It was one of those mornings, and B'Elanna knew it an hour after the Captain had officially assigned her and Harry to the core retrieval team, along with two of her engineers. The core retrieval would be tricky, she'd known that, but until she'd pulled up the schematics of the Flyer, studied them over her uneaten breakfast, she'd had no idea just how careful they'd have to be to keep the integrity of the data.

"B'Elanna!"

B'Elanna turned around from her calculations to see Harry coming toward her, carrying--

--carrying her tricorder.

And it actually took several full seconds for her to remember why her heartbeat jumped at the sight of it.

"Harry?" She flicked a few switches on her workstation to save her work and turned around completely to face him. Before she could manage another word, the tricorder was thrust inelegantly under her nose, and she took it from his hand.

"It's-it's fragmented." She raised her eyes from their gaze on her ruined instrument to see Harry in an uncharacteristic fit of frustration--remarkably enough, bordering on what she would call a temper tantrum. "Gone. Everything you recorded. All of it!"

She turned it over in her hand, pleased to see her fingers remained perfectly still. The case was blackened from the Flyer's explosion Random marks and grooves indented its surface.

And one not so random that her fingertips recognized, even if perhaps no one else would.

"How?" Her voice remained steady.

"I don't know, and neither does Seven." Harry tossed both hands in the air, spinning around to pace before her eyes. "We pulled it out this morning to see if there was anything salvageable--and then this. We can't find the reason--I thought the beta-radiation could have done it, but--" He shook his head violently, coming to an abrupt stop in front of her.

"Slow down." She carefully placed the tricorder on her workstation. "Come on, let's go to my office." And she took his shoulder in her hand, surprised when he flinched from her touch, and he awkwardly covered for it by walking ahead of her. Her hand still hovered midair, too surprised to come down.

"He knows, B'Elanna. He guesses."

Q leaned against her workstation. Smiling as he brushed away a piece of nonexistent lint from his Starfleet-issue black sleeve.

"Get the hell away from me," she hissed, spinning on her heel and quickly following Harry, who was already standing in her office. She closed the door behind her, glancing back out before she did so, but Q was nowhere in evidence.

"Harry, calm down. Start from the beginning." And somehow, she sat in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, training her face in perfect attention and interest, with a trace of worry for good measure.

It was frightening, how easy it was.

"Seven and I--" he stopped, then flung himself into the chair across from her. B'Elanna studied the pale face of her friend, the jerky movements, the way his hands clenched and unclenched in rhythm. "We went in early to get the tricorder out and see what we could find recorded in it. Seven said you loaded those secondary scans in there."

"Yes, I did, to look over in engineering, while Seven studied the primary diagnostics for flaws," B'Elanna answered, her voice so perfect--even, calm, a touch impatient, as if she was waiting for Harry to Get To The Point in Janeway style. Harry nodded, more a motion of the head than an agreement with her point.

"We got it out of containment last night, and--the data was destroyed. All of it."

{He knows something.} B'Elanna's palms began to itch, and she discreetly ran them over the side of her desk.

"How?" And she was able to raise her own hand in a gesture of confusion without a single tremor.

Harry's fist came in sharp contact with the desk, making her jump.

"We don't know! We can't find the reason--there are too many possibilities, and until we do we can't even guess at finding a way to retrieve the data."

B'Elanna stared at the fist planted on the metal of her desk with quiet fascination, watching the clenched fingers twitch.

"Was it beta-radiation?"

"We thought so at first--"

"--but Seven found a unfamiliar signature in the damage. She doesn't think that beta-radiation could have done it."

"What about exposure to the leaking anti-matter?" B'Elanna was thinking quickly.

Harry sighed. As suddenly as it had begun, the frustration and anger were drained away, replaced by exhaustion that could be read on his face, seen in the limp hands now resting in his lap in defeat.

"That's what Seven thinks, since it was just outside the Flyer. But I don't know--"

And he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"He's going to guess, B'Elanna. Harry Kim is not stupid." Q's breath brushed her cheek. Cold. She stopped her instinctive shudder.

"Do you want me to take a look at it, Harry?" Her voice had just that right amount of unconcern.

Harry's head came up, but the wide brown eyes were unreadable. But she didn't read any relief there.

"No!" And he shook his head rapidly. "No, we'll handle it. Seven wants you to--" he stopped, starting again. "We can handle it. She said that only you and Tom knew the design well enough to remove the core without further risking the data it could still have stored on it. You're needed there."

B'Elanna nodded slowly. Unable to think through the pounding in her head. Feeling Q inches behind her, even if she couldn't see him, felt him from the cold shudders in her back, the crawling of her neck.

"Make him leave, B'Elanna." Q circled her chair, resting a hand against her desk. She could feel his eyes drilling into her skull.

She drew in a deep, calming breath.

"Do you think Seven could find a way to work through that little phaser blast you gave it, B'Elanna? Would the fragmentation be too great for her Borg nanoprobe technology?" Q's gentle voice seemed to float in the general vicinity of her ear.

"I don't know."

Harry's head came sharply up.

"Huh?"

B'Elanna leaned back. {I'm going insane. Hell, I am insane.}

"Nothing, Harry." {Believe me, Harry, you wouldn't want to know.} "Just thinking out loud. All right, this afternoon we can begin the actual retrieval." She pushed a PADD across her desk for him to take. "This has Vorik's and my calculations on the core retrieval process. Be ready." And again, the perfect amount of impatience, mixed with the temper that they all knew her for.

Harry nodded, apparently not so distracted that he didn't recognize a dismissal when he heard one, leaving B'Elanna alone. She found herself staring off into space, unable to think.

As valid a question as she had ever heard.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Ayala waited as Tuvok looked over the PADD that contained his report.

"Is this report complete, Lieutenant?"

Ayala nodded slowly, not taking offense at the implied questioning of his abilities. Tuvok was a model of absolute thoroughness.

"Yes, sir. Transporter logs, Ops logs--everything."

Tuvok gave it another long look.

"No security codes?"

