Sunset

by SunshineI

Kathryn Janeway has to redefine her life again, THomas Paris is trying to face his life...what happens when they accidentally stumble upon each other?

SUNSET

story I

There are days in life that seem just…ordinary. And then, months, even years later, upon reflection, you realize that those seemingly ordinary days were, in fact, the points in life when crucial things happened to you. You just didn't know it at the time.

It was one of those November days that gave autumn a bad name. All the charm San Francisco displayed on the sunny days disappeared behind the thick fog curtain. Even the city's landmark, the Golden Gate, vanished in the omnipresent gloom which accompanied the raw weather. Dull rain droplets were tossed aimlessly by the brutal wind from the Bay, discouraging those few pedestrians and tourists from any further attempts at sightseeing. Even the eternal bustle at the Starfleet Headquarters was tempered by the weather, as only handful of officers dared to defy the Nature's fury.

A figure in a black coat braced himself against another vicious gust of wind, as he alighted a shuttle at the landing pad just outside the Admiralty premises. ''Warm welcoming…'' Lt. Commander Thomas Paris muttered, as he picked up his duffel, heading for the building complex.

Admiral Owen Paris authorized, then tossed aside yet another PADD containing the updates from the Utopia Planitia. Work, more boring work… He scrunched his face, trying to shake away the fatigue etched in the lines, the tired droop to his eyes. You're getting too old for this, Owen. If he were to be honest with himself, he had lost the élan and the enthusiasm. The years of heavy grind in the best interest of the Federation have left him… where exactly? Despite his efforts, and those of his colleagues, Federation was no safer place, wars were still waged, losses still recounted with precision, as another day of remembering came. The best interest of the Federation somehow left a bitter aftertaste – one of a failure. Was his life a failure? It was the greatest fear, that lurked at the edges of Owen Paris' consciousness, these days more than ever. For no apparent reason, he began assessing his past. All the commendations, the promotions – his career, and Margareth, his daughters…Tom. Victims of his ambition. Hell, he thought he could have it all. Fool, a part of his mind was telling him, no one's perfect. Well, Admiral Owen Paris tried to be, and failed. The realization of that wasn't as painful as he supposed it would be, when it came. What was it that Margareth said: ''You're getting wiser with age, Owen.'' No, just less self absorbed. And arogant.

Weary gaze settled on the still present framed photograph of Tom Paris, and Owen couldn't help a proud smile. Perhaps, it was time to pass on the torch. Tom was already making a name for himself inside the organization, showing all the potential he had in him. He was a Paris, after all. Only a small hint of an emotion not so pleasant stole upon the moment. The picture was old, taken before Tom…He was a mature man today, more serious. Owen Paris kind of envied his son. Tom was able to make a decisive break with his past, starting all over. And he was still young enough, despite everything, to find a way to realize himself. Owen had no such luxury, and he had even more things to rectify. Margareth, who always stood by him, despite his disregard for her feelings, his ignoring of her needs. She was just there…even when he forbid Tom to ever step into his home again. Oh, she suffered, and she was angry, and nothing has ever been the same between them. Now, Owen wanted to spend the rest of his days trying to set his accounts straight. To make up for everything he didn't do. He only hoped he had enough time left to say he was…sorry.

Owen hadn't divulged his plans on retiring from active service to anybody yet, but few more months was the maximum he was willing to give to Starfleet. He would have probably quit earlier, if it weren't for U.S.S. Voyager being stranded, together with his son, on the other side of the galaxy. Now, that Tom was home safe, the idea of moving out of San Francisco with Margareth appealed to him more and more. His wife always commented on the beauty of living in a countryside whenever they paid a visit to Gretchen Janeway in Indiana. Owen himself pictured a small cottage, with orchard, and a garden where he and Margareth could grow vegetables… Lost in his own pleasant thoughts, Owen almost failed to notice the tall figure of his son crossing the office. Snapping back into the real world, it took a second for Owen's critical eye to notice Tom's tired posture and slumped shoulders. Deciding to defer the questioning for later, he got up to hug the young man.

''Dad, it hasn't been that long…''

''Longer than you think, son.''

Owen wanted to bite his tongue. Last time…six months ago, at his granddaughter's funeral. It was the last thing Tom needed to be reminded of, right now. Miral's death had almost destroyed him, and now, the dissolution of his marriage to B'Elanna…the admiral wanted to abandon the subject, the father wanted to know everything. Only the father still wasn't certain his son would appreciate his inquisitiveness…

''Don't worry, Dad. I'm fine.''

