SECOND CHANCES

Title: Second Chances, 1/1
Author: Jaye (Copyright November 2003)
Codes: VOY C/P PG-13

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are the property of Paramount. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is PG-13 for language. If you aren't interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going. Please keep the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive. E-mail is wordsmith872@fastmail.fm

Summary: Chakotay seeks to save Tom's future by changing his past.

Note: Written for the ChakotayFest Anniversary.

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PART ONE

I thought I was in pretty good shape.

Apparently I was mistaken.

My sides and belly heaved, lungs straining to fill and empty fast enough to re-supply my oxygen-starved blood. I pressed my back against the sun-warmed rock, trying to ignore just how narrow the trail was. Between the tips of my boots I could see the black-sand beach, mauve caps of surf far below, the pale color striking against the deep purple of the Oltori ocean. The sound of the sea was a soft murmur, and only a hint of salt tang reached me on the breeze.

After wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm, I turned to follow the curve of the trail. Eventually I reached the top, and paused again to acknowledge the beauty of my surroundings. Then I slowly walked up wide steps to the open-air temple the Oltori had built atop the seaside cliff. It reminded me of Grecian ruins on Earth, a long quadrangle of columns linked by graceful arches. There was no ceiling; the mosaic floors were dazzling, reflecting the sunlight.

What the hell was I doing here? This quest was hopeless, destined to be the latest, but not the worst of a lifetime of disappointments.

But it was so appropriate, to spend the longest day of my life making the journey to the sanctuary of Izni, the Oltori goddess of impossible dreams.

Because all my dreams died today, with Tom Paris.

They were hopeless dreams, of course, the wistful weavings of idle moments. And I knew that; but still, to dream is to hope is to live.

What I would do from now on was merely survive.

I stopped again, reaching to press my hand against a column, needing the support. Anger, grief, a black hatred at the capricious cruelty of the universe rose like bile, acid and choking.

It was Tom's own fault. Stupid bastard. If only he'd listened...

The Oltori planet was supposed to be a haven, a break from the day-to-day strain of living in the Delta. The inhabitants, willowy, green-scaled aliens who were like the Cardassians' benevolent cousins, had offered Voyager a place to dock for repairs, along with a fair price for the food, energy, and materials our travel-weary crew so desperately needed.

Generous hosts, the Oltori had also opened their world for shore leave. The colors were strange and exotic, but the scents and flavors, the feel of soil underfoot and life all around reminded us all so much of home, whichever planet had nurtured us before our journey to the stars.

B'Elanna had actually come to me on the sly, making sure she and Tom were scheduled for shore leave together.

Her question answered one of mine: Tom had finally taken a lover.

It was a kind of painful relief, to know the choice was made. I'd always been aware Tom would eventually settle down with one of his close friends. In a way, I was glad he'd chosen B'Elanna.

True, because Tom was now intimately involved with one of *my* best friends I'd be forced to spend a lot more time with the couple, their closeness a reminder of my own lonely existence.

But at least he wasn't with Harry. I don't think I could bear seeing Tom in the arms of another man. Especially Voyager's resident Boy Scout, the first one to approach Tom, to offer friendship and support.

Unlike myself.

By the time Tom and I got past mutual animosity to respect and beyond, I knew he'd already found what he needed elsewhere. We'd be no more than friends, and not even close ones. There was too much between us, words that we both probably regretted but never addressed.

But I did want Tom to be happy. I thought he and B'Elanna had a good shot at it---*if* they worked hard enough. And I believed they would.

That made what happened even more tragic.

I arranged for the newly public couple to have off together, thinking they'd take advantage of the private time. But apparently they didn't need or want too much time alone, since they ended up joining a half-dozen of us at dawn for a day of rock-climbing with two Oltori guides.

The morning had started off so well. Greg, B'Elanna, Harry, Sue, Jenny, Tom and I made the first leg of the journey laughing and sharing stories.

Then Tom had challenged B'Elanna to race to a narrow ledge, the next scheduled spot for a break to savor a cool drink and wipe the sweat from our eyes.

I had called out for them to wait, to take it slow, some premonition mingling with my concern about the stability of the rock. I can still picture Tom glancing back over his shoulder at me, the sun gilding his hair, the devil-may-care look in his eyes.

"Don't worry, old man. We'll wait for you to catch up---eventually." With that he was off, scrabbling up with more speed than grace, laughing all the way as B'Elanna cursed and scrambled after him.

