a/n: I won't say it's the best, but this might be my favorite story that I've ever written. Please see full acknowledgements for the 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

It had been Tom's idea from the beginning.

The first time he brought it up, B'Elanna had said no without even taking a moment to consider it. As she'd also done the second, third, and fourth times he'd asked.

"Aren't our lives complicated enough, Tom?" she'd say. "The kids, the firm — we don't need more chaos!"

But the fifth time, B'Elanna had just popped a piece of Tom's sticky toffee fudge in her mouth, and she couldn't get the word out immediately. Her husband pounced. "Come on, B'Elanna. Miral's ten — she'll help out. And Jojo's almost five! He'll be in school much more in the fall. Now's the perfect time!"

B'Elanna gestured at their floors with a frown until the candy was swallowed and she was able to speak again. "But the mess, Tom. It'll have to be housebroken, it will chew on everything. How do we have time for a puppy?"

"That's the beauty of this one, B'Elanna!" her husband exclaimed. "He's not a puppy! He's nearly two years old. He belongs to a friend of Kathryn's. She said it's too much for them and they're trying to find him a new home."

B'Elanna's frown only deepened. "Why would we want it if it's too much for somebody else?"

Tom waved her off. "Oh, it's just because they have a newborn baby. They said he's all trained and everything. The timing is perfect, B'Elanna. Please?"

An emphatic 'no' was on the tip of her lips. Then she caught a glimpse of two sets of eyes — one brown and one grey — peering at her from around the doorway. B'Elanna pursed her lips. "I want nothing to do with it. It's all up to you and Miral — you'll have to do all the walking, feeding, cleaning up after it, whatever."

B'Elanna couldn't help but smile at the three-person cheer that arose in response.

She wasn't smiling a week later. Falstaff was a disaster. "All trained, my ass, Tom! Look at Toby! Look at him!"

The outsized brown retriever destroyed everything in his path — pillows, PADDs, couches, and many, many stuffed animals. Toby barely pulled through, and Rosebob was declared a total loss. It was a testament to Miral's sense of compassion, as well as her affection for the hulking beast that had laid waste to their home, that she was able to forgive Falstaff as she recycled the ruined stuffed cat. "I guess I was getting too old for him anyway," she said tearfully.

To his credit, Tom was trying. He threw Falstaff the ball so much that the Doctor had to treat him for biceps tendonitis. "He told me I have to rest it for two days,"

"What are we going to do, Tom?" B'Elanna demanded. "It's the only thing that keeps him tolerable!"

"Aren't you going for a run?" Tom asked. "Why don't you take him with you?"

Great, B'Elanna thought as she pulled on her shoes. He's probably going to drag me all over the neighborhood.

To her surprise, however, Falstaff turned out to be the perfect running partner. His stride matched hers exactly, and, unlike when she ran with Tom, he didn't get winded after three kilometers and force B'Elanna to slow her pace. The house was quiet when they finished her regular loop — Tom had taken the kids to their martial arts class — and after they both had a long drink of water, B'Elanna dropped into a kitchen chair and Falstaff stretched himself out on his side, his long legs extended in front of him.

"Finally wore you out, huh?" B'Elanna asked him. Falstaff's tail thumped against the tiled floor in response.

"You shouldn't get used to it, you know." More tail thumping. "Tom can throw you the ball again in a couple of days, and I like to run by myself. This isn't going to be a regular thing." Thump, thump, thump.

But they did go again the next day. Tom's shoulder was still healing, after all. They also went the day after that. And that. Even months (and years) after Tom was back to playing fetch with him, B'Elanna and Falstaff liked to run together at least four or five times a week.

It's really for my benefit, she told herself. He's such a nuisance if he doesn't get enough exercise. And I'm going anyway.

Then one day, a few weeks shy of his sixteenth birthday, Falstaff stopped only a kilometer from their house. B'Elanna hadn't taken him running for a few years — he couldn't keep up anymore — but they still liked to walk together early in the morning, before Tom was awake.

"Come on, 'Staff," B'Elanna said, irritable at first, assuming he was stopping to mark or sniff an interesting bit of grass. The only response she got was a deep sigh and thud as he dropped to the pavement. "Falstaff?"

It had taken B'Elanna more than twenty minutes to get him home — at over fifty kilos, he was too heavy for her to carry, and he was only able to take a dozen steps before he'd falter and have to lie down. She had to help him to his feet over and over.

She didn't go with Tom to the vet.

"I've got that new transwarp drive to work on," B'Elanna said. "You can tell me when you get back. He's probably just getting old. I'm sure it's not a big deal."