"They were removed, sir. I don't know how."

Tuvok nodded shortly.

"Have you accessed the personal logs yet, Lieutenant?"

Ayala shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on his superior's face.

"No, sir. I need the Captain's authorization to do that."

That Tuvok would ask such an obvious question stopped Ayala cold. That Tuvok was considering breaking into the personal logs, though...

Tuvok took the second PADD and read over the information.

"There are discrepancies."

"Yes sir."

"Who is overseeing the study of the diagnostic programs, Lieutenant?"

"According to the shift logs, Lieutenants Carey and Nicoletti, sir."

Tuvok shut down the PADD decisively.

"Excellent work, Lieutenant. I'll take this to the Captain immediately. Dismissed."

Ayala sketched a nod and watched Tuvok leave before letting his brain come back on-line.

Then slowly returned to his work.

The investigation. {This can't happen on Voyager.}

* * * * *

"B'E--la--nna." The voice drew out her name, syllable by syrup-laden syllable.

"I can't believe I did that," she whispered. "I--I--destroyed evidence, the only thing we had to find out what went wrong with the diagnostics, what went wrong with the Delta Flyer. I lied to Harry--I--"

"Saved yourself." Q planted himself in front of her, cross-legged on her desk. "It had to be done." A long hand reached out, caressing her cheek, and she jerked back, struggling out of her chair to back to the other end of the room, one hand covering the place he had touched. Trying to rub the feeling away. He grinned. "But still jumpy. Now--we should talk about Tom."

"No." And she meant it. "No, no--I'm telling the Captain everything--I can't--" She heard her voice begin to shake and stopped it. Hardened it. "This isn't right, Q. I'm--" she broke off, taking two steps toward the door. "I'll explain everything--about what you did, what I did--" She was in front of the door. And it opened.

And there was Tom.

"Ask and you shall receive." Q grinned, stretching out on his stomach over the surface of her desk, hands holding up his head. "Okay, so you didn't ask--think of it as a gift."

"B'Elanna?"

She tore her gaze from Q to look into familiar blue eyes.

"T-Tom." She backed away one step, then caught herself retreating and found her ground. "What are you doing here?"

He extended a PADD.

"I got the Captain's permission to see the ship I designed--the Delta Flyer." And he smiled a little, eyes lighting up. Characteristic. Tom loved his toys.

"It's not exactly in a condition to be seen right now," she answered, finding her chair by touch because she knew, just *knew*, that her legs wouldn't hold her any longer. When it touched the back of her knees, she slid down, hands grasping the arms tightly, and schooled her face to look at Tom without any of the conflict warring in her. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged, walking to the other side of the desk, hidden for a moment by Q's body until Q slid up and off, trotting to sit on the edge of the desk and leaning close to study Tom.

"I don't understand what you see in him," was his only comment, then pulled back to simply watch.

"Better," Tom answered, but his expression was unreadable, and she couldn't tell--well, anything.

This one still kept himself hidden, and it was both disconcerting and at the same time achingly familiar.

"That's good." She busied herself with a PADD.

"Except for a few holes--but I guess only time can fix that." Still watching her. Sweat broke out on the palms of her hands and she rubbed them absently against the desk. "The Captain said several of us worked on the Flyer."

"Tuvok, Harry, Seven, you, and I were the design team."

"But you and I worked it out together earlier."

She drew in a breath, remembering the PADDs that had been scattered on his bed--the taste of him on her tongue, against her lips--fighting the depression that was smothering her in the only way she knew how, with the holodeck and sex--and Tom asking for her input on engine design while she--while she--

"Yeah, a little. You did most of the designing--I just added in a few adjustments."

"Is that the night you had to recharge the dermal regenerator twice because you got so--enthusiastic?" Q's voice was like oil over water.

Tom's nails digging into her back...saying something in her ear...hands locked on the headboard, the feel of his mouth...

B'Elanna felt herself flush, her mouth going dry.

"Just a few adjustments."

"Oh." He glanced down, playing absently with the PADD, before lifting his eyes to hers again. "I want to build another one. The Captain gave me permission to begin as soon as you and Harry and Seven have completed the investigation into the explosion."

"Since I'm off-duty for a month--" he smirked a little then,"--I thought I would get a head start, but I need your permission to use engineering equipment."

"You've never needed to ask before."

"I never needed to do a lot of things before, apparently, but--it never hurts to check." And he was still watching her, and she felt her face flush.

"Is this what is called human courtship behavior?" Q asked, leaning forward to dart his glance between them. "How very interesting. He wants to touch you, and doesn't know how to do it without seeming to." Q met B'Elanna's wide eyes. "Perhaps you should consider helping him out."

"No, it doesn't hurt to check," she heard herself say, and stood up when he did. She wasn't going to move, but a well-placed shove by Q propelled her forward, and being there already, she opened the door for him.

"I was hoping--maybe we could talk," Tom said, PADD still in hand. He looked uncertain--maybe a little lost. Without even thinking about it, she touched his shoulder gently. It was warm through the fabric of his uniform.

"As friends?" {I can't possibly mean that.}

His expression didn't change, but she felt the tensing in the muscles beneath her hand. He didn't pull away.

"Friends. We are still friends, right?"

"Of course."

"How about tomorrow night, dinner?" And waited. And B'Elanna realized she'd closed the distance between them until there was only inches. She could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, felt her lips part slightly.

"Okay." A little breathless. Staring up at him. "I'll see you at 1900 hours. Your quarters?"

"If you still know the way." A little smile, and she wanted to touch it--a smile that was all for her, not for Seven--

Cold water seemed to splash over her spine and she drew back, drew her hand away, but he caught it before it could go too far. Her breath stopped.

"No, Tom." Her voice shook.

"Because it's not real?"

Expressionless, but he still held her hand. Her fingers trembled against his palm. She wanted him to let go. She wanted him--

"Because its not real." The words were like stones and fell between them, hard enough for him to free her hand, step back. She clasped her hands together, still feeling the warmth of his touch. Watching his withdrawal before her very eyes and hating it.