Then it happened. One moment Tom was reaching out for a handhold, his weight already shifting to its chosen support. The next---nothing but crumbling rock and his shocked scream as he fell past us and down...and down.

I couldn't shout, or blink, or cry. I just stared at Tom's body lying broken and twisted beyond all hope of reclamation on the unforgiving ground far, far below.

I must have moved then, because I reached Tom first. But I don't remember the journey. His eyes were already glazing, his body a shapeless mass lying in a pool of blood. I knew instantly that not even Seven's nanoprobes could pull off a miracle this time.

I thought my heart stopped. The universe collapsed around me, the pressure in my chest too great to draw breath. I lifted a hand to reach out, intending to close blue eyes already filming in death.

But it wasn't my right. I remembered that when B'Elanna moved past me to seize Tom, looking into his lifeless eyes. Then she lifted her head in the traditional Klingon death roar.

I wanted to howl myself at the knife-sharp pain. But I stayed silent.

And I fulfilled all of my responsibilities. I beamed Tom---Tom's body---up to Sickbay. Made a report to Kathryn, though I have no idea what I said. Waited as the Doc confirmed that Tom was, indeed, beyond even the reach of 24th-century medical technology. Held B'Elanna close as she screamed and bruised my chest with her fists. Then I dumped her in Harry's arms so they could cry together, grabbed my offering from my quarters and beamed back down to the planet. To begin my climb here.

To pay my final respects to what was, and what would never be.

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With a shake I freed myself from morbid thoughts and made my way to the altar that stood at the far end of the quadrangle, just before a parapet that jutted defiantly into open air. I laid a hand against the altar, the marble smooth and sun-warmed, almost like a living thing under my palm.

For minutes I just stood there, thinking of Tom, his strengths and flaws, his spirit and bravery, and how much I would miss him. Then I laid my offering precisely in the center of the altar.

I turned away, leaving the small blue cube of chalk to shimmer in the glare of the Oltori sun.

"What iss thisss?"

The sibilant words made me jump and whirl, muscles tensed for combat. A robed Oltori was peering puzzled at the object on the altar.

From the more rounded shape and higher voice, I knew this alien was a female. "Where did you come from?"

The Oltori smiled at me, her needle-like teeth glinting. "From the balcony. I wasss enjoying the sssun as I awaited the next sssupplicant."

I bowed respectfully, though I didn't know whether the temple attendant was my elder or junior; with Oltori it was hard to tell. "It's a cube of chalk used to coat the tips of sticks called cues." I answered shortly, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. "Part of a Terran game called pool."

The lizard-like creature tilted her head. "And why isss it a sssuitable offering to Izni?"

I shrugged. "It represents the place I met my impossible dream, came to know him, love him. And where I lost him. Long before he died on an Oltori mountain."

The priestess stared at me, holding me trapped though I desperately wanted to flee from her too-sharp eyes.

Then she picked up the cube and gestured toward the balcony. "I would hear thisss tale."

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PART TWO

Tom Paris wasn't all that young, but he was desperately trying to look it. I bet he was pretending to be some green pilot just washed out of the Academy, but the lines on his face gave him away. And his eyes. Hard and haunted.

Like a man who killed three of his colleagues and finally admitted it.

Yeah, I knew Paris's story. I even knew his father, though we had rarely crossed paths when I was teaching. The admiral was a real hard-ass, always strutting around the campus like he owned it. I can imagine what Admiral Owen Paris would have had to say to his son after the accident---and the confession.

I could even feel sorry for Tom Paris. I knew what it was like to disappoint your father.

But that didn't automatically mean I was going to hire him to fly for the Maquis.

I just watched him for a few days, still wondering if this was some kind of set-up. He played pool every night in a bar on a scruffy planet at the edge of the DMZ, and it was quite a show. I can still see him chalking his cue, sizing up the table, before practicing his fancy breaks and bank shots. Few people were fool enough to play with him, unless they were paying for a lesson. And that's what it really was, even if officially the schlubs were betting they could actually beat him.

By the time I decided to trust Paris I also had to admit I was attracted to him. So what if he was brittle and cynical and mad at the universe. He would fit right in with most of the Maquis. Including me.

Not that I would do anything about my...interest. Seska had already taught me the folly of getting involved with a member of my crew, even casually. But I would let him fly for me.

So I challenged Paris to a game of pool. And grabbed his favorite cue before he had a chance to reach for it. I knew I'd need the advantage. As we chalked up, Paris gave me a glance from the corner of his eye. "I've seen you around, lately."

