The Way Our Moments Go

by Runawaymetaphor

"Things rarely go the way we expect them to, Commander."

The Way Our Moments Go

You don't need a reason.

For I know that, what I've done is wrong.

No one there to warn you

About the way that our moments go.

It's the same, right or wrong.

It's the same thing,

right or wrong.

- "Both Sides are Even", The Boxer Rebellion

Janeway wasn't nervous as the Kratelian officer led them down the series of long, convoluted hallways that spanned the space station. Everything Voyager had gathered about them said they were a race that wasn't prone to violence or else to duplicity. Rather, they were a peaceful species surrounded by others who weren't. This had made the Kratelians careful. Pathologically cautious, even.

To their credit, the Kratelians had been perfectly honest about what this process would entail. She'd be allowed to bring one officer with her. They wouldn't be permitted weapons, though they could keep their communicators, as well as their tricorders. Even then, any communications with their ship would be monitored. They would be asked a series of questions about their intentions with regard to being in Kratelian space and their desire to open trade negotiations. Their responses would be monitored by various officers operating a wide array of equipment, all of which designed to route out deception. Then their answers would be meticulously fact-checked against what information Voyager had provided, as well, Janeway imagined, as the Kratelians' own intelligence sources.

The one fact the Kratelian ambassador had left out was that they would be separated for the entirety of questioning. Though Janeway had rather expected this, it still made her feel uneasy. They, too, had learned to be suspicious after over six years in the Delta Quadrant. The Captain had successfully hid her discomfort. Her helmsman, however, was a different story.

Paris had looked at the Kratelian official with open suspicion before regarding her with acute concern.

"Captain?" he'd asked in a measured voice, though she could see his throat contracting. He didn't want to leave her.

"It's fine, Mr. Paris." Janeway had returned his look with one that conveyed both reassurance and tempered frustration.

She was relieved when the silent exchange failed to ruffle any feathers. Their hosts seemed almost sympathetic, reassuring Janeway that the two of them would be able to pause the proceedings at anytime to check in with each other or else their ship.

In the end, the whole thing had only taken about an hour. She' chosen to forgo checking in with Paris. She knew, if everything was fine on his end, he would be unable to contain his concern, checking in with her before half an hour elapsed. In this, her pilot did not disappoint.

Now, they were being led to a secure area to wait while their answers were verified. Their hosts assured them that they were, of course, welcome to return to their ship at any point. But this would mean that they would have to go through the initial scanning process - a tedious, thirty-minute ritual that she and Ensign Paris had no wish to repeat- all over again. Aside from this, Janeway suspected that it was a better show of faith to remain while the responses they'd provided were verified.

Their escort finally stopped in front of a door, entering an access code, before the round entrance swished open. Paris stepped quickly in front of Janeway, being the first to follow the Kratelian in. If it were anyone else, Janeway would have shot them a brief glare. But Tom, she knew, wouldn't be deterred by it in the least. He would ignore the look, or perhaps move his shoulders slightly, a ghost of a shrug. She followed the blonde officer in, looking around the small room in which they were expected to wait.

The waiting area was comfortable enough, and about the size of the living area in either of their quarters on Voyager. It contained the Kratelian version of a couch, as well as a low table on which some sort of snacks were provided. There was a data panel on the right wall, which both Janeway and Paris suspected would provide them with nothing much past the time. They were told someone would come for them when the process was concluded, but in the meantime, they were asked not to roam the station.

The politeness of the request was laughable given the two armed guards who stood outside the door, and who would, undoubtedly, remain there after their escort departed. They were also informed that the panel beside them was capable of contacting their escort, in the event they required anything.

When the escort departed, Janeway looked around the room.

"I guess I've been detained in worse places," Paris said, sitting on the couch.

"We're not exactly being detained," Janeway said, shooting him a glance.

"Of course not," he replied, his tone dark.

She knew what he was thinking. No matter how well decorated, a holding cell was a holding cell. She chased away the rush of thoughts and emotions Tom's comment elicited.

Alone in the tiny room with him, she wondered if bringing him was a bad idea. As much as the silences between them could be comfortable, they could also be painful, stretching on forever. Entire civilizations could rise and fall in their silences. Voyager could get home, two times over.

The darkness of her current thought was broken by the lightness of Tom's voice.

"What do you want to do to pass the time?" As he spoke, he stretched slightly, leaning back into the cushion that was too hard to be comfortable. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes alight with the kind of dark amusement that often found a home in his expressions.

Janeway fought the urge to laugh. This was the way it was with her pilot; either they were utterly uncomfortable with each other, or it was completely effortless. Since his time in the brig, there'd been far more of the former than the latter.

She moved to sit down with him.

"I don't know." She allowed herself a small sigh and tried to relax into the couch, the cushion repulsing her efforts.

She knew that it wasn't an option to sit in silence with their thoughts. They both would get restless quickly. Her discomfort would be more profound than his, but he would succumb faster than she would, his foot beginning to tap impatiently, followed soon after by pacing. For her part, she would sit with practiced ease on the couch. But beneath her calm exterior, her mind would be going crazy with worries about her ship, doubts about what would happen if these negotiations fell through and Voyager didn't get the supplies it needed.

