I didn't think there was enough left of the central core to make that practical," B'Elanna answered, aware of a sudden change of density in the air--it had to be that, it couldn't be a sudden tightening in her chest, stars dancing before her eyes.

"Seven thinks she can retrieve at least some of the last recordings made on the Flyer before its destruction. Apparently, when Tom designed it, he put in a lot of extra safeties to forestall just such an event. She wants to pull up those final on-board diagnostics and get your tricorder data to find out what happened." His eyes met hers. "You helped develop those safeties, B'Elanna."

She did remember--not the safeties, but the PADDs sprinkled on the bed, Tom trying yet again to pin down a vision, asking for her input...core design...{--"B'Elanna, what do you think would protect the main core"-}--slipping her fingers beneath his shirt, watching his sharp intake of breath--{--"For God's sake, Tom, you want to talk about it *now*?"--}--brushing her lips over his, feeling his smile--{--"I want it to be perfect. Come on, Chief, let's build something completely new"--}

"Oh." Her brain was suddenly active, moving at a furious rate. "I'll volunteer to help."

Harry's eyes darted to meet hers, startled.

"B'Elanna, you don't have--"

"Tom was injured, Harry. We need to find out what went wrong, not only with the diagnostic, but with that power relay." And she came back over, juice forgotten in her hand, to crouch beside him. "You need my expertise."

He blinked, and she saw the muscles in his jaw bunch for a moment, before the eyes left hers, crawling back down to the carpet at her feet.

"You're right." The lack of enthusiasm was obvious. "We'll talk to the Captain tomorrow. Maybe Tuvok could assist in--"

"No!" Back up went startled brown eyes, and B'Elanna took a short breath before continuing. "We should be able to do it, Harry. We can't afford to have so many senior officers on one project with Tom off-duty." She absently placed her forgotten juice on the carpet beside Harry's chair. "And his specialty isn't engineering, anyway. He wouldn't be much help until we find the logs and start examining the data." She stood up, moving back to the couch, and Harry took the hint and rose as well.

"We'll talk to the Captain tomorrow morning," Harry repeated, a little inanely, but B'Elanna's attention was too focused to pay much attention to it. "Do you want to meet for breakfast?"

"Um--no, I have to--have to go to engineering," she answered distractedly. "I'll see you at the staff meeting."

"Okay." He looked relieved more than anything, and B'Elanna took a moment to wonder why. "Goodnight."

"Night, Harry."

* * * * *

Tom shut off the log and stared at the empty glass.

Tom dropped the glass on the desk and stood up, flicking the console off.

"So that's what happened." {I'm talking to myself out loud. This can't be a good sign.} He shook his head, walking to the bedroom, and sat on the bed.

He couldn't face any more log entries.

* * * * *

The minute the door closed behind him, B'Elanna was on her feet, accessing the records on the salvaging of the Delta Flyer. She'd helped bring it in, but the explosion, though certainly a great deal less destructive than it could have been, had made the sleek ship little more than a tangle of corroded metal.

{Log entries. Tricorder data.} She pulled up the salvage report and read it over, finding with little difficulty the heading of computer core. She skimmed the salvage operation reports, finding the specific area she wanted--{computer core, where is it--}

And there it was, noted by Sue Nicoletti

{It's in one piece.} She stared at the screen, mouth going dry.

She cast back into her memory, trying to remember--but so much had happened just after, and she couldn't be sure--

Her tricorder, sitting quite innocuously in engineering, awaiting examination.

And hearing her think it...that she needed to check--

She buried her head in her hands, closing her eyes.

* * * * *

There was something oddly fascinating--if you were big into self-torture--about reading about the life you lost. The wonderful, perfect, utterly unfamiliar life that didn't seem like you at all.

He had the log entries and the wedding ring to prove it. He went into the bathroom, picking it up to look at it.

{I designed this.} He could recognize his own work. His fingers closed over it, hiding it from sight.

He carried it with him to the bedroom, sat back on his bed, not bothering to call for lights. Cradling it in his palm.

Somewhere, Seven was wearing its mate, and he was sitting here, wondering how the hell he could reconcile everything he had become with who he was now.

