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

Tom woke in a tangle of sweat and sheets, staring into his pillow for a moment before pulling himself up to draw in a deep breath.

These were his mornings. The smell of smoke and a vague feeling of panic.

And a voice.

His dreams, suffice to say, were less than pleasant. He had a vague idea it was better he didn't remember them.

Slowly, running a hand through his damp hair, he went to the replicator, discarding his shirt on the floor--he'd never been a clean person, and he wondered, with that randomness that recent sleep generates, if part of his extremely laid-back habits originated in his rebellious tendencies in that long, silent war against his father.

Though, if he remembered correctly, his prison cell had always been the epitome of cleanliness.

"Raktajino," he told it, leaning against the wall.

As it hummed prior to materialization, Tom noted the bag on the floor by his couch. He'd left it there after Seven had gone, two days ago, not quite able yet to touch it, go through it.

Remnants of his other life. {I've had more lives than most people. Starfleet, alcoholic, Maquis, criminal, Starfleet again--now this.}

It still amazed him to think he'd been--{how did Seven paraphrase Harry? Bucking for a promotion?} Encouraging her to join Starfleet--{for more duties and responsibilities?}. Standing in quarters that no longer had a memory of him, he tried to put together a coherent picture of who he had been.

None of the pieces fit.

Shaking his head, he picked up the raktajino and took a taste, mindful of the heat, before walking back to his bed. Then glanced at the bag.

A decision he made on impulse. He wanted to see what was in there.

He padded into his living room and picked it up, turning it over.

The thought froze him as he unbuckled the flap, and he tried to stop the shudder. He knew he wasn't up to seeing pictures of Seven and himself yet--maybe not ever.

Unable to consider imagining everything inherent in that statement, Tom shivered. A moment of indecision--{scared of a simple bag, Tommy boy, what the hell do you think will be in there?}--then he finished the job and opened it up, peering inside warily.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief and unpacked it. Just uniforms. Nothing scary here.

He remembered her kiss. His reaction.

He could still taste B'Elanna. Smell her, though God knew, she hadn't been here in--what, a year, according to his logs?--and Seven had lived here with him months before they moved and cleaned the place out to Starfleet specs.

But--but he could smell her--slightly musky, a little sharp, every morning since he'd awakened. God, he'd caught himself reaching for her at night, and he knew--*knew*--that they hadn't progressed that far in his memories.

He shouldn't expect to see her here, touch her.

Hell, he shouldn't expect anything from her.

Tom ignored the thoughts (convenient habit, that was) for the time being and shifted them aside for later uncomfortable moments.

Carefully, he picked up the bag and the uniforms, carrying them into his room to put away. Walking back out, he picked up the raktajino and took another sip, looking around the quiet living quarters with their blank, unfinished look.

Then at the PADDs, neatly stacked by his workstation, ready to be utilized, for him to find something...

Sighing, he flipped the station on, calling up his personal database, finding his log entries and ignoring them for the time being, as he looked for--

He pulled it up with a touch of a few keys, looking at the program, wondering how the hell he got the memory to save it here, encrypted in his database. Wondering what the hell it was.

It only took him a moment to recognize what it was--more specifically, which program it had been, at least originally--and Tom drew in a sharp breath at the memory. Accessed for the last time only a few weeks into his relationship with Seven. Then dumped here, of all unlikely places, never touched again and encrypted within an inch of its life--{well, if I didn't want Seven to see it, that would be a good way to do so, if I ever gave her access to my logs--and did I?} For some reason, that thought bothered him more than any other of that disturbing morning...that he had permitted *anyone* to view them, look at them--

He shook away the thought.

"Computer, transfer holodeck program Sandrine's, Paris beta three version, authorization Pi Beta One Three."

:::Authorization is denied.:::

Tom stared at the workstation, then his gaze narrowed thoughtfully. Then tried his old code.

It worked.

* * * * *

The Captain had just finished her second cup of coffee, so she thought she was prepared for anything the day had to throw at her.

Tuvok, standing in the middle of her ready room, black Vulcan brows drawn together, however, turned out to be more than she had wanted.

"I am bringing Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Torres in for questioning, Captain," he said steadily. Perfectly straight, hands clasped behind his back, every inch Starfleet--she took a breath.

"Why now?"

"The computer core retrieval is scheduled to be finished at 1500 hours."

Janeway looked at him.

"You wanted to watch them during the retrieval to see if they would sabotage it, didn't you?" she asked wisely, and Tuvok inclined his head in agreement. She waited a beat, taking a drink of coffee. "Tuvok, there's been no evidence that either Ensign Kim or Lieutenant Torres were involved in the accident."

"Then speaking to them may clear them of suspicion, Captain." He waited, endless Vulcan patience, to her annoyance that morning, and she sighed, nodding.

"It's your investigation, Commander. I just hope..." she stopped, taking a breath. "Tuvok, I hope everything we have done so far has been an overreaction to the circumstances of this accident." Thoughtfully, she turned her cup between her fingers. "Is there anything else?"

"No, Captain."

"Dismissed." He inclined his head and turned to leave.

She watched his back thoughtfully before touching her workstation active.

"Call up all files on the investigation into the explosion of the Delta Flyer."

* * * * *

Tom walked into the holodeck and glanced at the PADD. Frowning.

"Computer, upload encrypted file Sandrine's Paris Beta Three from my personal database, authorization Paris Omega One Three."

He recognized the bar instantly. His private one. He had to see it to believe it, that he had saved this.

Wide eyed, he stared at a program that he hadn't run since his second year on Voyager--to his memory, anyway. A completely different life, when he was still adjusting to Voyager, when he was part of Janeway's wonderful little deception that to this day made him hate himself...

{Why the hell did I resurrect this place?} The unedited Sandrine's of Tom's worst years, a part of his live he had spent quite a bit of his time on Voyager trying to forget--what he little he could remember of it, anyway.

The smell of soured alcohol, of sweat--of too many damned nights that he didn't need to remember, and if he had to lose his memory, couldn't he have lost this, at least?

No Ricki, though, to his relief.

"I didn't think you were coming back." The low purr was unmistakable.

Ricki's replacement.

His gaze slid to the bar and watched B'Elanna spin gracefully on the bar stool, holding a glass of whiskey, watching him with amusement.

"B'Elanna." Tom tried to wind his mind around that. And failed, because it wasn't working--{what the hell was I doing here?} No Ricki--instead he had a B'Elanna.

She tilted her head, a familiar gesture, before jerking her chin at him slightly. He took a step toward her, but stopped, taking in the details of the room.

"Kind of." She studied him critically before taking a sip of the liquor, an odd feeling coming from a hologram. "You've changed."

"A lot has changed." He approached the bar, motioning to Sandrine. "What she's having." But he couldn't take his eyes off the hologram for long. Perfect voice, perfect appearance--{I must have spent days working those modifications out--and that was after everything was ended between us.} He took the glass from Sandrine's hand, taking a sip, now accustomed to the short rush that was now his reaction to synthehol. No tolerance, and he'd worked years building that tolerance, damn it...

He watched one eyebrow arch slowly as she watched him.

"You promised Seven you wouldn't drink."

{That explains a lot.} He stopped the shudder that accompanied the reminder--God knew, he didn't need it now.

"Let's just say there's been a change of ownership." He took another drink, standing up, trying to keep his eyes off her. "So what the hell is this supposed to be?"

"The place you came to talk to B'Elanna." She laughed, low in her throat, sipping her drink. "This is as close as you could get."

He studied her critically. Mannerisms--but not the personality.

"You're not very accurate."

"I know. You were pretty pissed." She took a drink, eyes darting away from him. "I was just something to yell at, I think."

Tom took in the long lines of her body, the delicate, strong hands, the straight hair that curved against her cheek. It awakened in him a pang of bitterness--the life he left behind. Long before he lost his memories, he'd lost this, lost her.

"Why did I stop coming?" He took another drink.

She shrugged.

"You're asking the wrong person, Tom."

He took in the bar, the patrons--Sandrine herself, Gaunt Gary, the quiet drinkers...and his back began to itch, waiting for the illegal disruptor that someone always had here. It had been way too long for him to want to stay somewhere that he felt so utterly vulnerable.

"Computer, delete all holocharacters except B'Elanna."

The disappearance was relaxing, and he actually felt his muscles relax from their paranoia that just stepping in here had awakened.

"Tell me how I was, B'Elanna."

"Broken." She punctuated that statement with a snort, he wasn't sure why, before placing her glass down and looking directly at him.

He winced, taking another drink.

"How bad?"

She tilted her head, giving him a long look.

"How bad do you have to be to program this in?" Her hand swept the room. "How bad to come here every night and drink water?" One fingernail tapped her glass significantly and he nodded.

"Pretty bad." He looked around again. "It started the night after the fight--this program--I've got to wonder how I got all the holodeck rations."

"You played pool against Harry. He let you win a lot." She smirked then, turning her head to hide it, and Tom's eyes narrowed suddenly at the evasion.

"Really?" Tom put down his glass. "Why?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't you know?"

Tom felt he should know, and studied her for a moment. Nothing like the real B'Elanna except the mannerisms. This was somewhere he had come to--to do what, exactly? Vent?

"Let's pretend I don't. Let's start at the beginning and you tell me what happened. From that first night." He gave her a smile, knowing it was unnecessary but for some reason fit. "Tell me everything."

* * * * *

Seven walked into the Messhall, noting the eyes that flew to her and then away, too quickly.

Back straight, she went to the replicator and began to order breakfast.

"Seven."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"Ensign Kim." She nodded shortly. "May I assist you?"

Ensign Kim smiled, a little weakly, before nodding to the replicator.

"I was going to offer to buy you breakfast, actually."

"I have sufficient replicator rations, Ensign Kim, but thank you." She turned back to the replicator. "Nutritional supplement 1362."

She turned around with the plate, seeing Harry blink at her selection.

"Is something wrong, Ensign?"

He shook his head.

"Sorry, Seven, I didn't know you liked bagels, that's all." He stepped up to the replicator. "Eggs and bacon, please."

Seven found a table without difficulty and seated herself, pulling out the PADDs that she had brought with her to look over during her scheduled "break". Tom had tried to explain to her once that people liked breaks, that the point of a break was to get away from work. Her incomprehension had made him abandon the argument after the first time, and instead had begun to think of--creative--ways to distract her. Looking at the bagels, she blinked back the sudden nostalgia.

"Do you mind if I join you, Seven?"

She looked up briefly, then slowly nodded. Harry, tray clutched in one hand, watching her with an expression she interpreted as a peculiar combination of eagerness and nervousness.

"Yes, Ensign." She paused. "Please do." As he seated himself, she placed the PADD beside her tray and picked up one of the round breads, using the knife she'd procured to spread the fruit compote on it.

"You have interesting ideas about what makes a nutritious breakfast, Seven," Harry said as he took a forkful of egg.

