"Barriers"  
by Barbara Watson (samzmom@aol.com)



SUMMARY: Part of a series of canon-consistent back-stories for Tom and B'Elanna. 
Tom Paris has broken through two crucial barriers: Warp 10 and B'Elanna Torres's 
contempt. But will their budding friendship survive Tom's secret mission to uncover the 
Kazon spy?

TIMELINE: Post "Threshold" through "Investigations"

RATING: PG-13 for a few expletives; otherwise, you could probably read this one to 
your grandmother--if she likes Voyager.

CODES: P/T, lots of everyone else

SPOILERS: "Threshold," "Meld," "Dreadnought," "Lifesigns," "Investigations"

DISCLAIMER: All of these characters, the ship they live on, their enemies, even the 
games they play are the property of Paramount Pictures, a company I would like to 
personally thank for hiring Scott Bakula for Series V. If they'd hire me, I wouldn't have to 
write for free. This story is a speculative expansion of plotlines and dialogue created by 
the staff writers for Voyager. It is not my intention to take credit for their work.

DEDICATION: To my new Collective. My artistic distinctiveness had been added to 
your own. Especially to BR and Liz, my Beta Babes. I promise never to call you that 
again.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom Paris felt like a new man. And in a way, he was. He'd just been through a most 
remarkable few days, during which he had made an historic test flight, proven a long-held 
law of physics to be untrue, and added his name to the likes of Orville Wright, Neil 
Armstrong, and Zephram Cochran. More remarkable, he'd died, been reborn as a new 
kind of human being, and had his entire genome resequenced to bring him back to his 
"normal" self. Even in the Delta Quadrant, this was a week for the books.

In the face of such remarkable experiences, he'd also developed a new outlook on his life 
aboard Voyager. Tom Paris, the perennial underachiever, had become Tom Paris, 
courageous record-setter. Maybe this whole crazy incident was a new beginning for him. 
At least that's how he was deciding to look at it.

He'd spent three days confined to sickbay before the doctor could be satisfied that he was 
recovered from the huge trauma his body had undergone. Now, on his way back to his 
quarters, he couldn't help but replay it all in his head. If this was the first day of his new 
life, he had a lot of things to think about. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he 
didn't even hear the woman running up behind him.

"Hey, Paris!" He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see B'Elanna Torres, a little out of 
breath from her sprint to catch up with him. "So, Hero, are you too important to speak to 
your friends now? I've been calling you since you got off the turbolift!" 

Tom was embarrassed. It was bad enough that everyone had made such a big fuss about 
his breaking the transwarp threshold. Quickly his history-making flight became minor 
news, however, in comparison with the physical transformation he had endured soon 
after. Plus, he couldn't help but wonder what his shipmates had learned about his little 
side trip with Captain Janeway. The captain had immediately classified some of the more 
'personal' details of their evolutionary excursion, but Voyager was a small ship, and 
everyone seemed to hear everything--eventually. He decided in the moment to say 
nothing and hope for the best. "Torres, sorry. I didn't hear you. I guess I just have a lot on 
my mind."

Yeah, she thought. I guess so. As they started walking down the corridor toward Tom's 
quarters, B'Elanna's tone softened. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After what 
happened to you...well, it was frightening to watch. I can't imagine what it must have 
been like to live through."

Tom was touched. Torres had never seemed like the compassionate type to him before. 
Yet he could remember the look on her face when he'd collapsed in the mess hall after his 
body had started to break down; the way she practically carried him to sickbay herself, 
and her hand brushing the hair out of his eyes as he lay there dying. He'd seen another 
side of her that day. A side he hadn't remembered until now. "Yeah, well, the Doc says 
I'm fine. I have to take it easy for a few days, but I should be my old self in no time."

"Too bad," she said sarcastically. Then her voice moderated. "I was kind of getting to like 
your 'new' self." 

Wow. Where was this coming from? Paris had spent more than a little time with the half-
Klingon chief engineer in the past few months, first trapped together in a Vidiian prison, 
then sharing meals with Harry Kim, and--most recently--collaborating on the Warp 10 
project. He had even saved her butt a few times, including flying a dangerous rescue 
mission when she'd been kidnapped by a robotic race she'd been trying to help. During 
that time, their relationship had grown from mutual suspicion, to grudging respect, to 
full-fledged tolerance. So maybe--in B'Elanna's eyes--the transformation to the 'new' Tom 
Paris had actually begun before the test flight. He hadn't really considered that, and the 
thought made him smile.

They reached the door to his quarters before he could think of something to say, and Tom 
was surprised when B'Elanna followed him in as if that's where she'd been heading. "Do 
you want a cup of coffee?" he offered, trying to be a cordial host now that she was 
standing in his cabin. 

She couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know; the last time I had coffee with you, you ended 
up passed out on the floor." 

Tom smiled. "Well, at least you'll be here to rescue me again." He replicated two cups 
and handed her one as they took seats at opposite ends of his couch. "Incidentally, 
B'Elanna, I never did get a chance to thank you for that. Getting me to sickbay so fast, I 
mean. I owe you one." 

"Yeah, for all the good it did," she said softly. "I felt pretty helpless, just watching you 
lying there--not being able to do anything." Suddenly Torres got a strange look on her 
face. Paris watched her wrestle with what she was about to say before she finally just 
blurted it out. "You know, Tom, I heard what you said about me--when you thought you 
were dying. That I don't cry. That you don't trust people who don't cry. Did you mean 
that?"

How could she have known? He didn't remember seeing her in sickbay, and surely 
neither Kes nor the Doctor would have repeated it. "I was scared, B'Elanna. I was saying 
all kinds of crazy things."

She couldn't let it go that easily. "Tom, did you mean it?"

"Are you asking if I trust you?" Paris paused and looked down into his coffee cup before 
he answered. "Can I trust you?"

This was a new twist. B'Elanna had never considered that Tom Paris--of all people--
might be afraid to trust her. And why was it even an issue? Still, she wanted to know. 
"Have I ever given you any reason to think you can't?"

Tom searched for a smart-assed answer. None came. "No." For some reason, though, he 
didn't want to just drop it. "But I've wondered sometimes if you would ever look at me as 
anything other than the drunk you met in the Maquis. I guess I never thought you would 
ever let yourself trust me."

B'Elanna began to squirm in her seat. So, this conversation was going there. "Paris--"

He cut her off before she could answer. "Torres, how about we make a deal right now: 
trust me until I give you a reason why you shouldn't. And I'll do the same. Who knows, 
maybe we'll surprise each other."

A year ago, she would have been sure that this was some kind of line or angle he was 
trying to work. But a year ago she'd never have been sitting alone in his quarters, sharing 
a cup of coffee. She'd come to see another side of this 'arrogant, self-absorbed pig.' 
Working together so closely had taught her a lot about this man she had written off. As a 
pilot he was as good as his reputation; and for someone who claimed to be a so-so 
engineer, he had been the one to finally solve the nacelle separation problem that had 
been frustrating their transwarp test flights. She knew now that there was more to Tom 
Paris than met the eye.

She'd been flattered, but a little suspicious when Harry asked her to work with them on 
the transwarp project. Since no one--including the captain--thought their idea would 
work, the men had been free to create their own team for this improbable pet project. At 
first she figured they just needed her engineering skills to make the whole thing fly. 
Harry Kim was her friend, though, and she trusted his motives. Plus, the prospect of 
being a part of a history-making mission like this had been too tempting to resist, 
particularly one that might ultimately show them a way home.

And, while she already knew she had a good personal and professional chemistry with 
Harry, she was amazed at how much better they both were when Paris was added to the 
mix. When they were working together, the three of them, there was a kind of synergy, a 
coming together of like minds. Each filled in the gaps in the others' knowledge, and they 
seemed to spark a kind of inspiration they lacked individually. She was surprised that it 
had actually been…fun. And they had done it: proven a theoretical impossibility to be 
possible. Okay, so it hadn't turned out exactly like they planned, but still, they had done 
it. Together.

Now Tom was asking her for some reassurance that her opinion of him had changed, that 
she saw him as a person she could trust. Against all her better instincts, Torres knew how 
she would answer. "Deal," she said firmly, then downed the last of her coffee. "I've gotta 
go," she said as she stood and walked to the door.

But there was something Tom wanted to know before she left. "B'Elanna," he called out 
after her. "Did you mean it?" She was confused, and he could tell. "When you caught up 
with me in the corridor, you said you were my friend. Did you mean it?"

She barely remembered blurting that out. "Yeah. I guess I did." She smiled, and paused 
for a minute before turning back for the door. "Later, Paris," she called out over her 
shoulder.

"Later, Torres," he called back to her as she left. In the span of seven days, Tom Paris had 
disproved two theoretical impossibilities: the Warp 10 barrier could be broken, and 
B'Elanna Torres could come to think of herself as his friend. He laughed. Maybe 
anything was possible.


~*~*~*~*~


Kathryn Janeway had a headache. Sitting in her ready room, nursing her fourth cup of 
coffee, she stared down at the PADD in her hand and listened to her pulse pound out a 
steady rhythm in her temples. While her body had recently been on an unbelievably wild 
ride, she suspected the report she'd just read had as much to do with her pain as her 
recovering metabolism.

When the door sounded, she was tempted not to answer. 'Isn't it someone else's day to be 
captain?' she asked herself rhetorically. "Come in," she said instead.

Normally she was happy to see Tuvok. Even after a year in the Delta Quadrant, she still 
thought of home when she saw her old friend, the only surviving senior officer from her 
'I-thought-they-were-exciting-but-what-did-I-know?' pre-Voyager command days. 
Today, though, she expected that the Vulcan was coming to drive home the point his 
classified report had tried to make. She wasn't in the mood. "Yes, Lieutenant?" she said.

"Captain, I was wondering if you have had a chance to read my recommendations." Well, 
she couldn't lie.

"I have." She acknowledged. "And I can't say I like what you're proposing." Janeway 
stood and walked to her desk before turning back to him. "I don't like lying to my senior 
officers. I particularly hate the thought of keeping this from Commander Chakotay."

Tuvok knew he had to choose his words carefully. While Captain Janeway was 
admittedly a friend, and while he knew she considered him her most trusted advisor, her 
decision to name the Maquis captain as her first officer had been deliberate. There had 
been no subterfuge on her part, and he suspected she would allow none from him. 

Yet, this matter was of the utmost importance, for Tuvok had uncovered a trail of secret 
subspace transmissions from someone onboard to one of their most deadly enemies: the 
Kazon-Nistrim. Voyager had a spy among them, or so it seemed, and there was hard 
evidence of a security breach--a breach Tuvok was certain would lead back to one of the 
former Maquis. 

Not that he intended to implicate Chakotay. To even suggest that the first officer was in 
any way aware of or involved in the treason would be the best way to lose this particular 
battle with his captain's sensibilities. Logic dictated he come up with a more palatable 
excuse for keeping his plan a secret. "I admit, Captain, that there is some risk in 
offending the commander once our diversion is unveiled, but I believe we would be 
placing him in an untenable position to ask him to investigate his former colleagues. 
Additionally, I believe our plan requires a substantial amount of dramatic tension to be 
credible. We would risk detection if any member of the crew felt that what we are about 
to do was staged in any way."

Janeway was impressed at the argument Tuvok had chosen. "So you're saying we don't 
know if the commander is a good enough actor to fake it?" 

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I am not a drama critic. But I do believe the performance we 
are about to unveil will be more convincing if only one of its players is aware of our 
plan."

That led Janeway to another uncomfortable realization. "You know, Tuvok, that other 
'player' literally killed himself to reclaim his reputation on this ship. What you're 
suggesting would ask him to undo everything he's worked for, every relationship he's 
been able to build. I have some serious reservations about requiring any member of this 
crew to make that kind of sacrifice."

Again, Tuvok had anticipated her hesitation and prepared a thoroughly logical response. 
"His troubled past is what makes him the perfect 'actor' for this role. And, if we are 
successful, I can think of no better way to reclaim one's reputation than to have single-
handedly uncovered our Kazon spy."

Unassailable Vulcan logic. But there were some conditions Janeway knew she'd have to 
set just to be able to live with herself. "Alright, Tuvok. But I'm making this assignment 
strictly voluntary. If he turns us down, we'll have to come up with another plan. 
Understood?"

A tentative victory, but a victory nonetheless. "Understood, Captain. Shall I ask the 
lieutenant to join us?"

"No," Janeway instructed. "We'd be too conspicuous. I'll speak with him about this 
privately tomorrow morning." Once again the throbbing in her temples picked up in 
tempo with her quickening pulse. "Now, if you'll excuse me Tuvok, I'll be in sickbay. I 
need to see if the Doctor can do anything about this headache."

On the short trip to Deck 5, Janeway remembered the night Tom had begged her to let 
him make the Warp 10 flight. Obsessed with the early and unfulfilled promise he'd shown 
as a child, Paris was haunted by the voices of his schoolmates. Of his demanding and 
hard-to-please father. And of the potential he'd never found a way to achieve. "Some day 
Tom Paris is going to do something important," they had predicted. And, with her help, 
he had. Little did he know, he might get more than just one chance.


~*~*~*~*~


"Paris to Torres."

She rolled over toward the nightstand at the side of her bed and searched for her 
commbadge. "Torres here. What do you want?!" She hated being woken up from a deep 
sleep. This had better be good.

"It's Friday, 2100 hours. Now get your butt up here! Paris out." 

B'Elanna flopped back down on the bed and sighed. She'd just gotten off a double shift in 
engineering and was exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was go shoot pool with 
Tom Paris and his band of Sandrine's misfits. But, a few weeks after they'd started 
working together on the transwarp project, she, Harry, and Tom had made a standing 
date: every Friday night no matter what, they'd meet in the Holodeck for an evening 'out.' 
Tom said it was 'loser insurance'; that anyone without a date on a Friday night was a 
loser, so they'd never be losers since they would never be left sitting home alone. This 
seventh-grade logic had made sense to her when Paris first proposed it--though she 
suspected it was because of the synthehol she'd been drinking at the time.

"Computer, lights to 60%." Even dimmed, the sudden illumination stung her eyes. 
B'Elanna staggered to her wardrobe and pulled out the first thing she could find, a teal 
blue jumpsuit that laced up the front. She slipped on a pair of comfortable shoes, barely 
bothering to check if they matched, then ran a brush through her hair. Damn Tom Paris, 
she thought as she went back for her commbadge. Why couldn't he just let her sleep?



She was surprised when the holodeck doors opened. This wasn't Marseilles. It looked 
like...actually, she didn't know what it looked like. The ground was covered with little 
hunks of wood, millions of tiny, fragrant chips scattered as far as she could see. Directly 
in front of her were little shacks with open fronts, each decorated with dozens of blinking 
lights, stuffed animals, and toys of all shapes and sizes. In the distance, she could see 
huge machines--also covered in lights--that seemed to have no purpose but to move the 
human body in one direction or another. She watched for a moment as people walked into 
these devices--then she heard screaming. Moments later, the same people would emerge, 
laughing, and queuing up to do it again. What was this place?

"B'Elanna!" Tom was calling to her from one of the little booths a few meters away. 
"Look what I won for you."

He was carrying a small stuffed animal, which she immediately recognized as a targ. She 
could tell from his expression that her new friend was very pleased with himself. "Paris, I 
thought we were shooting pool. And where's Harry?"

Tom's expression fell slightly, but he pretended not to care. "Harry has a real date tonight, 
believe it or not, so it's just you and me. Besides, I've been working on this carnival 
program for weeks and I was dying to test it out. Come on. I'll show you around." Before 
she could say anything, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the midway. "These are 
games of chance, though I'll tell you now: they're all rigged. There's no way to win."

"Then how did you end up with your little friend there?" she asked, indicating the stuffed 
targ now tucked under Tom's arm.

"Oh, well, I guess I just got lucky. You know, they need to let someone win every now 
and then to lure in the suckers. It has to at least look like you've got a shot at a prize." 
Still holding her hand, Tom dragged her further down the path until they were just in 
front of the huge machines. All around her, B'Elanna could hear the screams of people 
being twirled, flipped, or tossed by one contraption or the next. She wondered if it were 
some kind of bizarre torture ritual. 

"Do you want to go on the rides?" he asked her, his expression pleading with her to say 
yes.

"Rides? Is that what you call them? What are they for?" She was on the verge of killing 
Paris's fun, she could tell, yet he didn't seem to want to surrender his enthusiasm just yet.

"They subject your body to various sensations, G forces mostly, and it causes a huge 
adrenaline rush. It's really fun, actually." Typical pilot, she thought, enjoying having his 
body thrown around just for the fun of it. She never saw the point. B'Elanna flashed back 
to her super G training at Starfleet Academy. It had done little more than make her 
nauseous. The thought of volunteering to undergo the same forces for amusement seemed 
silly. And potentially embarrassing. Of course, Paris wasn't likely to take no for an 
answer. "You're not afraid are you?"

She knew what he was doing: goading her on, trying to shame her into taking up his 
challenge. Unfortunately, it was an effective way to motivate a half-Klingon. She couldn't 
let Tom Paris think she was scared of a simple carnival ride. "Okay, Paris, out of my way. 
But I get to pick which one." This time she was pulling him by the hand.

She stopped in front of something called "The Octopus," a relatively tame looking 
apparatus with eight cars extended from a center pivot by long, tentacle-like arms. She'd 
seen this machine in action a few minutes earlier and knew it didn't turn upside down like 
some of the others. She could tolerate spinning in a circle for a few minutes. Tom helped 
her up into the car, smiling the whole time. "What's so funny?" she asked him as she sat 
down a comfortable distance from her grinning friend.

"Oh, nothing," he said with feigned innocence. "You just picked a great 'date' ride." 

What the hell did that mean, she wondered?

As soon as they took off, B'Elanna had her answer. The centrifugal force of the spinning 
car not only disoriented her--it repeatedly threw her into Paris's lap. No matter how hard 
she fought to stay to her side of the seat, she was pushed against him time and again. 
Finally she just surrendered, and she could hear Tom laughing in her ear. She didn't even 
notice when his arm slipped from the seatback onto her shoulder. She was too busy 
plotting her revenge.

By the time they reached the ground she was wide-awake and more than a little dizzy. "I 
hope you enjoyed that, Paris," she spat at him over her shoulder. Tom just kept smiling.

"You picked the ride, Torres," he said as he laughed at her. She took a step and almost 
fell. "Hey," he said, taking her arm. "Are you okay?"

Her instinct was to pull away, but she thought letting him catch her was less embarrassing 
than letting him pick her up off the ground. "Yeah," she said, leaning against him. "I just 
haven't had anything to eat since breakfast, plus all that spinning..."

He put his arm around her shoulder to steady her as they walked. "We can fix that," he 
said as he headed toward a concession stand. "Dinner's on me. We've got hot dogs, 
popcorn, ice cream, or--actually, I know what would hit the spot right about now." He 
helped her to a picnic bench, then headed off without her. "I know the perfect thing," he 
said as he turned away. "Wait right here."

The world was gradually beginning to rotate at a normal pace, or so it seemed to 
B'Elanna's middle ear. How strange was it, she wondered, to be on a ship in space (where 
she should have been weightless), augmented with artificial gravity (to make it feel like 
they were planetside), only to be on a holodeck riding a photonic carnival ride designed 
to throw off her body's own inertial dampeners. Weird.

As she regained her balance, she also took a moment to look around. The level of detail 
in the program was amazing, she had to admit. From where B'Elanna sat, she could see 
the ocean off to her right, and the lights of a ship far out to sea. So this was more than just 
a--what had Tom called it?--a carnival. The sky above them was full of stars, and Paris 
had even gone to the trouble of making them disappear occasionally behind traces of 
wispy clouds. From the constellations, she could tell they were on Earth, though that had 
been obvious from the human holocharacters and the setting. She couldn't place the time 
period, though. The care and attention he'd put into this showed a depth of programming 
skill she hadn't known Paris possessed. She was officially impressed.

"A penny for your thoughts," Tom said as he sat down across from her.

"Excuse me?" She wasn't familiar with that expression.

"A penny is an old Earth currency. I was offering to pay you to tell me what you're 
thinking." As he spoke, Tom emptied a tray filled with paper containers. On the plates 
were triangles of bread covered with some kind of sauce, and there was a huge cup 
overflowing with stringy yellow things. It smelled wonderful, even if it looked odd.

"Well I was thinking that this is a pretty amazing program," she said sincerely. "Of 
course, now I'm thinking you're crazy if you expect me to eat this." She indicated the 
plate in front of her. "What is it?"

Tom smiled. "Pizza. My absolute favorite food. And 'French fries,' potato strips deep-
fried in hot oil, then smothered in salt. Try it." He lifted his own slice of pizza and bit off 
the end. The look on his face was pure ecstasy. "It's not as good as you can get in 
Chicago, but for replicated Delta Quadrant carnival pizza, it's not bad."

B'Elanna mimicked his grip on the crust and took a bite. She was amazed to discover that 
something that looked so unappetizing could taste so good. "Pizza, huh? It's delicious." 
This Paris was full of surprises.

They spent the next half-hour sharing French fries, gossiping about their crewmates, and 
making plans for additions to the program. Tom told her about something called a 'fun 
house,' and they laughed, imagining Harry trying to find his way out of a hall of mirrors. 
Tom also offered to add some less-disorienting rides, specifically something called a 
Ferris Wheel.

When they finished their meal, Tom led B'Elanna down the steps onto the beach, where 
they sat on the sand for another forty minutes. This time the conversation was focused on 
the sea and the sky. B'Elanna mentioned the long nights she spent on the roof of her 
Academy dorm, just staring off into these same stars, trying to figure out why she 
couldn't seem to fit in no matter how hard she tried. Tom talked about wanting to be a 
sailor, of his father's insistence that he join Starfleet instead, and the promise he'd made to 
himself to return to the ocean one day. 