Who he had been--{nothing like amnesia to screw up your tenses}--to who he was.

Because he wasn't in love with Seven, he had no idea how to be, how to even start.

Tom shut his eyes, clutching the meal tightly--maybe it would become familiar, maybe he would look down and see it and really *recognize* it.

Maybe he'd wake up.

* * * * *

B'Elanna stood up, closing her workstation down, and walked to the couch. Her foot hit the glass of juice and she watched the spread of deep red over the carpeted floor.

{Q wasn't right.} But she stared at the juice as it spread--staining beige carpet. She found a towel and began to wipe the juice away, resolving that after her shift tomorrow she would get this cleaned, and left the towel to cover the stain. The red of the juice soaked darkly through the cloth, and she turned away to go to her bedroom.

She stripped off her uniform and tossed it to the floor, then crawled into bed. Her eyes closed resolutely, but visions danced through her head--visions of exploding ships, the limp body of her former lover--

--the look on Tom's face when she had finally spilled everything she'd concealed from him in his damned Flyer, the wide eyes.

Her breath caught sharply in her throat and she bit down into her lower lip, trying to control the tears that threatened her control.

Harry stood outside Tom's door, hand outstretched to touch the chime.

And didn't.

So he stood there, peripherally aware of passing crewmembers, with their curious looks, aware of the sweat forming under his collar and under his arms, the tension headache behind his eyes.

What he would say, he wasn't sure.

"Ensign Kim?"

Harry spun around, seeing Sue only feet away. She was in off-duty clothes and her dark hair was a mess--he'd guess she got off shift only a few minutes before and had only stopped to change clothes.

"Sue." He turned around, his back to the door, giving her a smile that probably wasn't terribly convincing, if the look on her face was any indication. But Harry Kim was about two steps beyond exhaustion and couldn't even pretend he didn't show it.

"Are you okay?" Concern. He winced.

"Fine."

He glanced at Tom's door briefly, then looked at Sue's clothes.

"Where are you going?" He hoped he sounded interested.

She flushed a little, and Harry pulled himself enough from his own uncomfortable thoughts to notice.

"To the holodeck--Ayala asked me to help him work on a new program." Her smile was uncertain--Harry nodded cordially. "Did you see Tom? How is he?"

Harry stiffened.

"I--yeah, I was going to, but--he's--I don't want to bother him."

It was a poor excuse, but the best he could do. Sue nodded with what she doubtless thought was understanding.

"He'd probably like to see you, Harry." The sympathy made him nauseous. Harry tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. Frustrated.

"How would you know him so well, Sue?" he asked coolly. Her eyes widened and he stepped toward her, arms casually crossed over his chest. Reminding her, by implication alone, that she couldn't seriously class herself among Tom's close friends. "He just needs time alone. He's has an extremely difficult adjustment to make, and I don't want--"

"I get it, Ensign," she said sharply. "I'll see you later."

She stepped around him, head high, and Harry let himself lean against the wall when she was out of sight.

Then looked at the door, and knew--just *knew*, he couldn't face Tom right now.

With tired steps, he traced his way back to his quarters.

* * * * *

Seven. His wife. Married.

Make it believable?

Tom gave himself a moment to just imagine *that* meeting. His sense of

humor didn't even try to help him out there.

Tom gave himself a moment to just imagine *that* meeting.

He looked around his quarters, blinking, trying to push by that one fact to all the others of his new life. So many damned changes, too damned many for him to even comprehend--but that one refused to leave--maybe because he held the proof in one hand, still cold, though warming from the heat of his body.

He lay back, feeling the weight of the metal in his hand, shutting his eyes, bare feet sliding against the floor as he pushed himself completely into his bed. Turning over onto his side, he stared at the wall, wondering how the hell he was supposed to make a life out of this.

Out of log entries and a piece of metal he had given to a woman he didn't know.

* * * * *

"What the hell am I going to do with you?"

And there he was, seated in her bedroom, watching her from a chair beside her bed. Jade eyes beneath black brows, black hair cut short, in Starfleet gold.