She understood that Tom knew this; that he was suggesting that they keep busy as much for her sake as for his.

Janeway marveled at the fact that, despite everything she and Paris had been through, everything that went on between them professionally, she always felt like a human being around him. He never treated her like she was just the sum of her pips. He never seemed put off when she dropped the posture of her rank. When she surprised him, which she'd done many times over the years, he didn't look at her with subtle discomfort, shying away from her humanity. Even when they were awkward around one another, it was the awkwardness of two people rather than a subordinate and CO; an awkwardness that was entirely different than the kind Harry Kim and enumerable others felt around her. An awkwardness that she simultaneously preferred and wholeheartedly feared.

"If there was a replicator, we could play cards. But that seems to be out. " As he spoke, frustration played across his features. And then mischievousness. "I would suggest truth or dare, but I suspect that's out of the question, too."

Beside him, she snorted. A game of that kind was ill-advised with any subordinate, but she knew it would be far and away more dangerous with Tom. He would know just how far to go without crossing the line; just where to probe to get her to admit things she'd rather not. He could make her feel pain, or else humiliate her entirely.

Beneath that, she knew that Tom would never do either of those things.

"I tend to agree." She permitted herself a lopsided smile. "Perhaps a word game?"

Twenty minutes later, they were both restless again. Janeway had easily surpassed Paris in her ability to pull obscure words from the recesses of her mind. But he had surpassed the Captain in his ability to use colorful language that, technically, didn't violate the rules of the game. Twice he scored a point because she was too aghast to respond to him. After the second time, she'd shot him any icy look once she'd recovered herself.

Tom had protested rather than apologizing.

"The only rule was that the word couldn't be a proper noun! And that one isn't; it's an adverb. In some uses, a verb."

"It's slang at best. Filth at worst."

"Well, I'm positive it's still in the official index of English words. We can look it up when we get back to Voyager if you don't believe me."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Paris."

Now, sitting in silence beside him, she smirked, despite herself. Why was it she could never stay angry at Tom when he pushed these kinds of boundaries? Instead, she just seemed to keep redrawing the lines.

"What is it?" His tone was far too innocent. She closed her eyes, a rueful expression appearing on her face. She might as well tell him. If nothing else, it would pass the time.

"I was picturing us in my ready room when we get back to Voyager. Looking it up just to make sure."

His face distorted in surprise, his mouth falling open. But then he could see it clearly; both of them huddled over the terminal on her desk, pouring over the curse word like it was serious business- examining it like it was schematic he was proposing, or perhaps his latest Conn report. He could hear his own voice when he began to gloat, could see her face when she crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly.

It was too much. Tom began to shake with laughter. And then so did his Captain.

"Better yet." His words were broken with fits of laughter, his breath coming out ragged as the mirth consumed him. "You looking it up on the bridge, pulling up the information on the console between yourself and the good Commander."

She rolled her eyes at him, but it didn't help. She was laughing harder and it was all the encouragement he needed to press on with this line of humor.

"Poor Chakotay would see it and look at you in horror. Or worse," he paused, his laughter becoming too consuming to continue for a moment. "Worse, Tuvok seeing it from his station."

The events that would result from such an incident (the Vulcan sending her a polite refresher on policies, Chakotay looking at her questioningly for the rest of the shift) were an unspoken punch line. Janeway laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes, her pilot watching her with equal amounts of mirth and self-congratulatory pride.

Eventually, they both stilled.

"Thank you," she breathed, settling back into the unforgiving couch. "I think I needed that." She gave him a small glance. "You're one of the few people who can make me laugh like that, you know."

Tom eyed her, attempting to gauge the intention behind the admission. Things had been tricky between them since his demotion. He didn't want to misread her here. He began to speak before the silence went on too long, his voice losing the bravado he'd spoken with earlier but his face retaining his characteristic grin.

"I count being able to make you laugh like that as one of my greatest achievements on Voyager."

She allowed herself to look at him as she took in the admission. His lips were still smiling, but his eyes looked anxious. She understood. His statement wasn't just a declaration of affection. It also alluded to the pain he must have felt after the Moneans. How much he missed their easy rapport when the strangling silence set in on the bridge. The absence he felt when she stopped playing pool with him, avoiding him off duty. She'd missed him, too. Not during his time in the brig; she'd been too angry then to feel anything else but disappointment and a burning sense of betrayal. But afterward, when he was present in body but absent in spirit, she'd missed him. She'd missed him horribly.

She didn't realize she'd said the last part out loud until she noticed him looking at her, his face contemplative and a little concerned. Her mind raced to fill the silence, angry at herself for the uncharacteristic lapse. Tom spoke before she could begin to backpedal.

"And I thought we dismissed the idea of playing truth or dare." He looked away from her, his face wistful and his eyes clouded.

She sighed.

"We did. But I suppose some truths have a way of coming out no matter what."

He fell silent and she worried that she'd plunged them into awkwardness, that the next hours would trickle by like years. That the strain would follow them down the long Kratelian corridors, transporting with them back to Voyager.

Again, the darkness of her thoughts was broken by Tom's voice.

"Truth or dare?"

