RANDOM HARVEST

An Alternate Universe Story

by

vanhunks

INTRODUCTION:

Dear Reader, before you proceed with the story, I’d like to give you the background, as I think it is important. Random Harvest (my story) was based on the novel Random Harvest, by James Hilton, and the 1942 filmed adaptation of the book, starring the great Greer Garson and Ronald Colman.

It is an alternate universe story. Expect nothing as it should be, even in this alternate universe. I changed so many rules, please, go along for the ride. Since so many writers wrote AU stories or über stories, I thought I should try my hand at it. I am a collector of classic films, and thought RANDOM HARVEST (Film, and book) had a wonderful premise.

I have borrowed that premise to use in my own story, and I have also included bits of the dialogue of the film. Those who are familiar with the film, will probably recognise the dialogue. I have recreated some of the incidents in the film and book a little differently for my own adaptation, while I retained the milieu of the Alpha (and Gamma) Quadrants. Readers could therefore spot the parallels. When I pondered over which pairing would be most suitable for this film, my choice was Tom and B'Elanna, whom I thought ideal to place in this milieu.

To serve the plot and plot development, I have bent some assumptions:

1. In this universe, Caldik Prime did happen for Tom, but he was exonerated of blame.

2. In this universe, Nick Locarno (TNG, "The First Duty"), disgruntled and miserable after being cashiered out of the Academy, joined the Maquis. It was Nick Locarno Janeway negotiated for at the New Zealand Penal colony. He piloted Voyager during its Delta Quadrant years.

Of the classic films in my possession, I love RANDOM HARVEST the most, so this story is also a tribute to the film and book.

DISCLAIMER 1:

The Starship Voyager, the characters Tom and B’Elanna, Owen Paris, Harry Kim, Janeway and Chakotay belong to Paramount. I borrowed them to use in a very warm and wonderful love story. They will be returned..

DISCLAIMER 2:

The characters of Kitty and Harrison belong to James Hilton and MGM. Them I have also borrowed, although their function and relation to the principals are slightly different in my story.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

James Hilton for creating this wonderful premise, and creating two wonderful characters to play out the premise in his novel.

Claudine West, George Froeschel and Arthur Wimperis for the screenplay of the 1942 film. I have included in certain instances bits of the dialogue of the film.

TRIBUTE:

Finally, I have dedicated this story to the memory of the principal actors in the film, Ronald Colman and Greer Garson, who played Charles Rainier and Margaret Hansen (Smithy and Paula) respectively.

My late aunt, Catherine Regine, whose name I have given to Kitty in my story.

RATING: I have given it a lot of thought. It does not exactly fall under NC-17, not the kind I have written in some of my other stories, anyway. It is perhaps closer to R, since there is no real graphic/explicit description of sex. Decide for yourself.

SUMMARY: When Lainey Dean met John Adam on the day of the Festival of the Moons on the planet Melvech in the Gamma Quadrant, little did she know that her life would change forever. Their idyllic life is shattered when, three years after they married, Adam leaves on a mission and never returns. Her search for Adam leads her to the Alpha Quadrant.

Now for the story. Enjoy.

RANDOM HARVEST

CHAPTER ONE

She found him on the day of the Festival of the Moons. On that day - or night - the three moons of the planet Melvech aligned in an almost straight line. Only once in a cycle this phenomenon occurred. When this happened, the inhabitants believed that they would be blessed with good fortune and fertility. In all the cities of the planet’s northern hemisphere, the inhabitants took to the streets and narrow lanes to celebrate the festive occasion. On this day the goddess Thuryah would appear and personally bless them. Dressed in their long, flowing robes that enhanced their slim, tall bodies, men and women moved along the narrow lanes, performing ritual dances to the delight of all the off-Worlders. Although Melvech had a preponderance of rituals for most occasions, be it fertility, the gathering of the crops, to initiate new incumbents into the most holy of their spiritual shrines, the Temple of the Moon, it was a society that possessed warp technology. The Melvechians were an ancient civilization that boasted a ten thousand year existence. Many of the rituals of the present day had been celebrated in their distant past, and most of them, including the Festival of the Moons, were practiced in exactly the same manner of six, seven thousand years ago.

It was almost night and already they could see the three moons emerging as if they just swelled through the blue sky. This caused again another stir of excitement as thousands of dancing and singing Melvechians proceeded towards the centre of the First City.

Lainey Dean tried to make her way through the throng of people and dancers. Even keeping close to the walls of the buildings flanking the narrow lanes, she had to force her way through the rangy figures who seemed to close ranks as she tried to get through. She muttered impatiently as she successfully negotiated past one Melvechian and then another and another. She didn’t have much interest in the festivities, her need to reach her friend’s house blinding her to the infectious laughter, the joy, and the carnival atmosphere in the streets. Walking head down, her hands outstretched in front of her to push some revelers away from her, she did not see the man until he stumbled against her, knocking her breath away as his elbow collided with her abdomen. She almost pitched headlong into the narrow alley, but her recovery was swift and with a growl Lainey turned on him.

“Hey, watch out! Are you drunk?” she shouted.

“I-I’m so s-sorry,” he stammered as he leaned against the wall, while she quickly collected herself.

“You should watch where you’re going, pig!” she snarled, irritation in her voice. It was only when she stood up in front of him, that she saw his face clearly in the light of the overhead lamps. He was patently sick, or really drunk, she thought. He had a pale, sickly pallor. Also, he was clearly not Melvechian.

“S-Sorry. I-I s-said I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Seeing he really looked penitent, she offered: “Listen, you don’t look well. Let’s just get away from this crowd. Come,” as she took him by the hand and led him down the lane, barging through the crowd, until they were clear. “There’s a pub right here.”

It wasn’t as noisy inside as it was in the streets. She went to the nearest table where they sat down. Seated opposite him, she got for the first time a good look at the man. A human, she decided. Through his almost reddish beard, she could see his face was flushed. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, although they were bloodshot. He was in rags and looked very unkempt. His hands rested on the surface of the table. His fingers were long, and she gained the distinct impression that he had not known hard physical work. Yet...

He looked at her intently. No doubt curious about my race, she thought, a little angrily.

“What is your name?” she started the conversation.

“T-They call me Adam. John Adam. B-But that-that is not my real n-name,” he stammered.

“That’s okay,” she smiled, for the first time, her teeth showing pearly white against her tanned skin. “My name is Lainey Dean, and that’s not my real name either.”

“I l-like that. Lainey. Y-You must f-forgive me, m-my s-speech, I-“ He raised his hand to his mouth as he said that.

“Hey, don’t worry, I understand you,” she smiled again and touched his hand on the table. It felt very warm. She was drawn to this stranger’s plight, to this stranger, she admitted.

“I-I don’t...know how-how I got here. To this p-place. I-I lost my-my memory. At the-the hospital...t-they gave me... the n-name.”

“The hospital? How did you get out? No one gets out there! Shouldn’t you go back?” she said in alarm.

“No! no - I-I’m sorry. But it...it - please, I don’t want to-to go back. I’m all right, really. It’s just...my memory. I’m all right.”

“I can see you’re really scared. You can hang out with me, if you want to. I was on my way to my friend’s house. I stay there when I’m in the city. Want to come with?” Somehow she knew he would say yes.

“I-I don’t want...to impose on you,” he started.

“Nonsense, it’s not a big deal. We are both strangers here. I can see that."

“You-you are...different,” he stammered again. “Are-are you a...Klingon?” and he frowned when he said the words.

“Half human, half Klingon,” she said self-derisively, the ridges on her brow now more pronounced than ever.

“You-you s-shouldn’t mock yourself. You are unique, I-I think.”

“Gee thanks. No one has told me that before. They always called me a half-breed.”

He looked shocked at her words, she could see. But before she could continue, he suddenly slumped forward on the table, and would have sailed off if she didn’t grab hold of his arm and haul him back.

“Adam, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Already in her mind he was Adam, and not John Adam.

He was unconscious it seemed to her, and she touched his face. She felt a burning fever. She shook him gently, and slowly he came to, groaning.

“Adam, you really are sick, aren’t you?” She rose and stood next to him, lifting his arm over her shoulder, and pulled him up. “Let’s go. We’re going to my friend’s house.”

***

The sick man occupied the bed in Lainey’s room. Over the next two days he had a raging fever, and Adam was for most of it in a delirium. She never left his side, comforting him when he became agitated, wiping his brow, the hair from his face. Spoke soothingly, her words appearing to calm him. Stroking his flushed cheeks while he alternated between cold shivers and throwing the blankets off him.

He tried to raise himself: “I’m all right. Can’t g-go back.”

“Shhh... you’re not going back,” she would soothe, all the time caressing his face, kissing his fevered cheeks.

“Don’t take me b-back, L-Lainey. Don’t-don’t leave me,” he would stammer as he thrashed his head from side to side.

“I won’t let you out of my sight, Adam. Now lie still...please.”

“I-I’m so c-cold,” he would say later as his body was racked by cold shivers.

“Shhh... don’t talk now... I won’t let you get cold. You’ll get warm soon.” Lainey slid under the covers, and held him close to her, letting him feel her warmth, until the shivering stopped. She spooned him to her body and held him till he fell into a restless sleep.

Why am I doing this? Sticking my neck out for a complete stranger, on a strange world in the Gamma Quadrant. Where did this man come from? Who is he? If he isn’t John Adam? These were questions that milled in Lainey’s mind as she lay next to Adam, her arm around his waist. She could hear he was breathing more evenly now, and the fever seemed to have broken. Quietly she got up and went into the small lounge.

“So, Lainey, this is some lame dog you brought in here this time,” Cowan said, holding his coffee mug in his hand and waving towards her door with the other. “By the looks of it, some handsome lame dog.”

“By the looks of it, a very sick man, you creep. Where have you been these last two days?” she asked as she sat down in a chair.

“Making sure nobody knows about us? We’re supposed to have refugee status here, Lainey, or have you forgotten that?”

“Fine. We can add Adam to our list of refugees.”

“Adam?”

“That’s what he says his name is. He suffers from amnesia, that much I’ve found out.” Lainey leaned forward in her chair, her head close to Cowan’s. “We’ve got to help him, Cowan. He stands out like a sore thumb around here. One of the few humans around.”

“You want to hide him under the bed?” Cowan said with a smirk.

“I want to take him with me, Cowan. To Danae. He’ll be safer there in the commune I live in. Maybe he’ll regain his memory, who knows?”

“Lainey,” Cowan said tenderly, for he cared a great deal about his young friend. “Listen to me...please. We’ve been friends since Kessik IV. I know you pretty well. You don’t normally make friends - good friends - that easily. Too afraid you’ll scare them off. But this Adam... Lainey, have you looked in the mirror? Your eyes are shining. I’ve never seen that.” Cowan paused to take another sip of his coffee. He looked speculatively at her. I don’t think she realises how much in love with this Adam she already is, he thought. He felt the concern, already seeing how she could get hurt. She’s had enough of that before he brought her to this sector of the Gamma Quadrant.

“I...I guess you can say I -I like him. He looks so helpless, Cowan. Like he needs me. I’ve never been really needed before, you know. I want to help him get better.”

Cowan uttered a curse. “You’ve fallen for him, Lainey. It’s evident in your eyes, the way you won’t leave his side. I haven’t been away these two days, you know.” He smiled when he saw her puzzled look. “I was right here, all the time. But you were so absorbed with your patient, I might as well not have existed.”

“He...doesn’t want to go back to that facility. I heard stories about that place, Cowan. If I take him with me, they might stop looking for him. I don’t know what he’s done, and I don’t care, because he appears too refined, even through his stammer.”

“Lainey, Lainey,” Cowan said. “Look at me. What I’m going to say, I’m not going to say again.” He placed his mug down on the coffee table, held her face in his hands and said: “You’re setting yourself up to get hurt in a really big way.”

“Then I guess that’s a problem I’ll have to deal with, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Laney. Good luck. I’ll probably see you from time to time. I can arrange some quick transport to Danae. It leaves today. You’d better get Adam ready and leave as soon as you can.”

“Thanks Cowan. As always, you are a great friend.”

She went into the bedroom again, where Adam was still sleeping. He was much calmer now that the fever’s broken. Her heart went out to him. I’m falling for you, Adam and I don’t know why. I just know I want to have you with me all the time. She wiped his face and hands with a warm cloth. Lainey touched his cheek with the back of her hand, then brushed his hair away from his face. He stirred, then murmured:

“Don’t leave me, Lainey.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Adam. Now rest.” Somehow she felt calling him Adam sounded better. In her consciousness he was already Adam, and not John Adam.

She touched his lips, and felt his hand coming up and covering hers. A warmth came over her. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, Falling for a sick and unconscious man who doesn’t even know his real name.

She stayed with him until he woke up. His eyes are bluer than I thought, and no longer bloodshot. They were also clear of the fever, a virus that has brought many of the planet’s inhabitants down.

“Lainey.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Thank you, Lainey.”

“Adam, we have to leave here. We’re going to the commune I live in. It’s called Danae, a thousand km. from here. How do you feel?”

“Much better,” he said as he heaved himself into a sitting position. He raised his hand to touch the ridges on her forehead. She closed her eyes at his touch.

“You-you are beautiful,” he whispered. She smiled at the compliment.

“Come, we have to prepare to leave. Cowan has lent you some of his clothes.”

“Cowan?”

“Oh yes, the friend I told you about. You’ll meet him just now. Ready?”

Adam nodded, glad suddenly that he bumped into Lainey that night. He started up, asking: “Lainey, how-how long...have I - I been here?”

“Two days, Adam. You were unconscious for two days after the Festival of the Moons.”

He sighed, then looked at her. “You-you have been very good to-to me, Lainey.” He smiled, and she thought how it lit up his face. Oh God, I’m lost. I’m already in love with him. She didn’t have time to think her decision through of taking him with her. It must be her Klingon impulsiveness, she decided.

**

Adam felt happier than he had been for weeks, since escaping from that facility. He was happy to be with Lainey, in the house they shared in the commune at Danae. It wasn’t something he could concretize as a definite emotion, but he knew he felt different, like he never had before. Like he had come alive. Lainey made him laugh, he became more confident, and his stammer vanished completely. They were poor, but every day was for them a day to look forward to, because they were together. He was slowly accepting that he’ll probably never regain his memory. But it seemed not to matter to him anymore. Not as it did before. It’s as if his life began with Lainey. She gave him a reason to get up in the morning and not feel that old hunger to wonder about his past anymore. Whatever his past could have been made up of, even though he had no frame of reference to measure what he felt, he felt it deep in his being, he couldn’t have been as happy as he was now. Or so at peace with himself. It was something he experienced that was perhaps subliminal. As if the part of his consciousness that belonged to his former life, broke through that threshold where he could see the unhappiness, the absence of inner peace.

He was certain that he retained aspects of his consciousness of the past life, but they were things like knowing he was in the Gamma Quadrant. Strangely enough, he knew his age, but couldn’t remember his date of birth. Little things like that. The unimportant things, he thought. Not: Who am I? Where do I come from? Why am I here? Who are my parents, assuming I have any? What was my profession? Why did I end up in that hospital?

Yet he was no longer agonizing over even the important issues about his past. To him, the here and now mattered, because the here and now meant Lainey. Lainey who never left his side. He felt at peace.

“Lainey?”

“Hmmm...?” She stirred lazily where they had been lying on a blanket under a tree on a rise not far from their house. He was staring intently at the sky. Then he sat up and looked at her.

“Lainey,” he said again as she sat up and rested her head against his shoulder. “Lainey, I...I have fallen in love with you. I love you. Very much. I - I’m asking you to marry me, Lainey,” he implored as he looked into her ever widening eyes. They were shining.

“Oh, Adam, I’ve run after you from the very beginning. I’ve never let you out of my sight since you bumped into me that night of the Festival of the Moons.”

“Never leave me out of your sight, Lainey. Never again,” he said passionately.

“Adam, you do want it, don’t you? Marriage?”

“More than anything else in the world. My life began with you. I can’t imagine my future without you.”

“Oh, I’d better say yes quickly, before you change your mind. Darling, it’s yes! Yes!” And she threw her arms around his neck with complete abandon.

“Now I can relax,” Adam sighed, pressing her to him again.

“Adam, darling, you proposed to me. Aren’t you going to kiss your future bride?”

He cupped her face, her lips quivered slightly, an expectant look in her eyes. He briefly brushed her brow with his lips. She closed her eyes, and he pressed his lips to her closed lids, before they came to rest on her mouth. She moaned softly as she felt desire flaming through her. She opened her mouth so he could probe inside, tasting her tongue, tracing her teeth, moving his lips against hers all the time. He kissed her long and passionately.

He broke off the kiss long enough to groan raggedly: “Lainey...I want you...” before he pressed her gently down on the blanket.

***

CHAPTER TWO

The commune of Danae total three thousand. They were made up mostly of refugees the government allowed to settle here. They were from all races, mostly humanoid, and a number of them human. Although Melvech possessed warp technology, they welcomed it when those seeking asylum and refugee status could inject their society with new ideas and inventions. Cowan Lutz acted as coordinator, and arranged for refugees to seek a new life on Melvech. He was one of the humans who visited Danae on a regular basis. He had never seen Lainey look so happy, especially after what happened to her while in the Maquis. On the day he arranged for a certain dignitary to perform the marriage ceremony, the friends they already made, were present.

In a tiny chapel the ritual was performed. One of their new friends brought in a large vase of white flowers, and placed it on the table where the two of them could see it clearly. Lainey wore a long, white dress. “This dress belonged to my mother,” Yelena, a young human told her, saying her parents were traditionalists. Tiny white flowers adorned Lainey’s deep brown hair.

Adam, tall, his blonde hair combed back, and his beard shaved off for the first time, could not stop looking at Lainey as she walked in on the arm of Cowan. They heard someone play a plaintive tune on a reed pipe. Adam wondered absently how someone, millions of light-years away in the Gamma Quadrant could know a tune called: O Perfect Love. And then he wondered how he could remember, on his wedding day, a tune that was a relic of his past life.

“You may kiss your wife, Adam.” the minister said, after Adam placed a simple ring on Lainey’s finger. Which he duly did, to the delight of the guests. “I love you, Lainey,” he whispered in her ear.

***

“I love you, Adam,” she whispered to him as he eased her down on the bed. He joined her, kissing her lips, then smiling as he heard her growl deeply in her throat. She bared her teeth as she brought his head closer and bit him on his cheek. Already he could feel the blood flowing, but it aroused him. “That’s Klingon for ‘I want you now’” she muttered as he buried his face in her neck, grazing her skin with his teeth. They made love all night. Discovering new parts of their bodies they could kiss and caress, biting, kissing, whispering endearments, their bodies on fire as the passion consumed them. Their lovemaking was fierce, then gentle and sweet, making them both cry. They slept, woke up and made love, then slept again, Lainey resting her head against his shoulder, his arm protectively around her, while he held her hand against his heart.

Adam thought he had never been happier, their blissful union only the beginning of their married life. Lainey helped build up their credits by doing engineering repairs to Danae’s power supply systems. Adam had looked up too many times at the skies watching shuttles and other craft, to sense he must have been flying in his previous life. That’s how he got work. Running freight between communes and cities on the planet, sometimes to the other planets in that star system.

He and Lainey were being seen as leaders in their communities. It was something strange to Adam, or perhaps not so strange. The ability to lead was probably something he had done in that life. Life was good to him and Lainey. They had their fights. Like when he would return home days later than he was supposed to after carrying cargo to other planets in their star system. Then she would throw things at him. Their wedding vase was one of the first items that became victim to Lainey's wrath. She would scratch and claw at him. He sometimes had to receive medical attention. But, he mused, it was such a part of her, he didn’t, or couldn’t imagine her being different. “It’s the Klingon part of me” she would always say. Anyway, making up afterwards was always so explosive.