"Get out." Her voice was a growl but without heat, and she closed her eyes. She didn't have the energy for this. "Get away, Q. You've done enough damage. Hell, I've done enough damage."

"Will you stop that?" he stood up, hands clasped behind his back. "If I leave you to yourself, everything will be for nothing, won't it?" He shook his dark head, then let out a sigh. "My own fault for getting involved." And threw himself back in the chair, looking at her as if she were a recalcitrant child. "By the way, have you considered replicating some more comfortable chairs? These are strong but--" he wrinkled his nose, "--a little stiff."

B'Elanna gathered the sheet in one hand.

"Get the hell away from me." Her breathless voice made Q grin.

"Lovely as ever. So, how are we going to cover those diagnostic logs, hmmm?" He leaned forward, elbows on knees, ready to conspire some other disaster--Kahless, she knew she wanted him dead, but never more than right now.

Staring down at her blanket, avoiding those mocking eyes, she just couldn't summon the energy--because, damn it, he had done what she asked, hadn't he?

"We're not. There's nothing there. If I failed on catching the diagnostic flaw, I'll take responsibility for it."

Q raised his hand and the tricorder appeared, resting neatly on the flat of his palm. B'Elanna lunged forward, staring at it.

"How--how'd you get that?" His grin was all the answer he gave.

"Evidence." He flicked a couple of switches and threw it on the bed. "Oh, B'Elanna, I *know* that you didn't do it on purpose." One graceful hand flew melodramatically to his heart. "But you know--don't you think it will be suspicious? You know, the fact that you didn't notice that the diagnostic secondary scans did pick up something? And then that fight--"

B'Elanna straightened, eyes trained on Q.

"What fight?"

"The little spat in the Delta Flyer." Q tilted his head, regarding her through rounded eyes now, lips turning up even as he appeared to be trying to fight a grin. "When you--let it *all* out?"

Her mouth went dry. B'Elanna crawled to her knees, turning the tricorder around to look at the screen..

"What? It wasn't--" she let out a breath. Remembering... "Oh my God. When I dropped my tricorder, it turned on--it recorded everything, didn't it?"

"Every last bitter word." Q clasped his hands behind his head and gave her a sunny smile.

B'Elanna stared at her tricorder.

"Erase it."

Her head came up sharply.

"*What*?"

"Erase it. Unless you like the idea of spending some quality time in the Brig. I've heard its not exactly the most inspiring place to be." Absently, he scratched at his neck, watching her, and B'Elanna looked back down at the tricorder.

"No. I won't destroy evidence."

Q took a deep breath, and her eyes went back up to watch, with fascination, his chest expand as he let out the sigh.

"B'Elanna." As if to an idiot child. "It's not evidence, not really. Remember, you really didn't do anything wrong, did you?"

"No!" She couldn't take her eyes from the tricorder.

"Me thinks the lady protests too much." He waved away the comment on the tip of her tongue as her eyes came up, and she blinked when her mouth closed with a light clicking of teeth. "Anyway, it's not evidence if it has nothing to do with what happened."

"And it doesn't," she answered firmly. "Q, if I made a mistake on the diagnostics, I'll take the blame for that. But that--what I said--had nothing to do with it."

"Then why are we arguing about it? Just erase it. It's private, right? Well then, you are in your rights to remove it. And when they see you missed that little irregularity in the secondary diagnostics, why, they'll know it was the merest accident, right?"

B'Elanna blinked.

"Q--I can't selectively erase--that will show up. The diagnostics--"

"--are in the core of the Flyer, which is apparently retrievable." Q shrugged. "Voyager won't lose anything by it--except a little soap opera which would keep them well-entertained for the next--say, ten years? Something like 'half-Klingon ex goes after lover, pandemonium ensues!'" Q shook his head. "Can you imagine that?"

She could.

"Do you want to go to the Brig, B'Elanna?" He leaned forward, elbows planted firmly on his knees, staring almost as if he was looking into her soul. "Lose your position, your rank, your friends--Tom?"

She winced, eyes closing.

"He's not mine."