"Yeah?" was all I said, then broke, sinking two solids. I knew there was only one sure way to beat Paris, and that was to never relinquish the table to him.

It was tough, though, sliding past him to make the next shot. He wouldn't budge, his lean body surprisingly strong, so we rubbed together as I shifted into position. Then whiskey breath was hot against my ear as Paris whispered, "Even from across the room, I could feel your eyes on me."

I nearly blew the shot when he licked me before drawing away. Shit, we were *not* going there. I straightened up and circled the table, moving to the other side and lining up to sink two more balls. Paris wasn't done playing, though. He carefully, oh-so-slowly outlined his lips with his tongue. As if pointing out how wide his mouth was, how much he could put in it...

He was probably just trying to distract me---I wasn't vain enough to assume otherwise---but even if he'd been seriously attracted I knew the ploy wouldn't work. I'd flown through the Badlands with a phasered shoulder and broken ribs. There wasn't much that could shake my concentration.

And in this situation, certainly not Tom Paris, no matter how fallen-angel sexy he was. I sank my solids and moved again.

He never had a chance. I just ignored his antics, aced the rest of my shots and banked the 8-ball into a corner pocket. I straightened, leaning on my stick. "Pay up," was all I said.

I could tell he hadn't expected to lose. The darting eyes and pale cheeks told me all I needed to know. Paris *was* hard up. You couldn't fake panic like that.

Still, I had to give him credit. His carefree mask snapped into place in a matter of seconds, and he was slinking toward me again. All sensual intent. But his eyes were shining with a desperation I had seen far too often in the DMZ.

My breath left me when he laid his hands on my tunic, leaning in to nibble at my neck and whisper, "Maybe we could come to an arrangement..."

"We can discuss it," I replied, all cool uninterest as if my dick wasn't standing at attention. I wasn't wearing my leathers, just a long tunic and drawstring trousers, and I was grateful for the loose cut of the clothes.

I followed him out of the bar and up the stairs, surreptitiously motioning Ayala to stay put. Since I was supposedly a simple businessman whiling away a few hours, he was guarding my back.

But I didn't think I'd have any trouble with Paris. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he gripped the banister. I doubted he'd had to do this before. But he kept going up to his level, fumbling open the door and leading me into his tiny room.

When he turned and started to take off his shirt I was tempted. Oh, so tempted. He was lean and long and handsome and probably a great fuck.

But he was also vulnerable underneath his bravado, coming off a really rough patch in his life. He was about to become a member of my crew.

And I suspected that if I took him to bed I'd break my own rules and let him get close. I couldn't risk it. "Stop," I snapped.

Paris stiffened but obeyed. His eyes narrowed.

Then I made sure he'd never come on to me again. My lip curled and I forced disdain into my voice. "Thanks for the offer, but forget it, bud. I would never fuck someone who uses his body to pay his pool debts. There's no telling where it's been."

I could see the bolt strike home, and almost winced at the flash of humiliation in the blue eyes before they hardened again. Paris bristled, his hands clenching into fists. "Yeah, well that's the only way an old man like you would get me," he drawled, and I shrugged indifferently even as I wondered if he was speaking the truth. He came toward me, snarling, "So just what the fuck did you come up here for?"

"To discuss---privately---your becoming a pilot for my operation." I moved away, fingers still itching to learn the texture of his chest hair. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, keeping my distance.

He scrutinized my civilian attire. "Maquis?" he asked dubiously.

I just nodded.

This time *he* leaned against the wall, his nonchalant air belied by the utter emptiness of his threadbare room. "It'll cost you."

I was sure Paris was going to be a prick about his fee, but I wasn't in the mood. "I already know you're out of money, *Paris*, and almost out of time." I could tell he was shaken that I knew his name, so I plowed on. "You'll get enough up front to pay off your urgent IOUs, and more later. Hell, if it works out, you might even scrape enough together to make a grub stake for a new life somewhere else."

I wasn't sure, but I thought there was a hint of bitter resignation in the slump of his shoulders, the thinning of his lips. "Not with the Maquis?"

"The Maquis aren't mercenaries, Paris. You do your job no questions asked, and we'll see how long you stick around. If you can't hack it, I'll cut you loose in a heartbeat."

I think he murmured, "Story of my life," but it was too low for me to be sure.

It was only later, after he'd packed up his small bag of personal stuff and I'd turned him over to Ayala for transport to my ship, that I realized that he'd never even asked my name.