"I know. I'm sorry."

And the blue eyes widened, and she realized she'd said it out loud. She turned away, hearing Q laugh somewhere behind her, going to the desk, where it's bulk could stand between them like some kind of chaperone. Looked at him from behind the solidity of a piece of furniture.

As if it could protect her--it never had before.

"B'Elanna--"

Apparently, it wouldn't now.

"Tom, don't! I can't--" She locked her teeth over the words she knew Q wanted her to say, biting her tongue in the process and not caring. The pain cleared her head. A little.

He let out a breath.

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna. I know--everything is different. I won't--"

"It's okay, Tom." She sat down. Tom nodded slowly and walked out the door without another word. She winced as she heard his fist come in sharp contact with the wall outside.

Echoing hers on the surface of the desk.

"That went well," Q remarked, leaning an elbow on her desk so he could peer into her face.

"No--Q--" She rested her head on her crossed arms on her desk.

"Perhaps you should go ahead and tell Janeway. That would be the quickest way to assure that something like that doesn't happen again."

"Yeah, tell her. Tell her all about it, B'Elanna. Tell her about that phaser blast that destroyed data, and all about that little fight in the Flyer before its fateful last journey--out the airlock, that is. And while you're at it, tell her how much you hated Seven. In fact, just jog yourself down the Brig and pick out the most comfortable cell--Tom spent time there, right? When you tell him all this, maybe you could also ask for a recommendation." Q grinned with infinite good cheer and understanding. "You like being nearest the door or farthest?"

She bit her lip.

"Or--you could just accept what happened and move on. Don't live in the past."

B'Elanna felt the tickle of Q's breath on the back of her neck.

"Go now."

"Tell Janeway. Tell Tom."

"Tell them everything."

"And when you tell them, maybe they won't hate you, maybe one day they'll trust you again. Maybe you won't ruin whatever is left of your Tom's life, maybe it won't destroy him to know that the woman he loves almost took his life."

"Just tell them what you've done. Just say it."

And if she kept telling herself that for long enough, she might even begin to believe it.

"And when they find those secondaries, maybe it won't matter." Her voice now, not Q's. She lifted her head. Q's hand was heavy on her shoulder.

"Good girl." A purr.

* * * * *

Tom sat in the quiet Messhall, listening to Neelix rummage in the kitchen. Nursing his cup of coffee (and he needed it after that little gin-inspired streak last night), staring at the stars.

He'd seen it on her face.

This was B'Elanna, after all. She couldn't hide an emotion if her life depended on it. Hell, she couldn't hide anything from him, once he'd learned what to look for.

Three damned days of missing logs were the only clue. Something had happened that had broken them apart.

"Tom?"

He turned slightly, seeing Neelix's tentative approach, and nodded at the man's obvious desire to join him. At least he wasn't bringing food this time--Tom was still trying to wash the flavor of leola-root souflee from his mouth, and the coffee so far hadn't quite succeeded. Before that, it had been Zvata-grain muffins, apparently a specialty on some worlds, and before that, the nightmare that had been Neelix's well-meaning version of peanut butter and jelly--with a little piquant flavor of Talaxian spices to make it more--ummm...interesting.

Tom worked hard at not remembering that.

He gave the Talaxian a smile as he sat down, seeing the concern in the small brown eyes.

"How're you holding up?"

Tom didn't even need to run the automatic response through his brain for editing--the question had been asked so many times, in various formats, that his answer was on the tip of his tongue at all times. More *efficient* that way.

"Pretty well, thanks."

Neelix's reddish eyebrows jumped, but the Talaxian merely nodded, and Tom noted he held a mug in his hand.

"You drink coffee?" Tom asked, motioning at the cup. Neelix grinned a little.

"Sometimes. I wanted to understand the crew's fascination." He took a cautious sip, and couldn't hide the small moue of distaste that turned his lips. "It is--interesting."

Quick Talaxian translation--not spicy enough

"You mean, bitter. That's why we add cream and sugar." Though Tom, as a rule, liked his black--harkened back to memories of mornings-after when he needed to get rid of the effects of too much alcohol.

{Just like the good old days.} It was a wistful thought, and he smiled down at his cup, still half-full and rapidly cooling.

"Do you--you need anything, Tom?"

Tom blinked, glancing up briefly. Neelix, so well-meaning, trying to boost the morale of the one man on Voyager right now who had no desire to have any of his morale boosted in any way, shape, or form.

A sarcastic remark danced on the tip of his tongue, which he suppressed as soon as it entered his mind. Neelix didn't deserve it.

"I don't know yet," he answered instead, and took a sip of the cool coffee, letting the flavor linger on his tongue for a moment. "Maybe--"

"You and Seven got married in here. Announced your engagement here too."

Tom lifted his head sharply, staring at the Talaxian. So this was Neelix's way of getting Tom back in the spirit of his life? No gentle prodding--use a ram and *push*.

But it did have a kind of fascination--Tom remembered feeling something similar when he'd viewed his first dead body at the age of eight.

"Really?" Tom tried and failed to keep his voice steady. His fingers clenched on the mug. No, he didn't remember clenching anything. He remembered throwing up in a corner. {Ah, not so different after all.}

He forced down a grin.

"It was beautiful. I planned the whole thing--with Seven's help, of course. She wanted a twentieth century wedding."

That would be a comfort, if it were true. He took another sip of his coffee, not tasting it.

"Can you tell me--tell me about the wedding," Tom said quietly. Neelix's face lit up and Tom stifled a sigh. He hadn't gotten that far in his logs yet--in fact, he didn't want to get that far. But Neelix wanted to help, and maybe--maybe it would make it more real, to hear someone else tell him.

God knew, it didn't feel real right now. Nothing did.

Even the bitter taste of his cold coffee.

* * * * *

Chakotay finished up the personnel reports and turned his attention to something much less productive to think, though it had been obsessing him for hours.

Tuvok and Janeway had showed him the reports. The evidence, as Tuvok put it so--so damned efficiently.