"I researched the nutritional values and found them in accordance with what I require," she answered coolly before breaking off a small piece to insert into her mouth. "Is there a reason you wish to sit with me, Ensign?"

Harry froze for a moment, then relaxed, shaking his head.

"I thought you might be lonely. And don't tell me," he said quickly, as she began to correct him, "that you aren't feeling--how would you put it?--a lack in your life."

Seven considered this carefully.

"I do--feel the lack, Harry." She watched his expression change and broke off another piece of her meal before speaking again. "You are concerned?"

"Yes, I am. Seven, its human to feel lonely and upset, you know. You don't have to be perfect." His grin was weak, even to her uncertain eye.

Seven nodded slowly.

"I understand, Harry." Her lips turned up slightly at the reminder of perfection, which he responded to with a smile of his own. Then she picked up her bite and chewed it slowly, considering his words.

"Seven, if you need to talk to someone--"

"I am unaccustomed--"

"Seven, stop for a minute." To her surprise, his hand covered hers, and he looked into her eyes. "Seven, you're not a Borg drone anymore. I know you don't like to talk about how you feel--but--" he stopped, blinking a little. "If you need to talk, I can listen, you know. Tom's my best friend. You and I have been friends for a long time. I don't want--I don't want to see you hurt."

Seven considered his argument.

"Harry, I understand your wish to--offer me your assistance." She looked down at her plate. "I am unaccustomed to--confiding in others."

"You learned to confide in Tom and the Captain. I know you don't feel as if you can go to either of them now--at least, not Tom."

Seven pulled another piece of the bagel free.

"I do not," she admitted. "Nor the Captain at this time." Seven was reluctant to explain why she no longer felt comfortable speaking to the Captain as she once had--and even less desire to go to Tuvok, whom had often assisted her in understanding human nature, especially the nature of one Tom Paris. She was aware that she, Ensign Kim, and Lieutenant Torres were considered possible perpetrators of the act committed against her husband--the Captain and Tuvok had explained to her their reasoning and the investigation.

She had found herself unable to confide in the Captain any longer.

"Because of the investigation," Harry said softly, echoing her thoughts, and she lifted her head to regard him with surprise.

"Yes," she admitted slowly, placing the bagel aside.

"If you want to talk to me about this--"

"I understand your offer." She wondered why he repeated it so often, and so strongly. Perhaps his own desire to speak of his feelings regarding Tom moved him; she was uncertain.

This was one of the many moments throughout the day that Seven acutely missed having Tom explain to her the peculiarities in human behavior.

"Perhaps we could meet for dinner, tonight, Ensign Kim," she said finally. It had been, she remembered, Tom's most common solution to problems with other crewmembers--invite them to dinner, or to the holodeck. She had noted also, over the course of their relationship, that Tom was most likely to bring up issues he felt needed to be dealt with after a meal.

Harry looked startled.

"Dinner?"

"Are you otherwise engaged, Ensign?" she asked, picking up her bagel with a better appetite.

"Uh--no, Seven. I mean--" Harry stopped, then smiled a little weakly. "What time?"

"Nineteen hundred hours," she answered promptly. And took the piece of bagel in her fingers, giving him a long look over the top of it. "Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah, Seven. That'd be great." His gaze went back to his breakfast and Seven, satisfied, finished her meal.

* * * * *

Tom picked up the third glass of whiskey, watching her.

"That's everything?" he asked quietly. The hologram across from him nodded slowly. "Nice to know I gave you a good head for synthehol," he remarked, placing his fingers on the rim of his glass and rotating it a half-turn, watching the liquid within swirl gently. "B'Elanna never had much of a stomach for it. Or stomachs, rather."

She shrugged, not really answering, and Tom rotated the glass another half-turn before taking a sip. He clung to the routine, needing it, wanting it to keep everything in perspective--

He understood exactly what he was working against now. And was surprised he hadn't guessed before, just by the way he wrote his logs.

Just by the way B'Elanna had looked at him when he got out of Sickbay. Dear God.

If there was one thing B'Elanna knew how to do, and how to do well, it was jabbing for weak spots. He'd given her the ammunition and the excuse.

"So after I left you, I met Seven in the corridor and we--went sailing?" For some reason, this was a sticking point that he just couldn't see--while he'd had some interesting romantic relationships in his life, in multiples, he couldn't see himself just--just--just jumping like that, from B'Elanna to, of all people in the known universe--Seven of Nine of Borg.

And no matter how he tried to make that fit, it just didn't.

The holo-B'Elanna nodded agreeably.

"And I did one of those lovely rebounds." He shook his head. "So I'm not so different than I thought I was."

"You wanted stability," B'Elanna answered easily, fingers drawing circles on the holographic wood of the table they'd retired to.

"I'm trying to imagine--but you didn't mean anything you said, did you?"

B'Elanna tilted her head.

"No. I was--upset."

Tom nodded slowly.

"You lost your temper."

"Yeah." She took a drink. Tom's hand tightened around his glass, taking a steadying breath, knowing the shock still hadn't worn off--that he still needed to process what he had found out.

"Tell me the rest."

She opened her mouth--

--and the holodeck went dark.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Ayala touched his commbadge.

"Ayala, sir."

:::Lieutenant Ayala, is the final report on the diagnostic programs complete?:::

Ayala was amused by the impatience in his superior's voice and gave Susan a smile. She didn't return it, eyes trained down quickly on the PADD. His smile faded.

"Almost completed, sir."

:::Report to me when it is completed. Tuvok out.:::

Ayala, as long as he had lived, didn't remember Tuvok ever giving him such an obvious, and unnecessary, command. He glanced at Susan, who had turned away, perched over her workstation to finish her final report.

"Sue?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

The coolness of her voice almost made him step back, but he reminded himself he was a security officer, second in seniority in the department, in fact, and forced himself to hold his ground.

"Are you finished?" It was an inane question, but he had to think of something--his original humorous comment on Vulcans would apparently not be appreciated by this audience.

"Do I look like I'm finished--Lieutenant?" she said coolly. She tapped in a few more commands and then turned around, PADD in hand. "I need to get Lieutenant Torres' authorization. If you will excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm concealing evidence."

Ayala's mouth tightened.

"Sue, its not personal--"

"It's personal," she answered shortly, spinning on the ball of her foot to the main doors of engineering. "It's too damned personal."

"Sue!" He jogged to catch up with her swift gate, catching her arm and forcing her to stop. "Sue--you know this is just a formality."

"Ayala, how the hell long have you been in Starfleet?" she shot, backing away as far as his grip on her elbow would allow. He flushed dark, and she shook his arm off her. "It's not standard procedure to do what Commander Tuvok ordered, and both of us know it. He's acting--" she stopped short, eyes dark. Lips tightening over whatever words she wanted to say.

"Sue--"

"No. He used security in Engineering, treating us as if we would corrupt the data. And if we did, how the hell would any security officer know anyway?" She held the PADD up. "Tuvok's a Vulcan, but if I wanted to change the code, not one of the security, even him, would catch it, and trust me, the computer's security systems couldn't catch me. Or Lieutenant Torres." She gave him a long look. "Have you thought about that, Ayala? Really thought how on earth security could do anything about diagnostic reviews? Not one of you would understand a single line of code, and if we wanted to rewrite it to make it look like the Viidians had interfered with the diagnostics, we could have. And Tuvok knows it."

Ayala stared at her. Those same thoughts had wandered through his brain, though he hated to admit it.

"He did it to intimidate Lieutenant Torres, and for some reason the Captain didn't see it, or doesn't care." Sue took a step back. "Think about that, Ayala, while I get B'Elanna to sign off on this. Why would Tuvok post security officers in engineering, where the damned computer core isn't even located, to watch us do something that you know nothing about?"

She turned again, and Ayala didn't stop her, watching numbly as she walked out of engineering. As the doors closed behind her, his mind turned over everything she had said, and what it could mean.

And if she was right.

* * * * *

Tom walked down the corridor as quickly as he could, trusty Starfleet-issue bag with an assortment of interesting hacked data in hand. After only a few moments, the holodeck had re-initialized itself, but he'd been too unnerved by the experience to want to repeat it just now, even if he wanted to know what B'Elanna--{the hologram, damn it, that was as much like B'Elanna as I resemble Neelix}--would have told him.

He thought perhaps his curiosity could contain itself. He'd had enough for one evening. Briefly, he let himself remember what she had told him, sipping whiskey in the cool bar, dark eyes serene...so little like the real B'Elanna in every way but looks...and that bothered him.

"I said no!"

Tom froze. He recognized that voice.

"I've done everything else--everything else you said, everything else that had to be done. But it ends now."

Tom carefully peered around the corner.

Harry talking to, what appeared to be, the bulkhead. Tom scrutinized the hall carefully but no one was in evidence except Harry himself, who was shouting at--

{A bulkhead. Harry is standing in the middle of the corridor yelling at a bulkhead. Maybe everyone else has gone crazy and I'm the only one whose sane.} Tom put his bag down as quietly as possible and dropped into a crouch, making himself comfortable against the wall. It wasn't eavesdropping when someone was yelling in a public corridor.

The pause went on so long Tom was certain someone--{maybe a non-bulkhead individual?}--had come upon Harry, but a careful look told Tom that Harry was--listening?

{To the bulkhead.} Tom shook the myriad thoughts out of his head and listened.

"You don't understand! One of her engineers found the diagnostic flaw. She's going to figure it out, Q. She's not stupid, she'll put the pieces together--"

{Q is involved.} Tom felt his mouth go dry.

"No, I've done enough. The Captain suspects B'Elanna already, I won't make it worse."

Tom drew in a steadying breath.

"Just leave me the hell alone! Look, I've done everything that needs to be done, I won't--I can't do a damn thing more! I fixed all the log entries, they can't trace anything I did. He's my best friend, I won't take that risk again."

Tom made the connection with the diagnostics almost as soon as Harry started moving his direction. He grabbed his bag, saw a door, and ducked inside.

Log entries had to mean something.

Tom held the bag against his chest, then fumbled through it in the darkened room.

"Computer, lights," he called, spilling the PADDs on the floor, then glancing around quickly. It was an empty lab--perfect. "Computer, initiate privacy lock, authorization Paris Pi Beta One Three."

He knelt, spreading out the PADDs.

"Detonator, detonator, there we go." He pulled the PADD up, reading the contents. "Harry and I had an argument--no idea what it was over, I've got to find that out, I'm sure Tuvok has it by now--detonator on the Flyer main power relay. Shit." He dropped the PADD, looking for another. "All right, here it is. A detonator attached to the main power relay timed for eleven seconds after the microfissure explosion--Harry, what the hell did you have to do with it?"

Sitting back on his heels, he read over the PADDs he collected, damning security lock-outs as he did so.

"Q--why the hell would Q care about Harry? Why would Harry try to kill me? Why the hell would Q try to kill me?" He threw the PADD down, staring at the remaining PADDs. "Computer, access security logs, into the investigation of the cause of the explosion of the Delta Flyer." He stared at his tricorder for a minute.