He loved being married to Lainey. They could talk for hours on anything. He knew now that she had attended an Academy, called Starfleet Academy in the Alpha Quadrant.

“But I got kicked out in my second year. The Klingon half of me saw to that,” she said scornfully. “Then I joined the Maquis. You know the Maquis? I guess not. You have amnesia. I keep forgetting. I was recruited by a guy called Chakotay. But three months there, I didn’t like being on the run all the time.”

The last she said with a fiercely angry scowl. “That’s how Cowan came to help some of us. Brought us here, to Melvech.”

“Lainey, my life is here, with you. I don’t remember anything about my past, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I love you, and I’m happy here. With you, and this little one,” he said as he touched her stomach reverently.

“Here. I bought you something when I went to the city yesterday. It’s very cheap, really.” Lainey ducked her hand under her pillow and retrieved a small packet. Opening it, she removed a ring, more like a band, of shiny black ore mined here on the planet. “I didn’t give you a ring on our wedding day, but I reckon, it’s never too late,” she joked.

“For a cheap ring,” Adam said as he looked at her, "it has an intricate pattern on it. Come on, Lainey, how many credits did you spend on this?” There were tiny leaves on curling little shoots. The ring was about half a centimetre wide.

“Look on the inside, Adam,” she instructed, holding her breath.

Adam studied the inside, and saw an inscription:

“O Perfect Love - L.”

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, then said: “Here, Mrs Adam, you may put the ring on my finger.”

The ring as it turned out, was too small for his ring finger, so Lainey slipped it with great ceremony on the little finger of his left hand.

“There, what does it matter anyway,” she said. “Now come here, let me kiss you Adam, darling.”

*

The next few months flew by as Lainey’s pregnancy progressed. All their neighbours popped in to look in on the mother-to-be, and the equally excited father-to-be. The closest neighbour and friend was Yelena, who helped Lainey prepare for the birth of their child. Adam rather imperiously declared that the baby was going to a boy.

“Why, you’re such an arrogant pig, sometimes, Adam. But I love you.”

After which he would kiss her silly.

Cowan popped in one day, seeing how happy Lainey was and asked:

“Am I going to be the godfather of this baby?”

“Sure, ye of little faith. You didn’t believe I could be so happy, didn’t you? It’s now almost three years, you know.”

“A man is allowed a few mistakes, Lainey. Maybe this is one of them I made. You are happy. I can see that. Now where’s that husband of yours? I have a great proposition for him.”

“He should be here anytime now. Don’t take him away too soon, Cowan. I’m giving birth in four weeks time.”

“It will be after the birth, I’m sure,” he said.

**

Little John Adam was born three standard years to the day his father bumped into his mother on that fateful Festival of the Moons. He was born on the bed his parents conceived him.

“I’d feel better, with our friends around us, and the doctor,” she told Adam, when he wanted to take her to the tiny hospital of Danae. As always, when his wife issued her request with that doe-eyed look, her mouth pouting ever so slightly, who was he to refuse her?

He was sitting next to her on the bed, watching while she breastfed Johnny, who appeared completely absorbed in suckling on one rosy nipple. Adam could see the tiny throat muscles working as he sucked, the little hands kneading her breasts.

At only a week old, he already had a personality, according to his father, who declared: “he’ll probably be an engineer, the way he’s banging on your breasts.”

“He looks like you”, Adam said reflectively. “His hair is very dark, like yours. He has the Klingon ridges. Even his colouring. Except for the eyes. They are blue, like mine. I wonder...”

Adam got suddenly a vacant look, as if he were trying to think back, trying to relate his son’s eyes to something known to him. But it was, as usual, elusive. Lainey noticed and she touched his hand.

“It’s okay, Adam. Don’t beat yourself so.”

He was calmed by the comfort of her voice, the reassurance of her words. He collected himself quickly after that. Then in a more cheerful mood, he took something out of the bag he had been holding since he came into the room. “For Johnny,” he said, as he put down a soft toy he picked up in the market of Melvech City. She smiled. He was always bringing them something.

“And what about me?” she pouted. “We’ll very soon be three years married, you know.”

“Ah, yes. Something to remember our anniversary by.” He dipped into the bag again and brought out a string of beads. He held it to her, near her face, and said:

“It matched the colour of your eyes. That’s why I chose that one. It’s not much, Lainey, but it’s something.

“Thank you, Adam. Now kiss me and tell me how much you love me.”

**

“Have you got everything packed for your trip, sweetheart?” Lainey asked as Adam filled a bag with clothing. She dipped her fingers into the bag, searched around and asked: “What are you going to sleep in, Adam?”

“Why Lainey, you know I don’t wear anything when I sleep next to my wife. Okay, Okay, if you insist, I’ll pack the pyjamas. When is Yelena coming?”

“She’ll be here shortly. Oh, Adam! I’m going to miss you. You’ve never been away longer than three days. What shall I do without you?” she complained.

“Just think of me and all our kisses, Lainey. This is a wonderful opportunity for me. To pilot a ship to the Dekra Star System, to take Melvech’s First Prefect to their fourth planet for diplomatic talks! It’s an honour, Lainey. You know I like flying. Perhaps it could be the start of better opportunities. I want to be able to support you better than at the moment.” He kissed her lovingly. Her mouth, as always opened under his.

“Hey, get your kisses over and let me look after your family,” came Yelena’s voice from the door. “Don’t worry, Adam, they’ll be in safe hands the two weeks you’ll be away. Cowan will be popping in to see his godson. You know how crazy he is about the little squirt, right?” She picked Johnny up from the bed, and kissed his red cheeks.

Adam reluctantly let go of Lainey, then looked at Yelena.

“Please take good care of my little family, Yelena,” he said fervently. “They’re my world.”

“Will do. Now get lost.”

**

Adam was in a hurry to get home. The First Prefect of Melvech regaled him with old tales that got him decidedly bored. He wanted to be with his family. The Prefect had been safely delivered, in a manner of speaking, along with other dignitaries, for their interplanetary diplomatic talks. The ship, the Meldar, was orbiting the planet, safely under his second-in-command, while he brought a shuttle down.

Now he was drifting somewhat aimlessly along the streets, trying his hardest to understand the language of the people here. The three years on Melvech gave him the opportunity to get a whiff of their strange verbal communication, and like Cowan, now had a working knowledge of that language. But here, a thousand light years from what his considered his home, it has become impossible, frustrating him no end.

He purchased some gifts for Lainey and Johnny, and something for Yelena. But it was almost two weeks now. If he traveled at maximum warp, it would take him another two weeks to get home. The Prefect, however, has met some old colleagues. And Old was the operative word. They lived two hundred and fifty years.

He absently fingered the ring Lainey gave him, having become so used to wearing it on his little finger. He would twist it round and round. Strangely, the metal did not show any signs of wear and tear. It was as shiny as the day Lainey gave it to him. He smiled as he thought of the inscription she had engraved on the inside. He told her it was one thing he actually recognized, the tune of “O Perfect Love.” It had become sort of their favourite tune, Yelena’s brother Sergei having played it over and over for them whenever he visited them.

He felt a cool breeze, reminding him of the approaching late hour. So he headed in the direction of the shuttle launching pads of the city. It was a full five kilometres walk there. Did he wander so far away into the city? He was standing at the top of the steps of a sprawling plaza, gazing in the distance where he knew the launching pads were. Deciding to hurry, and being preoccupied with thoughts of his wife and son, Adam never felt or saw the shove from behind that pitched him head over heels down the steps of the plaza. By the time he reached the bottom, he was out cold and several curious bystanders were already milling around his unconscious form.

“Please, make way. We can be of help here,” a man and a woman, dressed in strange uniform, pushed their way through the crowd. Adam was starting to come to, groaning as he tried to sit up, and rubbing his forehead.

“Sir, we can help,” the man in uniform said.

Adam looked groggily at the people around him, then he looked down, at his clothes, his feet. He frowned deeply.

“My shoes. I’m wearing shoes. My boots, where are they?” He touched his shirt, the trousers, his shoes. He looked totally confused as he asked the man in uniform: “Why am I dressed like this?”

“What should you be wearing, sir?” the woman asked.

“My uniform, of course. I’m on active service.”

“Sir, can you tell us your name?”

“Of course. I am Commander Thomas Eugene Paris, of the United Federation of Planets. I am First Officer of the Federation Starship USS Endeavour.”

"The Endeavour?

"Yes." He looked around him, extremely confused until his eyes met with the uniformed man again, a man in Starfleet uniform. "Can you tell me what year this is?"

“Sir, the Endeavour lost its First Officer three years ago, on Stardate 474601 in this sector of the Gamma Quadrant. The year is 504311. I am Lieutenant Watlington of the Federation Starship Challenger. Welcome back, Commander Paris. We’ve been searching for you for three years.

**

CHAPTER THREE

Two months after Commander Tom Paris was picked up by the Challenger he arrived at Palings, the family home, to the news that his father, Admiral Owen McKenzie Paris, was dying.

“My son... thank God you have returned,” Owen Paris whispered weakly, the tenacious hold he had on his life, at last slipping. “I thought I would never see you again...Thomas.”

Tom thought how his father never shortened his name like his mother, sisters and colleagues did. And that had been to him, the status of his relationship with his father. Formality and correctness. Yet, now...

“Thomas...” His father’s eyes opened again. He reached out with his hand and Tom held his hand: “Forgive me... for everything...that went...wrong between us. I am...so...deeply sorry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive Dad... I love you. Always have.” This admission from him at last supplanting all his resentment he ever harboured at being in his father’s shadow, trying to live up to impossible expectations. It was to him a good feeling. He could see the relief it brought his father.

Owen Paris looked at him with impassioned eyes, trying to raise himself to get closer to Tom. Tom very gently pressed him back against the pillows, made him comfortable. But there was a pleading look in the older man’s eyes.

“Tom...promise me...look after ....your mother and sisters...”

“Shhh...you mustn't talk. Rest now, Dad.”

“Promise...”

“Dad, I promise...”

Owen Paris slipped into a coma after that. Tom sat by his bedside, holding the older man’s hand in his own. He sat like that for hours, pondering over his relationship with his father. How difficult it was for him to live up to the older man’s expectations and standards. How he had been drilled to eat, sleep and drink Starfleet. Owen’s often unforgiving nature that undermined his confidence. His constant battle to be accepted, even if he made mistakes. He always saw his father as invincible, impervious to attempts to reach into his heart, unbending, never given to outbursts of emotion. The older man hated that in any person. Yet now, Owen Paris was a frail old man, dying. And Tom thought how death can be a great leveler. It came to the proud and the humble, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak.

Tom felt the rush of tears as he looked at his father’s still form. In spite of everything, in spite of their sometimes hostile confrontations, in spite of living in his father’s shadow, he loved his father. He understood so many things now, those things that drove Owen Paris, things made him unapproachable to so many people. The burden of leadership, of command, of responsibilities often setting people in those positions apart from others. His father was like so many admirals before him, applying such rigid self-constraint that those under their command often thought of them as devoid of any feeling, emotion, compassion, empathy.

This lack of compassion and empathy was what he, Tom, experienced as a senior at the Academy, leading a squadron of cadets on maneuvers. A pilot error caused the death of two cadets. He was shattered, felt responsible and guilty. But Owen Paris was unsparing. He pointed out in no uncertain terms to Tom the need to insulate himself against just such pain of loss, that in Starfleet one accepted that those were the risks one should be prepared for when entering the Academy. It was what he called: the burden of command.

He had no doubt in his mind that all those lessons his father tried to drill into him from his fifth year when he flew a shuttle simulation, most of it he would surely confront and learn at one time or another. However much he rebelled against the oppressive way in which he was made to learn them, they would be applied in his future with Starfleet. When he made that promise to his father, Owen Paris might well have said:

“Son, you are the head of the family now. Lead them with responsibility, strength of character. Carry on the family name and tradition. More than anything, follow in my footsteps, and make Starfleet proud of having yet another Paris following in the tradition of great leadership.”

Already Tom knew that being blessed - or cursed - with the Paris name meant hee was the next in line to grace the halls of Starfleet Command as the next admiral. That was what it meant to be a member of the aristocracy of Starfleet. And he sighed, knowing that what had been a dream of his anyway, somehow diminished by the expectations of his father.

**

“Tom...Tom...” His mother’s voice, a tearful voice.

He lifted his head from where he had fallen asleep, his head resting against his father’s arm.

“Mother?”

“It’s over Tom... come... Your father has died.”

He looked at his father and saw the peace on Owen McKenzie Paris’ face. He felt the tears filling his eyes as he placed his hand on his father’s face and gently stroked the still warm cheek. He bent over and kissed Owen’s forehead. Then he got up, turned into his mother’s embrace, and cried.

It was only a few days after Owen’s death that Tom could speak to his family about his disappearance. He had already been debriefed by Starfleet Command, a grilling that took two full days. Since his original mission had been diplomatic and his own involvement of a somewhat covert nature, it was only natural that they sought to extract every drop of information they could from him. He told them as much as he could. Starfleet Command appeared satisfied with the debriefing. He was happy that his explanations were seen in a positive and acceptable light. But it was to his family that he expressed the more personal aspects of his disappearance.

In the surroundings of his family home, now his, according to his father’s last will and testament, he felt more amenable to talk.

“The shuttle carrying the Rendak ambassador was ambushed. We were shot down. I made a crash landing. It was the Ambassador the insurgents wanted. I was an unwelcome appendage,” he told his mother.

“Tom,” she asked, “were you tortured?”

“Yes... I was.” He frowned saying that. “On the fourth planet of the Dekra System. I was stripped of my uniform, all communication devices. I suppose it’s why I couldn’t be traced. Then...” he frowned again, trying to remember, “I was exchanged, for some of their political prisoners. I know I was taken somewhere else. When I tried to break free, I was beaten up.” He grimaced. The next thing I knew, was waking up at the bottom of a flight of steps, three years later... on the same planet.”

When he said that, he had that vacant look Elizabeth had seen in him during the last few days. He was agonizing over those three years, she realised. She saw him fingering a black ring on the little finger of his left hand. He didn't he was doing it, she reflected. Oh, Tom, if I am wondering over that gap in your life, how much more aren’t you affected by it*? Because already she could see Tom changing. He was not smiling anymore, even given his father’s death a week ago. His eyes were haunted. She cried silently, because her son had never been a very happy person, never at peace with himself, always struggling to come to terms with his relationship with his father who was the source of his childhood woes. Now, he was still not at peace, because she could see it in his eyes.

“It’s ironic,” Tom continued. “I lost my memory after being beaten and tortured, became an amnesiac for three whole years, yet when I regain my memory, those years are erased. It seems falling down those steps has reversed my amnesia. I have no recollection at all of those three years. None of it... I’ve lost three years of my life, Mother...” Tom tried not to, but she could sense how distraught he was.

“Tom...I’m sorry.”

“Those three years are a complete blank to me. I don’t know what I’ve done or where I’ve been.” He rubbed the ring on his little finger again. “I-I think they may have been important years. I’m not sure. I’ll probably never be sure.”

“Tom, you have a three month leave of absence. Use it. We’ll bring you up to date on all the family gossip. By the way, they’ve probably told you that one of the Federation Starships went missing in the Badlands. Voyager, under Kathryn Janeway’s command.”

“Yes...Captain Janeway was one of Dad’s star pupils. His protégé.” Tom did not elaborate further. He was already briefed about that at Starfleet Headquarters. He knew her mission was to track down Maquis, including its leader, one Chakotay. He found it strange when he was informed that Captain Janeway approached the rehab commission to barter for Nick Locarno’s release. He had joined the Maquis after he had been expelled from the Academy. A brilliant flyer, Tom knew of his reputation. He thought that every man deserved a shot at redemption, and that was probably Nick’s chance. Any more information on Voyager’s disappearance remained classified. In two more months the two year period will have elapsed, and Voyager declared officially missing and its crew dead. Knowing how he was received by his family, especially his mother and his father after they thought him dead, he had compassion for the families of the crew of Voyager. They must now go on with their lives without their loved ones.

Tom fingered the ring on his little finger. It was the only tangible evidence that he had lived somewhere in those three years, that he must have had a life of some sort. In the two months Challenger took to travel to the Alpha Quadrant, he racked his brain trying to find clues, anything, the remotest sign that he had lived somewhere, but he knew he would be nowhere near any answer.

Now, all he felt was an emptiness in his heart. A huge gaping hole where all feeling, passion, happiness, peace...used to be, or should have been. He felt it as a physical pain every time he looked at the ring. Perhaps his mother was right. He’ll use his leave of absence and go somewhere to rest, if he can find something so elusive.

***

One person other than his immediate family who was overjoyed to see him, was his cousin, Catherine. At only eighteen she was blossoming into a very beautiful young woman. Tom felt decidedly sorry for the poor devil who would be so unfortunate as to fall under Kitty’s spell.

She met with him in Marseilles, his favourite hiding place. He’d always return there, to Sandrine’s. Somehow, he seemed to find acceptance there. Sandrine made no demands on him, and was a good listener when he used to whine about his father to her. With Sandrine, you didn't’ take offence if she called everyone mon cherie, and she kept a healthy dose of banned Romulan ale for him. That’s when he wanted to drown his sorrow, especially after what happened at Caldik Prime. He regretted it still, was deeply remorseful at the unfortunate deaths of three officers. It had been a genuine accident, and at the inquest and inquiry he was exonerated of all blame. Although, if you were the son of Owen Paris, you were made to remember it as a failure, an error of judgment, a blot on your spotless Starfleet record. Starfleet understood, his father didn’t. He felt bitter about that. But his father was dead now and had no way of defending himself.

He was sitting nursing his Chardonnay, straight from the Picard Estates, Sandrine assured him, when his reverie was broken by a soft touch on his shoulder.

“Now what would my favourite cousin - three times removed - be dreaming about,, I wonder?”

“God, Catherine the Great. You may be my cousin three times removed, but you’re still the most beautiful Paris in the family. And that includes - don’t tell them - my sisters. How are you?”

“I’m fine as always. Tom, you look great. A little more mature since I last saw you.”

“Kitty, you saw me last when you were fifteen. Mature, huh.”

“And handsome as hell. I don’t mind saying so myself.

“Thank you,” he said mockingly. “So, tell me what your latest boyfriend is up to? I seem to recall you never being short on boyfriends.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I dumped him. Actually,” Kitty sounded uncharacteristically serious, “I’m waiting for you. I want to marry you, Tom.”

“God, Kitty, you certainly don’t mince words, do you?”

“You look very lonely to me.” Tom raised his eyebrow at her words, and she continued: “When people are lonely, they are rather apt to marry the first woman who comes along. And that won’t do, cousin of mine.”

“Fine. I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Don’t do anything rash in the meantime,” she said threateningly. “Tom, I don’t mind saying, I was in love with you since I was thirteen. I love you still. I’ve said it and I mean it.” She pouted. “Aren’t you going to say something?” She looked at him with wide innocent eyes. Tom thought Catherine really was beautiful.

“Go to university, like your parents want you to.” He leaned closer to her. “You have some more growing up to do, Catherine the Great.”

“Watch it, Thomas Eugene Paris. I’ll be back.” The last words were said with a menace.

Tom actually enjoyed Catherine’s candour, her humour. She made him laugh a little, for the first time since his return. He held up his glass and the ring caught his eye. Slowly he lowered his glass, and stared down at the table surface. What was I doing on Dekra Four? he mused with some anguish.

**

A year later Tom was summoned by Starfleet Headquarters for a Review Board meeting. He was on short fifteen day leave, serving as First Officer on the USS Ohio. He felt slightly apprehensive, as his service record for the past year would be reviewed.

“The past year,” old Admiral Grodenchek said, “you have distinguished yourself as first officer on board the Ohio.” The Admiral looked at him. “You have received several commendations, and that after only one year following your return. Captain Wentworth assures us that you are ready to take command of your own vessel.”