Almost angry, but no one to be angry with. He stood up, walking to the door, making up his mind to talk to B'Elanna--today if possible.

No matter what the Captain said.

But she wasn't, and that was the damnable thing that he couldn't ignore, even if he wanted to. B'Elanna, as Tuvok had put it, had had opportunity and motive both--{But that could be said for half the ship.}

He grinned a little at that.

Chakotay stared at his screen for a moment, considering.

Grunting, he pushed his screen away, staring down at his desk. Considering.

He picked up a PADD, reading the report Tuvok had submitted to the Captain and she had just forwarded to him.

And found the entry that changed everything.

"Transporter logs," he breathed, staring at the entries--the times. Three, with unknown destinations, one set only minutes before the explosion of the Flyer, the other two the night before. The security code that authorized them had been wiped clean. But--"Oh my God."

Only three people were authorized to do that, but there were six that had the technical expertise. The Captain, Commander Tuvok and himself could do it--but so could Ensign Kim, Ensign Seven Paris, and B'Elanna.

* * * * *

Tom slowly circled the ship he designed.

And damn, if he didn't do good work. He couldn't quite stop the grin that spread his mouth as he looked at her, his ship--{okay, Voyager's ship--but mine too.}--wondering if he'd felt that way when he'd made her.

{Beautiful.} He flipped the PADD open, reading the reports on it, the specs, then smiled as he spoke.

"Computer, display command console." He took his tricorder out, uploading more information into the console, then watching the Flyer change as the latest additions were added to it.

"Multi-phasic shielding, advanced Borg-inspired weaponry-hmm, wonder whose idea *that* was--trimmed warp nacelles--" he looked down at the logs, then back up at the Flyer. "So you piloted transwarp with me, hmm?" He grinned, shaking his head. "Well, you should have known you're days were numbered from the minute we finished. Ask the Cochrane."

Made perfect sense.

He traced her length, her curves, enjoying the look of her. The small bridge design made him grin a little, and he ordered the hull clarified to permit him to study the interior without obstruction. After a few more moments of glancing around, he turned back to the console.

"Computer, end--" {Hmmm. I wonder.} "Computer, when was the last upgrade to the Delta Flyer's computer system?"

:::That information cannot be accessed at this time.:::

Tom frowned.

"Why not?"

:::Access to recent information regarding the Delta Flyer has been restricted to senior staff.:::

Tom thought about that.

"Computer, display all information relevant to the Delta Flyer, authorization Paris Alpha Omega 1 6."

:::Authorization denied.:::

Tom growled, tossing down the PADD.

"Specifically, who has access to all records concerning the Delta Flyer?"

:::Captain Janeway. Commander Chakotay. Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. Lieutenant Paris. Lieutenant Torres. Ensign Kim. Ensign Paris.:::

{Ensign Pari...oh, right. Seven.} He shivered a little, then recalled himself. {Okay, so I'm still on the list, why can't I--oh yeah, new password. Damn times three, and who do I call to get that?}

Tom sat back, thinking carefully, and the first option that popped into mind was not one he was prepared to pursue quite yet. {We'll just find another way, shall we?} Tom made himself comfortable on the floor of the holodeck, staring at the holographic recreation of the ship, fingers tapping on the floor in thought.

The had been tickling him ever since he had left her office earlier that day, when he'd asked for permission to view the Flyer in the holodeck. {She's not telling me something--is she under the impression anyone can keep a secret on this ship?} Tom grinned a little then checked the time. Harry would be off shift soon--{No. Harry's been avoiding me}, or maybe B'Elanna--{Hey, why don't I see that as a possibility?} and Tom wondered if there was anyone else he knew well enough to get the information from. {I know the Captain is hiding something.}

If only he could figure out what that was.

He looked at the Flyer again, studying it, then turned back to the console.

He shook his head sharply. He needed information, he had no idea what his new security codes were, and even if he did, he didn't even know what he was looking for.

It came in a spark of pure intuition, and he grinned.

* * * * *

It seemed somehow wrong without Tom there.

Janeway was in her usual position, cup of coffee in front of her, gripped between white fingers like an anchor. Chakotay, to her right, was studying a PADD. Harry, beside him, fiddled with another PADD on the table, as if it were the single most important device in the universe. Seven sat beside him, cool as ever, though to B'Elanna's sensitive eye she seemed strained.

The Starfleet blue uniform certainly complimented her coloring well. B'Elanna took the seat between Janeway and always-impassive Tuvok, giving a glance to Baytart, who was sitting in as temporary head of navigation.

"All right." Janeway freed her coffee from an iron grip and leaned back in her chair. "Seven and Harry have run several tests on B'Elanna's tricorder. So far, they've found nothing salvageable. Has a cause been established yet?" Her gaze pinned Harry to his chair, almost as if to coerce a pleasing answer out of him.

Brown eyes darted up, then down to the PADD, then back up again.

"N-nothing yet, Captain." He gave Seven a sideways glance before continuing in a sudden rush of words. "We ruled out beta-radiation tampering, so our working hypothesis was that it was too close to the antimatter leak in the Flyer. There's also the possibility that sudden exposure to vacuum during B'Elanna's ejection of the Flyer might have caused the fragmentation. We're running simulations now." He glanced at Seven again, who leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"The data is irretrievable. I am attempting to modify some of my nanoprobes to defragment the data, but I do not believe it will be enough. There was not only fragmentation, but erasure of data." She gave Harry a glance, then continued. "However, if Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim are successful in retrieving an intact computer core, we should have lost very little by the destruction of the tricorder."

B'Elanna controlled a shudder at Seven's choice of words. Was it her imagination, or did Seven look at her during that last part?

"Lieutenant Torres?"

B'Elanna jerked at the sound of her name from the Captain.

"Yes?"

"When do you plan to begin the removal of the core?" Janeway's voice was tight.

"This afternoon," B'Elanna said, and even to herself, she sounded defensive. "Vorik, Crewman Gilmore and I worked out the calculations this morning and have studied the best method of removal. Harry and I will start procedures to detach it from the remains of the Delta Flyer and contain it until the radiation levels are brought down to a save level."