They'd been so engrossed in their conversation that the warning chirp from Tom's 
commbadge came as a total surprise. Their time was just about up. "I guess we should 
go," he said reluctantly before standing up. He took B'Elanna's hands and pulled her off 
the sand. As she stepped forward, her foot landed on a seashell, and she stumbled into his 
arms. He found himself holding her for a moment, and she didn't pull away. 

Suddenly, two people who had been so thoroughly comfortable in each other's company 
only moments before now felt incredibly awkward. "Are you okay?" Tom asked as he 
helped her find her footing.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just stepped on something..." She brushed the sand off of her 
jumpsuit and searched for her shoes. Suddenly neither of them could think of a single 
thing to say.

Tom called for the computer to display the exit, and waited until they were in the corridor 
to deactivate the program. "I'll walk you home," he said a little timidly, relieved when she 
didn't object. 

The trip to Deck 9 was filled with meaningless small talk. "I wonder how Harry's date 
went." Tom was trying to think of something--anything--to say.

"Yeah." B'Elanna was curious, too. "He misses Libby a lot. I hope he finds someone to 
help him get over her. It's going to be a long, lonely trip home if he doesn't." She didn't 
look at Tom as she spoke.

Suddenly, Paris realized there was something he wanted to know about Harry's potential 
love life. "Uh, B'Elanna, have you thought about...you know, uh, you and Harry. I mean, 
you guys really seem to hit it off and..."

"Me? And 'Starfleet?'" B'Elanna laughed nervously. "I don't think so. He's like my baby 
brother. Besides, I can't see myself getting involved with anyone right now." She blurted 
it out without thinking, then suddenly felt the need to explain. "I mean, you know, I'm 
focusing on my engineering responsibilities, and I just don't think I should have that kind 
of, um, distraction in my life at this point. You know?"

Tom wasn't sure why this news suddenly felt like a kick in the gut. He'd been chasing 
Susan Nicoletti--unsuccessfully--for weeks; he wasn't interested in Torres. Not in that 
way. She was his friend, his buddy, like Kes. Like Kes...

His mind instantly went back to another moment only a few months earlier. He was 
helping Kes run a shuttle simulation when she suddenly stumbled and fell into his arms. 
Almost immediately, he had begun to think that maybe there was more to his relationship 
with the Ocampan than just a close friendship. He'd practically convinced himself that he 
was in love with her. Just as those feelings were finally gone, the same exact thing had 
just happened with Torres, and he found his thoughts once again jumping past friendship 
to something more. What did it all mean?

And why was he so disappointed to hear her say she wasn't looking for a relationship? 
How could that possibly matter to him? He pushed past his hurt feelings to answer her 
question. "Yeah. Me too, I think. Relationships are fine for people like Harry who need 
that kind of security. I like being a free agent, open to whatever comes my way."

B'Elanna blanched at this last comment. Sure, Tom had a reputation as a skirt-chaser 
when he first came aboard, and she knew he had pursued several women, from Megan 
Delaney to Sue Nicoletti. But he didn't really prefer that kind of superficial life, did he? 
Of course, the moment she asked herself the question, Torres wondered why she cared. 
Hadn't she just said she wasn't looking to get involved--with anyone, much less with Tom 
Paris? Still, why did it bother her so much?

They'd reached Deck 9, Section 12 before they knew it, and stopped just outside the door 
to B'Elanna's quarters. "Well," she said with a deep sigh.

"Well," Tom answered in return. They stood there awkwardly for another few seconds 
before he continued. "I hope you don't mind that we didn't play pool tonight. You were a 
really good sport about the whole carnival thing."

B'Elanna found her eyes moving from the wall, to the floor, to the ceiling; anywhere but 
to Tom's face. "I had fun. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime. 
Um, maybe with Harry, too."

"Maybe we could double-date," Tom blurted out before he could think. He was relieved 
when B'Elanna didn't seem turned off by the idea.

"That would be fun." She punched the access code for her quarters and watched as the 
doors slid open. "Well, goodnight." She started to take a step inside before Tom stopped 
her.

"B'Elanna!" She turned back to him, only to find herself face-to-face with the stuffed targ 
Tom had been carrying around absentmindedly all night. "You forgot this. I mean, I did 
win it for you, after all." She took the ugly little creature from his hands and found the 
courage to look Paris in the eye for the first time since the beach. She was thrown by 
what she saw there. His expression was almost childlike, hopeful, and a little 
embarrassed. She smiled.

"Thanks, Paris." She took her new 'pet' from his outstretched arm. "Pleasant dreams," she 
said as she stepped inside, letting the doors close behind her.

"Pleasant dreams, Torres," he replied to the closed doors. Somehow, tonight, he 
suspected they would be.

~*~*~*~*~

While Saturday was part of the traditional "weekend" on Earth, it was just another 
workday on the starship Voyager. So Tom was surprised to find himself pulled from the 
next day's duty roster when he'd returned from his 'date' with B'Elanna. Instead, he found 
a message in his personal database telling him to report to sickbay at 0800 hours. He felt 
fine, and couldn't help but wonder what this was about.

His confusion grew when he walked into the medical bay the following morning. Instead 
of the Emergency Medical Hologram, he found his captain sitting on a biobed, the 
physician nowhere to be found. "Captain, are you feeling alright? Where's the doctor?"

Janeway motioned for him to sit on the bed across from her. "Computer," she said. 
"Initiate security protocol, Janeway Delta 3." Paris started to speak, but she indicated for 
him to wait. Only a second later, a forcefield surrounded the two beds. Finally, the 
captain could explain.

"It's just a dampening field to keep our conversation from being picked up by the internal 
sensors. Sorry, Tom, but it's important that no one hear what I'm about to say to you. 
Also, if anyone comes within five meters of the door, the field will disburse and the EMH 
will be activated. We'll just say that we were both feeling a little run down, and we 
wanted to make sure there were no aftereffects from the doctor's treatment. Understood?"

Paris's head was spinning. "Understood, Captain. But what in the heck is going on?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Janeway carefully laid out Tuvok's findings: someone was 
piggybacking a subspace message onto their normal energy emissions. While they 
couldn't tell who was behind the encoded communications, it was clear that the intended 
recipients were the Kazon--and, most likely, Seska, a Cardassian spy who had infiltrated 
Chakotay's Maquis cell before being pulled along with his crew into the Delta Quadrant. 
She had been caught providing stolen Federation technology to the Kazon before 
revealing her true identity and escaping to the enemy ship. Seska had also kidnapped and 
assaulted the commander, extracting a sample of his DNA. When they last saw her, she 
claimed she had used the sample to impregnate herself, and was now carrying the 
Chakotay's child.

If Tuvok was correct, and a Voyager crewmember had been sending secret messages to 
the Kazon, all of their lives were in danger.

Paris was fascinated and disturbed by what he heard. But he still couldn't figure out what 
it all had to do with him. "Tom, Lieutenant Tuvok thinks the only way we'll uncover this 
spy is to make him think he has an ally. If he believes there's someone else aboard--
someone who chafes at Starfleet protocols, someone who hasn't been above breaking the 
law on occasion--he might take that person into his confidence. And, even if we can't lure 
the spy out into the open, if word reaches the Kazon that a senior officer with access to 
confidential strategic information has suddenly become disgruntled--maybe to the point 
of leaving Voyager--well, we think the opportunity to recruit that person might be too 
tempting for the Kazon to resist."

Gee, Tom wondered, who could she be referring to? How many lawbreaking senior 
officers did Voyager have? Okay, well, three actually, but only one of them was sitting in 
sickbay getting a secret briefing from their commanding officer. "Captain, are you 
suggesting that I...?"

"Pretend the last year never happened? Yes. We both know the reputation you had before 
you came aboard this ship. Not just with the Starfleet crew, but with the Maquis. I also 
know how hard you've worked to turn that reputation around. And you've done it, Tom. 
You're not the same man I met in Auckland. But right now the 'old' Tom Paris is in a 
unique position to help out this ship. Maybe even save the lives of everyone aboard. I 
know the incredible sacrifice I'd be asking you to make. But you're our best chance to 
unmask this spy before too much more damage is done." She paused a moment to let it 
all sink in.

"Who would know?" Tom asked. "That it was an act, that I wasn't really..."

"Just the three of us. We can't let anyone else in on Tuvok's plan. We can't risk being 
detected, and--frankly--we don't know how many people are involved. It would be a 'need 
to know' mission only."

Here was one giant cosmic irony, Tom thought. So sure was the captain that he could be 
trusted that she was asking him to exploit his reputation for being a liar to help her 
uncover the real traitor. But he would have to lie: to all of his friends and, apparently, to 
his own first officer. "Does that include Commander Chakotay?"

Janeway sighed. "Yes. Everyone knows the two of you have had your...disagreements in 
the past. Tuvok feels it would be more convincing if Chakotay and the others don't know 
that your bad behavior is just an act."

Paris struggled to take it all in. Somehow, he knew that providing a credible performance 
was a flimsy reason to lie to the second in command. There had to be more to it than that, 
but he trusted the captain's judgment and didn't press the issue. Frankly he was more 
disturbed at the thought of lying to his friends--to Harry, Neelix, and Kes. To B'Elanna. 
They had helped him reclaim his reputation with both the Starfleet and Maquis crews. If 
he were to suddenly appear to betray the faith they had placed in him, he wasn't sure he 
could live with that. 

Yet, no one had done more to rescue Tom Paris than the woman sitting across from him 
now. He hated to think of what his life would be like if Janeway hadn't brought him along 
on this mission. He owed her everything. How could he refuse her such an important 
request?

She seemed to sense his hesitation. "I know what I'm asking of you, Tom. And I won't 
order you to do it. But you're the only person who can pull this off. Besides, if we're 
successful, everyone will ultimately know it was all an act, and that you did it to protect 
them. What better way to prove to everyone who Tom Paris really is?"

Despite himself, Tom knew he would do as he'd been asked. "Alright. So what do I have 
to do?"

Janeway smiled. Not that she'd doubted that Paris would go along with her plan. Still, she 
was relieved to find out he was truly worthy of the faith she had just placed in him. 
"Actually, Tom, there are parts of this you might enjoy..."

~*~*~*~*~

While the big-picture part of the plan had been Tuvok's, Tom was left to improvise his 
own role in the drama that was about to unfold. His only instruction: make it believable. 
Whatever it said about him, it wasn't too hard for Tom Paris to think of ways to screw up. 
The skill was in choosing his targets. And the most obvious had a bull's-eye in the form 
of a tattoo painted on his forehead.

But it couldn't be a direct assault, Tom knew. And he'd have to start small. The idea came 
to him instantly. "Paris to Kim," he called from his quarters. It only took Harry a moment 
to respond. "I'm bored," Tom said to his friend over the commlink, "How about a few 
games of pool at Sandrine's?"

Just like that it had begun.

Tom didn't need Gaunt Gary or any other Sandrine's pool hustler to show him how to run 
a con. Scamming Academy cadets out of their credits had been one of his favorite 
pastimes after getting booted out of Starfleet, so much so that the Marseilles campus had 
issued an alert to its students about the risks of sampling the 'local color.' No, Paris was a 
pro. What he didn't like was the patsy he was forced to choose for this particular hustle. 

Harry Kim was Tom's best friend, and had been since the day they stepped foot on 
Voyager a year earlier. This squeaky-clean ensign, fresh from graduation, had actually 
stuck his neck out--put his own reputation at risk--to become Tom's friend, even though--
at the time, Kim was a newly-installed bridge officer and Paris a rank-less Starfleet 
'observer.' Always thrown by unexpected acts of kindness, Tom had made a promise to 
himself very early in their adventure: to try and live up to the faith Harry Kim had placed 
in him. And, up until now, he thought he'd done a decent job. Other than the occasional 
exaggeration, he had never even lied to Harry. He was very careful that this not be the 
first time.

And it wasn't exactly a lie. But, letting Harry win at pool would be only the first step. 
He'd have to lure him into a false sense of security, then suggest 'making it a little more 
interesting' with a wager. This wouldn't be the standard-issue one-on-one replicator ration 
pool hustle, though. That was too small, and--frankly--too common on Voyager already. 
No, he would invite his best friend and the rest of the crowd into a more tempting 
scheme: a daily numbers game to guess the ship's radiogenic particle density. Tom would 
act as the 'house,' tracking the rations wagered, paying out any winners, and--of course--
keeping a small percentage as his 'fee.' As was true for time eternal, the lure of a big 
jackpot (and the freedom from Neelix's cooking that the extra rations would mean) 
tempted even his most by-the-book colleagues to join the game. It was just a little 
harmless fun, right?

After a few days of collecting his 'commission' only to have no winner in the 
sweepstakes, Tom was enjoying one of the only upsides to his new mission: extra 
replicator rations. A small, though agreeable, reward for ruining his reputation and 
risking his life. After all, wasn't a condemned man entitled to a last meal? Or two? Of 
course, the downside was right on its tail: Harry and the other suckers took only a few 
days to realize that the only one winning in this little scheme was Tom.

He hadn't fixed the game, any of the players might have actually won, but truth was he 
didn't need to. The odds of someone making the right guess were infinitesimal; it was 
surprising the engineers in the bunch hadn't figured that out on their own. Still, it 
benefited Tom's plan that his victims were now turning on him. It wouldn't be long, he 
knew, before someone ratted him out. In fact, come Friday morning, Paris was pretty sure 
this would be the night.

He wouldn't have to make an excuse to be in Sandrine's. It was 'date night,' and everyone 
knew the Three Musketeers would be there promptly at 2100 hours. Thinking of their 
standing date made him remember something else: B'Elanna would be a witness to his 
undoing. The thought made him uncomfortable, but he wasn't sure why.

It had been a week since their 'date' at the carnival, the night before he was given this 
undercover mission by Captain Janeway. He'd only seen Torres twice since then: once at 
a senior staff briefing, and later at lunch with Harry. It had been a stressful week in 
engineering, Tom knew. Lon Suder, one of Chakotay's Maquis crew, had murdered 
another crewman for no real reason. Not only had B'Elanna been the one to find the body, 
she was now faced with the knowledge that one of her staff had committed such a 
horrendous crime. On top of everything, there were suddenly mysterious and unexplained 
problems with several key engine systems.

Tom also knew B'Elanna had been pulling a lot of double-shifts, and was probably really 
looking forward to a night off with her friends. But for some reason, he worried that he'd 
back out of the plan if she were there. For a few minutes, he considered telling Tuvok to 
keep her busy and out of Sandrine's.

The captain had arranged for a secure com channel that the three could use for necessary 
communication about their plan. Paris knew it was for emergencies only, but he also 
knew he could make specific requests that would be understood as necessary parts of his 
mission. He pulled out the encoded PADD and entered a four-word message to Tuvok: 
"Keep Torres busy tonight." 

As he looked at what he had written, however, he realized that he couldn't go through 
with it. If he were going to keep his promise to Captain Janeway, he couldn't be selective 
about who he alienated. He cleared the message without sending it and re-encrypted the 
PADD, shoving it under his mattress before heading to Holodeck 2. Tonight his fall from 
grace would officially begin.



As it turned out, he needn't have worried. The warp core was off line--again--and Torres 
wouldn't be leaving engineering anytime soon.

At this rate, it would be quicker to walk to the Alpha Quadrant, or so it seemed to 
Voyager's chief engineer. Her once brand-spanking-new ship was having a difficult 
adolescence. Just over a year into their trip back, the unexplained systems failures were 
becoming a daily occurrence. Were the gods trying to sabotage Voyager's chances of 
getting home?

In actuality, while sabotage was at the heart of their problems, the gods had nothing to do 
with it. B'Elanna couldn't know that one of her oldest friends from the Maquis, Michael 
Jonas, a man who now stood at her side 'helping' to diagnose the latest system failure, 
was himself the cause of her troubles. 

She also couldn't know that, five decks above her, one of her newest friends was about to 
put that friendship, his reputation, and his life on the line to uncover the traitor she now 
stood next to.



As Tom suspected, his numbers game was about to come to a quick conclusion. And, just 
like most of the past week, there would be no winners tonight.

Chakotay's sudden appearance and blanket reprimand were a shock to everyone except 
Tom. When the first officer confiscated the ration pot, the groans and death glares shot at 
Paris were only the first of the evening's humiliations. "Thanks a lot!" Harry growled at 
him. Tom tried hard to look like he didn't care.

"You're on report," Chakotay warned. The commander was clearly furious at catching 
Paris in the act, yet Tom marveled at the man's ability to keep that fury in check. During 
their Maquis days, Chakotay would have decked him for such insubordination without 
giving it a second thought. But they were playing under Starfleet rules now, and the 
senior officer was the model of restraint. And, while much of the crew had marveled at 
Paris's own transformation, Tom knew that Chakotay had come just as far from being the 
angry Maquis captain who had first recruited him to the rebellion. Paris had really begun 
to respect the first officer. Which made what he was about to do even harder.

"Now there's a tough job," Tom said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Filling out 
reports. But somebody's got to do it..." He could barely believe it when Chakotay just 
turned and walked away.

As he stood alone in Sandrine's Tom Paris couldn't help but think about the ironies of his 
life: a week ago he was a hero enjoying a carefree night with B'Elanna. Seven days later 
he was on report, had gotten his best friend in trouble, and had verbally kneecapped an 
officer whose respect he had come to want almost as badly as the captain's. Something 
about it seemed very unfair.

He walked to the bar and ordered a drink, which--for the first time in quite a while--he 
really needed. As he stood with his back to the room, Paris felt a hand run up his back 
and slip gently around his neck. The characteristic lack of body heat told him it was 
Ricky, his holographic lover and a recurring feature of all of Tom's holoprograms. At 
least until recently.

Ricky was Tom's type: a slender brunette with big eyes, smart as a whip and with a sharp 
and ironic sense of humor. He had based her on a real woman, Rochelle Lauer, who had 
summarily rejected him during his first semester in Marseilles. But the holographic Ricky 
never rejected him; in fact, she spent most of her time draped around his neck, ready to 
provide kisses and affirmation at Tom's whim. It had been no surprise to anyone that a 
letch like Paris would have to program a woman willing to be seen with him.

But as Tom made real friends on Voyager, Ricky had become a bit of an embarrassment. 
These days, it was rare for Tom to activate her subroutine. And since the institution of 
'date night,' she seemed to be permanently relegated to the holographic database. But 
Paris had reactivated her the night his numbers scheme started. He wasn't sure why, but 
perhaps he sensed that his flesh and blood friends might become scarce once his self-
destruction began.

Tonight, however, she was just another reminder that the 'old' Tom Paris had risen from 
the dead, and he'd been reminded enough already for one evening. Without looking at his 
holographic girlfriend, Tom downed his drink, turned, and headed for the doors.

~*~*~*~*~

Chakotay needed to work off some steam. The past six days had been a challenge to his 
composure and there was nothing like a game of hoverball to put a constructive spin on 
his aggression. 

B'Elanna owed him a rematch. It had been several weeks since their last game; he had 
been losing 19-7 when Seska and the Kazon interrupted their fun. Tonight, however, he 
was winning 7-4.

"Your game improves when you're mad," she said to him as they rested between sets. 
"What's bothering you?"

He hesitated to answer her. One of the biggest downsides to being Voyager's first officer 
was the inability to have an honest conversation about another crewman with his best 
friend. Chakotay was B'Elanna's senior officer, and talking about private personnel 
matters--particularly about another member of the senior staff--was off limits.

"Is this about what happened with Tom Paris?" she asked. "I heard you two had an 
argument in Sandrine's last Friday night."

Of course, another downside to being aboard Voyager was the inevitable rumor mill on a 
small ship trapped so far from home. "I can't talk about it B'Elanna," he said honestly. 
"Crew discipline is confidential."

She picked up a towel from her gym bag and ran it over her face and neck. "You've got to 
be kidding; there must have been twenty crewmen in there who saw the whole thing. 
Anyway, what's the big deal about someone gambling in Sandrine's; half the crew owes 
the other half replicator rations. If it isn't about who wins at pool, then it's who's dating 
who. This crew will bet on anything. You know that."

He couldn't believe B'Elanna was defending Tom Paris. "Personal one-on-one wagers are 
one thing. Having a senior officer running a gambling ring and skimming off the profits 
is something else."

B'Elanna hadn't realized. What the hell was Paris thinking? Just when he'd finally seemed 
to get his life back on track, why would he do something so stupid? Still, she thought 
she'd gotten to know Tom recently, and this just didn't make sense. "Well, there's got to 
be something more to this," she said. "It just doesn't sound like Tom."

Her friend was agitated. "Well, you didn't know him the way I did back in the Maquis. 
Sure, he's been on good behavior this past year, but there's a dark side to him, B'Elanna." 
Chakotay was crossing a line, but he needed to talk this through with someone he trusted. 
"I wonder if this whole Warp 10 experience hasn't made him a little cocky, complacent. 
Maybe he thinks he's a big hero now and he doesn't have to try anymore. I don't know."

The first officer couldn't forget the denigrating way the lieutenant had spoken to him after 
being put on report. Paris was in Janeway's good graces now, Chakotay knew. Maybe this 
was some kind of power play. But, for the first time since Tom had saved his life a year 
before, Chakotay flashed back to the anger and disgust he'd once felt for the man.

Unlike that time, however, Chakotay knew he'd have to reach out to Paris, help him find 
a way back to the good officer he'd become. Not only was it his duty as the man's 
commander, it was an obligation to the rest of the crew: Voyager needed Tom's skill as a 
pilot.

