She sensed his uncertainty and knew he would take his lead from her. She took his hand in hers. “I don’t think you should go back to the base alone this time of night,” she said softly. “It might raise too many questions.”
He wasn’t sure. “More questions than my not coming home at all?” he asked.
She decided to abandon logic. “I want you to stay.”
She wouldn’t need to beg, he knew. But he wanted to make sure he understood what she was suggesting. “Are you sure you’re ready,” he asked.
She almost laughed. “If I’m not ready by now, I can’t imagine I ever will be.” She stood up and walked to the front door, picking up the duffle he had left just inside. “Here,” she said. “Why don’t you get ready for bed. I don’t think I should make love to you while you’re in that uniform.”
He laughed as he watched the immovable line pushed another ten feet back. Apparently, as long as she could pretend he wasn’t her subordinate, she could make an exception. “I don’t know,” he said smiling, “many of my fantasies have involved getting you out of yours.”
She threw the bag at him as she walked toward the bedroom. “Humor me,” she said as she went. He planned to do that, and more.
As she suspected, they fit together perfectly—though she was surprised at how aggressive this gentle man could be. They’d both waited a long time for this, however, and she found herself getting a little carried away herself. There was no going back now, she realized, and the thought made her smile. More than crossing into the Alpha Quadrant, docking her ship in Earth orbit, or smelling the salty bay breeze fill her lungs, this experience—feeling the soft kisses and caresses of the man she loved on her body—let her know she was finally home.
This moment began her new life, she realized. Leaning over to kiss him one last time, she wrapped herself in his arms and drifted soundly to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~
This was an old, familiar sensation: feeling the bright light and warmth of the sunshine pouring throught his bedroom windows. For a second, Tom wondered if he was still a child about to wake up from the most extraordinary of dreams. The hand that suddenly appeared on his butt told him that was probably not the case. He rolled over to kiss the hand’s owner, then had a very bizarre sense of déjà vu. He’d lost his virginity in this very room when he was seventeen years old. Now he was waking up in it with his wife.
Ironic, he thought, that he’d gotten more action in this bed as a teenager than he had last night. Three weeks and counting...
“Good morning,” he said softly. “How do you like my room?” It was very late when they had finally stumbled in the night before. They’d taken time only to strip off their uniforms and collapse on the mattress before both had fallen sound asleep. In the morning light, however, B’Elanna could see the wall of adventure novels, the model ships, and a pair of old skis propped up in the corner.
“It looks like you just left if yesterday,” she said.
Tom was just as surprised. He had assumed the Admiral would have thrown out every reminder of his shame the same day he’d thrown out his only son. Just another way in which he had underestimated his father’s love, he now knew, as he looked around at this virtual shrine to his youth. “I’m pretty sure the clothes don’t fit any more,” he kidded, wondering again why falling in love with B’Elanna had made his body gain and lose weight so unpredictably. Surely all the exercise he was getting should have kept him svelte. No matter, he thought. She clearly loved him as he was.
B’Elanna made a mental note to raid his closet for things she’d want to keep. Maybe his old clothes didn’t fit him anymore, but she suspected some of his t-shirts would make perfect nightgowns for her.
They were about to enjoy their first long kiss of the morning when their three-week-old alarm clock decided to go off. At the sound of her daughter’s cries, B’Elanna knew someone else had first dibs on her body. Denied his own enjoyment, Tom crawled out of bed and scooped his daughter into his arms. “Your timing stinks, Monkey,” he said, using his pet name for his child. He’d had to explain it to B’Elanna: Miral Kimberly. M.K. Monkey. It made perfect sense to him. Besides, every daughter needed an embarrassing nickname bestowed by her father. It was a Paris family tradition.
B’Elanna had propped herself up in the bed and reached out to take the baby from his arms. She settled her daughter under her breast; the crying stopped as soon breakfast began. Tom plopped himself at his wife’s side and began to stroke his daughter’s hair, as he did every morning while B’Elanna fed her. “What do you want to do today,” he asked as he watched them. It was a free day for Voyager’s crew, Starfleet understanding that they had a lot of personal business to attend to now that they were home.
“I don’t know,” B’Elanna said. “Your sisters are coming for dinner, so we can’t go too far,” she reminded him. “Do you have anything in mind?”
He looked a little far away for a moment—not the carefree man who had just sat down beside her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “There’s a package I’d like to deliver.”
She understood. “Great. Why don’t you take a shower while I finish feeding MK. Then you can get her dressed and changed while I get ready.”
Tom was back in the moment now, and laughed. “You know, your suggestions always seem to leave me on diaper duty. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
B’Elanna laughed. “Seventeen hours of labor, Tom. I’ve got to get you back some way.” She leaned over and kissed him before swatting him off the bed. “Get going,” she teased.