She was wrong. It was his heart, and at his age, the vet wasn't recommending anything aggressive. "Nothing she can do will give him much time," Tom said, his eyes red. "She said we should just keep him comfortable as long as we can."

"All right," B'Elanna said, and she turned back to her monitor.

Tom said he thought it was time only three weeks later and B'Elanna had simply nodded when he brought it up. "He's really your dog," she told him. "You should make the call." Once again, she didn't go with Tom and Falstaff to the vet.

Tom took him in the car — 'Staff had always loved to ride with the top down. B'Elanna waited until they pulled around the bend in the road before she took off on her run. She'd only made it to the spot where Falstaff had first collapsed before she stumbled and found herself sitting in the sidewalk, crying into her knees.

Bess was a different animal altogether.

Joe had found her, when he'd gone with a friend for a long weekend in Scotland. They'd been hiking by a sheep farm, and the farmer's collie had just had a litter of pups. Tom's birthday was only a week away, and Joe called home to make sure his mother wasn't going to disown him over his proposed gift.

"She's just a little ball of black and white fluff, Mom. Dad will love her."

"I don't know, Joe. A puppy? It sounds like a lot of work. Remember how terrible 'Staff was when we got him? And he was fully grown!" But it had been over a year since Falstaff had died, and recently Tom had been making more and more noises about getting a new pet. If nothing else, B'Elanna considered, maybe if they had their own dog, her husband would stop to talking to every one they passed on the street.

So Bess showed up in San Diego two days later, a bright red bow tied around her neck. Tom was thrilled. B'Elanna was skeptical. "I guess she is pretty cute," she admitted. "But this is all on you, Flyboy. I want nothing to do with it. The walking, the feeding— "

"Cleaning up after her," Tom interjected, with a wink at their children. "Yes, ma'am. I promise. You won't have to do a thing."

She didn't, really. Bess was easy. Whip-smart, eager to please, and devoted to Tom. The puppy tumbled after him at home, at the office, letting out a panicked squeak if she lost sight of him. B'Elanna occasionally grumbled about the long black and white hairs Bess left everywhere, but she didn't mind all that much.

When Bess was about a year and a half, Tom mentioned B'Elanna could take her running. "She's quick," he said. "I know her stride's shorter than 'Staff's was, but she'll be able to keep up."

"That's OK," B'Elanna said, pulling on a light jacket. "I'd rather just go by myself."

Everything was going swimmingly, until Tom went to a three day conference on Betazed and Bess was not invited. She was inconsolable.

"For God's sake, Bess," B'Elanna said as the dog paced in the entryway of their house. "It's nearly midnight. He's not coming tonight. You'll see him in a few days."

But Bess merely lay down on the doormat and whined.

Most of B'Elanna's dog rules had eased over the years. She didn't really mind feeding Bess, or throwing the occasional ball for her. But there was one on which she held firm, both with Falstaff and Bess. "No dogs in the bedroom, Tom."

"You won't get any argument from me," Tom had replied, snaking his arms around her waist. "I don't want anyone getting in between me and my wife."

B'Elanna crossed her arms and considered her options. It would drive her nuts, knowing Bess was down here, listening the sounds of the dog whining and her tags jingling all night long. The dog couldn't sleep here, on the rough, thin doormat. She went to the family room, and picked up Bess' fleece-covered bed.

"Come on, Bess," she said, her arms encircling the soft cushion. "Come upstairs with me. Come on."

Bess always deferred to Tom's direction when he was around, but given what she must have seen as his troubling absence, she was going to take what guidance she could get. She followed B'Elanna up the stairs.

B'Elanna put the bed on the floor near Tom's side of the bed and patted it. "Here you go, Bessie. Lie down."

Bess obediently followed B'Elanna's command, but it was clear that she was not going to sleep any time soon. Her whole body was tense, her eyes darting back and forth, ears at alert. "Well," B'Elanna said as she straightened and headed for the bathroom. "You'll settle down eventually."

But when B'Elanna came back in the room, Bess was no longer on her dog bed. Instead, she sat by the door, staring at it intently, as if she could will Tom to appear on the other side. B'Elanna shook her head and climbed into bed with her book, hoping the dog would get the picture once the lights were dimmed.

A half-hour went by, and B'Elanna was ready to sleep. Bess clearly was not. She hadn't moved from the door. I'm going to regret this, B'Elanna thought as she patted the duvet. "Bess. Come here, girl. Come on up."

Bess stared back at her, cocking her head to the side.