She didn't look at him. Instead, she sat regarding the wall in front of them, just as he did. She could end this conversation now, she knew. But they both needed to air this. They both wanted to get this monkey off their backs. He was surprised when she didn't really hesitate.

"Truth."

"Do you trust me less because of what I did?"

She exhaled sharply. Tom had a way cutting to the chase that was disarming. And after six years, it still surprised her. She fought the urge to close her eyes.

"No. I still trust you without hesitation as an officer. You want the best for Voyager, for her crew." The Captain smiled slightly, remembering his concern earlier when they were separated. "I know you'll always have my back."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his eyes narrowing. He didn't smile or seem appreciative. Instead, he looked perplexed.

"I wasn't asking if you still trusted me professionally."

Paris' tone didn't bespeak his self-consciousness, his uncertainty. Still, there was a kind of lilt in his voice she found somehow shattering. This time, she gave in to the urge to close her eyes, though it was the only sign of discomfort she allowed herself.

"No. I don't trust you less. " Her voice was hushed, coming out just louder than a whisper. "But part of me thinks I'm crazy for that. Part of me thinks I should hold you at arm's length, just in case."

When she opened her eyes, she could see the understanding on his face give way to pain.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps they should have stuck to filth and curse words. She ignored the voice in her head that told her that she should retreat now, for both of their sakes.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth." His voice was still laced with pain, even in saying the one word. That fact that he chose not to hide it made her wince. But she forged on.

"Do you hold it against me that I demoted you?"

She couldn't bring herself to ask if he hated her, even a little. She couldn't bring herself to use the word 'hate', in the event the answer was yes. Tom understood that much.

"No." He allowed himself to look at her, his eyes searching hers. "But I wanted to. I spent thirty days trying to work up a blinding rage over you smacking me down the way you did." He slumped against the couch, an air of disappointment about him. "But then I was released, and all I could feel was the fear that I'd disappointed you to a point our relationship couldn't recover from." Tom paused. "Harry was relieved, I think." He closed one eye, a lopsided smile appearing on his face. "B'Elanna was. . . completely pissed."

The last admission didn't surprise Janeway. Tom hadn't show any signs of open anger after he was released, but B'Elanna had. She'd looked at Janeway pointedly, seemed to bristle more than normal when her Captain gave her suggestions. Tom's punishment was another complication in Janeway's already dicey relationship with her Chief Engineer. Some days she thought the younger woman would redesign the whole warp core just to please her. Others, it seemed B'Elanna would rather throw herself out an airlock than spend a minute alone with her.

"She doesn't hate you, you know. No matter what you might think sometimes," Tom volunteered, dropping the pretense of the game. Janeway realized he'd read her thoughts and squirmed slightly. "I think she just uses your relationship to work out her own issues. . . She has a lot of baggage because of her mother."

Janeway had guessed as much herself, but had half dismissed the thought. She wasn't nearly old enough to B'Elanna's mother, and the idea of being a mother figure to the woman made her feel profoundly uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't immediately identify. Janeway didn't pause to examine that this was the precisely the role she'd take on with regard to Seven of Nine.

"I wondered if that was the case." Her voice betrayed part of her exasperation, and Tom looked at her sympathetically.

"I think she pushes you sometimes because of things that are entirely outside of your relationship with her." He gave her a knowing look. "I think she also pushes you because she knows that you'll push back."

Janeway's mouth twisted in thought, something between a frown and look of concentration forming on her face. After a period of silence, she looked back at Tom.

"Why did you and B'Elanna break up?"

The phrase 'this time' wasn't stated, but her tone certainly implied it. Tom and B'Elanna had broken up more times than she could count. At first, she'd depended on Chakotay to fill her in on the latest events. But she and Chakotay talked about less and less these days, and their chatter about ship's gossip had been one of the first casualties to their growing silence.

Thankfully, Janeway didn't need anyone to tell her the current condition of the two officers' relationship, as she'd learned how to read the signs for herself. Whenever B'Elanna broke up with him, Tom was quieter on the bridge and seemed to disappear completely from view once he was off duty. He was distracted in meetings, casting furtive glances at B'Elanna, who in turn refused entirely to look at him.

This time, however, something had been different. Janeway could tell by Tom's change in countenance that they'd broken up again. But in the staff meeting before they left, Tom hadn't looked at B'Elanna at all, his face contemplative as he regarded the table in front of him. B'Elanna had sat stiff in her chair at first, adopting her normal custom of ignoring the pilot. But after twenty minutes, the engineer noticed the pilot not sneaking looks at her. When she thought no one was looking, she regarded him with a wistful expression. A look of pain and longing. Janeway had watched it from her seat at the end of the table. She realized that Torres was worried Paris wasn't going to chase after her this time, and Janeway knew without question that something was going to have to give in the two officers' relationship. Either things were going to end for good, or B'Elanna was going to finally stop pushing Tom away.

Janeway suspected it would be the latter, ignoring the dull pain that simultaneously materialized in the pit of her stomach when she came to the conclusion.

"I don't even know anymore." Tom's voice was frustrated. In another time or place, his words could be a dodge. But Janeway knew without question he was being sincere now. "I think I said something in the wrong tone of voice. Forgot to do something that, in the end, was really of no consequence to her." Tom looked at her for a moment, a lopsided smile on his face. "I know that this probably isn't the end. We care too much about each other. But I just don't know that I have it in me anymore. I'm getting far too old for these games."