It was Tom's stock answer of the past months. Though it was easy to see it wasn't entirely true, Owen decided to play along. Despite the conciliation which ensued after Voyager's return, Owen still felt like treading dangerous waters when dealing with Tom, especially if the subject was delicate, as Tom's personal tragedy was. As for Tom himself, he was just grateful for his father's considerate manners. Another probing into old wounds could trigger many other things.

''Well, I'm sure there's nothing your mother's kitchen can't fix.''

This caused both men to smile, remembering Margareth's overbearing manner when it came to her son. Owen was glad the tension from moments ago has duly dissipated.

''Have you made arrangements, Tom?''

''Yes, I got myself a small apartment in the vicinity. I start at the Academy next week, so it leaves me enough time to settle in.''

It was Tom's version of starting fresh. There was no point staying with the Klingons, after the whole sorry mess with B'Elanna was finally resolved. The past six months of avoiding each other, snapping at oddest moments, grieving alone in their own little corners of their home, that was no longer a home, but a prison, every day a new torture. It was finally B'Elanna who gathered courage to broach the subject. Klingons were never known for subtlety, anyway. Few things were said, things both realized much sooner, but never voiced until then. Still, Tom wondered where did all the love go, the passion, the promises…died and buried with their daughter. A little girl, just over a year old, a little girl who wormed her way into everyone's heart, whose smile could melt your insides. The doctors did everything that was in their power, but, there was nothing that could have been done. As with his marriage. So, he was back home, accepting the position at the Academy. When everything falls apart, there's always the Starfleet, and flying. It was the anchor he needed, something that was always there despite the turbulent ups and downs his life had taken.

''Have you had lunch yet, Tom?''

''No, but I'm famished.''

Owen just hoped Admiral Janeway wouldn't mind extra company for lunch.

Kathryn Janeway, one of the youngest female officers to attain the rank of an admiral, was bored, or to be more precise, restless. There was an itch to do something, anything, other than being showcased at various functions, wasting her time on trivial small talk and gossip, which seemed the favourite pastime of the majority of staff at the Headquarters. But, that was not to be. She still had to prove herself as an able diplomat, displaying the subtlety and an ability to compromise, which was a trademark of a good admiral. So she was stuck with mundane chores of settling minor disputes between representatives of various Federation colonies. Kathryn, however, longed to hear the soft thrum of engines at warp, and chart the unknown stars. These days the only stars she was seeing were the ones outside her bedroom window, and even they were spoiled by the intrusive street lights. No missions, no excitement over a new discovery…just the dull diplomatic hassles over who owns which sector of the space.

At first, she greeted her promotion with relief, and, she could admit, a certain amount of pride and sense of achievement. She had worked hard to get where she was, sacrificed even more…so that she could look up everyone in the eyes and say: ''I've earned it!'' And she had – every tear she cried, every arbitrary decision she made, every danger they overcame…it was for something, it served a purpose. It was a lesson she never intended to forget. But, in the end, she was spent, weary of the constant alertness and battling. Voyager had drained her reserves, and Kathryn was looking forward to a more relaxed life. She had plenty of time to catch up on her reading, take long walks with Molly II and renew her old friendships…to take every day as it came. But, despite all the benefits her new position entailed, Kathryn still found herself increasingly dissatisfied with her life. Spiritually, she was a waste land. Her Spartanic lifestyle, adopted aboard Voyager became an obstacle to her social life. Janeway found herself declining any opportunities to explore emotional attachments, being content with superficial and undemanding acquaintances. She prefered instead to sit on the beach and brood in solitude. She found it difficult to interact with people outside Starfleet, with people for whom she was just Kathryn, without ranking. The ones who knew her as Admiral Janeway always kept a respectable distance, her rank serving as a deterrent and a shield from any attempts at personal contact. She was aware of a difficult task ahead of her – redefining herself. Kathryn Janeway is not only an admiral, is she? Her life isn't a sequence of diplomatic missions to various parts of the quadrant, is it? There had to be something else in between.