Admiral Cree, who had been listening patiently while Grodenchek spoke, added his view:

“You are still young, Mr Paris, but you have acquitted yourself in your work with the highest degree of maturity and vision, strength and leadership, compassion and responsibility.”

“Congratulations, Captain Thomas Eugene Paris, commander of the Federation Starship Excelsior.”

Tom rose to his feet slowly, and stood erect. This is for you, Dad. I know you would have been proud of me. He fingered the little ring again, almost subconsciously, as it had become a habit in the last year.

He made his leave, and decided to spend the first week at Palings with his mother. Then he would make preparations to take command of his new ship.

***

CHAPTER FOUR

FIVE YEARS LATER

Kitty was right, Captain Tom Paris thought as he made his way to Starfleet Headquarters. I really am lonely, although not “apt to take the first woman who comes along” as she had feared. He knew his celibate existence was a topic of discussion among his crew. They thought he didn’t notice how their conversation suddenly stopped or changed to a next topic when he joined them in the mess hall to “bond” with the crew as his ship’s counsellor jokingly told him. He didn’t care much for their idle speculation, his own aloofness, he admitted ruefully, often discouraging any attempts to coax him into more intimate associations with some female crew members. Since his return six years ago, he had little inclination to involve himself with any woman, not even on the most temporary basis. If he had been into casual flings in his youth and his Academy years, he certainly had no proclivity now for bed-hopping. If truth be told, the thought nauseated him. So his ready room became his sanctuary by day, and his quarters by night and all the time, in unguarded moments, he wondered about his lost years, fingering the band on his little finger. It was another habit not going unnoticed by his crew.

During the past five years so many things happened. The most stupendous thing was that Voyager returned two years ago to the Alpha Quadrant, six years after it went missing in the Badlands.

Tom had been at the reception of the Voyager senior officers at the Zephram Cochrane Banquet Hall. Being a Paris, and a Captain at that, made him a priority on the guest lists of many receptions held by Starfleet.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance again, Captain Janeway. My father always spoke very highly of you, ” he had said to the woman who looked rather small yet leaving no doubt as to her power. She smiled and one eyebrow lifted.

“And I am honoured to meet you, Captain Tom Paris. Somehow I still picture that boy who entered the Academy at fifteen. You were quite a prodigy, Tom,” she enthused. She had turned to the quiet man who stood next to her. A tall, imposing figure, yet he looked grave. Kathryn Janeway touched his arm. “Chakotay, this is Thomas Eugene Paris. I believe he commands the Excelsior. Tom, I’d like you to meet my First Officer.”

Chakotay's face broke into a smile, and suddenly the grave look was replaced by one of gentle teasing as he looked at Kathryn Janeway. Tom sensed instantly the communication between them, not much touching, but the quiet pride in their eyes, love...

“Er...aren’t you forgetting something else, Kathryn” Chakotay said as he shook Tom’s hand.

“Oh yes. Chakotay is my husband,” she said proudly, looking patently happy. Tom could see how close they were, watching how they touched when they thought no one looked, their eyes speaking messages and promises. He, like most other officers and admirals knew that her mission was to bring Chakotay back as a prisoner. Now it seemed, in a poetic kind of way, that Chakotay had imprisoned the good Captain’s heart. Also, the nature of their journey home meant that the two crews work together. It was the very success of this bonding that impressed Starfleet. Now, Captain and First Officer were married. They were in love and any fool with eyes to see could not miss the spiritual bonding between those two. He wished that he had that. But not even Kitty with her vivacity and ebullience could fill that aching hole he had in his heart. Too often during the past five years whenever he met with her, he would get those teasing wisps of memory, flashes so fleeting that they could very well not have been there, that would throw him right back to that lingering melancholia.

That was two years ago. Somehow thinking of Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway, now Admiral Janeway, made him realise how lonely and detached he’d become. He avoided receptions as much as he could, and when he did, he made sure Kitty accompany him. She was sparkling, and had an enthusiasm for life. No, she was certainly not jaded, and tried as much as she could to draw him out. He reckoned he was getting decidedly old for that sort of thing.

The old ache never left him, and leaving the only tangible reminder of those lost years on his finger, was merely a form of self-punishment. Even leaving it off, did nothing to exorcise the pain that was what he had come to call his random years. Years of which he could give no account. Thrown into his life without purpose. Haphazard. Random. The inscription on the ring burned on his brain. Who is or was L?

He had seen Kitty on and off the past five years, her studies were completed, and with at least two broken engagements behind her. Perhaps he should keep Kitty in mind after all, he thought idly as he stepped into the office of Admiral Janeway.

“Tom!” Kathryn exclaimed, as he stood at her desk. “Sit down. I see you’ve been distinguishing yourself once again,” she said, referring to his latest diplomatic mission to the now accessible Delta Quadrant.

“Admiral, it becomes more difficult. Do you know how many First Officers I’ve had in the last five years? One in each year. It seems the perfect mate eludes me. First Mate, I mean,” he amended quickly as he saw Kathryn Janeway smile at his last words. “Not like you’ve had, I daresay. Look at the great partnerships: Picard-Riker, Kirk-Spock... Janeway-Chakotay”, he added with a little smirk. “Now," he said with a doleful expression, "I’m about to lose my latest XO. To marriage. She leaves in four weeks, to accompany her husband to Bajor.”

“It’s what I’ve called you for, Tom. To review the applications for a First Officer’s commission on the Excelsior.”

He was sitting opposite her, so she turned the computer that both of them could view the service record of the applicant.

“Lieutenant-Commander B’Elanna Torres. She’s serving currently on your old ship, the OHIO. Excellent science officer. Reminds me a little of me, when I was a science officer on your father’s ship. Somewhat young, for an XO commission, but then, so were you and I...” Janeway rambled on when she suddenly looked at Tom.

He had that vacant look in his startling blue eyes, and she thought he must be the unhappiest man she had ever come across.

“Tom...”

“Oh...er, I’m sorry, Admiral. I was drifting,” he said softly as he looked at the face on the screen. He saw the Klingon ridges, the dark brown hair and eyes, the full red lips. He shook his head slightly, experiencing one of those elusive wisps of memory he got occasionally the lasts years.

“Then I’ll continue. Half Klingon half human. Her mother was Klingon. Left the Academy in her second year; returned four years later to complete her training. Cadet First Class, graduated top of her class with honours; rose quickly through the ranks to be serving presently as Ohio's science officer. She has been to command school, and comes with an excellent recommendation from Captain Watlington. What do you think?”

“Admiral - “

“Kathryn. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me, Tom.”

“Well then, Kathryn, inform Commander Torres she has the commission. Let her know she must report for duty at Deep Space Nine. Right now, I have a date with Kitty.”

“Kitty?”

“Catherine the Great. My bubbly cousin - three times removed - she always tells me. I’ll take my leave then...Kathryn.”

Kathryn Janeway looked at the retreating figure of Tom Paris. She had gotten to know him well over the last two years and was aware of stories that filtered through to her of his aloofness. She knew that he had gone missing in action nine years ago, and returned to the Alpha Quadrant only three years later. He lost his memory, had no recollection of those missing years. She smiled grimly, thinking how alike Voyager’s predicament was to his. Yet, there was a difference. Every single member of the Voyager crew had a record of their experiences while they were in the Delta Quadrant and making their way home. They could relate those tales to friends and family, so that there was a connection between lost and found, in a manner of speaking. Tom, unfortunately, could make no connection between what he had lost, and his life after that. It had to be very difficult if you were somewhere for three years, with no memory of it, she thought. It was possible that one could have been in prison, or engaged in criminal activities, or just bummed around for three years. Or, had a life. A rich and fulfilling one. Somehow she felt that Tom could not have been thieving, or done the kind of thing that would make one generally happy enough to want to forget.

She had the distinct impression that he wanted to remember. That being so, he had to have experienced some happiness and inner peace, the two things Tom Paris appeared to be yearning for. He had that permanent look of melancholy about him. Knowing how happy and blissful her union was with her husband Chakotay, she knew if she had loss of memory, that in her subconscious she would know that once she had been happy. Therefore, Kathryn Janeway concluded, somewhere in Tom’s random years there must have been a woman with whom he experienced bliss.

She could see the constant restlessness in Tom. It was very easy to perceive in a person a sense of inner peace, and that was lacking in this brilliant officer who had all the makings of an admiral. Tom never smiled, always looking austere, pensive, and always touched the band on his little finger, unaware that others noticed. She sighed, and looked at the grave face of the Klingon woman on the screen. B'Elanna Torres. Half Klingon, half human. Tom had been visibly distracted when he looked at her image on the screen, as if an inner bell jotted his memory.

Someday, Kathryn thought, a woman was going to break through Tom’s reserve.

***

She stared at the blank screen that a few seconds ago showed the face of Admiral Janeway. For several moments her eyes were closed, then slowly, the tears seeped through. Her fingers rested on the console, and there was a slight trembling of her lips, as though she were in prayer.

“B’Elanna.”

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, the fingers giving her a reassuring squeeze. Her hand came up to cover his, and Cowan felt how the tears trickled warmly on his hand. He pulled her up gently, and held her shoulders. He spoke:

“You’re almost there, B’Elanna. You’re almost there.”

The tears spilled down her face, and he embraced her comfortingly. Cowan held B’Elanna Torres while she cried, without a sound coming from her. He felt his own eyes stinging with tears. This woman humbled him. He had seen her cry so many tears over the last six years, he thought she didn’t have any more to shed. B’Elanna showed him the power and depth of her love for Thomas Eugene Paris. She never gave up searching for him, her indefatigable spirit, her doggedness to get closer and closer to her husband inspiring in him such awe, he couldn’t but admire her will, her courage, her fighting spirit.

After Adam went missing, even greater tragedy befell her. He, Yelena and Sergei cried with her all the time she cried, at the death of her son two months after Adam’s disappearance. Johnny succumbed to the same virus that B’Elanna nursed Adam back to health to. She had become almost insane with grief. B'Elanna and Yelena went down with the virus too, but whereas Yelena recovered after a few days, it took months for B’Elanna to regain her strength.

She became driven after that, determined to search for her husband. It was at Dekra Four that they got the first tangible evidence that he was alive. Cowan had known that Adam not returning to her, could only have meant that he had regained his memory, but that at the same time the amnesia was reversed. He was not Adam she had known, but Thomas Eugene Paris, a product of Starfleet. B’Elanna had known then what course her search for Adam - or Tom - >would take from that point on.

Cowan held her away from him again and looked into her eyes. For the first time in six years her smile reached her eyes, although they were swimming with tears.

“He-he seems pleased with my service record,” she said. “Oh Cowan, what would I have done without my friends? Without you? Without your constant encouragement?”

“Sweet B’Elanna, if there is any person in the entire universe who deserves a chance at happiness, it’s you. But B’Elanna, it will still be an uphill battle. Half of the battle you’ve already won. You’ll be at his side from now on as his First Officer. You’ve been so patient up to now. He’ll fall in love with you all over again, you’ll see. I’m happy for you, my sweet. Now let me get out of here. I want to tell Yelena the good news. You have preparations to make to join the crew of the USS Excelsior.”

***

B’Elanna Torres walked through the portals of Deep Space Nine and was greeted by Odo, who promptly informed her that Captain Paris was awaiting her arrival on board the Excelsior. She thanked him and smiled tersely before she made her way to the ship.

Over the past three weeks she was constantly racked by feelings of doubt, wondering whether he would recognise her. She knew she should not expect miracles, but her heart was thudding wildly at the thought that his memory would return when he saw her face. Yet even as she approached the ramp of the Excelsior, she remembered her last conversation with Cowan.

“B’Elanna,” he started, “I don’t think at this stage you should tell Tom the truth. He’ll not believe you, because if you told him, he might wonder for instance why he does not have those feelings for you. The best option you have know, is to become friends with him, let his feelings grow again.”

“And if he doesn’t? Fall in love with me? What then?”

“You have come so far these six years, B’Elanna. Don’t give up.”

“I need him, Cowan. So much. It’s a constant ache in my heart.”

“B’Elanna, just being near him will do you a lot of good. Let it develop from there, my dear," Cowan admonished kindly.” He got up from where he was sitting, took both her hands in his, kissed her forehead and said: “There is no doubt in my mind you’ll come through this, however long it takes. Now come on, let me see that smile again. The one that makes your eyes light up.”

“Oh, Cowan, if it weren’t for you and Yelena, I don’t know what I would have done.” Her eyes started welling again.

“Hey, don’t thank me yet. And Yelena and I love you, B’Elanna. She’s the best friend you could have had in the first months, with her no nonsense attitudes. It’s why I married her.”

“I’m glad you’re married, Cowan. Yelena is a very lucky woman.”

“I am a very, very lucky man - to be surrounded by two of the most courageous women I know.”

***

Lieutenant-Commander Salinger, the Chief of Security of Excelsior informed Captain Paris that the First Officer had arrived and would report to him at 1600. He met her at the ramps and escorted her from there to her quarters. He appeared impressed by her. The senior officers knew that she made a meteoric rise in the ranks, but word had it that she was every inch as competent as the most experienced XO’s they had had in the past five years. Not for him the job. Not that he didn't like being in command, but the post of First Officer of the Excelsior was a demanding one, and one that required nerves of steel when working closely with Captain Paris. Commander Torres struck him immediately as one equipped with the credentials of handling their Captain.

She was young, granted, and Salinger hoped that the Excelsior’s new and very attractive first officer could soften the heart of their Captain. They all had a very high regard for him, but he was, for the most part, taciturn and lonely, and though Salinger was certain it was not intentional, the Captain was sometimes too aloof, not encouraging much of fraternising with the crew. All of them wondered whether he suffered from a broken heart. More than enough female members of the crew, very attractive ones at that, tried to pierce the Captain’s reserve, hoping that he’d favor them with his attention. One look in his eyes that never smiled, was enough to unsettle them. They all agreed that he was the handsomest of all the captains they served under, but what a waste, they decided.

At her door, Lieutenant-Commander Salinger repeated his earlier address:

“May I say again: Welcome on board the Excelsior, Commander.” After which he left to proceed towards the bridge.

B’Elanna looked around her quarters and was pleased with what she saw. Someone put a vase of flowers on her desk. Probably the ship’s counsellor, came her thought. In an hour she would be meeting the Captain, and she felt again the apprehension gnawing at her. Deciding to put on a fresh uniform, she showered quickly. Oh, great Kahless, she prayed silently, let me come through this, let me cross this new hurdle.

Standing in front of her mirror, in her command red uniform, sporting three pips on her collar, she gave a sigh of satisfaction. Then she left her quarters and walked towards the turbolift. She entered the bridge and greeted those officers at their stations. She stood at the Captain’s ready room door and pressed the chime.

Captain Tom Paris was studying some PADDS, and looking from time to time at the screen of his computer. He was preoccupied, and rather absentmindedly called “enter”. He didn’t look up when the doors closed behind the First Officer.

B’Elanna Torres looked at the man she married nine years ago, and felt her heart break again in a thousand pieces. He was graying at the temples, he had deep grooves running from his nostrils to his mouth. His mouth was drawn in a thin line. He is unhappy, she realised with a pang. He is as unhappy as I am.

She cleared her throat to warn him of her presence. He looked up at last, and saw her.

She stood on attention, arms stiffly at her sides and said: “Commander B’Elanna Torres reporting for duty...sir.”

***

CHAPTER FIVE

“Mind if I join you Commander?” It was Excelsior’s Chief Engineer, Lieutenant-Commander Li Park, who stood where she had been sitting in the mess hall having breakfast.

“Sure,” B’Elanna said. Li was one of the first friends she made soon after joining the Excelsior six months ago. “Have a seat.”

“Commander,” Li ventured, looking a little embarrassed. “I was wondering if you could help us.”

“Us? Where’s the rest of us?” she said with a smile. She knew what was coming. They always approached her first if they wanted to have the Captain join them for some holodeck adventures. He would invariably be very busy, or he would come along and leave a few minutes later, always claiming work. It was she who came to represent the crew, and she sighed. They were so careful around him. He was sometimes so distant, so unapproachable.

“You know, Commander. So far you’re the only one who can talk to him and not dig your toe into the floor with fear.”

“I’m the first officer. It’s part of my job sometimes to disagree with him. It does get better after a while. You should try it.”

“Commander, if you don’t mind my saying so, even our previous first officers were careful.”

“Li, he’s only a man, for goodness sake. I really think whatever it is this time, you should approach him yourself.”

Li smiled. “We’re organizing a play on the holodeck. It’s a Greek tragedy, Periander of Corinth. Commander, please... can’t you see the begging look in my eyes?” Li, being her friend, batted his eyelids in an exaggerated manner. He admired B’Elanna, and knew she could stand her man against their sometimes surly Captain.

“Okay, Okay...fine. I’ll talk to him. You want him to be in it, I suppose? As this...Periander. Greek, huh.”

“How ever did you know?” he said theatrically.

“I’ll speak with him, Li. But this is the last time. I’m warning you. He’s beginning to suspect something.”

They continued the rest of their breakfast, chattering animatedly. She was only going on duty in a few hours, and thought she might go and fight some holographic Klingon in holodeck two. A galaxy class starship, Excelsior had several holodecks, carried passengers and families of the crew. She got up, and proceeded to the Captain’s ready room.

At their initial meeting when she reported for duty, she had felt the disappointment so acutely because he didn’t recognize her as she hoped. But, her rigorous Starfleet training came to the rescue. She sure as hell didn’t appear disappointed when she faced him. He looked at her only with mild interest, more concerned about discussing work. With hindsight she was glad, because she did become friends with him, something she didn’t appreciate when Cowan spoke to her in that vein. This way she could learn more about her husband as a prodigy of Starfleet, his aristocratic bearing, his family name. She hoped the friendship could develop into something more substantial, but once again, Tom seemed impervious to romantic notions.

The ready room door closed behind her, and she had to clear her throat to get his attention.

“Oh...it’s you, Commander. Sit down.” He looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. “What is it the crew wants this time?”

“Ah, you know we can’t fool you, Captain.” She handed him the PADD. He looked at it, read some lines, read some more lines, then he looked at her.

“Periander of Corinth. They want me to play Periander, ruler of the ancient Greek city state of Corinth?” She nodded. “And you won’t stop pestering me until I agree?” She nodded again.

“Fine. Providing you play Melissa, his wife.” She looked startled, then nodded vigorously “no!”

“Oh, yes, I’ll agree to this, if you’ll agree to play Melissa.”

“That’s not fair, Captain. You’re wanting to blame the messenger for the message.”

“Oh yes. All’s fair. I'll have the messenger if she had been in cahoots with the originators of the message.”

He looked at the PADD again, then said reflectively as a point of interest.

“The famous Chest of Cypselus features strongly in the play, I see. Melissa, wife of Periander, loses her baby falling over this chest. Then she becomes seriously ill herself and pines to death, and it’s Periander’s fault.”

His eyes were on the PADD and he didn’t see how quiet B’Elanna became, or deathly pale. That was when he looked at her and saw her acute distress. She appeared to be hyperventilating. She rose quickly, her eyes dark with pain.

“Permission to be excused, Captain,” she whispered. He nodded and B’Elanna made a hasty retreat.

***

Tom cursed the moment B’Elanna left the ready room. Her distress was clear, and he wondered what it was in their conversation that sparked her panic. She looked trapped. She was by far the best First Officer he had in the last five years. They thought alike, or rather, she could anticipate his decisions, and when she sought to differ from him, let him know. They were a very good command team. He felt vindicated in his decision to have her on board, after Kathryn made him view the other applications. He had taken one look and some inner instinct he couldn’t even now rationalise, told him she was the one. There was something about this woman, half Klingon, half human, who was so enigmatic. What he knew about her, was what he learnt from her service record. They would be on the bridge in two hours, and before that she’d no doubt regain her composure. Yet...

“Computer, locate Commander Torres.”