Beside him, Janeway snorted. Tom was ten years younger than her. She considered telling him to get back to her in a decade, when his fear of starting anything new was matched only by his fear of being alone. She didn't say any of this, however. She turned her face to him, about say something polite about the patience of love, etc., when she realized he was staring at her.

It was a stare he rarely let her see. One that betrayed complete understanding. It contained the absence of judgment, the absence of expectations. They both knew it was a dangerous kind of look. His mouth opened to say something and her heart fell into her feet.

When the warning sirens began, he froze and she leapt off the couch, relief rather than concern flooding her.

When they accessed the control panel, they were routed to their previous escort. He informed her, concern in his voice, that the station was being approached by a ship that was known for pirating. The Kratelian than said, apology apparent in his tone, that the station had already raised its shields. She and Tom wouldn't be able to transport back to Voyager.

When Janeway contacted Voyager, Chakotay expressed the hesitancy they both expected.

"I have no intention of leaving the two of you on that station," the Commander replied when Janeway ordered that Voyager retreat to a safe distance.

"I'm not thrilled about it either, Commander. But that ship is heavily armed. We can't risk it going after Voyager when it fails to get anything here."

The station's defenses were formidable. It might sustain some minor damage, but she was relatively certain the approaching ship was more interested in picking off vessels circling around it. Despite the difficulty of engaging in trade with the Kratelians, they were still the center of commerce for the area and the station was a hub for resources.

Chakotay's sigh echoed through the small waiting room.

"Understood, Captain. We'll move to a safe distance for the time being. But we'll be in touch as soon as we re-enter communications range."

Janeway nodded, her hands on her hips.

"We'll talk to you then Commander. Good luck. Janeway out."

When the comm line closed, she tried not to worry about her ship. She tried not to contemplate the fact that, not so long ago, her First Officer would have put up more of a fight before abandoning her; that even when he called her 'Captain', his voice would have sounded familiar.

She was sure for some reason that most of this wouldn't be lost on Tom either, and for a moment she refused to look at him. When she finally did, his face was expressionless, his eyes mercifully free of sympathy.

"Do you think this means they'll allow the prisoners to get some kind of real food?" he asked, after a brief silence.

She chuckled. The food they'd been provided with wasn't very filling. And what it lacked in heartiness, it made up for in blandness.

"I don't know. But I think it best to give our hosts some time to deal with more pressing issues than our hunger." Tom's face fell and her voice softened. "At least for the moment."

Sometime later, when the silence stretched and Janeway wondered darkly if it would be awkwardness or hunger that would be the first to kill them, the door to the waiting room beeped. Shortly afterward, their escort appeared.

"I'm sorry your time with us here hasn't gone as scheduled," he apologized. Janeway appreciated that their hosts' tendency toward cautiousness was matched only by their unfailing sense of courtesy. "We understand that you may want to leave the confines of the waiting area, as well as obtain a meal." He looked for a moment at the crackers that remained virtually untouched on the table. "I'm sure you should be able to find something that suits your needs on the station, as we have a diverse selection of foods. We've also arranged for two of our officers to accompany you."

The verb 'accompany' turned out to be a polite way of saying that Paris and Janeway would be followed at all times by the two guards previously stationed outside their door. Neither of them really minded. The guards were as polite as their previous escort, and when Tom ventured to ask their opinions about where to eat, they both responded with helpful insights.

Coming to the end of one of the corridors, they emerged in a large, wide open space. Unlike the areas of the station they'd seen so far, the area was filled with light and the dull din of people, shops and restaurants stretching out far in front of them. It reminded Tom a bit of the Promenade on Deep Space Nine.

Janeway allowed Paris to pick where they ate. She knew he was a far pickier eater than she. When they were finally seated someplace, the guards at an unobtrusive distance from them, she glanced at Tom quickly before tucking into her meal. Tom noticed it but remained silent.

Her mood had been odd ever since they'd talked about his relationship with B'Elanna and he didn't know what to make of it. When he'd first come aboard Voyager, it would have filled with him curiosity. And something else. But now, he pushed those thoughts away.

They were another game he'd gotten too old for.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked finally.

"No." His look told her he didn't believe her, but she continued on. "I guessed I worried that I made you uncomfortable."

He put down the utensil he was holding, an object that looked like a cross between a chopstick and a fork.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable." He gave her a long look and then shook his head, picking the forkstick back up. "I don't know that you're capable of doing anything that could make me uncomfortable."

His words could have been meant as a challenge. A few years earlier, they would have been. But now, looking at him, she knew that this was just another confession. Another truth.

She watched him with curiosity as he dug into his plate. He wasn't really eating so much as moving his food around.

"Truth or dare?" he asked, his eyes still looking down as he wrapped more food around his forkstick.

"Truth."

"Why did you take me on this mission?" He glanced at her quickly before returning to the transportation of food around his plate. "You could have taken others. Tuvok. Harry. B'Elanna or Seven."

The fact that he didn't list Chakotay wasn't lost on her.