Paris spent a few weeks in my cell, always ready with a smart-ass comment or scathing observation. He obviously had a problem with authority figures. I was happy enough to send him as the pilot for a joint operation with another group.

Of course, he got caught. And I didn't see him again until six months later, on the bridge of Voyager. His reward for betraying the Maquis.

Paris saved my life on Ocampa, and that earned him my protection, nothing more.

But after a few months into our voyage, we slowly started to put our hostilities aside. There was just so little point in being angry over events 70 years away.

The site of our reconciliation was the pool table in Sandrine's, of all places. We were well-matched, and seemed to get better practice playing against each other than with anyone else, including the captain.

At first what conversation there was between us had a nasty edge, but eventually we put the past behind us and concentrated on life in the Delta. I watched him slowly lose his hard shell.

And then I observed him playing pool with B'Elanna, with Harry. And I recognized the speculation in his eyes; he was just waiting to make his move. On which one didn't matter. It was enough to know that any vague dream I'd had of sometime, somehow claiming Tom for my own had firmly entered the realm of impossibility.

And now he was dead.

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I didn't notice the tears on my face until the drying salt tightened the skin of my cheeks. I swallowed and hastily looked away, embarrassed by the Oltori's obvious compassion.

She touched my hand, her fingers cool and dry. "What boon do you asssk of Izni?"

A sharp laugh pushed its way past my lips as I cast my eyes out to the strange-colored sea. "I'm not greedy, Lady. Bringing Tom back to life is impossible enough for any goddess."

At her silence I turned back to her. She was playing with the little cube of chalk, dipping her finger into the indent at the center, rubbing the blue powder against the pads of her finger and thumb. Then she looked at me, and again my nerves jangled at her stare. "It *isss* posssible, but not easy."

Doubt warred with stubborn hope. "How?"

"For Izni, time isss not a river but an ocean. All that was, isss, and will be exissst as one. All posssibilities co-exissst. If you wish, she will sssend you back in time to change Tom Parisss's dessstiny."

"I'll be able to stop him from climbing the mountain?" I asked. It sounded way too simple.

"No. The forces that pushed thisss man to hisss death were established long before your ship reached Oltori, and even before the two of you ever met." The attendant stood and leaned over the railing, staring at the surf pounding so far below. Then she looked at me, her gaze challenging. "Throw yourssself from thisss height; halfway down a portal will open, sssending you to a point in the passst. You will be given one chance to change hisss fate." She crossed her arms, hiding the chalk in her fist. "You may asssk three questions before making your desssision. And I can tell you thisss much: If you sssucceed, Tom Parisss will not be aboard Voyager when the Caretaker brings it to the Delta Quadrant."

I stared at her, stupefied. How and Why burned on my tongue, but I knew the only answers I'd get would be mystical mumbo-jumbo that wouldn't do me any good. I quickly considered the consequences of my actions. If Tom wasn't aboard Voyager, that meant there probably wouldn't be anyone to save me in the Ocampan caves.

Strangely, the sacrifice of my own life didn't bother me all that much. I'd already lost so much...or more likely I was still suffering from shock. In any case, I knew what my three questions would be.

"My ship was destroyed to keep Voyager safe from the Kazon. If I do this, will the two crews still merge and survive intact to reach Oltori?"

She nodded. "Voyager's crew will not sssuffer any more than they already have."

I bit my lip. "Tom played an important role in people's lives. He was Harry's best friend, B'Elanna's lover, a bright spot in all of our days. Will there be someone to love B'Elanna, befriend Harry, to make life better aboard Voyager?"

The answer was quick. "All of them will have what they need."

I stood, watching the woman carefully. "If Tom isn't on Voyager, his life will be very different. Will he be happier than he was in this life?"

"He will be fulfilled." She watched me calmly as I struggled to make my decision.

I wanted to laugh again. Maybe I wasn't in shock, but really crazy. I had to be, pondering throwing myself to my death on the off-chance that one goddess on one planet in some obscure corner of the galaxy was actually real. Not a figment of collective imagination like all the rest.

Then again, even if she was, I was likely dead anyway.

The wind buffeted my face as I slipped over the railing, clinging. I stared up at the sky, wondering where Voyager was, then down into the purple surf.

Hoping the others would forgive me if I was wrong, I jumped.

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PART THREE

And landed on my butt on a neatly trimmed lawn, a soccer ball in my hands. My rather small hands. I looked down at myself, but couldn't tell much except my skin was its usual color and I was definitely not an adult.