Even though she found Chakotay's charges damning, B'Elanna still believed there had to 
be something more going on. Besides, she'd made a promise to trust Tom Paris, and she 
wanted very much to keep it. "You know," she said, formulating an idea as she spoke, "I 
could talk to him; find out what's going on. If you'd like me to."

Chakotay looked at her quizzically. "Why do you think he'd confide in you?"

She was uncomfortable with what she was about to admit, considering her best friend's 
history with the unpredictable pilot. "I've gotten to know him pretty well," she allowed. 
"He and Harry and I have been spending a lot of time together. I think he might tell me if 
something is bothering him."

Chakotay took a moment before he answered. "B'Elanna, I know I've said this to you 
before, but I think you should keep your distance from him. He's a lose cannon, and I 
don't want to see you getting hurt."

Funny, she thought, I remember getting this same lecture in the Maquis almost three 
years ago. 'Stay away from Tom Paris.' "We're just friends, Chakotay. I have no intention 
of getting involved with him or anyone else on this ship." She meant that, didn't she? 
"Now put down that towel and let me finish beating you."

He smiled. "You'll have to catch up to me first."

~*~*~*~*~

Ever since her conversation with Chakotay, B'Elanna had been thinking about Tom Paris. 
During those two weeks, she'd only caught a few meals together with him and Harry 
Kim, and she could sense an unusual tension between the men. She figured Harry was 
still mad about losing so many rations when their wager had been discovered, but she 
never heard them talk about it.

When they were together, just the three of them, B'Elanna was sure the incident between 
Tom and Chakotay had been just a fluke. Tom was every bit the 'new man' she had come 
to consider a friend. He did seem a little down, maybe a bit distant, but he was definitely 
not agitated or angry.

But when they were in a crowd, he turned into another person: sullen, distant, and his 
sarcasm took on darker overtones. She wondered if he was embarrassed at getting 
publicly dressed down in front of his shipmates; or maybe he felt guilty about getting 
them all into trouble.

Still, if she were going to get him to open up to her, she'd have to just ignore this little 
duality she'd found in Paris recently. Besides, it was Friday night--and this week she'd be 
off duty in time for their 'date.' She timed her lunch break around Tom and Harry's and 
headed to the mess hall to make plans for the evening. Just the thought made her smile as 
she rode the turbolift to Deck 2.

Her mood was broken when the doors to the mess hall opened, revealing Tom at a table 
for two in the corner with Susan Nicoletti, and Harry nowhere in sight. It took B'Elanna a 
moment to realize she was staring at them, her mouth open as if in the middle of a 
sentence. Paris was leaning over the table with that look in his eyes--a look she'd once 
seen him give just about every woman onboard. Except her. It was a feral look--raw 
appetite--and for a change Nicoletti seemed to be enjoying it.

"B'Elanna." She spun around, startled, at the sound of her name. "I guess it's just the two 
of us."

Harry couldn't hide the mixture of disappointment and anger in his voice as he watched 
his best friend ignore them. "Tom seems to be avoiding me these days. Or maybe I'm 
avoiding him. Whatever." His tone softened as he looked back at Torres. "Let's see what's 
for lunch."

After they'd gotten their trays and sat down--on the far side of the room from their normal 
lunch partner--Harry took the opportunity to confide something in B'Elanna he would 
never have said to anyone else. "Sometimes I think I don't know Tom anymore." There 
was real pain in her friend's eyes. "I've been thinking...this all started after the Warp 10 
trip. Maybe the Doc wasn't really able to fix all the damage it did to him."

B'Elanna didn't buy it. She'd spent a lot of time with Tom right after he was released from 
sickbay, and he not only seemed back to normal, he was even a little happier, more 
comfortable in his own skin. Like some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 
Whatever was going on with Tom Paris, she doubted the transwarp experiment had 
anything to do with it.

"He's just been under a lot of stress lately," she said to Harry, trying to reassure herself, 
too. "And I bet he feels bad for getting you in trouble with Chakotay. Give it time." 

She decided to distract Harry from his worries and changed the subject. "So, are we on 
for tonight?"

Kim smiled despite his bad mood. "I haven't talked to Tom, but I guess so. Though I 
could do without Sandrine's right now after everything that's happened."

His comment gave B'Elanna an idea. "Me, too," she agreed. "Besides, Tom's been 
working on a new program. It's really a lot of fun--but I don't want to ruin the surprise. I 
bet he'd run it tonight if I asked him." She and Paris had discussed taking Harry to the 
carnival the last time they were there. She was sure it would be just the thing to snap her 
two friends out of the mutual funk they'd seemed to slip into over the last two weeks.

Emboldened by her excitement, she stood up from their table and marched confidently 
over to the corner where Paris and Nicoletti sat. "Hi, Tom," she said evenly. "I'm sorry to 
interrupt."

He looked a little odd, she thought; as if his brain were having a conversation with itself 
totally separate from what his mouth was about to say. "B'Elanna. What's up?"

She decided to just spit it out. "I wanted to make sure we're on for tonight. I was telling 
Harry about your new holoprogram and he seems really anxious to try it out." So she was 
stretching the truth a bit in the name of mending a friendship.

Tom seemed to hesitate for a moment before he answered. "Gee...I'm sorry, but I have a 
'real' date tonight." She felt her face fall. "Maybe next week."

The deep breath B'Elanna drew in pulled her up to her full height. She tried not to let her 
disappointment come through in her voice. "Oh...well. Have fun, then." She couldn't help 
shooting Nicoletti a glare as she turned to walk back to her table.



As he watched her walk away, Tom felt an uncomfortable combination of sick, angry, 
and depressed. The silence while he thought about what he'd done gave Nicoletti a 
chance to ask a question of her own.

"So," she said with her own hint of disappointment, "who's your hot date with?"

Tom looked back to her and forced himself to turn on the charm one more time. "No one 
you know, Sue," he said cryptically. Then he stepped back into character and continued 
the tragicomedy that had become his life.



Harry could tell it hadn't gone well. "Let me guess: he's busy."

B'Elanna was almost pouting. "Harry, would you mind if we just skipped the 'date' 
tonight?" That was all the answer he needed.

"No problem," he agreed. Torres grabbed her half-finished lunch and headed for the 
recycler. 

"B'Elanna," Harry grabbed her arm and turned her back to face him. "This isn't just my 
imagination, is it?"

She smiled sadly. For the first time, she thought Chakotay and Harry might be right. "I 
don't think so," she answered softly. Then she headed back to engineering, significantly 
less happy than she'd been when she left.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom's 'hot date' turned out to be with a holocomputer. Ever since he'd begun his mission 
to ruin his own reputation, he found it difficult to be around Harry and B'Elanna. Not 
only was he afraid that they'd see right through his little act, he didn't like being put in a 
position where he might have to lie to them.

Still, turning down B'Elanna's invitation to go back to the carnival had been difficult. 
Making her think he was seeing someone else had been more so. To make himself feel 
better, he decided to spend the night alone in his quarters, working on the enhancements 
he had promised to make to the program. The first priority: a ride B'Elanna might 
actually enjoy. 

He'd originally considered including a Ferris Wheel, but the slow-moving ride seemed 
too boring for a fun evening out with a few friends. It wasn't until he was showing the 
carnival to a beautiful woman that he realized the romantic possibilities of being trapped 
alone, high above the crowds, in a place that was quiet and private enough to have a good 
conversation. Or something more.

Not that Tom would ever have used the words 'romantic possibilities' and 'B'Elanna 
Torres' in the same sentence. She was his friend, his buddy. One of the 'guys.' Besides, 
she'd made it clear she wasn't interested in a relationship with him or anyone else.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

He had just saved the changes he'd made to the midway when his commbadge made an 
unusually distinctive chirp. It was a signal that a message had been transmitted to the 
encrypted data PADD he used to communicate with Captain Janeway and Tuvok. He dug 
the device out from under his mattress and called up the message.

'Places for Act 2,' was all it said.

Tom placed his thumb in the spot for identity verification and keyed in the code to 
transmit. Once he'd acknowledged his orders, he sat on his bed for a moment and thought 
about what he was about to do. Act 2 was his signal to up the stakes on his bad behavior, 
to become more obvious in his dissatisfaction with life aboard Voyager. It also meant 
distancing himself even more from those who might know him well enough to see 
through his performance. 

Somehow, he now wished he'd taken B'Elanna up on her invitation to spend the evening 
with her and Harry. Tom knew that, once Act 2 was in full swing, the chances of anyone 
volunteering to spend time with him would be slim. It would have been nice to have one 
last chance for an uncomplicated night with the two people he felt closest to. Maybe it 
wasn't too late to join them wherever they'd gone--though he hoped it wasn't Sandrine's.

"Computer," he called out. "Locate Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim."

"Lieutenant Torres is in her quarters. Ensign Kim is in stellar cartography." Tom checked 
the chronometer; it was 2200 hours. Why weren't they in one of the holodecks--or at least 
in the mess hall? Then he remembered B'Elanna's face when he told her he had a 'real' 
date. It seemed he'd ruined more than just his own evening.

Just as well, he thought, moving back to his desk. It might have only made things harder.

Tom reopened the carnival parameters file and sat there staring at the display. He'd 
planned to add a few more rides, maybe a Fun House and an antique carrousel. 
Somehow, now, there didn't seem to be a point. After ten minutes, lost in his thoughts, 
Paris turned off the screen and went to bed.

~*~*~*~*~

By Wednesday afternoon, Act 2 was well underway. Unlike Act 1, where his acting out 
was limited to his off-duty hours, Tom was now bringing his bad behavior to work. First, 
he'd deliberately suggested a dangerous course through a nebula in their path, knowing 
that Chakotay would be forced to countermand him. Then he'd shown up late for his duty 
shift the next day. And while his official logs would be as precise and accurate as ever, he 
did decide that they didn't need to follow prescribed Starfleet reporting format. This last 
choice had led to a public shouting match with the ship's recording officer, Lieutenant 
Rollins. 

There were some limits on what he was willing to do, however. He stayed alert and 
attentive at the helm; his flying was a point of pride he didn't see a reason to surrender to 
this mission. And he was careful not to do anything to jeopardize the safety of the ship. 
When a crisis arose, Tom Paris was all business. And, this being Voyager, a crisis was 
inevitable.

Tom was the first to notice the debris field; it looked like the remains of a small shuttle, 
though Harry could find no traces of organic matter. Whatever it was, it had been 
unmanned. The captain ordered a piece of the wreckage beamed to engineering for 
analysis just as Tom was about to go off duty.

Over four hours later, he'd fallen asleep on the couch in his quarters when the message 
from Chakotay came. "Senior staff briefing at 2100 hours." That gave him thirty minutes 
to change out of his now-dirty and wrinkled uniform and grab a shower before he had to 
report for the unscheduled meeting. He had the clean uniform in his hand when he 
recognized the opportunity he'd just been handed. Paris moved back to his couch and lay 
down. Well, he'd been told to escalate the plan, and that was what he was about to do.

When he walked into the briefing--fifteen minutes late, his hair a mess, and looking like 
he'd slept in his uniform--B'Elanna was in the middle of explaining that the weapon 
which had destroyed the unmanned probe was a Cardassian renegade from the Alpha 
Quadrant. "I recognized its signature because I know this weapon very well..."

Apparently, B'Elanna and Chakotay had turned a misfiring Cardassian 'smart-bomb' into 
a Maquis secret weapon, reprogramming it to destroy its creator's own fuel depot. 
Somehow--before reaching its target--the machine, nicknamed 'Dreadnought' had been 
pulled into the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker, just like Voyager.

B'Elanna seemed confident that she could disarm the device if they could find it. The 
captain ordered Tom to help Torres modify the navigational sensors and the meeting was 
adjourned.

Chakotay intercepted Paris before he could reach the door. "Lieutenant, I expect 
everyone to show up for meetings on time and properly dressed."

Looking down at the mess he had intentionally made of himself, Tom considered making 
a scene, but there were now too few spectators around to see and talk about it with the 
rest of the crew. He knew his job was to put on a show, not just anger and disappoint his 
first officer. Instead, he took a deep breath and acknowledged the reprimand, "Yes, sir."

And he wondered again why no one was letting Chakotay in on the secret...



By the time Paris got to engineering, Torres had already begun scanning for 
Dreadnought's distinctive ion trail. She looked angry and distracted, and for a moment 
Tom forgot about the role he was playing. He hadn't really spoken to B'Elanna since he'd 
turned down her offer in the mess hall the previous Friday. But now she really looked 
like she could use a friend.

He moved to the navigational sensor display and began checking the scans of the region. 
"There's still a lot of distortion in the upper frequencies," he told her. B'Elanna made an 
adjustment to the scanners, which seemed to help. "Better. Now let's try filtering out the 
ion radiation."

She just stood there, lost in thought. And, while he knew it was dangerous for him to let 
down his guard, Paris couldn't just watch her wrestling with this and not try to help. 
"B'Elanna," he called her name to bring her back to attention. She made a half-hearted 
attempt to recover her composure, then smacked the console with her hand. Tom took a 
few steps closer and tried to draw her out. "You must be really worried about catching 
this thing."

For a moment, she looked like she might not answer him. "Chakotay wasn't telling the 
whole truth. We didn't send Dreadnought on a mission against the Cardassians. I was the 
one who sent it--without asking him." Torres confided that she'd made the alterations to 
the missile without Chakotay's help or approval. She'd been afraid to tell him; afraid he'd 
stop her. But, when he'd discovered what she had done, her Maquis captain had made it 
clear that she had disappointed him by going behind his back. 

B'Elanna's voice was soft as she replayed their conversation for Tom. "He said that I had 
hurt him. That he thought he'd earned my trust and loyalty." Now Voyager had to clean 
up a dangerous mess she had made.

She couldn't know it, but B'Elanna's words struck Paris like a club. He'd seen that same 
look of disappointment on the first officer's face only a few minutes earlier. Was 
Chakotay now hurt and disappointed, thinking the same things about Tom? And, despite 
their long and acrimonious history, the commander had earned Paris's loyalty. But the 
decision to keep him out of the loop had been the captain's. Tom had to play the part he'd 
been handed.

For the hundredth time in three weeks, Tom swallowed his conflicted feelings and tried 
to concentrate on what B'Elanna was saying.

"If anything happens here because of Dreadnought, it's my fault. No one else's."

Paris thought back to his own days as a Maquis, short though they were. The rebels had a 
'win at any cost' mentality; probably necessary as the underdogs in a contest with two 
powers that had them outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. Being an effective 
Maquis meant sometimes making your own rules. He tried to help her see that. "You took 
a risk; you were thinking like a Maquis. That was a different time."

"Tell me about it..." her voice trailed off. A different time. A different life.

Tom had almost forgotten how much of an outsider B'Elanna had been when she came 
aboard Voyager. With only a year and a half of Academy training, Torres had spent her 
adult life rejecting Starfleet discipline, then fighting against it as a Maquis. Now, she was 
a by-the-book chief engineer, who had earned the respect of the entire staff--including a 
few Starfleet officers who had every right to resent her promotion. She had made an 
incredible effort to redeem herself--one Tom could really relate to. And here she was, 
being reminded of a side of herself she had long since tried to forget. More than he could 
tell her, he knew exactly how she felt. 

"You know, I've been surprised at how well you've been able to fit in here," he said 
sincerely. He meant it in the best possible way. "A little envious, too." Paris looked at her 
sadly for a moment before turning away.

He hadn't intended to give her an opening. In fact, he'd just gotten caught up in feeling 
sorry for himself, and blurted it out. But B'Elanna wasn't going to let it go at that. "Tom, 
what's been going on with you lately?"

He knew he'd have to choose his words carefully. "Going on? How?"

She knew he'd be reluctant to talk about it. For whatever reason, Tom was isolating 
himself, especially from the people who cared about him, like Harry. Like her. At least 
she had started to care about him--as a friend. Maybe pushing a button would get him to 
confide in her. "People are starting to talk..."

As she suspected, her observation made him angry. "Are they? People like who? 
Chakotay?"

Boy, he was really getting paranoid. "No, I mean people, like me. Like today: look at 
yourself." She indicated his disheveled appearance, suddenly making Tom a little self-
conscious. "And coming to a briefing late." The tone in her voice turned conspiratorial. 
"And is it that true you had a fight with Lieutenant Rollins?" 

Paris knew there was no love lost between Voyager's chief engineer and its records 
officer. They'd clashed on more than one occasion. For a second, he almost laughed at the 
way B'Elanna actually seemed to be enjoying his bad-boy behavior. "The lieutenant was 
unhappy that my conn reports weren't punctuated properly, according to 'Starfleet 
protocol.' I didn't like his attitude."

He was surprised when B'Elanna's tone turned serious again, "Was he right about your 
reports?"

Paris slipped back into the act effortlessly. "We're in the Delta Quadrant, nowhere near 
Starfleet! What difference..." 

Tom stopped himself. If he went on any more, he'd be forced to lie to B'Elanna, and that 
was something he had promised himself he wouldn't do. Instead, he turned to face her. 
"Yeah, he was right. I'm the one who's been wrong. Wrong about a lot of things..."

The pain on his face was obvious. They looked at each other for a moment, Tom trying to 
stop himself from telling her the whole truth; B'Elanna trying desperately to figure out 
what had suddenly gone so wrong with her friend. He could see that she was about to say 
something, about to probe again for what was causing his sudden change of attitude. He 
couldn't let that conversation happen. Instead, he moved past her and back to the console. 
"Why don't we try running a multiphasic sweep," he said, effectively ending their 
discussion.

They performed the rest of their duties in silence.

~*~*~*~*~

The next two days were an ongoing battle with B'Elanna's renegade missile, and at first 
they thought they'd succeeded. But the situation had quickly grown from troubling to 
dangerous, with Dreadnought now once again targeting a defenseless, highly-populated 
planet. Understanding that this was no time to cause a distraction, Paris put his charade 
on hold and tried not to attract attention. By noon on Friday morning, the stakes had risen 
dramatically.

Harry had finally found a way to transport B'Elanna back to the weapon's control room. 
She was confident that she could find a way to disarm the thing if given enough time. 
But, when an hour had passed with no success, the captain was ready to pull her out.

Then the commlink and transporter lock were severed. They had no way to get B'Elanna 
back.

Left with no options, the captain had retreated to her ready room to consider her next 
move. When she returned to the bridge, the look of determination in her eyes told Tom 
she had a plan. After a whispered conversation with Chakotay and Tuvok, Paris heard the 
first officer give the order, "Everyone except senior officers with me."

Before Tom could stop to think what this might mean, the captain moved to stand behind 
him. "Computer, initiate the self-destruct sequence, authorization Janeway Pi-1-1-0. Set it 
at twenty minutes." Suddenly he knew: she was going to blow up the ship to detonate the 
warhead.

But first, she'd try and rescue her missing chief engineer. She put Harry to work trying to 
break through the interference. Nine minutes later, he was successful. They heard 
B'Elanna's voice over the com in a matter of seconds.

"I may be able to detonate the warhead from here by breeching the containment field." As 
Torres explained her plans, they could hear her gasping to catch her breath. Janeway 
immediately asked what Tom and Harry were now both wondering.

"Are you alright B'Elanna?"

"Fine," he could tell she was lying. "The air's just a little thin in here." Tom suspected 
Torres was minimizing the danger to keep the captain from beaming her out. It worked. 
Janeway agreed to give her more time.

But time was something they were rapidly running out of. Tom heard the captain order 
Harry to transfer control of the ship's systems to the conn and head for the escape pod. It 
took him a moment to realize that Janeway intended to fight the rest of this battle alone.

"Mr. Paris, I'm relieving you." He knew instantly that he'd refuse to go. "Now!" she 
ordered. Reluctantly, Tom stood up and allowed the captain to take his seat. 

He couldn't make his feet move. Why wasn't she letting him stay? He stalled while he 
tried to think of some way to change her mind. "The starboard thrusters are a little 
sluggish," he warned, doing anything to delay the inevitable. "Ease into them."

"Understood," she said, not giving an inch. Tom decided to make one last plea to get her 
to let him help.

"Captain," he said with more authority than he felt. When she turned to look at him, Paris 
could see he would only be making things worse by fighting her. Instead, he'd take one 
final chance to let her know how grateful he was for the chance she had given him to 
reclaim his life. He tried to say as much with his eyes as with his words. "Thanks for 
everything."

Then he joined Harry in the turbolift and headed for Deck 4.



They were waiting inside the last escape pod just down the corridor from the transporter 
room. The captain would give B'Elanna two more minutes, then transport her back to

Voyager. They'd have another two minutes to get her onto the pod and clear the ship 
before Voyager's warp core would breech.

Tom couldn't believe it was all ending like this. Not just with the destruction of their ship 
and the almost certain death of their captain, but with all of his friends thinking he had let 
them down. His secret mission would have accomplished nothing but alienating those he 
was closest to. It also occurred to him that--with Tuvok staying behind with Janeway--
there'd be no one who could verify that he'd only been following orders.

The thought made him feel foolish and selfish. Of course, his reputation was the least of 
their concerns. "Come on, B'Elanna!" he heard Harry say under his breath. "Where is 
she?!"

Tom checked the chronometer. They were running out of time. Just as Paris was about to 
open the door and head for the transporter room, he felt Tuvok initiate the pod's launch 
sequence from the bridge. As the tiny craft begin to move, Harry jumped from his seat 
and headed for the hatch, "No! We can't leave her!"

Tom grabbed the younger man's arm. "It's too late, Harry," he said softly. "There's 
nothing we can do."

As Tom tried to comfort his best friend, he couldn't help but remember the last 
conversation he'd had with B'Elanna. She had reached out to him, tried to find out why he 
was acting so strangely. And he had rebuffed her. 

A minute later, through the tiny viewport of their escape pod, Harry and Tom watched 
Dreadnought explode, just before reaching its target. B'Elanna had been successful. They 
also saw Voyager bank hard to port, the ship now out of danger.