Kathryn shook her head, not willing to let melancholy settle in, again. Than a small smile crept on her face. A random thought crossed her mind just days ago, as she was heading home from work, but, upon a further inspection the thought evolved into a thrilling possibility. Never lacking determination, Kathryn had thrown herself into a project, which, she hoped, could bring her a measure of peace and alleviate her loneliness. After all, if she couldn't realize herself as a woman, perhaps she could find other way to give a meaning to her life.

''Lt. Wilson, cancel all my afternoon appointments.''

Janeway's aide just nodded, already accustomed to her superior's quirks and sudden changes of mind. It was with renewed vigor that Kathryn Janeway left her office that day to meet Owen Paris for lunch. She had no idea her life was to be changed, as most people are not.

He was already out the door, with his back to the corridor. She was heading down the same corridor, a brilliant smile on her face…and, of course, they crashed in the doorway. The apology was half way out of his mouth, as he noticed her for the first time, really noticed her. He recognized her, as you recognize someone you've virtually lived with for a significant part of your life, on an instinctive level, but, her smile… he had never seen her smiling, not that way, not so carefree…unguarded. He knew he was staring, and wearing his stupid grin, which was totally inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself. He wasn't a sensible man, he concluded with a finality. It was only his father's voice that stirred him like a slap in the face.

''Tom…''

''Admiral Janeway…''

He was just grateful for stumbling over the most original line that came into his mind. Fortunately, she bought him some time, addressing his father over some business. Tom retired to the background, keeping a keen eye on the woman who seemed the epitome of contentment. Observing her carefully, he found her to be…different. It was difficult to word it, but, at that moment, she didn't seem like an admiral. She didn't seem like an officer, either. Oh, the uniform was there, the admiral's bars in place, but there was an aura around her, something that spoke of a woman. And, if he were just an honest bystander, he would have to say she looked better than ever. Her figure was still petite, she was slim and graceful as ever, and she wore less make up. It somehow made her look more approachable, and certainly more attractive. The last part left Tom befuddled – he thought of Janeway in many ways, as a stubborn, occasionally bordering on dictatorial person, decisive, determined as hell, but also compassionate, caring. He knew she was capable of deep feeling, though he had given up on seeing it a long time ago. Now, when he looked at her, he simply found her…irresistible, something he never entertained for a moment. Ok, maybe at the beginning of the journey, when she gave him a second chance, and he was grateful and he, kind of a, worshipped the ground she walked upon. But, that passed soon. She was the Captain, end of discussion. Distracted by his musings, Tom failed to notice the two people looking at him inquisitively. He recovered momentarily,

''So, where do Admirals eat these days?''

In the end, Tom Paris just found himself completely indifferent to the surroundings. After the men simply let Kathryn to choose a restaurant, in the best gentlemen fashion, she settled on a small Italian bistro, where she was already a regular customer. The waiter, recognizing Miss Janeway, immediately lead them to a secluded booth which provided an amazing view of the city, although at the moment that view was somewhat obscuredby heavy clouds. Tom wasn't disappointed, founding himself more enthralled by the lady sitting across the table. The conversation was light, centred on trivial subjects, touching Voyager days here and there. Tom realized how little he had spoken about those seven years with anyone, even B'Elanna. Harry, as his best friend, was the second choice, but he was off on another mission. He didn't have a long list of friends, that much was sure. Was that his fault? He just didn't feel like making new friendships. With B'Elanna and Miral there was no need to. Perhaps, that will have to change too. Change…how he came to dislike that word. What was wrong with good, old fashioned stability?

''So, the senior year cadets will have an opportunity to learn from the best. I hope they know how fortunate they are, Commander!''

Kathryn's words were accompanied with her trademark lop-sided smile, and seeing Tom smile in return, was grateful he took it in stride. She felt uncomfortable around him, carefully weighing every word before speaking. Owen had confided to her the recent developments in Tom's personal life, and she had at least an inkling of the state he was in. So, she unwillingly touched on any subject which could lead to some unpleasant memories, settling herself with a light banter, which the two men followed suit. Still, she observed him, but found it hard to put her sentiments succintly into words. Tom seemed…Tom. Jovial, funny, courteous…it was only his eyes that bellied a deeper sorrow. He would smile, but it sounded hollow. Only the mechanical movement of muscles, not finding a resonance in his eyes. The windows to ones soul. Well, if that was true, than the soul of the man opposite her was tortured. Tom was Tom, after all, she conceeded. Insisting he could handle everything by himself, never asking for help, he buried the pain, guilt, remorse inside, hiding it behind a façade of indifference. He perfected the art of hiding. It was only a question of time before he exploded. And then, anything could happen…