As she watched him pick up a change of clothes and head for the door, B’Elanna let herself enjoy seeing her husband in this place, this room that had been such a part of his life as a child. There was a happy ending in this house for him, she now knew. One big mystery solved. She only hoped the rest of their questions would have equally pleasant answers.
After a quick breakfast with Tom’s mother, the couple retrieved the padded case and headed out. Incredibly anxious to be back in the pilot’s seat after feeling like a passenger for most of Voyager’s final weeks, Tom signed out a two-seat shuttle for the short trip to Marin County. He’d confirmed the address in the Federation database, and made sure the family would be home when they arrived. He parked the craft on a landing pad near the residence and they headed out.
B’Elanna was carrying Miral, knowing that Tom would want to hold onto the case for as long as possible. A part of her had wondered if Tom would keep it for himself. It had been a gift from him, after all, and one of the few tangible connections he would ever have to their lost friend. Somehow this gesture seemed more appropriate, however. As they reached the front door, she confirmed the name above the bell. John and Mary Kim. They were in the right place.
The visit stated out awkward, but congenial. Tom was amazed at how much like his mother Harry had been, and he loved seeing the walls covered with pictures of his friend as a young boy. Sometimes it amazed Tom that he had only known Harry for seven years. He could barely remember a time when he didn’t feel like he had a little brother.
The family was polite and gracious, and they clearly enjoyed seeing the two young people Harry had written them about so often. But their pain was tangible, and a part of Tom wondered if he was right to intrude on their grief. He decided to get to the point as quickly as possible. “I found this in his quarters,” Tom said, remembering his first look inside his best friend’s home after the accident. “I gave it to Harry on his last birthday.” Tom handed them the case and watched as Harry’s father lifted out the gold saxophone. “He was really starting to get good at it. I thought you might want to have something from his time on Voyager.”
He watched as Mr. Kim closed his eyes and fingered the instrument silently. “Thank you,” he said softly.
B’Elanna noticed Harry’s mother smile. “Wait here for just a minute,” she said before leaving them. When she came back, she was holding a box. “Harry sent us a letter in the last datastream, before....�
�� She decided not to finish the sentence. “He asked me to dig this out of his things so he could give it to you when you got home.”
Tom took the box hesitantly. It held a small datachip plugged into a hand-held holoprogramer. Tom moved his thumb to turn it on. When he saw the program name on the screen, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. ‘Captain Sulu and the Adventures of the USS Excelsior.’ It was to have been their next holodeck role-playing game. Mrs. Kim didn’t understand the significance, but she explained, “This was the first one Harry ever wrote. He was twelve, I think. He was always complaining that he couldn’t talk his friends into playing with him.”
Tom couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a new adventure Harry had planned for them, but an old one. He took the chip from the imager, and smiled. “Thank you,” he said as he put it in his pocket. “This really means a lot to me.” He was surprised to find another gift appear in his hand, a datapad with an unread message.
“He sent this, too,” Mrs. Kim said softly. “But perhaps you’ll want to listen to it in private.” Tom remembered the day they had rushed to finish their final letters for the last datastream. Why would Harry have sent one to him? He decided to wait until later to find out.
The exchange of gifts seemed to break the tension, and the Paris’s found themselves staying for several more hours, sharing stories of their son’s adventures—carefully editing out the ongoing side-show that had been Harry Kim’s love life. They talked for a long while about the way Harry had solved their transwarp instability problem, in the process probably saving his friends’ lives. And Tom told them about their son’s posthumous and long-overdue promotion. It was a cathartic experience for all of them, but it soon left Tom and B’Elanna exhausted. After a while, they said their goodbyes and headed for the door.
Once they were settled into the shuttle and about to take off, B’Elanna asked the question she’d been wondering for half the day. “So what was on the chip?”
Tom just smiled. “Just a reminder from Harry that it was his turn to play captain,” he said sadly. “Let’s go.”
B’Elanna didn’t understand, and she didn’t need to. “Do you want me to fly us home?” she asked out of consideration for Tom’s emotions. The question alone seemed to bring him to life.
“Are you crazy?” he answered, smiling over at her. “In fact, let’s do a little sightseeing before we head back.”
They spent the next hour touring the wine country from the air, then flying over the bay, around the Golden Gate Bridge, and finally buzzing his father’s house before Tom steered them back to base. Flying was therapy for him, B’Elanna knew, and she was just as happy to have him work out his grief from the pilot’s chair.
As they put down at the base hangar, she soon realized their little trip had reminded Tom of one more old friend. “I need to get to work fixing the Flyer,” he said almost to himself. B’Elanna smiled. He might just have been thinking out loud, but she knew this was just the kind of project Tom needed to get him though the difficult days ahead. B’Elanna decided to talk to Kathryn about it in the morning.
~*~*~*~*~
Chakotay had returned to the base early that same morning, no one the wiser about the way he had spent the previous night. Kathryn was spending the day with Molly and a few old friends from the Academy. They agreed to meet on the base for dinner that evening. Chakotay didn’t have the luxury of enjoying his day off, however: the commander would spend this morning with his Fleet appointed legal counsel trying to map out a defense for the charges still pending against him and trying to secure pardons for his Maquis crew.