“Commander Torres is on holodeck two,” came the impersonal voice of the computer.

No doubt she has engaged the privacy lock, he thought to himself as he made his way to holodeck two. He could easily override the code. Which he did.

They were in a darkly lit cave. She was fiercely fighting her Klingon foe. He gasped when he saw the look in her eyes. The Klingon was only a hologram, but she had a murderous intent in her eyes as she swung her bat-leth with great force. He looked at the computer panel near the door of the holodeck, and saw she had taken the safety protocols off. Immediately he switched it on again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shouted as he froze the program. He could see the fire blazing in her eyes as she advanced on him.

“Prevent you from killing yourself, Commander. You are aware of the rules.”

He reached her, removed the bat-leth, and said:

“There’s a gap of four years in your Academy training, B’Elanna. What happened?” He took her by the shoulders and let her sit down on a rock. “Something happened, B’Elanna. Your distress in the ready room was too real for it not to have some origin somewhere.”

She barely had time to absorb the fact that he addressed her by her name, when he pressed on.

“Did you have a relationship?”

She nodded. There was no point in denying it, and no point in trying to stall him.. In that he was dogged. He was not going to leave her alone.

“And you had a child?”

She nodded again, tears slowly beginning to form in her unhappy brown eyes.

“What happened to the child, B’Elanna?” His voice was soft, full of compassion. She remained quiet for so long, he eventually repeated his question. She looked away from him, before she answered.

“He - he died,” she whispered. “He was a baby still.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. The baby’s father. What happened to him?”

“My...my husband...” and here B’Elanna struggled, looked into the eyes of her husband and said: “...died.” She wiped the tears from her face in an angry swipe with the back of her hand.

“Periander of Corinth. Of course. How stupid of me. I can be such an oaf. It was tactless of me, B’Elanna. Forgive me. It was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

***

That was how B'Elanna's commanding officer learnt that she had been married, had a child and that her husband and child both died, although he had no idea that the baby she was talking about, was his child, and that the husband she referred to, was him.

Ironically, the circumstances under which he came to learn of her past life, the skimpy details she gave of it, somehow cemented their good working relationship. The crew was happy, and showed their appreciation. She did not have to play Melissa after all, but rejoiced in the role of Sappho, the wanton poetess, who lured the hapless Periander to his eventual doom. Strangely enough, there were parallels. Periander’s dilemma was how to reconcile being a ruler of a city state, and at the same time be a cultural person, a poet, a man. She sensed often in Tom the same struggle, the leader’s dilemma. The officer and the man.

****

“So, what are you going to do in the next month, Commander?” Captain Paris asked as they

stepped from the shuttle at Starfleet Headquarters.

“I’m seeing two friends of mine. A married couple who like to travel. But I’m spending the next week right here, at my apartment. What about you, Captain?”

“I’ve been summoned home to Palings. My mother swears she doesn’t know what I look like anymore. But I’m seeing Catherine first.”

“Admiral Janeway?”

“No. Catherine with a C. The soft Catherine as she calls it. I call her Catherine the Great. She’s my cousin, three times removed, as she always reminds me. Kitty is really fun, great company.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you when we leave in a month’s time, Captain. Goodbye,” she said as she held out her hand, and they parted ways.

***

B’Elanna entered her apartment to hear the voices of the only persons who have her access codes. Stepping into the small foyer, she heard the patter of small feet.

“Aunty, Aunty!” the little girl, barely three years old, screeched, then barreled into her. B'Elanna picked her up and kissed her on the cheeks.

“Lainey! How’s my favourite godchild?”

“She’s your only godchild, B’Elanna,” she heard Yelena say, as she put Lainey down and hugged Yelena. “Welcome back from the stars. How are you?”

Taking the little girl’s hand, they walked into the lounge where Cowan was waiting to greet her.

“I’ve been back a few days. I’ll be reporting for duty in three week’s time, Cowan,” she answered to his question. She threw herself back lazily against her couch and closed her eyes.

“Well, I can see someone’s in a better mood than I’ve seen her in years. How’s our favourite Captain?”

B’Elanna sighed. “Not much more improved since you last heard of him through me. But I daresay he’ll improve upon closer acquaintance.” The last was said with a theatrical air.

Cowan laughed at her last words. “My sweet, you sound positively Austenish. Have you been reading Pride and Prejudice again?”

“Only about three times since I last read Women Warriors at the River of Blood.”

Yelena returned from the small kitchen with a tray. “Here, have a bite. Don’t believe much in replicators,” she said as she offered B’Elanna a slice of quiche. “But I did replicate the wine. Vintage Chardonnay. A certain Captain’s favourite, I am led to believe.”

Their banter continued through the afternoon, with little Lainey soon falling asleep in B’Elanna’s arms. They heard the beep of an incoming message on her computer. “Excuse me,” she said as she handed Lainey to her mother and went to her tiny alcove. Switching on, she saw Tom Paris’ face smiling rather broadly at her.

“Hi, Commander,” he said as she sat down. “Are you ready for this?”

She frowned. He appeared uncommonly in good spirits.

“Sure, Captain. What is it? Are we leaving sooner for Bajor? You look happy."

“No. But, I wanted you to have the good news first. You’ve become sort of my confidant, and I thought I’d like you to know.”

B’Elanna frowned again, a little puzzled and somewhat apprehensive about what he was going to say.

“B’Elanna, you’ll be the first to congratulate me. My cousin Kitty has agreed to marry me in two weeks time. I was getting too lonely according to her. B'Elanna?”

“Yes...yes...I heard you Captain. Con...gratulations.”

Then the screen went blank.

Cowan and Yelena both stood up as she appeared in the lounge again, her face devoid of any colour, and looking as though she would faint. Yelena reached her first. “B’Elanna honey, what’s the matter?” she asked as she put her arms round the distraught woman. Then B’Elanna burst into tears.

***

CHAPTER SIX

“How is she?” Cowan asked his wife as she stepped from B’Elanna’s bedroom. Yelena just shook her head, her eyes swimming with tears.

“I’ve tucked her in. She’s been sedated. She’s a little calmer now, Cowan, but don’t expect too much. You go sit with her, I’ll tidy up here,” she whispered as she looked at the lounge which now looked as if a tornado had been through it. B’Elanna had become demented for a few minutes and destroyed almost everything that could break. Yelena had rushed Lainey into the spare bedroom, where the little one had been frightened by the way her favourite Aunt broke everything. She stayed in the room comforting the child while Cowan tried to calm B’Elanna.

Yelena was deeply distressed, and disappointed for B’Elanna. The young woman been through so much, had come so far and established a good working relationship with Tom Paris. Moreover, she had establishing an important friendship with her husband. After everything she had gone through to be near Tom after so many years, she was emotionally destroyed. Yelena felt anew her eyes stinging with tears, and wondered with anguish what would happen now. B'Elanna's plans had been crushed in a single sentence from Tom Paris: he was marrying another woman. She sighed. She hoped Cowan would be more successful. He was the one who rescued B'Elanna from the Maquis cell and brought her to Melvech where she found herself again. B'Elanna would listen to him, accept his good counsel.

Yelena bent down to pick up the broken frame of a photograph of Tom when he had still been Adam. I fix this, she thought as she began tidying the rest of the room.

**

Cowan entered her bedroom and went to sit in the chair Yelena had drawn up earlier. He sighed.

“B’Elanna.”

Her face had been turned away from him, and when she looked at him, his heart almost broke at the deep despair he saw in her eyes. He took her hands reassuringly in his.

“I’m sorry, Cowan,” she said weakly. “I’ve been too much trouble already.” Her eyes held a pleading look. “Cowan," she started, her voice filled with pain, "he has to know.”

“B’Elanna, don’t torture yourself so.”

“Cowan, let me tell him...please.”

“That you’re his wife?”

“Yes...” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again.

He sighed. “It’s a risk, B’Elanna. I hope you won’t do it.”

She tried to raise herself on her elbow, but fell back again.

“But - but what do I risk? Now?” she asked plaintively.

“What do you want of him, B’Elanna, if you told him? His name, his protection?”

Her eyes filled with tears again. “I want him as he was,” she said on a sob. “I want his love, Cowan.” She cried quietly again, tears running unhindered down her cheeks.

“B’Elanna - almost a year ago now, you stepped into Captain Paris’ ready room, yet the sight of you did nothing to restore his memory. What can words do?” He brushed the tears from her face, and held her hands again. “I told you I was very certain he hadn’t deserted you knowingly, B’Elanna. What was it I said to you on Danae? Do you remember?”

“A door to his mind had opened, but another had closed.”

“Yes. I also warned you that he may not recognise you.”

“Cowan, what you did was give me hope.”

“Sweetheart, there’s always that hope. But the impetus must come from within. It can’t be forced on him from outside. You can tell him the truth, B’Elanna and claim your legal rights. But what do you think his attitude will be when a woman, a stranger walks up to him and claims to be his wife?”

She was pensive before she answered him. When she spoke again, it was so softly, he wasn’t certain he heard her.

“He’d resent me. He’d accept me; he’d pity me... but he’d resent me.”

“We all of us sometimes need miracles in our lives. I can only offer you that faint hope that someday a miracle will happen - that he’ll come back to you. With all his emotions for you as warm and intact as the day he left you.”

“Oh Cowan, it’s a hope. But it’s not much help, is it?” She started sobbing again quietly before she spoke, her hand clutched to her breast: “I’m real, these tears are real, my jealousy is real and my need for him is real.”

Cowan held her in his embrace then, and stayed with B’Elanna until all her tears were spent and she fell into a disquieting slumber.

**

Catherine Regine Paris was on her way to the chapel at Starfleet Headquarters where they would rehearse for her wedding the following day. Catherine the Great, as Tom always called her. Or Queen Catherine. He used to tell her that her middle name was Latin for queen. And tomorrow she would be Tom’s queen. Her heart gave a lurch of excitement as she thought of that prospect.

She had loved Tom since she was a spindly teenager, who used to go all dreamy eyed whenever he returned from a shuttle mission. He used to fly in those days. She had never after that been interested in more permanent liaisons with other men, her two broken engagements bearing testimony to that. Only last week, when he finally proposed to her, she told him:

“It’s not fair, Tom.” She looked at him, uncommonly serious.

“What’s not fair, squirt?”

“There’s only ever been you for me. You’ve spoiled me for other men, you know.”

Tom had looked at her, his blue eyes intently on her when he said his next words:

“Catherine, I have been lonely. It’s time I made my decision. I have been thinking about it. Marry me.”

Her joy after that knew no bounds. They made plans. She wanted the full trip. White wedding dress, long veil, orange blossoms, rehearsals. He said: “Fine, you go ahead, sweetheart,” then smiled indulgently at her. She wanted Tom’s first officer, B’Elanna Torres, to be her matron of honour, but B’Elanna declined. She wasn’t sure why, as she thought she and B’Elanna knew each other well enough, and she wanted to make Tom happy, by having his closest friend as part of the wedding. Strange thing. Tom had never had many friendships as long as she had known him, yet, with his First Officer there had sprung up an instant connection between him and B'Elanna. At times she felt just a twinge of jealousy. He spoke of her so often and how well they were suited as Captain and First Officer. Once he had jokingly told her about Starfleet's great partnerships: Kirk and Spock, Pickard and Riker, Janeway and Chakotay. "And how does Paris and Torres sound to you?" he asked her just the other day.

Catherine thought about Tom and their own relationship the last almost seven years. He returned from the dead, so to speak, a desperately lonely and confused man. A man who couldn’t let go of his lost years. She sighed. It was the only obstacle she foresaw in her marriage with Tom: that he would from time to time have that melancholy look in his eyes. In the past she tried to be as bubbly and open as she could to blow away Tom’s cobwebs. She thought that that would be the one difficult thing to contend with in her marriage. She feared she might not please him enough. She had no doubt that the love he had for her, was more a cousinly affection. But she would work hard that he could fall in love with her eventually. She wanted desperately to make Tom happy. She had loved him too much and has loved him since forever, to give up so easily.

She prayed fervently that she would be able to fill that gap in his heart. That she could make him happy. She knew that to make Tom happy, would take an extraordinary woman. One who could take away his permanent frown, the lines from his face, and put the smile back in his eyes. One who could make him stop rubbing that ring as if expecting some genie would come out and make him happy again. She always imagined that she had succeeded to a certain degree to take the clouds out of his eyes. But she wanted to be the one to fill all the shadows, all the holes so completely, he’d never wonder about those lost years again.

But these were for her melancholy thoughts, as effervescent as she was. She shook it from her. She hoped Tom would be waiting for her when she got to the chapel. Catherine wasn’t disappointed as she saw him sitting in the front pew. She walked to him, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hi, been waiting long?”

“As long as anyone would have to wait for Queen Catherine. No, sweetheart, I’ve only been here a few minutes myself. But your musician is waiting for you over there.” And Tom nodded to where a young man was sitting in front of a music stand.

“Tom, he’s not a musician. He’s a music maker. There’s a difference, you know. He’s been to the Juilliard School of Music, and his name is Harry Kim. His sister studied with me. Did you know he was also on Voyager?”

“How you do chatter, Kitty. Go, go...before he changes his mind.” Tom frowned slightly when he said that. Another of those irritating wisps of memory...

Kitty greeted Harry. He was stroking his clarinet lovingly.

“I’m glad you could make it Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Anything for my sister’s friend, Kitty. What shall I play?”

Only now Catherine took the sheet music she carried with her, and showed it to Harry.

“We’re very traditional. I thought this would be very fitting.” She placed the sheet on the music stand.

He raised his clarinet and started. The haunting melody of “O Perfect Love” filled the air. Catherine closed her eyes for a second, then opened them to look at where Tom was standing at the table, staring vacantly at the vase of white blossoms. His look was so lost, so absorbed, he was not aware of where he was, and Tom was very, very far away. So far away, she felt her heart contract at the desperately unhappy look on his face. It appeared there were tears in his blue eyes. His fingers were constantly twisting the ring round and round.

Catherine knew in that moment, when she walked up to him and shook his arm gently, that he did not recognise her. He appeared to look through her. I’m someone else to him right now, Catherine thought with anguish. Someone...else...

That was when she saw all her hopes, all her dreams, her happiness fall about her feet, scattered like glass in a thousand pieces. Her look changed from happiness, expectancy, hope, puzzlement, despair. On a sob, she went to sit in one of the pews, her head bent and resting on her arms.

Tom woke from his reverie, saw how upset Kitty was. He rushed to her and sat down in a pew in front of her, turning so that he could look at her.

“What is it Kitty? I’m sorry sweetheart, I must have been dreaming.”

“It’s all right, Tom. I’m glad it’s happened. It’s better this way.”

“Better? Kitty, what are you talking about? What has happened?”

Kitty looked at him, her eyes immeasurably saddened. Placing her hands over his and caressing it absently, she said:

“I’ve been uncertain... Almost from the start, Tom. Now, I’m sure.” She paused, looked at him, her eyes very blue and weepy. “It’s no use, is it? I’ve always known it, really.” She touched his face. “I was grasping selfishly at my own happiness...because you could make me perfectly happy... I was selfish enough not to care...or stupid enough not to know...”

“To know what?” Tom asked her.

“That I’m not the one, Tom. I never really believed in my own luck, you know. Let’s be honest about it.”

She paused long, as if trying to formulate what she wanted to say next, and holding his hand. Tom looked at her, then turned his face away. He was as unhappy as she was.

“Tom,” she said fervently, tearfully: “You looked at me just now as if I were a stranger...an intrusive stranger...trying to take the place of someone else.”

“Someone else?” Tom asked with a puzzled air as he turned to face her again.

“I know it sounds absurd, but - sometimes you know, especially when we’ve been closest...I had a curious feeling that I remind you of someone else...someone you once knew...”

“Don’t leave me, Kitty,” Tom pleaded, "I need you - “

“Someone you love as you’ll never love me...” She paused again, and kissed his hand gently. “I am nearly the one, Tom. So nearly that I shall always be proud of it... but nearly,” she sighed, “is not enough for a lifetime...” She stood up, preparing to leave. “I’ve left it rather late, haven’t I?” Tom, his eyes red with unshed tears, tried to stop her. “I’m sorry. It’s all right Tom. I’ve asked for it and I’ll get over it - One does, you know.” She smiled sweetly. “I shan’t go in any tragic mood - but looking to see what fun I can find. You’ll probably hear one day I married some nice man,” she said, trying to sound merry.

“Catherine...sweetheart...I - I don’t know what to say - "

“You don’t have to say anything, Tom.” He stood up and faced her, his hand on her shoulders. “But because I am so nearly the one, because I love you more than anyone I shall ever know, will you kiss me goodbye?”

***

CHAPTER SEVEN

B’Elanna was alone in her apartment a few nights later when she was alerted to an incoming message. It was from Starfleet Headquarters. She was surprised to see Admiral Janeway’s face.

“Admiral, is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, wondering why the famous admiral wanted to communicate with her.

“Commander Torres, I’m sorry to intrude on your private time. But we have a small problem. We are trying to locate Captain Tom Paris. He was last seen at the Headquarters chapel. He should have reported this morning for the crew evaluations, and review new applicants to join Excelsior on its next mission.” Janeway paused, then looked down at some PADD she was holding in her hand.

“I’m sorry, Admiral. But I last saw Captain Paris when he communicated with me three weeks ago.”

“Commander, I thought perhaps he might have confided in you. His fiancée - I’m told you are acquainted with her - cancelled all their wedding plans. Afterr that he disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since.”

B’Elanna had only a few seconds to absorb the fact that Tom was not marrying Kitty after all when the Captain continued:

“I don’t need to tell you, Commander, it’s not like Tom to go missing like that. Please let us know if you hear anything. I am quite concerned. Janeway out."

B’Elanna sat back in her chair. They were leaving for Bajor in ten days and Tom was missing. Where could he be? she wondered.

She had been to hell and back the last few weeks, imagining Tom being married to Kitty. Imagining him making love to her. Making babies with her... Now it seemed, according to Admiral Janeway, the wedding was off. I ought to feel happy about it. I ought to. But why do I feel so bad? she wondered. Two weeks ago she had been advised that she could declare Adam dead, after a required two year period. It was a matter of technical semantics. Adam was dead. Legally. It was therefore possible that Tom could marry Kitty. She had forced herself to rethink her relationship with Tom, knowing that being married to Kitty, he was lost to her forever. She had begun to wonder what point there was now to remain with the Excelsior, and had already started to entertain the thought of leaving and getting on with her life. But hearing this news from Admiral Janeway had renewed her hope of finding a way to Tom’s heart again.

She wondered where he could be. As she prepared to dress herself, she thought about all the possible places Tom could hide, because she guessed that that was what Tom was doing. Hiding. In this universe, where would Tom Paris be where he could successfully blend in so no one could find him?

***

It wasn’t so difficult to find Tom after all, B’Elanna thought as she pushed the doors open to stand in the entrance of Sandrine’s. On the Excelsior Tom created a holoprogramme of Sandrine’s because “it’s my home away from home,” he told her once when they enjoyed a drink there. “It was my hiding place back home, on Earth,” he told her.

She scanned the room, and saw him sitting alone at a table in the furthest corner of the room, on the other side of the pool table and proceeded in that direction, pushing away a nuisance gigolo she privately thought was a pig.

“Do you mind if I join you, Captain?”

He looked up, his hands still nursing his drink, and if she weren’t mistaken, it was Romulan Ale. A potentially lethal beverage. His eyes were clouded, with shadows under them. At this point she didn’t feel like having any sympathy for Tom. He was soaking himself in ale and doing a good job of it. His behaviour was to say the least, unbecoming an officer, a captain of a galaxy class starship at that.