She titled her head to the side, considering her answer. She could tell him, of course, that Tuvok's natural ability to mask his emotions could be deemed an attempt at deception. That B'Elanna and Seven were too likely to grow frustrated with the process, offending their hosts. And of all of this was true. But her taking Tom hadn't been a process of elimination, a kind of calculation.

She let out a deep breath.

"I missed spending time with you, I think." She ventured to look up and was rewarded by his gaze meeting hers, his blue eyes filled with patience and slowly ebbing fear. "I never have to worry about what you think, or if I'm somehow not living up to your expectations as a Captain." She sighed, though a contented one this time. "It's always been easy with you, Tom."

He grinned, and then quickly the grin turned into a dark smirk.

"Except, of course, when it wasn't."

He was right, she knew; his words echoing her thoughts earlier.

She wondered if it was because they were so much alike in personality. It meant things between them were either crystal clear waters or hurricane-strength swells.

She realized with a sense of irony that she still thought of Tom in terms of sea metaphors.

"You know," she began, smiling, "I've often wondered what it would be like if we'd known each other before Voyager. I mean, really known each other, rather just hearing about each other through your father."

As his father's favorite protégé, she'd seen Tom in passing a few times. She'd heard Owen Paris brag about his son's accomplishments. She'd watched as the older Paris' pride morphed into disappointment and anger. And Tom, of course, heard endless stories of Janeway, too. He was even at her father's funeral, though he didn't speak to her then. He'd wanted to. But the depth of sadness he saw her in her grey eyes, even from across the room, scared him. It was like she wasn't even sitting there watching the ceremony at all, but somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.

When he was in the brig, stewing and trying desperately to hate her, the memory of what she looked like that day would come crashing back to him. And he suddenly worried that when he got out- when he finally looked into her eyes- it would be as though she didn't see him at all.

"I have, too," Tom said, banishing his previous thought. "Want to know what I've decided?"

Tom's tone was mischievous. She nodded, her smile growing wider.

"I would have developed a hopeless crush on you." He picked up another bite of food, ignoring her surprised expression. "You would have ignored me, of course. I would have been just some annoying kid to you, after all."

Janeway doubted this last part. He would have been a boy and out of the question, that much was true. But something about him would have made her wonder what he would be like when he grew up. She kept this thought to herself.

"But I would have been relentless," Tom continued, gesturing with his forkchop. "I would have hounded you, even though I was too young for you. I would have gone to the ends of the universe, if only to make you smile."

It didn't occur to Paris that this line of conversation was dangerous. That it would lead, naturally, to other admissions he would regret.

"And here we are, despite that we didn't meet then. Still finding ourselves at the end of the universe."

"And I would still do anything to make you smile."

It didn't dawn on Janeway, as it would have normally, that he was also still too young. Too dangerously inappropriate. Instead, she beamed at him, finishing their meal in companionable silence as their chaperones watched them from a distance.

After they were allowed to walk around the merchant area of the station, they were informed that they would be moved to a different waiting area, one where they would be able to sleep if they so desired. The news came as a relief. It wasn't all that late, but they were both somehow exhausted. Even Janeway thought a bed sounded terribly good.

When the guards deposited them at another door, Paris allowed Janeway to enter first, casting a knowing smile her way. She rolled her eyes, moving through the open doorway. When she froze only a meter inside the room, Paris bumped into her, grabbing her arms to stabilize them both. He was about to apologize when he looked around the room.

In front of them was a living area similar to the one they'd inhabited before. Just to the right was a bed.

One bed.

Tom wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. He swore this whole thing was some twisted test. Or maybe a dream. In front of them, Janeway struggled to find something to say that would diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. She shouldn't have bothered.

"Oh, of course," Tom said, somehow past the point of hiding his frustration. "Of course there's only one bed." He raked his hand through his hair, and Janeway looked at him questioningly. He nodded toward the bed. "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

She raised her hands to her hips. She didn't like the idea of him having to sleep on the couch, and was sure, if it was anything like the last couch, he probably wouldn't be able to sleep at all. Unfortunately, she also knew there was no use arguing with Tom about something like this. There's no way he'd budge, even if she ordered him to sleep in the bed while she took the couch. She dropped her hands from her hips, shaking her head.

"Fine. But when we get back to Voyager and you have to see the Doctor for the knots you develop in your back, I'm not going to feel any sympathy. I may even go down to Sickbay with you. Just to be able to laugh and openly mock you."

He pretended to glower, sinking onto the unforgiving couch.

"You're really a cruel woman, you know that. I'm not sure why I enjoy spending time with you."

She smiled, not wanting to let him off the hook quite yet.

"I don't believe you. Especially since you told me only minutes ago that you'd go to the end of the universe to make me smile."

He sighed dramatically, scratching the side of his face.

"That one I knew I would regret saying. But I didn't think it would be this quickly."

She was undeterred by his retort, continuing to smile as she kicked off her boots and removed her jacket. They would both have to sleep in their uniform pants and undershirts, but they'd both become accustomed to such things while on Voyager. Lives punctuated with red alerts and enemy fire rarely allowed for the time and luxury of comfortable sleepwear. Half of the time, they fell asleep in whatever they wore when they finally stumbled into their quarters.