B'Elanna patted the bed harder. "Yes, yes. Come up. I'm not going to ask again."

With two trotting steps and an arcing leap, Bess jumped onto the bed, curled herself into a ball, and lay down, pressing her back against B'Elanna's side with a sigh.

"Don't get used to this," B'Elanna murmured as she shut off the light and lay down. "This stops as soon as Tom's back in town." She stroked Bess' head and smiled when the tip of her long, feathered tail wagged appreciatively. "This isn't going to be a regular thing."

Tom's eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling the night of his return. Apparently he wasn't expecting their marital bed to be occupied by someone in addition to his wife. "What happened to 'No dogs in the bedroom, Tom.'?"

B'Elanna's eyes scanned the room for something else to look at besides her husband. "She was driving me nuts, with her whining and pacing. It was the only way to get her to quiet down."

"Uh-huh," Tom replied as he got under the covers. Bess wagged and bounced, happy to find out that sleeping was now a family affair. She licked Tom's nose and chin. Tom pushed the dog's face away. Gently. "I'm not sure this is going to work."

A compromise was reached. Tom found an old, soft blanket of Miral's and folded it into a neat rectangle. It was placed on the foot of the bed — on B'Elanna's side. ("Why my side?" "Because your legs are shorter. And you started this whole thing.") Bess happily curled up on it each night from then on. "At least she doesn't snore," B'Elanna said. "Unlike some other people I sleep with."

"Good night, dear," Tom grumbled and clicked off the light.

Bess lasted seventeen years — past the kids finding their own careers and families, past the births of Tom and B'Elanna's four grandchildren, past the move to the house in Pacific Heights and then Owen's death. She'd been very patient with Tom's father, letting the elderly man rub her ears for hours on end as he gazed out the window at the roses his wife had planted decades prior.

One morning, B'Elanna came downstairs for breakfast to find Tom in the kitchen, staring at Bess and full bowl of dog food. "What's wrong?"

"She won't eat anything today," he said, his brow furrowed. "I even made her eggs, but nothing."

"Maybe she got into something," B'Elanna said. "She's always chasing those moles in the yard. Maybe she ate one."

"She hasn't caught one in a year." He shook his head. "I think there's something wrong. Haven't you noticed how thin she's gotten lately?"

B'Elanna shrugged. "She's just losing muscle tone. Lots of us get thin as we age." She glanced at her husband's midsection. "At least some of us do." She smiled at Tom's scowl. "I'm just teasing. We can take her to the vet later, get her checked out if it makes you feel better. I'm sure it's not a big deal."

Wrong again. This time it was the liver. It was failing, and at her age, once again, the vet said that it didn't make sense to intervene. Even if they addressed the current issue, another would crop up sooner rather than later. "We'll do everything we can to keep her comfortable as long as possible," the kind-faced woman told them.

It was four months before they had to say goodbye. Bess had to be picked up each night to get to her spot on the bed, although it wasn't much of a hardship — she was feather-light at the end. But when B'Elanna and Tom woke at four a.m. to find she'd fallen off her blanket and was retching over and over onto the carpet, they knew they couldn't put it off any longer.

This time B'Elanna went with them. It was quick and painless, and it devastated B'Elanna in a way she could have never imagined — how fast the light in Bess' eyes winked out. She shed harsh, ugly tears onto her husband's shoulder in the quiet garden at the center of the veterinary clinic. It's just a dog, she told herself. You knew this was going to happen. Stop being so ridiculous.

"I can't do this again," she told Tom when she was finally able to speak. "No more dogs, Tom. I can't do this again."

She felt terrible — Bess was his dog, really. B'Elanna should be comforting him. But Tom merely kissed her on her temple and said, "OK. Let's go home."

That was two years ago. Sometimes Tom would show her pictures of puppies that were available, or mention a dog a friend had gotten, but he never asked her if they could get another one. Probably just as well — they were getting on in years themselves. A dog might outlive one or both of them at this point.

B'Elanna was still teaching two classes a semester at the engineering department in Stanford. It was rewarding work, for the most part. Occasionally she'd want to clock one of her students on the head, but in general the kids that came to Stanford were bright and motivated. One afternoon she returned from her Intro to Transwarp seminar to hear Tom talking to someone in the kitchen.

"Now, I know she'll love you in time, but I need you to make a good first impression, OK? You might find her a little scary at first, but she's a marshmallow deep down, I promise."

Frowning, B'Elanna pushed at the old fashioned swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front of the house. "Tom?" she called. "Who are you talking to?"

He was crouched on the floor next to a large crate. "Hey!" he said brightly as he stood. "You're back early!"