“Commander. Please,” he beckoned her to take a seat. She sat down, and without preamble started:

“Captain, they are looking for you. If I don’t bring you back today, you’ll be on the carpet.” She didn’t spare him in this instant, thinking to shock him out of his lethargy. He saw the belligerent look in her eyes, and knew she was ready to fight him if he didn’t co-operate. He covered her hand with his, and she felt the old sensual tingle when he did so and hoped fervently that he didn’t notice the effect it had on her.

“If I may ask, Captain, what’s troubling you?”

“B’Elanna,” he asked suddenly, “are you my friend?”

“Yes,” she answered, wondering where this conversation was leading to.

“My best friend?”

“Yes,” she said, with conviction.

“Kitty...she called off the wedding, did you know?” B’Elanna nodded. "I - I have some years missing from my life, B’Elanna. No doubt you will have heard of my disappearance ten years ago. I - I cannot account for those missing years, B’Elanna. Kitty, she-she said she merely reminded me of someone, something from those years. I was selfish, I think. I thought I...” He looked suddenly so sad, then whispered: “I need those years back, B’Elanna. It - it’s eating me up, you know.”

“Captain -“

“B’Elanna, we’re not in a command structure here. Please, call me Tom."

“Fine, Tom. You are supposed to see Admiral Janeway first thing in the morning. Before someone notices the impropriety of a Captain’s behaviour, let me get you home, then we can talk, okay?” She could see Tom was reeling from the ale he had been consuming. She thought she’d sober him up when they got back. When they reached the shuttle, she smiled sweetly and said:

“I’m driving. You watch the view.” He looked a little ashamed. She saw him rubbing the ring she had given him so many years ago, and felt her heart contract. Oh, Tom, if only you knew...if only you knew...

***

They were in deep space for almost six months. For B’Elanna it was the beginning of her friendship with Tom. They observed the structure of command in front of the crew, but he would often now invite her to join him for dinner in the Captain’s private dining room. She was glad, because she came to know other aspects of Tom’s life. The things she didn’t know about him when he was Adam. He still got that vacant look sometimes, but somehow, he wasn’t embarrassed in her presence anymore. With some of the other senior crew, they often engaged in some holodeck games. Being lighter and more agile than Tom, she often beat him at hoverball. She caught on playing 3D chess so quickly, it surprised him, saying it took him years to master it.

“But then you were only ten years old, Tom. You told me that before. You don’t have to look so smug,” when he beat her for the second time in a row. “Someday, Tom Paris, I’m going to beat you at this.”

She introduced him to her Klingon culture, from marriage rituals to the suicide ritual. He told her he always had an interest in Klingon culture. “Because it is steeped in honour, B’Elanna.” She taught him to fight, using the famous bat’leth. Sometimes they would both engage in fighting Klingons on the holodeck, or they would fight each other. It was exhilarating, this new dimension in her relationship with Tom. In private they were friends, they could confide in each other, have arguments. Then they would really do battle. On the bridge they were captain and first officer, and they made a great command team.

The crew, its main representatives being Lieutenant-Commanders Salinger and Li Park, silently thanked their first officer for effecting this change in their Captain. He became a little more approachable, no longer so aloof. Although his transformation was not complete as far as they were concerned, it was enough for them. They all breathed easier now, a crew that had always been rather wary of their taciturn Captain. They knew that their First Officer was the reason for this change in him. They could see how she drew him out of his shell. He became almost his old self. The one that could smile, be humorous, witty, and amenable. This according to Renwick, the chief in Stellar Cartography, who had known the Captain since his Academy days.

***

Tom Paris was sitting in his ready room, thinking. It’s what he became good at in the last seven years. His First Officer had just left to take the bridge. He thought how close they had become as friends. Since she just about bundled him out of Sandrine’s six months ago - he was eternally glad it was she, and not some admiral who could get him into real trouble - he had come to value her friendship more and more. “It won’t do for our Captain to show such lack of decorum,” she told him at the time. Somehow, he felt he could take her into his confidence. He knew that at receptions and the like, he was really not suitable company, being too much in a pensive mood. He knew he wasn’t always so unsociable, that this new character trait only manifest itself since his return “from the dead” so to speak. He thought he could suppress his old longing in a union with Catherine, but knew now that she was right. It would never have worked. He had deluded himself into thinking that Kitty would somehow fill that emptiness in him. Strange that he and Kitty had never really been friends, not the way he thought of his friendship with his first officer.

In a way B’Elanna protected him, steering him sometimes away from too probing questions, or intent stares. He relied more and more on her support, knowing that with her, at least, he could be free to talk, to agonise about his random years. Sometimes he felt those same wisps of memory when she spoke to him. It would be in the lilt of her voice, the way she could suddenly burst out laughing, or the way her head inclined and her rich brown tresses fell about her face, or her ridges he thought were so beautiful, or the way her lips moved when she spoke.

“You’re staring at me, you know,” she said one evening when they had dinner in his quarters.

“Oh - er, was I? I’m sorry... for a moment I thought - “

“You thought what?” she asked, and he thought he saw an expectant look in her eyes.

“No... it’s just one of those wisps of memory. Gone before I had time to picture it. It’s damned frustrating, you know. A teasing, teasing stab, enough to drive me crazy sometimes. Everyone has these feelings of having lived through certain moments before.”

“You have a feeling you’ve known me before?”

“It’s strange, that happened the first day I saw you, when you reported for duty.”

“Is that why we are friends?”

“Perhaps - you have an air about you, if you don’t mind my saying it, an air of quiet efficiency. You are a good listener. And nowadays you’re not scared of me, like I know some of the crew are.”

Most of all, Tom Paris thought, she wasn’t demanding. To be more than what he was prepared to give. To explore this friendship to the extent that the parameters would change. He didn’t think he was ready to be emotionally involved. She asked for nothing in return, but to be his friend.

He sighed, and looked again at the screen of his computer, the Admiral’s face now frozen. He had to make a decision soon. Starfleet Command had offered him promotion to admiral. They needed his answer before Excelsior left on its next mission. That gave him one month.

***

As soon as they neared space dock, Tom said to B'Elanna:

“Commander, I’d like to have a word with you in the restaurant at Headquarters. I won’t keep you long.”

B’Elanna merely nodded her ‘yes’, mindful of the hawk-like looks the bridge crew were giving their Captain and first officer. Although Tom had been careful not to lean too far over to her side, and spoke as he looked straight at the main viewscreen, the officers missed nothing.

They suspected a growing friendship between their commanding officers, and were glad. If anyone could melt the heart of their Captain, it was going to be their half-Klingon XO. Especially Salinger, the Security Chief, thought the Captain looked sometimes a tad too long at the XO, imagining no one noticed. He had made up his mind a year ago already that the Commanding Officer was in love with the Captain. It was in every centimetre of her proud Klingon stance, although she too, thought no one noticed. Why they were so careful around each other, was the only question that stumped him.

Salinger had a high regard for her, was in fact himself a little in love with her. But it was clear she had eyes only for one man. He wondered idly if the Captain didn’t realise how he also sometimes looked as if he could devour his XO. He didn't think the Captain even realised how his heart was sitting in his eyes. Salinger wondered just how long it would take for the Captain to pop the question. It could only be a matter of time.

***

“B’Elanna,” Tom spoke as soon as they were seated at their table in a cozy section of the restaurant, “I’ve been offered a promotion to the rank of admiral.”

“Then may I say, Sir, congratulations, Sir - “

“It’s not funny, you know. It means if I accept, I won’t have you as my sounding board anymore. No doubt we’ll still be friends, but we won’t be working together, and I’m rather proud of the great command team we made.” His eyes were suddenly serious, and he looked contemplatively at her. “You once told me that your husband died.” She became a little pale when he said that. “Do you think you might marry again, B’Elanna?”

She looked at him, the only man she wanted to be married to, whom she couldn't have, who still dwelled on those absentee years.

“No - no, not the slightest," she replied. Unless it’s you, Tom...unless it’s you, came her anguished silent cry.

He took her hand in his, and looked at her, his eyes going to her hair, shiny in the mid-afternoon sun that seeped through the window. For a moment he shook his head, then blinked. It was that wisp of memory again.

“I have a proposal to make, B’Elanna.”

“I know. You want me to be your aide when you become Admiral Paris. Then we can be together all the time,” she said a little flippantly. Tom was quiet, still studying her.

“B’Elanna,” Tom said at length, after taking a sip of his wine, then placing his glass down on the table, “you and I are both ghost-ridden. We are both prisoners of our past.” He paused again, seeming to weigh his words. “What if we were to pool our loneliness, and give each other what little we have to offer - support, friendship, companionship...” He gave a slight sigh as he saw the look on her face. “I’m proposing marriage, B’Elanna. Call it a merger, if you like. As an Admiral, I’m rather inclined to think that I’ll make more of an impact if I presented the picture of stability in having a wife, a partner. You are clever, witty, you are exceptional, supportive. Those are the qualities I think a wife should have being the partner of an admiral.”

B’Elanna looked disbelievingly at Tom, and thought how bloodless his proposal was, compared to the fire and passion when he proposed to her as Adam. She felt almost sick, yet she knew deep in her heart that she would not refuse his offer. He dropped the next bombshell:

“You need have no fear that I would make any emotional demands on you. All I’ve got to offer you, is sincere friendship.” He saw the pained expression on her face, then added: “look, I’ll give you time to think about it. I’ll contact you at 2100 tomorrow night. Would that be alright?”

She nodded and they continued their meal in relative silence, both weighing the enormity of Tom's proposal.

***

“But Cowan, I love him. I want to say yes so much,” B’Elanna pleaded. Cowan’s face on the screen of her computer appeared decidedly disapproving.

“B’Elanna, you are setting yourself up to get hurt again. Sweetheart, I don’t want to see you hurt. Because if it happens, there might not be nice friends such as myself around to pick up the pieces. Believe me, B’Elanna, we have picked up pieces of you.”

“I know, Cowan, and I’m truly grateful. But I may never have this chance again. I don’t think, after Kitty, he’ll want to marry anyone else, but I also don’t want to be his friend all the time. I want to be his wife again. Even with friendship and support as the only parameters.”

“You sound very certain that you want to do this?”

“Yes. I am. Very. It’s a risk I have to take, Cowan. I’ll never stop hoping that he’ll regain his memory. What better surroundings to do it in than in a marriage.”

“Fine, sweetheart. I really and fervently hope you know what you’re doing. I wish you good luck, B’Elanna. When does he want an answer?”

B’Elanna, happy now that Cowan has given his blessing, so to speak - he was after all like a real brother to her - said:

“He’ll call at 2100. Thank you again, Cowan.”

“B’Elanna, Yelena and I are returning to Melvech, but we’ll be back in a year. I’ll give you as always, an update of what’s happening there. Cowan out.”

B’Elanna sat a long time in front of the monitor. She was glad Cowan, Yelena and little Lainey were going to Melvech again. Over the years Yelena’s brother Sergei looked after the house she and Adam had lived in, always kept in readiness for when B’Elanna would return there. She had been back only once in the last seven years, but her pain at her baby’s death and Adam’s disappearance was still so raw then, she cried most of the time.

She was still sitting at her console, dreaming about “my kisses” as Adam instructed her just before he vanished from her life, when her console sounded again.

Switching it on, she saw Tom’s face, an expectant look on it.

“Well, B’Elanna? What is it to be?”

****

CHAPTER EIGHT

Starfleet’s newest admiral and his wife made the most striking couple at official functions and receptions. They were gratified that the Admiral graced their social functions more regularly now. In the past he had often appeared too detached, not given to make conversation, discouraging attempts from others who thought they could correct the error of his ways. Now Admiral Mrs Paris accompanied her husband everywhere. It was no longer even a rumour that he went nowhere without his wife. A half Klingon, Mrs Paris possessed unique qualities. She was friendly, outgoing, the Klingon fire lurking just beneath the surface. She was the envy of every woman who had tried before to gain the Admiral’s condescension, and every man who could not resist giving her a second and even a third glance.

Rumour had it that the Admiral married her on the rebound, after being disappointed in love and marriage by his cousin Catherine. But it was clear to those who cared to look more deeply, that the Admiral was very, very attached to his wife. One needed only to see the way his arm would encircle her waist as they moved around the room and made conversation. When they parted to move alone amongst the many guests, his eyes were never far from her. They could see Mrs Paris had a calming presence, and it astounded them how she could make other lonely guests feel at home. She was clearly in love with her husband, they decided. The Admiral, they determined, cared a great deal about his wife. He was patently proud of her.

“I guess that went off quite well, didn’t it?” Tom asked her when they returned to their apartment. It was his parent’s place, inherited from his father. Its large window overlooked San Francisco Bay. They were seated on the large couch in front of this window, at 0200, reflecting on the evening’s success.

“Yes, only I had to make conversation with the wife of the Redak Ambassador. I had to hear all about her seven children and their achievements!”

His arms were outstretched along the back of the couch, and his fingers touched her hair. She wanted so badly that he touch more than her hair. She sighed. She agreed to his conditions. But, it was worth a try to ask.

“Tom...”

“Hmmm...?”

“Are you my friend?”

He looked at her then, an expectant look in his eyes as he nodded and she asked her next question.

“Will you hold me in your arms, friend?”

If his wife put her request for a hug that way, and he wanted to do it anyway, but was afraid to do so, who was he to refuse? So he moved closer to her, and drew her into his embrace. B’Elanna closed her eyes, and enjoyed the feel of Tom’s arms around her. Tom touched her hair with his lips, taking in her scent.

When she moved her head to look up at him, her lips slightly parted, he felt irresistibly drawn to them. He bent his head to kiss her, his lips gently brushing over hers. She gave a sigh of satisfaction, and closed her eyes as she felt him deepening the kiss, his tongue urging to part her lips and open her mouth to him. Tom felt his body flaming as she offered no resistance to let him plunge his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, gliding it smoothly over her teeth. He nipped her lower lip gently, then closed his lips over hers again, finding himself unable to stop, just reveling in the feel of her body pressing into him. Then for a split second, an image flashed in his memory, an image of a ring being slipped on his little finger. He tensed, then broke off the kiss, somewhat abruptly, leaving them both breathing raggedly. He collected himself in an instant.

“Are friends supposed to do that?” she whispered, a little disappointed the kiss didn’t go on.

“No... but I suppose as husband and wife we could, can’t we?” he ventured.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she replied, realising that she would be satisfied with the few crumbs Tom sought to brush of the table.

They sat like that for a long time, not moving. B’Elanna thought of their visit they made to Palings not long after they were married. Tom’s mother thought it wise not to question them on why they did not share a bedroom. Didn’t married couples usually sleep together? Tom may be her youngest, her only son, B’Elanna may be her very loving daughter-in-law, but it wasn’t her business to pry.

Mrs Paris senior knocked gently on B’Elanna’s door that first night.

When she entered, B’Elanna was already reclining against her pillows. The older woman came to sit on the bed next to her, looked at her with a kindly regard and said:

“You love him deeply.”

“I - ,” she began, thinking to deny it. Her eyelids fluttered nervously.

“Yes...I love him...” came the admission, so softly, but Elizabeth Paris knew. She looked at B’Elanna intently, then said quietly, and intuitively:

“You are the reason he keeps twirling that ring round his little finger.”

B’Elanna gave her a startled look. It was no use trying to fool this very wizened woman.

“Yes...”

It came as a whisper, her voice full of desolation. She felt the first tears spilling down her cheeks as Mrs Paris senior put her arms around Mrs Paris junior, and comforted her while she cried quietly.

“Please, Mama, don’t tell him. He’ll resent and pity me.”

Elizabeth Paris held B’Elanna a little away from her and spoke:

“Bless you, my child. You have great courage, and an unbending faith. I don't know what happened in those years, but I know you must have suffered greatly. Tom doesn’t know it, but he loves you already. Thank you, that you could remove some of the shadows that were always lurking in his eyes, that he is smiling more now. Things will work out for you, just you wait and see.”

She remembered actually feeling relieved that Tom’s mother knew she was part of his lost years, although she did not press for any more information. She knew that one day she would know everything. That was a year ago, and she was no nearer to seeing Tom regaining his memory. She was still to him the person who came on board the Excelsior as his first officer. She smiled. He was not above using his Paris name and influence to get her a teaching post at the Academy.

“That way, you don’t have to leave on missions six months at a time, and leave me stranded,” he said with a little arrogance. She realised that she actually liked teaching first year cadets. They were so young and filled with vision, so unspoiled.

“B’Elanna... wake up...”

She woke up with a start, realising she was being held comfortably in Tom’s arms.

“Glad to have been of help,” he said. “I have classes this morning, and so have you. He kissed her forehead, then looked at her before kissing her lips. “Goodnight, B’Elanna. Sweet dreams.” He stared long at her door after watching her figure retreating into her bedroom. He sighed, looking again at the ring that bore the inscription:

O Perfect Love - L.

****

They were headed for a rare fight after returning home from another of these interminable receptions. Kathryn Janeway and her husband Chakotay had been present. Deciding to join their company, he walked to where they were standing, making small talk.

“Tom! It’s good to see you,” Kathryn said.

“I haven’t seen you around for a while. Anything up?” Tom queried.

Kathryn looked at Chakotay, saw that he looked a little embarrassed.

“It seems,” she answered, “that he’s been trying to avoid seeing B’Elanna around here.”

“I think it’s more a case of B’Elanna avoiding me,” he said.

“Wait a minute...is there something I should know?” Tom asked, suddenly worried.

“Tom,” Chakotay parried his question, “did B’Elanna ever tell you she was in the Maquis?”

This had Tom slightly stunned. It wasn’t on B’Elanna’s service record. “I - er...no, she didn’t. Kathryn, what’s going on?”

He looked across the room to where B’Elanna was moving among the guests. No, she didn’t appear to him to have been involved in rebel activities. Still. If she had been, why wasn’t she on Voyager, like Chakotay and Nick Locarno and Tuvok? He sensed something amiss here, something which Chakotay obviously bore knowledge of. Something B’Elanna was not inclined to talk about, confide in him. They were, after all, close friends. He sighed, wondering how long he could go on being friends with his wife when all he wanted to do was... He admitted ruefully to being hoist with his own petard. But, he needed to confront B’Elanna about keeping secrets, especially when others assumed he should know about it.

Chakotay, realising he may have put his foot in it, tried to placate Tom, sensing that Tom was going to confront B’Elanna about it. He was concerned. He also felt guilty as hell that he didn’t do enough to help B’Elanna at the time, and he knew she still blamed him. It was something he discussed with Kathryn often enough, when he knew B’Elanna was Tom’s first officer at the time. He had to confront B’Elanna himself in the near future, wanting to mend his fences with her.

“Look, perhaps it’s not important for her anymore,” he said. “She’s obviously happy now,” silently thanking this man who could tame that willful, fiery, brave creature.

Tom merely nodded, and ambled lazily across to where B’Elanna was still talking to some minister’s wife. They watched how he whispered something to B’Elanna, before the two of them exited the hall.

****

“B’Elanna...” Tom said as they entered the apartment. “I spoke with Chakotay tonight.” He saw the flash of almost fear in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were in the Maquis?”

Because I already told you, she was going to say acidly, but held her tongue.

“I...didn’t think it was important anymore, Tom.”

“B’Elanna, I wouldn’t think it was important either. Only, Chakotay implied something. Something I think you experienced there. How long were you there?”

“Three months. Can I go now?” She moved away from him towards her bedroom. But he caught her hands, and gripped her shoulders, so she had to look at him. He saw a sudden flash of fear in her eyes, then there was anger.

“Let me go...please.”

“What happened to you, B’Elanna?”

“N-nothing, Tom.”

“You’re lying to me. If you left, you had to leave for some reason, B’Elanna. Come on, tell me.”

“I...am a half-breed, Tom.”

Tom closed his eyes. B’Elanna really chose her moments to demean herself.

“Don’t - B’Elanna. Don’t flog yourself so.”

