May 29, 2386

Slowly, he woke, feeling the damp bedding beneath him. His entire body ached, as if he had worked out for hours, pushing his muscles to their absolute limit. His head ached like he had a hangover. She lay next to him, a gap of over a foot between them. She had pulled the sheet up over her, pinning it tightly beneath her arms. The delicate black silk of her hair fanned out on the pillow next to him. How strange, he thought, that he could feel how ill at ease she was, while at the same time feeling the calmness inside himself. His breath still felt like it was not just contained within his body, but came from and ended with her.

It seemed he had crossed through the looking glass, or maybe landed in Oz. He was in another world, where he had crossed from a plain and ordinary place of black and white to one full of color, thousands of colors he had never seen before, and couldn't describe. It had been born of utter necessity, but now, they had crossed over from their friendship to something else. What it was, he didn't know. The thought that held onto him, would not let him go, was simple. She loved him. He knew it, remembered what it felt like to be surrounded by her emotions. Dumbfounded, he could not wrap his head around the logic of it all, understanding emotion in this instance was his only tangible proof. He had never even suspected that it was possible. They were friends, united in their mutual grief from the past, nothing more. Or so he had always believed.

Why didn't you ever tell me how you felt? He had every intention of saying it aloud, but realized that somehow instead he had passed the thought to her telepathically.

She sat bolt upright, pulling the sheet with her and leaving him uncovered. Aaron. He heard her voice in his head, fretting over the anguish in the one word. She had recoiled internally at the use of his given name, at the same time acknowledging she could not very well call him "commander" as she lay naked beside him in her own bed. He knew, without understanding how, what she wanted most was to jump out of bed and get away from him, but would not, because he would see her.

Are we using telepathy? he asked her. How is that possible? Rapid fire thoughts hit her brain like gunfire. Alarm, confusion, disbelief, wonder. She felt it all fade, give way to a detached curiosity, his logical and ordered mind sifting through what he was able to now do, how everything he thought and felt seemed to travel along an invisible thread that connected to her, reflections of her thoughts streaming back along the same thread.

She didn't answer, but unwillingly sent a shock of dismay through him. A second later, he heard inside his head, in an almost frantic pitch, It's the mating bond. I should have told you before, but...I…I was too incapacitated. I wasn't sure it would happen. It's not something I can control. I'm so sorry...to have done this to you. She was horrified, ashamed, and he could feel it. Wave after wave of anguish, desperation, endless despair. If you do this-- He felt what he could only describe as a curtain rise through his thoughts-- you can block yourself from me, and I won't hear your thoughts or feelings. It will lessen with time, if you stay shielded. The waves had stopped.

Concentrating, he undid what she had done, feeling her sadness and pain come at him again, pummeling him like physical blows. She turned, her eyes wide, shocked at his reversal. Why didn't you tell me how you felt? he asked again.

Could she cringe in a thought? It seemed so. She added, There was no logic in doing so. It would have complicated things. Confused things. When I knew you did not feel the same. He knew she was trying, and failing, to sound remote, logical. All he heard in his head was her sorrow, the feeling of being bereft of something she needed desperately.

He lay in silence again, unable to form another word or thought. Slowly, things began to make sense. Above all else, she had wanted to hide these feelings from him. She had almost been willing to let herself die rather than let him know. She resisted, fought him to the last moment. Because now, she had been exposed, laid bare and vulnerable, anticipating that he would just leave, perhaps pretending nothing had happened, favoring discretion.

What surprised him the most, was the aching inside his chest at the thought of actually doing what she feared he would do.

"You're beautiful," he said at last, his voice hoarse and strange-sounding actually coming from his vocal cords. He reached up and very gently rested his palm against her back. She turned her face to him, the pain in her eyes knocking the breath from him. "All of you." He tugged at the sheet, not willing to pull it away forcefully, but implying he wanted her to relent. "Please, let me look at you," he whispered. She unwound her tight grasp on the sheet, felt it fall through her fingers as he pulled it down.