::Authorization is restricted to--:::

"I know who the hell it's restricted to!" Tom grabbed the tricorder, walking over to the main terminal and checking the security access it had. Perfect. "Computer, route through engineering workstation assigned to Lieutenant Nicoletti, give me everything you have on the diagnostic program investigation."

:::All information is restricted.:::

"Not from B'Elanna. Authorization Engineering Alpha one six." He sat back, watching the computer decide if it wanted to listen. "Come on, anyone can use an engineering access code, Neelix and Seska taught us that. Let's get cracking. Come on--perfect." He tapped in a few commands and as he waited knelt to find the PADD with Sue's diagnostic report, downloading the new information onto it. "All right, computer. Here's what I want. Find all anomalous log readings dating from three days before the explosion on the Delta Flyer until today, authorization Paris Pi Beta One Three."

He could almost feel the computer trying to fight that one. But asking for all log entries would at least give him an idea about what areas were under investigation--besides transporters and diagnostic programs--he sat back, waiting.

Several normal ones, routine in a ship that had so many kinds of conflicting programming from so many different times, so many stopgap measures applied and forgotten--he skimmed what little he could understand--because log entries meant any log entries, and if Harry was fixing them--

* * * * *

"We're done."

B'Elanna stood back, staring at the ruined casing of the computer core with a sense of accomplishment. Behind her, Harry was silent.

The Captain walked over.

"Good job, Lieutenant, Ensign." She gave B'Elanna a smile and then her eyes went back to the core. "Do you know how much is retrievable yet?"

"No, Captain," Harry answered. "Vorik and Carey ran some scans, but the radiation levels were too high to be sure what we could still get off of it."

"I want the downloading to begin immediately," Captain Janeway answered, circling the metal, her eyes flickering up to meet Tuvok's for a moment. "I want this cargo bay off limits to anyone not working on the downloading and defragmenting. Understood?"

B'Elanna got the message loud and clear--she and Harry weren't to be caught breathing air in the hall outside.

"Yes, Captain," B'Elanna answered, picking up her tool kit. "Permission to return to engineering?"

The Captain nodded.

"Permission granted. Good job, B'Elanna, Harry." Her smile seemed sincere and B'Elanna had to bite her lip not to snarl at it. "You can go too, Harry. Remember, I need the reports on your departments supply needs no later than 0800 tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

B'Elanna nodded shortly, turning with Harry to the door.

"Janeway to engineering--Lieutenant Carey, Ensign Vorik, please report to cargo bay one for the first phase of the recovery of the core data."

The door closed on whatever else the Captain told them. And frankly, B'Elanna had no interest in hearing.

She was half way down the corridor when she realized Harry was no longer following her. Curious, she turned around. He leaned against the wall, staring into the opposite wall with a blank expression on his face.

"Harry?"

"What if--what if that diagnostic program I wrote caused the problem, B'Elanna?" He didn't look at her. "What if the primary diagnostics failed because some other program was running and I didn't think to--I forgot?"

B'Elanna took a step forward.

"Harry?" Blinked, trying to understand. "Harry, we don't know why the diagnostic program failed yet. Sue's just finishing her final report. Even she doesn't know."

He didn't answer for a moment.

"B'Elanna--" he looked up, then down and away. "Never mind. It's just idle speculation."

"Harry, there wasn't another program running on the Flyer. The primary diagnostic shouldn't have failed. The secondaries shouldn't have failed either." She stood still, wishing she hadn't said a damned word. "There should have--I should have caught something, Harry. I should have guessed something was wrong. But I didn't."

He gave her an odd look.

"B'Elanna, what--"

"Ah, here you are."

B'Elanna's back stiffened and she saw Harry grow pale. Slowly, she turned around to see Tom, standing casually only a few feet away.

"Tom." Her voice was blank with shock.

"Hey, Chief." His gaze flickered between the two of them, unreadable, before he turned his attention to B'Elanna.

"Holodeck Two is acting up again." Watching her.

B'Elanna blinked, trying to pull herself back into engineer mode.

"Again?"

"Yeah. I checked the logs--there've been random malfunction for a couple of weeks now--almost three weeks, to be exact."

B'Elanna struggled for a minute.

"Yeah--we connected it to a program you wrote...for your leave with Seven."

He nodded slowly.

"I'll check and see if I have any errors in it--but doesn't it have to be running to do that?"

B'Elanna wished she had a PADD to check her notations.

"You put it on the open database afterward--several people ran it since then. Why?"

Tom shrugged.

"I was just having trouble with the holodeck." He grinned a little, head tilted. "You cancelled."

{Damn, damn, damn.} She'd wondered how long he'd let her get away with that.

"I gotta get to my post," Harry said abruptly, in movement before B'Elanna could think to stop him. Tom gave him a nod, but his eyes stayed on her. She drew in a breath.

"I have to get to engineering."

"You didn't respond."

She walked by him, and he fell in step beside her.

"I don't need to. Yes, I canceled."

"Why?" Hands clasped behind him, looking more utterly innocent than he had any right to look.

"Because--" she stopped, turning to face him, retrieving her most distant, understanding face just for him. "Tom, it's understandable you're confused right now. I don't want to add to that."

It even sounded reasonable to her. She wished the hands she'd clasped behind her would stop shaking.

"Mmm. So you ignore me until I go back to set up housekeeping with Seven?" She winced, and knew he saw it. "Then I can talk to you? What the hell do you think I'll do, B'Elanna--seduce you?"

It wasn't him she was worried about. She turned away, seeing the turbolift so close...

"You're always running from me."

...and too far away. Her back went rigid.

"A lot has changed, Tom."

She increased her pace.

"And some things stay the same. Do the words 'can't keep your pants zipped even for a month, helmboy' mean anything to you?"

She breathed out, coming to a complete stop. Something in her froze cold. Slowly, she turned around, seeing him stand there with that little grin planted on his face, the one that said he knew something she didn't--and was enjoying the knowledge. Her hands became fists behind her, nails digging into her palms

"Still not interested in talking, B'Ela?" Almost mocking.

"Why are you-"

"Why couldn't you tell me yourself?" he asked finally, leaning against the corridor wall. Watching her with an unreadable expression, grin still there but somehow--somehow changed.

"Tom--"

"You'd rather I found out on my own?"

She set her teeth.

"I--I couldn't face you about it, Tom." {Never have been able to...not even before.}

"Then are you ready to discuss it now?"

She steadied herself, teeth locked together for the briefest of moments before a slow nod.

"If that's what you want--"

"Great." And like that, he stood straight again, walking easily to her side, and she found herself falling into step beside him as they headed for the now very close turbolift. "Then I'll see you after your shift."

"Tom--"

"Nineteen hundred hours," he said before she could find the words. "I'll see you in your quarters--after all, you don't have too many places to run on this ship right now other than there." He smiled as she stepped into the turbolift numbly. "See you then."

The turbolift doors closed on that damned, smug smile.

* * * * *

Tom took out the PADDs he had collected and made himself comfortable in a holographic chair in the center of the quiet holodeck.

"Computer, correlate holodeck log errors."

:::Specify.:::

Tom sighed, standing up to walk around the holodeck floor.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking," he replied. "Why the hell B'Elanna didn't--" but he stopped there, knowing why she hadn't. He'd checked the program he'd written that had begun to cause the problems and understood. He also noted the non-Starfleet standard touches that could only have been written by a former Borg. Yes, it was complicated, but he didn't remember ever writing something with such complex and uneven coding.

{Did I promise Seven never to write a good holoprogram either?} He shook his head and closed down the coding, sighing a little as he did so.

"Is there any link between holodeck malfunctions and any other log discrepancies on this ship?" he asked.

:::Access is restricted.:::

Tom's head came up.

Only certain log files were restricted right now. He glanced at the encryption program for a moment. His first instinct was to use it. There was a correlation, even if he couldn't figure out why on earth he was suddenly interested in this--as opposed to, say, the changes that Harry had made to as yet unknown log files that had something to do with the explosion of the Flyer.

Tuvok might know. Tom itched to check the security reports, but held himself back. He could just go to Tuvok and ask...

Tom, glancing once at the PADDs, knew that he didn't know yet. But something stopped him. Harry's words in the corridor--and B'Elanna was under suspicion. He took a breath. Adhering to Starfleet protocol had never been his thing anyway.

He hooked the tricorder up and began the complicated set of codes to make it work.

"Computer--"

And the holodeck went dark. Again.

* * * * *

B'Elanna jerked when a cold hand touched the back of her neck.

"B'Elanna."

She shook her head.

"Dinner tonight?" Q perched on her desk, removing his hand, giving her a grin. "Nice work."

"He just wants to talk, Q. That's it. That's all it will be."

Q braced a hand on her desk, ducking his head to look into her eyes. He pouted.

"B'Elanna." He shook his head. "You're so close to winning..."

"This isn't a contest, Q."

"You--"

"I made a mistake!" She stood up, backing away. "I'm going to tell him, Q. I'm going to tell him what I did, then I'm going to tell the Captain."

When the words came out of her mouth, they sounded--Kahless, they sounded right. She had to do it, do it now, or she never would.

"That you almost killed him?" The cheerful spite made her set her teeth.

"That I made a mistake. I'll tell him about you, about the tricorder, about the secondaries. Then I'll tell the Captain. I'm going to make him understand--"

"What you did? Good luck--he's not the trusting type, is he? You should know."

She shook her head, feeling her hair brush her cheek.

"It doesn't matter anymore..." She stopped, stepping back, thinking about the Captain's face, about her engineers...about Tom. "I did this. It ends now."

* * * * *

Tom got his tricorder unhooked and got to his feet.

"Computer, arch."

Nothing. He hadn't really expected it to, either. Standing still, he took a deep breath, thinking. Then turned the tricorder on.

And was surprised when it showed him the program that had been running...

"But I wasn't running a program." He'd tried to hack the computer, not run his leave program. That idiotic program that seemed to crash the holodeck every damned time he used it--that he wasn't using now, that he hadn't even seen...

* * * * *

B'Elanna walked out of her office, noting Q following her. A curious sense of exultation filled her.

She'd felt that way several times in her life, most notably laying on her back in the Dreadnought she'd shaped to Maquis purposes. That no matter what happened, she was doing the right thing.

"You can't do this, B'Elanna." He sounded worried.

She spun on her heel, teeth bared.

"Watch me, Q. I tell Tom tonight, I'll tell the Captain tomorrow--and you know what? I don't care if they throw me off this fucking ship. It doesn't matter, none of it. I won't let you do this to me, Q. I won't do this to myself. So go to hell, the Continuum, or subspace for all I care, this is *through*!" She found her workstation. Q planted himself behind it, meeting her eyes.

"B'Elanna--"

"You lied to me. There was a detonator on the Flyer that blew up the main power relay. That microfissure was just a distraction--and it would have worked if Tuvok hadn't been assigned to the investigation. Seven and I assumed that the microfissure did it--and we were wrong."

