Be Careful What You Wish For

by Barbara Watson

  Ensign Wildman patted her friend's arm. "Naomi and I will be staying, too, Captain. She's never met her father. I can't deny her that chance. Plus, she would never forgive me if we left Neelix."

  Janeway smiled. "Seven?"

  "I have analyzed the data and believe you will be unable to succeed without my assistance. I have also come to look forward to seeing Bloomington, Indiana. I will stay." The captain was clearly moved. It looked like Tom and B'Elanna might have their new home all to themselves.

  Her chief engineer spoke up before she was asked. "Tom and I discussed it for a long while last night and...we'll be staying with the ship, too."

  The others were clearly surprised, but to say that Harry was stunned was an understatement. "What about making a new home with your family in the Delta Quadrant?" the ensign asked his best friends.

  "That's just it, Harry," Tom answered. "Our family has decided to try for home. And we want to stay with them." Kathryn was choked up. After her conversation with Tom the night before, she was sure they had decided to leave. Now she was grateful for many reasons, not the least of which was the boost to their chances provided by the unique talents of these two young officers.

  "I guess its unanimous, then," Chakotay chimed in.

  Of course he wouldn't leave without us, Kathryn realized. "I guess it is," she replied, reaching over to squeeze her first officer's hand, not concerned at all who was watching this show of affection, for they were among friends. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you have all decided to see our mission through. But we have 136 others to ask. Department heads, convene staff meetings as quickly as possible. You can report back to me at 1200 hours." She didn't bother saying 'dismissed.' This had been a family meeting, not a briefing.

  She watched as her friends rose from their seats and headed for the doors. Harry couldn't seem to contain himself, and hugged B'Elanna tightly. Tom put his arm around his best friend's shoulder and the three walked out together. A moment later, only her first officer remained behind.

  "You're disappointed," she said to him softly. "I'm sorry."

  Chakotay's face held that kind of peaceful resolve she had seen him use so often to mask his pain. "A bit," he admitted. "But I never expected you to be anyone other than who you are."

  She smiled sadly at his observation. "I made them a promise." A story he knew all too well.

  "Yes. Then...," he said with more conviction than he really felt, "let's get on with keeping it." He stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, and rose to stand next to him. They walked together toward the mess hall doors, still quietly holding hands. As the doors swished open to reveal the corridor, Kathryn gently squeezed his fingers, then let go. They walked back to the bridge, arms at their sides, in silence.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  PART 3--LOOSE ENDS:

  Three weeks had flown by. The adaptations to Voyager were almost complete, and her staff was nearing exhaustion from the pace necessary to make their deadline. Now, only four days remained before the next datastream. 'We might actually be ready,' Kathryn thought to herself as she reviewed the engineering reports. It had helped that she had her entire staff pulling double shifts. In the end--despite her concerns about losing half of her crew to New Phoenix--only a handful had even seriously discussed it. And those lost interest when they found out their friends wouldn't be joining them.

  United now in their goal--and with potential success so close at hand--they found these weeks energizing, despite the grueling workloads. Sitting in her ready room, the captain granted herself the luxury of stopping her work for a moment to gaze out her windows at the stars of the Delta Quadrant. Soon, she thought, this place will be just a memory. What surprised her were her mixed feelings at that prospect.

  Not that she had ever seriously considered staying behind in this desolate region of space. But she had to admit to herself that Voyager's time so far from home had been, in most respects, the most exciting and meaningful of her life. She had been given an extraordinary opportunity to explore, a huge thrill for any scientist, and her passion for the process of discovery had never waned. She had also found something else: a kind of kinship with her crew that she never thought possible.

  The captain reflected for a moment on something she had said to her old friend Tuvok while sitting on this very couch almost seven years ago. 'I never seem to have the chance to get to know any of them. I have to take more time to do that.' Things had changed. She and her crew had nothing but time as they made their way home, and this journey had not only allowed her to connect with them in ways she never had before, it had brought friendship--deep, meaningful connections--particularly with her eight closest advisors. The thought of splitting up this family, which would be inevitable should they reach their goal, was bittersweet for her.

  But she had said something else to Tuvok that day. Remembering her conversation with T'Pel, his wife, just before their mission to the Badlands, she knew how painful it had been, Vulcan or not, for this woman and her children to be separated from her mate during Tuvok's undercover mission with the Maquis. That day in her ready room, now even further away from their homes, she made the first of many commitments to her crew. Like Tuvok, nearly everyone had left family or friends behind. Herself included.

  "I'll get you back to them. That's a promise, Tuvok." And, if everything went according to plans, in a little less than a week, she'd finally deliver on her word.

  Her door beeped and brought her back into the moment. "Come in," she called out, and Neelix stepped gingerly into the room. He had only been in her ready room on a few occasions during their trip, and he found the surroundings intimidating, still.

  "You sent for me, Captain?" She ushered him to the seat across from her desk and moved to sit opposite him.

  "I have a top-priority mission, Mr. Neelix," she said to him with mock seriousness, "that only you can carry out."