"How long will that take?" Sharp.

"Approximately two days, Captain." And this time, she smothered her defensiveness, keeping her voice crisp and professional--as if she--as if she--

"Very well." Janeway stood up, moving to look briefly out the window before turning around to study her officers. "The explosion on the Delta Flyer troubles me, I won't deny it. But what troubles me more is the fact that there seems to be no reason for it to have happened." Her gaze went around the room, lingering over each officer. B'Elanna thought Harry would melt into his seat under her blue gaze. "That fissure should have been detected long before the accident occurred. That the diagnostics before that day didn't pick it up troubles me."

B'Elanna could see she wasn't done. Janeway was stopping for one of her Patented Dramatic Pauses.

"Nor, under normal circumstances, does a microfissure cause a core breach and anti-matter leak. Mr. Tuvok, you looked into the matter under my orders three days ago. Did you find anything?"

B'Elanna's mouth went dry. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry come to sudden, strict attention. Chakotay leaned forward, but didn't look surprised. Nor particularly pleased.

With pure Vulcan coolness, Tuvok picked up his PADD and handed it to Janeway.

"I gave my report to the Captain this morning regarding the circumstances surrounding the explosion of the Delta Flyer." He paused for a moment, and B'Elanna would have sworn he did it for effect. "I was troubled, as the Captain was, that the microfissure explosion was almost perfectly timed with the start-up of the engines."

"Why would that be unusual, Tuvok?" Harry asked. His voice sounded a little high. "If it was going to break, that relay would shatter at the first surge of power."

"True, but it did not break at the first surge of power. According to the sensors, it exploded when the antimatter injectors began--a full eleven seconds after the relay was first activated."

B'Elanna counted off the seconds in her head and clasped her hands tightly under the table, her mouth going dry.

"Would that be so unusual?" Harry chimed in. Chakotay glanced between Tuvok and Harry, and B'Elanna saw the brown eyes narrow a little.

"Extremely unlikely, Ensign Kim." Tuvok steepled his hand together on the surface of the table.

"What do you suspect, Tuvok?" asked Chakotay, leaning forward to face the Vulcan. B'Elanna thought his eyes darted to her before they fixed on Tuvok, and felt the blood drain from her face.

"I believe that the explosion may not have been an accident."

"It is possible that someone ruptured the microfissure after Lieutenant Paris began the pre-flight sequence on the engines, at the very opportune time of anti-matter injection into the core, causing the explosion and breach.

"How?" Janeway's voice seemed far away. B'Elanna tried to focus, but the whole room was growing dim.

"It would be simple to rig a small detonator to the microfissure that would be vaporized in the explosion."

"You think someone tried to kill Tom?"

B'Elanna realized she had spoken, and realized as well her fingers had bent the PADD clenched in one fist. All eyes were on her.

Including Tuvok's.

"I am not yet certain, Lieutenant Torres." {Does he sound suspicious?} "I will need to study the remains of the Delta Flyer to be certain."

"But you think it is a possibility, Tuvok?" Janeway's voice was intense.

"Who would want to kill Tom?" This from Harry, who almost seemed to be trying to crawl over the table on his belly, he'd leaned so far over it.

And Seven--

They must have all realized it at the same time, or so B'Elanna thought later. All eyes went to the former Borg, still seated quietly in her chair. Looking the same as always--no, she didn't.

The pale skin had bleached to white, and the blue eyes were huge and dark. Janeway was already moving, but Seven shook her head suddenly, quickly glancing at the Captain.

"No, I am--well." Her tongue crept out, licking her lips. "There is the possibility someone tried to kill my--kill Tom?"

"I cannot be certain until I have accessed the Delta Flyer and the logs are recovered, Ensign Paris."

B'Elanna shut her eyes at the name. She still wasn't used to that.

"Very well." The Captain's voice was firm. "B'Elanna, you and Harry get whatever help you need to get the memory core out and irradiate the Delta Flyer so a full investigation can begin." She was back at her seat and looked around the faces of her staff. "Now, to my second point of business--Lieutenant Paris."

Harry was back in his chair and B'Elanna let out a breath at the change of topic.

"He has asked for, and I've given him permission, to begin building a replacement for the Delta Flyer However, due to our limited understanding of the cause of the explosion, I am instructing Lieutenant Paris to put this project on hold." She took in the concerned gazes of her officers, then Janeway gave a quick glance to Seven. "I originally told Tom that I would assign the other members of the original design team to him when they were finished with the core retrieval, but--" she paused again, and B'Elanna knew the keen grey eyes rested on her for a moment, "at this time I cannot spare any of you from your duties with the core."

Harry looked like he might object, but stifled it with a glance at the Captain's face. Her gaze went to B'Elanna.

"This project is already taking time from all of your normal duties." She glanced at Harry again. "As soon as the retrieval is complete, B'Elanna, I want you to assign two of your best engineers to begin download and examination of the computer core to see if there is anything salvageable in it."

Neither B'Elanna nor Harry could say a word for a moment. A look at Harry's face revealed his shock.

B'Elanna felt her breath catch.

"Captain," B'Elanna began, her voice trembling.

"B'Elanna, I know how important it is to both you and Harry to oversee this project." {Is there a double meaning to that?} "But I cannot afford for either of you to lose your objectivity now. I need you both too much in the positions you are in. We'll be rendezvousing with the Careisians this week for trade, and I need a complete list of supplies needed by both your departments."

"I--" B'Elanna struggled for a moment, then gave up. "Yes, Captain."

"Excellent." Janeway turned to Seven. "I need charts of the systems we have so far passed through created in a manageable format for our guests, Seven. Part of the trade agreement we've already begun to work on requires this."

"Seven?" Janeway asked, turning to the tall blonde, who was following the conversation with a slightly bewildered expression on her face. There was a short, visible struggle on the pale face before Seven responded.

"Of course, Captain." Her voice was even. B'Elanna thought the long fingers twitched in their grip of the PADD, but wasn't sure.

