a/n: This story actually links quite closely to the last chapter of an older work, Simple Tricks of Light. You don't have to read it to understand this one, but it will give another perspective on the contents. Please see full acknowledgements for the Home series under the first story, Fresh Start. For your convenience, here's a list of what has come before:

1. Fresh Start

2. Running to the End

3. Growing Pains

4. Grounded

5. Preferences

6. Release

7. Falling

8. Support System

9. The Hard Way Down

10. Wintercaerig

11. Coming to Terms

12. Relic

13. Unconditional

The morning Harry died, Tom took the dog and hid in the basement.

It didn't help.

He should have been able to predict that, really. He'd tried it often enough as a child. Not the basement specifically — that had been off-limits, his mother's space for when she needed a quiet place to write or just time to herself. But when young Tom Paris had been sad or frustrated or angry, he'd often grab his dog Scout (and later on, Bones), haul her up to his bedroom, and cry into the ruff of thick fur at her neck until she grew impatient with him and pulled away to scratch at the door.

Lonzak was more patient, or perhaps more loyal (Scout, the little minx, had always preferred Moira) so he didn't think of leaving Tom's side even as he paced and whined his concern. But much as Scout's reluctant tolerance of his hugs hadn't helped so many years ago, Lonzak's cold nose against Tom's knee didn't help now.

B'Elanna, of course, was the one he really needed.

She'd taken charge from the beginning — had approached the problem of their dying friend with an engineer's pragmatism when Tom's sorrow and fear for Harry had rendered him near useless. B'Elanna was the one the made sure their house had everything they needed so Harry could stay with them for what remained of his life. She was the one that arranged for the two of them to meet with Harry's medical team, that scheduled the health aides, and that (metaphorically) slapped Harry upside the head when he insisted he wasn't "going to be anyone's burden."

"Really, Starfleet?" she'd said, hands planted on her hips as she glared at Harry in his hospital bed. "Well, when you're done being melodramatic, can you tell me where your clothes are so I can start packing?"

Tom, along with the health aides, provided much of Harry's day to day care, but it was always with B'Elanna in the background, oiling the machine and keeping the gears turning. Tom could have never done it alone — he couldn't have kept up the 'brave face,' couldn't have stayed so relentlessly cheerful in the face of Harry's progressing infirmity — not without B'Elanna. The last six weeks, particularly, had been hard, and as Harry had relied more on Tom; Tom had relied more on B'Elanna. Her reminders that he needed to eat, to sleep, to take care of himself, too. Her ear when he needed to vent his worries, her arms when he needed her to hold him and let him cry.

He marveled sometimes now, at how he used to think of B'Elanna as rather fragile. Not physically, of course (Tom had barely been able to match her when he'd been at his fittest and he certainly didn't now) but emotionally. Back when they'd been on Voyager, particularly in the early days, she'd been constantly on guard: always ready to lash out at those around her before they could even dare to think of hurting her first.

Then, somehow, over the course of their fifty years together, things had flipped. It was something of a family joke — how, since becoming a father, Tom cried enough to compensate for every one of the tear duct-free Klingons on the Torres-Paris family tree. Meanwhile, B'Elanna's tough Klingon exterior had become matched by an equally resilient interior. In their early years together, Tom had always felt like he had to be the strong one, the reliable one — to make up for the pain John Torres had inflicted so long ago. But now, as he sat devastated and wrung out by Harry's death, he knew it was B'Elanna's strength that would get them through.

It didn't take long at all for her to find his hiding spot. Or for her gentle prodding to allow him to start to mourn.

"I can't believe he's gone," Tom said, when his tears slowed enough for him to speak. "That he won't be there when I go back upstairs. It's so unfair. He was only seventy-five — the youngest of all of us! How can Harry be dead, all because of some stupid radioactive nebula?"

"That was the life he chose, Tom," B'Elanna said, wiping at her own tears and her husband's in turn. "It was what he wanted."

"To die, blind and crippled, years before his time?" Tom said to his shoes.

B'Elanna kicked her foot against his until he met her eyes. "To be on a starship until almost the very end," she said. "To be pushing the boundaries of space travel, making new discoveries. And to spend his last months with the people that loved him the most. Maybe it's not what you would have chosen for him, Tom, but it was Harry's life and his decision."

Tom dropped his head with a nod, knowing she was right, but also knowing it didn't make the loss of his friend any easier. When he looked up at his wife again, she was eyeing herself in a small mirror that hung on the nearby wall.

"Ugh," she said, blinking her tear-swollen eyes. "I'm a mess."