He ran one finger along her collarbone, relishing the silken smoothness of her skin. She closed her eyes, pressed them closed tightly. He felt her desire to lean into the touch, at the same time the agony of the moment kept her still. Sensing her wish, with the lightest possible touch, he ran the back of his hand over her breast, seeing a slight shiver ripple across her skin. She made no move to stop him, in fact, he knew she felt a pang when his hand moved away. He slid his arm behind her, rolling to close the gap of space between them. He pulled her down next to him, feeling the warmth of her body against the length of him. "Please don't tell me beauty is irrelevant."

"I am Vulcan, not Borg," she said softly. "Vulcans can appreciate beauty in all forms. Nature and art. Your body, for instance," she whispered.

He smiled at her bluntness, whispering softly in reply, "Are you telling me you think I'm beautiful?"

He saw it in her mind, how attracted she was to him, and it left him breathless. "I have always thought so," she said softly, reluctantly.

He laughed, the musical sound soft and deep in his throat. "Is that so?"

She bent her head down onto his chest, in the moment something that brought him great comfort, though at the same time he felt the sensation of her heart nearly breaking, deep inside him. It was as if she were doing something she knew she would never be able to do again, something that she needed, but would forever after be denied. He could hardly breathe, feeling like there was an anvil pressing on his chest. The agony impaled him, at the thought of how deep her pain reached, how it seemed he had unwittingly inflicted it upon her.

He felt the tears well in his own eyes, sliding down the side of his face. His throat aching, he said softly, "Remember the discussion we had about introversion?" He took her silence as lease to continue, although he sensed confusion as well. "There is also a difference between introversion and loneliness."

The tears flowed faster from him, as he seemed to absorb more emotion from her as he spoke. "I prefer to be alone. I have never felt loneliness….simply because I was alone." Instantly, he knew she understood, knew exactly how he felt.

"People like Tom will sit and talk to a stranger, as a means to alleviate their loneliness. But our loneliness is more profound, and harder to cure." The fact that he grouped them together so effortlessly pulled at her. "We're lonely because a part of us is missing. It's only one part, but the most important part. We live our lives without it, because we can. But the need never really goes away, does it?"

He felt her turn her face upward, fearing she was pulling away. He cradled her against him, resting his hand on her cheek. "Don't tell me Vulcans don't experience loneliness. I know better now." He lifted her chin, so he could see her eyes. "You weren't just lonely. You were lonely for me." He swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. "The same way that I know I've been lonely for you."

He watched the tears collecting on her lower lashes, an alarm growing inside him at the sight. "I am still having...difficulty...suppressing my emotions….after my….imbalance."

"T'Lassa," he whispered, feeling her tense, edging away from him. "Please…"

"I didn't want this to happen….like this." She stopped speaking as her voice shook, but he felt it inside himself, the overwhelming sense of loss that stole his breath.

T'Lassa, stop grieving for something you haven't lost, he forcefully interjected into her mind. He held her against him, even as she struggled to pull away.

"Aaron, please. You don't have to do this...I understand. None of this is your fault," she said softly, in her anguish. He felt the awful image in her mind, that he was torturing her by holding her against him, taunting her with something he would soon take away.

You can read my mind, can't you? he thought to her, his anger inflating. You're in so much pain you're not absorbing my thoughts, he admonished. Am I being dishonest? Is that really what you sense? That I'm sorry? That I'm looking for a way out of this? It's killing me, this pain I feel from you. I swear, I would never hurt you. Never.

How had he known? she thought. She had let herself get near hysteria, ignoring what he was thinking and feeling. She collected herself, pushed aside her own fear at what she might discover, and let his thoughts flow over her like a calming brook.

It was soothing, like the light from her meditation lamp. He was uncertain, hesitant, even afraid. But much more than the fear, or worry, she felt calm. And then the same warmth that had before radiated from her making its way now from him instead, enveloping her in its safety and power.

You should have told me how you felt, his voice reverberated in her head.

I couldn't, she thought to him plaintively. He also felt her fear.

What you think, what you're expecting me to do--that isn't who I am.

She saw the picture, the image he held when he thought of her. She had walked beside him in his utter darkness, guiding him, allowing him to heal, teaching him to not fear the darkness. To understand the possibilities that lie ahead. Never asking anything from him. He felt her emotions wash over him, as she at last saw the clear picture of all that she truly meant to him.