When Janeway climbed into the bed, Tom heard her give a disgruntled grumble, followed by what sounded like a muttered curse.

"Did I miss the fact that we were starting the word game again?"

In the darkness, he could feel her glare. He smirked.

"How awful is it?" he asked, his voice containing genuine concern.

She didn't want to complain about the bed. Not with him sleeping on the couch. But the whole situation was bordering on ridiculous, and she felt her frustration brimming over.

"It's fine," she replied.

In the silence, she could sense his amusement. He didn't believe her. She fluffed the pillow-like object under her head.

"It's awful," she finally admitted. "The bed's too soft and it moves in a strange way. The pillow- if that's what this- is like a rock. I don't know how anyone could sleep like this."

The open exasperation in her voice was entirely unlike her. Tom tried to hide his amusement, but ultimately failed. The sound of his laughter found her in the bed.

"I'm glad you find this amusing tonight, Mr. Paris. Because when I wake up in a foul mood tomorrow, the only person I'm going to have to take this out on is you."

The petulance in her tone only set Tom off again, and she crossed her arms as she lay in bed. Eventually, she felt ridiculous, and began to laugh at her own childish outburst. She sat up on the bed, and Tom in turn sat up on the couch. He called for a small increase in lights, making his way to the bed and Janeway.

Climbing onto it, he looked at Janeway with horror as the bed undulated strangely beneath him.

"I told you," she said, smirking, "it's just strange."

He sat down, his movements causing a cascading undulation that in turn moved Janeway.

"It's like these people don't know how to build a single piece of comfortable furniture," he remarked, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"Worse," Janeway's said, her voice dry, "this probably is comfortable for them."

Tom looked away from her, contemplating her words. Suddenly he began to laugh all over gain.

"Could you imagine," he began in a conspiratorial whisper, "doing. . . In this bed?" He punctuated his statement by pushing the bed with his hand forcefully, causing another cascading wave.

In the darkness, he could still make out Janeway cringe, her hand clamping over her eyes. Despite herself, she laughed.

"Maybe we should ask them about it tomorrow, or whenever they decide we're not secretly plotting to take them over."

The frustration in Tom's voice mirrored her own feelings. She was beginning to succumb to his dark and inappropriate line of thinking.

"That's a good idea. I'll make sure to bring it up in between trade requests. 'So Ambassador, I noticed your beds' unique characteristics. How, exactly, do you all. . . ?' "

Beside her, Tom chortled.

"No doubt there's a lot of falling over involved," he quipped. "And, knowing the Kratelians, a great deal of apologizing."

She smacked at his chest, a good natured censure for his last joke. He caught her hand, squeezing it affectionately.

In the low light, he saw her face freeze, saw her eyes fill with something he'd never seen in them before.

He held on to her hand tighter. Her body stiffened, but she didn't pull her hand back. When he laced his fingers through her own, she closed her eyes.

When they felt the station shudder slightly with what had to be enemy fire, neither of them sprung up. They had no viewport from which to watch the battle, the data panel wouldn't tell them anything useful. They could contact their hosts or check with the guards outside, but in the end, they wouldn't learn anything that way either. They'd both realized earlier in the day that when it came time, they would just have to wait it out.

It was something that would be much harder for Janeway than for Paris.

After a few minutes, when the dull drone of warning sirens in the hallways lowered, though not subsiding, Tom slowly reclined on the bed, propping his head up with one of the pillows. After a moment, he threw the useless object across the room, hearing it land with a heavy thud a few meters away.

"I hope you didn't dent the wall," Janeway remarked, her voice distracted.

Gently, he tugged on her hand, pulling her down beside him. As she settled in the bed, the movement found him. He steadied himself with a hand, rolling onto his side to face her. When they were both still, she gave him a searching look.

"When I woke up this morning, I wasn't even sure if we were friends anymore," he said, propping his head up slightly with the hand that didn't hold hers.

"And now?" Her voice was hopeful. And terrified.

He let out a heavy breath.

"And now I'm terrified that we'll only be friends."

She closed her eyes at his words. This shouldn't be happening. She should move away from him then, there, before anything else more transpired.

But she didn't move. And when he kissed her, the thought that she should dissolved entirely. Her eyes were open now, and she watched him as his eyes fluttered shut. Watched his face shift into an expression of complete concentration, as if kissing her was like navigating a small boat through choppy waters.

When his hand worked its way underneath her shirt, she gasped in his mouth. He opened his eyes, blue orbs staring into grey ones. He looked for something in her face for a moment, but didn't find it. Closing his eyes again, he kissed her harder, his hand tracing her breast through the thin material of her bra. Her eyes snapped shut, and she felt herself pulling him on top of her. Felt herself tugging off his shirt and then her own, groaning when the movement it required put him off balance, his pelvis landing against her with a thud.

"Tom," her voice was a plea rather than warning. He tore his mouth away from her lips, kissing her neck and then biting her shoulder as he worked his way down to her bra, unlocking the front clasp with his mouth. When the material was replaced by his searching tongue, she gasped again, her hips beginning to grind against him. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her torso, her breast in his mouth.

