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"May I join you?"

Kathryn looked up, startled to find Commander Paris standing at the side of her table. She did a quick survey around the dining area and saw hers was one of the few tables with only one occupant. It didn't really surprise her; she wasn't the easiest dining companion. Reluctantly, she nodded for Tom to sit and felt more than one pair of eyes drift away from the scene of the ship's first officer waiting to sit at her table.

"You and the captain seem to have come to some sort of truce," he said, settling into his seat.

She eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup as he picked up his utensils. "I suppose you could call it that." She frowned in disgust as he began mixing all his food together. "I don't cause any trouble, and he lets me stay out of the brig."

He caught her watching him and gave her his easy grin. "You may not remember it, but prior to New Zealand, we have met before."

The ghost of a smile passed over her features; she'd thought about him more than he could ever know. He'd been a cute, mischievous little boy running into his father's office, interrupting a meeting between her and the admiral; a blond-haired kid that had desperately wanted his father's approval. Oh yes, she'd thought a lot about him over the years. She'd wondered how different his life would've been if he'd grown up with a father. She'd even had a recurring daydream that he and Phoebe had met at some memorial for her and Admiral Paris and became fast friends, possibly even dated. But, of course, like so many things, that had been nothing more than fantasy.

She set her coffee cup down. "I remember."

He looked surprised. "You do?"

"Your father was my academic advisor as well as my commanding officer," she said. "I heard a great many stories about your exploits over the years."

Tom moved his food around with his fork. "Really?"

"Your father was very proud of you." Her smile was genuine when she added, "And anyone that spent time with him knew it."

The tips of Tom's ears turned pink. "That bad, huh?"

She shrugged and picked up her fork, stabbing a piece of fruit.

Tom seemed encouraged by her reply. "Do you think, maybe some time, I could talk to you about him? I mean, about what happened to him – to both of you."

The bite of melon quickly turned sour in her mouth and she swallowed thickly. "I don't like to talk about it."

He nodded quickly. "Of course not, I understand. I just was never sure…" He caught her eye and cut himself off. "Sorry. Never mind. Please, forget I asked."

Kathryn could no longer see the accomplished Starfleet commander sitting in front of her. All she saw was the little boy who must have always wondered what happened to his father. "What were you never sure of?"

He hesitated, but then asked, "We were told by Starfleet that my father died six weeks after the two of you went missing. Was that true?"

Janeway was sure the temperature in the room had just spiked about twenty degrees. She set her fork down. "No, that's not precisely true."

"Is he…was he still alive when you were rescued?" he asked.

She pushed her tray of half-eaten food away and folded her arms on the table. "Why don't you just ask me what it is that you think you want to know, Commander?"

If he heard the warning in her voice, he didn't heed it. "Is my father dead?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

She glared at him, her flat blue eyes assuring him that he was standing on thinning ice with her.

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Was my father with you the entire time?"

"No, I only saw him the day we were captured and on the day he died."

He swallowed painfully. "Were you with him when he died?"

She was in that room again, exhausted and scared. Cold and in pain. Confused at who the old man in front of her was.

"Kathryn?"

Her eyes flew open; the comforting lights and rumbling voices of an active dining hall filtered back into her awareness. Tom was sitting back, leaning away from her and the knife she held clenched in her fist. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and pushed the memory of that room back down to the dark recesses of her mind where it belonged.

"Sorry," she muttered, dropping the knife back onto her tray as nonchalantly as possible. She started to look at him when she answered and found she couldn't; she looked away. "Yes, I was with your father when he died. They wanted me to see it." She blinked several times. "The admiral…he didn't go easy."

Tom cleared his throat. "No, I wouldn't have expected him to." He moved the food on his tray around with his fork, although she doubted it was ever going to be eaten. "So, uhm, how long did he last? A couple of years?"

"Years?" She frowned and her eyes cut back to his. She shook her head. "No, Commander, he didn't last years."

"Well, I mean, I know he wasn't young or anything, but he was in pretty good health when he left Earth. Surely, he survived for a few months-"

"Eight weeks."

Tom blinked. "What?"

"Your father was dead within eight weeks of our capture."

He was silent; the food in front of him finally forgotten completely. "It only took them eight weeks to make him talk?"

"Make him talk?" She cocked her head to the side. "Tom, your father and I both told the Cardassians everything we knew within hours of being captured. The intelligence we possessed was only worthwhile if it was extracted from us in a timely manner. By the end of the first week, I had already told them everything I had ever been taught in Starfleet. Your father probably took a bit longer than that to debrief completely. As an admiral, he obviously knew more than I did."

Tom looked confused. "The Cardassians told Starfleet that they questioned you for three weeks. If you'd already told them everything about Starfleet in just a few days, what else did they question you about?"

"Everything," she said.

"Everything?"

She considered how much to tell him. "They wanted to know who I voted for, how I take my coffee, where my sister attended school, how many sexual partners I'd had…" She trailed off at Tom's expression, his blue eyes looking younger and more horrified by the second. "Everything," she repeated.

He coughed, cleared his throat, looked down at his tray. "Why would they want to know all that?"

She shrugged. "So they could use it against me."

"But your sister? Your lov-?" He wisely stopped himself. "They used all of that information against you?"

She thought about Justin and nodded. "In one way or another."

Tom was quiet for several minutes before he asked, "How did you survive for eight years and my father for only eight weeks?"

Kathryn's hand was steady when she reached for her coffee cup. "They only wanted to break him once."


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