Miral sat alone in the dark of the Paris' quarters on Venture thinking it no better than the Prospect's brig. As soon as they materialized into the Venture's transporter room, she had been told to go directly to the quarters and stay put, and judging by her mother's extremely foul mood, Miral decided it best not to cross her.

It was difficult to wait. She could see the U.S.S. Prospect from where she sat on the couch by the view port. Below her, the ship's disk-shaped topside was visible if she pressed her forehead against the clear barrier. The damage was to the underside, so the ship looked perfectly fine from her point of view, making the attack seem all the more surreal. Even though she had been onboard the Prospect when it happened, she still didn't want to believe that the ship had actually been attacked.

All this time that she waited alone, one thought kept coming back to her and it troubled her more and more. Strangely, it wasn't fear for her father. People had been killed on board the Prospect, and she had not heard from Joaquin.

She slumped down into the soft cushions, giving up on the vigil for the time being. There just wasn't anything to see. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the hand-held game Joaquin had given her. It lit up when she touched it and she skimmed through the list of contents. Games…Messages…Contacts…

The device blipped once and bright lights danced around the screen, and then Joaquin's nickname for her scrolled to the top.

'Ladybug' it said, 'u ok?' Miral felt a tiny thrill in the pit of her stomach. Had he been waiting for her to turn on the game all this time?

She smiled as she typed in her response. 'I'm ok…r u?'

'Yep…close call.'

He was bit her bottom lip. Because of its size, this device cut their responses short; she had no way to tell if he was really all right. She couldn't think any more about that—it would hurt too much. Quickly, she punched in, 'Challenge you. Play a game?'

Joaquin responded immediately. 'You'd lose…'

Miral could imagine his quick smile. She smirked. 'Wanna bet?'

Apparently, he was up for the challenge. 'You're on.'

The gauntlet was thrown, and he'd accepted. For a brief time they could forget their troubles, and maybe—just maybe—she'd let him win.

Hours had passed since the attack, and what absolutely infuriated B'Elanna was the fact that she was a civilian aboard the Venture. She had no authority at all to override her husband's orders against her going back to the Prospect. He must have known that she would only go back for one thing, and that would be to grab him by the collar and drag him back to the Venture where he belonged. He'd already missed his second therapy session with B-4 and the android had given her a lecture on how important those sessions were. If Tom didn't exercise that arm he could lose it—and that would be inexcusable.

"When are you coming back then," she stated, rather than asked. She knew that questioning him was futile. This was the second exasperating communication she'd had with her husband since he'd so rudely snatched her away from the Prospect, and he still wasn't cooperating.

"When I'm finished," he replied calmly.

"Finished doing what?" B'Elanna shot back. There was silence at the other end, so she continued, "What do you want me to tell B-4? That your one therapy session was enough?"

There was a pause. "I'll be back as soon as I can, B'Elanna. You'll have to accept that."

She terminated the link between them. If she continued the discussion, she would start saying things unbecoming of a commodore's wife—but ghuy'cha'! Would he ever get an earful when he got back!

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Even though B'Elanna had a valid point, if she kept it up, he would have to tell Solek to cut off her communications privileges too. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, B'Elanna would never let him live it down, and he had enough explaining to do as it was.

He massaged the fingers on his injured hand; numbness had been creeping into them for the past hour, but he couldn't go back to Venture yet. What had happened to Prospect was of personal interest to him. Before impact, transporters had managed to grab hold of one of the attackers, and Tom had recognized him.

He stepped back in to sickbay where the attacker's body lay stretched out on a biobed.

"It was a fast acting poison," the medic was saying to Harry. "He must've ingested it before the attack. There was no way we could save him."

"He didn't want to be taken alive," Harry said, almost to himself.

Tom came up beside him and looked down at the corpse. The eyes were glazed over, and the skin was mottled with grotesque purplish blotches, but Tom knew the face. This man was one of the thugs who had abducted him from the banquet on Onari.

Harry looked up at Tom, and his brows drew together when he saw the look on his friend's face. "So you do know this man," he said.

"Yeah," Tom replied. "He was one of Crevlin's men, alright."

"They must have been desperate. Slapping a warp drive into such a small ship…we almost didn't detect them," Harry said, "You'd think they'd come to the negotiations table instead of fighting this way. Why can't they see that these actions they're taking are futile? The Federation's too big a bone for them to chew."

Tom shook his head. "They know what they're doing. Just like at the banquet on Onari. They're sitting back and choosing their targets. They knew they couldn't take out your ship, but they did manage to strike a blow that'll pull her out of this system."