Knowing the truth so clearly now, he also knew she had only ever really wanted to walk beside him in the light. Something he had earned, for his perseverance in his suffering. He felt the unevenness of her breath as she absorbed the impressions.

His next thoughts were accompanied by a rush of emotion that welled from a place deep inside him. I want this, T'Lassa. To be with you. You filled a hole inside me I didn't know was there. The only loneliness I know is….when I'm without you. She saw herself in his mind, as he saw her, felt the fear, the hesitancy, all doubt dissolve under the weight of this realization. There was no way for him to be dishonest in the bond, no way for him to be so certain and her to not sense it, if it weren't in fact true. I didn't know what I felt. Not for a long time. But I do now. I'm sorry for the time I wasted.

He felt her incredulousness waver, slowly relent, as she continued to sense his feelings. She looked into his eyes, two single tears, one from each eye, trickling down her cheeks. And then he felt something else from her, something he could only equate with the sensation of breaking the surface of water after an eternity of holding his breath. Relief, he thought. Hope, he realized with a jolt, as a buoyancy bubbled inside.

He closed his eyes, tilted her face up to him, and kissed her. He would think of this, always, as the first time he had kissed her, although the whole situation was beyond strange, to say the least. But it was the first, intentional kiss. It only took a split second for her to respond, kissing him back, her hand resting against his chest. He felt his blood rush as she kissed him back, her breath catching as she did so.

What does "t'hy'la" mean? he asked while she was still kissing him.

She pulled away gently, her eyes wider. She had never said it to him, realizing he had absorbed it from her thoughts, somewhere over the course of the blood fever.

It means beloved, in Vulcan, she told him via their bond. The look in her eyes, the intensity that held him fixed, he now knew, he had seen multiple times. Sitting across from him as they shared a meal or a cup of tea, talking to him when he was making rounds, opening her eyes after blowing out her meditation candle. He traced it back years, that same look, cursing himself for being as blind as he had been, unable, or unwilling to see it for what it truly had been.

T'hy'la, he thought back to her. He touched her face. You are exhausted. Sleep. She rested her head back down on his chest, basking in the warm comfort of his embrace.

Ask your question, she thought to him, on the edge of falling asleep. Sensing he had something he wanted to ask her before he forgot.

"T'Lassa," he asked out loud. "I didn't know your husband was human. You never mentioned it."

"It didn't seem important. My grandfather was human as well. I am not purely Vulcan either," she explained, hoping she had masked the entire truth from him in the moment, hoping she could tell him at a later time.

"Vulcan genes are pretty dominant, I guess," he responded.

"Of course," she replied.

She felt his curiosity, only the vaguest hint of worry. "I should have asked you ahead of time….but…."

"I will not become pregnant, Aaron. I took my injections," she proclaimed.

"Can I finish a thought without you thinking it first?" he asked, chuckling quietly.

I love you, Aaron.

He felt it crash over him like a tidal wave. The feeling was one thing, hearing her say it was another, feeling her think it inside his head was sublime. She finished his thought, felt his feelings even as he had grappled with them.

I love you too. Hearing her voice say it erased all his remaining trepidation, gave him the courage to tell her in return. He made sure every part of him that could touch her was pressed close, and let her closeness calm him to sleep. Drifting toward unconsciousness, he practiced the technique she had taught him, during his darkest days. To hold out the pain, surround it in the light, let it drift away from him as peace returns. He tried, but lazily, his last thought was, in searching for his pain and realizing, for the very first time, that it had completely gone.

May 30, 2386

"Good morning, Commander," Tom said softly as Aaron entered his office. He gestured to the extra cup of coffee Ensign Palmetto had left on his desk. Aaron said nothing in return, just picked up the coffee cup and brought it to his lips.

Tom was famous for his good-natured ribbing. He was, in fact, a master. He had a thousand different one liners, puns, sarcastic remarks, even double entendre. He had been waiting all morning, knowing Aaron had spent the entire night in T'Lassa's quarters, as T'Lassa's daughter had spent the night in his quarters, having a sleepover with Miral. But the moment he saw Aaron, he paused. He was different, changed, in a drastically noticeable way.