"Hey, can I have my ball back?" I looked up at---Tom Paris. The eyes were unmistakable, along with that cheeky grin. He couldn't have been more than 6 or 7, his hair a mop of unruly curls.

I nodded slowly and climbed to my feet. I tossed the ball into his waiting hands. He smiled again, and with an absent-minded wave dashed back to his teammates.

Shaking my head at the realization that I really was somewhere in Tom's past, I looked down at myself again. I think I *was* myself, actually. The outfit reminded me of the one I wore when I was 15 and my father brought me to Earth to find the Rubber Tree People.

For some reason, I felt as though I didn't have much time. I scanned my surroundings, looking for the flash of Tom's blond hair. I had no idea what I could say or do to make him *not* go climbing on Oltori---or even keep him off Voyager. But I had to try.

When I finally found him my gut clenched in sympathy. His father---Owen Paris looked pretty much the way he always did---was tearing into him about his poor performance, going on and on about the Paris name and Tom's duty to uphold it.

Tom's head was down, his shoulders bowed as if his father's words fell on him like blows. He bore the verbal onslaught silently, but when his father ordered him to go and gather his things he lifted his face in a defiant glare and went grudgingly, cleats dragging in the short grass.

I looked at the admiral---captain, actually. He was staring at Tom, his whole body still stiff with annoyance. Then I looked at the boy; he was muttering angrily to himself while blinking back tears, his forearm swiping at his eyes and nose in self-disgust.

A memory of my own father came to me. His pain and disappointment at my rejection of my heritage. His face when I defied him with my plans to go to the Academy. His actions, his words, even his emotions...he was so different from Owen Paris. Kolopak might have wanted me to walk a different path, but he never tried to force me to it. And he never, ever made me feel like I was unworthy of his love.

I decided then that Owen Paris was the one I needed to work on. He rejected Tom after Caldik Prime, sending his son on a downward spiral that only managed to be stopped by a trip halfway across the galaxy.

If only Owen knew what he was going to lose...maybe he'd stand by Tom after the accident. Help his son face the truth from the start. Then Tom wouldn't be thrown out of Starfleet. I smiled to myself. Such a clever pilot would probably end up on the Enterprise, Chief Helmsman of the flagship of the fleet. Or maybe designing ships at Utopia Planitia.

Either way, he'd never cross paths with an angry Maquis in a pool hall on the frontier.

I pushed my sense of loss aside and hurried to where Owen waited. I stopped beside him, biting my lip as I tried to think of what to say. Finally, I blurted, "You're wrong, you know."

"*What* did you say, young man?" Owen turned to me, anger still glinting in his eyes.

My chin tilted automatically in defiance, and I suddenly understood how Tom got into so much trouble with authority. I calmed myself, speaking as respectfully as I could. "A son's duty is not to become his father, but to become a man. And a father's duty is to help his children find their own path, not choose it for them."

Owen was speechless, staring at me as if I were crazy. I guess he had a point, a teenager giving an adult advice about parenting was pretty bizarre. And I wasn't finished yet. "You tell your son that he has to live up to the Paris name. That it's your legacy."

I looked out at where Tom was still dawdling, his figure blurred by the sudden burn of tears in my eyes. "But that's not true. You have two legacies, a name and a son. You've chosen the wrong one. And the day your son dies your name dies with him."

Fingers gripped my shoulders hard enough to bruise. I cried out in pain as I was yanked around to face Owen Paris. I instinctively shrank back from the wild look in his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?" he spat, shaking me.

I shouted back, "Every time you push Tom away, put him down or just ignore him, you destroy a little bit of what he could be." I felt so much for the young boy Tom had been, so much anger and pain I just lost it. My fists pummeled Owen's chest. "You push him away. And he doesn't come back." I knew I was crying. "He *can't* come back. He's dead. You killed him. *You killed him!*"

With a burst of strength I pushed myself free, but when I tried to turn and run I tripped and fell sobbing into the grass. The grief washed over me and I was drowning in it, regret and pain and the sheer hopelessness of it all were dragging me down and under.

"Who are you?" Owen's voice was strangled.

I gulped and sniffled, trying to find some measure of control. "Someone who will never be blessed with children."

The whisper of the grass told me Owen had left. But I just lay there, utterly drained, too heartsore to get up and try again. My eyes drifted shut.

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PART FOUR (CONCLUSION)

Slim arms sliding around my waist jerked me to awareness. I instinctively leaned back into my husband's embrace, breathing a contented sigh as he nuzzled my neck.