Tom put his hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Maybe they got her out," he said softly. 
Harry could only look at him blankly. Tom took the controls and began a slow return to 
Voyager. 'Be there when we get back, B'Elanna,' he said to himself.

~*~*~*~*~

As it turned out, Torres would be fine. Singed, oxygen-deprived, and mentally and 
physically exhausted, she was alive nonetheless, and the Doctor was sure she would 
make a full recovery. 

Harry and Tom had wanted to head for sickbay as soon as their escape pod docked, but--
as the last to leave Voyager--they were now the first to return, and the captain needed 
their assistance on the bridge. It was almost six hours later before they'd be off duty and 
have a chance to check up on their injured friend.

As they headed to Deck 5, Tom realized it was almost 2100 on Friday evening: not 
exactly the kind of 'date night' any of them would have preferred.

When they reached sickbay, B'Elanna was sleeping on the biobed just inside the door. 
While Harry went to find the doctor to check on her condition, Paris moved to stand next 
to her bed. A lock of hair had fallen across her face as she slept, and Tom gently moved it 
aside with his fingers. As he did, he couldn't help but brush across her forehead ridges, 
and he thought about something Torres had told him almost eight months earlier: they'd 
been trapped in a Vidiian mining prison, B'Elanna split into her component Klingon and 
human selves. As he'd tried to comfort the human B'Elanna, she'd told him how much she 
hated those same ridges, how they made her feel ugly and different as a child, and how 
she had tried to cover them with hats and scarves. Now, watching her sleep, gently 
running his fingers across her brow, he couldn't imagine how she could see them as 
anything but another beautiful feature on an incredibly beautiful face.

'Thank god, you're alive,' he said to himself, not even thinking about how glad he was to 
see her.

With that, Tom heard the doors behind him open, and he turned to see his first officer 
looking more than a little surprised to see him standing by B'Elanna's bedside. "Paris," 
Chakotay said. "Where's the Doctor?"

Tom nodded his head in the direction of the medical lab, where he could see Harry 
pumping the physician for details on B'Elanna's recovery. Tom suddenly realized his 
hand was still resting in her hair and he moved to step away from the bed.

"Harry wanted to check on Torres," he said. This was no time to look like he had a heart, 
Tom realized. "I'm just waiting for him to finish so we can have dinner."

Chakotay looked at him silently for a few minutes, still trying to figure out the ever-
changing man who was Tom Paris. But his real concern now was for B'Elanna. "How is 
she?" he asked.

"She'll be fine," they heard the Doctor say as he walked into the room. "As long as she 
stops being pestered by the likes of you three. Now why don't you all do my patient a 
favor and let her get some rest."

Chakotay knew that a crisis situation could often snap a wayward crewman back into 
shape, and he decided at that moment to make another attempt to reach out to Paris. 
"Well," he said to the young officers, "since the Doctor is kicking us out, how about if I 
join you for that dinner."

Now reassured of B'Elanna's safety, Tom knew he'd have to get back to the play. "No 
thanks," he said, his tone positively dripping with sarcasm, "I think I just lost my 
appetite." With that, he turned and left, leaving his best friend and his commanding 
officer to wonder once again what the hell had just happened.

~*~*~*~*~

With the Dreadnought crisis solved, the captain and Tuvok decided it was time to 
escalate their plan to its desperate, final stage. Kathryn knew this would up the stakes for 
them all, particularly for the young officer on whose shoulders their entire mission rested. 
But every day the spy went undetected was a day when the Kazon gained a tactical 
advantage. She instructed Tuvok to give the final order.

~~

Ever since he had blown off Chakotay's dinner invitation, Tom was focused on only one 
thing: giving a convincing performance to lure their spy out into the open. He wasn't sure 
how much longer he could go on being insubordinate to his first officer and rude to his 
friends before somebody realized it was all a charade.

What disappointed him the most, however, was how willing everyone seemed to be to 
accept that he'd so quickly fallen back to his old ways. Even Harry, who'd believed in 
him when no one else would, couldn't help but wonder now if the warnings he had been 
given about becoming friends with Tom Paris were proving true. How low must their 
expectations have been, Tom now wondered, if after a year of almost model behavior, 
everyone was so willing to recast him in the role of malcontent?

He'd been at this game almost a month, though, and they seemed no closer to a discovery 
than they'd been at the beginning. He knew the coming of Act 3 was a foregone 
conclusion. And, despite what it would mean to his safety, Paris actually found himself 
looking forward to getting the signal. At least he'd be moving out of this awful limbo.

Sure enough, he had just come back from a quiet, uneventful game of solo pool at 
Sandrine's when his commbadge sounded. He didn't need to look at his PADD to see 
what was next. His brief intermission over, Tom prepared himself for the final act.

~*~*~*~

Even before his little drama began, it had always been a struggle for Paris to make it to 
his station on time. Every morning was a rush through breakfast and a scramble to the 
bridge, finding him at the helm with only seconds to spare. Now, when he was 
deliberately trying to be late, he was barely able to fill the time.

Of course, these days he didn't have the distraction of a friendly conversation over 
breakfast. Tom was eating most of his meals alone now. His alienation from the rest of 
the crew was one of the themes of this last act, and in some ways he was glad. Paris knew 
there was a good chance he might not come back from this mission alive, and it would be 
easier for his few remaining friends, Harry, B'Elanna, Neelix, and Kes, if they'd already 
grown accustomed to his absence.

While they hoped it wouldn't come to this, from the beginning the captain had prepared 
him for the possibility that he might actually have to leave the ship--making himself an 
obvious target for capture by the Kazon--in order to finally discover the identity of the 
spy among them. The plan for Act 3 was simple: Tom would get fed up with his life on 
Voyager, his public displays growing in frequency and intensity. Finally, he'd 'quit' his 
provisional job and leave the ship for employment with a Talaxian convoy. If everything 
went according to plan, their spy would leak news of his departure to the Kazon, who 
would find one of Voyager's senior officers too tempting a target to ignore.

But, once the Kazon had taken him, he'd be on his own. There was no guarantee Voyager 
would be able to rescue him. In fact, it was highly unlikely.

They had anticipated that the setup for this part of the plan would take about two weeks. 
Two more weeks, Tom thought, to wrap up any lose ends his death might leave. Sadly, 
considering the current state of his closest relationships, he thought it might take 
considerably less time.

He took another look at the chronometer: 0810. Time to go.

~*~*~*~*~

He'd been late on alternating days that week, coming up with one outlandish story after 
another about why he had been delayed. One day it was a radiation leak in his quarters, 
the next the mysterious disappearance of all of his uniforms. Today, he thought, I'll be a 
midwife to the very-pregnant Samantha Wildman. That would be good for a few laughs, 
Tom imagined--the thought of him delivering a baby.

Of course, none of it was funny. But he was positive today would be the performance to 
break Chakotay's patience once and for all. And he was anxious to get on with it.

"Sorry I'm late," he announced with great fanfare as he stepped off the turbolift, "but I 
have a very good excuse." He moved to lean on Harry's console as if he were telling his 
sad story to a bartender. "Picture this: I'm just getting ready to leave the mess hall when 
Ensign Wildman goes into labor. Well, what else could I do but deliver the baby?" He 
turned around briefly to make sure Chakotay was paying attention. "Oh, you shoudda 
been there, Harry. There's nothing like bringing a new life into the world; I think I missed 
my calling."

The look in his best friend's eyes was a plea. Harry grabbed Tom's arm and pointed out 
their obviously frustrated commander. No one was buying Paris's excuse. Nor were they 
intended to. "What if I told you that the turbolift got stuck on Deck 6?" An even less 
convincing story from a man whose entire morning journey took him from Deck 4 to 
Deck 1.

Tom was disappointed that Chakotay's rebuke was so calm. "This is the third time you've 
been late this week, Mr. Paris." 

"It won't happen again," he reassured the first officer half-heartedly as he took the helm. 
Geez, what did it take to provoke this man?

No sooner had he assumed his station then the sensors picked up a distress call from a 
small ship in their path. A lone Vidiian woman with faint life signs had been detected 
inside. Oh, well, Tom thought as he realized his show was over for the day. Maybe 
tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~

Chakotay prided himself on being a patient man. Even as he had once wrestled with his 
father's expectations, rejected a heritage full of what had seemed like simplistic and 
quaint superstitions, then lived with the guilt and shame of his father's death at the hands 
of the Cardassians, he had always believed that perseverance would pay off in the end. 
Perseverance in getting his father to let him live his own life, perseverance in pursuing a 
Starfleet career which valued science over superstition--perseverance in hunting down 
and destroying the butchers who had destroyed his colony. But it was a tenacity born of 
anger and pain. It brought out demons which had once threatened to destroy him.

But after a lifetime of anger and impetuousness, the emotional control he had developed 
on Voyager with the help of his vision quests brought a kind of peace to his life he never 
thought he would know. 

It also seemed to have earned him the respect and trust of a notoriously by-the-book 
Starfleet captain.

But in the past thirteen months, some new, more tangible demons had risen to replace 
those he'd left behind in the Alpha Quadrant. Seska, for one. His former lover was not 
only a reckless Maquis renegade, she'd turned out to be the enemy among them: a 
Cardassian physically and genetically altered to pass as a Bajoran. Now she was working 
for their first Delta Quadrant nemesis, the Kazon, and endangering the lives of everyone 
on board Voyager. And, courtesy of some stolen genetic material, she might even be 
carrying Chakotay's child...

He'd also recently learned that Lon Suder, another of his Maquis crew, was a sociopath 
who took pleasure in killing for sport. Add to that the commander's questionable 
recruitment of Tom Paris a few years earlier, and the discovery that Tuvok had been a 
Starfleet spy sent to infiltrate his crew, and Chakotay could come up with only one 
conclusion: he was often a lousy judge of character.

For a while recently, he thought he'd misjudged Paris. The worthless drunk he'd enlisted 
out of a desperation for pilots seemed to be concealing a troubled yet honorable young 
man. He'd watched Captain Janeway provide a chance for real redemption to the 
lieutenant, and the helmsman had seemed to be rising to the occasion. Perhaps rising too 
quickly, Chakotay now supposed.

After making a heroic yet disastrous flight in a transwarp shuttle he'd helped design, Paris 
had undergone an almost unbelievable trauma. Yet instead of reinforcing the young 
officer's confidence in his potential, the experience seemed to set him back to the worst 
of his pre-Voyager behavior. Insolent, late for duty, and emotionally distant--even from 
his closest friends--Tom had become a thorn in the commander's side, and a real danger 
to his authority with the rest of the crew. And, for some unknown reason, it seemed 
personal.

Allowing for the ordeal Paris had just survived, Chakotay tried to be patient and wait it 
out; maybe the change in Tom's personality was a side effect of his physical 
transformation. But it was now going on six weeks; for the sake of the entire ship, 
something needed to be done.

Reporting on their Vidiian visitor seemed a good excuse to have a private conversation in 
Janeway's ready room. He finished his update, then prepared himself for what he was 
about to say. "Captain..."

She could sense his discomfort. "Is there something wrong?"

He was about to tell Kathryn Janeway that her 'personal reclamation project' was failing. 
And, despite the confidence and trust the captain had shown in her first officer, he knew 
he could be waking into sensitive territory for a woman who liked to believe the best of 
her crew. But Chakotay needed to get this off his chest. "I wanted to talk to you about 
Lieutenant Paris..."

He expressed his concerns as non-judgmentally as possible, considering his antagonistic 
history with Tom Paris and Janeway's well-known interest in giving the pilot a chance to 
make a fresh start. This was also the first time a senior bridge officer was in need of a 
reprimand, and the commander wanted the approval of his captain before taking any 
action. 

He left with her unqualified support.

Chakotay was now confident of his next steps: he would be more assertive about 
confronting Paris's bad behavior, yet he would make sure to reach out first, offering this 
stray a way back to the fold. He also came away feeling relieved that Captain Janeway 
had shown such utter and complete trust in his judgment in handling the situation. She 
could have easily treated him like a Maquis--keeping him at arm's length, disciplining the 
Starfleet crew herself. Instead, she'd shown absolute faith in her first officer's abilities. 
She trusted him and it was mutual. He liked the feeling.



Standing in her ready room as the doors closed, Kathryn Janeway was heartsick. As she 
knew he would, Commander Chakotay had confided in her his concerns about Tom 
Paris's behavior. She told her first officer she trusted him to handle the situation as he saw 
fit. 

What she hadn't told him was that Tom was working for her, intentionally provoking a 
confrontation with the first officer, a man who deserved better treatment, not only from 
the young lieutenant following her orders, but from his captain. A woman Chakotay 
thought he could trust. 

Yes, the likely offender was Maquis. Yes, there was something unfair about asking the 
commander to spy on his friends and former crewmen. Yet, down to her toes, Janeway 
knew that her deception would cost her and this ship the faith of an honorable man. She 
could only hope that one day he would understand and forgive her.

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna would never have believed, when she woke up this morning, exactly how she 
would be spending her afternoon. An hour after she'd reported for duty, the Doctor called 
her to sickbay. With characteristic 'sensitivity,' he'd had the audacity to ask her to donate 
a sample of her brain tissue to help treat the disfigured and dying Vidiian woman they 
found drifting in the damaged shuttle.

Had she known her day would include such an outrageous request, she would have 
wagered she'd never agree to the procedure. The Vidiians had conducted some torturous 
experiments on the young engineer only eight months earlier, splitting Torres into two 
separate beings--one fully human, the other fully Klingon. Her captors had apparently 
discovered a phage-resistant component to her Klingon physiology, and they'd needed a 
genetically pure 'lab rat' on which to experiment in an attempt to cure the disease that had 
ravaged their civilization for centuries.

And while, having once been the 'human' B'Elanna, the woman who now walked

Voyager's corridors had been spared the worst of the experiments, she had been forced to 
watch her Klingon counterpart shot and killed, then endured the painful reintegration of 
that woman's DNA back into her body. She had known ever since that--were she ever to 
encounter the Vidiians again--she'd devote herself to their destruction.

Yet, as she shouted her protest to Voyager's unsympathetic EMH, she'd been greeted by 
the compassionate and understanding woman her tissues were intended to help. Standing 
in sickbay, hearing the gentle voice of an innocent victim of an unspeakable illness, 
Torres could no longer justify taking her rage at her captors out on this woman. Still 
reluctant, she had agreed to try to help. The procedure had been as simple and painless as 
the doctor had promised.

Now, as she walked back to her quarters, B'Elanna felt a need to find the one person who 
might understand the conflicting emotions this experience had raised in her. Tom Paris 
had been the only other survivor of that doomed away mission. He'd comforted her as 
they labored in the mines, tried to give her back the strength of will the extraction of her 
Klingon side had ripped from her. She and Paris had watched the Vidiians take their 
friend and crewmate, Pete Durst, to his death. And he had stood beside her on Voyager's 
transporter pad as she held her dying Klingon counterpart.

It was the first time she'd realized there was a man of compassion, courage, and depth 
behind the cynical idiot she originally thought him to be. And, despite the distance Paris 
had forced between them in the last few weeks, B'Elanna knew she needed to talk to him.

"Computer," she called out. "Locate Lieutenant Paris."

"Lieutenant Paris is on Deck 4, Section 3C."

Good. He was in his quarters. She headed to the turbolift, anxious to see her friend.

When she arrived, however, he almost didn't let her in. "Oh, B'Elanna, I was just on my 
way to, uh...I'm kind of in the middle of something, so..."

She wasn't that easily deterred--not today. "Tom, please. I need to talk to you. I promise I 
won't stay long." She watched his mind slip into overdrive. Why was it that every word 
he spoke these days seemed to pass through a series of filters before it came out of his 
mouth?

"Look, Torres," he said with growing agitation, "if Chakotay sent you here to..." The 
disappointment and hurt must have shown in her eyes, because Paris didn't even finish 
the sentence. "B'Elanna, what's wrong?"

Another lightening-fast personality change, and she was once again face-to-face with her 
compassionate friend. "Something happened today," she said softly. I just came from 
sickbay, and.…"

He was taking her arm now and pulling her to sit with him on the couch. "Are you 
alright? Are you hurt?" This protectiveness was disorienting from a man who had almost 
refused to speak with her only a moment earlier.

"I'm fine," she said with more conviction than she felt. "But I need help sorting 
something out, and you're the only one I can talk to about this."

Tom replicated coffee for them both, and they settled onto his couch to talk. They spent 
the next two hours discussing the ethical dilemma B'Elanna had faced, her unresolved 
feelings of hatred toward the Vidiians, and the powerlessness she had felt as the entire 
nightmare in the prison unfolded. For the first time, she also told Paris of the argument 
she'd had with her Klingon 'self' as they hid from the guards, the new respect she had 
found for that side of her nature when viewing it from the outside, and the battle she once 
again fought as a hybrid child of such different peoples.

Now, instead of a blanket rejection of her Klingon heritage, B'Elanna was feeling 
conflicted. While she was still ashamed and embarrassed of her sometimes-
uncontrollable temper, and even though she'd never love the look of her own face in a 
mirror, she was trying to at least acknowledge the positive aspects of that part of herself. 
It was a struggle she assumed would never really end.

She noticed as she spoke that Paris hadn't said anything for several minutes. He was just 
looking at her, an almost sad smile on his face. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. 
"What?" she asked.

Tom seemed to become aware that he was staring. "I was just thinking that I couldn't 
imagine you any other way. And, I hope this doesn't upset you, but I was glad when I 
found out the Doc was putting you back the way you were. The human woman I met in 
those mines wasn't you. I mean, don't get me wrong, B'Elanna, I'll always be grateful to 
her for trusting me enough to treat me like a friend. Somehow I think she shared some 
things with me that you never would have. At least not back then. But I would have 
missed you. And I'll always be grateful that we got you back."

Torres was dumbfounded. Until this moment, she never realized that Tom viewed the 
'human' B'Elanna as a separate person, as less than herself. And, as crazy as it was, she 
somehow believed that he meant it when he said he preferred her conflicted, hodgepodge, 
mixed self to the human 'ideal' she had always aspired to.

But she had trouble believing that the Tom Paris she'd first left with on that away mission 
would ever have 'missed' her. "You've got to be kidding. All we ever did back then was 
fight!"

Paris smiled. "I know. In those days, you were the only person who would ever call me a 
jerk to my face. Everyone else always waited until I left the room, or until they thought I 
was out of earshot. I really respected you for that."

His comments made her think about a conversation she had overheard that morning in the 
mess hall. Ashmore and Ayala were talking about how Paris had been late for bridge duty 
three days in the past week, and that he seemed to be daring his first officer to call him on 
his bad behavior. About what a 'jerk' Tom had become. She thought about Paris's leering 
at Sue Nicoletti, the way he'd been avoiding her and Harry, and how he'd almost chewed 
her head off when she came to talk to him a few hours earlier.

She was suddenly very aware that she wasn't the only one with a conflicted, dual nature. 
As much as she wrestled with the two warring women inside herself, B'Elanna now 
suspected a similar battle had come to consume the man in front of her. 

She also realized that--during their entire conversation--the barrier Tom had erected to 
isolate himself these past few weeks was nowhere in sight. Sitting before her was the 
kind, gentle man who once comforted her in that prison, who'd welcomed her as a friend 
and colleague to the transwarp project, who dragged her with a childlike enthusiasm 
around a carnival midway, and who'd just listened to her struggling to accept her Klingon 
self, offering only validation and acceptance. What operation had extracted this side of 
Tom Paris, leaving only the aloof screw up they'd been watching emerge?

Tom seemed to notice that the conversation had turned from B'Elanna's problems to his 
own. She could see his expression change; his smile had faded, his eyes held a sad, 
distant look. Still, he didn't pull away.

"You know," she said, "we made a deal a few weeks ago. You're not keeping up your end 
of the bargain."

"What do you mean?" he asked, though he was fairly sure what she meant.

"We promised to trust each other. You can trust me, Tom. Why won't you tell me what's 
wrong?"

Paris knew it was a mistake to have let her in. The longer this game played out the higher 
the stakes, and he couldn't risk anyone--particularly a former Maquis who was Chakotay's 
best friend--learning what was really going on. The fact that B'Elanna and Harry knew 
him so well--knew how to get over, under, and around the barriers he constructed to keep 
people out--dramatically increased his odds of slipping up and revealing the game. Their 
support and friendship also upped the chances of his saying to hell with the whole 
mission and backing out of the plan. Putting his life on the line was always so much 
easier when no one cared if he lived or died. If he didn't care himself.

But he did care. He did want the life he had earned on this ship. Paris had to keep 
reminding himself that it was this new life--and more importantly the lives of his friends-
-he was fighting to protect by ferreting out this spy. Which made what he was about to 
say only marginally easier to take.

"We didn't really spend a lot of time together when we were in the Maquis." Tom knew 
he wasn't answering her question. "I always thought it was because Chakotay warned you 
to stay away from me."

B'Elanna looked down into her now-empty coffee cup. She didn't answer, but she didn't 
have to.

"You should have listened to him," Paris said softly. Then he stood up and waited at the 
door.

Taking his hint that their conversation was now over, B'Elanna sat her coffee cup on his 
dinner table and walked over to where he stood. "One day you're going to want to tell 
someone what's going on in there," she said, brushing her hand across his heart. "You 
know where to find me."

She knew he wouldn't answer, so she didn't bother to stay.

As the doors closed behind her, Tom slumped against the wall and tried to shake her off. 
One day he would want to tell her what was really going on. He only hoped that--if they 
both survived to see it--she'd still be willing to listen.