She wasn't sure how he managed to get her pants and underwear off without falling on top of her, but he stripped her of both in one slow, agonizing movement. Just as she felt the anxiety of being laid bare finding her, she heard Tom's voice, muffled against her body, telling her that she was beautiful. Telling her that she was exquisite and he would never be able to stop touching her. When he kissed her stomach just below her belly button and then moved down slowly, she became certain that she was going to die. Convinced that the combination of anticipation and pleasure was going to cause her to spontaneously combust. Her breath caught in her chest, and she felt his right hand lacing through hers again, his left hand moving her legs.

She didn't cry out when his mouth made contact with her. Instead, she remained perfectly quiet, her throat unable to produce any sound. She felt the heat build inside of her as his tongue became more insistent. The hand that was on his head began pulling at his hair, nails digging into the flesh of his scalp. She began to writhe, his hand letting go of hers to hold her hips firmly in place. She bucked against him wildly, her movements creating a steady undulation in the bed that only sped Tom on.

When she stopped, collapsing into the bed, he pressed his face against her thigh, his breath warm and damp against her. For a few minutes, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the continuing commotion from the hallway.

Rising from his position, he moved over her, kissing her stomach, her breast, her neck. He smiled at her, pushing her hair off her forehead.

"Maybe the bed isn't so bad after all," he said. She laughed, pulling him down on top of her, running her hands up and down his back, tracing the curve of his butt. He groaned. "You're going to kill me. I'm sure of it."

He kissed her again, and her hand encircled him. She felt the air from his lungs being forced out in one convulsive movement, the rush of wind hot against her neck.

"Truth or dare?"

His mind raced to understand that she'd spoken, her hand still holding him firmly.

"Dare," he breathed, his voice raspy in her ear. "Definitely dare."

He felt her chest against him as she laughed, her nipples grazing the hair matted to his chest in an agonizing manner. He breathed her name, his face falling to the base of her neck. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she altered the angle of her lower body.

He entered her slowly, sinking his weight gradually into her. He was going even more slowly than she needed him to, and the part of her that was still capable of rational thought realized that he was doing it deliberately, tormenting her in a delicious way.

"Tease." Her voice came out as a groan and her hands grasped desperately at his chest.

"Guilty."

As his movements began to gradually quicken, she watched him. His face open, his eyes looking at her with amazement. She feared that she would never be able to banish this image from her mind. The sight of Tom Paris moving above her, his body flushed, his eyes glazed over with desire and need. She didn't dare close her eyes again.

When he accelerated further, words began tumbling from his lips in a steady stream. Confessions she would never be able to forget, no matter how hard she tried.

"Gods I've wanted this for so long. So long." His voice came out as a desperate plea as he dropped his head to her chest, burying his face in her breasts. "Kathryn."

She pulled his face to hers, kissing him frantically. Kissing him even when the pressure within her became unbearable. Kissing him when he was crashing against her so hard she thought she was going to explode into billions of pieces, her bucking hips the only plea for him not to stop. Kissing him when her legs tensed around him and then everything else fell away.

"Kathryn," he cried again as he came, pulling his lips away from her as his whole body contorted in spasm. Still, she reached for his face, her hands framing the sweaty angles of his cheekbones as his body stilled and his eyes opened again.

Neither said anything, and he didn't move from her. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, gently shifting his weight gingerly onto elbows and knees, away from her small frame.

Soon enough, they would have to deal with reality, with the guilt and consequences they'd just incurred. But not yet. Not now.

When his knees and elbow finally began to protest, he rolled them over in one fluid motion, pulling Kathryn's tiny frame on top of him. She went willingly, her lips finding the base of his throat, her fingers tracing the contours of his chest.

Eventually, the sound of enemy fire and warnings sirens subsided, their breathing the only sound filling the room.

She didn't have to tell him that this couldn't happen again. That back on Voyager, they'd have to pretend that this never occurred, going back to being just colleagues. Polite friends who played pool and occasionally shared meals, but nothing more. She knew that he already understood it by the way he clutched her desperately, his arms wrapping around her and his fingernails digging into her skin as though he was bracing himself for a great fall. The way his breath hitched in his throat every so often as she lay pressed against him.

Hours later, Tom woke to find that they were still in the same position. Kathryn was stirring above him, her movement the reason for his waking. When she didn't raise her head to look at him, he feared the worst, his arms wrapping tighter around her body.

But then he felt her lips against his chest, her body shifting slowly as she found him with her hand. She maneuvered herself wordlessly, taking him inside of her as she propped herself up against his chest. He brushed her hair way from her face and saw that her eyes were shut tightly, her face set.

He wondered if she was trying to concentrate on the sensation or trying not to think about what would happen when it ended. Either way, it stirred something within him.

He ran his finger over the line of her nose, and her eyes fluttered open as she moved above him.

"You could hurt a guy's feelings, closing your eyes like that. Makes me think you're imagining someone else. Maybe that handsome escort of ours. "

Though his words came out in gasps, his tone managed lightness. He was trying to stave off the feeling of desperation that had located each of them.

Her eyes shut again, her face alight with both pleasure and pain.

"No one else," she said, running her fingers over his chest and grasping roughly at his chest hair. "No one else in the universe."