"Well then, let me paint it this way--your *friend* Tom. What would he think to see that recording, then notice the secondary scans, hmmm? What would he think of you?" The voice abruptly gentled and she opened her eyes, looking into his. "It's not such a big thing, B'Elanna. That recording had nothing to do with the explosion, but wouldn't it look terrible? Imagine what would be said, and thought. After all, everyone knows how bitter you were with Tommy boy and his little Borgette setting up housekeeping." He leaned a little farther forward and pushed the tricorder until it touched her knees. "No one knows what happened on that ship but you, B'Elanna. And it's private, right? So just erase it."

He almost made it sound reasonable. She took the tricorder in her hand.

"If Tom sees that, what will he think? What will he do? He certainly wouldn't want you anymore, would he? He'd hate you, for what you took from him. Is that what you want, for Tom to suffer more? To know that the woman he loves destroyed his life? Does he really *need* to know that?" His voice was hardening, and B'Elanna's fingers trembled on the controls. Suddenly, she felt his presence behind her. His arms went around her, hands slowly sliding up her arms to her wrists, covering her hands. His breath brushed her hair, tickled her ear.

"Think about it, B'Elanna."

* * * * *

Tom felt the ring slip from his fingers, dropping soundlessly to the floor. Closed his eyes tight, hoping to God, the Universe, or whatever spirits Chakotay visited, that this wasn't real.

* * * * *

"You want him, don't you?" She shivered, wanting to push him away, but her limbs felt so heavy, and her eyes refused to leave the tricorder screen. His finger flicked a switch, and she could see--could hear--everything she said in that damned Shuttlebay to Tom, before the explosion--God, she wished it had taped what was after--

"We've come this far, B'Elanna. It's already done, it can't be changed." His voice was low, raising the hair on the back of her neck, fingers lightly stroking the backs of her hands. "Don't risk it. Don't take the chance it will all fall apart. Everything is right now. The way it should have been if that Borg bitch hadn't interfered in the first place."

That wasn't reason enough.

Her fingers trembled on the erase button.

"Q--" Even to herself, her voice was weak. This wasn't the honorable path. It just wasn't.

But God, if he saw this--

"Your life here, B'Elanna--that diagnostic was an honest mistake." And he oozed honeyed compassion into her ear. "Just a stupid mistake, and you can say that, when they find the error. But this--it ruins everything, doesn't it? Makes it look like you might have--"

"I didn't!" Maybe she was trying to convince herself. She'd told Q she wanted everything changed. And he'd done it.

"That won't be enough, B'Elanna." His breath was hot on her neck. "They'll know something was erased. It needs direct exposure to the beta-radiation that was coming off the ship--or it has to look as if the explosion itself short-circuited it. It has to be fragmented as well, not just erased. A phaser would do it, wouldn't it?"

"Yes." She could set the frequency, she knew how to do it. She hadn't been Chief Engineer for over five years on Voyager for nothing.

In her free hand, a phaser rested. Cool in her grip.

"Set it."

"I need to disable internal sensors in here. A phaser discharge will be detected." Her voice sounded too far away. {I can't do this. I can't. But Tom's lost enough...if he believed I tried to kill him...if he believed...}

She couldn't face making his life any worse.

"How?" Q's voice was sharp.

"I--I order the computer to disable sensors and then program Ops not to notice. Short-circuit the relay between here and Ops. Erase the log entry that my authorization of the disablement will make."

She crawled off the bed, dropping the phaser on the blanket, opening a panel in the wall of her room, exposing circuitry. Deftly, using the tricorder, she made the quick adjustments, then drew in a breath.

{I'm doing this.} Really, really doing this. Destroying evidence.

"Computer, deactivate sensors in this room. Authorization Torres Beta Alpha One."

The computer responded, but she was staring down at the tricorder, watching the relay break down in her mind.

"Its deactivated." She set the tricorder on the floor and took the phaser from Q's outstretched hand. She checked the frequency absently, then turned it on the tricorder.

"It doesn't mean anything," she said softly. If she said it enough, she'd believe it, too. God, she hoped she could believe it. "Nothing. It's private, it has nothing to do with what happened. I won't hurt him anymore." And fired.

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