~*~*~*~*~ 

The rest of his evening had been almost mundane. Something about his heart-to-heart 
with B'Elanna had muted his enthusiasm for accelerating the plan. Tom indulged his 
desire to feel 'normal' again--if only for a night--and had taken Neelix up on his offer to 
shoot some pool. He was happy to see that Sandrine's was almost empty; there were more 
holocharacters than crewmen as he racked the balls and made the breaking shot.

Neelix was the one friend whose company Tom could still enjoy without complication. 
Maybe it was the man's innocent nature--or his job as the ship's morale officer--but 
Neelix never chastised Tom, never brought up uncomfortable topics, and seemed to 
dedicate himself to taking Paris's mind off his troubles. Tom realized, too, that Neelix 
wasn't particularly interested in Starfleet rules and protocols. He took people at face 
value, and tried to believe the best of them. At least these days.

What now seemed like a lifetime ago, when Tom had believed he was falling in love with 
Kes, he'd awkwardly tried to avoid spending time in her company. Paris knew that his 
Ocampan friend was in love with Neelix, and he didn't want to complicate an already 
difficult situation by accidentally flirting with her or saying something stupid about his 
burgeoning feelings. It would be better for them both, he thought, if he just politely 
avoided her altogether.

Of course, Neelix had misinterpreted Tom's avoidance as a cover-up of a secret romance; 
he'd practically challenged Paris to a duel--fought oddly enough with 'hair-pasta-and-
tomato-sauce' weapons--and declared his disdain for his imagined rival. A failed away 
mission had given the men a chance to talk things through, to get to know each other 
better, and had given Tom a chance to point out to Neelix that--despite his own interest in 
Kes--he'd never pursue her. Not only would it be pointless in light of her devotion to her 
lover, it would have been disrespectful of Neelix's feelings. He'd never do that, Paris 
swore.

It was only then that Neelix admitted to Tom that he'd heard rumors--rumblings from the 
crew--that Paris was an untrustworthy coward. While it was difficult to hear, it wasn't a 
huge surprise. Tom's reputation was once deserved, he knew. But he promised Neelix--as 
he'd promised himself--that those days were behind him. Voyager was his second chance 
at making a new life--a chance he had no intention of wasting.

They'd become friends that day, Neelix promising never to believe the things people 
whispered about Tom; the pilot solidifying his decision to think of Kes only as a friend, 
and seeing for the first time the sensitive, loyal man hiding beneath those Talaxian 
whiskers.

Tom wondered what Neelix was hearing about him these days.

To his great relief, his friend said nothing and he didn't ask.

~*~*~*~*~

Amazingly enough, Neelix didn't seem to be the only person willing to give Tom the 
benefit of the doubt.

The next afternoon, sitting alone--as usual these days--grabbing a quick lunch in the mess 
hall and pretending to be absorbed in a book, Tom looked up to see his executive officer 
standing at his side.

"Mind if I join you?" Chakotay asked, his voice almost friendly. Paris nodded to the seat 
next to him, but didn't answer. He hadn't been looking for a confrontation, but he needed 
to be ready to seize any opportunity. "So how are things, Tom?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, summoning as much disdain as he could for a man he actually 
liked and respected.

"How've you been feeling lately? Is something bothering you?" Paris had to laugh. Any 
other first officer on any other ship would have had him busted down to crewman by this 
time. Yet here was Chakotay, a man who only a year before would have been thrilled to 
see him spaced out an airlock, calmly asking if something was wrong. 'I need to try that 
vision quest thing if this is what it can do,' Tom thought to himself.

He was still laughing as he answered. "No offense, Commander, but why this sudden 
concern for my feelings?"

Chakotay wasn't taking the bait. "Well, you've been moody lately, indifferent to your 
duties. To be honest, you don't seem to be taking your job very seriously. If you've got a 
problem, I'd like to know what it is."

Tom knew this was the moment he had been waiting for. They weren't on the bridge, he 
wasn't on duty, and the commander was almost begging for a fight in front of at least 
thirty crewmen from all over the ship. This was a moment crying out to be seized. "Yeah, 
I've got a problem. My problem is you."

Paris proceeded to blame his commanding officer for insulting his intelligence, ignoring 
his suggestions, and valuing rule-following over initiative. He as much as called the 
commander a poor leader, raising his voice--and the stakes--as he spoke.

For the first time, Tom could tell he was breaking through Chakotay's reserve. "I didn't 
come here for a lecture from you on how to do my job," the commander snapped.

Paris could tell they were putting on a good show. He could feel the eyes of everyone in 
the room--and those who were afraid to look were clearly listening in. It was coup de 
grace time. "Yeah, well, I know you don't put much stock in my opinion," he said, his 
voice dripping venom. "So, maybe you should talk to some of these people. Because I'm 
not the only one around here who's got a problem with you."

After practically advertising for an alliance with their unknown spy, Tom excused 
himself and headed for the door. He'd used up any slack his first officer would ever cut 
him, he was now sure. One more nudge, one more infraction, and Paris knew the curtain 
would come down on this drama. And his anger--though not at Chakotay--was real. He'd 
just publicly undermined and humiliated a decent man, Tom knew. He couldn't find a 
way to justify what he'd been asked to do. He wondered how the captain justified it to 
herself.

'If I ever get back here,' Tom thought as he stormed out of the room, 'he's never gonna 
forgive me for this.' The unresolved question: would Paris ever forgive himself.

~*~*~*~*~

He headed to the holodeck and initialized Sandrine's once again. Tonight, though, there'd 
be no pool playing, no pretending his life was his own. Tom was alone with his 
holocharacters, his old haunt, and his guilt.

He needed a drink. Badly. But Act 3 was now playing, and Paris knew he had to keep his 
wits about him. Instead, he replicated a pot of coffee--real coffee, damn it--knowing he'd 
finish the whole thing before he left.

He'd barely taken his first sip when he heard very loud, very deliberate footsteps behind 
him. He knew it was her before he turned around; the unmistakable, intermingled aromas 
of scented soap and warp plasma were a dead giveaway. 

"What in the hell is wrong with you?!"

He wouldn't insult her intelligence by pretending not to know what she meant. "Hello to 
you, too, B'Elanna." He was in no mood for this, yet she had every right to be furious and 
he knew it. "Let me guess: you just ran into Chakotay."

He could see her eyes now, and they were blazing. Apparently Torres had embraced her 
Klingon side just enough to unleash in on anyone who hurt her friends. "No, you idiot, I 
ran into Mike Jonas, but everyone on this ship is talking about it. Now, what in the hell is 
wrong with you?!"

'I should have engaged the privacy lock,' Paris thought to himself. Anything to have 
avoided this tonight.

"Stay out of it, B'Elanna," he said--his frustration very clear in his voice. This was not a 
night to be pushing him to talk.

"I will not stay out of it. Something is going on, something you're not telling me. I know 
you, Tom Paris, and you're up to something. And I'm not leaving here until you explain 
what the hell is going on!" She was shouting, hovering near him, pushing him to talk, 
pushing him to explain, pushing him...over the edge.

"Leave me alone!" he was screaming back at her. "Mind your own damn business! You 
don't know me, you can't help me, and I want you to leave me the hell alone!"

Torres looked like she'd been struck with his fist. As much as she knew she'd provoked 
him, B'Elanna was totally unprepared to see the accumulated rage now coming her way. 
For the first time ever, she was seeing firsthand the Tom Paris everyone had warned her 
about. There was no mask, no sarcasm, no pain disguised as humor. She was face to face 
with pure rage. And it suddenly all made sense.

This was the real Tom Paris. Everything else she had ever seen had been a carefully 
rehearsed act. Oh, he was good, she now realized. She'd almost fallen for it. They'd all 
almost fallen for it. And she was instantly disinterested in any excuses this man might try 
to give her for his behavior; not that he seemed willing to offer any. A switch had flipped 
inside her; a massive self-protection circuit breaker had blown. Her voice turned ice cold.

"I'll leave you alone, Paris. As a matter of fact, I hope I never have to lay eyes on you 
again." She was out the door in seconds, but he wouldn't have tried to stop her. 

Tom found himself leaning on the bar for support, his head buried in his hands, his mind 
swimming at the way his life was playing out. He'd sworn that he wouldn't take this out 
on his friends. B'Elanna was only trying to help. What in the hell had he done?

His eyes were closed tightly. He knew if he opened them he'd still be in Sandrine's--the 
monument he himself had built to his worthless past--and B'Elanna would still be gone. 
He cursed Tuvok for coming up with this ridiculous plan and Captain Janeway for 
agreeing to it. He cursed Chakotay for giving him so many chances, forcing Tom to make 
a huge scene to finally provoke the man. He cursed the goddamned spy--whoever it was--
for evading their investigation. And he cursed himself for resorting to hurting a woman 
he cared for very deeply when he should have been able to control himself. He stood like 
that for a long while, trying to think of what to do next. 

Then, unexpectedly, his mind cleared, and he realized he was no longer angry. He wasn't 
depressed or sad or frustrated. Instead, without touching a drop of liquor, Tom Paris was 
officially numb.

Up until this very moment, he had carried some doubts about his ability to go through 
with the plan. One show of support from Harry, one more understanding smile from 
B'Elanna, one innocent comment around Kes, and he knew he'd let his guard down and 
ruin everything. But he'd seen the look in B'Elanna's eyes just now. She wouldn't be back. 
And he suspected he'd long-since crossed the line with Harry, too.

There was officially nothing left to lose. Somehow, that thought gave him the courage he 
needed to see this through.



He'd been sitting alone for over an hour, finishing the last of his coffee, when other 
crewmen started to arrive. 'Geez, Paris, don't the words 'privacy lock,' ring a bell?!' he 
thought. He considered leaving, but couldn't bear to spend another moment in his lonely, 
depressing quarters. Besides, he knew he'd be left alone. No one would dare to be seen 
talking to him after today. Another job well done.

Well, almost no one. Tom was surprised when the Doctor suddenly approached him.

"Doc! What brings you here? Is somebody sick?" A silly question; what few crewmen 
were there were clearly fine.

"Actually, Mr. Paris, I was looking for you." 

Strange as it seemed, the Doctor was in need of advice on love. Why he sought that 
advice from Tom Paris was about to become obvious. "I assume you've had a great deal 
of experience being rejected by women."

Tonight, of all nights, this should have been salt in his open wound. But he was numb, he 
reminded himself. You had to feel in order to feel pain. He feigned a wounded look, but it 
hadn't hurt him a bit.

Not that the Doctor seemed at all embarrassed at the implication as he continued. "What 
I'd like to know is: what does one do to overcome the unpleasant symptoms of romantic 
rejection?" 

Sit in a holographic bar, downing a pot of coffee for one thing.

Tom dispassionately focused on the Doctor's question instead of his own broken heart. 
"Ah, alright well, let's see. Sometimes there's not a lot you can do to get over a woman 
you really care about." Tom searched for a memory that wouldn't be too painful to share. 
Of a woman he'd actually gotten over. "I remember when Susie Crabtree dumped me 
back in my first year at the Academy. I broke out in hives, couldn't get out of bed for a 
week. I almost failed stellar cartography. I walked around in a daze the rest of that year." 
He could have lived without the reminder. Why tonight, of all nights, did the Doctor want 
to hear about his lost loves? Still, what did it matter? "Of course," he lied to himself and 
to the Doctor, "the first one is always the hardest to get over." 

Wrong. Everyone, including Tom Paris, knew that the last one was the hardest by far.

His next words were to reassure himself. "Eventually you start thinking about her less 
and less, until finally--without realizing it--she's not on your mind anymore." I wonder 
when that starts, he thought.

"So the symptoms do subside over time?" the Doctor asked. 

'I sure as hell hope so,' Tom mused silently. "For the most part, but every now and then--
even years later--something reminds you of her...a certain smell, a few notes of a 
song...and suddenly you feel just as bad as the day she told you she never wanted to see 
you again." Which was about ninety minutes ago, if he'd kept track of the time properly. 

This was useless. "If you want the honest truth, Doc, you never completely get over a 
woman you've really cared about."

Tom didn't stop to think about the fact that he was now mourning the loss of a woman 
he'd never allowed himself to want. He'd moved right from friendship into heartbreak 
without ever stopping at love. At least not consciously. So why did it feel like he'd just 
been dumped? 

The question almost lured him out of his numb funk. Instead, he distracted himself by 
trying to figure out why the EMH, of all people, would be asking about romantic 
rejection.

"Wait a minute Doc, we're not talking about you, are we?"

Paris spent the next half hour hearing the touching tale of holographic love gone wrong. 
At first, it all seemed absurd, but he soon forgot that the man with the broken heart telling 
his sad tale was anything other than a man with a broken heart. 

It seemed that their chief medical officer had fallen in love with his Vidiian patient. At 
Kes's urging, he'd revealed his feelings, blurting out his romantic interest during a 
medical procedure on the woman's dying body. She'd rejected the physician almost 
instantly, breaking the subroutines that stood in for the doctor's heart.

But Tom wasn't so sure it was that simple. There was enough wrong with the Doc's 
approach to at least consider another explanation. "Sounds to me like she might just be 
shy," Paris speculated. "Women like romance. They want men to take an effort; take 
them someplace special."

His pupil seemed intrigued. "Where would I take her?"

Paris instantly rejected the first place that came to his mind. Even if he'd never see it 
again, the carnival was private. Something he had shared only with her. But he had 
enough other venues in his now pointless bag of tricks. "Come with me, Doc." He said, 
heading for the emitter controls. "I've got an idea."

It only took him a moment to transfer the Doctor into Holodeck 1. He then walked down 
the corridor to join him. Let's see: there was Risa. Nope, too cliché. New Orleans? Too 
bawdy for someone who might be shy. Venice? Too 'third date.' No, he needed 
someplace where two tentative lovers could take it slow. Someplace equally innocuous 
and romantic. Someplace 1950's. Suddenly, it was so obvious.

Tom hadn't used the Mars program yet, himself. He'd been saving it for the right woman, 
someone who was more than just a conquest. Someone he could fall in love with. It was 
definitely an 'advance the relationship' spot. He'd called it up recently--though he wasn't 
sure why. For some reason, he'd changed the color of the Chevy from red to a teal blue. 
The color of a jumpsuit he'd seen her wear once.

He didn't stop to notice that he refused to think her name.

Paris had put a lot of thought and effort into that program. Back when he imagined he 
might actually have a life; when he could dream of relationships that lasted longer than a 
few days. What did it matter now? He'd be gone soon. Someone ought to get some 
enjoyment out of the damn thing.



When he finally made it back to his quarters, his commbadge made a distinctive chirp. 
Perfect timing, he realized.

Tom retrieved the PADD, totally unsurprised at its brief message. "Exit, stage right," was 
all it said.

He didn't even bother to take off his uniform before throwing himself on his bed. 
"Computer, play musical selection Paris 1955. Dim the lights."

The soft, sad song began to play as he forced himself to sleep.

          My love must be a kind of blind love. I can't see anyone but you. 
          Are the stars out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright. 
          I only have eyes for you, dear. 
          The moon may be high. But I can't see a thing in the sky. 
          I only have eyes for you.

The song of a man obsessed, blinded by love. A luxury he couldn't allow himself. 'Good 
luck, Doc,' Paris thought as he drifted off.

~*~*~*~*~

He could stop her from creeping into his thoughts, but his dreams had a mind of their 
own.

They were back at the carnival, only this time something was different.

She was kissing him, for one thing.

And there was a Ferris Wheel. As a matter of fact, they were stopped at the top of it. She 
was wearing the same lace-up jumpsuit he now realized was his favorite of her outfits, 
and his hand was enmeshed in her hair. The car was swaying slightly, both from the 
warm breeze off the ocean and their movements as they roamed around each other's lips.

He pulled back to make sure it was real. B'Elanna was smiling at him, the look in her 
eyes was a mixture of happiness and desire. "Admit it, Tom," he heard her say. "You 
planned this all along." Somehow he still felt very much along for the ride. She kept 
explaining, "This carnival, these rides, the beach. You made it all for me--for us--didn't 
you?"

She was still smiling, yet somehow it felt like an accusation. "I guess I did," he heard 
himself admit, without ever consciously realizing it had been true. "Are you sorry?"

Still placid, devoted, her voice and face answered before her words. "Not at all. I love it." 
She was reaching into his heart with her eyes.

She leaned over to continue their kiss as the Wheel began to turn once again, gently at 
first, then gradually picking up in speed. He pulled away; B'Elanna didn't seem to notice 
there was a problem. "What's wrong?"

"We're going too fast," he said, now nervously watching the rising and falling ground 
beneath them. "Something's not right."

She seemed to misinterpret his meaning. "I thought you wanted this. I thought you 
wanted me."

"No, B'Elanna, that's not what I mean!" They were now turning so fast he was sure the 
wheel would break from its housing and send them rolling down the beach into the ocean. 
Why didn't she seem to notice? "We've got to stop this!"

"Then why did you bring me here?" She was shouting at him now, her eyes full of 
contempt. She was no longer in the teal jumpsuit, but wore her Maquis leathers and 
suedes. "I should have listened to Chakotay!" she was screaming at him. "I should have 
stayed away from you!"

The ride came to a sudden stop, and Tom thought for a moment he would be thrown

from the car. Still, B'Elanna didn't seem to think anything of it. She was focused on him, 
on his rejection. But he hadn't meant to reject her at all. "B'Elanna, please, just listen to 
me!"

"I have been listening, but you're not saying anything!" She was in her Starfleet uniform 
now. "You don't want me, you don't care about me. You don't care about anything but 
yourself. Why don't you grow up and stop playing these stupid games?!"

He wanted to reach out to her, tell her it wasn't his game this time. They were at the 
bottom, now, the ride at a merciful stop. She threw open the restraining bar and stormed 
away. "B'Elanna! Wait!"

Before he could go after her, the bar slammed shut, and he looked into the smiling face of 
the ride's operator: Seska. "Sit back and keep your arms inside the car," she said, 
sneering. And he was in motion again. Up and down as the Wheel once again began to 
pick up speed. He searched the crowd below, but he couldn't find her. "B'Elanna, wait!" 
he screamed. "B'Elanna!"

"B'Elanna!" his own voice woke him as he was jolted out of the dream. He was tangled in 
the blanket, and his breathing was ragged. There was a sudden, sharp pain in his chest. 

So much for being numb, he realized. Or asleep.

~*~*~*~*~

What does one have for breakfast on the day they commit professional suicide?

It seemed the answer was, 'whatever you want.' Tom couldn't help but notice that his 
replicator rations had been tripled while he slept. He recognized Tuvok's security 
override--a surprisingly kind gesture from a man who had no ability to empathize with 
his situation.

Unfortunately, the gift would go unused. Paris couldn't begin to summon up an appetite. 

Besides, the chronometer read 0808. It was show time.



He'd never intended to shove him so hard. It certainly wasn't a part of the 'script.' Yet 
when Chakotay told Tom he was relieved of duty for once again arriving late to his shift, 
it was Paris's job to make a convincing protest. He pretended to ask for Captain 
Janeway's help (which he knew she would refuse). But when he turned--and the first 
officer grabbed his arm--Tom was caught off guard. He was tired and had swallowed 
almost two months of frustration and loneliness. This unexpected contact was a surprise, 
and Paris couldn't control his reaction. He'd only tried to push out of the commander's 
grip. Yet the force of his shove threw Chakotay off balance, sending him sprawling to the 
deck.

Intentional or not, he had just assaulted a senior officer in front of his captain and the 
entire bridge crew. Relieved to see Chakotay was unhurt, Paris couldn't help but feel a 
deeper relief: he'd done it. He'd crossed the line. Finally, it could all come to an end.

Janeway knew the opportunity she'd just been presented. "Mr. Tuvok, please escort Mr. 
Paris to the brig."

As he was taken away, Tom noticed Harry Kim, his head bowed in disbelief, not able to 
make himself watch Paris's final humiliation.

'Bye, Harry,' Tom thought. 'Sorry you had to see that.'



"Computer, initiate security protocol, authorization Tuvok Omega-2."

The turbolift came to a halt between decks, and Tom heard the crackle of the dampening 
field as it activated. "Good work, Lieutenant," the security chief said as soon as the 
internal sensors had been blocked. "A thoroughly convincing performance."

A pretty unusual state of affairs, Tom realized. It was pretty rare to get complimented for 
knocking your first officer to the deck. "Yeah, well, believe it or not, it really was an 
accident. I didn't mean to push him that hard."

Paris wondered for a moment if some small, suppressed part of Tuvok hadn't actually 
enjoyed the battering Chakotay had taken in the past few weeks. He knew there was no 
love lost between the men; by all rights, the Vulcan could have expected to be named 
first officer when Cavit was killed. Maybe he resented the former Maquis for winning the 
position. Was that why Tuvok's scenario called for Chakotay's ritual humiliation? The 
thought began to annoy Tom, but he didn't have long to think about it.

It hadn't taken Tuvok long to formulate a plan. "Sensors have located the Talaxian 
convoy. They can be here within forty-eight hours. I recommend the following scenario: 
at the end of today's duty shift, the captain will order you released from the brig and 
confined to quarters while she makes arrangements for you to leave the ship. Tomorrow 
morning you should begin preparing for your departure. I have downloaded all of our 
tactical information about the Kazon into your encrypted datapad. Please use the rest of 
the day to study it carefully."

"Understood," Paris said, unenthusiastically. "What then?"

"The Talaxians should be here by the following morning." Tuvok was cold, matter of 
fact.

"What will we tell the crew?" Tom wondered. A part of him also imagined the 
celebration that would take place in Sandrine's once everyone realized he was gone.

"Nothing," Tuvok answered. "I'm sure the captain will make some sort of announcement, 
but it would be best if no one knew of your plans to depart until the last moment. It is 
likely that some of the crew--some of your friends--would attempt to 'change your mind.' 
I would like to avoid any temptation you might feel to reveal something in an effort to 
comfort them."