He didn't answer. Curious, he seemed without words, a circumstance that amused B'Elanna no end. She started the warp diagnostic and turned away.

"I can blow up this ship with a thought."

B'Elanna spun on her heel.

"Then do it. You couldn't even blow the Flyer without a detonator. Why the hell did you need one, Q?"

Mouth gaped a little and B'Elanna took a step forward.

"I read the reports--I saw the simulation of the explosion--and there was a detonator. Security and some of my engineers are already investigating the hull, to find the traces of an antimatter explosion eleven seconds after that microfissure broke." She took another step, coming face to face with him. "You haven't done anything--I've let myself do all this."

She met the green eyes.

"Not any more."

* * * * *

Tom walked into the holodeck research lab, dropping his bag on the floor and moving to the controls.

"Computer, access holodeck program Paris 15-8. Authorization Paris Beta One, and tell me what the hell is wrong with it."

:::Please specify:::

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here," he answered, then sighed. His own sarcasm was beginning to get on his nerves. "Okay, here's what I want. List all code changes effected after--" he thought for a second--"completion."

:::This program was never completed.:::

Tom looked down at the controls.

"It was never completed? When was last access for modification?"

The stardate didn't mean much--a few days before his wedding. That made sense.

No, it didn't. It was accessed the very next day, then the day of his wedding, with no modification.

"But it was never finished?"

:::This program is still under construction.:::

"Give me the current source code."

The monitor was brought to sudden life, scrolling the code by quickly. Tom, who'd written holodeck programs for years, didn't need to slow it down to watch for the flaws that would cause the holodeck to freeze at every access--and for the program to come randomly to life.

"Computer, was this program used--never mind, here are the dates."

It had initialized on his wedding day--but not for long. Whatever he and Seven had done, they hadn't used this program...and the next access had been the two days before the explosion of the Flyer...and that made absolutely no sense.

"List all crewmembers who have accessed this program since the last modification."

The computer hummed and hawed, but finally spit it out--it was a matter of public record, after all.

Random names, with varying times--but never longer than an hour.

"Computer, is there any correlation between the times of initialization of this program and any--" he stopped, blanking, having no idea why he was even asking, or what he was asking, for that matter. "Damn."

Tom sat down, drawing in a deep breath, resting his head against the console, wondering why the hell he was suddenly so damned interested in the holodeck.

"Computer, run program."

It shimmered into life.

The beach. As simple as that.

And the research room didn't look like it wanted to shut down, either. That was interesting.

He stepped onto the hot sand, hot even through his boots. He'd never had much of an affinity to the beach--that'd been B'Elanna, actually, who loved the heat (obviously, she was Klingon, heat was great) and the relaxation--he tried to remember how many times he'd seen her in the resort program, curled up in a chair--

He winced, shutting his eyes, feeling the breeze slide slowly over his neck, cooling the sweat that had already began to form. It occurred to him to adjust environmental controls, but he instead removed his tunic, dropping it on the sand behind him, then looked over the water.

He knew this world. The white-yellow sun, the taste of the copper that was in such abundance on this planet, the cooling touch of the wind from the heavily-salted sea.

Caldik Prime. He'd been going on his honeymoon on God-forsaken Caldik Prime.

These were memories he didn't need.

He winced. He really didn't need to remember that part--and suddenly, for the first time, was glad he couldn't remember the original.

Odd though, he should be more upset--

He slipped down on the sand, watching the surf, numb. A man walked by, the wind tossing the dark hair, and Tom took a moment to examine him--he looked, for some reason, familiar.

"Hey," the man said, turning. Green eyes met Tom's, a hint of a smile curving his mouth.

"Hey." Tom gave a glance around the program, then back at the man, utterly nonplussed. "Nice beach."

"Yes, it is." A little smile was turning the hologram's mouth upward.

Tom wondered why he had programmed in a person for what was supposed to be a leave program--{I can't even think honeymoon}-- for him and Seven.

He shivered a little at the recollection of what this particular leave program had been for. And inadvertently glanced down at his bare left hand.

"Where's your wife?" The man had paused, watching him intently, with that smile that Tom just couldn't bother himself to work out right now.

"My wife?" Despite the fact he'd been just thinking about it, the connection just didn't take. He paused, mouth tightening. "At work, I guess."

The holoprogram nodded agreeably and moved on. Tom watched him go.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Ayala entered Tuvok's office, Sue's final report clutched in one hand, seeing his department head hard at work in his office.

"Sir?"

Tuvok glanced up, then extended a hand, taking the PADD from Ayala's grip as soon as he came into range.

"This is Lieutenant Nicoletti's final report," Ayala said uncertainly and unnecessarily. Awkwardly, he waited as Tuvok scanned it, and Ayala blinked at what appeared to be a--{smile?}--that turned his superior's mouth upward, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Then Tuvok looked up, giving Ayala the familiar look of Vulcan impassivity.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant." And looked back down. Ayala, uncertain, turned to the door, eyes lingering as long as they could on the form of the Chief of Security--who had dismissed him. Dismissed him...

Once out of the small office, Ayala blinked, thinking about Sue's word, about that little smile that disturbed him even more that the curt dismissal. Whatever the hell was on that report--had made Tuvok smile.

Tuvok had seen all seven of Sue's reports over the progress of the investigation of the diagnostic programs. He didn't remember ever seeing Tuvok smile when he saw them, and Ayala had been often there, waiting for instructions, when Sue entered, pale and tense, to deliver them.

He walked into the turbolift, still thinking.

* * * * *

Seven re-entered her quarters after her shift, discarding her PADDs at her workstation before seating herself to check any messages that might have been delivered in her absence. Seeing none waiting, she rose, entering her bedroom and walking to the shower.

It was another habit Tom had gotten her into, showering after shift, and not one she protested too much, considering what it usually led to. As she removed her uniform, dropping it into the 'fresher, she considered her plans for the evening.

Ensign Kim's behavior was much of what she had expected--the nervousness and uncertainty she had come to associate with him since their first meeting. She had not noted a change in his behavior over the two years she had known him, and she found that odd. With Lieutenant Torres or Tom, he never showed such discomfort, and with the other officers, at least on duty he was--professional. Yet with her--

She had often wondered what caused it, but her conversation with Tom had been uninformative, to say the least. She had detected on her husband's face a trace of--guilt? regret?--she wasn't sure, but could only be certain that Harry's behavior was uniquely saved for her.

Perhaps her past Borg affiliations made him uncomfortable.

Yet Harry had never avoided her, though she did not often remember him seeking her out. Often, when Tom invited him to dinner, he would bring his latest--romantic interest--and the number of those was varied, though Seven, if asked, could have named every one of them and the rough duration of his attachment to them.

Carefully, she unfastened her hair, letting it fall down her back. It was sometimes an annoyance, and she had often wished to have it cut, but Tom had once expressed a preference for her hair being long, and upon weighing the "compromises" that she and Tom had come to in their relationship, she considered and decided against the cut. At night, he would sometimes brush it out for her...

She stopped the thought, knowing where it would lead and not wishing to consider it. More than anything, she avoided recalling their dinner two nights before--it hurt, and she could not deny that. Tom's memory was--gone--and he didn't remember her any longer.

He remembered Lieutenant Torres. She bit her lip briefly, then raised her head, forcing those thoughts aside.

But she'd seen him look at her. In the Messhall, the day after being released from Sickbay--she'd walked in to see him there, talking to Neelix, and Lieutenant Torres had entered the Messhall.

And Tom's eyes had come up, almost instinctively, to see her.

Seven knew Tom had never looked at her like that before. Not during their relationship, not during their marriage.

If B'Elanna was not there to interfere, Seven would be certain he would understand his attachment to herself.

She tapped the sonic shower on, standing still, clearing her mind...and avoiding the thoughts that had been aroused by Commander Chakotay's conversation with her earlier that day.

* * * * *

"Ensign Paris."

She turned to see Commander Chakotay standing at the doors of astrometrics, a PADD seemingly forgotten in one hand hanging limply at his side.

"Commander Chakotay." She tapped in a few more commands into the astrometrics console and turned completely to face him. "How may I assist you?"

"I've brought some of the Ops reports you wanted," he answered, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him. "How are you doing?"

"I am well, Commander," she answered, extending one hand for the PADD as he came into range, aware that he did not usually deliver these reports personally. She watched him glance around the room briefly, then turned the dark eyes back to her.

"Have you talked to Tom yet?"

Seven blinked. She had suspected as much.

"That is a personal matter, Commander." Her voice was steady.

"And I am head of personnel," he answered with a teasing grin that brought out the dimple in his cheek.

"A play on words," she replied coolly. He handed her the PADD with another smile.

"Humor to break a tense moment," he answered easily, approaching her station and looking over the readings. "You don't have to answer, Seven--I'm just a concerned fellow crewmember."

"You act as counselor for this ship as well, and I am not unaware of your actions in that persona, Commander," she answered, glancing at the PADD briefly. "Is that why you are here--to counsel me?"

"Do you need it?" he returned, leaning against the console to look at her, face professionally expressionless. She focused on her readings.

"I do not."

"Hmm." He straightened, but instead of leaving, he circled the room, apparently meditating a new approach. She was familiar with his tactics. "Seven, I don't want to pry--"

"Then do not." She tapped in a command with unnecessary force.

"--but," he continued, as if she had not spoken, "this can't be easy for you."

Seven tilted her head up.

"The repetition of this observation has become redundant, Commander. I am aware it is not easy. I understand how difficult it is to adjust--and for my husband to adjust."

Chakotay nodded. Ten meters separated now separated them, but for Seven it was still far too close. She looked back down.

"Seven, have you thought about what you are going to do?" His voice was gentle.

"I intend to finish correlating the results of the Ops readings with current astrometrics information. After which, I will go to the Messhall and have my evening meal. I will then retire to my regeneration unit for the night." She hadn't used it in several days, and was aware that it was now time for her to do so.

"About Tom," he said softly. She could feel his eyes on her, and her fingers stumbled over the keys. Surprised, she looked down, quickly compensating for her mistake.

"At this time, I have no--" she stopped, wondering what to say, and wondering how he had tricked her into saying anything. "I do not wish to continue this conversation."

"Seven, have you considered the possibility that your relationship with Tom--"

"I have not." She said it with more force than she intended, and looked up. "He requires a period of adjustment to his circumstances, Commander Chakotay. I will give him that time."

"And you think that you can continue where you left off?"

Seven closed her eyes briefly.

"There is no reason for Tom to discontinue his relationship with me. We are married." That was enough for Seven.

"He doesn't remember you, Seven. Not the person he married."

This apparently wasn't enough for the Commander/

"Did you come here to distress me, Commander? If that was your intent, you have succeeded."

In an instant, she felt his hand touch her elbow, a gesture Tom had used so often that the memory rose without warning, and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to regain control.

"Seven, you haven't discussed this with anyone--not with the Captain, not with Harry--and you need to talk to someone. You need to understand what you are dealing with. And we want to help."