B'Elanna opened her mouth and--

Nothing. Beneath the table, her hands began to shake.

"All right. Keep me informed. Dismissed." And Janeway stood up. "Seven, Tuvok, could I have a word with you?"

B'Elanna slowly got to her feet, picking up the PADD, and noted Chakotay's determined approach. Taking a deep breath, she walked out, feeling him just behind her, and let him follow her to the turbolift without a word.

"Engineering," she said, not looking at him.

"B'Elanna, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Commander."

"Commander, huh?"

She turned around, seeing him stand at the back of the turbolift, arms crossed, waiting. As always.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to pretend you're not affected by this, B'Elanna." His voice was so kind it hurt her to hear it.

"I'm worried about Tom," she answered, and her voice betrayed nothing but concern. Lying was becoming second nature.

"About how he feels about you?"

"No, about how he feels about--what happened." B'Elanna took a breath. "About him and Seven."

"Ah." And it could mean anything, that quick flush of breath.

B'Elanna didn't like that.

"B'Elanna--" he stopped suddenly, and she watched the conflict on his face, that disappeared with practiced ease. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

She lifted her chin.

"No." And her voice was her own, perfectly calm, maybe a little peeved. It should have scared her, how easily she was learning to deceive those around her.

Chakotay nodded slowly.

"You know that if there is anything you need to talk about, I'm here, B'Elanna."

Her teeth locked behind her lips with the need to confess--and the suspicion he was trying to hide.

"I know, Chakotay. Thanks."

He gave her a long look.

"All right." Chakotay turned to face the front of the turbolift. "Deck 6." When he got out, B'Elanna leaned against the side of the turbolift.

She had to know what they had found.

* * * * *

"Captain, you wanted to see me?"

Captain Janeway smiled as Tom came into view. Dressed in uniform, she noted, from shiny boots to neatly laundered tunic, standing at her door, waiting for her leave to enter.

"Come in, Tom." She extended her hand, and Tom felt her fingers brush across his shoulder, almost but not quite caressing, but a hell of a lot more familiar than he was used to. She had always been a touchy Captain, but not with that kind of familiarity, and he worked to stop the shudder of his skin beneath her fingers.

"Do you want some coffee, Tom?" she asked as he took the seat by her desk. He shook his head quickly.

"No. Thanks." {What is this, do we have coffee and chat every day?} He extended the PADD he was carrying, and she took it as she sipped from her mug. "These are the specs I worked on last night for the replacement for the Delta Flyer." He saw her eye twitch slightly as she examined his work, then she laid it down. Her elbows rested on the table, she met his gaze over her loosely clasped hands.

"Tom--I'm suspending the construction until we have downloaded the computer core," she answered. His face must have reflected something, because she quickly continued. "We want to find out what went wrong this time, if it was a structural fault or if it was just--" her hand waved airily in the air, "random bad luck."

Tom was paranoid by training and by inclination. He took in the steady gaze, the clasped hands--and her easy explanation.

{Random bad luck. She's not telling me everything.} Perfectly of a piece with her behavior during his original request.

"How long?" He knew this mood in the Captain and waited patiently as she gathered herself, knowing whatever she was going to tell him would be--well, it wouldn't be what he wanted to hear.

"About two weeks. Harry estimates it will take that much time to finish getting the core out and downloading and sorting any information that might remain on it."

"To find out what went wrong," Tom said, meeting her eyes. She looked straight back. "I see. The diagnostic didn't show anything?"

That twitch of a muscle at the side of her mouth, the way the delicate fingers dropped unconsciously to tightened on her coffee cup--he recognized both instantly and forced himself to relax back into his seat. With calculated absentness, he tapped his fingers onto the arm of the chair--trying to look impatient--which he was.

Though certainly not about the Flyer anymore.

"The primary and secondary diagnostics failed to pick up the problem," Janeway told him. She'd told him the same thing when she'd also revealed what had happened to him. "We want to make certain, also, that if there is a flaw in the diagnostic program, we find it before anything else goes wrong on the ship."

Tom nodded slowly, letting the tapping become irregular, noting that it caught her attention just slightly. Just enough.

"Is there anything else?" he asked slowly. "With your permission, I would like to continue running the simulations on the holodeck."

She smiled.

"Of course."

"Thanks, Captain."

"Tom?"

Her voice had changed, and he slowly turned around, seeing her watching him with a different expression. A concerned one.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I know--I understand how difficult this has been for you." He glanced down at the surface of her desk, seeing her hands were now both locked around her mug. {Bad sign.}

"Yeah, Captain. But I'll be fine."

She hesitated, and then her face set itself into an expression Tom recognized. Her mothering face.

"Tom, have you talked to Seven yet?"

"Not yet, Captain." And he didn't need to pretend the edge in his voice. He watched her search more cautiously for the words.

"Tom--I don't like to interfere in the personal lives of my crew."

"But I do think that perhaps you should talk to Seven soon." She raised hand when he would have spoken, stopping the excuses he wanted to throw out. "I know, Tom. I'm not saying right now--but this has been difficult for her." Again, that struggle, as she tried to reconcile her maternal instincts, her affection for her crew, with her duties as a Captain, the objectivity he knew she needed to keep. "Tom, I don't want to make this situation more difficult for you than it already is--and you know you can come to me if you need to talk about anything that has happened. But--she is your wife."

Tom didn't answer, and realized he was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his fingers had begun to ache. With an effort, he released his hold.

"Captain--" he stopped. {What do I tell her? Seven isn't my wife, she's his--the guy who died in the Delta Flyer and left me to take over his life. I don't know her, Captain--even if I wanted to talk to her, I wouldn't know where to start--or how.} "I'll try, Captain. Soon."

She nodded, trying on a smile that didn't seem to fit, and Tom rose again, waiting for her dismissal. God knew, he wanted out of the room so badly he could taste it, just with the mention of the name Seven--

--which always brought images of B'Elanna. He swallowed hard, keeping his face as blank as possible.