"I cancelled my office hours today, since break is starting. Remember?" She scanned the large kitchen. It was empty other than her husband — and his comm was on the other side of the room. What the hell was going on? "Who were you talking to?" she asked again.

His smile was broad and definitely a cause for suspicion. "Do you remember Terry? The police sergeant I know? The one that really likes yogurt?"

"Sure," B'Elanna said. "He helped you with your research for that holonovel, right? The Dixon Hill knock off?"

Tom glowered at her. "Suddenly I don't feel as bad about what I did."

It was a puppy. Quite possibly the most ridiculous puppy B'Elanna had ever seen. His head was mostly black but his body was covered with odd, speckled grey fur. And the ears! They were so long and heavy they pulled down the sides of his face. "Tom Paris, what did I say about getting another dog?"

"But you haven't heard the story, B'Elanna!" Terry's friend was the Animal Control officer for San Francisco. It was considered one of the cushiest jobs in the SFPD — mostly making sure tourists didn't harass the parrots on Telegraph Hill and sterilizing rats if the population started getting out of control. But last week he'd gone out on an animal abuse call — a Ferengi (now in custody) was caught trying to smuggle a litter of coonhound puppies off-world to sell. He'd had no idea how to care for the animals, and in his ignorance had nearly starved the lot of them. The puppy now staring up at B'Elanna with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen was the runt of the litter.

"So after Terry told me the story, I asked if the pups had homes yet. They all did but this little guy, and one thing led to another." Tom sighed then and bent towards the crate. "But I told him I had to check with you first, that it wasn't a done deal. I'll let him know it's not going to work out. I'm sure they'll be able to find someone else."

B'Elanna put her hand on Tom's arm. "It's fine. I mean… he's already here. And after everything he's been through it doesn't seem fair to pass him around, home to home. But I'm telling you now, Tom, I want nothing to do with it. You have to— "

"Walk him, and feed him, and clean up after him," Tom said with a grin. "His name is Lonzak."

"You already named him? I thought you told Terry it wasn't a done deal."

"It was a… potential name," Tom clarified. He waved at the pup. "Besides, look at that face. What else could we call him?"

Unlike both Falstaff and Bess, who happily ate whatever was put in front of them, feeding Lonzak turned out to be challenge.

"That Ferengi nearly starved him to death," Tom exclaimed as Lonzak rejected kibble number eleven after only a single mouthful. "You'd think he'd be happy to eat whatever he can get."

"Why don't you just replicate him real food?" B'Elanna said as she read in the sunroom. "I wouldn't want to eat brown cereal day after day, either."

"Nah," Tom replied. "The vet said he's gaining weight just fine, and as long as he's playing and not losing weight, we should practice tough love. Otherwise we'll just make him picky. Plus, the replicator's programmed for human nutritional requirements. It would be a pain to get it to make balanced meals for him."

"It's your dog," was all B'Elanna said as she turned the page of her book.

The following Tuesday, Tom left the house before sunrise. He had to meet with his new holonovel publisher in Manhattan. "Can you feed Lonzak for me?" he'd asked B'Elanna the night before. "Just this once."

"I suppose," she'd said, sighing for dramatic effect. Tom kissed her on the cheek.

Around seven that morning, she let the growing pup into the yard to relieve himself, laughing when he managed to trip over one of his own ears. They went back into the kitchen, and after replicating herself a raktajino, B'Elanna called up a Lonzak-sized serving of kibble number five, as Tom had instructed. "He likes it better than any of the others."

Not today. Lonzak stared mournfully at the dish for a long moment before looking up at B'Elanna. B'Elanna stared back, sipping her coffee.

"This is ridiculous," she said when the puppy made not a single movement towards his bowl. It didn't take that long — fifteen, twenty minutes tops — to add in basic canine pediatric nutritional requirements. Tom was so dramatic about these things.

A few final taps on the control panel, and a rich, meaty aroma filled the sunlit kitchen. Lonzak immediately jumped to his feet, his long,thin tail whipping back and forth. "I think this might be more to your liking," B'Elanna told him and placed the bowl of warm stew on the bone-shaped rubber mat on the floor.

It was gone in less than a minute. Lonzak, hoping for seconds, stared at B'Elanna where she sat in the breakfast nook.

"No more," she said. "And don't get used to this either. Tom's not going to let you eat like that every day. This is not going to be a regular thing."

Lonzak wagged his tail and ambled over to sit on her foot. B'Elanna bent to tickle one long, velvet ear. "Good dog."

The End

Coming next week! Together