This comment made Paris livid. "Now wait just a damn minute, Lieutenant! I have done 
each thing you've asked of me, and I haven't told anyone. I've risked everything to make 
this plan work; I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that now!"

Tuvok turned to him, his eyes showing more compassion than Paris would have 
expected. "You've acted with uncommon courage," he admitted. "But you have been 
forced to say and do things that must have been extremely difficult for someone with 
such deep emotions. My suggestion was intended only to spare you additional pain."

Tom calmed at the kind words. "Thanks," he said softly. "But I don't think you have to 
worry. I'm pretty sure no one will be beating down my door begging me to stick around."

Paris turned to face the lift doors, his body language screaming for Tuvok to restart the 
damn thing and get this whole charade over with once and for all.

"Computer, disengage security lockout and resume."

~*~*~*~*~

As it turned out, someone did beg him to stay. 

After being released from the brig, Paris was packing some clothes in his quarters when 
the chime sounded. "Come in," he said without bothering to look over his shoulder. 
When he finally did turn around, the face he saw looked pained.

"Neelix, how's it going?" Just as he had with B'Elanna, Tom noticed his friend's wounded 
expression and immediately dropped the act. "Not good, it looks like. What's wrong?"

"I hear you're leaving the ship." Wow. This was an unexpected development. Tom wasn't 
sure how his friend could have known, though he could guess it was from another 
Talaxian, probably someone on the convoy. 

Now understanding why Neelix looked so glum, Tom went back to his packing. "Good 
news travels fast, I guess." He tried to explain to his friend that he was looking for 
advancement, a new start, and that coming aboard Voyager had been a mistake from the 
beginning.

With his typically lovable mix of total selflessness and total self-absorption, Neelix's next 
question made Paris feel horrible about the effect his mission was having on his friends. 
"Tom, you and I have had our differences, but I thought we put those behind us. I just 
hope I haven't contributed to your decision."

Why did his friends insist on making this even harder? Tom tried to be reassuring. 
"Neelix, no! This isn't about anybody except me. I've done this to myself, just like 
always." It was true, if not in the way he now implied. "No matter where I go or who I'm 
with, I make a mess of things. The unmistakable conclusion has to be that--deep down--I 
don't want any friends, or a family, or a home. Otherwise I wouldn't keep sabotaging the 
possibilities."

Just stick to the script, Tom told himself. Don't let any of this get to you. Neelix wasn't 
making it easy.

"I thought you'd found those things here." Paris watched the man struggle to find the right 
argument, to find the right words to convince Tom to say. Close to--and more than a little 
anxious for--a resolution to this drawn out melodrama, Tom appreciated the gesture but 
couldn't be swayed.

'Forgive me for lying to you, Neelix,' he thought as he answered. "I tried. Or maybe I just 
told myself I was trying. I'm not sure. But either way it's just not working. Frankly, I'd 
like to get out before I completely destroy my image. There might actually be one or two 
people who still have a good opinion of me." Lying was always easier from a distance; 
Tom grabbed some clothes from his wardrobe and headed back to the bed.

Neelix was undeterred. "I'm one of them Tom. And I wish you wouldn't go."

'I should have known,' Tom thought. Once you were Neelix's friend, you were a friend 
for life. And, he had to admit to himself, he was glad for one last look at a kind, 
welcoming face. 

"Well, I thank you," he said sincerely, then slipped back to the lie. "But the truth is, I've 
always considered myself a drifter. You know what that's like, Neelix. The freedom to do 
what you want when you want. No rules to follow, nobody depending on you...right?" 
Truth was, Tom hated the very thought of that kind of lonely, rootless life.

Paris was totally caught of guard as the emotional morale officer suddenly pulled him 
into a hug, perhaps thinking his gesture might be more effective than his words. Tom was 
usually uncomfortable with Neelix's touchy-feely nature, but--after a moment--he 
returned the embrace. After everything he had done, all the awful things he had said, this 
kind man wanted him to know he still had a friend.

'God, I hope I can make this up to them,' Tom thought to himself.

~*~*~*~*~

By that evening, the rumor was all over the ship. Tom Paris was leaving Voyager.

He wasn't surprised when no one offered to throw a farewell party. He was a little 
disappointed, however, when no one came to say goodbye.

That was unfair; Neelix and Kes had offered to stop by for a nice dinner, but Tom had 
politely declined. He still had to finish reading a large portion of Tuvok's intelligence file 
on the Kazon, and--strangely enough--he was looking forward to one last quiet night in 
his quarters.

But three hours later, after reading, and re-reading, and re-re-reading every known detail 
of Kazon ship design, engineering protocols, and tactical vulnerability, Paris was as 
prepared as he would ever be. He deactivated the PADD and went to lie down on his bed.

"Computer, locate Ensign Kim." Okay, so he had expected Harry.

"Ensign Kim is in Jeffries Tube 11, Section 4." Well, that made sense. Whether or not he 
had volunteered for the shift to have an excuse to stay away, at least Harry was still on 
duty. Tom was sure he would have come by otherwise.

"Locate Lieutenant Torres." He hadn't expected to see B'Elanna. Not really. Not after 
everything he'd said. Still, he found himself wondering where she was, what she was 
doing on their last night 'together.'

"Lieutenant Torres is in Jeffries Tube 11, Section 4."

Tom smiled. Misery loved company. At least his best friends had thrown themselves into 
their work together. They'd be there for each other, Paris knew, to help each other 
through his leaving. He was relieved in a way, particularly for Harry, who Tom suspected 
had taken his entire, mystifying regression the hardest. 

In a few days, he supposed, they'd comfort each other through the news that he was 
missing or dead, and that this entire disgusting chapter of his life had been nothing more 
than a one-man show; a play written, directed, and performed for the sole purposed of 
ensuring their safety. Until that time, he wanted them to have something--some tangible 
proof that the Tom Paris they had known and cared for wasn't the product of wishful 
thinking or their imaginations. Some small gesture to prove he really had cared for them 
both.

Tom moved to his desk and opened his personal database. He created a backup copy of 
the carnival program and encoded it for upload to B'Elanna, then set a delayed transfer 
time; it would arrive the following Friday at exactly 2100 hours. 

Harry's gift would be a little more immediate. Tom walked to the replicator and ordered a 
cold draft beer and a slice of pepperoni pizza with olives. Then he went back to the desk 
and keyed in another instruction. The rest of Paris's replicator rations--including some he 
had collected during his ill-conceived gambling operation, and the extras Tuvok had left 
him the previous morning--were encoded for credit to Harry's account, and timed for 
delivery six hours after his departure. It was a small gesture, but he knew his friend 
would understand. Eventually.

~*~*~*~*~

Torres couldn't believe what Harry was suggesting. "You can go if you want to, Starfleet, 
but leave me out of it." She was lying on her stomach, a laser welder in one hand and a 
tricorder in the other. These damned magnetic constrictors--why was it that nothing on 
this ship ever stayed fixed?

Kim was a meter away, trying to focus on finding the imbalance that was causing their 
latest engineering headache. This wasn't his problem; he was off duty four hours earlier. 
But he'd wanted to find B'Elanna to try and convince her to come with him to say 
goodbye to Tom. He wasn't sure he had the courage to go alone. Maybe, if they went 
together, they could figure out what was wrong with their friend in time to stop him from 
leaving.

She was adamant about staying away. More importantly, though, she was up to her neck 
in systems failures. Maybe if he pitched in, Harry thought, he could help her finish faster 
and make a final plea for one last talk with Tom. "B'Elanna, I can't believe you'd just let 
him go without even trying to find out what's wrong."

She was on her knees in an instant, and Harry felt a tricorder sail past his head. "Don't 
you say that to me! I did try. I was a better friend to him than he deserved after the things 
he said to Chakotay. And even then, I gave him another chance to explain. He screamed 
at me and told me to leave him alone and get out of his life."

Kim hadn't known. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna." Yet that only made Harry more convinced he 
was right. "But I just can't stop thinking that this all started after the transwarp flight. He 
must be sick or something. He might not be able to help it."

She was unimpressed. "Then you should be talking to the doctor, not the chief engineer," 
she snarled, instantly regretting taking her anger out on her friend. "Listen, Harry, I wish 
I knew what happened. I'd actually started thinking that maybe..." there was a reality she 
wasn't even willing to admit to herself, much less Harry Kim, "...maybe Tom and I were 
getting to be friends. But Chakotay was right. There's a dark side to Tom Paris. Trust me: 
we're both better off without him."

He'd never believe that, B'Elanna knew. She wasn't sure she did either.

"Now throw me my tricorder so I can get back to work."

~*~*~*~*~

Tom didn't hear Neelix's broadcast, but apparently everyone else on the ship had. It was a 
touching tribute, he would later learn, that cast Paris as a misunderstood but honorable 
man. It was a kind gesture from a kind soul.

At 1100 hours, the commlink sounded. The Talaxian convoy had arrived and was waiting 
for him. Neelix and Kes were at his door in minutes, his escorts for the short walk to the 
transporter room.

Paris was surprised to see Harry waiting for him inside. "Hey," Tom said reflexively. 

"Hey," Harry answered in reply. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither sure 
what to say. "B'Elanna wanted to be here," Kim lied. "But she couldn't get away."

Tom smiled. "Sure," he said, not believing it for a moment. He wanted to reach out to 
Kim, tell him everything would be okay, tell him this was all a big misunderstanding and 
that everything would make sense soon. He wanted to thank Harry for being his first and 
best friend, for being the little brother he'd always wanted but never had. For having the 
courage to choose his own friends.

"Tom," Harry interrupted Paris's silent reassurances. "I just wanted to say..."

"Harry," Tom cut him off. "I know. But everything's gonna be alright. Trust me." An 
ironic choice of words, he understood.

Paris stepped away and moved to say goodbye to Kes. Somehow, for a man with a 
reputation for loquaciousness, words suddenly failed him. Instead, he looked deeply into 
her eyes, trying to reach any small part of her rumored Ocampan telepathy. 'You're not 
wrong about me, Kes,' he thought as hard as he could. She didn't seem to 'hear' him, or 
need to. The look in her eyes was already pure acceptance. He hugged her tightly.

Somehow he expected Neelix to hug him again, too. Perhaps the Talaxian was trying to 
allow him his dignity. A handshake and a smile would do today.

Paris didn't say anything to Harry, either. What was left to say? He extended his hand, 
and was surprised when Kim reached out to hug him. It almost broke his resolve.

Tom stepped back and removed his commbadge, handing it to Harry before walking onto 
the transporter pad. For some reason, he couldn't stop staring at his friend, sending Kim 
the same telepathic message he had tried to convey to Kes. 'You weren't wrong about me, 
buddy. I'm doing this for you.'

The men's eyes were still locked as the transporter shimmered Paris away.

~*~*~*~*~

The senior staff briefing had been like a funeral. Even Chakotay, who had every reason to 
be glad Paris was gone from their lives, was subdued. B'Elanna had chosen a seat close to 
him, trying desperately to feel connected to someone. It was no use. She knew she would 
have to reimagine her life, her relationships, and her judgment of character in light of 
these last few months with Tom Paris. Chakotay was her rock; the only family she'd ever 
really had. Yet, she knew she could never tell him that--even now, just six hours after 
Tom had left the ship--she had already begun to miss the man.

Her seat had also given her a perfect view of Harry Kim's sullen face. B'Elanna wondered 
then if she'd made a mistake in talking Harry out of visiting Paris the night before. 
There'd be no closure for her friend now, and she felt a little responsible.

There was only so long she could let this distract her, though. The magnetic constrictors 
had continued to slip. If she couldn't find the problem, couldn't reduce the engine core 
temperature, the plasma stream could overheat. She had almost been glad when Jonas 
called her back to engineering--her work would help her forget.

But, of course, things were never that simple in B'Elanna's life. The problem was growing 
exponentially; by the time she'd reached engineering, the PTC temperature was through 
the roof. They were forced to vent plasma to slow the reaction--but not before Jonas, 
Lang, and Thompson were burned. To top it all off, the plasma had scorched the inner 
layer of the warp coils. Voyager wouldn't be traveling faster than light anytime soon.

Once she made sure the ship was out of danger, Torres helped carry the injured to 
sickbay. Now, as she rode the turbolift to the bridge, she allowed herself to think about a 
question Harry had raised in the staff meeting: what if Tom changed his mind and 
decided to come back? Janeway had dismissed the idea, but that was before the accident 
fried their warp coils. It occurred to B'Elanna that--with the drive offline--they might be 
stuck in this part of space long enough to catch up with the convoy if Paris had a change 
of heart.

'What are you thinking?' she shouted at herself. 'You do not want him back here.' Yet her 
mind kept working the math. 'The convoy travels at warp 2. We're at impulse. If the warp 
drive is back on line in four days, we would still be able to rendezvous with them in...' 

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna's hopes for any quick reunion were shattered an hour later.

Neelix had just helped them locate a nearby system with the raw minerals necessary to 
rebuild the burned warp coils, a yellow dwarf star called Hemikek. They'd find what they 
needed on the fourth planet. 

B'Elanna was about to head back to engineering when the call came in. The Kazon had 
attacked the Talaxian convoy. The only thing they had taken: Tom Paris.

Torres noticed the look that flashed between the captain and Lieutenant Tuvok. She 
assumed they'd be planning a rescue attempt. Harry seemed to have the same idea. 
"Captain, we've got to go after him," Kim was shouting.

Janeway's face reminded them before she spoke. "Without warp engines, we'll never 
catch them." She turned toward her ready room, talking as she walked. "Mr. Baytart, set a 
course for Hemikek. Full impulse. Mr. Tuvok, you're with me."

B'Elanna turned to look into Harry's panicked eyes. Damn it, in a way this was her fault: 
her engines were keeping them from going after Tom. If she'd been able to bring the 
constrictors into alignment, they'd be on their way to rescue him right now. There had to 
be something she could do.

She headed for engineering without a word to anyone. They'd need to make these repairs 
in record time if they had any chance of getting Tom back alive.

"Damn you, Tom Paris. Why the hell did you have to leave?!"

~*~*~*~*~ 

Voyager's rumor mill was in high gear. Neelix wasn't the only one to wonder how the 
Kazon knew Paris was aboard that convoy. He wasn't the first to wonder if someone 
aboard Voyager had somehow let them know. He was the first to go digging into the 
subspace transmission logs, however, in his newfound role as the ship's official 
investigative reporter.

B'Elanna was too busy to help him solve the mystery. Her energies were focused on only 
one thing: getting Voyager's warp engines on line and going after her missing friend. 
She'd worked around the clock for the past two days, and was so busy that she missed 
Neelix's transmission implicating Paris in his own disappearance. Nor was she aware that 
Voyager's answer to Lois Lane had been immediately called into a meeting with the 
captain, who'd cleared Tom's name and revealed the details of their secret mission to 
uncover the real spy. It was news not only to Neelix, but also to Commander Chakotay.



"Are you saying Paris's insulting behavior, the gambling, being late for duty, mouthing 
off at me was all a ruse?" The first officer couldn't believe what he was hearing. Only 
days before he had congratulated himself on finally earning the captain's trust and 
respect. Clearly it was all a lie.

Tuvok tried to take responsibility for the decision, but everyone knew where the ultimate 
authority lay. Janeway's excuse was even more insulting, "The simple fact is we needed a 
good performance. I'm afraid we used you to help Tom provide it. And you did a damn 
good job."

Used was a good way to put it; it's exactly how Chakotay felt. Used, and mistrusted.

But there was a more immediate problem than the first officer's hurt feelings. There was a 
spy on board and they still didn't know who it was. Neelix volunteered to help correct his 
blunder by letting it slip to the crew that he'd been wrong about Tom's involvement, that 
the evidence against Paris had been planted. They hoped the real traitor would become 
nervous, perhaps to the point of finally revealing himself.

What could have been a dangerous detour seemed to have turned itself into an 
opportunity. Neelix and Tuvok left to put the next phase of the plan in motion.

Chakotay lingered in the ready room until the others had gone.

The captain had moved to sit at her desk, perhaps needing the reassurance of her own 
authority that it provided. Janeway knew why he was waiting. "Commander, I know how 
this must seem..."

"Captain," he interrupted, "would you like to reconsider your decision to make me

Voyager's first officer?" he was looking her dead in the eye, his tone flat--all business.

No matter how much she knew she'd been within her rights to keep the commander out of 
the loop, Janeway also knew it was a decision she'd have to pay for now. "Chakotay, no. 
This wasn't a matter of trust..."

"Of course it was! Because, you see, Captain, I'm not sure now that I can trust you or 
Lieutenant Tuvok to give me the information necessary to do my job. And I told you a 
year ago: I'm not interested in being your token Maquis. Either you think of me, and 
B'Elanna, and the others as members of your crew--your Starfleet crew--or you might just 
as well put us all off on that Talaxian convoy. This uniform has to mean something, or 
I'm not interested in wearing it."

He was leaning over her desk now, his eyes searching hers for the answer he needed. "If 
I'm going to be your first officer, I have to know that there are no secrets between us. 
And I certainly can't function thinking that my captain and her security chief are 
conspiring behind my back."

"That's enough, Commander." She knew he was angry; even agreed with his reasons. But 
there were limits to how much she was willing to be accused of. Maybe because it rang of 
the truth. She stood and moved to face him. "I do trust you, Chakotay. And you're right. It 
was a mistake not to include you."

His eyes softened at her admission as she continued. "But it's clear that not all of the 
former Maquis have earned that same trust. So I overreacted. I'm sorry." She reached out 
and touched his arm. "And you have my word: it's the last time this captain will exclude 
her first officer from a key decision. I promise you."

"It would be easier for me to believe that promise if you hadn't just spent the last two 
months misleading me," he said flatly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain." He turned 
and headed for the bridge.

"Chakotay...," she called to him, but the doors had already closed. Facing the very real 
possibility that this spy had cost her Voyager's helmsman, Janeway couldn't help but 
wonder if she might have just lost its first officer as well.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom Paris was having an action-packed couple of days. He'd barely had time to drop his 
duffle in his new quarters and get oriented to the Talaxian cargo ship when the Kazon 
came calling. Six hours later, and he was trading insults with a very-pregnant Seska as 
she tried to recruit him to her cause. Another three hours and one overloaded phase 
inducer later, and he had not only learned the identity of Voyager's traitor, he'd uncovered 
a secret plan to sabotage and ambush the ship on a planet called Hemikek IV.

Now, with no way to know how close his friends were to walking into a trap, Paris was 
speeding home on a 'borrowed' Kazon shuttle, with Seska and the warship in close 
pursuit. He used every piloting trick he had to evade their fire--not only to save his own 
neck, but to get within hailing range of Voyager. He had to find a way to warn them off. 
To warn them about Michael Jonas.

Tom was stunned by the identity of Voyager's traitor. Jonas had been one of the few 
Maquis to treat Paris decently during his time on the Liberty, and he knew B'Elanna had 
always considered the man a friend. Soft-spoken almost to the point of meekness, Jonas 
had always seemed like a follower, not someone to mastermind a covert operation--and 
certainly not someone who would sell out the lives of his friends. The whole idea made 
Paris wonder if you could ever really and truly know someone.

Probably how his friends had been feeling about him, he now realized. But that was about 
to end. For the first time in a month, Paris actually began to believe he might survive this 
crazy mission, might finally get the chance to explain everything to the people he'd hurt. 
To restore Harry's belief in him, to validate the unwavering faith of Neelix and Kes, and 
to explain his angry outburst to B'Elanna.

Torres would be rocked by the news about Jonas. She'd probably worry how this 
reflected on the other Maquis--and on her, his friend and direct supervisor. She'd be 
angry and hurt that Paris hadn't confided in anyone--not just her but Harry and Chakotay. 
Tom would have to think of a way to make it up to her, to get her to see how hard it had 
been for him to be near her without being able to reveal the details of his mission. Maybe 
this could be a new beginning for their friendship. If she'd ever even speak to him again.

His fantasy of a reunion was interrupted by a disruptor blast off his aft shields. He'd have 
plenty of time to think of what he would say to his friends. But first he'd have to outrun 
this damned warship...

~*~*~*~*~

It was Harry who noticed it first. "Captain. Long-range sensors are picking up a Kazon 
shuttle heading this way. One lifesign. It's human! Captain, it could be Tom!" For the 
next five seconds, Harry's gut bounced back and forth from joy to fear. There were only 
two possibilities: either Paris had found a way to escape from his captors and was 
heading home, or Neelix was right about Tom's collusion with the Kazon, and this was 
some kind of trap. In his heart, Harry knew it was the former. But Captain Janeway 
would have a decision to make. He prayed she knew Paris well enough to trust that this 
wasn't an ambush.

His answer came quickly as he heard her call out instructions. "Bridge to engineering. I 
need you to increase transporter range. Shunt all available power to Transporter Room 2. 
We have an incoming shuttle and we've identified human lifesigns. It may be Tom Paris."

Harry was a little disappointed to hear Mike Jonas acknowledge the order instead of 
B'Elanna. Not only was he anxious for Torres to hear that their friend was alive and 
coming home, he knew B'Elanna's unique engineering talent might be necessary to bring 
Tom in safely. Kim considered signaling her when a voice over the com distracted him.

"Paris to Voyager! Change your course immediately!" He heard Tom's frantic 
explanation: Kazon ships and troops were waiting for them on Hemikek. It was a trap. 
Paris was frantically yelling for the captain to take Voyager out of danger. Kim was 
relieved when she refused to go until Tom was safely aboard. "I can take care of myself," 
Paris protested. "Just get Voyager to safety!" The sounds of explosions inside his shuttle 
seemed to tell a different story.