Seven looked up into the brown eyes, kind eyes, looking into hers with what she recognized as sympathy--empathy? She wasn't certain.

"I am not prepared--"

"Seven, you need to think through all your options." His grip shifted from her elbow to her shoulder, turning her toward him. "You can't go on expecting that--"

"That my husband will return to me?' Her own bitterness surprised her, and she tamped down the irrelevant emotion instantly.

"That nothing will change." Chakotay sighed, shaking his head. "Seven, Tom isn't the man you married anymore--not the man you began a relationship with either. He's the man you first met when you came on this ship. Do you remember?"

"I am unlikely to forget," she answered shortly. She knew what point he was trying to make, and was unable to deny it. "You are insinuating his feelings for Lieutenant Torres, are you not?"

"Yes, Seven, I am. Everything he remembers is set when he and B'Elanna were together. A lot of the things that went wrong with their relationship happened in a time he can't remember."

"He had read his logs."

"There's a difference between reading something and living through it," Chakotay answered gently, squeezing her shoulders for emphasis. "You should know that from your research in the database."

Seven started a little, meeting his eyes.

"Tom once told me that I could not learn everything from the database, that sometimes I must--experience--something to make it real."

Chakotay nodded slowly.

"And he didn't live through any of it."

"That is irrelevant. Lieutenant Torres has shown no interest during his relationship with me in renewing her attachment to Tom." And she didn't believe it even when she said it, and knew Chakotay didn't believe it either. She pulled away, arms crossing over her chest, head up, unwilling to give a single inch, make a single concession. She turned back to her workstation.

"B'Elanna isn't your rival, Seven. You spent most of your relationship in competition with Tom's memories of her, I know that--and Tom knew that."

"That is irrelevant." And untrue. She truly believed that. However, from the Commander's expression, he did not.

"Is it?" Chakotay's voice was behind her, still gentle, and she disliked the feelings he was bringing with him, into this room, her work--her place away from the prying, pitying eyes of the crew. "Then think of this, Seven--you don't have that rival anymore--Tom doesn't remember anything about B'Elanna from the time they had barely begun their relationship--"

"A time I remember," Seven shot, turning around. "I was witness to the growth and demise of their attachment--there were those among the crew that said I caused its demise. I remember clearly, Commander, the time he is in now--and his feelings for Lieutenant Torres. I remember--I remember him watching her in the biobed when the alien scientists mutated her lungs--I remember when the alien insect attached itself to her body and he sat by her bed, watching her--" she froze, unbelieving at her own words, the sudden gush that Chakotay's needling had caused, and took a steadying breath. "I know, Commander."

"Then you know your rival has never been B'Elanna--it's been his memories."

"And his memory is no longer in this time," she answered. "His memories are in the infatuation stage at the beginning of his relationship with Lieutenant Torres--and that I must compete against."

"Do you even want to?"

The question stopped the air in Seven's lungs, the concept alien to her. To give up--to walk away--

"It is not an issue--Tom is my husband." She straightened, moving smoothly back to her station, forcing Chakotay out of her way, turning her full attention to the console. "He will over time adjust to his relationship with me."

"Human emotions aren't like that, Seven. You can't turn them on or off at a whim."

"He will read the logs and understand that his relationship with Lieutenant Torres was detrimental to his well-being. In his relationship with me, he has become a more efficient officer, and has found a state of emotional equilibrium, which he did not have with Lieutenant Torres. He will come in time to see the logic of his attachment with me." That she was almost certain of.

Almost.

"Seven, when has Tom ever depended on logic? In the time he remembers, that is."

Chakotay's hand was warm on her back. Intrusive. She wanted to shake it off, move away, but that would be a retreat, letting him see--

"Seven, I want you to think about what you're doing, what you want. Everything you're going through now isn't going to get an easy answer. Some of it won't ever get answered. You're not going to wake up tomorrow and find Tom with you. It may be awhile, if ever, before that will happen."

Seven stiffened.

"I wish to terminate this conversation, Commander," she answered steadily, staring at the viewscreen.

"If you need to talk--"

"I understand!" She bit her tongue hard. "I will remember, Commander."

Finally, after a pause that set Seven's teeth on edge, he left.

* * * * *

Seven stepped from the shower, finding her off-duty clothing that Tom had convinced her to replicate months before--a loose blue dress he'd once told her looked spectacular with her eyes--and began to pin up her hair in front of the mirror Tom had installed the day they had moved into these quarters.

Staring at the mirror, she tried not to think about what Chakotay had said.

Tom was her husband. There was no denying that fact--they were married, they were together, and neither Tom nor B'Elanna had the right--

"Feeling bad, little Borg?" Seven spun around, startled to see a man standing behind her, in Starfleet gold. Watching her from behind glinting green eyes, smiling with what she interpreted as humor. "I can make it better, you know. All you have to do is ask."

* * * * *

B'Elanna sat on her couch, staring at the chronometer.

She'd never figured out why she'd replicated it--from that time to this, the motive remained a mystery. She had few personal effects in her quarters--there had been little she'd had when she beamed over from the Liberty that day six years before--and she'd replicated even less.

There had been the things Tom had given her over the years, however. Oddly enough, she'd never broken them, even in those terrible days after he'd left her, those worse days when he'd started seeing Seven of Nine--{Ensign Seven Paris}--though she'd thought about it. Nor had she recycled them, though it had been tempting. Harry had convinced her, as she held the box, one item clutched in her hand, her eyes blurred by angry tears, as he talked to her--and held her as she cried.

Not the last time she had cried, either. And while Harry had taken to playing the stud on a ship full of unattached women, B'Elanna had turned herself into her work--and a few dates that had gone no where fast and hard.

They dealt with things in their own way. But the items had remained, exactly where Harry had put them, in a box at the back of her closet, and she wondered why she had kept them.

Maybe the very idea of looking in that box frightened her.

She stood up, walking into her room, pulling the container out. Then sat on the floor, thinking about taking off the lid--{do I really want to do this to myself? He'll be here in less than an hour}--but the temptation was unavoidable. She pressed the lid and it came off easily.

Not just things Tom had given her. The blue dress she'd worn to their first real date. Dried flowers from some fight or another, preserved in crystal. A box from some candy he had given her--when had that been, anyway?

And so many other things.

At least Q wasn't here to torture her, needle her, tell her what a wonderful opportunity she had right now, to fix her mistakes--and how many people in life get to do that, anyway?

She closed her eyes.

She didn't need Q to tell her the opportunity she had here--she could tell herself.

* * * * *

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Tuvok's hands steepled themselves together on the surface of his worn desk, an attitude that Harry was almost certain every Vulcan kid must learn in grammar school--they all did it. Tuvok's dark eyes met Harry's as he inclined his head.

"Yes, Ensign. Please sit down."

Harry searched his memory for the last time he'd heard the Vulcan use the word 'please'. {That would be never, Harry Kim.} Uneasy under the cool stare, he awkwardly took the seat across from Tuvok, waiting for what he was pretty sure would be his first official questioning into the circumstances surrounding the explosion of the Delta Flyer--and attempted murder of Lieutenant Paris.

He clasped his hands in his lap to still their shaking.

"You understand why I have asked you to come, have you not, Ensign Kim?"

Harry nodded shortly.

"I do, sir."

"Very well. Where were you at the time of the explosion of the Delta Flyer, Mr. Kim?"

Harry blinked, startled.

"I was on shift on the Bridge, Commander. The log files and duty assignments corroborate this, as well as the other Bridge staff."

"However, on the duty roster, it is noted you took a break fifteen minutes before the explosion."

Harry felt his palms grow clammy.

"I went to the Messhall. Ensign Megan Delaney and Ensign Vorik can both attest to my presence there, from the moment I took my break until I returned to the Bridge."

Tuvok lowered his eyebrows.

"It takes two point seven minutes to travel from the Bridge to the Messhall, and two point seven minutes to return to the Bridge from the Messhall. It is noted you spent only eight minutes of your fifteen-minute break in the Messhall, according to the testimony of Ensign Delaney and Ensign Vorik. That leaves one point six minutes of your time unaccounted for."

Harry took a short breath, hoping to God that he didn't betray himself further.

"I returned early to my station--I only went to the Messhall to get a bite to eat, Commander." He wondered if Tuvok had actually walked the distance with a stopwatch to see how long it would take going both ways--and suspected he probably had. "I didn't transport that detonator, Commander."

Commander Tuvok didn't blink.

"There is a correlation between that time and what appears to be a corrupted transporter log, Ensign Kim."

Harry stopped breathing at that moment, his stomach plummeting into the depths of the uncomfortable chair, staring at Tuvok with wide eyes.

"Three days before the accident, a crewmember witnessed an altercation between yourself and Lieutenant Paris outside of his quarters."

Harry nodded. There was nothing else he could do.

"The witness has recorded the substance of that conversation as their testimony."

"Would you like to explain, Ensign?" Tuvok extended the PADD, and Harry was forced to lift one shaky hand to take it from him. He knew, just knew, that Tuvok's sharp gaze had noticed his hesitation, the trembling of his fingers...

He numbly flipped the PADD on, going over the words he remembered quite clearly--words he would have taken back if he could, the things he'd shouted at Tom for anyone to hear, what he had promised himself months ago he would never reveal.

Unless pushed, that is. Pushed hard. And he had been. And he hadn't meant it. And...

"Would you like to discuss this, Ensign?"

Harry could have almost sworn Tuvok was gloating. He swallowed, placing the PADD on the edge of the desk.

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

Tom dropped the PADDs and the tricorder on his bed and went into the bathroom.

That was obvious--and he'd manipulated her into it nicely, knowing exactly what buttons to push, what it would take to make her give in--he still knew her that well, at least. He grinned a little, not particularly amused, but remembering the look on her face. He'd set the trap nicely, with that quote.

He had to admit it, he'd been thorough with the Sandrine's program. If it was accurate, he could easily understand why they had broken up--if it was accurate, he could only wonder why in the name of God he would have gone there, listen to her say those words over and over again, while spending his off-time with Seven, trying--trying--

To prove B'Elanna wrong. In a very twisted way, it made perfect sense. And didn't say much about him, either--talk to a holographic B'Elanna at night, spend time with Seven during the day--and it made sense, if he assumed a lot of things.

He really didn't have much choice--assumptions were all he had to work with. Assumptions and an indecent holoprogram he was tempted to erase, and probably would once he was certain he'd seen all of it.

Tom shook the thought aside and went to look for some clean clothing--sleuthing around the ship was a dirty business, especially when you try to download the substance of Harry's altercation with him, as Tuvok put it, from a Jefferies tube near deck eight. It had occurred to him that all those extra holodeck rations the Captain had given him were a little addictive--and damned traceable. He'd removed logs of the things he had been doing in the holodeck, but with Tuvok doing the Sherlock Holmes bit (Tom grinned at that, another reminder of the twentieth century), he just couldn't be too careful. Hence, random labs, Jefferies tubes, and even proxy engineering stations--hoping no one was noticing his hacking.