Peacefulness. The word popped into his mind randomly, and he realized it was the essence of what he sensed. It radiated from Aaron now, so unlike the high-strung, solitary man he had come to know over the past eight years. When Tom had first met him, he had been much worse. He was only a year removed from the death of his wife, still intensely grieving. Tom had come to learn that Aaron had actually requested transfer to any assignment that had ex-Voyager crew involved. Tom had jumped at the opportunity to have Aaron on his team, having both exemplary command and engineering expertise. It was only later that he realized Aaron was trying to extricate himself, to the one group of people left in the Alpha Quadrant who had been unaffected by the war, because they had been in the Delta Quadrant, and had only returned one year after the war ended.

The man standing in front of him was a different person, from just the day before. The transformation was miraculous. Tom basked in the other man's contentment, rather than inject a silly comment as a way to deflect potential awkwardness.

"Is everything all right?" Tom asked cryptically.

Aaron met his eyes over the rim of his coffee cup. He smiled, nodded gently. "Yes. Everything is alright." The relief in his voice was palpable, permeated with a profound calmness.

Thank God, Tom thought.

Aaron suddenly seemed uncomfortable, uncertain how to stand, or rest his arms and hands. He set the coffee down on Tom's desk. Crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. "I just wanted to, um, thank you, sir," he stuttered.

"For what?" Tom asked, confused.

Aaron sighed, a deep cleansing breath. "For everything." He was always so composed and proper, the slight tremor in his voice caught Tom off guard.

Aaron reached back down for his coffee, using the act of sipping as a calming force. "I didn't know you knew. About the...problems I had. Have. About the..." Aaron's eyes were fixed on the steam billowing away from his coffee, but his face had reddened, and sweat stood out on his forehead.

"She told you about that?" Tom asked, unbelieving.

Aaron had the most peculiar expression on his face as he looked back up at his friend. "Not exactly, sir." His cheeks slightly reddened, "I know a lot of things I didn't know yesterday, without her having actually told me anything. I feel like my brain has been scrambled….but in a good way, if that makes any sense."

"I guess it does." Tom had never had a reason to ponder the nature of telepathy when it came to Vulcan mating. But it made sense.

"Have you ever experienced a Vulcan mind meld, Tom?" he asked curiously.

"As a matter of fact, I have. Courtesy of Tuvok, for a very specific reason. Very weird," he snickered, shaking his head slightly.

"Not complete though?" Aaron asked quickly.

"No." He left the "thankfully" unsaid.

"It's much more….involved," Aaron explained. "And imagine that….while…."

Tom choked on his coffee at the thought. "TMI, Commander," he said as he sputtered on the hot coffee.

"Sorry," Aaron replied nervously. "Anyway, thank you. For giving me leeway. I'm sorry for letting you down."

"You've never let me down, Aaron," he said pointedly. "You got help exactly when you needed it. That's all that matters." He clasped the darker man's shoulder in camaraderie.

"Thank you, too, for...intervening I guess is the best word," Aaron added.

"I hate the fact that I was meddling, you know that," Tom said gently.

"You knew, didn't you? How she felt?" Aaron asked, though it wasn't a question.

Tom gave him a crooked smile. "Everybody knew, except you." Aaron looked up at the ceiling, embarrassed again. "Even my daughter," Tom added with a laugh.

Aaron just shook his head, chuckling softly. "I'm just an idiot, when it comes to that stuff, I guess."

"You're almost Vulcan all by yourself, which explains it. Explains it all, actually," he added with another smile. "I'm just glad it worked out."

"I haven't felt like this in a very long time," Aaron attested, his eyes misting slightly despite himself. "I never thought I would ever be able to feel like this again," he almost whispered.

"Happy?" Tom asked, knowing that Aaron was.

Aaron smiled, but realized something else, as he caught his breath. He pressed his hand over his heart, clutching at himself. "Healed," he said, the wonder and amazement spreading to the wide smile that lightened his face.

}LS{

When Tom had gotten the call that the Admiral's ship had arrived, Miral had begged to accompany him to greet her. Admiral Janeway's relationship with Miral was most closely related to a grandparent and grandchild. Miral had no biological grandmothers; both Tom and B'Elanna's mothers were deceased. B'Elanna's father, John Torres, was only present sporadically, and Tom's father, Owen, still worked more than he did anything else.