Where the hell was that extra transporter power?! Harry wouldn't take his eyes off the 
indicator. He'd be ready to beam Tom out of there as soon as he could. His concentration 
was almost broken by Paris's next words. "Captain, the spy: it's Michael Jonas! He's the 
one who sabotaged the ship."

The explanation for the missing transporter power was now obvious. How Tom knew the 
ship had been sabotaged was less so.

Harry was stunned as he heard Janeway order a security detail. "Tuvok, get to 
engineering. It's Michael Jonas!" As if she'd known all along that there was a spy on 
board. As if she'd just been waiting for Tom to tell her who it was...

Kim's sensors detected it as he heard his friend say the words, "The shuttle hull is starting 
to breech. Might not make it, Captain..." Harry could see the gap closing. A few more 
seconds, and.... 

"We're in transporter range, Captain." Kim's fingers were making the lock and energizing 
as he spoke. The acknowledgement from the transporter room came quickly: they had 
Tom and he was alive. On his transporter control read-out, Harry could see the chief 
initiate a site-to-site transport to sickbay. Alive but injured?

There was no time to ask. Another display and another problem: the phaser arrays were 
down now. Gee, what a surprise--someone in engineering had disabled them. As he 
attempted to bypass the disruption, Harry's mind popped back to the last voice he'd heard 
from engineering: Michael Jonas. A Kazon spy. Suddenly it all made sense. Tom couldn't 
know about Neelix's discovery of the secret subspace transmissions--the discovery that 
had revealed the espionage. He must have known there was a traitor on board before he 
left. And the captain acted like she was waiting for Paris's report. This was a set-up, 
Harry now knew. A plot to flush out the spy, which Tom had clearly been a part of.

The implications were overwhelming. Tom's behavior over the past two months--it was 
all an act. Harry didn't misjudge his best friend after all. Well, actually, he did: he had 
clearly underestimated Tom Paris. They all had.

But it wouldn't matter much unless the weapons came back online soon. The Kazon 
warship that had destroyed Tom's shuttle was now bearing down on Voyager. Where the 
hell was Tuvok? For that matter, where the hell was B'Elanna?



She'd been working in the engineering computer core, trying frantically to prepare for the 
refit of the coils. The distraction of Paris's kidnapping--and the speculation she had 
overheard that it hadn't been a kidnapping at all--weren't making it easy for B'Elanna to 
focus on the huge job at hand. Her fatigue wasn't helping, either. Since the accident, she'd 
been working pretty much around the clock. If she'd had four hours sleep in the past two 
days, she could barely remember it. As chief engineer, she knew it was starting to affect 
her performance; she just couldn't make herself care.

Hogan had just arrived from engineering with the electrodynamic load specs when the 
red alert sounded. "Stations, everyone," Torres said to her crew as she headed for the 
door. She almost walked into it when it didn't open. "What's going on?"

Kyoto was already at the display. "We're under security lockdown, Lieutenant. Code 
Black."

Great, B'Elanna thought. A Code Black lockdown meant there were intruders on board; 
the central core was automatically secured to prevent someone from tampering with key 
propulsion systems during a hostile takeover of the ship. "Torres to bridge," she said as 
she hit her commbadge. There was no answer.

Hogan had moved to the main engineering readouts. "Lieutenant, we've been locked out 
of communications--there's a dampening field around this room. And the Code Black was 
initiated from Main Engineering."

This didn't make any sense. "Hogan, who was still in engineering when you left?"

"Neelix and Mike Jonas." B'Elanna shook her head. It made even less sense, now.

"What was Neelix doing there?" she asked. 

"He wanted our help again with the subspace logs. He said the signal correlation traces 
that had implicated Paris were added after the fact to make it look like Tom had sent the 
messages. He was trying to figure out who might have done it and why. But I told him we 
were too busy getting ready for the rebuild. When I left, he was using the engineering 
diagnostic panel to do some more research. Mike just asked him to stay out of the way."

Kyoto joined their conversation. "Is there a chance that Neelix could have accidentally 
engaged the security lockout?"

B'Elanna had another theory. "I don't think so. He'd need bridge or engineering clearance 
to initiate a Code Black." Her mind was frantically reviewing Hogan's words: if the logs 
had been altered to make Tom look like a traitor, that meant Paris was innocent. He 
hadn't betrayed them after all. Just as important, it meant that someone still aboard 
Voyager was the real spy. Someone with enough engineering talent to fake those 
correlation traces. It was all coming together now.

She needed to check out her theory. "Hogan, start working on this dampening field. I 
need to find out what the hell is going on. Kyoto, get that door open. I don't care if you 
have to cut through the bulkhead; we need to get out of here. In the meantime, I'm going 
to take a look at those subspace logs."

Suddenly, adrenaline and the theory Torres was now formulating were more than enough 
to compensate for her lack of sleep. If her new suspicions were correct, she'd be able to 
prove once and for all that Tom Paris was innocent. 'Please,' she thought. 'Let me be 
right.'



Kim wasn't sure what had happened, but suddenly the weapons were back online. "Fire at 
will," Janeway ordered. 'It would be my pleasure,' Harry thought.

A few precise shots, and the Kazon ship was adrift and burning. Seska and her friends 
were in no condition to follow Voyager. Kim heard the captain order Baytart to head 
away from the Hemikek system at maximum impulse. For the moment, the crisis had 
passed.

"Bridge to Tuvok," the captain called. "I'm standing down red alert." It took the security 
chief a moment to respond.

"Aye, Captain. We have secured Main Engineering."

Janeway smiled as she answered, "Good work, Lieutenant."

"Actually," they heard Tuvok say, "the credit goes to Mr. Neelix. Not only did he repair 
the sabotage to the phaser array, he was able to subdue Mr. Jonas before I arrived."

The captain and operations officer shared a glance, both officially impressed. "Good. 
Take Jonas to the brig. I'll meet you..."

"Uh, Captain," they heard Neelix's voice. "I'm afraid a plasma conduit burst while he and 
I were struggling, and...Jonas fell into the plasma stream. He's dead."

This was a blow to their investigation; if Jonas had accomplices, they might never be 
discovered now. Still, a large part of this mystery was solved. Harry saw the 
disappointment in his captain's eyes, however. "Yes, well. I'm sure there was nothing you 
could do, Mr. Neelix. I think your first undercover mission was a success. Now, speaking 
of undercover missions, if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to check on Mr. Paris."

"Uh, Captain!" Harry blurted out. "If you don't mind..."

Janeway nodded. Of course: they'd both earned this reunion. "Would you like to join me, 
Mr. Kim?"

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, with a Parisian twang, before running to meet his captain at the 
turbolift. His best friend was in sickbay. She couldn't have kept him away.

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna had reached Main Engineering just in time to hear Neelix explain Jonas's fate. 
As it turned out, the rupture that had killed Voyager's spy had also disrupted the security 
lockout in the engineering computer core, setting them all free. Not before B'Elanna had 
confirmed her suspicions that Michael Jonas had been their traitor, however.

Torres also thought she heard the captain say something about checking on Tom. 
"Tuvok," she asked, "Tom Paris..."

He seemed to intuit her question. "...is in sickbay," he answered. "I do not believe his 
condition is life threatening."

She was surprised at the wave of relief she felt, even if--unlike Harry--B'Elanna had too 
little information to piece together the true story of Paris's undercover mission. As far as 
she knew, Tom was still the jerk who had left her two days ago. Left Voyager, she meant. 
But she hadn't wished him any harm--at least none she didn't inflict herself. And she was 
glad he was home.

Her question seemed to remind Neelix of something. "I think I'm going to drop in on our 
hero and make sure he's alright. If you'll excuse me."

As she watched him leave, B'Elanna was puzzled by Neelix's comments. "Our hero?" she 
asked Tuvok.

"I'm not certain I'm at liberty to discuss it," the Vulcan said dispassionately. "However, I 
think the term is accurately applied."

While the thought raised fifteen or twenty questions in her mind, Torres was quickly 
deluged with more pressing questions from her staff. Questions not about Tom Paris's 
heroic status, but about everything from the revised plan for the rebuild to the gaping hole 
now visible in the deck where the plasma conduit had ruptured.

Besides, B'Elanna knew all she need to know for now: Tom Paris was alive, in Voyager's 
sickbay, and was--by Neelix and Tuvok's estimation--some kind of hero. The rest her 
questions would have to wait.

~*~*~*~*~

Harry Kim's initial excitement at seeing his best friend had been tempered by a sudden 
realization: he'd been pretty cold to Tom over these past few weeks. He'd had no way to 
know Paris's bad behavior was just an act--yet somehow he felt he should have known. 
He should have been able to realize that the Tom Paris he knew would never act that way.

Yet Harry couldn't help but think of another Tom Paris: a man he'd met in San Francisco 
in an alternate timeline where neither man had become a part of Voyager's crew. That 
Paris had been a drunk, a jerk, and was wasting his life as a pool hustler in the real 
Sandrine's. That was the same Tom, too, and he was capable of every stupid thing Harry 
had watched his friend do the past few weeks.

It hadn't occurred to Harry until now that, even the 'alternate' Tom Paris--when given the 
smallest chance for redemption--had sacrificed himself to save Kim's life. 'I should have 
known,' Harry repeated to himself. 'I should have known.'

As he and the captain reached sickbay, Harry almost considered waiting outside. But his 
excitement and his better judgment both prevailed in the end.

They walked in to find Tom in the middle of a full-body hug with Kes, the Ocampan 
medic's feet almost a foot off the deck. Voyager's physician was looking particularly 
annoyed.

"Tom!" the captain said, with such affection that Harry thought she might actually 
embrace the pilot herself. "Welcome home!"

Paris shook her hand instead. "It's great to be back, Captain. In more ways than one."

Janeway's excitement quickly turned to concern. "How extensive were his injuries," she 
asked the doctor.

"Mr. Paris was fortunate: the only wounds were to his head. It seems to be his least 
vulnerable spot." The doctor's sarcasm was a good sign, Harry knew. "The lieutenant 
sustained a rather severe concussion and a few lacerations, but I was able to repair the 
damage rather easily. Now, if my patient would lie down and allow me to finish his 
treatment, I might see fit to release him to you in an hour or so."

The captain smiled. "I'll need to debrief you as soon as you're finished here, Tom. Good 
job." With that, she headed for the door, stopping just long enough to put her hand on 
Harry's arm. She seemed to sense Kim's hesitation, silently urging him to do what he'd 
come to do.

Tom's eyes followed his captain's steps toward the door, and he was now face to face 
with his best friend for the first time since his mission was revealed. As she touched 
Harry's arm, Janeway turned back to look at Paris. She smiled, then headed back to the 
bridge. Kes took the captain's cue, and pulled the doctor into the medical lab, giving the 
friends some privacy.

"Hey," Tom said, searching Harry's face for signs of recognition or forgiveness.

"Hey," Kim echoed back. It was becoming their standard 'I don't know what to say to 
you' greeting.

After a second, Tom tried to break the ice. "I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone."

Harry smiled. "I know," he said quietly. "You shouldn't have had to tell me. I should have 
known you would never do those things." The look in his eyes almost broke Tom's heart.

"Actually," Paris said, "I'm glad you didn't figure it out. Then I would have needed to act 
like an even bigger jerk to convince you. Just ask Chakotay: it wasn't pretty." They both 
laughed, and--as Tom had intended--it broke the tension.

"Well," Harry said, smiling, "I'll remember this little performance of yours the next time 
we're playing poker. Somehow, I think I'll be keeping more of my replicator rations from 
now on!"

His friend's comment sparked a memory in Paris. "That reminds, me, Harry...I think I 
might have left something of mine in your database..."

Before Tom could ask for his rations back, he was interrupted by the com.

"Torres to Kim."

Harry and Tom just looked at each other for a minute. Somehow, neither man suspected 
B'Elanna would be quite so understanding of Paris's little deception. Tom was quiet as his 
friend acknowledged the call. "Kim here, B'Elanna. What's up?"

"Harry, this ruptured plasma conduit is causing failures in about a dozen secondary 
systems. I could really use your help down here." In the background, they could hear the 
beeping of multiple alarms and a hissing noise that sounded like static. More importantly, 
they could hear the exhaustion and frustration in the chief engineer's voice.

"On my way." Harry answered before turning back to Tom. "Sounds like she's had a bad 
day." Always the master of the understatement, that Harry.

"Yeah," Tom said. "I know how she feels. Would you tell her that I...." He stopped 
himself. "Nevermind. I should probably tell her myself."

Harry nodded. There was no way he was getting in the middle of that conversation. 
"Breakfast tomorrow?" he asked.

"Great," Tom said, looking forward to doing something that felt normal for a change. 

The men looked at each other for another second, before Harry closed the distance 
between them and gave his friend a bone-crushing hug. "Welcome back, Tom," he said.

"Thanks, Harry," Paris answered, more choked-up that he would have cared to admit. 
"It's good to be home."

~*~*~*~*~

As they sat in the captain's ready room, Paris couldn't help but notice that the first officer 
was looking at him with the same death glare Tom had last seen thirteen months earlier as 
he rescued his old Maquis captain from a collapsing Ocampan staircase. Back then it had 
really angered Chakotay that Tom Paris--of all people--would be the one to save his life. 
He didn't want to admit that there might be a decent human being buried inside the 
insolent pilot. Yet, the men had come to an uneasy truce a few days later, when it was 
clear they'd be serving together--perhaps for the rest of their lives. Tom wasn't so sure 
Chakotay would be as quick to forgive him this time.

He also knew that parts of his report would be difficult for the commander to hear. 
"Seska sends her regards," he was saying to the captain and Tuvok. "She does appear to 
be pregnant, and said her baby is due in another month. It was pretty clear that she knew 
everything that had happened on Voyager--including the details of my 'performance' and 
the fact that the ship's warp coils had been intentionally damaged."

Paris could see the worried look on his captain's face, and guessed at the reason. "Based 
on the transmissions I found, Captain, I'm pretty sure Jonas was acting alone. He was the 
only one I saw in the communication logs, and it sounded like Seska had been 
manipulating him for quite a while. Neither one of them ever made any reference to an 
accomplice."

Tom found himself stifling a yawn as he tried to continue. It had been over twenty-four 
hours since he'd last slept, and the nights before that hadn't been particularly restful.

His captain noticed and took pity. "I think we're done here, Mr. Paris. Why don't you get 
some sleep and we can finish up tomorrow." Janeway was walking from behind her desk, 
and put her hand on the pilot's shoulder as he stood. "We owe you a lot, Tom. Now go get 
some rest."

"Thanks, Captain," he said, genuinely grateful for the chance to end this day. As he 
turned for the door, Paris caught the look on Chakotay's face and decided that it wasn't 
the time or place for any truce-making. The commander was still too angry and Tom was 
just too tired. He was imagining his head hitting the pillow before the ready room doors 
had even closed behind him.

Janeway turned back to her second and third in command. "That is a pretty amazing 
young man," she said, genuinely impressed with Paris's performance. "I keep thinking 
that it's a shame his father can't see him like this." She was walking toward the replicator 
as she spoke. "Coffee, black."

She was answered with silence.

"The replicators are all out above deck three," Chakotay reminded her. It was the most he 
had said to her since discovering her deception.

"Tuvok, go down and see if B'Elanna can use your help. I won't make it though to 
tomorrow without coffee." She knew her security officer had more important concerns 
than the status of his captain's replicator, but she wanted a few moments alone with her 
first officer.

She let the doors close before she spoke. "Have you decided?" she asked cryptically.

"Decided?" Chakotay answered, his face expressionless.

"If you're going to forgive me today or wait until tomorrow." My, she was sure of herself.

"Tomorrow," he answered, trying not to smile. She hadn't earned this kind of banter with 
him yet, but he couldn't seem to resist when she turned on the charm.

"Well, then," Kathryn said as she headed for the bridge. "Let's get this day over with so 
we can move on." With that, she was out the door and halfway to the turbolift.

As he left the ready room, Chakotay considered following her right into the lift and 
heading back to his quarters. He needed some time to calm down, to work through his 
feelings about everything that had happened. But Voyager was in the middle of a security 
crisis, their warp engines were useless, and there was still too much work to be done. 
This was no time for the first officer to go nurse his wounded pride. 

When time finally allowed, he would also have to figure out why he was so willing to 
take Kathryn Janeway at her word, to overlook the ways in which she wounded him, to 
trust her even when his better judgment, self-respect, and past experience told him not to. 
Somehow--even after what she had done--Chakotay knew he would follow her over a 
cliff, if she asked.

Despite himself, by the time he took his seat on the bridge, he knew he had already 
forgiven her.

~*~*~*~*~

As soon as Harry arrived in engineering, B'Elanna put him to work on the secondary 
systems damaged by the plasma conduit: auxiliary control circuits, replicators, redundant 
primary systems, and sonic showers--in that order. Torres took the lead in uncovering the 
depth of Jonas's damage.

Had she known there was a saboteur on board--particular a former Maquis--these weeks 
of systems failures would have made more sense. She knew Jonas's book of tricks--hell, 
she'd written half of it--but she'd never dreamed one of her own staff would put those 
same tricks to work undermining their own ship, so she didn't think to look for them. In 
retrospect, it all seemed so obvious.

That there had been a spy among them was unnerving. That it had been an old friend was 
almost too much to bear. She was relieved that Tom's name had been cleared, though. As 
troubled as Paris had become these last few months, she would never have believed he'd 
do anything to endanger Voyager. In a bizarre way, she thought, maybe Jonas did them 
all a favor: Tom might still be on that Talaxian convoy--with Voyager heading at warp 
speed in the opposite direction--if Mike hadn't damaged the warp coils and tipped off the 
Kazon to the pilot's departure. Of course, she supposed there was a chance Paris would 
just leave again once his injuries had healed...

She'd wanted to talk to Harry, find out what he knew, all afternoon. But the engineering 
messes they'd both had to solve kept them running in opposite directions the whole day. 
Finally--with Joe Carey threatening to pick her up and carry her out of engineering if she 
didn't get something to eat and some rest--she ordered Ensign Vorik take over for Kim so 
her friend could join her for a quick dinner.

The mess hall would be crowded and seemed too public for the questions she wanted 
answered, so B'Elanna invited Harry to her quarters. "Hungry, Starfleet?" she asked as 
she walked to her replicator.

"Here," Harry offered. "Dinner's on me. For some reason my account is screwed up and I 
have all these extra rations." He punched his code into her replicator and ordered a 
chicken salad for B'Elanna and a slice of apple pie and a glass of milk for himself.

"That's your dinner?" she asked, sounding more judgmental than she'd intended.

"Don't tell mom," Harry kidded to his surrogate big sister.

As they sat down at her dining table, B'Elanna tried hard to think of a way to sound 
casual with her questions. "So, I guess you heard that Tom Paris is back."

Kim nodded. "Actually, I beamed him aboard myself, and it was a really close call. His 
shuttle's hull was breeching; another few seconds and he wouldn't have made it." 

B'Elanna realized there was a much longer story here, and she'd ask about it in a minute. 
For now, she had a more pressing concern. "I heard he was in sickbay. Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Harry reassured her. "The doctor probably already released him." Thank god, 
she thought. His injuries must not have been serious. But, if he was released from 
sickbay, Tom might be well enough to leave Voyager--if he still wanted to. Not that she 
wished for Paris to be more seriously hurt; just some small part of her hoped there'd be a 
reason to keep him aboard long enough for Harry--or someone--to talk him out of leaving 
again.

"So," she was almost afraid to ask, "do you think he'll stay? I mean, you don't think he'll 
want to go back with the Talaxians after everything that happened?"

Harry put down his fork and started to chuckle. "My god, B'Elanna--nobody told you. 
This whole thing with Tom: his being late for duty, the fight with Chakotay, the 
gambling--quitting to work on that convoy--it was all an act. The captain wanted the 
Kazon to kidnap Tom so he could find out who was sending the subspace messages. He 
was undercover trying to help the captain catch the spy. They've apparently been 
planning this whole thing for weeks."

"Whoa," Torres said, shaking her head, "what are you talking about? Did you know about 
this?"

"No," Harry admitted, once again feeling ashamed that he hadn't been able to figure it 
out. "I don't think anybody but the command officers were in on it. Tom never even gave 
me a hint. But I guess he really couldn't. I still don't know all the details."

Her mind was reeling. Yet somehow it all made sense now. "Are you saying that he lied 
to us, let us think he didn't care, that he was never coming back? I can't believe this!"

"B'Elanna," Harry put his hand on her arm. "He wasn't allowed to tell us. I think that's 
why he started making excuses to stay away from us. I think he was afraid he'd let it slip 
out. I just can't believe I fell for it. I should have realized he'd never do those things--not 
after everything he's done to turn his life around."

Torres felt her heart flipping from relief to anger to joy to pain. She didn't know what to 
think: Paris was a traitor who betrayed the Maquis. Paris was a hero who saved 
Chakotay's life. Paris was a jerk who chased every woman on board. Paris was her friend 
who tried to help her accept her Klingon side. Paris was a jerk who screamed at her to get 
out of his life. Now Paris was some kind of hero who saved them all from the Kazon. She 
began to have serious doubts about which of these Tom Paris's--any or all of them--were 
real.

All she knew was that she was angry: angry with the captain for asking Paris to risk his 
life, and with Chakotay for keeping her in the dark. Angry with Jonas and Seska for 
betraying them and for making this whole charade necessary. Angry with Tom for...

She wasn't quite sure why she was angry with Tom. Maybe for almost getting himself 
killed trying to save them all. Seemed like a pretty flimsy reason. All she knew was that 
she hated feeling this out of control--feeling so unsure of what was true in her own life. 
Mike Jonas was a traitor and Tom Paris was a hero. Reality kept shifting like sand 
beneath her feet.