“You have no idea, do you, Tom? No idea at all.”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Enlighten you? Do you really want to know? I’ll tell you. Then you leave me alone, do you hear?” There were angry tears forming in her eyes. “The Maquis attracted all types, Tom. Not all were inspired by the same noble sentiments men like Chakotay left Starfleet for. There were criminals who thought the Maquis provided for them the perfect hiding place. Please, let me go, Tom. You’re hurting me.”

He realised he was gripping her shoulders so hard, she flinched a little. “I’m sorry - “

“How sorry can you be, Tom?” She tried to break free, but he held her fast. “If you know, what can you do?”

“I want to know, B’Elanna. You’re my wife.”

B’Elanna laughed out loud, thinking what a travesty their marriage was. The laughter turned into hysteria and she was unable to stop herself until she felt a stinging slap across her cheek.

“Stop it!” he commanded as she hiccoughed into a spasm of laughing and crying. He slapped her again. Only then she calmed, beginning to sob quietly.

“You’ve never spoken to me about your past. Not really, B’Elanna.”

“Yeah, like you can tell me what you did in your three lost years.”

She saw the pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, that was a low blow, Tom.”

“B’Elanna, forget I asked. Go to bed, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Tom, you want to know? I’ll tell you. Those criminals took one look at a half Klingon half human and decided she’s easy meat. After all, I’m not pure, so why should I have pure intentions? I - they... gang raped me, Tom. Said a half-breed didn’t deserve their kindness. Chakotay...booted all of them out of the Maquis. But the...the damage was done. They left me for dead... until...until a friend took me far away. Very far away.” The tears were rolling fast and furious now. Tom closed his arms around her, but she broke free.

“Let me go!”

“I can’t. We are friends. I want to be there for you, now.”

“No - !” She started to scream, the memories of groping hands, tearing clothes, desperate screams, flooding her. He tried to hold her again, but she had become hysterical, beating with her fists in frenzied rage against his chest. He let her go on until she spent herself, then he carried her to her bedroom, where he tucked her in, still fully clothed.

He stroked her hair away from her face, and kissed her brow. He sighed. “I wish you had told me about this, B’Elanna. And I’m sorry that you experienced such terrible trauma.”

“I know, Tom. I’m sorry, too. I’m too much trouble. It happened a long time ago now. I don’t even get those awful nightmares anymore.”

She lay quiet for a few minutes, the memory earlier of Tom calling her sweetheart filling her with sweet delight, especially as he was still holding her hand.

“Tom...?”

“Yes?”

“Are you my friend?”

“You know I am, sweetheart.”

“Will you kiss me?” There were tears in her eyes. She looked tired.

Tom bent over to kiss her, his lips warm on hers. She sighed. A sudden flash of the words, I’ll think of your kisses came and went quickly, as if he never heard it. He shook his head slightly at this feeling. He stayed with her until she fell asleep.

***

CHAPTER NINE

Then B’Elanna fell ill. Suddenly and unexpectedly. From a common flu virus. Several cadets at the Academy came down with it, disproving any theory that 24th century medicine had the cure for all ailments. Tom walked around with the sniffles for days, as did some of his senior cadets. But they all recovered quickly, their youthful resilience combined with some modern medicinal panaceas whipping them quickly into shape again. They were ready to assume their duties within days.

Tom was not unduly worried when B’Elanna didn’t appear for their usual breakfast one morning. It was her day off, and she needed to lie in. She had been working particularly hard, taking over classes of other associates who were ill. But he did look in on her when he had to leave.

“Can’t leave without - “ he started when he saw how listless she looked. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He had his answer as soon as he touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m not feeling too good, Tom,” she whispered, her throat sounding raspy. “I’m aching all over, and on my day off,” she complained. Tom was slightly disconcerted by the wheeziness of her breathing. “Hey, I’ll recover. I’m part Klingon, remember? Go, Tom. I’ll probably be better by the time you get back.” He kissed her before he got up and left, still feeling a little uneasy, but deciding that he'd call during the day to make sure she was fine.

At 1400 Tom tried to get B’Elanna on their vidcom. After several attempts, he called his aide, Lieutenant Harrison. He discounted the idea that B’Elanna might have gone out after all. She looked way too flushed to have ventured it in the inclement weather.

“Harrison, hold the fort for me, please. My wife was ill this morning and she didn’t respond to my calls. I’d better go have a look,” he told the young man.

“Fine, Admiral. You go ahead,” he said, coaxing his Admiral out of the office to run to his wife’s side. It warmed his heart to see the Admiral so concerned and caring. He had a great respect for Admiral Paris, and has heard that he followed in the footsteps of his father, the great Owen McKenzie Paris. The Admiral’s wife was held in high esteem by the cadets, who stood in awe of her knowledge of quantum mechanics, her chosen field. They were a great couple, and the cadets ran bets on when there would be an addition to the family.

Harrison sighed. He doubted there would be any addition soon. He was one of the very few, perhaps the only one, who sensed that the marriage was not what it seemed. The Admiral and his wife were more friends than anything else. He kissed her mostly on the cheek when she came to sit with him during lunch, or her free time. Admiral Tom Paris and his wife touched little, though to give them credit, when they were in public, the pretense was kept up. Harrison was convinced of this. He had a girlfriend, and they were usually all over one another other. Why was he so certain? He had seen other admirals and their spouses, and the deep love and sharing was always evident in the way they would touch, hold hands, the occasional kiss when they thought no one noticed. Admiral Janeway and her husband, for instance. It was clear to everyone that they loved one another deeply. Their eyes would always send messages, their silent communication. Then there was so much communication in the way they could hold hands...

No doubt the Admiral and his wife were successful at playing out this charade, Harrison thought. One could probably quite easily pretend, like they were doing. Now, he thought, why were they pretending when he could see in the Admiral’s eyes how deeply he cared for his wife? Or, when he could see how Tom Paris' eyes lit up when Mrs Paris walked into his office? It was not his place to probe, but he did allow himself the luxury of speculation, like everybody else.

He hoped Mrs Paris would feel better soon. Perhaps he should arrange for flowers to be sent to their house.

***

Tom Paris was eternally glad that their home was so near Headquarters. Because the moment he entered B’Elanna’s bedroom, he could see she was unconscious. How long had she been lying like that? he agonized, blaming himself that he didn't insist to stay with her.

“B’Elanna, sweetheart, wake up...” But she was far gone. There was a gurgling sound deep in her chest, that sent alarm bells clanging.. Her temperature was dangerously high. Within minutes B'Elanna Paris was in a bed at Headquarters hospital, fighting for her life.

What is wrong with her? he asked himself as he seated himself in a chair next to her bed. Her body was drenched in sweat, her breathing erratic, her temperature abnormally high. Dr Gray was the physician in attendance.

“Doctor, this isn’t flu, is it?” Tom asked him.

“Admiral, I’m afraid it is.” He scanned B’Elanna thoroughly, and administered an antibiotic. “But the complications are unique,” he said.

“Complications? Doctor, I left her this morning and her condition was mild. I thought in fact that she would be better by tomorrow.”

“She has developed pleurisy in ten short hours. We have to drain her lungs. But the complications stem from the fact that she is half Klingon, Admiral. I’m sorry. Your wife is in a critical condition. We can administer any number of antibiotics, but she can’t fight the virus.”

“Why not? Many cadets and staff had the flu, and they all recovered within a day or two.” He looked at his wife. Why can’t you fight, B’Elanna? You are usually so strong. He stroked her damp strands from her face. He looked at the monitor and gasped. Her temperature was a rocking 39.6 C. It was raging out of control. We have to bring her temperature down, he thought with alarm, the feeling was immediately followed by a dooming reality: She’s dying, she's dying...

“She’s dying, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral. We’re doing all we can.”

“Doctor, you said earlier that the complications arose from the fact that she’s half Klingon. What did you mean by that?”

“When the cadets had the flu, their bodies’ immune systems could fight the illness. The human DNA recognises the virus, and the antibodies are then manufactured for the most part naturally, helped by the antibiotics and other medicines administered. Your wife’s Klingon DNA does not have immunity against our common flu virus, or rather, this particularly virulent strain of it. Therefore, she can’t fight against it. At least, what is happening, her human half has to work twice as hard to compensate for the Klingon half.”

“Doctor, if her temperature rises by another half degree, she’ll get convulsions. We have to do something. Now.”

B’Elanna, please don’t die, Tom prayed. I need you. I can’t do without you. He looked at her, then she started rocking as her body started to spasm. Tom looked on in shock as her body convulsed, then his quick-thinking kicked in. Without consulting the doctor, he hauled her in his arms, the realisation that the heat of body was burning into his skin only on the periphery of his conscious, and rushed to the bathroom where he instructed the nurse to run ice cold water in the tub. Within seconds B’Elanna was submerged in cold water. The doctor, who silently lauded Tom’s swift reaction, approached with his medical tricorder, and monitored her temperature. Tom held B’Elanna’s head just above the water level, and could feel the searing heat of her skin in the cold water. Finally the convulsions stopped. Doctor Gray looked at the reading, and slowly, very slowly her temperature dropped to more acceptable although still uncommonly high levels. But B'Elanna Paris was far from being out of the woods.

“Admiral, you can let the nurses take over now, please.”

Tom looked at the doctor, his blue eyes piercing, the full force of his aristocratic bearing excessively daunting, and said:

“I am not leaving my wife.” That brooked no argument or objection. Then he helped the nurses take B’Elanna out of the tub, dried and dressed her in Starfleet’s regulation blue hospital issue gown and placed settled her in her bed again. She was still unaware of what was happening to her. Her skin felt marginally cooler.

So began Admiral Tom Paris’ vigil by his wife’s bedside. Her temperature still raging, he could now use cold compresses, with which he dabbed her burning skin. For most of the time she was unconscious or in a delirium. Then she would toss her head from side to side, try to throw the covers off her. Tom would soothe, speaking softly to her all the time. His heart nearly broke the way she fought.

“Tom...” came her voice, so weak he could almost not hear it. “Don’t leave me...don’t leave me...please.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. Shhh...don’t talk now.”

His hands would be on her face all the time, stroking her cheeks, wiping the perspiration from her neck, brushing back her wet hair. She was still burning with fever.

Hours would pass before she stirred again.

“Tom...”

“Shhh...sweetheart. Don’t talk. You’ll make yourself tired.”

Her eyes would open, then her head would turn slowly to where she heard his voice. He took a soft white sponge, soaked it in water and held it to her lips. She sucked, making him realise how thirsty she was. The nurses left him alone with her. They knew she was fighting for her life, and what better person to help her do it than her husband, whose eyes were sunken, whose cheeks were hollow, with tiredness etched in every line of his face. But he refused to leave her side.

He never ate, leaving only to go to the bathroom. All the time he held her hand, and talked softly, so that her subconscious could recognise his voice.

“Tom...?” She turned to him again.

“Yes...”

“I hurt Tom... Take away the pain...please...” Then doctor would give her a sedative.

Tom stared intently watching for the smallest sign of change in her condition. Her hand clasped in his. She started wheezing at one point, becoming agitated. She sobbed, haltingly.

“My - my baby...”

“Don’t cry, please..."

“My baby...is dead...”

“I know, B'Elanna, I know...” Tom felt like dying at the distraught sound of her voice. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Don’t...let my baby die... he’s all I have left.” And she would sob again.

“B’Elanna, honey, you are very ill. Please fight this. Please...I need you, sweetheart.”

Then she would quieten again. Tom dozed with his head on the bed, her hand held in his. That was when the monitor started sounding a single, unbroken beep. Tom was unaware that B’Elanna’s heart had stopped. The doctor approached quickly to start resuscitation. Tom rocked awake. He saw what was happening.

“No - ! Doctor?”

“I’m sorry, Admiral. I have to resuscitate her...”

“She can’t die, Doctor. Oh, God, B’Elanna, don’t die now, please...” came his distraught plea. He felt his heart thudding with the fear of losing her. After thirty seconds her heart started beating again. He sat down in the chair beside her bed, held her hand.

She looked at him again, her eyes appearing unseeing. She spoke.

“Adam?”

“I’m not Adam, B’Elanna,” came Tom’s answer, his voice hollow.

“Adam...he...left me...left me... he died.” Then she sobbed again. Wildly this time. “Adam is dead. My baby...is dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry, B’Elanna.”

“Don’t leave me, Tom...”

“I’m right here, B’Elanna. I’m not going anywhere. I'm your friend, remember?”

At the end of the fifth day, a hand fell on Tom’s shoulder. He looked up, his eyes tired, he hadn’t shaved in days. He looked awful, Elizabeth Paris decided.

“Mother.”

“Tom, you go get some rest. I’ll sit with her.”

“Thank you,” Tom whispered to the only other person he allowed near his wife.

“How is she?”

“Little improvement. Pray, Mother... please.”

Elizabeth nodded her head, shooed Tom off and continued the vigil at B’Elanna’s bed. She thought how weak B’Elanna looked, barely breathing, the water mercifully off her lungs. She held the sick woman’s hand in her own, and touched her cheek with the other. Her fever remained unabated, but not at those critical levels of the first day. She had already heard - the Academy and Starfleet Headquarters had effective rumour mills - of Tom’s heroic and mad dash to submerge B’Elanna in almost ice-cold water to bring her raging temperature down. It worked, and although she wasn’t dying now, still looked alarmingly sick. She squeezed the younger woman’s hand gently and thought how hard B’Elanna was trying to be the perfect wife to Tom. How frustrated she sometimes became and how she would almost lose faith. That’s when B’Elanna always contacted her, and talked to her about her hopes, her attempts to try and get Tom to regain his memory. But there was always that one step Tom never wanted to take. That was to consummate his marriage, to make B’Elanna his.

Elizabeth Paris suspected that if Tom took that step, he would betray...what? A memory? A shadow? Something elusive? But it was something. Always there, acting as the barrier. No matter how hard B’Elanna tried, Tom would back off, retreat unwillingly almost, because he thought there might be someone else to whose memory he would be unfaithful.

Yet she knew, as she thought almost everyone else knew, that Tom loved B’Elanna. Deep in his subconscious must lie the intuitive knowledge that B’Elanna was the woman he had given his love to in those years he just couldn't remember. She wondered idly if she shouldn’t advise B’Elanna to tell Tom the truth. But pondering this point, she thought that it would open up a new set of problems. Then again, perhaps not. B’Elanna had told her consistently that she wanted Tom to regain his memory without her telling him the truth. That way she would know fundamentally that his overtures to her would be authentic, and not put on for her benefit. Elizabeth sighed. She wondered how long it would take, if at all, for such a miracle to happen.

B’Elanna opened her eyes again, and looked confusedly at the person sitting there.

“Tom...?”

“He’s resting, my child.” Elizabeth rose from her chair, and turned B’Elanna’s head gently to where Tom was lying on the next bed. Then she sat back again, satisfied that B’Elanna was relieved he was still there. She knew how B’Elanna became agitated, not wanting Tom to leave her.

B’Elanna looked at her again and whispered weakly,

“I love him, Mama.”

“I know sweetheart. Now rest, child,” she spoke as if B’Elanna were a little girl. B'Elanna sank into that delirium again, constantly calling for Adam, her baby, for Tom. Her words were all jumbled, confused. Then Elizabeth would hold B’Elanna in her arms and comfort her.

Elizabeth stayed at the apartment while at Headquarters. She promised herself that she would take B’Elanna with her to Palings to convalesce there when she got better. Right now, that seemed so remote. She had been pumped so full of life saving drugs already, yet there was so little improvement. She left twelve hours later when Tom woke up, cleaned himself up a bit, had a shave and ate some food. Then he shooed her off to his home.

Two days later B’Elanna opened her eyes.

“Tom...?”

He woke suddenly, immediately alerted to any sound coming from her. He was by her side in an instant. Her eyes were clear as she looked at him. The fever had broken at last. Her temperature was almost normal. He took her hand in his, closed his eyes and felt the tears seeping down his cheeks.

“Thank God,” he whispered raggedly, before raising himself again, and bent over to kiss her. His lips rested long on her mouth. “You’ll get better soon now, honey. Real soon,” he said softly as he sat back in his chair.

***

It was evening in the apartment of Tom and B’Elanna Paris - a week after she opened her eyes, the fever at last broken. It had been a harrowing time for Tom. B’Elanna still looked ill, but her old fire returned, and she insisted on coming home. Elizabeth Paris had gone back to Palings where she was preparing for B’Elanna’s month long convalescence. It was an idea that went down well with both Tom and B’Elanna. In two days time she would make the journey there, accompanied by Tom who would return and then visit her on weekends.

Before they left the hospital though, Tom was called into the Chief Medical Officer, Dr Gray’s office. With him was Dr Zimmerman, Voyager’s legendary holographic interface.

“Dr Zimm has pioneered a new vaccine, using your wife’s blood samples,” the CMO told him.

“Doc, just tell me you have some answer, some form of treatment, in case my wife gets the virus again,” Tom said.

“Well, in your wife’s case, being part Klingon, the vaccine was developed for her alone, and other Klingons coming in contact with this particular strain.”

“Admiral, your wife has to be administered this vaccine every six months. It will be kept here at the hospital, and she will have to come in. If you happen to be away, say on holiday, you will administer the drug yourself. In which case you must let us know should you travel off world at the time she is due for her treatment.”

Tom thought that a small price to pay, if it meant B’Elanna could be safe from becoming ill through flu again. He expressed his relief.

Tom was awed by the concern shown by the cadets, hospital staff and their colleagues at the Academy and at Headquarters. They showered the Parises with get well messages and in a hundred different ways tendered their support. They all admired and respected the Admiral and his wife, and thought it was a damned shame that she almost died of something from which they so quickly recovered. They certainly didn’t want anything to happen to Mrs Paris, for wasn’t it she who listened to their woes when they were particularly harshly treated by the Admiral, whom everyone said was beginning to take more and more after his father, the late great Admiral Owen Paris? And the cadets knew of his father’s legendary reputation. It was a good thing Mrs Paris was there to soften him up a bit. Therefore it wouldn’t do that the good lady make an untimely demise from a common flu bug.

Tom thought of a few hours earlier, a few minutes after they entered the apartment. He wanted to carry B’Elanna immediately to her bedroom.

“No - ! no...I’m sorry, Tom,” she said as she stood in the lounge, held lightly in his embrace. “Please, I’ve been lying on my back too long, Tom. I...I could sit on the couch for a while...enjoy the view.” Her voice sounded a little pleading as she looked at him.

“Fine.” He led her to the couch, alarmed at her dramatic weight loss. Her collarbones jutted unhealthily through her skin. He could feel her ribs. He went into her room and came back with a blanket and wrapped it around her. He sat down next to her, and held her close, her face in the crook of his neck. He rested his chin on her head, and took in the smell of her hair. He closed his eyes.

“Tom...?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will you visit me at Palings?”

“Of course,” and he bent his head to kiss her forehead.

“B’Elanna.”

“Hmmm...?”

“When - when you were ill, you rambled a lot. You spoke of Adam. You must have loved him deeply.”

She responded by clutching him tightly around his waist. He felt rather than saw her nod.

“You must still love him, B’Elanna.”

“Tom...” she whispered, becoming a little agitated. “Don’t...please.”

“I - I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”

They stayed like that for a while, until Tom could feel her head drooping and becoming heavy against his shoulder. He picked her up, her already slight frame now even lighter, and carried her to her room.

When she was all tucked in, Tom sat next to her on the bed and held her hand. She spoke sleepily:

“Tom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you my friend?”

“You know I am, B’Elanna.”

“Don’t leave me, Tom. Stay here...please. Hold me...”

He slid under the covers next to her, lay on his back while she reclined against him, his arms around her. Again he felt a teasing wisp of memory. Had he lain like this next to a woman? Tom's one hand covered hers where it rested trustingly against this heart. She felt comfortable and very soon was sleeping soundly. Tom sighed, glorying that he could hold her like this, in her bed, and he prayed that someday he would find out about the ghosts of his past.