The fire in the hearth crackled, as an older woman leaned in to put a dry log. As a sudden gust of wind roared down the chimney, a swarm of sparks exploded into a small firework. The room was warm, lighted only by the flames from the fire place. Kathryn Janeway stood at the window, watching the snow flakes being tossed aimlessly, descending softly onto the window sill. The first winter storm had set in, in the early hours of the afternoon, and by evening, whereever one chose to look, he was greeted with white blanket. The ground was already covered with at least half a meter of snow, and by morning…Molly II will probably be thrilled by the prospect of playing outside.

''Kathryn,''

Gretchen called to her daughter, placing two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table. Kathryn has spend better part of the evening in front of the window, staring seemingly at the falling snow. Only, Gretchen knew her daughter well. The scenery outside was of no importance. It could have been an exploding supernova in their backyard, and Kathryn would hardly blink an eye. She had her periods of contemplation, which were growing in frequency, a fact that left Gretchen slightly preoccupied. Ever since Voyager returned home, almost two years ago now, she has been trying to penetrate Kathryn's thoughts, trying to feel her daughter. All in vain, as it turned out, since Kathryn was a closed book. And a master at hiding, it seemed. Gretchen suspected Kathryn suffered a great deal during those seven years, torn apart by guilt, more than anything else. And, now that she was home, meant a beginning of another struggle. Struggle to recapture her life, to fall into a pattern of everyday living. Lately, it seemed she was getting along better. Even Phoebe commented during her last stay in Indiana, that Kathryn seemed a woman determined, with a purpose. They were both curious as to the outcome of this subtle change undergoing in Kathryn's mind.

''Kathryn,'' a repeated request, finally penetrating the outskirts of Kathryn's consciousness.

Both women settled in the armchairs, mugs in their hands, and silence reasserted itself again. Kathryn simply concentrated at the flickering embers in the hearth, as Gretchen's slightly irritated look rested on the form of her companion. At moments, it was infuriating – that composure, detachment, complete lack of awareness. It was impossible to force Kathryn to open up if she wasn't willing to. The best you could do was to wait patiently, for what she deemed appropriate to divulge. Kathryn suddenly turned her head, frowning at her mother's cold gaze.

''Is everything all right, Mom?'' there was a genuine confusion emanating from Kathryn's voice. The reply was equally enigmatic and challenging, ''You tell me?''

The younger woman was slowly growing aware that her mother wasn't going to back down this time. She sighed, and directed her gaze back at the fireplace. She spoke, carefully measuring each word.

''I am thinking of adopting a child. A little baby girl, an orphan…'' Kathryn glanced at her mother, but Gretchen seemed unperturbed. She didn't know what kind of a reaction to expect from her mother, but the apparent lack of reaction wasn't one of them. Finally, the other woman spoke, ''I believe that you have thought this through, Kathryn, before you decided to proceed?''

''Of course, I…'' she wasn't allowed to finish, as Gretchen interrupted her, ''…because raising a child is a full time job, unless you plan to ship the baby to me, whenever you're too busy to be a mother!''

This wasn't going the way Kathryn planned it, for certain. Her mother was supposed to smile, nodd her head, and say she was happy to be finally getting a granddaughter, not criticizing her. ''Do you consider me an unfit mother?''

''No, just a woman who doesn't know what she is getting herself into. I've been watching you isolating yourself from people, for the past two years, drowning in your work, hiding behind those pips, as if your life depends on it. What are you doing to yourself, Kathryn? Do you enjoy people considering you cold and icy behind your back? And now you come to me with an idea of becoming a mother…You still have too much to learn Kathryn, about unconditional love. You have to learn to take Starfleet off that pedestal of yours. All your life, people…Mark, me, your sister…were taking a back seat while you were pursuing your career. Well, children don't take a back seat, and they are not a quick fix for your problems!''

A barely audible voice whispered, ''I am lonely…''

Realizing how rare such moments of openess and vulnerability were, Gretchen's response was gentle, now that the words, she could no longer hold inside, were out, ''I know that, and I know that you have the potential to be the best mother. Only the timing is lousy. Why don't you try to find a man to love, start a family of your own? Take one step at the time.''