Tom smiled at her, turning her face towards his. He wondered if this deflection was for his benefit or her own. "You're beautiful. Now more than ever."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes, dismissive of his compliments as always. He wished sometimes that there was a way he could make her see herself the way he did. "We should go upstairs," she said, snapping her fingers for Lonzak where he lay reclined at Tom's feet. "Joe's still here, and I think the Doctor is, too. And we should call Miral."

"Right," Tom said, pushing his hands against stiff knees to rise. "There's a lot of people we should call. Starfleet should— " He paused and blinked several times at the growing dark spots that appeared in his vision.

"Tom?" He heard B'Elanna calling him, but her voice was tinny and distant. "Tom! Sit back down." He felt her hands push against his shoulders until he was sitting, and then again at his head until it was between his knees.

The blackness started to clear, and he tried to pick his head up only to meet resistance from his wife. "Stay down. Take a few breaths."

He pushed her hands away. "Stop fussing. I'm fine," he said. "I just stood up too fast and got dizzy. It's nothing."

"You're nearly eighty — nothing is nothing. I'm going to get the Doctor. Sit!" she barked at him, when Tom tried to stand again. Lonzak promptly sat, confused as to who was being addressed. "Don't get up until I come back."

Tom turned to his droopy coonhound, who was watching him for a cue as to how he was supposed to respond to this latest development. "We don't to have listen to her, Lonzak. Let's go." He got up again, pleased when the dark spots didn't reappear, but feeling decidedly shaky by the time he made it to the basement stairs. "Well, we don't have to listen to her," he said again, as he sank down onto a step. "But maybe we should."

He heard the rumble of several feet coming down the stairs behind him. "Mr. Paris? What have you done now?"

"After this long, Doc, can't you call me Tom?" he complained as the EMH appeared in front of him, waving a tricorder wand around his head. B'Elanna and Joe were soon hovering behind him, looking at the readouts over the hologram's shoulder.

"You never use my name," the Doctor huffed.

"Because you change it every year! How am I supposed to keep track? Are we still on Ignatius?" Tom knew very well that Ignatius had only lasted six weeks. He'd only needed to call the Doctor "Iggy" once before the name was summarily discarded.

"Even if your advanced years have wreaked havoc on your memory," the Doctor declared, "it's clear your flair for hyperbole remains unaffected. I have had no more than seven different names since Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, and it's been Leonard since 2420! Admiral Janeway seems to have no trouble remembering, and she's quite a bit older than you."

"Will the two of you stop bickering!" B'Elanna snapped. "Do you know what's wrong with him, or not?"

The Doctor reached into the medkit he'd brought down, and started programming a hypospray. "A mild case of hypoglycemia. Nothing serious." He gave Tom a stern look. "When was the last time you had a decent meal? Or a good night's sleep, for that matter?"

Tom took this opportunity to concentrate very hard on petting Lonzak's head. "Um…" He fiddled with the edge of a floppy, velvet ear.

"Really, Mr. Paris." The Doctor looked at him with reproach. "At your age, you must take better care of yourself. You'll be eighty soon. You can't go gallivanting around like you're still thirty years old and piloting Voyager." He pressed a hypospray to Tom's neck.

"I've never 'gallivanted,'" Tom sulked, inwardly relieved to find his remaining light-headedness dissipating within seconds of the Doctor's treatment.

"A matter of opinion," the hologram replied as he stood and turned to Tom's wife and son. "I prescribe a well-balanced meal. And a nap. I trust the two of you can insure his compliance?"

"Of course, Doctor," B'Elanna said. Tom could feel the heat of her glare boring into him.

"Come on, Dad," Joe said, taking Tom's arm and helping him stand. "I'll make you a sandwich."

Tom bristled when he realized his son wasn't letting go as they made their way to the ground floor. "I know how to go up stairs, you know. I've been using them since before you were born."

"Humor me," Joe replied, his voice even. "And if you're such an expert at them, how did you manage to break your ankle last month when you were playing tag with the girls?"

"That was supposed to be our secret," Tom hissed in indignation as angry voices started clamoring behind them.

"Damn it! I knew you were limping! Joseph Owen Paris, you are supposed to tell me these things!"

"Why don't I know anything about this? Did you see another doctor?"

Tom nudged his son. "You and your big mouth. Getting us in trouble again." Joe just smiled in response, and Tom remembered a time long ago when a young Miral had asked if her little brother had been adopted. "He's so quiet!" she had said — over and over again. "He's like a little mouse." Given their similar appearances (and temper!), everyone always liked to talk about how Miral and B'Elanna were so alike. But it was in their son that Tom most saw his wife's legacy.