He didn’t mind spending his day this way. He was determined to get his past behind him now that the future looked so promising. Last night had been an important first step in making a new life for himself, but it only left him more determined to get the whole legal mess over with. He wanted Kathryn openly in his life, not just in his bed. That simple luxury continued to elude him as long as he was a Maquis outlaw.
He had showered and changed into a fresh uniform, and was leaving his new quarters when he ran into Seven. She was dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, in a loose-fitting linen shirt over simple black slacks. Her hair was subtly different too. “Where’s the fire?” he said as she rushed past him.
“Oh, Commander,” she said, only now realizing he was even there. She showed him the datachip in her right hand. “I am assisting the Doctor with his new quarters,” she said a little self-consciously. “And I’m late,” she admitted.
“Don’t let me get in your way, then,” he said smiling. Seven and the Doctor. It still made his head spin. But whatever made his friends happy was just fine with him.
She buzzed at the entrance to the holosuite. (Starfleet had been thoughtful enough to install a privacy lock on this normally public room.) The doors opened to show a holographic replica that exactly duplicated the base’s crew quarters. Given his choice of any setting, the Doctor had elected to live just like the rest of his crewmates. Well, with a few additional touches.
“Good morning, Seven,” he said as he welcomed her. “Did you finish them?”
She nodded. “A few minutes ago. I hope they’re to you liking.” She moved to the control panel just inside the door and inserted the chip. “Computer, initiate subroutine Gershwin Monet Beta 2.” Instantly, the standard issue dresser was replaced by a player piano, and the non-descript wall hangings with two original-looking impressionist paintings.
“They’re wonderful,” he said, impressed with her work.
“I have another surprise for you,” Seven said unexpectedly. “Computer, download EMH autonomous wardrobe. Initiate and resynch program.” The Doctor zimmered in and out as his program restarted.
“What was that?” he asked. Seven handed him a PADD. I thought you might like the ability to choose your own clothing,” she explained. Until this moment, an engineer needed to reprogram new outfits into the doctor’s datafiles each time he wanted to change out of his standard-issue uniform. On the PADD, however, was a listing of approximately fifty different changes of clothing the Doctor could request of his own free will. He was touched.
“I thought you might want to wear something casual for our picnic,” she said. “You can select whatever you’d like, but I’d recommend file Delta 501. It’s a particular favorite of mine.”
He smiled. This was a lovely turn of events. He had designed Seven’s wardrobe for so long, he was now anxious to see what she’d picked out for him. “Very well,” he said. “Computer, initiate subroutine Delta 501.”
While the Doctor wasn’t programmed to feel pain, tactile sensations were a necessary part of his interactions with the physical world. He could ‘feel’ everything from pressure to temperature to texture. And this new sensation could only be described as...constriction. He looked down at what he could see of his new clothing. Tight pants in a faded blue with a contrasting top stitching. He could feel pockets at the waist and the loops where a belt might be worn. Interestingly enough, Seven hadn’t bothered to add a belt to the program—an unusual oversight for someone normally so precise. He couldn’t see more than the arms and front of his shirt, but he realized it was made of a thinner version of the same material used in the pants. Funny, he noticed, how it was equally coarse and soft. It, like the pants, also seemed too small for him.
“Do you like it?” Seven asked, showing an obvious appreciation for her own handiwork. “They’re called ‘blue jeans,’ she explained. Circa 1995, though I have had them distressed as if worn for a few years as B’Elanna recommended.” He was now beginning to understand.
“B’Elanna recommended this outfit to you?” he asked. “Isn’t it a little...form fitting?”
Seven smiled. “Yes,” she said. “The clothing is designed to conform to the male body. Lieutenant Torres said something about ‘turnabout being fair play.’ I don’t understand the reference, but I have to agree with her assessment. It is a very attractive look for you.”
The Doctor grimaced. His ‘assessment’ was being squeezed with every step he took. After years of the looser uniform pants, this was going to take some getting used to. Still, the look on Seven’s face made him think it might be worth the discomfort.
“Well, then,” he said trying to get used to the strange sensation of being fondled by one’s own clothing. “If you like it so much, I guess this is what I’ll wear. Shall we go?” He downloaded his program into the mobile emitter and picked up the basket of food he’d replicated. “After you.” He showed her to the door.
~*~*~*~*~
The rest of their week flew by. After an initial day of respect and privacy for the crew, plans for Voyager’s homecoming celebration were reaching a climax, and Starfleet’s returning heroes were finding themselves the center of a flurry of attention. Governments from every planet in the Federation seemed to want an interview with the Delta Quadrant pioneers, and they even found themselves the subject of stares and whispers as their faces became well known across the world.
Be Careful What You Wish For Page 33