It was a miserable smile that graced Kathryn's lips, ''Mom, I am not getting any younger, and you don't see a lot of men standing in my doorway. Frankly, finding a man is not on my priority list, right now. Having a child is an entirely different story. Yes, you do have a point in saying that I'm trying to fill an emptiness in my life, but, I genuinely want to be a mother. I've always dreamed of having my own baby. I just wish you could be a little more supportive!''

''Does it really matter how I feel about the whole thing – you'll end up doing what you want, anyway.''

Kathryn had to smile involuntarily. When her mind was set, no amount of talking or reasoning could dissuade her. Yes, she was stubborn, but, this time, she knew she was doing the right thing. Ever since she paid a visit to an orphan daycare, and fell in love with a little girl. Her little girl…with big blue eyes, and blond hair, and the tiniest little fingers, curling around her hand, and with an infectious smile that could melt you in a spot. Yes, the baby was hers, and she intended to give her

everything a child deserves.

''Every mother wants her children to find happiness. You're a reasonable woman, Kathryn, well, most of the time, anyway, and if you feel ready to commit yourself to raising your own child, then I am right behind you. Only, a baby can't fill the emptiness. Yes, it can alleviate the physical loneliness, but children require selfless giving. And I am not talking about love here. To be a good mother, you have to know exactly what you want out of your life, and right now, you're still searching for your identity, darling…''

Gretchen went silent, relaxing back into her chair. She knew her daughter had a few things to ponder at the moment, and that there had been enough talking for the day. It was impossible to tell if Kathryn had really heard any of the things that were said, but judging by her pensive and vacant expression, perhaps the other perspective Gretchen tried to open her daughter to, warned Kathryn about the impediments that she could face later on.

Kathryn remained sitting by the fire long time after her mother retired to bed. Somehow instead of making them clearer, the conversation only complicated her feelings further.

The Paris mansion was, admittedly, built on one of the most, if not the most, beautiful pieces of land in the entire San Francisco area. Between the modern habitats, a virtuoso performances in glass and steel, equipped with the latest technological advances in appliances, the two-storey Victorian house, deservedly called a mansion, stood like a historical monument, a remnant of an ancient past, and, at the same time, a testament to the wealth and affluence of its occupants. Many off world tourists, on their first tour of the capital of Federation, mistook the building for a tourist site. Its prominent position, on the hill overlooking the Bay, made it easily recognizable from any part of the city's downtown. Indeed, as Tom Paris got off his transport, the first thing that caught his attention was the house bathed in the splendour of the fading sun. He smiled, as the memories of his childhood flooded him. However, his momentary loss in the past lasted only for a fragment of a second, as he remembered the reason for visiting the house – his father's birthday party.

If he were to be honest, the uncofortable feeling of being an intruder, always accompanied every visit to his old home. As he was crossing the spacious rooms, the hallowed spaces of the distinguished Paris family, where every ornament, every detail had a history of its own, Tom couldn't imagine himself as being a part of all that. The feeling of alienation, ensuing after his downfall, was still present in his mind frame. He tried hard to leave it buried, dormant in the deepest recesses of his consciousness, but it crept upon him, regardless…the fights, the taunts, boasts, egoism. Family heritage of the worst kind. The last confrontation with his father. The harsh words which were spoken…it took place in his father's study. Even today, he shied from entering that room. Its walls squeezing the breath out of his lungs, as if he was having another claustrophobia attack.

Thomas Paris didn't want to think about that tonight. It was to be an important evening for his parents, especially for his mother. He recalled the happiness on her face, as she called him today to relay the news of his father's retirement. It certainly was a surprise, but on a further reflection, Tom recognized the signs, his father's deepest desire to atone for all the wrongdoings, all the times he wasn't there for his family, but was also painfully aware that it was going to take a great effort to build the bridges again. Not only with his mother, but also with Moira and Kathleen. Ironically, he, the problem child, in the end, returned to the fold. When his life became a rubble, he chose home to come back to. It puzzled him…the reason…why?