Or if they did, it wouldn't be until he knew what the hell was going on.

Harry had argued with a bulkhead.

Harry, B'Elanna, and Seven of Nine--{Seven Paris}--under suspicion for trying to murder him, and none of those motives really made much sense. Not unless Harry was so good a liar that he could stand with Tom at his wedding and plot his murder.

{That might be something I could do--but not Harry.} And his own uncertainty made him wonder just how well he knew anyone anymore.

And he still didn't know what he and Harry had fought over. Whatever it was, it wasn't in the Tuvok's security logs yet.

He glanced at the chronometer. Fifteen minutes.

* * * * *

"Have you spoken to Lieutenant Paris about your altercation since the accident, Ensign Kim?"

Harry, slumped slightly in his chair, shaking his head sharply.

"No, sir. I haven't spoken to him at all." He'd actively avoided it, rather--and sometimes, far back in his mind, was surprised Tom was letting him get away with it.

"And why is that, Ensign Kim?" Tuvok tapped something into a PADD--Harry wondered why he no longer even cared.

"I just--just haven't." The real reason would send him to the Brig, and Harry just wasn't prepared for that.

It was so odd, Harry thought, suddenly bitterly amused. And he hadn't even considered it before. The day after they met, he'd asked Tom why he lied at Caldik Prime, unable to conceive of doing something like that himself. Lied to save his own skin? Maybe, and Harry knew very well he'd assumed the same thing himself--had assumed, in fact, until he knelt beneath an open console on the holodeck and created a holodeck malfunction so Tom couldn't utilize his program for his and Seven's post-marriage leave--when he'd sat at his own workstation and falsified logs the day after the explosion.

He knew exactly why Tom had done it, and it had nothing to do, or very little to do, with self-preservation, covering your own ass and to hell with the rest. It had everything to do with that image in your head of yourself, and as many mistakes as Harry Kim had made over the years, nothing had compared to that big one the day of the explosion.

That image was shattered, irreparably, irretrievably. What he had done with all the women he had dated since Seven had made a logical, reasoned choice on her selection of a mate--they hadn't changed him that much. What he had done with his and B'Elanna's friendship--that hadn't changed him that much. But sitting on the floor, manipulating logs--that changed him.

He could never say again that he didn't understand Tom Paris. He did, intimately. He'd sat inside his head, run through the same motions, the same mistakes, and he was far older than Tom had been when he had done the same thing. With Tom as the example of what could happen--but at least Tom had had the courage to face his own mistakes.

Eventually.

Harry wondered if he would ever find that courage himself. And wondered how in the name of God Tom had done it.

He could see it even now--Tom breaking into the computer, changing the logs--probably as afraid as Harry had been. Had his fingers shook as he tapped in the appropriate codes? Had he felt the sweat drip down the back of his neck, stinging his skin? Had he wiped away tears?

Had a Q sat on his shoulder, telling him how very easy, how right what he was doing was?

Tom would have told the Q to go to hell. Harry couldn't stop the upward turn of his lips. He couldn't blame Q--Tom had had never blamed anyone but himself.

Then finally coming clean, taking his punishment, hating himself--leading to those years Tom, as far as Harry knew, had never mentioned to anyone...

"Ensign Kim."

Harry didn't think so.

"Ensign Kim."

Harry dragged his gaze back up to Tuvok.

"Yes, sir?"

"I would like your version of the events of..."

* * * * *

B'Elanna caught herself pacing.

Just the concept of explaining everything that she knew Tom would ask her--explaining what she had done, what he had done--what had broken them apart--what had happened when she watched his wedding, the shuttlebay--after.

The champagne glass slitting her skin open, the simple, devastating truth that she hadn't been able to hide from herself--that she still loved him, and hated him, hated Seven--hated herself.

Q's easy, cheap magic, changing the world with a thought and a smirk and a detonator.

There wasn't a place to start, not really.

She turned to her terminal, sitting down, considering calling up engineering reports, then touched the screen off with an impatient tap of her finger.

How did she tell him everything she had done?

That all that security had come with a price Tom had been perfectly willing to pay. And B'Elanna, even now, didn't understand, couldn't understand, what had driven him to accept it, accept Seven's edicts, Seven's pursuit of perfection--

B'Elanna shut her eyes tight, bringing her fist down on the keyboard, feeling it break beneath her hand, splinters of plastics clinging to her fingers.

Janeway, his father, Seven--people he wanted to please, to gain the respect of--{and me, once, and I stomped on it, on you, because I hated myself so much I just wanted, just once, to see you hurt like I did--and I knew I hurt you, but I wanted to see it, feel it--I wanted to see it in you--I didn't realize that you'd trained yourself too well for that--Harry knew. Harry knew, but I didn't. I wouldn't. I never thought you could understand what was going on in me, and I was wrong, I was so wrong...}

* * * * *

Tuvok finished the last entries into his PADD and gave Ensign Kim a long look.

"That will be all, Ensign Kim." He glanced at the chronometer. "Lieutenant Torres is due at 1900 hours. You are dismissed."

Even for Tuvok, that was a little cold, but Harry wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He got to his feet with all speed, giving Tuvok a cursory salute, and making to the door.

In the turbolift, he leaned against the cool metal, praying that this once, just this once, Q would leave him in peace.

Harry took a breath.

"Halt turbolift."

* * * * *

Tom glanced at the chronometer, sighing softly. He was ten minutes late--and he still hadn't moved from his couch.

What would he say to her?

But he remembered her face, the touch of her skin--and he'd waited too long for her already--{but that's in your memory, in your time. It isn't real, this thing with B'Elanna--you both moved away from it. It's not real.}

It seemed a hell of a lot more real than Seven was. Than touching Seven had been, than kissing Seven had been--than the ring that perched on his coffee table that even now he stared at, arms braced on his knees. More real than anything else in his life, from the Flyer to murder--

But that damned ring was still sitting in front of him, and no amount of wishing would make it go away.

He had to talk to B'Elanna--had to find out just how accurate that holoprogram was. Though if her reaction to his little quote was anything to go by, he'd have to say it was pretty fucking accurate, God help him--

He thought he could have gone the rest of his life quite comfortably if he'd never known that. Not hear it in his head.

Decisively, he stood up, going to his closet to change clothes. He had to do this, had to find out at least one thing, the marker in his life where everything he'd ever thought he would be, everything he was, had changed, on one night, with one fight--

* * * * *

Commander Chakotay, in charge of the Bridge, noted, as he looked around the quiet, almost comatose beta shift Bridge crew, that Ensign Cortez, manning Ops, had frowned.

"Is something wrong, Cortez?" he asked. The young woman lifted her head, blinking a little, then looked back down without answering, to frown at the readings.

"Ensign?" he asked again, and the pretty face came up again. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know, sir--I thought--I thought I saw something on Deck 5...but it's gone."

Chakotay stood up, crossing to her station and as she moved aside to give him space, looked at the readings.

"I don't see anything."

"I know, sir." She ran her fingers over the keys. "I just checked the logs--they aren't showing anything either--but I saw--I don't know--something for a second. An energy burst for that section. I was just doing some diagnostic scans, and the warning appeared--and now its gone."

Chakotay frowned, blinking, then turned to Ayala, who was tactical for the shift.

"Go check it out, Lieutenant. Deck 5, check all the rooms--it could be nothing. But I don't want to take any changes, either."

"Aye, sir."

Chakotay frowned at Cortez, but wasn't really seeing her at all.

"Are you sure, Ensign?"

She bit her lip.

"I think--I think so, sir. But if the logs don't show it--"

Chakotay sighed. It had to happen on his shift.

"Never mind, Cortez. We'll check to be sure anyway. Run a level five diagnostic on Ops to make sure everything is running smoothly."

"Yes, sir."

.

* * * * *

B'Elanna heard her door chime and took a deep breath.

"Come."

He stood there, uncertain as she'd never seen him uncertain before, then entered the room with a single step, eyes meeting hers more easily than she could manage. She didn't move from the couch, watching the door close behind him with a kind of finality.

It was, remarkably enough, something like watching the forcefield on the Brig go up, when all your options go to zero.

He didn't sit, simply stood there, alternating his gaze between her face and the edge of the couch. Slowly, he approached her, walking to the chair opposite, sitting down, still watching her with a gaze she couldn't quite decipher.

Or maybe she didn't want to--in any case, the result was the same.

"I understand why you didn't want to see me," he said softly, eyes pinned to a space centimeters above her head.

"I--it was selfish of me," she answered finally, staring at his knees, at the arms braced on them, keeping her voice steady, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart, the sick feeling in her stomach. And once she started, it was easier than she thought. "But--I couldn't do that to you--I didn't know--I didn't know how much your logs had--if they would tell you--"

"They didn't."

She forced herself not to flinch at his tone, which had changed, but she saw he had looked away, maybe as desperate as she was to find something innocuous to look at. It almost made her smile.

Then the sense of his words penetrated.

"Then how--Seven." And she couldn't stop the dislike from coloring her voice. Tom's gaze was back on her again, and she avoided it easily, looking down at the hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"No. I--I found something else--and it told me a lot." She frowned, but didn't get the chance to ask how he had found out. "But I need to hear the rest from you, B'Elanna. What happened. From the time we got those messages from home to the day we--that we ended--I need to understand, because I don't, not yet. And you're the only one I can ask."

She took a deep breath, nodding. She did owe him that. Slowly, haltingly, she began to tell him about the day those messages had arrived from the Alpha Quadrant.

* * * * *

:::Sorry, Seven, I know this is kind of late, but I have something to do. I'll talk to you later. Kim out.:::

He didn't even give her a chance to respond. Troubled, Seven sat down on the couch, aware of some disappointment that Ensign Kim would not be joining her.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Paris?"

:::Lieutenant Paris is on Deck 9, Section 12, room 12b.:::

Seven knew those quarters--and controlled a burst of jealousy.

And Seven, having nothing to do, stood up impatiently, noting on the coffee-table were some of her scans from Astrometrics. Activity would calm her doubts. She picked up the PADDs.

Astrometrics would be empty. Glancing around her quarters, she knew she would not be--comfortable--here alone another night.

* * * * *

Tom replicated them both something to drink and returned to the couch. She took the glass between trembling fingers.

"So that's what happened?"

"I lost my temper," she said quietly, then took a sip. She'd never been more exhausted in her life, not so much physically as emotionally. "Someone told me something--he said I have never had to really face the consequences of my temper--that usually, someone got me out of hot water when I didn't control myself--Chakotay did it, the Captain did it, even you did it for me." She stared down at her glass. "I paid that time, Tom. Don't think--don't think I--that I didn't know that, that I don't know that. I knew it the second you walked out."

Tom nodded, placing his glass on the coffee table.

"I do understand that." If anyone could, it would be him. "What I don't understand was why I didn't know that too."

