Kathryn sighed and leaned her head on the couch. Finally, Saturday evening. A hell of a week.

On Monday, she'd sent Tom, Mike and Sam down to a promising — and supposedly uninhabited —planet to look for anything usable. Apparently someone else had staked a claim; a half-dozen raiders swooped in and attacked the shuttle on takeoff.

Tom got the worst of it. He managed to get the ship in the air, then collapsed. Mike had to drag him out of the seat so that he could get the crippled Flyer close enough to snag with a tractor beam.

She'd gone to Sick Bay … Mike and Sam weren't seriously hurt. But her heart sank when she saw Tom, bloody and still, on the biobed.

"Can he hear me?" she'd asked. The Doctor was about to make an acerbic comment when he realized Kathryn was a shade paler than usual.

"I believe so," he said. "Just stay out of the way, please."

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Thomas Eugene, don't you dare leave us. I want you at the helm when we get home."

No response. The Doctor motioned for her to move, so she patted Tom's arm and left.

XXX

"Doctor to Janeway."

"Yes, Doctor," she answered, trying to remember if she'd dodged another appointment.

"I'd like to ask a favor. I've released Mr. Paris to his quarters, but someone should check on him. He's been rather subdued."

"I noticed that," she agreed, though he'd seem to brighten at her quick visits. "Has B'Elanna been down to see him?" The rumor mill had it that the Paris-Torres relationship was on the rocks again.

"No," The Doctor said quietly. And Harry was on night shift, she realized.

"I'll drop by," she said.

She was a bit nervous as she rang the chime: she seldom visited anyone's quarters.

The door slid open. He was on the couch, his injured leg propped on the coffee table. "No, no, don't get up," she said, waving him back down.

"I see you got the memo on the dress code," he joked. They were both going casual: exercise pants and sweatshirts, hers from the Academy, his with a cartoon photo of a rocket ship — Captain Proton's?

She perched on the couch next to him. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "I hurt, but I'm glad to be out of Sick Bay." He raised an eyebrow. "Did the Doc send you?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but I planned to check in anyway. Had dinner?"

He shook his head. "Nothing sounds good."

She thought for a moment. "How about ham on rye? My treat."

"You don't have to ..." he began. "Hey, I missed dinner," she interrupted as she moved to the replicator. "Deli style OK?" she asked as she brought him a stacked sandwich with a dill pickle, plus a plate of fries to share.

"Oh, man, I can smell that mustard … Petroff's?" he asked appreciatively. A favorite Sunday-night haunt of Academy cadets.

"Of course," she smirked as she replicated a couple of sodas, bottles and all.

"What do you watch on this thing?" she asked, nodding at the TV.

"Right now, mid-20th century comedies," he said, clicking on the machine. "This one's called 'I Love Lucy.'"

XXX

"That was funny," she said, still chuckling at the end of the last show. "Though I'm not sure I understand the social mores of that time."

"Maybe I should find some shows from the 1990s, see if they match what we remember."

"That would be interesting," she admitted, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Oh, sorry, it's late. You're probably on duty in the morning."

"No, Sunday's a day off, or at least not on the bridge." She considered. "I promised Neelix I would help out in the hydroponics bay. Want to come?"

"I don't know much about gardening."

"You think I do? If it's too much, I can use you as an excuse to leave." She gave him one of her lopsided grins, and he couldn't help but agree.

XXX

Tom actually did quite well, though both Kathryn and Neelix refused to let him lift hampers. As thanks, Neelix gave them several tomatoes, and snipped some lettuce, too.

"I have a saucepan. We'd have to replicate some things, but I think we could whip up a decent pasta sauce and a small salad if you're interested," he said on the way back.

"I'm not much of a cook," she admitted.

He smiled at her fondly. "I can cook a little; at least I won't poison us."

After dinner, they sat back with glasses of wine. "Like westerns?" he asked as he fiddled with the TV.

"Not those gory ones Harry was talking about."

"Certainly not after dinner," he teased. "I think I can find something more uplifting."

XXX

The day Tom returned to duty, she casually made her way over to the helm. "Welcome back. I see laughter is the best medicine. Or is it gunfights at high noon?"

He glanced up at her and chuckled. She just laughed and squeezed his shoulder, and ignored Chakotay's frown as she went back to her chair.