It was with an air of finality that Tom concluded that he and his father do share some traits, after all. Such as pretending to be interested in a conversation, which was as alien to them, as anything else. So, as his Dad's oldest friend Alistair Cromwell, the only Admiral who had no intentions of retiring any time soon (to his wife's great disappointment, as she complained to Margareth and Gretchen), droned about the current development concerning the situation on the Bajor, Tom found himself observing the other illustrious guests. With the exception of the Janeways, most of the guests were one way or another linked with the Starfleet, or more precisely with the Admiralty. Tom was convinced the men here would miss his father dearly. Despite his character shortcomings, Owen Paris was an excellent servant to the Federation, one who continued the long line of distinguished officers. It was just beginning to dawn on Tom that those expectations would somehow be transferred onto him, but he wasn't in the least happy with such prospects.

Light blue eyes were dancing around, moving from one person to another…his mother with Gretchen Janeway, over at the grand piano, his uncle at the buffet table, more officers he was supposed to engage in small talk in the course of the evening…superficial scanning of the room suddenly ceased, as his peripheral sight caught a glimpse of a figure…

He had seen her in liberty clothes before, of course. But, she had this ability to wear something flattering, and yet to appear as if she were in her uniform. He always attributed it to the attitude. The Captain's thing, or something. The same was today, or at least he assumed it was. The black cotton dress she wore complimented her, but was nothing spectacular. It was as if she tried very hard to remain inconspicuous. Tom guessed it would have worked just fine, if it weren't for the details. Such as her hair, tied into a loose pony tail, with only few wisps escaping the confinement, framing her delicate, porcelain skin. Only a faint trace of make up highlighting her prominent cheekbones. There was something almost aristocratic, regal in her movements, the unhurried rhythm of her breathing… she was gesturing animatedly, obviously deep in a conversation. He figured she was probably defending a lost cause, as she was prone to do. Sometimes, she just forgot the fact that she couldn't fix every problem in the universe. Still, she fought against odds and won many times. He grew intrigued as he continued his observation unhindered. Apparently, her collocutors conceeded her point, since she graced them with one of her enchanting smiles. The effect might have been lost somewhat due to the fact that the men she spoke to were too old to appreciate the sight. However, Tom Paris recognized beauty when he saw it.

It was a strange sensation, as if someone was trying to bore holes in her back. Shifting her position slightly, Kathryn searched for a second for a culprit. She almost hadn't recognized him. The elegant suit he wore, trimmed hair, clean shaven face…was that the same man she met in his office at the Academy, just weeks ago. That day, she was searching for Tom, needing his professional opinion on the upgrades the vessel previously known as the Delta Flyer was to be fitted with. The vessel was his project, from the beginning, so it seemed logical to consult him. He would be the first one to test the improved shuttle, after all. So, seeking an admittance, she was greeted with the office cluttered with paraphernalia, a large sketching board at the farthest wall containing equations and calculations. Despite the air of unprofessionality it conveyed, Kathryn couldn't help laughing. Tom seemed embarrassed, as well as confused as to the reason of her visit. Finding an available spot on his desk, she spared a second to look at him more carefully. Unkempt was the first word that sprang to her mind. He seemed tired, a testimony to the numerous nights he spend on the couch, preferring it to the return to his solitary apartment. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and he was in a desperate need of a shave and…a shower. He apologized, mentioning the hectic hours they had to put in to finish the latest programmes for the simulators. Kathryn wondered how many of the Owen's worries were justified. Tom was burying himself in the work, neglecting the world outside. Occasionally, he would show up for dinner with his parents, leaving quickly to return to his sanctuary. Of course, Admiral Willoughby was singing praise about his new team leader, and commendations were added almost on a monthly basis to Tom's record file. But, Kathryn wasn't certain that fact meant much to him.

Frankly she was finding it a bit difficult to reconcile the two views she had of Tom Paris. A lightweight, easy-going person, she knew from Voyager, gave place to an officer whose dedication to his work rivalled, if not superseeded, her own. And with Owen retiring, it was up to his son to carry on the family name. Kathryn wasn't certain how he felt about that prospect, but, she was growing interested by the day in the enigma that Tom Paris was growing to be.

The old grandfather clock just struck one, as Tom quietly slipped out of the reception area. The candles were blown, cake eaten, presents distributed, and guests were beginning to dissipate. Figuring his presence was no longer of essence, he decided to seek some peace and solitude. Noise and crowd gave way to an almost surreal beauty of his mother's rose-garden. It had been so long since the last time he was here, years. The breathtaking view however, hadn't changed a bit. The Golden Gate in full view, with its thousands of lights, as if sprinkled with twinkling stars, and the Moon's silver glint, finding a reflection in the ocean. Idyllic… A sudden swishing sound disturbed the setting, alerting Tom to the presence of another person. Advancing a few steps, he recognized a figure in the darkness, sitting on a stone bench under the overhanging rose bush. She turned around, casting a glance at him.