The door chimed. Janeway put down her mug, a slight frown turning her mouth down into a more real expression. Her eyes flickered to Tom, and he glanced around just as the door opened.

"Captain." Chakotay paused at the door, gaze flickering between the Captain and Tom. Janeway sat back, giving Tom a little smile, though to his eyes it looked strained.

"If that's all, Captain?" Tom knew when someone wanted him to leave. Janeway nodded, and he turned on his heel, walking to the door. As he passed Chakotay, he noted the older man's eyes avoided him--

He entered on to the Bridge, and noted that the staff kept their gazes away.

So, slowly, he crossed the Bridge, seeing Harry was at Ops, but apparently the younger man was so immersed in his work that he couldn't take more than a moment to smile--a smile so badly performed that it didn't even deserve the name. Then the brown eyes, refusing to meet his, sank back down to gaze at some readings--or maybe to stare at his hands, gripping the edge of the console with an unfamiliar strength. Tom gave him a nod in return, then made his way into the turbolift.

"Deck 10." He needed to think. He also needed to find Neelix.

* * * * *

A bag in one hand, Seven slowly approached Tom's current quarters.

And automatically entered the codes to get in. To her surprise, the code was rejected.

She had debated this course of action since she had returned to their quarters after her shift. She was aware that Tom was, as yet, still in a state of shock over the changes that had taken place in his life, and understood the need for solitude. However, she could not deny her own desire to see him--talk to him. He'd been her confidante for months, the person that would answer all her questions and consistently explain what she did not understand, no matter the subject.

She missed him.

For a moment, she considered walking away. One hand still hovering over the control panel, Seven took those few brief moments to decide on a course of action. One foot stepped back, and her hand lowered just as the door opened.

Tom stood there. Blinking to see her. She took in the off-duty clothes he'd doubtless replicated, since she was aware he had not yet returned to their quarters.

They looked at each other for a few minutes, unmoving, before Tom took a visible breath and smiled.

"Seven. Come in."

She hesitated briefly, then stepped inside, bag still clutched in her hand, and heard the door close soundlessly behind her. Tom kept his space, circling her to walk in the general direction of the replicator.

She was aware of the surreptitious glances flicked at her all the while.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked, and she briefly shook her head. He replicated himself something that she recognized as gin, before waving her to the couch. Slowly, she took a seat, glancing around the quarters she'd shared with him for two months before they'd moved to more spacious ones. She placed the bag at her feet.

"I brought you--some things you may need." She indicated the bag. "Your uniforms and other items from our quarters."

His expression didn't change as he nodded his acceptance, but she noted he took a drink of the liquor before answering.

"Thank you, Seven."

They sat together in awkward silence for a moment before Tom spoke again--Seven, to her own surprise, could not think of anything to say.

"How are you doing?"

Seven gave the question due consideration before responding. Another surprise.

"I am--well, Tom."

She saw him wince a little then, and felt herself tense even more from her perch on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Seven." She watched him finish the glass and slip to the edge of his seat. "I should have talked to you already--I've been putting it off.

Seven nodded slowly.

"I understand, Tom. This cannot be easy for you."

"Nor for you." He put the empty glass on the floor, lacing his fingers together over his knees. "It has to be--difficult--to be--married--to someone who doesn't--doesn't--"

"You do not remember our time together. This would naturally make you feel awkward and uncomfortable at this point. With time you will adapt."

She sounded far more sure than she felt. Tom seemed to notice this.

"I remember you differently, Seven. To me, we've just met." He grinned a little then. "It seems you took me up on my offer."

Seven knew exactly what he meant.

"To help me adapt to my new surroundings on Voyager? Yes, you did, and so did Captain Janeway." She paused, uncertain for a moment, then continued. "Is there anything--anything you would like to know?"

Tom tensed and she noted his knuckles went white, before the blue eyes lifted, and for the first time since they'd come together, she could not read anything in them.

"I read my logs--did you upload them to this station?"

"Yes. I was aware that you would no longer have the correct access codes to gain them yourself from a terminal outside our quarters."

"Thank you. Do you have my new access codes now?"

Seven blinked.

"Yes. Would you like me to give them to you?"

"I would appreciate it." He leaned forward a little. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" Seven felt her stomach tighten at the invitation, even knowing that it did not mean he was yet ready to accept their relationship. But she couldn't help the anticipation.

"Yes, Tom, I would."

* * * * *

"Tuvok, are you certain this is necessary?" Captain Janeway placed the report on her desk, crossing her hands over its contents as she regarded her Chief of Security with an uncertainty she was certain she had never felt before.

The tall Vulcan nodded sharply.

"I believe it is necessary, Captain. Transporter logs that have been corrupted, the destroyed tricorder, and Lieutenant Torres' insistence on working on the core retrieval herself all point to her as the most likely perpetrator of the attempted murder of Lieutenant Paris."

"I can't believe it, Tuvok." Janeway stood up, turning to her viewport, arms crossed defensively across her chest. "That she was hurt when Tom married Seven, yes, I believe that. That she tried to kill him for it--that's a reach, Commander." She glanced back over her shoulder significantly. "This is not an entertainment tape, Tuvok, nor a holonovel."

"There is precedent for such an action, Captain." Tuvok didn't budge. She really hadn't expected him to.

"I am aware of this, Tuvok." Janeway sighed softly, her shoulders slumping a little as she spoke. "And while I agree that the circumstances are far from ideal, I cannot and do not believe that B'Elanna deliberately attempted to blow up the Flyer. Putting personal feelings aside and speaking from a purely mercenary standpoint, B'Elanna is the last person who would attempt such a crime in this manner. She nearly died trying to get the Flyer out. If I believed her character was such that she would commit this-" Janeway paused, taking a breath, then continued steadily, "-then it would be stupid for her to be present at the time of the explosion, not to mention it going off on Voyager itself." Janeway shook her head sharply. "She might risk herself, but not the ship."