B'Elanna blinked, eyes jumping to his for the first time that evening.

"Tom--"

"Listen to me." He ruminated his words for a moment, trying to find the right ones, knowing he had to get it right the first time because there were no second chances--well, there were, but he wasn't taking the risk that this time there wasn't.

Because it all clicked into place, at that moment, at that time.

He closed his eyes, taking a short breath.

He wondered what kind of masochist would program quotes for a hologram to throw at him.

Of course, he'd always been a good masochist. He enjoyed dwelling on his many sins. Before B'Elanna, he'd raised it to a fine art of sorts for his off-duty hours--and ran to the holodeck to play social animal to get away from it.

So he'd used Seven as his distraction. Lovely.

But he wouldn't have married her if all she had been was a distraction. At least, he hoped not.

"B'Elanna--what happened to us, that would make either of us--that would--" he stopped, the words were gone.

"I don't know." Her head was down now, curling brown hair blocking his view of her face.

And there was silence, as they searched for something to say.

* * * * *

"Commander Tuvok?"

Ayala pushed the chime twice, but there was no answer, and he didn't have the authorization to override the door locks--though he could have done it--

He *was* a Maquis after all.

Instead, like the good Starfleet officer he had become, he pressed his commbadge.

"Ayala to Commander Tuvok."

He waited, then tried again. Nothing. Finally, he tapped the channel off and tapped open another.

"Ayala to Commander Chakotay."

:::Go ahead, Lieutenant.:::

"I have been unable to contact Commander Tuvok. His are the last quarters we need to check."

There was a pause.

:::I'll be right down. Get a security team there, Ayala. Chakotay out.:::

Ayala swallowed and nodded, then tried, for no particular reason, to call Tuvok again.

"Ayala to Commander Tuvok. Please respond."

* * * * *

"Did you mean what you said, B'Elanna?"

She looked up, eyes darkening suddenly.

"Not when I said it, not after. I just--I just wanted to be left alone. I was angry with myself, with you, with--and--" she closed her teeth over her lip to get her composure back, then continued. "I'm sorry, Tom. I hurt you--I never did anything like that before--never deliberately tried to--to make them--and--I don't know why."

"So I would leave you alone, presumably," Tom answered softly. He saw her wince, then look up at him, a peculiar expression on her face.

"I don't understand," she said quietly.

"Understand what?"

"How--why you--you haven't left."

Tom shook his head, trying not to smile at her surprise, knowing she'd take it the wrong way.

"Maybe its the difference between hearing it first hand and--well, this way. And logs, and other--er, indirect methods. It doesn't seem--real."

B'Elanna lifted her head, looking at him.

"Nothing does, does it?" she said softly, and Tom saw the brown eyes had become distant. She was somewhere else entirely.

"Did you ever stop loving me, B'Elanna?" Equally soft. Wondering how she would answer. If she would even answer.

But somehow, so oddly, it had boiled down to this, and he didn't know why.

"No, I never sto--" she froze, brown eyes flew to his, mouth slightly open. Tom watched this reaction, watched her look for the way to take the words back.

And everything was perfectly, crystal clear, as it hadn't been in days. One concrete fact, one thing that hadn't changed, one thing he could live with.

She loved him.

"It doesn't matter," she finally said, and stood up, backing away. "It's not real--it's confusing for you--"

"Do you think I don't know that?" He didn't move, eyes trained on her as she retreated--though where she thought she would go was anyone's guess. "Yes, it is confusing--but--" He got up, taking a step toward her, watching the sudden panic flare in her eyes--what the hell had he done to make her look like that?

"You're married!" She hit the wall, hands going back instinctively to touch it, as if it would give her something--maybe strength, he didn't know.

"I know." He knew that every time he saw that ring that he still didn't know what to do with...that he could see now in his head.

"You're happier with Seven than you ever were with me." Her voice sounded desperate. Maybe trying to convince herself.

Tom took that in, then dismissed it as irrelevant.

"B'Elanna--"

"It's in my logs. Go read it everything I did, everything I said. Go read it, you'll understand."

He didn't move, face expressionless.

"That bad?" His voice was gentle.

"Worse." She lowered her head into her hands, closing her eyes.

"Did you mean it?"

Her head came up sharply.

"Not when I said it, not after. I wanted to hurt you."

Tom nodded slowly.

"Apparently, you did."

He smiled a little, nodding to himself.

He knew this B'Elanna.

* * * * *

Chakotay stood in front of the door. He'd tried his own commbadge several times--nothing.

"Computer, release privacy lock, authorization Chakotay Alpha Two."

{And don't let Tuvok be meditating, or damn, will I hear it from Kathryn about invading privacy--} The thought made him smile, even as the doors slid open.

The smile disappeared at his first look into Tuvok's quarters.

They didn't have to look far. Chakotay and Ayala were at the side of his sprawled body in an instant, and Chakotay tapped his commbadge even as Ayala felt for a pulse.

"Chakotay to Sickbay--we have a medical emergency. Prepare to receive Commander Tuvok." He tapped the line closed without waiting for an answer. "Computer, initiate emergency medical transport of Commander Tuvok to Sickbay, authorization Chakotay Alpha Two."

* * * * *

She slowly walked back to the couch, slumping into the cushions. He sat beside her, but not touching, maybe lost in his own thoughts. To her horror, she wanted him to.

Touch her.

Oddly, she couldn't move away.

"So in a fit of pique, after what happened between us, I married Seven?" He sat back, staring off into space. "I read my logs, and don't recognize the man who wrote them. Not at all. Did I change that much?"

"Seven changed you that much," she retorted harshly. She locked her jaw to stop the sudden pain she felt at the reminder that the man in front of her was Seven's husband. {My mate.} And it was so natural to think of him that way--just like it used to be, sitting on her couch--{Get that the hell out of your head!}

"You owe him." The smooth, melodious voice slid through her like water. She shivered.

Q wasn't here.

Maybe only in her head this time.

"Touch him."

She didn't need Q to tell her that.

Numbly, she reached out, taking the long fingers in hers, and the blue eyes came up. Met hers with a heat she recognized. Her heartbeat increased suddenly, and a flush stole up her face, heating her skin.

"You stole his life, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna gritted her teeth together. She didn't need Q to tell her that.

"He has you and that is just about it. How very sad for him, no? But not for you. Not the way you're looking at him now." A soft chuckle only she could hear. She wanted to pull her hand away. But didn't.

Because she couldn't deny what Q said. She had wanted this.

"I'm sorry, Tom." {Do I mean that? Do I want him on these terms? What *am* I if I do?}

He nodded. Blue eyes never searching hers, for something--maybe finding it.

"I'm not sure what to do." An admission it must have hurt him to make. She could understand that. This Tom was far more reserved about his feelings. {This Tom. Not the new and improved and emotionally secure Tom Paris. This Tom. My Tom.}

And she didn't, couldn't, deny that.

Daringly, she reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the tension under his skin. Knew the question he wanted to ask her. Her fingers slid against his mouth at the turn of his head, brushing his lower lip, and he caught one between his teeth for a moment.

Her breath stopped in her throat. She didn't move as his tongue brushed the tip, pulling it into his mouth, sucking gently for a moment; didn't pull away when he freed her finger to run his tongue down to her palm, hand locking on her wrist, keeping her in place. He still looked at her, the silent question answered by the way she didn't move when he shifted closer, tilting her head with one hand, taking her mouth hard, with a strength that pushed her against the cushions.

She wanted this.

"Tom…" she said finally, as he lifted his head, taking a short breath as he looked down at her.

"It's a fantasy," he said shortly, unfastening her uniform top. "I know, Janeway told me several times today. That what I lost is reality, that what I feel now is all a fantasy, that I can't pretend that two years haven't gone by. I know." He pulled the jacket off her shoulders, then removed his own, and slid both arms around her, pulling her sharply against him, hands flat against her back. Her fingers closed, with disturbing familiarity, on his shoulders. "Computer, reduce lights to ten percent." The brightness dropped instantly. She shivered as he stroked her thigh.

She didn't want to stop him.

"But it's real to me." His hands slid under her shirt, caressing her breasts, thumbs moving over the nipples. "I want you. And you, for some reason, still want me."

"We can't pretend--" She stopped with a gasp when he bit down into her shoulder through her shirt. Her hands tightened.

"I want to pretend. I don't want to walk into the Mess Hall one more time and see Neelix look at me with that damned pity, and the crew whisper behind my back when I leave. I don't want Harry to stop himself from asking me something because I don't remember what he wants to talk about. And I don't want to see you look at me and then walk away." He jerked his shirt up over his head, pulling her into his lap so she straddled him. "This is my life. I want to see you. I want to sleep with you. I want to be with you because I love you."

She balanced herself with her hands on his shoulders as he shifted to the edge of the couch, her toes brushing the floor. His mouth was moving across her throat, almost desperately over her jaw, catching her mouth again in a kiss that stopped her breath, almost cleared her mind of everything except this reality--this one thing she wanted more than anything she'd ever imagined wanting in her entire life.

"You never told me you loved me." He took her arms, lifting them above her head with a quick, almost rough movement, then pulled the shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the darkness, before sliding his hands over hers, still in the air, and drawing them back down again to rest against his chest. Gently, he unfastened her bra, letting it slide down her limp arms until it puddled at her wrists. She let it slowly float to the floor, feeling his eyes on her, hearing his breathing, clearly audible in the silent room.

"Then I don't blame you for kicking me out," he said softly. He unfastened her trousers., running his fingers over the bared skin gently. He took her chin in one hand, kissing her again with that same desperate hunger. "This is real to me. Computer, engage privacy lock."

B'Elanna knew, somewhere in her mind, that she had to stop this. She shook her head.

"Tom--"

"Are you still in love with me?"

B'Elanna caught her breath, and he took her chin in one hand, forcing her eyes to meet his, meet that completely relentless determination.

"Say it. Say that you aren't. Say that you hate me, that I don't have a chance in hell. And I'll go. For now." The blue eyes didn't flinch. "But I'll be back until you can say it. I've done it before, I'll do it again."

She remembered that too.

"Are you going to take away that too, B'Elanna?" Q's soft voice, brushing her hair. She stared into Tom's eyes, knowing she couldn't lie.

"I can't--" His hand on her back pulled her flat against him--she could feel his erection through her clothes, see how much he wanted her--finally, he wanted her. {Ruthless. I had no idea.} "I never stopped, Tom. But--"

"Then that's all I care about."

And maybe that was true. Because he'd lost everything else.

Then she was standing on her feet, a little disoriented, as he crouched to remove her trousers and underwear at once, sliding his hands gently over the bared skin of her thighs, down to her calves, in a long even stroke as the clothes fell to her feet. Numbly, she stepped out of them, and he stood back up, hands at her hips, lifting her up, and she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist. She leaned her head down and kissed him, his mouth opening beneath hers instantly, his arms sliding around her back, kneading the muscles firmly.