He used to worry about Joe's emotional health, too, the way he had once worried about B'Elanna's. But, much like his mother, his son had come to the other side of his trials stronger than ever, and with perhaps a better appreciation than most of what it was to be happy and resilient. "Thanks, buddy," he murmured, when he nearly tripped on a step and Joe steadied him.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Tom looked across the hall to Owen's old office — its cherry wood paneled walls and nautical decor calling to mind the captain's quarters of an ancient frigate. Nearly ten years ago, when he and B'Elanna had moved in to take care of Owen in his last few years of life, his father still held court in there most of the day. Towards the end, when it had become impractical to get Owen up and down the stairs, he had spent his nights in there as well. It had seemed fitting to Tom that the room, even now still indelibly linked to his father, had been his final resting place. After Owen's death, the space had remained untouched — Tom couldn't bring himself to redecorate, despite never having shared his father's sense of aesthetics.

Then, a year ago, they needed somewhere for Harry to stay.

He stood in the hallway and looked through the open door, noting that the biobed and all the monitors had already been cleared away. Starfleet was nothing if not efficient — even Annika would have been impressed. Harry's personal belongings were still distributed around the room in a haphazard fashion, his friend having had little use for them at the end. Tom felt Joe's hand release his arm, and instead wrap around his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Tom simply nodded, afraid to speak and open the dam of his grief again.

"I thought you were making him a sandwich." B'Elanna sharp tone made them both startle. "You heard the Doctor. He needs to eat."

B'Elanna herded her husband into a seat at the kitchen island and her son over to the replicator. The Doctor hovered behind Joe's shoulder, ensuring that the food he was preparing for Tom was, in fact, nutritionally sound and not 'the usual empty calories your father prefers.' Once the EMH was satisfied his orders were being followed, he took his leave. "I'll see you in a few days, Mr. Paris."

"OK, Doc," Tom replied with a sigh. "I'm not exactly sure when we'll have the funeral, though. I need to find out when we can get people in town and we'll need to coordinate with the 'Fleet."

"Yes, of course I'll see you then," the EMH responded, as he checked his medkit to ensure all its contents were in their proper place. "But I meant I'll see you in a few days for a full check up. It's been nearly nine months since your last one, and I want to make sure whomever you allowed to repair your ankle did an adequate job." He turned to B'Elanna. "I sent you the appointment time."

Tom swallowed his mouthful of sourdough and turkey before frowning at them both. "I'm feeling very ganged up on. Why don't you ever harass her this way? She's nearly as old as I am."

"Her hybrid genetics make that age gap wider than you think," the Doctor said as he clicked the medkit shut. "She also comes in every six months like I tell her to. And doesn't eat nearly as much pizza. So again — I'll see you in a few days."

"Doc," Tom said before his old friend could get too far away. "Leonard. Thank you. It meant a lot to Harry for you to be here. It means a lot to me, too."

The Doctor turned back to him, and gave him a sad smile. "You're welcome. I won't say that I won't miss him, but... I'm glad he's finally at peace." He called back over his shoulder as he walked towards the front door. "Now go to bed!"

Once Tom finished his sandwich, B'Elanna took his arm and directed him towards the stairs. He pulled out of her grip and started to protest. "We should really call Miral first. Kathryn and Annika. And Starfleet, and probably about a dozen other people."

"We will," B'Elanna said. "Meaning Joe and I will. You stayed up all night with him, Tom. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "I feel much better after eating. I'll go to bed early tonight. I don't want the two of you to have do everything."

"Damn it, Tom!" she snapped. "You will go upstairs, you will lie down, and you will get some sleep even if I have to knock you unconscious first!"

Tom and Joe shot each other concerned looks. It's not that B'Elanna's Klingon temper didn't still make the occasional appearance, but the years had mellowed it considerably. To get this vehement of a reaction usually meant there were some pretty serious emotions running deep below the surface. "OK," Tom said meekly. "I'm going."

B'Elanna grabbed his arm again, a little more firmly than was strictly necessary, Tom thought, and guided him towards the back stairs. By the time they reached the master bedroom, Tom had to admit lying down was sounding better and better. He sat heavily on the edge of the mattress and kicked off his slippers. Before he gave into his exhaustion, however, he needed to pull a little at this loose thread his wife had left dangling. "You OK?"

She fussed with the pillows and the blankets. "I'm fine," she said, her tone still short. "I'll be better when I know you're resting like you're supposed to. Now lie down!"

Tom obediently lay back on the bed, and let her pull the duvet over him. Before she could straighten, though, he caught her arm and held on until she was sitting next to him. "Fifty years together, I know when you need to talk about something. So talk."

B'Elanna pulled away. Tom assumed this meant he'd have to pursue this later, the truth being he was too tired to get out of bed now that he was in it. Instead, a moment later he realized she had just wanted to cross over to the other side so she could curl up next to him and lay her head on his chest.

"I'm mad at him," she mumbled into his sweater.