"Perhaps it went off earlier than expected. The detonator could have caused a chain reaction in the core faster than anticipated, before Mr. Paris could leave Voyager." Tuvok paused. "I would like to remind you the length of time between the detonation and the ejection of the Flyer from the Shuttlebay--"

"B'Elanna got Tom out!"

"Perhaps in an act of conscience, Captain."

Janeway turned around fully, bringing both hands sharply down on the surface of the desk.

"Play me the sequence of events as you speculate, Tuvok." Her palms stung from the contact.

Tuvok nodded shortly.

"Lieutenant Torres disabled the diagnostic program before it could scan the second time after Ensign Paris' scan detected the microfissure during the primary diagnostic run. Lieutenant Torres had planned a timed transport of the detonator to the specified spot in the Flyer's warp core, which if the diagnostics had been run the second time Ensign Paris would have detected. After Ensign Paris left, Lieutenant Torres left too, and the detonator, set on a timer, exploded. Lieutenant Torres then spent several minutes in the Shuttlebay doing little that can be verified, either because she was unaware of the danger within or to remove suspicion from herself. In a possible act of conscience, Lieutenant Torres removed Lieutenant Paris from the Flyer and had him beamed to Sickbay before ejecting the Flyer." Tuvok waited as Janeway stared down at her desk. Then continued.

"Two nights later, Lieutenant Torres discovered that her tricorder was recovered from the decompression of the shuttlebay. She had it beamed to her quarters and destroyed the evidence, then returned it to the cargo bay where the Flyer and the tricorder were stored."

"That is a lot of speculation, Tuvok." Her head stayed down. "We have no proof that any of those transports were authorized by B'Elanna."

"There are only six people on this ship who would be able to remove their security code from the logs, Captain. As neither Chakotay, you, or I have a motive, that only leaves three."

"B'Elanna and who else?"

"Ensign Kim, who was on the Bridge at the time, and Ensign Paris, who was stationed at a workstation in engineering."

Janeway bit her lip, staring hard at her desk.

"You checked his workstation, Tuvok?" That she needed to ask...

Tuvok nodded again. She was getting tired of seeing that.

"There is no evidence he authorized either transport of the detonator or transport of the tricorder last night. However, as department head, he has the ability and the technical knowledge to remove those security protocols."

Janeway closed her eyes for a moment.

"Captain, we cannot afford to have the computer core of the Flyer contaminated. I must insist that you reconsider."

"Why didn't you suggest this course of action at the staff meeting, Tuvok?"

No expression betrayed him.

"I had not yet received the final reports from my other security officers."

"You want to see if B'Elanna will betray herself."

His head inclined. She'd known he was capable of devious action--they'd done enough undercover work together--but she hadn't expected to ever have to use it like this again. Not since Seska--

The memory of that was enough to harden her. Janeway watched the PADD blur before her eyes as she stared down at it, then carefully pressed her thumb down onto the surface.

"Authorize it, Tuvok."

* * * * *

Seven took the glass of water Tom gave her as they finished eating. Her preferred meal, salad and a selection of cheeses, though she doubted he was aware of that any longer.

The reminder of that tightened her throat and she took a quick sip of water to alleviate the feeling.

"So I finally wrote that Captain Proton program, huh?" He grinned, picking up the dishes and taking them to the recycler. Seven watched him do this over her water, a hundred other memories of him doing this exact same thing spinning through her mind.

"Yes." She took another sip of her glass and willingly accepted his invitation to move to the couch, where she began to feel at ease. He automatically took the seat beside her, and she turned to face him. "You wrote it during a period of time we spent in an area of space called 'the Void'."

"An area free of stars--I skipped some entries," Tom admitted. He put the glass down on the table beside him and looked carefully at Seven. "Do I still run this program?"

"Yes, occasionally." Seven studied his relaxed posture, his careless smile. It warmed her. "Though over the last few months your duties have interfered."

Tom's eyebrow arched sharply.

"Oh?"

"You have begun to volunteer for command of the Gamma shift," Seven answered. "Harry said you were--" she frowned, trying to recall the exact terminology, --'bucking for a promotion'."

Tom laughed, but she thought his eyes darken.

"Really?" He glanced down at his glass. "I never thought of it before. When did you join Starfleet?"

His sudden change of topic did not escape Seven's attention.

"A few months ago, Tom." He seemed to be used to her using his first name now. Seven considered this positive progress "You told me that if I wanted to be given more duties and responsibilities and if I wished to live up to my potential on this ship, I should consider it."

"I did?" His head tilted a little in thought.

"Yes. You drilled me in Starfleet procedure." She still remembered those nights--and his method, as he called it, of rewarding her for every correct answer--even though she was unlikely to forget what she learned with her eidetic memory.

Her face must have reflected something of that, because Tom looked away, almost as if embarrassed, and she schooled her features from the expression. Carefully, she sat her glass down.

"I must go. I--have an early shift tomorrow"

Tom rose quickly.

"All right." He didn't fight her departure, but nor did he seem particularly pleased to see her go. He walked her to the door, and she turned automatically before it opened.

It was an instinctive response, and even after she couldn't explain it, except that she had been doing it for so long with him that it seemed natural. Taking a step closer, she tilted her head up and kissed him.

It was brief, and she felt his recoil almost as soon as she touched him, a movement as instinctive as hers--and as telling. She drew back, feeling her chest tighten in response to the look on his face, before turning to the door and pressing it open.

"Seven-"

"You do not need to explain, Tom." She saw him reach for her arm from the corner of her eye, but then stopped, fingers barely brushing her elbow before falling away, and once outside she turned once more, looking at him.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I did not mean--"

"It wasn't your fault, Seven." But he came no closer to her, either. "It's--it's too new still."

"I understand, Tom." She hesitated. "I will see you later, then." And walked down the hall, away from him.

The tightness in her chest matched the sudden burn in her eyes. She reached out to automatically balance herself against the wall, not completely understanding why her knees felt so unstable. When her fingers brushed the cool metal, she paused, taking a deep breath that caught sharply before she released it.

And restarted the long walk to their--*her* quarters.

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