She stood, holding on tightly to her father's hand, barely able to stand still she was so excited. When Miral saw the admiral emerge from the airlock, she broke free from her father's hand and ran toward her. "Admiral!" she squealed.

Janeway stopped mid stride, bending at the waist and stretching out her arms. "There's the birthday girl!" Janeway cooed, scooping up the little girl in her arms and hugging her, lifting her feet up off the ground. Tom came up behind them, his wide smile genuine.

"Welcome aboard, Admiral," he said as she released Miral's little body. He reached out a hand, but was grabbed in a bear hug by the petite but powerful woman.

"Good to see you again, Tom," she said lightly. "I brought someone with me I believe you might know," she said, smirking.

"Grandpa!" Miral squealed before Tom could look, then saw his daughter rush into the waiting arms of his father, Admiral Owen Paris.

"Oh my goodness, look how big you've gotten," Owen gushed, squeezing the little girl against him.

"Dad, this is a nice surprise!" Tom said good-naturedly, reaching for his father's hand.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," he said softly. Too much of his own son's life has been spent apart from family.

"We're both here in an official capacity, that is, until the party tonight," Janeway smiled. "We heard you pulled some interesting trash into your shuttle bay."

"Could be. I don't have enough security clearance to know for sure," he quipped. Frowning, he added, "I thought the Doctor was coming."

"He sends his regrets. He wasn't able to make it after all," Janeway replied. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, "I hope Miral won't be too disappointed."

"Well, at least she got Grandpa instead," Tom laughed.

}LS{

"I don't suppose you can shed any more light on this?" Tom asked Admiral Janeway as she stood in his office.

"I don't have very much more information than you do, believe it or not. Classifications by Temporal Investigations are pretty extensive, and higher up the food chain, if you know what I mean," she explained.

"If Starfleet sent my father, they know more than they're telling you," Tom countered.

"All we were told was to secure passage for the debris on a starship, and to bring it back to Sector 001. The fact that they wanted the both of us to come here to scope it out is a little unusual, I admit. I was told by Admiral Akaar to confirm the alloy composition."

"A neutronium alloy. That's why," Tom proclaimed. Both of her eyebrows rose on her forehead in surprise.

Janeway shook it off, her features softening as the topic switched. "Owen used the trip as an excuse to come and see Miral. Don't be so paranoid, Tom," Janeway reassured.

With a resolute face, Tom began, "I have to tell you something, Admiral. My chief medical officer is a Vulcan, who is apparently a descendant of T'Pol of Vulcan. She told me she knew what it was. From having read T'Pol's personal logs from Enterprise with her grandmother when she was young."

"What did she say it was?" Janeway asked tightly.

"A piece of a sphere created by a race of interdimensional beings known to the Xindi as The Guardians. Apparently T'Pol disabled the network of spheres as a favor to the Xindi people. They were believed destroyed. In 2154," he explained.

The Admiral crossed her arms, and began pacing, which started to trouble him. And what she asked next confirmed that both she and his father knew more than they were allowed to tell him. "How would she have had access to that information, if it had been redacted by Temporal Investigations?"

Had he caught Janeway there? Had she inadvertently revealed what Temporal Investigations had redacted, without thinking?

He explained, "T'Pol retired from Starfleet before Temporal Investigations classified the information in 2186. Apparently they overlooked personal logs," he added with a slight shrug.

"Starfleet is sending Endeavor to retrieve the debris." It was Chakotay's ship. "She should be here in 72 hours. Then it'll be out of your shuttle bay and out of your hair," she added, with a tone of finality, effectively ending the discussion about the artifact.

It still nagged at him, wondering all that she knew that she had not told him. But she was right. Not every mystery in the galaxy was his to solve. And things would be running much more smoothly when the bay was emptied. "Chakotay and Harry," he said with a fond grin. "The band'll be almost back together," he beamed.

She flashed a lopsided smile. "I wish it were so, but I have to leave in the morning, Tom. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's ok, Admiral. It'll still be good to see them again. It's been way too long," Tom admitted.

"Your father is extending his stay. He's waiting to hitch a ride back to Earth with the Endeavor," she told him casually.

Tom would remember this discussion, later, and think how precarious life was. One decision, stay an extra day, miss a single transport, wait for a certain ship--and all of life, and the future, could be changed.