Tom had wanted to let her have control of this morning tryst, taking what she needed from him in exactly the way she needed it. But his resolve melted at her words, and he pulled her down to him, kissing her roughly and angling his hips to plunge into her. Her tongue plundered his mouth, his teeth finding her bottom lip and tugging hard. When her hair fell into his eyes, he shook his head to move it, looking up at her as the muscles in her neck and shoulders tensed again and again.

Not long after, she shot up, her back straightening as her internal muscles clenched around him. He groped at her breasts, his own movements not slowing when she was pushed over the brink. He shifted his hips slightly, slamming into her with no small force as she braced herself against him with her arms. She began to writhe and keen again, her pleasure coming out as choked sobs from the back of her throat before she finally cried out, her body collapsing against him as he finished, thrusting into her with swift strokes.

Eventually, spent and sweating, she rolled off of him and onto her stomach. The bed swayed with the shift, and Tom used the momentum to roll onto his side, looking at her. Her hair was matted to her neck and face, tendrils falling across her cheek and into her eyes.

As he looked at her, grey eyes peered back at him through auburn hair.

"I should feel guilty about this," she said, her voice hoarse. She'd expected the crippling guilt to wash over her as soon as their sweat dried the night before.

It hadn't. She wasn't sure if this made the whole thing better or worse.

"I know," he replied.

He'd expected to wake thinking about B'Elanna, worrying about how painful it would be, keeping this from her, when they eventually got back together. But the last thing on his mind now was how he would hide this. Instead, he found himself wracked with pain that he had to hide it all, that it had to come to an end.

"You know you're the only one on the ship. . ."

It wasn't something he was entitled to know, despite their circumstance. And, in truth, she suspected he didn't really care that much; he wasn't someone who saw things in black and white. But laying naked beside him, she suddenly wanted him to know that this wasn't a boundary she'd broken with anyone else on Voyager. He wasn't the latest notch in the Captain's bedpost.

The admission caused him sadness rather than contentment. He knew her relationship with Chakotay had changed, but he'd hoped before that there'd been something more there. At least, the part of him that cared about her well-being above his own feelings had hoped. Other parts of him he'd fought to ignore had bristled when Chakotay leaned in a little too closely to her seat on the bridge.

"Why not ever with him?"

There was only one 'him' he could be referring to here. She searched his face for signs of judgment. When she didn't find any, she pursed her lips, contemplating her reply.

"I think we missed our chance. There was an opening and I pulled away." She let out a heavy breath. "And then our relationship changed, the work- the professional disagreements got in the way."

She didn't voice the thought that Chakotay, however kind and patient, didn't have the ability to make her laugh until she was breathless; he didn't look at her with mischievous eyes that could make her redraw every personal boundary she ever established.

Tom didn't speak, but laced his fingers through hers.

"Don't miss your chance with B'Elanna, Tom." His eyebrows raised slightly when she said this. They were facing each other, their bodies exposed and still sweaty from their coupling, and she was giving him advice about another woman. "Time is fleeting, and you don't get the moments back. Don't squander it on silly fights and arbitrary lines."

She closed her eyes and he squeezed her fingers.

"If I would have met you before, I would have followed you to the ends of the universe," he repeated his words from their dinner, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I would have followed you until you gave in."

She smiled back, though the amusement didn't make it to her eyes.

"And I would have let you catch me, earlier than you'd think, I suppose."

"My father would have hated it."

"And my mother would have adored you."

They each pressed their eyelids shut, the past that didn't happen and future that would never be playing out before their mind's eye.

In an hour, they would be retrieved by their host. She would slip into the practiced façade of diplomat and commanding officer, and he the dutiful officer and loyal subordinate. Walking through the station, there would be no furtive glances or lingering looks.

But here, in this moment, they were more that. And they allowed themselves the time.

When they finally beamed back to Voyager and stepped off the transporter pad, Chakotay was waiting for them. Tom nodded to the Commander as he headed for the door. But before the pilot left, he threw a glance over his shoulder to Janeway, a clouded expression playing across his features. It was a look of wistfulness and regret; a masked feeling of pain.

Chakotay saw it but said nothing. It was a look he thought he'd seen many times before on the helmsman. He greeted Janeway, following her into the turbolift.

After the doors closed, the Commander turned to her, his distant expression softening.

"I know that it isn't my place, Captain."

He rarely called her Kathryn anymore. And she noticed it less and less. This time she did, and it pained more than it had in months.

Perhaps the pain of an old wound was reminding her of a new one. Or perhaps vice versa.

"And I also know that I've never really understood your relationship with Paris. But . . ." Chakotay paused, appearing genuinely disappointed. "Things have been so difficult between the two of you since his demotion. I'd really hoped that during your time on the station with him, you would have cleared the air a bit."

Her spine, which had stiffened at the mention of Tom, now relaxed. The right side of her mouth tugged up as she looked at Chakotay's patient face.

Exhaling, Janeway realized it would be easier than she thought to tell the truth. And despite herself, she chuckled.

"Things rarely go the way we expect them to, Commander."

As the lift sped toward the bridge, Chakotay nodded in agreement. He pondered the moments that had already slipped away when they weren't paying attention. The moments that would slip away still.

"That they don't, Captain." He turned from her, facing forward. "That they don't."