  ~*~*~*~*~

  Tom Paris was in pain. Not the physical sting of an injury or illness, but the psychic pain brought on by seeing someone you love hurt. The fact that the damage was inflicted by his own hands only made the situation worse. Yet he knew it had to be done.

  He put down the hyperspanner and yanked on the panel with all of his strength. The Delta Flyer's shield generator was torn from its housing and handed off to Seven of Nine, who was cataloging the salvaged parts.

  "Sorry," he said under his breath, a look of grief washing over his face. The Flyer was not only Voyager's most advanced shuttle, she was Tom Paris's first-born, a ship he had conceived and fought for, helped build and rebuild with his own hands, and had piloted skillfully more times than he could remember. He had proposed to B'Elanna here; it was the sight of their unconventional honeymoon. And, even though he knew it was for a good cause, it was hard to see her torn apart.

  Seven could sense Paris's somber mood--unusual, she noted for someone normally so jovial. "You seem disconcerted, Lieutenant," she inquired. "Is something wrong?"

  Tom passed her the shield power coupling as he answered, "It's just tough to see a good friend used as an organ donor before she's even dead."

  Seven noted his macabre sense of humor, one of the things she most appreciated as she got to know Tom. "Perhaps a memorial service is in order," she wondered out loud.

  Tom realized how morose he must have sounded, and laughed softly. "Requiem for a Shuttlecraft. Perhaps the Doc could compose an opera for the occasion."

  Something he said seemed to change Seven's mood. Tom noticed she closed down a bit, and seemed a little distracted, herself. Curious, he probed to find out why. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do if we get back to Earth?"

  Tom suspected Seven had to be a little apprehensive about the reaction she'd receive if they were successful. "I am uncertain how to prepare," she admitted. "However, I am confident that I will adapt."

  No doubt, Tom agreed. Seven's most difficult transition--from Borg to human--was almost complete. He was sure someone with her intellige
nce and adaptability could survive just about anything now. Clearly, that wasn't why she was suddenly preoccupied.

  He turned his attention to the power grid and began to dismantle the relays. "I'm sure you'll do just fine," he assured her before continuing his fishing expedition. "You know, it will probably be the rest of us who have trouble fitting in. We're a pretty strange group, you know. An ex-convict, a few dozen Maquis rebels, two reformed Borg, and a sentient hologram. I'm not sure what Starfleet will make of us all." She tensed again. He was narrowing it down.

  "You know," he tested, "I think Icheb is going to enjoy the Academy. He might even make captain before Harry!" Tom handed her the starboard coupling, and snuck a look at Seven's expression as she responded.

  "I believe Captain Janeway may sleep better when Icheb can choose from all of Starfleet for his first command," she offered. Okay, so it wasn't that...

  He knew the Maquis held no particular interest for the former drone, and his parole status was clearly not the source of her concern. The process of elimination left only one stone unturned. "And I don't know what they're gonna make of the Doc," Tom mused, watching her face. Bingo.

  Paris may have been the only one on the crew who knew about the Doctor's infatuation with Seven. He remembered, with some embarrassment, the bet he had made with his medical mentor about the former drone's ability to survive a real date, and his regrets when he stupidly blurted out their wager in front of her. Only then did Tom realize the budding romance he had interrupted. But it was too late; Seven was hurt and angry. Mostly at the doctor, it seemed. She seemed to close herself off after that. And Tom had never seen her on another 'date.'

  Over time, though, as Voyager's chief medic, Tom had the opportunity to watch the Doctor and Seven on many occasions. Whether either of them acknowledged it, the EMH was clearly still smitten with her. And they had developed a deep friendship, Tom knew. But was it possible Seven was starting to return the doctor's deeper feelings?

  "I'm sure his medical advances will be of great interest to the Federation," Seven said a little less than confidently.

  "Sure," Tom answered, though he was less than sure the Doctor would be afforded the kind of respect and freedom he had found on Voyager. The rights of sentient holograms were, ironically, more clearly established in the Delta Quadrant, Tom knew. He had to admit, like Seven, he was also a little worried about the Doc's future.

  Seven changed the subject. Sort of. "Lieutenant, you think of the Delta Flyer as an entity," she stated as much as asked.

  "In a way," Tom acknowledged. "She's been a good friend. She does what I need her to do, always comes through in a pinch, and she's saved my butt on several occasions." Seven was going somewhere with this, but Tom wasn't sure where.

  "Yet she is only a ship," she replied. "Cables and conduits and deck plating. She has no consciousness."

  Tom nodded. "I guess I just enjoy thinking of her as having a personality. It's comforting, in some strange way, to think she's looking out for me."

  Seven continued, "Do you think it is healthy for you to invest so much emotion in a relationship with a machine?"

  Somehow, Tom suspected she wasn't talking about him and the Flyer any more. "I know she isn't alive, if that's what you mean. And I would never let my feelings for her get in the way of my real relationships." His one experience with a pseudo-sentient ship had guaranteed that.

  Seven pressed on, "But you think a relationship with a machine can be an acceptable form of self-expression?" He had to be careful how he answered.