****

CHAPTER TEN

B’Elanna did not return to classes after her convalescence. It was her decision to make when she would resume lectures, another of Tom’s nepotistic arrangements he made. He wanted B’Elanna to regain her strength fully. So whenever he had time off, he would take her on little jaunts and short holidays. She enjoyed it, but doing nothing at all was beginning to pall. Tom was adamant.

“B’Elanna, humour me, please. You’re as thin as a rake.” He took her hand in his, and held her index finger.

“The witch will never eat you.”

“Huh - ?”

“Never mind. Old fairytale.”

One evening, Tom came home, looking extremely saddened. She made him sit on the couch, and sat down next to him.

“Something happened, Tom?” She caressed his hair and turned his face to her. He looked at her, then sighed.

“It’s Kitty. You know Kitty? Catherine the Great. She - she’s dead, B’Elanna. She and her husband were killed on one of the planets in the Ogram star system. He was a scientist. I don’t know much more.”

“Tom, I’m truly sorry to hear that. She was so bright and bubbly.”

“Yes...she didn’t deserve to die, B’Elanna. It was some political disturbance. They were caught in the fray.”

She held him against her, while he cried for dear sweet Catherine, for whose greatness of heart when she let Tom go, she would always be indebted to.

****

In spite of the Parises being out of circulation for quite a while, they were still the most talked about couple of Starfleet. They were all humbled by the amazing love and care the Admiral showed his wife, especially after her serious illness. The Parises attended a symphony concert one evening at the Juilliard Conservatoire, a large auditorium containing eight bays, four on each side. Tom and B’Elanna occupied the second bay on the left, easy in view of the rest the audience. B’Elanna wasn’t much into classical music, but it lent a certain social status being seen at these concerts. It diminished somewhat a concertgoer’s genuine interest in the arts. Of course, a rumour mill would die of boredom if didn’t have grist to keep it alive, and the Parises provided the mill enough grist:

“They say she almost died.”

“He saved her life, but she almost drowned.”

“They say he’s very devoted to her.”

“He married her on the rebound.”

“That one’s old.”

“He was distraught when his cousin Catherine died.”

“I wonder what’s important about that ring - “

“Shhhh!”

“It’s a pity she can’t give him any heirs..

*

They were performing Mozart’s clarinet concerto, with Harry Kim as the soloist. Tom smiled, thinking how he had to explain to Harry at the time that the wedding to Catherine was off.

He had been watching the performance with interest, and was unaware that he was absently rubbing the ring on his little finger, twisting it round and round. His hands were in his lap. B’Elanna looked at him, then at his hands. She took his hand in hers.

“Tom...” She bent her head close to his. A sigh went up in sections of the audience, who was more interested in watching the Parises.

He leaned his head close to hers.

“Tom... it’s okay. Don’t beat yourself so.”

Tom got a distinct feeling of deja vu, when she spoke those words.

He gripped her hand in his:

“I’m sorry...”

“No need.”

***

The birthday bash of the President of the Federation, held in Paris, France was the turning point. That was when B’Elanna felt most her frustration at being Tom’s wife, having to pretend, and not feeling like pretending. Something was building up inside her. She was fast reaching boiling point. Her most recent communication with Tom’s mother was fraught with her old agonies and as usual, tears of desperation.

“I can’t go on like this, Mama,” she sobbed wildly. “To him I’m still only the friend he married.”

“Child,” Mama said, “please don’t do anything rash. Just hope.”

“I’ve done so much of that. I thought when I was so sick, he would see me as more than a friend. I’m trying so hard. It’s not working, Mama. It’s not working.”

“B’Elanna, why don't you then just tell - “

“No! no - he'll resent me. I don’t want his pity. I’m thinking of leaving, Mama. I’m competing against a ghost, a memory. I can’t stay with him any longer. It’s too difficult, seeing him go vacant every time he looks at me, or when he wants to touch or kiss me. I - I’m not made of stone, Mama.”

“You’ll make Tom very unhappy, my child. You know how he’s come to depend on you - “

“It’s not enough, is it? It’s just not enough.”

***

Dressed in a long flowing gown that resembled much the style of clothing worn by the women of Melvech, B’Elanna looked stunning. She moved around the room, made friendly small talk, even got the President to smile. Tom as usual, appeared to have eyes only for her. He was never far away from her, always showing his concern, his hand lightly on her shoulder, very attentive. All the time, she was seethingly unhappy, but she didn’t show it.

Not even when they returned home in the early hours of the morning, discussing the success of the evening.

“Well, you certainly mellowed the President tonight.”

“Yes...he really enjoyed himself, didn’t he?”

“I know I did,” Tom said as he stood near her, unaccountably intrigued by her hair, which had been laced with little white flowers.

“Tom, it’s 0300. Almost morning - “

Tom held her shoulders and looked into her eyes: “Morning of April 20 - does that suggest something to you?”

Her eyes went wide for a second. “Of course. Our wedding anniversary. Our third anniversary,” she added, feeling a little dead inside.

He kissed her gently. “Wait a moment.” Then he left to go into his bedroom. B’Elanna thought how different her three years of married life to Tom was to the three years of bliss she shared with him when he was Adam. She sighed, feeling close to tears. She had to make a decision, and very soon. They were still only friends and all the conditions laid down by Tom and accepted foolhardily by her, still intact. But for now, keeping up the pretense made Tom happy. He returned with an oblong package which he placed in her hands.

“All my gratitude goes with this, B’Elanna. I owe you more than I can put into words,” Tom said, expectancy clear in his face.

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she gently removed a magnificent diamond pendant on a gold chain, and held it against the light. Another beautiful object to add the collection of Tom’s gifts to her, she thought, not without some bitterness. I want your love, Tom, she screamed silently. Not this.

“Will you put it on for me?”

He stood behind her and clasped the hooks of the chain, his fingers burning her skin. She closed her eyes for a second, wishing...

“There, how do you like it?” she asked as she turned round to face him, an expectant look in her eyes.

Tom looked at her, her eyes, the little flowers in her hair. He touched her hair, then gently placed his fingers on the ridges of her brow. He felt an old stirring awakening in him, a forgotten longing, as his fingers finally came to rest on her lips.

“You are a very beautiful woman, you know,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I - I rather hoped you would say that.” He kissed her briefly before he asked:

“B’Elanna, are you happy?”

“Why do you ask?”

“If I hadn’t interfered in your life - “

“I should never have been the wife of an Admiral, meet the President of the Federation, wear this very beautiful pendant - “

“Is it enough?” Oh, Tom, that you should ask that. How can it be enough?

“Perhaps not.”

“Is there...someone else...?”

B’Elanna hesitated before answering, saying: “No... Tom, why do you ask?”

“Because...because if there were... I haven’t the right to hold you to our bargain, you know,” he answered truthfully.

B’Elanna mentally cringed at the description Tom gave of their marriage. In the beginning, when she had been too grateful just to be near him, she was filled with a rush of anticipation that he might want to change the parameters of their so-called union. Now, it’s all such a sham, a mockery of what they once had. He was as always the perfect gentleman, showering her with everything but what she wanted most from their marriage. How strange life was, she wondered. Being with Tom, she had everything, yet nothing. With Adam she had nothing, yet everything that mattered.

“You’re trying to get rid of me, Tom?” she asked in mock cheerfulness.

"You know I’d be utterly lost without you.”

B’Elanna sighed. That was the extent of his affection for her. “I think I like my job,” she whispered. Liar! Coward! It’s a job, yes, not a marriage, Tom! She simmered for a few moments before she calmed herself enough to keep her voice neutral. “A woman told me tonight she envied me more than anyone she knew. She envied me my husband - most women do...” B’Elanna felt on the verge of tears, and suddenly excused herself and fled to her room.

Tom wondered what he had done or said wrong now. He wanted to be more to B’Elanna, more than just the friendship he offered her three years ago. He knew it sounded completely absurd, but it felt to him that she filled those gaps he always thought no one else could. Not even sweet Kitty, who loved him. But he just couldn’t love her they way she deserved. Now that B’Elanna had entered his life, been everything to him, albeit a wife in name only, he honestly couldn’t imagine his life without her. There would probably always be that occasional yearning for those lost years. He knew without a shred of doubt, that he must have been happy in that period. But it was gone. He was slowly, very slowly coming to terms with it. Only with B’Elanna at his side had he been able to a large extent to subdue the longing, the need to know what was hidden there in his past. Yet, B’Elanna had her own ghosts and lost dreams to lay to rest. More than his own pain of loss, her need to cling to a dream kept him from making more intimate overtures. He was vain enough to think he didn’t want to be a substitute. He wanted her. He wanted to be Tom, her husband. Not a ghost. He was alerted to the sound of sobbing coming from her room.

“B’Elanna?” he called, after he knocked on her door. “Are you all right?”

He heard her muffled answer. “Come in,”

She was sitting at her dresser, a string of cheap beads dangling from her fingers. Tom felt a momentary resentment, then suppressed it quickly.

“He gave it to you...? Adam?”

She nodded.

“He said it was the colour of my eyes,” and she held up the beads close to her eyes so he could see. What was I hoping? she thought as she saw there was no recognition in Tom's eyes. She sighed, lowering the beads.

“You...love Adam still, B’Elanna?” There was some pain in Tom’s voice as he waited for her to answer. Her eyes filled with tears. It was enough for him. He felt the jealousy take over, an irrational feeling he knew he couldn't control. He was suddenly angry, bursting out with:

“Adam is dead, B’Elanna - long dead “

“No - he - !”

“He’s dead, B’Elanna. You cling to a ghost. A dream. Why? Because he lives in your memory? Why, B’Elanna, do you punish yourself so, with this?” He took the beads from her and flung it across the room. His eyes were fevered.

“No more than you do with that!” She pointed to the ring on his little finger. “We’re even, Tom. Even.”

“No, that’s a lie. Because whatever happened in those years, I don’t remember them. I try hard to push it away from me. It’s difficult, but I am trying, B’Elanna. God knows, I tried! But are you doing the same? Do you know that when you were so ill, you called constantly for Adam? And your dead child?”

“Don’t, Tom. Please... “

“I’d like our marriage to be a normal one, B’Elanna, but like you, I don’t want to compete against a ghost.”

“Tom, if you remember, you set the conditions. You!”

He closed his eyes and swore volubly. He grabbed her head in his hands, brought her face close to his, and before he could analyse his next move, he ground his lips into hers.

“Don’t, Tom...don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what, sweetheart? Don’t make love with my wife?”

“Stop, please...”

Before she could recover from his next onslaught on her lips and senses, he tore her beautiful dress from her, threw her on the bed, flung himself across her.

“I...am...not...Adam.” Then he kissed her again, his lips rough on hers. She resisted, not so much in fighting him, but attempting to remain untouched by the heat of his lips on hers. She heard him groan as the tenor of his touch changed, becoming softer, insistent, more passionate. She responded as ripples of pleasure, the old, new memories of Adam's passion assaulted her senses. She sobbed against his mouth as her lips parted for him. He gave a cry as he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. Then his hands were on her body, roaming, roaming. "I...am...not...Adam..." he whispered against her lips, her hair. B'Elanna wanted to fight him off, but her own passion, her long denied need to feel him so close to her, overwhelmed any resistance to him. He started to remove his dress uniform, then he buried his face in her neck. Her body was warm and soft, sending Tom crazy with pent-up need, and the driving need to burn Adam out of her system to be replaced only by images of him. He wanted her to smell him and not Adam, wanted his own smell to remain with her forever. "Look at me, my love," he whispered in his urgent caress, and when she did, she wanted to die as she saw the raw passion, the raw need.

"Tom..."

"B'Elanna..." he groaned as he parted her legs and joined his flesh with hers. The thrust was swift, an angry affirmation of his desire to let her know who was fusing with her in this mating ritual. She had not anticipated the swiftness of his entry and stiffened, crying out in surprised pain. Tom was incensed, beyond any reasoning. He was panting, his voice hoarse with emotion as he moved wildly against her.

"Tom, please..."

Her tears came, and with them, suddenly and unbidden, the old images from her nightmares. As if Tom's movements in her just switched on an invisible switch, they came. Not like this, Tom! as tears spilled from her. Not like this. Tom’s lips and hands were everywhere. Images of groping hands, clothes ripping, grunting, heaving bodies flashed in her distraught mind.

“Adam...please...you’re hurting me,” she cried out.

“Who am I, B’Elanna?” he asked as he moved his body against her. She tried to struggle free, but he kissed her already sensitised lips, cupped her breasts so tenderly all of a sudden that she released her need to break free. Gradually, the sensation of feeling him in her, overpowered her, so that she started moving with him. She dreamed of this a thousand times, dreamed of the times she and Adam had made love in their little house on Danae. It was a lovemaking, that was pure, primal and intoxicating. It overtook her senses as she melted into him. Tom cried out:

“That’s it, B'Elanna. Please, please tell me: who am I?”

“Adam...” his name came trembling from her lips.

“No, B’Elanna,” he coaxed as he thrust harder into her, feeling himself near to the edge. “I’ll not let you go, sweetheart.” He was beyond reasoning or caring as he made love to her, biting her, his teeth grazing her. He groaned out loud as she bit back, grazed his cheek, a low growl escaping from her as she was swept away by their passion.

“Come on, say it. My name. Say my name.”

“Adam...”

“No!” as he pulled her head back and ground his mouth into her again.

“Adam... T-Tom...”

“Again, sweetheart.”

“Tom... you are Tom...” she whimpered at last. He hugged her fiercely, then his movements became gentle, and B’Elanna at last gave herself over to Tom’s onslaught on her body...sobbing all the time until he spent himself.

Two days later, when Tom returned home from Headquarters at 1800, B’Elanna was gone.

***

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She was everywhere, in every corner of the apartment she turned into a home for them. On every surface there were signs of her. On every wall. The whole place breathed her. There seemed not a place he could walk in the apartment that didn’t invoke a memory of her.

The living room had large potted ferns in its corners.

“We need something green here, Tom,” B'Elanna would coax him into agreeing with her.

On a low table near the large window in the corner, a collection of family photographs - framed photos at that - took pride of place. Something he had never bothered with.

“Goodness, Tom, one would think you had no family tradition.”

There was a photograph of the two of them, when they were still commanding officers of the Excelsior, one with him in his Admiral’s uniform, his parents, his sisters, one of her, and one of Catherine Regine. He picked up the picture of B’Elanna, looked at the smiling face, the slightly parted lips showing her even teeth. His touched the ridges with trembling fingers, then brought the photo closer, pressing his lips against the cool of the glass. He felt the burn of tears as his eyes closed.

On a small table near the large couch that seemed to overpower the room, she placed a 3D chess set. She still could not beat him at the game, always vowing that one day she would. He smiled. She was getting there, he feared, and he was about to lose the bet he made with her.

“You know, Tom, it would be a good idea to break the 24th century clinical appearance of this room if we had a tiny bookshelf with real books in them. Books that you turn the pages physically,” giving him a baleful look when she saw he didn’t look enthusiastic about it.

“You go ahead, sweetheart,” he had said at the time. Now the bookshelf was graced by classics like a print copy of all miraculous things, "Women Warriors at the River of Blood", "Pride and Prejudice", her favourite. She had taken to reading late at night as a pleasurable diversion from quantum physics and engineering. He noticed absently 'Pride and Prejudice' was missing from the shelf. He felt a hand squeeze his heart picturing her, sitting in her bed, or on the couch, reading. Whenever he entered her room she would look up from the book she was reading, the pleasure clear in her dark brown eyes.

“Much better than reading it from a PADD,” and she would stick her tongue out at him.

In the foyer the one wall boasted B’Elanna’s magnificent bat’leth and her d’k tahg. She still liked to fight her Klingon holographic enemies at the Academy’s holodecks. He protested mightily when she wanted to rush headlong into strenuous activities soon after her serious illness. B'Elanna cried one day when he insisted she lower the degree of difficulty of the programs.

“I - I’m not used to being looked after. You’re very protective, Tom,” she would say, battling to keep her composure.

“I need to be, B’Elanna, before you kill yourself. You're taking extreme risks...”

She collected all his models of the Enterprise starships: Zephram Cochrane’s Phoenix, the Ohio on which both of them served at various times, he as its First officer and she as Science Officer, the Excelsior. She placed them in a glass display case. Why didn’t he ever think of that?”

“B’Elanna, where did you get this vintage Chardonnay if you didn’t replicate it?” he asked her one evening at dinner.

“Why, Tom, didn’t you know your father installed a wine cellar at Palings? That was years ago. I asked Mama, and she sent us a small case. She said there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Well, be happy then, sweetheart, because you’re drinking 20 year old vintage wine. The best.” And he raised his glass in a toast.

Once he came home and she was holding a mewing kitten as she came to greet him.

“B’Elanna, sweetheart, I’m allergic to cats,” then he made as if to sneeze.

“Nonsense. Mama said you outgrew that when you were ten. You just didn’t like them.” She cuddled the kitten, a furry white Persian. “There," she crooned, “say Hi to Tom,” and she held it up to him, making him back away. B'Elanna was right, he had outgrown his dislike for cats, but....

“Her name is Scheherazade.”

“Scheherazade. I guess you’ve been in the database again. A Thousand and One Nights, huh.”

And what a cat. Scheherazade snarled whenever he came near her mistress, her fur standing on end. “I’m outnumbered,” he complained.

He had given up eventually, giving B'Elanna free reign. He supposed that’s what all wives did. Reign supreme. Like his mother. Ruler of Palings. Gradually, his place took on the lived-in atmosphere of a home. Her bedroom was something else.

“Tom, can I - “

“B’Elanna, honey, indulge yourself.”

Now the room smelled of her. He walked into it. It’s as if she’s still here, he thought with such pain. He closed his eyes, picturing how he used to sit on the bed next to her, just making idle conversation. Scheherazade would be curled up on her lap and purring. As long as he kept a non-threatening distance.

B'Elanna left everything he gave her - the jewellery, some of them family heirlooms. He opened her wardrobe, saw her dresses still hanging there. He thought of the dress her had ripped from her in such anger in the early hours of the morning. The first day after that disastrous and unhappy episode in which he just took without consideration for her feelings, B'Elanna had been non-communicative. They had avoided looking at one another as if it would excuse his behaviour. It was reprehensible and the second day when he returned from the office, it was with the full intention of begging her forgiveness over and over. He couldn't live without her, he couldn't breathe without her. In short, he couldn't breathe. He took one dress, the one she had worn to Kathryn and Chakotay's anniversary celebration. Tom buried his face in the dress, smelling her, her scent still pervasive. Dear God... I am lost without her... He heard the plaintive mewing of Scheherazade, sidling up to him, for once.

“You miss her too, huh,” as he bent down to pick up the cat.

Then he cried, bitterly.

Because he missed B'Elanna.

***

Lieutenant Enver Harrison, aide to Admiral Thomas Eugene Paris, thought he never saw his boss in such agony before. The Admiral returned to his old taciturn way, hardly ever smiling, every inch too much the disciplined military man, able to hide his pain, not given to outward display of emotion. He became pretty much like his father, Admiral Owen Paris, this according to those who had known the great man.

Officially, Mrs Paris junior went on an extended holiday to visit old Gamma Quadrant friends of hers. No one questioned this state of affairs. But unofficially, the rumour mill was once again hard at work. Mrs Paris left her husband. She was not returning. Admiral Paris never came over the death of his dear cousin Catherine. He never forgot his first love. He married Mrs Paris on the rebound. That story never went to rest, surfacing every time with a new twist to it.

She married him on the rebound. That story was new, and deserved discussion of the highest order. To all these rumours Admiral Paris was impervious. He was not given to join in the less than tasteful gossip often indulged in by some of his colleagues.

It was clear to Lieutenant Harrison that the Admiral was suffering. Whatever happened just before Mrs Paris left, the Admiral appeared deeply remorseful. He missed her, that was obvious. Every time the door to his office opened, he would cast his eyes with eager anticipation in that direction, thinking she might have returned. It was almost pathetic to see the acute disappointment in his eyes when it wasn’t her.