"Carey to Torres." Speaking of reality. "Chief, we've got problems."

"I'm on my way, Lieutenant," she answered without asking for details. She'd barely taken 
a bite of her dinner. "Come on, Harry."

As she headed back to engineering, B'Elanna couldn't help feeling confused and 
frustrated by everything she'd learned. But mostly, she felt relieved. Tom was home for 
good. Everything else could be figured out in time.

~*~*~*~*~

The following morning's "Briefing with Neelix," was a must-see episode, even 
considering the short history of the program. The morale officer's only guest: Voyager's 
returning hero, Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris.

Tom explained the details of his undercover mission. "...and fortunately I was able to 
steal one of the Kazon shuttles and escape."

Neelix was normally ebullient, but being proven right about his friend's true nature had 
made him almost giddy. "An amazing story! Amazing!"

Tom knew he had more explaining to do, however. "I'd like to say something more if I 
might. I know I've that been acting like a jerk for the last couple of months. 
Unfortunately, I had to behave that way if the spy was going to believe that I really 
wanted to leave the ship. So I'd like to apologize to anyone I might have offended. 
Especially Commander Chakotay. I gave him a pretty hard time." So far, so good. "Not 
that it wasn't a certain amount of fun, mind you."

A lifetime of using humor as a safety valve for uncomfortable emotions made some 
things as reflexive for Paris as breathing the air. Tom hoped the commander would take 
his joke in the spirit in which it was intended.



"Idiot!" Chakotay thought to himself. That was Paris's idea of an apology--admitting to 
the whole crew that he had enjoyed playing his first officer for a fool?

He hit the button to shut off the display, just in time to see B'Elanna Torres come 
storming through his door.

"Most people ask before walking into a private office," he scolded. Didn't anybody on 
this ship respect his authority?

"So Harry tells me that this whole business with Tom Paris was some kind of set-up," she 
said, not even bothering to acknowledge her friend's reproach. "You know, I gave Paris 
hell for the way he was treating you. Why didn't you tell me it was just an act?!"

The commander grabbed his coffee cup and moved from his desk to the sofa. "Well, for 
one thing a secret mission only works if it's a secret." B'Elanna started to interrupt, but he 
cut her off. "And, for another thing...I didn't know about it myself."

Torres was stunned. It never occurred to her that the first officer hadn't been a part of the 
plan from the beginning. How in the hell was that possible?

Chakotay could sense her question. "No one knew, B'Elanna. Only the captain, Tuvok, 
and Paris. They didn't tell anyone else."

Her jaw was still on the floor. This didn't make any sense. "You're the first officer, 
Chakotay. What kind of message does it send to the crew if they think the captain didn't 
trust you enough to include you in this?!"

"They suspected the spy was a Maquis. They didn't want to put me in the position of 
having to investigate someone I'd commanded," he said flatly, repeating Tuvok's official-
-and totally ridiculous--excuse. "I guess in their eyes I'm still Maquis first and Starfleet 
second."

"You're the last person I'd expect to hear that from. We were Maquis. And I'm not 
ashamed of that. But we've been officers on this ship for over a year. Is that ever going to 
mean anything? Was Janeway's 'one Starfleet crew' speech just a lie?!" She couldn't 
believe Chakotay was defending the captain after what had just happened.

"Think about the past year, B'Elanna: Seska turns out to be a Cardassian spy, Chell and 
the others are chronic discipline problems, we find out that Suder likes to kill people for 
sport, and on top of all this, they find someone sending secret messages to the Kazon. 
This is the captain's experience with the Maquis. It's amazing you and I still have jobs." 

"Their behavior doesn't reflect on either one of us!"

"Of course it does, B'Elanna! I recruited them all. I trusted them all. So did you. Hell, 
Seska was my lover and your best friend. And admit it--before yesterday, would you have 
ever believed that Michael Jonas was spying for the Kazon?"

She couldn't deny it. "No."

"Face up to it. The Maquis have been one security nightmare after another. But, for what 
it's worth, I don't think there was ever a question in the captain's mind about whether you 
or I could be trusted. The question was: who did we trust that we shouldn't have."

Maybe he was right, Torres realized. Certainly, she wouldn't want her own actions in the 
past two months used to prove her skills in judging character. Still, she was worried. 
"We're all going to pay for this, you know. I guess you and I, Hogan, Ayala--hell, even 
Chell who can be a real jerk but who's still a decent guy. I guess we're going to have a 
hard time living down Seska, and Suder, and now Jonas. It seems unfair."

Chakotay put his hand on his friend's arm. "For what it's worth, B'Elanna, I don't think 
the captain has a single regret about making this 'one Starfleet crew.' I think she does trust 
us--despite herself. Don't spend too much time worrying about this. I trust her not to hold 
us responsible for anyone's actions except our own."

Torres had a moment of déjà vu, remembering Chakotay telling her that they were all 
about to be drafted into Kathryn Janeway's crew just after the captain had stranded them 
70,000 light years from home. 'I trust her,' he'd said back then. And, despite herself, 
B'Elanna trusted the captain, too. Still, she was surprised her friend had recovered so 
quickly from what must have been a pretty painful realization. "So explain something to 
me," she asked him. "How is it you can be so forgiving of Captain Janeway and still so 
mad at Tom Paris?"

"What makes you think I'm mad at Tom Paris?" he asked, disingenuously.

"Wasn't that you screaming the word 'idiot' at him on the viewscreen when I walked in?" 
She'd clearly seen more than her friend realized.

Torres watched Chakotay's blood pressure rise. "Well, I don't recall the captain doing her 
best to humiliate me in front of the entire crew, and then brushing it off like it was all 
some big joke."

"He was only following her orders." B'Elanna wasn't sure why she was defending Paris. 
She was still angry with Tom for lying to her, for pushing her and Harry away. Maybe in 
trying to convince Chakotay, she was trying to convince herself. The commander wasn't 
interested in her excuses, however.

"Since when did you become Tom Paris's official apologist?!" he snapped.

"I don't need one, actually," they heard Tom say as he walked through the door. "That's a 
job I'd like to do myself."

It was the first time she'd seen him face to face since he'd come home. B'Elanna couldn't 
help but notice the spit polish on Tom's boots, the crisp look of his uniform, and his new 
regulation hair cut. He looked good. Like he'd been relieved of a huge burden. He had 
clearly come to talk to Chakotay, yet Paris couldn't seem to take his eyes from hers.

'I'm mad at him,' she reminded herself. Her heart told her a slightly different story.

"B'Elanna, would you excuse us for a minute," Tom asked. Chakotay nodded his 
permission and she started for the door.

"I'll be in engineering if you want to talk," she said to Chakotay. Or to Tom. She wasn't 
sure which.

Chakotay decided to move back to his desk. Any discussion with Tom Paris was going to 
be an official one for the foreseeable future. He didn't even invite the lieutenant to sit. 
This conversation wouldn't last that long, and he had no interest in making the man more 
comfortable.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" His eyes were cold.

"Commander," Paris took his cue from his first officer's tone. "I owe you an apology."

"For what?" There was no way Chakotay was going to make this easy.

"For the things I did and said to you these past few months. For my appalling behavior. 
For not being able to tell you what was actually going on. I'm really sorry. I wanted you 
to hear it from me." Tom was trying to be sincere; apparently the commander 
misinterpreted his tone for condescension.

"Oh, really? Rumor is that you found it 'a certain amount of fun.'" Chakotay couldn't help 
but throw Paris's own words back at him.

"So you saw Neelix's program..." Tom said sheepishly, now having something else to 
regret. "Well, I'm sorry for that, too. I guess that's what I do--make things I have trouble 
saying into a joke. It was a stupid comment. I didn't mean it that way."

The commander stood up, and was now nose-to-nose with the lieutenant. Chakotay was 
furious, but he was damned if he'd let Tom see it. "Well, frankly Paris, I'm not interested 
in your apologies. You were following the captain's orders; I accept that. I don't really 
give a damn if you had some fun at my expense. I guess it was all just part of the show."

Tom hadn't realized his careless comment could be so easily misinterpreted. "You really 
think I enjoyed this?" He was on the verge of shouting at the man he had come to 
apologize to. "Intentionally ruining my own reputation, hurting my best friends, 
provoking an officer whose respect I practically killed myself to earn, almost getting 
blown up in that damn shuttle? Maybe you have a twisted idea of what's fun!"

Only their mutual commitment to their lives as Starfleet officers kept them from coming 
to blows. There was a moment where each wondered who would make the next move--
verbally or physically.

Paris realized that, in light of everything that happened, it was his responsibility. He 
averted his eyes, letting Chakotay win the staring match they'd begun.

"Anyway," he said as he took a step back. "I wanted to return something to you." A 
confusing statement from a man whose hands were empty. "Last year when I hauled your 
butt off that stairway in the Ocampan tunnels, I said your life was mine. The way I figure 
it, you saved my life yesterday. I guess that makes us even."

Chakotay was surprised by the gesture. "Actually, Paris," he said with a touch of sly 
humor, "the captain and Harry are the ones who rescued you. I didn't have anything to do 
with it."

Tom smiled, "You didn't stop them, though. I think that's close enough."

The commander understood. Tom was asking for his life back. Not his physical safety, 
but his good name, his reputation. He wanted Chakotay's respect and forgiveness. And he 
was willing to swap a life for a life to get it.

"Agreed," Chakotay consented after a moment, not sure why he was accepting Paris's 
terms. "Now, if that's all, Lieutenant," the commander said as he sat back down in his 
chair. "I'll expect to see you on the bridge tomorrow morning. At 0800 sharp."

Paris smiled. "Aye, aye, sir," he said with all sincerely. "And thanks."

'Will there ever come a day when Tom Paris doesn't surprise me,' Chakotay thought to 
himself, a little worried that he'd fallen victim to the lieutenant's legendary charm. Still, 
he'd be watching the chronometer closely for the next few weeks. And Paris had better be 
at the helm every day before 0800 came and went.

~*~*~*~*~

While Tom was back home safe and sound, it would still take a few days before anything 
about his life would feel normal. For one thing, almost everything he owned was left 
behind on that Talaxian freighter. Luckily, the captain had made arrangements to 
rendezvous with the convoy--Neelix's associates earning their reputation for kindness by 
offering to supply the minerals necessary to rebuild Voyager's warp coils. They'd return 
his belongings at the same time.

The damaged coils were just one of the major systems needing attention. According to 
Harry, as B'Elanna and her staff worked, they found more and more ways in which Jonas 
had undermined key systems. Voyager's troublesome adolescence apparently was the 
result of some carefully disguised sabotage.

Paris had seen the chief engineer only twice since their brief meeting in Chakotay's 
office; both times at senior staff briefings, both times on the run with no time to talk. 
Whether because she was so busy or because she was avoiding him, B'Elanna hadn't 
joined Tom and Harry for breakfast or lunch all week. The longer time went on without 
his having a chance to apologize or explain, the more uncomfortable Paris became at the 
thought of seeing her at all.

Maybe the opportunity--maybe their friendship--had come and gone.

Paris was especially melancholy as soon as it occurred to him: it was Friday night. 'Date 
night.' God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. Well, it had hardly survived long enough to 
become an engrained tradition, he realized, but Tom knew he would miss being able to 
count on that time with B'Elanna. 

Still, a year ago she'd called him a pig in front of the captain and the rest of the senior 
staff. It had only taken him most of that same year to get her to think of him as a friend. 
He'd redeemed himself in her eyes once. Maybe--even if it took another year--he'd be 
able to do it again.

Just as well, Tom thought. It was a brutal week and he was exhausted. He barely had 
enough energy to remember his own name. Even though it was only 2100 hours, he 
changed into a t-shirt and shorts and climbed into bed. He took with him a vague feeling 
that there was something he'd meant to do.

Besides, maybe--if he couldn't meet her on the holodeck--he could find her again in his 
dreams.

~*~*~*~*~

After the life she'd led, B'Elanna was hesitant to call any week the worst week of her life. 
She feared she'd be tempting fate to prove her wrong. Still, these last seven days had 
come damn close.

Staggering into her cabin at 2300 hours, she was just about to head for the sonic shower 
when she saw the flashing display. 'Please god, not another problem,' she thought to 
herself as she retrieved the message. When she saw Tom Paris's face, she couldn't resist 
slipping into her desk chair. This ought to be good.

"B'Elanna," his eyes were sunken, and he looked like he had the weight of the world on 
his shoulders. "By now you probably know that the way I've been acting lately...well, you 
probably know what's really been going on and why." 

Probably? She'd seen him yesterday morning in a staff briefing where they'd discussed it 
for ninety minutes. "It's also possible that--by the time you see this--I'll be missing or 
dead."

Only then did she realize that the message had been recorded before Tom left the ship. It 
continued playing as the implications sank in. 

"I realize it will be hard for you to understand why I said and did such awful things 
before I left. But I want you to know that it meant a lot that you kept trying to help me 
through it. I hope you understand now why I couldn't take you up on your offer, and why 
I was avoiding you. The more time I spent with you and Harry, the more lies I had to tell, 
and I promised myself I wouldn't do that. I'm just sorry I wasted the last few weeks we 
had together.

"This is probably going to be hardest for Harry. He and I have kind of protected each 
other--watched each other's backs--this past year. I hope you'll do that for him now that 
I'm gone. But don't let him take himself too seriously; make sure he has some fun. There's 
more to life than work, you know. Someone needs to keep reminding you both of that."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Clearly Tom had thought he'd never come 
back from this mission alive. B'Elanna was listening to a dead man's last requests--it 
made her blood run cold.

She also realized that Tom had faced the prospect of his own death alone, without being 
able to share his feelings or fears with the people who could have comforted him. That 
must have been awful. Yet, here he was--about to leave on an incredibly dangerous 
mission--asking her to look out for Harry. Trying to look out for her. Not acting at all like 
the self-centered jerk she'd accused him of being.

She tried to stay focused on the recording:

"You know, you could stand to have a little more fun yourself. So, I'm sending something 
along with this message. It's just a little reminder of one of the best nights of my life. I 
hope it has good memories for you, too. I know it needs work. I hope you and Harry will 
finish it together. And when you do, I hope you'll think of me."

She could see from the look on his face that Tom was wrestling with what he would say 
next. Maybe it was the bravery that came from last chances, but he took a deep breath 
and went on. 

"You probably won't believe me, but I've never met anyone like you before. I wish we'd 
had more time together. We have a lot more in common than I think either of us would 
like to admit." He was looking downright wistful, she noticed. "You know, after that 
night on the beach, I started thinking that maybe you and me..." He was butchering the 
syntax, but she couldn't have cared any less. "That maybe one day we'd make it a real 
date. Just the two of us."

She saw big, embarrassed smile cross his face. "You know, if I do get back here I've got 
to remember to delete this thing before it autotransmits..." Clearly, something he'd 
forgotten to do. "But if I don't come home," his face was now somber again, "I just 
wanted to tell you that I'm going to miss you, B'Elanna. And even though I know you'll 
think I'm an arrogant pig for wishing this, I hope you'll miss me, too."

She saw him sit there for a moment, lost in his thoughts. Then he reached over to stop the 
recording and was gone.

From the transmission logs, she saw that Tom had recorded it the night before he left the 
ship. The night she had talked Harry out of going to visit him to say goodbye. Instantly, 
B'Elanna felt very, very small. 

As she stared absentmindedly at the screen, she noticed a marker for an attached data file. 
The 'something' Paris had sent along with the message. It was a holoprogram named 
'Carnival Date.'

She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered spinning until she was too dizzy to 
stand, eating pizza for the first time, and a long talk on the beach under the stars. She 
remembered tripping, ending up in his arms--and the sudden feeling that the world had 
changed in that one moment. 

'One of the best nights of his life?' she thought, suddenly equally excited and terrified. 
Had he really felt that way, too?

Then she remembered the face of the sad, lonely man in the recording. And she 
remembered other things: screaming at him while he was risking his life to save hers, 
keeping his best friend from going to him as he was about to walk into a deadly trap, 
telling him she never wanted to see him again. Oh god, what had she done?

Even after he got back and she knew everything he'd been through, she'd never thanked 
him--or even admitted that he'd done anything worth noting. She'd been busy--
unbelievably busy--in that time, but couldn't she have taken a minute to tell him she 
understood that he had to do what he'd done? That she forgave him for lying to her and 
acting like such a jerk? Days had passed and she had barely acknowledged his presence. 
How could she ever face him again?

She wasn't sure if it even mattered. Thinking you're about to die can cause you to 
romanticize your feelings, she knew. He probably didn't even mean most of what he'd 
said in that recording. After all, if he'd spent more than a second thinking about her since 
he got back, he would have remembered the message and deleted it. Right?

Still, B'Elanna couldn't help but wonder if an opportunity hadn't just passed her by. And 
the thought made her even more worn out than she already felt.

Suddenly, she didn't have the energy for the shower anymore. Instead, she shut off her 
computer, dumped her uniform in the refresher, and pulled her nightclothes from her 
wardrobe. As she was about to close the drawer, she saw him--crammed in the back, his 
face distorted from the pounding she had given him a week earlier. That stupid, ugly 
stuffed targ Tom had 'won' for her at the carnival.

Part of her wished she had the energy to cry.

Instead, she rescued the furry face from his exile and tried to refluff his misshapen head. 
When he looked reasonably close to normal, she put him back where he had lived during 
the first five weeks of their acquaintance: on her desk, next to her computer display.

Now emotionally as well as physically exhausted, B'Elanna pulled on her pajamas and 
fell into bed. "Computer, dim the lights."

For a moment, she thought her racing mind might keep her from drifting off. Instead, it 
led her right into a very familiar dream.

~*~*~*~*~

The breeze off the beach was almost cold, and she found herself rubbing her arms to try 
and keep warm. She probably should have suggested moving someplace warmer, but 
they'd been having such a good time sitting in the sand and staring at the stars. She didn't 
want to break the mood.

He must have noticed the goosebumps rising on her skin. "Come here," he said, pulling 
her toward him. He was sitting behind her now, his arms covering hers, pulling her 
tightly against him. He was keeping her warm and she was suddenly glad she'd forgotten 
her jacket.

"I've missed you, Tom" she said as she leaned her back against him. She felt his arms 
tighten around her.

"I've been right here the whole time," he said. For a reason she couldn't place, she knew it 
was true. 

She felt his face against her hair as it slid down to her shoulder. He was kissing her neck 
now, and she tilted her head to give him better access...

~*~*~*~*~

They were on a beach somewhere--he wondered why he couldn't remember where... She 
was in that same sleeveless jumpsuit he loved so much. But she was cold, he could tell. 
He knew he should offer to take her someplace warmer, but they'd been having such a 
great time looking out over the ocean. He didn't want their night together to end.

"Come here," he said, slipping behind her. She felt so tiny against his chest, like he could 
wrap himself around her like a blanket. He wished he could see her face, though. There 
was something he needed to say, and somehow he wanted to look into her eyes as he said 
it. But she was warm and comfortable now, and that would have to be enough.

"I've missed you, B'Elanna," he said as she leaned back against his chest. He tightened 
his grip on her arms as he spoke.

"I knew you'd come back for me," she said over her shoulder. Then she sat up just 
enough to turn her body to face him. She was running her hand across his face, then 
tucked it behind his neck. She was pulling him toward her and he met her kiss half way...

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna woke up flushed and a little embarrassed. She'd been having variations on this 
dream for almost two months. At first, she'd dismissed it as her loneliness run amok. 
She'd had similar dreams about other male friends--including Chakotay. They didn't 
really mean anything. Just her subconscious's way of reminding her that she needed to get 
out more.

But for some reason, these dreams about Tom stayed with her. And they seemed to be 
more than just a sexual outlet. Unlike the ones she'd had in the past, these always 
involved some deeper feeling--of an emotional as well as physical connection. In her 
dreams, being with Tom was like finding a part of herself she'd jettisoned--or that she 
never knew was missing. Like slipping into a comfortable sweater.

She was projecting all of these feelings onto him, she realized. They barely knew each 
other, and--of all the men on Voyager--Paris was the least likely candidate to be Torres's 
soulmate. Still, there was something...she searched for a word that meant both comforting 
and terrifying. Nothing came to mind.

But, what the hell. The dreams were always pleasant, and she allowed herself to enjoy the 
feeling of peace that always followed them. Even if they were absolutely ridiculous.

~~

Tom could never remember the details the next morning: where they'd been, what she'd 
been wearing. But he could always remember the look on her face, the crazy mixture of 
exhilaration and terror he felt when touching her, and the way he finally felt accepted and 
needed when in her arms.

In the past, the dreams had left him hopeful--he'd spent some time trying to figure out 
how to make them real. But now he knew that his fantasies would stay fantasies: 
B'Elanna barely seemed to know he was alive these days. His hard-fought attempts to 
push her out of his life seemed to have finally worked. Too bad he hadn't realized he 
might be coming back to this life. Things might have ended up differently.

Tom knew it was just a matter of time before a different woman found her way into his 
dreams and into his heart. He worried, though, if he'd ever look at another woman 
without viewing her through the prism of his memories of B'Elanna. In time, maybe. 
Until then, she'd be there--in his dreams. And that would have to do for now.

~*~*~*~*~

THE END 

~*~*~*~*~


The next installment: Dreams & Nightmares, Part 1...


CREDITS: 
"Threshold" teleplay by Brandon Braga, story by Michael DeLuca (actually, perhaps 
BLAME is a better choice than CREDIT for this one) 
"Meld" teleplay by Michael Piller, story by Michael Sussman 
"Dreadnought" teleplay by Jeri Taylor, story by Jeff Schnaufer & Ed Bond 
"Lifesigns" written by Kenneth (Santa Claus) Biller "Investigations" written by Gary 
Holland