"That's it, B'Ela," he whispered against her lips, and she felt her back come against the wall. "Come on." His tongue traced a line down her throat

This was so wrong, but she didn't care, not when he looked at her like that, not when he caressed her buttocks, not when her skin felt like it was on fire.

Not when he said he loved her.

And it was so damned easy.

"Take off your clothes," she whispered. She felt him reach for his trousers, unclasping them, letting them fall, still looking up into her eyes, then he stepped a little to the side, fingers gripping her hips. Waited for her.

To decide. To make it real.

She reached down, taking him in her hand, feeling his sharply indrawn breath, then he began to lower her down, slowly, and she closed her eyes as he filled her, staring into impossibly dark eyes that wouldn't let her look away.

"Yes, Tom," she whispered, lowering her head so he could take her mouth, filling it with his tongue as he sank slowly into her--Kahless, she'd forgotten how this felt, how it felt with him, how it felt to have him inside her, how it felt to finally be the focus of his attention--be the one he wanted. "Please, Tom." The stroke complete, both of them shaking a little, he caressed her back gently, moving up into her hair, tilting her head back so his mouth explored her neck and shoulders as she tightened her legs around him. She drew in a breath sharply as he bit into her jaw, felt the skin break, her blood running down the side of her neck until he licked it away, following the trail down to her breast.

"This is real, B'Elanna. Please."

Then, somehow, her back was on the bed, and he thrust again into her, drawing out a low groan from deep in her throat. She shuddered as he withdrew, and tightened her legs.

"B'Elanna," he said softly, kissing her forehead gently, lacing their fingers together and pinning them just above her head. "That's it. Let it happen."

She tightened her fingers in his as he kissed her again, the rhythm strengthening, then he suddenly rolled over, taking her with them, keeping them joined Kahless only knew how, and she caught her breath, bracing herself on their joined hands. She looked down into the eyes that had darkened almost to black, then began moving on him, hearing his low groan.

Kahless knew, she had paid for it.

And she slowly lowered her head until she could brush her lips against his cheek with aching gentleness, then harder, then, she couldn't help it, she bit down, skin breaking obediently against her demand, the taste of his blood on her tongue, feeling him shudder beneath her--{this is my mate. My mate.}

"Mine, Tom," she whispered against his shoulder, freeing one of his hands to slide up his chest.

"I'm--not--arguing," Tom answered, running a hand down her back to her buttocks, caressing gently, before sliding one hand up and down her thigh and hip, enjoying the heat, the dampness of her skin, the movement of her body--the way she said his name.

B'Elanna knew she said more, but she never knew what it was, not what she yelled out in climax against Tom's ear, not what he told her during his release, as she collapsed, shuddering, against his chest.

Tom never forgot it, not for the rest of his life. Not the tight grip of her fingers in his, not the warmth of her mouth. Not those words, over and over and over.

"My mate. Mine. Please Tom. Please, Tom. *Please Tom*."

* * * * *

Seven looked up from her work in Astrometrics.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Paris?"

:::Lieutenant Paris is located on Deck 9, Section 12, room 12b.:::

She closed her eyes, then turned back to her work. The numbers danced briefly before her eyes. She blinked aggressively to clear them.

There could be few interpretations on why Tom was still with B'Elanna, other than the most obvious.

"Seven Paris."

She looked up, startled. He was there again. Green eyes smiling, leaning against the wall before levering himself up and making his way to stand just in front of her console, glancing briefly down at her work.

"You still don't want to consider it? After what she's done to you?" Q laughed softly, circling the console, looking down at her with amused pity, or so she interpreted it.

Like the expression Ensign Kim had on his face.

"She's fucking your husband--you think he wants you now? You really think he's going to come tripping back to you after *that*?"

Seven shut her eyes, fingers trembling on the console.

Ensign Kim had told her, and she remembered that conversation. Remembered his mocking assurances that she would never measure up to B'Elanna.

She had not believed him then.

She felt him come up behind her, cold breath on her neck.

"You never could compete with her, you know. Not with his memories of her, of them together. You remember, don't you?"

Seven's teeth came sharply together.

"Leave." She raised a hand, ready to call Captain Janeway. His hand stopped hers centimeters from its goal.

"Can you hear them on Deck 9, do you think, out in the corridor? Should we go check? You know what they're doing in her quarters this late, don't you, Seven?" The amused malice was unmistakable.

He circled her console and she slowly turned with him, numb. His hands went out, almost as if to embrace her.

"One word, Seven Paris. Just say yes." And he snapped his fingers. "Fixed. She'll never interfere again."

She didn't move, barely breathed, feeling the dampness on her cheeks, visualizing what she knew, she *knew*, was going on in that room. Right now.

She'd never measure up to Tom's memories.

With her husband. With Tom.

B'Elanna.

"After all, she doesn't deserve him, does she? Say it, Seven, and I'll make your dreams come true."

B'Elanna and Tom, in that long-ago, almost forgotten engineering station, as engineering had gossiped about for weeks. When the aliens had experimented on them...

Harry, telling her that she could never compare to what Tom and B'Elanna had had.

B'Elanna, with Tom--right now.

"Leave."

Q frowned, stepping back, and Seven turned to her console, trying to find where she had left off.

"Do you know who caused the Flyer to explode, Seven?"

Her back stiffened. Slowly, she turned around, vaguely aware of a tightness in her chest. Q smiled serenely, leaning against the console beside her, shaking his head as if to some private joke.

"What do you mean?"

"B'Elanna did it, Seven." He straightened an invisible crease in his tunic, then turned his eyes back to her. "She blew it up, Seven. She was jealous. She was very angry." He regarded her briefly, then leaned over her console, tapping out something.

Seven tried to breathe easily.

"I do not believe you."

"Check it out, Ice Princess." Seven slowly approached the screen, watching the data flow over it--easily interpretable to her experienced eye. "Look at the logs--look what she ignored in the diagnostic--and look at the transporter records." He stepped back, but Seven couldn't look away from the screen.

"Get rid of her, Seven. She tried to kill Tom--and now she's screwing him in her bed--and she doesn't deserve him, Seven." He had moved closer, his breath in her ear. "Does she?"

"I will take this to the Captain--"

"Do you think Tom will believe it if she's there to make up lies? She *will* lie, Seven--and he'll never believe it, will believe her, you know he will. And how the hell will the Captain be sure, if even Tom defends her? You lose, either way."

Seven did know he would. He would lie for her--he would break protocol for her--

--because he loved her.

"Let me help you, Seven. Just say that one little word. For Tom's sake, Seven." He was close, she could feel his breath on her cheek, cool and dry.

Seven stopped the data, focusing in on the transporter code. Looking at the times, the destination--

"Yes."

* * * * *

She woke up to feel a tongue dance over her throat. Groggily, she opened her eyes and gasped at the feel of lips close over one of her nipples, sucking hard. One hand went to his head instantly. He looked up, giving her a smile.

"You're awake." Tom hadn't slept at all. His smile widened as he leaned close, tongue brushing between her breasts lightly, a caress that never failed to arouse her.

She nodded, wanting to say something, but Tom didn't let her. Sliding up the bed, he covered her mouth with his, opening her lips gently, exploring her mouth with care, tasting her. She felt herself melt into the bed, grasping his shoulder, letting her hands caress the bare flesh of his back and neck.

"Spread your legs for me," he whispered against her lips, and she instantly complied, and he moved down, tracing her skin with his tongue, nipping lightly against her breasts and stomach, then, gently spreading her with his fingers. She dug her nails into the mattress when his tongue brushed over her once, so lightly, then, with careful pressure, he sucked at her clitoris.

"God, Tom," she whispered, neck arching. She closed her eyes, feeling him catch one of her hands, lacing their fingers together, accepting her tight grip on him, wanting the contact. Needing it, because this couldn't be real.

But it was. More real than she remembered. More real than the nights she'd spent alone remembering.

Far more real than the last year had been.

"Yes, Tom."

* * * * *

:::Ayala to Commander Chakotay.:::

Chakotay tore his eyes from the still form of Tuvok on the biobed, as the Doc tried to fix the damage that a phaser to the head can cause.

"Chakotay here." His voice, even to himself, sounded numb. This didn't happen on Voyager--murders just didn't, they didn't--

:::We may have found two suspects, Commander.:::

Chakotay stared at the biobed, at Tuvok's ashen face.

"Get them. Now."

* * * * *

The door chimed. B'Elanna stared into Tom's eyes, barely breathing. He grinned.

"Expecting anyone?" He nipped her throat, and she growled softly, letting her head fall back naturally, then pushing him away.

"I gotta get the door." Her voice sounded sleepy--and she couldn't help her smile, even with the guilt she knew would return if she let it--which right now, she wasn't going to.

Not right now.

Tom sat up, pulling her up with him. She shook her head.

"I'll get it." She pushed him on his back, kissing him again, hearing him sigh a little melodramatically, as she grabbed her robe, padding to the door. To her surprise, it didn't open at her approach or her touch.

"Shit." She tried it again, heard voices outside her door, wondering who the hell would be wandering around at this hour.

"Are you going to tell him, B'Elanna?"

She ignored Q's voice.

"After what just happened? You going to tell him what you did? Are you?" The thick syrup of his voice flowed around her, threatening her control--and her resolution.

If it was bad before, she'd made it ten times worse...he'd never forgive her, not ever, not now.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked. B'Elanna tried the release again, teeth gritted.

She closed her eyes.

"I don't know--damn it--" She knelt beside the panel that housed the wiring for her door.

So much for leaving the guilt at the door. Her fingers trembled at the edge of the panel.

B'Elanna paused.

She'd done pretty well so far. She glanced back, looking at blue eyes that watched her, with that look she remembered so well, that she had taken for granted, that she'd missed.

That she'd never see again

The door chimed again and B'Elanna set her teeth, removing the panel and reaching inside.

"Yes."

One word was all it took to crystallize it. She had to tell him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

B'Elanna lifted her head, seeing Q standing beside her, a little smile turning up the corners of his mouth, green eyes glinting merrily.

"Warn me?"

All Tom could see was brilliant light, heard B'Elanna yell?--scream?--something, before the door opened. He was off the bed, forgetting he wasn't dressed, pulling her from the sparking panel, staring down into the closed eyes, the burns extending up her arm. He fumbled for a pulse.

"B'Elanna?" His voice cracked. He didn't feel a pulse.

The door opened abruptly. Ayala stepped in, phaser drawn, blinking at tableau at his feet. two security officers crowded in behind him. Tom didn't look up, didn't even care as he hit his commbadge, hearing himself calling for medical assistance.

From somewhere far away, he heard Ayala's voice.

"Lieutenant Torres? Tom?"

* * * * *

Seven's hands shook as she stepped back from the astrometrics panel, staring down at the controls. Wondering vaguely, through a fog of anger and jealousy and shock, exactly what had happened.

"Good Borg," Q whispered, and his hands left hers to drop to her sides, unmoving. They felt cold. "All bets are off, Seven. You win."

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