Tom sighed too, propping his chin on my shoulder to stare out over the balcony. "You're right. This temple is absolutely beautiful. I'm glad we decided to spend the day alone instead of rock-climbing with the gang."

He chuckled and squeezed. "But I'm still not sure Izni is the right goddess for us, Cha. After all, our dream of having a baby next year is already arranged. And I'd have called *us* inevitable rather than impossible."

"I don't know about that, Tom." I rested one hand on his, and opened the other to stare at the blue cube of chalk in my palm. "You don't know how close I came to leaving you in Marseilles, despite Sveta's vouching for you." The memory of our first meeting brought a smile to my lips.

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I had just returned from the rain forest after receiving my tattoo, and Sveta had contacted me to warn me away from my house. Apparently news of my resignation had sparked some concern in certain Starfleet circles. Sveta had made arrangements for my clandestine journey to the DMZ, and asked me to pick up another recruit on my way off-planet.

I knew Tom Paris was my contact the moment I walked into Sandrine's. I recognized him from seeing him around HQ a few times when he was on leave, visiting his father. A helmsman on the Orinoco, the lieutenant had already shown great promise---and restraint. He likely prevented an accident at Caldik Prime by refusing to participate in some stunt the junior officers had cooked up. He thought it was too dangerous, and kept the others from trying the tricky maneuvers. I only knew about it because the brass wanted me to help the Basic Tactics instructor use the situation to illustrate risk assessment in the coming semesters.

But could Tom Paris be trusted? He was throwing away what would be a promising Starfleet career to become a renegade. I needed to find out why.

So I challenged him to a game of pool.

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Tom's thoughts must have been running along the same track, for he murmured, "The second I saw you I knew I'd follow you anywhere. Gods, Cha, you were so handsome, and there was so much anger and pain in your eyes. I just wanted to do all I could to take the hurt away."

I gave a sad chuckle, remembering those dark days. "Instead, you wiped the floor with me at pool." And he had.

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I didn't get a chance to touch the table; Tom broke and sank his stripes with a mastery that matched my own.

Despite my reservations, I had warmed to the blond as we chatted during the game. I wasn't sure whether I had decided to trust Tom, or whether I was still so grief-stricken I didn't care if it was a trap, but I followed him upstairs to his temporary room above the bar.

Tom must have sensed my uncertainty, because after the door shut behind us he laid it on the line. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense to you that a 'Fleet brat would give it all up and join the Maquis."

I watched him pace, as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. Then he stopped in front of me, and I could see the determination in his eyes. "Please believe me, this is what I *have* to do. I told my father---" he looked at me as if to confirm I knew who his father was--- "that the treaty isn't honorable. Abandoning our people to the Cardassians...it just isn't right. And he understood." There was a hint of wonder on his face. My heart ached as I remembered my father's reaction to my own choices, so long ago.

Tom stepped closer. "Look, you don't have to trust me right away. I won't ask to fly for you until you're ready to let me. But take me with you. Please." I was surprised at how upset he looked as he said urgently, "I'm not asking for much. A bunk, some food," he gave a sheepish grin, "maybe a change of clothes once in a while." His hands rested on my shoulders. "Please, I just want to help."

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Shaking my head at the memory of how completely I'd fallen under Tom's spell, I lifted one of Tom's hands to my lips, kissing the back as I watched the waves. "You never did get a bunk, you know."

Tom laughed and slid his free hand under my top, his fingers warm on my skin. "Sure I did, I just never used it. I was much happier sharing yours."

"*That* seemed impossible to me," I admitted. "That you could be so sure of us, so soon."

I felt him shrug. "We were a done deal even before you gave me the Liberty's helm," Tom insisted. "The *real* shocker was Seska." He shook his head. "Who'd of guessed when you sent her on that mission that the Feds would get her---and find out she was really a Cardassian."

I remembered my own shock at the news. I assigned her the joint mission instead of Tom just to keep her from pestering me. She couldn't seem to get it into her head that Tom and I were together. Now, I wonder whether she was attracted to me or my Maquis secrets.

In a way, I was grateful to her. Because the day I realized how close I came to losing Tom, I married him. And he had been by my side ever since, on the Liberty, on the stairs on Ocampa when he saved my life, and later on Voyager.

"So," Tom said, turning me and plucking the cube from my grasp, "let's leave this for Izni and go back up to the ship." He grinned and brushed his lips against mine, a promise of things to come. "And just continue to be impossibly happy."

And so we did.

THE END