''I thought I was alone out here.''

Kathryn's gaze followed Tom as he sat next to her, maintaining a respectable distance. He seemed, however, more engrossed in the observation of the fragrant flowers, than in pursuing a conversation. She was half way up, as he spoke, ''It's beautiful, isn't it?''

Kathryn sat back, taking in the sight herself, ''Indeed!''

''But, you haven't come here to admire the view, did you?'' he finally reverted his eyes, scrutinizing her carefully. She looked him directly in the eyes, ''Have you?''

''Touché.''

Everything was silent afterwards. Not being able to stand it any longer, Kathryn spoke, ''You know, it's considered bad manners to stare.''

''You've noticed?''

''Uh huh.''

''I just couldn't help myself. It was one hell of a sight.''

Although she tried, she couldn't remember the last time a man complimented on her looks. It must have been longer than she realized. And it somehow seemed just fitting that it would be Tom Paris. She considered her appearance downright plain, but apparently her opinion lacked merit.

''Thank you for the compliment.''

''You're welcome.''

Silence again. Tentative, palpable feeling of something hanging in the air. Every second an eon, as they both waited for the other to speak again.

''Yesterday was a year since Miral died. That's why I came here for.''

Kathryn thought about the baby girl she planned to adopt. She tried to picture her dying. She couldn't. ''I can't imagine what it must be like to lose a child.''

''Trust me, you wouldn't want to.'' A short pause ensued, and Kathryn presumed he was unwilling to share any more details with her, as he suddenly continued, ''I wasn't there when it happened. There was an epidemic outburst in the settlement, a highly contagious virus. Children were especially susceptible. According to the doctors, it was quick and painless. You see, I don't know what it is like, to sit helplessly and watch your child dying, not being able to do anything to save her. I'm not sure I would have had the strength, anyway. But, it haunted B'Elanna, days on end. She blamed herself, thinking she should have done more. Taken Miral away, regardless of the carantene rules. When ever I tried reasoning with her, she would accuse me of not carrying. It's a vicious circle – I blamed myself, she blamed herself, and none of us realized how pointless it was. Miral was dead, and no amount of self-reproof could bring her back.''

There were tears on Tom's face, but Kathryn doubted he cared. She reached to wipe them away, gently. He was shaking, as the words burst from him, and Kathryn wondered if this was the first time he allowed all the grief, pain, remorse out. Had it really taken a whole year and a chance encounter in a garden to open up the well of suffering he held inside?

''I miss her every day. I miss not being able to play with her, listen to her first words, show her the cartoons on the TV set. She should have been given a chance to grow up. Instead, she died.''

As the words died out, he buried his face in his hands, an act of desperation. Kathryn was hardly able to comprehend the muffled sounds, as Tom looked back at her, ''I'm sorry. I don't know what got in me. I was fine yesterday, even today…Guess, I'm not coping as well as I thought.''

''Perhaps, it's for the better. You needed to get it off your chest, so you could finally begin the healing process.''

He grasped her hand and squeezed it tight, before pulling her in a firm embrace. It left Kathryn overwhelmed, a sensation of warmth spreading through her body, and when he let her go, moments later, she felt bereft. Her eyes were mistying, and she swallowed a lump. At struggle for words, they both jumped like startled rabbits as the voice of Margareth Paris broke into the silence.

Two weeks went by, as Thomas Paris couldn't get Kathryn Janeway out of his mind. He recalled, with perfect clarity, how soft and fragile she seemed in his arms, the sheen in her eyes as he let her go. All he had to do was to close his eyes, and the picture of her would sprang unbidden to his mind. He wanted to see her again, but, she was nowhere to be seen. He tried contacting her office several times, each time getting the same response. The Admiral was indisposed at the moment. He was growing worried that she was indisposed only when it came to him. The liberties he had taken seemed natural to him, but she might have an entirely different perception of what transpired that night in the garden. He didn't want to lose her friendship, so if he had to apologize for his behaviour, he was fully willing to do so, if he were only to see her. And right now, it seemed an impossible mission. Perhaps this evening…