Harry nodded. "You're right. We can't stay here; the damage was too severe. She has to be repaired."

"Why would they want your ship out of this system? What's their real objective?"

"The only Federation assets between us and the Onari system are a small outpost on Chartus, and the science colony on Aristarchus. Neither of them are crucial to the Federation politically or otherwise, but their destruction could be exploited to Crevlin's advantage."

"Problem is, we don't know which one he'll try to hit. We need to inform Starfleet about this."

"I agree, Tom," Harry said, "but we're going to need solid evidence if we're to present this to Starfleet. They might consider this attack a fluke. As far as their concerned, they have Crevlin huddled in a corner in Romulan territory, and it's only a matter of time before they have him."

Tom gestured to the corpse on the biobed. "This is all the proof I need," he said. "I was with them, Harry. Trust me. They'll stop at nothing. We can't just sit back and wait for them to make the next move." He grasped his arm, the numbness had intensified to a burning ache, but he couldn't let the infirmity stop him. He pressed on, trying to keep his voice level and calm. "We have to warn Chakotay. His family is on Aris—" Suddenly, a sickening chill moved through him, and he swayed, clutching the edge of the biobed for support. He bowed his head praying the sickness would pass, but his vision dimmed. He looked up, but he couldn't see his friend. "Harry…" he said, and his knees buckled.

"Medic!" Harry caught him and sat him down in a nearby chair.

Tom heard a hiss as the medic pumped medication into him from a hypo. The substance gave him and immediate boost. His mind and his vision began to clear and he saw Harry watching him closely.

"Go back to Venture, Tom," he said. "I'll get back with you over the comm."

"Guess I stayed out too late," Tom said. "B'Elanna's going to kill me."

"Not unless you beat her to it," said Harry with a half smile.

B'Elanna came back to her quarters for the third time that evening, not knowing what else to do.

"Is Dad back?" Miral said groggily. She lay curled up on the couch. Her head popped up briefly when her mother walked in.

"No," B'Elanna replied. "Go back to sleep."

Miral curled up tighter and nestled comfortably into the couch.

B'Elanna wished she could be so relaxed, but she really wanted to break something-anything. Ever since Tom had so unceremoniously dispatched them back to the Venture, she had felt like a caged animal. He had promised her long ago when she left Starfleet that he would never pull rank on her, but that's exactly what he did.

She drew in a calming breath, but it only made her anger more intense. Something would have to give; she hoped it wouldn't be her sanity. She knew their lives would not be back to normal so soon and while they were so close to danger, but still she expected a little better than this.

As she paced, her foot caught on a crumple of clothing. Miral's jacket. B'Elanna sighed heavily and bent down to pick it up. When she did so, something light fluttered to the floor. It was a photograph. She picked it up and turned it over.

Her breath caught. Miral and Tom together. He was pushing her on that silly old swing set. She remembered taking the picture. It had been one of those lazy summer afternoons when they seemed to have it all…life, love, a precious little girl. B'Elanna glanced over at the sleeping Miral. She still looked very innocent when she was asleep, so much like the little girl she used to be.

You can't go home, B'Elanna thought, no matter how deeply you long for it. Reluctantly, she tucked the picture back into the pocket, and folded the jacket, laying it gently on the sofa.

The comm. came to life and bleeped, startling B'Elanna. She moved quickly to it and answered. "Dr. Torres."

"B'Elanna, Thomas is in sickbay," said B-4 without preamble.

"What?"

"Do not worry. He is sleeping."

"What happened?" B'Elanna asked, dark dread grew in the pit of her stomach.

"He collapsed while—"

"He collapsed?" she interrupted, hoping she hadn't heard him correctly.

"That is right. He briefly lost consciousness while onboard the Prospect, but with rest and proper care, he will recover."

"No, he won't," she replied sharply, though she didn't know where the words came from.

"I assure you, B'Elanna, he will be all right."

"I know for a fact he won't be all right," B'Elanna exclaimed, "because I'm going to kill him!"

There was a pause while the android processed what she said. "Your words did not register in my data banks as a form of sarcasm, yet judging from your past actions and attitudes toward your husband, I think you meant them as such. I suggest, B'Elanna, that you work on your inflection."

What was with this android and his fascination with sarcasm? B'Elanna wanted to scream out her frustration, but she resolved to steady herself and gain back a bit of her composure. She'd known all along that something terrible like this would happen. Tom must have known he'd push himself too hard. Why in hell would he do this to himself—and to her?

"I'm coming down there," she growled, and she slammed her fist down on the comm. smashing it in a crushing blow.