Maybe it was because he was so tired, but Tom didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about. Joe? The Doctor? "Who?"

"Harry."

B'Elanna fell silent, but Tom knew to wait. She'd explain herself eventually if he didn't rush her. "He shouldn't have done it," she finally said. "Turned down all those promotions. He should have come back to Earth years ago. Look at your father. Or Janeway! Harry would still be here if he'd just stop being so damn stubborn and agreed to be an admiral."

Tom was glad that B'Elanna's face was buried in his chest and she couldn't see his expression. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at his wife's contrariness. "Weren't you the one who said that he lived and died the way he wanted? That regardless of what I wanted, it was his choice to make — to stay in space?"

B'Elanna sat up abruptly, wiping at the fresh tears in her eyes. "Of course I said that," she snapped. "You were upset, and I was trying to make you feel better. I know what I'm supposed to say. I know I'm supposed to feel happy for him — that he didn't compromise who he was for anybody, that he was the man he wanted to be until almost the very end. But I'm not happy for him! I'm just… pissed. That he would up and leave me like this."

Tom reached up and pulled her back down into his arms. What an idiot he was. He'd been so consumed by his own grief for Harry and so busy mentally congratulating his wife on her emotional fortitude, he'd missed that the whole thing had been an act.

"It's too much, Tom," she muttered.

He could hear the sobs she was trying to hide. "What is?"

"Harry. Tuvok. Neelix. And…" She stopped, and her shoulders began to shake.

"I know," he said, and kissed her head. Chakotay was the name she couldn't say. That one had been rough. Their old friend had developed some sort of rapid wasting disease; Tom still wasn't sure of all the details. Chakotay had been on Dorvan, with his family — within a week of Tom and B'Elanna getting the news of his illness, he was dead. B'Elanna had been heartbroken that she hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye in person.

"We're only getting older," B'Elanna continued.

"That is the usual way of these things," Tom replied, smiling a little in her hair.

She picked her head up to glare at him before letting it thud back down onto his chest. "When you almost fainted… Thinking about how someday, you…" She didn't need to finish.

"Hey," he said, pulling her closer. "I'm fine. The Doc said it was nothing. And I'll go to the damn checkup. You'll see — I'm healthy. Ish. For seventy-nine, at least."

"You're basically eighty," she reminded him.

"So everyone seems to relish pointing out." Tom frowned before he kissed her head. "But I'm not going anywhere. Definitely not into deep space or any radioactive nebulas." But he couldn't really promise her what she wanted, could he? When he'd first said it, decades earlier, he'd meant it with his whole heart. I am never going to leave you. But reality was, Tom almost certainly was going to leave her at some point. Whether he wanted to or not. He squeezed her tightly.

"B'Elanna, you know whatever happens, whenever it happens: you won't be alone. Miral and Joe will still be here. The grandkids. And you'll always have my love for you. That will never go away."

She didn't respond, but only lay still in his arms, sliding one hand across his chest until it rested directly over his heart. Tom blinked his heavy lids and felt his consciousness start to drift away.

"Unless I go first."

Tom's eyes snapped back open, and he let out a soft laugh at the matter-of-fact tone of B'Elanna declaration. Heart-to-heart conversation officially over. What else could he do but play along? "Oh? Where are you going?"

"Unless I die first." She propped herself up on one elbow with a grin. "It did occur to you that it could happen that way, right?"

Tom gave his wife an exaggerated frown. "Of course it occurred to me. But I mean… No! I've already thought about this — you're younger, and half-Klingon, and you take much better care of yourself. You even stopped drinking raktajino! You're being ridiculous," he finished, pressing his head back into the pillow and staring at the ceiling. "Of course I'm going to die first."

B'Elanna sat all the way up now, amused and pleased he'd followed her on this light-hearted diversion. "Unless you don't. Things happen, Tom."

"I wouldn't last a week." Tom smiled back at her even as he recognized the truth of his words.

She snuggled back down against him, tucking her left hand under his right. "Well, we'll just have to tell the Doctor we plan to die at the same time, then. Maybe he can put one of us in a stasis chamber, until the other one is ready."

"That will never do. You know how much I hate those things. He'll have to think of something else." He sighed and let his eyes close, relishing the familiar notes of bergamot and jasmine in her hair. "I love you, you know. If I haven't told you enough."

"You could never tell me enough," she whispered into his ear. "I love you, too."

He stroked the back of her hand and felt his breathing slow and deepen. It was a ridiculous promise to make, one he couldn't really keep. So ridiculous he wouldn't say it aloud again. But, Tom decided as he drifted off to sleep, he could make the promise to himself. He was never going to leave this woman alone. Not if there was anything he could do to help it.

The End

Coming next week! Release Part II