It wasn't to be, and his hopes of catching her after the end of the conference were dashed as he lost her in the ensuing crowd. Muttering profanities, he stalked out of the building, heading for the nearest transport. Why was she avoiding him? Did he stumble upon something she wasn't willing to share? Is she also beset with her own demons, surfacing under the cover of the dark? As Tom returned to his apartment the night after the party, his thoughts were still on Miral. It had helped confiding to Kathryn. He couldn't open his soul to his father, and he didn't want to worry his mother, and he had no close friends. Except Kathryn, who listened and comforted him. How could he not be grateful for that? At first, he had no intention of putting his misery at display, but the words and the feelings found their own way out. And bringing it all out brought a measure of peace. She was right. He could finally have a closure. He had to thank her for that too.

How he found himself on the beach still eluded him. It wasn't that he found the place to inspire a contemplative musings, on the contrary, he always associated it with bustle. Probably had to do with his frame of mind. The idea of going back to his dreary, impersonal apartment held no appeal. So, he decided to take a detour. There was a small secluded cove he was particularly fond of, and he was willing to bet it would be deserted at this hour.

The small beach was indeed deserted, not a soul in sight. She preferred it that way. She was able to shed her armour, and expose her vulnerability and loneliness without the distraction of curious on-lookers. For these few precious moments, she would just pretend to be the only being on the planet…Kathryn and the Nature…pitted against each other. The sun hung low over the horizon, and the ocean seemed cold and dark. As dark as her heart, she could tell, if only she looked deep enough. But, no. Dwelling on her personal little hell wasn't an option. As long as the mind was occupied, she would survive…

She couldn't tell if he came on purpose, looking for her, or was it a pure coincidence. Perhaps, in the great chain of events it was decided to be. She didn't even notice his presence until he was close enough to whisper silently, ''You seem…lonely''

There was no time to raise the shields, and as she turned to face him, he saw it all. The uncried tears, the pain, the desolation…it was all there, displayed for him to dissect. Her soul on the platter. She didn't speak, just lowered her eyes, and turned back to watch the open sea. The dawning realization hit him – the embarrassment at being caught off guard.

''I shouldn't have intruded.''

She weighed it in her mind, the pros and cons, and after a quick reconsideration, made a decision. He turned to leave, as her voice stopped him in his tracks.

''The sun…''

He reverted his gaze back, their eyes locking. It was that look again, hiding nothing. She was letting him in, revealing something buried beneath the surface.

''Soon the ocean will swallow the sun, and they'll remain together for the night, and in the morning they'll part their ways again…still feeling the irresistible pull towards each other.'' There was a meaning in her words, he was certain of it. He kept his eyes riveted to her, unwilling to interrupt her musings yet, as she continued gazing at the scene enfolding in front of them. ''But, they are the opposites…the sun and the ocean…they don't belong together, yet they can't escape…they're bound forever.'' He understood, better than he was ready to admit. Hasn't his life been a struggle to appease the expectations, his own and of the people around him?

''But, the sun won't lose any of its heat, and the sea will still remain as deep and mysterious as ever.'' She stared at him, absorbing his words. ''In fact, if the sun were to shine at all times, with no intervals of darkness, it would have lost its intensity. It would become…ordinary.''

They both watched the sunset, and it was only after the moon shone, that he dared to break the silence. ''Kathryn…'' There was no premeditation, her name slipped from his lips so naturally, as if he had been saying it his whole life. For a moment, but only for a moment, there was a fear that she might disapprove the liberty he has taken with her. But, she grasped his hand, and it was all right.

They were walking in an unhurried pace, strolling along the streets, mingling with the crowd, until they finally reached the residential district. Few words were spoken here and there, as if the silence was too precious to break. Each was immersed in their own thoughts, the comfort of each other's presence being enough to offer them a measure of peace. Kathryn stood in front of her apartment building, wondering what to say.

''Thank you for…'' she struggled briefly with finding the right words, ''…providing a fresh insight.''

He gave her a warm smile, and for that little moment, she felt…happy. It was only later, as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, that Kathryn remembered she never asked Tom what was he doing on the beach in the first place. And Tom? Tom was dreaming a pleasant dream that night, of Kathryn's luminous gray eyes, and her gentle smile…