  "With a ship like the Flyer, maybe not," he had to be honest. "But like I said, she's not sentient. Now, if you're asking if I think relationships have to be human-to-human in order to be real, I guess I'd say no." He hoped this was the right advice. "Take the relationship B'Elanna and I have with the Doctor. He's mechanical of sorts, yet he's as real as any of our friends. You know, we've asked him to be our daughter's godfather."

  Seven had heard this term used between Neelix and Naomi Wildman, and she knew it to be a symbolic role reserved for the one chosen to raise a child in a parent's absence. "You trust the Doctor to care for your child?" she asked, confirming his meaning.

  "Why not?" he replied. "Who better to look out for her than the best doctor in the galaxy?"

  This was getting too serious for Tom's tastes. A change of mood was definitely in order. "Now if he starts teaching her how to sing opera," Paris warned as he ducked into the access bay, "Maybe we'll have to reconsider."

  ~*~*~*~*~

  Harry and B'Elanna had been working in engineering all afternoon, reinforcing the warp core and scanning to make sure they had found and fixed all of the microfissures. It was mind-numbing work, and not particularly physical, but the very-pregnant chief engineer was exhausted. "Verify these figures with Nicoletti, then...." She was mid-sentence when she stopped suddenly and leaned against the console.

  Harry grabbed her arm, "That's it, Maquis, you're sitting down." He pulled a rolling stool over from the next station, and forced his friend to sit.

  "Giving me orders, Starfleet?" she grimaced, taking the seat anyway, but continuing to work. "I outrank you, Ensign."

  Harry pulled himself up straight and swaggered as much as Harry Kim could swagger. "Not for long, if I have my way."

  B'Elanna chuckled, "I forgot; as soon as we get back you're going to be knocking on doors, demanding that long-overdue promotion."

  They both smiled. "Yep, and I'll expect you to remember that when I'm your senior officer!" This comment made his friend a little pensive, and Harry wondered for a moment what he had said to upset her. B'Elanna knew all too well that, should they make it back, she wasn't likely to appear anywhere on a Starfleet chain of command. She wondered how she would face that if it came.

  "Hey, Mommy, are you okay?" That seemed to snap her out of it.

  "Mommy?!" the Klingon half of her inquired forcefully. "What happened to 'Maquis'?!"

  Just hearing her say the word made Harry realize what might have bothered her about his joke about outranking her. "Well," he answered with a sweet mischief, "you're not really a Maquis anymore, are you? And you're certainly about to become a mommy."

  She glared back at him, "And you're about to be an uncle, and if you don't stop calling me 'Mommy' I'm going to make you practice screaming your new title!" No need to explain that reference. Their vocabularies had been equally polluted by 20th Century Parisisms.

  "I don't know why it bugs you so much," Harry kept at it. "Tom loves it when I call him 'Daddy.'"

  B'Elanna smiled a little at that thought. Her formerly irresponsible, still irrepressible husband was looking forward to being a father. He was going to be great at it, too, she knew. "Well, take your abuse out on him, if you don't mind."

  "I would if I ever saw him," Harry complained. Their duty shifts the past few weeks had been on separate critical projects, Tom overseeing the salvaging of Voyager's shuttles, Harry and B'Elanna putting those scavenged parts to use in modifying the ship. And there were very few sit-down meals in the mess hall these days.

  "He misses you, you know," Torres offered.

  "Me, too," Harry replied glumly. "We had a kind of big fight before all this happened," he said solemnly.

  "Yes, I know," she replied. Of course she knew. Tom told her everything. "He thinks you're still upset with him for wanting to settle down on New Phoenix."

  Harry chuckled. "That's funny. I though he was still mad at me for wanting to keep going."

  They smiled sadly at each other. "You're the little brother Tom never had, Harry," she said softly. "He could never stay mad at you. In fact," she almost stopped herself, but decided it was too late, "he's doing all this for you."

  Harry looked at his friend quizzically. "Doing what for me?" She was committed.

  "Ripping apart the shuttles, his precious DeltaFlyer, making his hundredth flight simulation of the trip through the wormhole. You're the reason we didn't stay on New Phoenix, Harry." She looked him in
the eye. "He didn't want to stay there without you. And...frankly, neither did I."

  Harry's eyes were misting over. B'Elanna had to do something to get her friend focused back on their work before he made an emotional display and embarrassed them both. "Besides, Starfleet, who do you think is going to be a role model of fine upstanding behavior for our child? It certainly won't be either of us!" It worked. Harry grinned.

  "Tell you what," B'Elanna offered. "Our quarters, 1900 hours. Dinner's on us. I think you and a certain pilot are long overdue for a double date."

  Harry's eyes opened widely at that one. "And who do you recommend I bring for my 'date'?"

  She smiled snidely at him, "After six and a half years, Harry, you don't know any of the sixty-two women on this ship well enough to ask one of them on a date?"

  Tom really was a bad influence on her, Harry decided. "Never mind," he backed off. "I'll think of someone...."