Mrs Paris had now been away three months, and people - the gossip-mongers more likely - were beginning to wonder how long an extended holiday could be. It was somewhat strange that the Admiral himself did not know the whereabouts of his lady. Enver thought that to be so unlike what he thought of marriage. He may not be married himself yet, but he knew that a relationship had to have several foundation stones and one of them was trust.

“Sir,” he asked one day when he saw the Admiral looking intently for at least twenty minutes at the framed photograph of his wife, “why don’t you initiate a search for her?”

Tom Paris gave a sigh. “I don’t think she wants to be found, Lieutenant. She wants to be as far away as possible from me. I don’t mind telling you this, Lieutenant, but she’s made it pretty clear I mustn't come after her. Let’s keep that in this office, understood?”

Harrision nodded. He had consistently refused to offer the Paris Affair as fodder to the gossipmongers. He admired both the Admiral and his wife too much, and considered their travails to be their own affair. Whatever he knew about it, was private and confidential. He knew the two well enough to know that they were both headstrong, the lady possessing an amazing capacity to unleash her anger, and either he or the Admiral himself being at the receiving end of it. She would always make up afterwards by inviting him for dinner at their apartment. Once he was even invited to the Paris family home, Palings. Yes, he loved these two headstrong people who could not put their old pains aside and just admit how they felt about each other. Because Enver knew, even if the Admiral didn’t want to admit it to himself, that that gentleman was deeply in love with his wife and that Mrs Paris was in love with her husband from the very beginning. Though why they, after three years of marriage, still denied their feelings for one another, he didn’t know. Honestly.

He cared deeply about the Admiral and if there was one word in which he could describe the current feeling of Tom Paris on the subject of his wife, he’d say that Tom Paris was pining. He thought that such an emotion could be corroding. It could only weaken one physically the longer one pined. That was why he thought it necessary, for the Admiral’s sake, he called the Admiral’s mother one day.

“Mrs Paris,” he ventured, “I know it is not my place to speak in the vein I am about to, but I can see the Admiral is not well at all. He misses his wife, Mrs Paris. He is pining, and I can see he’s neglecting himself.”

That good lady looked at him, said: “You know what, Lieutenant? Tom got what he deserved. I should think he can suffer a little longer, perhaps a month or two longer, before I’ll come in to speak with him.”

“Mrs Paris, correct me if I’m wrong, but do you know something the Admiral doesn’t know?”

She smiled enigmatically, then said: “I’ll see him sometime soon. Right now I’m too angry at him for causing B’Elanna to leave in the first place.”

He had to be satisfied with that. But six weeks later, Mrs Paris senior breezed into the office, and vented her full motherly ire on her son. At that moment she didn’t care whether Enver was in the office too. She actually ordered him to stay and said:

“No, you lieutenant, you stay here.”

“Lieutenant, this is a personal matter. Dismissed.”

“Lieutenant, if you value your life, I’d thank you to keep what happens here, confidential. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma'am, anytime, Ma'am.” Enver actually clicked his heels and stood on attention, his whole demeanour one of please don’t hurt me!

“Mothers!” The Admiral complained, “you can’t beat them.”

“No, Sir, never, Sir,” the lieutenant agreed fervently.

Elizabeth Paris didn’t spare her son. She bested every argument he had for not going after his wife, lambasted him for his shoddy treatment of B'Elanna. The two stood like charging bull terriers on each side of his desk, their hands on the surface and leaning over, glaring at each other. Enver thought that had his boss been a nine year old errant kid, she would have sent Tom to stand in the corner of his room.

“Tom,” she said, “if you have any idea, any idea at all what your wife has gone through to be at your side, you’d not be sitting here right now and pining away in self-pity.”

He closed his eyes. It was difficult to admit to the part he played in B’Elanna vanishing like that. It was so personal, so intimate, he couldn’t bring himself to think about it or talk about it, not even to his mother. All he could see, were the bruises that were already forming on her body by the time he left her. All he could feel, was his own shame at what he had done. All he could sense, God help him, was her withdrawal from him. That hurt the most. She had been distant, reflective, never speaking, just moving about the apartment. She never accused him, never pointed any fingers, never cried or smiled. Scheherazade would wail plaintively until she allowed him to cuddle on her lap and purr while her mistress stared out the wide window overlooking San Francisco Bay.

“What happened that night, Tom? To scare her away like that?”

“I - er...Mother, I can’t explain...it is personal and painful.”

But Mrs Paris was relentless. She loved B’Elanna as if she were her own daughter, and she wasn’t going to let her son sweet talk her into believing some fabricated account of the last two days with his wife.

“She - she can’t let Adam go, Mother. I got angry, that’s all.”

“No more than you want to let your lost years go, Tom. But that’s not all, is it? Come on, be a man. What did you do to her?”

“I - she...I...” and he blushed furiously. Then he relented.

“I made love to her, Mother.”

“And you insisted she call you Tom, not Adam.”

How did she know?

“God, Mother - “

“I won’t hear profanities from you, Tom.”

“I’m sorry. I - yes, if you must know. I was too angry at her for refusing to let go of a dead man. I - I was very rough with her, Mother. It’s something I have regretted every single minute since it happened.”

“So you should. Because what you did, or the way you sought to express your anger, merely brought back all the trauma she suffered at the hands of those criminals!”

“Oh, God!" His face creased with pain and shame.

“Tom - !”

“Sorry...”

He closed his eyes, saw B’Elanna lying there, sobbing quietly until she fell asleep. Nothing he tried afterwards could calm her. No manner of apology helped. He felt his heart constrict. When she called Adam’s name at the end, he didn’t even care anymore. In that moment something happened that even now he couldn't explain, though he pondered over it a thousand times in the last months. The moment she called Adam's name, he had that flash, no longer just a simple fleeting wisp that was gone before he could capture it, but a wide window where he could see himself as Adam, feeling, smelling, sensing everything as this Adam B'Elanna couldn't seem to forget. But even that was gone by the time he looked at B'Elanna's face and saw the absolute desolation there.

“Tom, do you love B’Elanna?” his mother's voice broke into his thoughts.

He was floored by that question, firstly, coming from his mother, secondly because he never actually thought about it. He just knew he couldn’t live without B'Elanna, breathe without her. And suddenly, as if Elizabeth's question just triggered the final affirmation of his feelings, he knew that finally, his three lost years didn't matter anymore. He sighed. Another major sin he committed, according to his mother. He should have convinced B'Elanna of his feelings.

“Yes, Mother. Yes...I love her.”

For the first time in three years, after looking a thousand times at the ring on his little finger, pondering a thousand times on his random years, refusing a thousand times to take a leap of faith and put those years where they belonged: in the past, he felt a peace he has never felt. It flooded his soul, his heart. A burning sensation took hold of him when he at last admitted aloud to himself that he loved his wife deeply. How could he not? It was to him as if she had always been there, he just didn’t take notice of it. He thought of all the attempts B’Elanna made in the years of their marriage to reach him. And he was stupid! Stupid!

“Yes...I love her very deeply,” and he felt his eyes misting over. He sank back in his chair, and buried his face in his hands.

Elizabeth Paris saw the transformation in Tom’s expression and silently said: Hallelujah. She nodded quietly, glad now at last that Tom came to realise two things: he loved his wife, and she loved him. When Tom collected himself there was a new sheen in his eyes. Even Enver, who had quietly witnessed this exchange between mother and son, had tears in his eyes.

“All right, Mother,” Tom said at last. “Where is she?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Tom,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

***

Now they were traveling towards the Dekra system in the Gamma Quadrant. From there they would receive escort to the Melvech Star system. For that was where the Admiral’s wife was. Mrs Paris senior had known all along of her daughter-in-law’s whereabouts, but only when she felt certain of Tom’s feelings for his wife, was she prepared to part with that information. As for Enver being present at the time when she lambasted her son, he felt almost like a family member now.

The Admiral, once he made up his mind to bring his wife back, wasted no time in making the necessary arrangements.

“Lieutenant, my application for a six month working holiday has been approved. You are going with me. Unless you have other commitments, then I can arrange for another secretary.”

Of course he had other commitments. But, he had never traveled in the Gamma Quadrant, and told his girlfriend it was a once in his lifetime opportunity. Also, he was rather keen to see how the Paris saga would run its course.

He was gratified that the Admiral looked better than he had in months. It seemed as if a load had been lifted off his shoulders. He smiled more readily now, and was more inclined to talk to him about missing his beloved B’Elanna.

He knew all about their cat, Scheherazade, who, like the Admiral, pined for her mistress. The cat reclined day after day on her mistress’ bed, refusing to move from there, or even eat. Mrs Paris senior had called regularly to cheer her son up, and now, while away, agreed to take care of Scheherazade.

“I left everything in our home as B’Elanna arranged it,” the Admiral said. “She made it a home for us, and it’s going to be a home she will return to.” He could hear the excitement and impatience in Tom’s voice. They’ve already been traveling four weeks of a six week journey. They would be reaching the Dekra system anytime now.

“It was on the fourth planet there, that I went missing in the first place, Harrison. I was on a covert mission, carrying an ambassador when we were captured. I was beaten up pretty badly, so badly I lost my memory.”

“But Sir, you’ve regained your memory, haven’t you?” Harrison queried, sounding a little puzzled.

“Yes, I did, and on the same planet, virtually on the same spot, but only three years later. The strange thing is, when I regained my memory, I had no recollection at all of what I had done in those three years, or where I had been.”

“Sir, if I may...” Tom nodded. “It seemed you’ve always been troubled by not being able to remember those three years.”

“Yes. I just had this feeling that those years had to be important in my life, else why would I have been so restless all these years?”

“Sir, do you think it’s reasonable to assume that you spent those years in the Gamma Quadrant?”

“That’s something I’ve always thought about. I know I was taken off world to some other facility in an exchange of prisoners, but I was too sick to remember.” The Admiral paused before he spoke again.

“You know, I’ve been a seasoned explorer, even in this quadrant, but I’ve only vaguely heard about Melvech. I don’t even know any persons who had been there. I certainly have never been there.” He paused, pondering something. “Yet, that is where my wife is. She certainly picked a spot to hide from me,” he whispered, becoming suddenly sad at the thought that his deed had caused her to run away from him.

“Sir, I’ve done some research. Melvech offers political asylum to anyone requesting it, and offers them refugee status. I think your wife may have lived there with her friends years ago, before returning to the Academy.”

“Do you know it’s now just over thirteen years since I went missing in the first place?”

“And you’ve been married to your wife for the past three years of it.”

“I was a fool, to have wasted my time so, hankering after the lost years, when she... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t trouble you.” He looked at the ring, and wondered still about the inscription, though now only of minimal interest. He removed the ring, looked again at the words:

O Perfect Love -L.

“As I understand it, she’s staying with friends there?”

“She’s always spoken about them, and I believe she once went to visit them in the past number of years.” Tom sighed. “It’s funny, she’s due for her vaccine anytime now. I brought everything with me, and it’s one of the first things she’s going to have to receive, even if she doesn’t want to speak to me again. I don’t blame her, you know. I treated her abominably.”

On a ship wide communication they were informed that the ship would enter the orbit of Dekra Four. Soon after, they left for Melvech Alpha.

Tom’s excitement was rising by the minute, although he tried not to show it, and Harrison’s curiosity was rising by the minute, although he tried not to show it. It was a case of the employee trying to emulate his boss.

“This is it,” the Admiral said as the first planet of the Melvech system appeared in view two weeks later.

***

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was the day of the Festival of the Moons. On that day - or night - the three moons of the planet Melvech aligned in an almost straight line. Only once in a cycle this phenomenon occurred. When this happened, the inhabitants believed that they would be blessed with good fortune and fertility. In all the cities of the planet’s northern hemisphere, the inhabitants took to the streets and narrow lanes to celebrate the festive occasion. On this day the goddess Thuryah would appear and personally bless them. Dressed in their long, flowing robes that enhanced their slim, tall bodies, men and women moved along the narrow lanes, performing ritual dances to the delight of all the off-Worlders. Melvech had a preponderance of rituals for most occasions, be it fertility, the gathering of the crops, to initiate new incumbents into the most holy of their spiritual shrines, the Temple of the Moon.

Admiral Tom Paris and his secretary Lieutenant Harrison, tried to make their way through the throng of moving bodies. A reveler knocked into Tom, almost throwing him off his feet.

“Mish keli toch,” the reveler mumbled.

“Dech shoh pol,” the Admiral replied.

Before Harrison could recover from his total stupefaction at the Admiral’s words, he said: “Let’s dive into this alleyway,” and he grabbed a puzzled Harrison into a nearby alley.

“Excuse me, Sir. But what did that man say to you?”

“Who? Oh, he apologized and I said apology accepted.” Then the Admiral frowned confusedly. “I - Look, there’s a pub not far from here. We’d be safer there." Holding Harrison by the arm, and keeping to the walls of the buildings, they reached the pub and went inside.

“Sir,” Harrison said, “I thought you’ve never been to this world before.

“No, I can’t say I have...” Then the Admiral frowned.

“Sir, just now, you answered one of the inhabitants in their own language, and you pushed me into that alley as if you knew it was there.”

“Yes...I did, didn’t I?”

“Even coming to this pub. We’ve never walked this way, and you couldn’t have known it was here."

Harrison looked keenly at the Admiral, who seemed perplexed as he rubbed his forehead.

“I must have been here before. There's a hospital, it’s not far away you know.”

“What hospital, Sir?”

“Something like an asylum for the mentally handicapped. I always swore there was nothing wrong with me. That... it’s... just...my... memory...”

Then Harrison did something he hoped the Admiral would forgive him. He grabbed the Admiral’s hand and dragged him back to that alley where Tom had barged into the Melvechian. Enver Harrison's eyes glowed, he was excited as he spoke to Tom:

“We can retrace your steps from here, Sir. Now tell me what you experienced here.”

“Oh, it was the Festival of the Moons, like today.”

“Sir, no one told us this is the Festival of the Moons. How did you know?”

“I know. The three moons align, like Orion’s belt. There, can’t you see?” and he pointed to the sky.

Enver Harrison looked up, and though it was twilight, he could see the three Moons, the third of the three just slightly off, not quite a straight line.

“Okay, you remember that.” Harrison's excitement tripled. He sensed they were reaching something of magnificent proportions. “Then you walked along this lane, keeping close to the walls, like we’re doing now, is that right?”

“Yes...yes... I was feeling very sick that night. Caught a virus that’s particularly devastating to this world’s people. Yes...I remember that.”

“Then what happened?”

“I was stumbling along and I bumped into someone. It was a - a girl...” A flash of a smiling face in a white dress vanished as quickly as it appeared. He frowned.

“Yes, yes! There was a girl -!”

“A girl?”

“Yes - she - she helped me - " The Admiral suddenly took hold of his aide and said confidently: "We have to go.”

“Go? Go...where?”

“To Cowan. He’ll know where she is.”

At this point it was clear to Harrison that the Admiral’s memory was coming back. He asked no more questions as he was bundled as quickly as possible some short distance away. They stood in front of a house. Harrison was puzzled, Tom was expectant. Then the door opened and a man and woman stood in the doorway. Tom looked at Cowan, saw the recognition, then looked at Yelena, whose eyes misted over. Harrison continued to look mystified.

Tom took a step forward and embraced his old friend, then hugged Yelena. He looked questioningly at Cowan again. Then Cowan simply said:

“There’s a hover car waiting for you. You know where the launching pads are.”

Tom nodded his gratitude, then said to Harrison: “You wait here. These kind people will look after you.”

Then he sped away. Harrison looked long and extremely perplexed at his boss’ vanishing figure.

His thoughts were interrupted by Cowan taking him gently by the arm and leading him inside his house. Cowan started:

“Now, Lieutenant, did I ever tell you about the rituals of the Festival of the Moons...?”

*****

The commune of Danae has changed little in fourteen years. He stood some distance away from a small house that looked so achingly familiar. Turning his face further towards a little hill, he saw the tree. He could have been here yesterday, as if he never left.

He started walking very slowly towards the house, not aware that he was even moving, but one foot placed in front of the other, some involuntary action that depended not on rationale, but like an automaton moving forward, inexorably towards his fate. The palms of his hands felt clammy, and though he needn’t touch it, there was a film of sweat forming on his brow.

His heart started hammering against his ribcage, like loud thumps on a drum. There was a buzzing in his ears, and he shook his head slightly to dispel the noise which seemed to congregate there. He just felt himself moving. He reached the door, stood still. His hand went out and he pushed gently. The door slid open noiselessly.

It was quiet in the house. There was no one in the small lounge. He did not call for anybody. For when he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, she was lying on the bed, her head resting on her arms, a blue soft toy held with familiar closeness to her breast. It seemed she was asleep, facing away from the headboard, towards the door.

Long, long moments he just looked at her. The shoulder length hair had grown a little longer, her eyelashes fluttered as if she were somewhere in a restless dream, the ridges on her forehead so achingly dear. Her red lips were slightly parted. He was not aware of his eyes misted over.

He didn’t move from where he was standing, but he called her name.

“Lainey.”

She heard far off in her dream someone call her name. She wondered who could be calling her. But the mists lifted, she opened her eyes and saw a figure in the doorway. She saw him clearly, and even as she rose slowly from the bed, the tears welling in her eyes, she breathed very softly:

“Adam.”

“My love. My Lainey.” He held open his arms.

In one single movement she was in his arms, held tightly, so tightly for long, long seconds, his hand cupping her head against his chest. His head bent down, his lips on her hair, his eyes closed. She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears, then his lips found hers. He started kissing her, his trembling lips and fingers touching every contour of her face, the tears running silently down. They cried, laughed, sobbed, rediscovering through touch. Healing through touch. Their hands journeyed to those parts half forgotten, yet so achingly intimate and familiar. One by one fell away all the old yearning, the pain, the despair, the hurt, the angers and frustrations. Then he hugged her convulsively again, not wanting to let her go. Holding her close to him, he touched the ridge on her forehead, his fingers trailing down to her lips.

“I love you,” he whispered raggedly. “Forgive me...forgive me...”

And she clung to him, the anchor that would keep her safe from now on in those raging seas. They whispered, brokenly, words of yearning, of benediction, of penance, of pardon.

When at last they could break off their kisses, he looked down at her beloved face.

“B’Elanna, my beloved, you never did leave me out of your sight.”

And she looked up at him, her eyes shining through her tears and said:

“Oh, Tom, God must have kept one miracle just for me.”

******

THE END

O Perfect Love, all human thought transcending,

Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne,

That theirs may be the love which knows no ending

Whom Thou for evermore dost join in one.

O Perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance

Of tender charity, and steadfast faith,

Of patient hope, and quiet brave endurance,

With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

Grant them the Joy which brightens earthly sorrow

Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,

And to life’s day the glorious unknown morrow

That dawns upon eternal love an life. Amen.

Words: Dorothy Gurney, 1858-1932

Music: J. Barnby, 1838-1896

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

1. Reference in CHAPTER FIVE to PERIANDER OF CORINTH. Periander actually did exist, c. 625-585 BC. A tyrannical ruler said to have forbidden idleness and luxury. A dedication to Periander was the famous CHEST OF CYPSELUS, made of cedar-wood and decorated with figures in ivory, gold and wood. It was said to have been the one in which Cypselus, father of Periander was hidden as an infant.

Using this information, a South African dramatist and poet, D.J. Opperman wrote an Afrikaans drama called Periandros van Korinthe (Periander of Corinth). A Greek tragedy in which , among others, Periander pushes his wife Melissa during an argument and she stumbles over the Chest of Cypselus. She later loses the child she was carrying, becoming seriously ill herself.

2. The hymn printed here appears in the Baptist Hymn Book (with music), Seventh Edition.