Second Chances: Chapter 35
A/N: For all of you who've been waiting, it's coming...
Stardate 54472
October 2377
U.S.S. Voyager
Alpha Quadrant
B'Elanna lapsed into silence as she studied the computer console in front of her. "The diagnostic looks clear," she said, her voice in those clipped, no-nonsense tones she used while at work. Or while ignoring her feelings about something. "We're good to get moving again."
"You should probably let Captain Janeway know," Tom replied. He wanted to know more about this mechanic who had worked for her, but knew that he was going to have to wait for her to be ready for that.
She looked up and over at him, and he saw the barest of a smile on her lips before she tapped on her combadge. "Torres to Captain Janeway," she said, still looking at him. "Everything checks out. We're ready to resume course."
*Acknowledged, Commander,* Captain Janeway replied. *We'll get moving again as soon as you return Lt. Paris to the bridge.*
B'Elanna smiled at him before replying, "Aye, Captain. He's on his way." She closed the comm and gave him a quick kiss. "Go get us home, Flyboy."
Paris was still grinning when he strode onto the bridge a few minutes later, relieving Ensign Baytart from the helm. "Mr. Paris," Captain Janeway said when he took his seat. "Set a course. For home."
She first spoke those words more than six and a half years before, on the opposite side of the galaxy. He had been angry, hurt, not quite believing that he had been transported to the Delta quadrant, away from B'Elanna and the daughter he had not yet known was a daughter. He hadn't spoken then, but if there was one thing he had learned from his unintentional time as a helm officer, it was just how far he could go with the captain. At least, this captain. "Aye, Ma'am," he replied cheekily. "Course set in for Mars." He heard Chakotay's chuckle behind him. "Of course, I could schedule a swing by Earth first, if you'd prefer, Captain."
"That would be great, Mr. Paris."
Even though flying a starship in Federation space, under Federation speed limits, was boring, Tom found himself already strangely nostalgic. If he got the posting with the Ship Design Division, this would be his last time—at least, for a few years—piloting a ship as part of his official duties.
He was nostalgic enough that he stayed through Beta shift, and by some sort of unspoken agreement, he and B'Elanna both arrived at his quarters right after midnight. Izzy was again staying with Owen, which left them his quarters to themselves and left them to do what any parents who had the place to themselves after more than six years apart would do.
After a round of probably-louder-than-his-neighbors-would-appreciate sex, he replicated a bottle of champagne and a couple of flutes. "I'm sure Mom'll break out the real stuff when we get home," he said as he poured the glasses. "But here's to the trip home."
"We went through the bottles of 2361 Veuve that your parents had when we celebrated making contact with Voyager," B'Elanna informed him. "I'm not sure what they have now."
He gaped at her. "All of it?" he asked in disbelief. "They only let us have one at our wedding!"
"We thought you were dead," she reminded him. "It was quite the celebration. The prodigal son returns and all that."
It made sense, but he still wasn't excited about missing out on a party where the vintage champagne had apparently been flowing freely. "You could have at least saved me a bottle," he grumbled. She laughed and kissed him.
They lounged around on the bed, talking, and it reminded him of that summer they were dating. She had stayed at his apartment almost every night, and with the exuberance and energy of youth, and the excitement of a new relationship, the nights that didn't result in sex were few and far between. But what he remembered most from that summer was exactly what they were doing now: relaxing on the bed, talking to each other, sometimes with drinks, sometimes with work, just being near each other. As much as he enjoyed sex with his wife, it was that closeness he had missed the most while he was gone.
"What happened to Pagano?" he asked, thinking of the way her voice trailed off when she had talked about saying good-bye to her crewman after the mission. Her smile faded, her eyes taking on a far-away look as she finished her glass of champagne.
"It was war," she finally said, her voice with the crispness it had when the alternative was vulnerability. "Sometimes bad things happen." Her expression softened, then turned thoughtful before she turned to him. She hesitated, then asked, "When Burke died," she began, "was it different because you had been his commander?"
It was his turn to become thoughtful. He leaned his head back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling as he thought about the question. "Burke was a mediocre and cocky cadet who became a terrible and cocky officer," he finally said. "He died while committing genocide, treason, and mutiny. That hurt a lot more than the fact that he died." For a few months after the Equinox, those thoughts had kept him up at night. Had Burke always had that in him? Was there something he should have seen that plebe year that would hint to the man he had become? Was there something he could have done to change Burke's path in life; after all, B'Elanna had been angry and destructive, and he helped her learn how to be a good officer.
Or had it just been desperation, and who was to say that he wouldn't have done the same thing in a similarly desperate situation?
He realized she wasn't going to say anything else about her mechanic. He refilled her champagne flute and topped off his own before he took her hand and kissed her palm. It was smooth, in contrast to the raised scar on his own, but knowing what he was looking for, he could see the thin white line where the scar had once been. "I can fix this for you, if you want."
She smiled slightly, taking her hand back. Her middle and ring finger of her right hand curled down to that white line, the way they used to do absently when that scar was new. "It bothers me less now that you're alive again," she said, smirking at the phrase. "It was an overreaction from the stress, but also…" Her voice trailed off, and when she spoke again, her voice was low. "I didn't know how to be a good wife. Well, I still don't. I don't have a lot of practice, and in those months we were married before you disappeared, I spent a lot more time at work than with you. A lot more time than I had to spend at work. Time we could have spent together, and my guilt about that never really went away. When I cut my hand on that ship and Dr. Bashir accidentally erased your scar while taking care of the other, it was like the universe was reminding me that I had always taken you for granted, that I thought you would always be there when I was done with my latest project or my latest ship. And then you weren't, and there was nothing I could do to fix it."
He took her palm again and kissed it again. "I didn't marry the perfect wife," he said. "I married you. I thought you'd be more fun." She chuckled, and he pulled on her arm to bring her to him and gave her a long, leisurely kiss. "You found me," he reminded her when they parted again. "When everyone thought we were dead, you found me. That makes you a pretty damn good wife."
"I don't know why you're so surprised," she teased from a few centimeters away. "I always told you that if you died, I was going to track you down and kill you again."
"Should I fear for my life?" he asked teasingly. He remembered the last time she had said her usual words in person, right before she left Voyager and went back to Utopia Planitia. Right before Voyager's airlocks had been sealed and they left the station. "How did you know that we were still out there?" he asked, this time seriously. "How did you know where to look?"
She smiled and kissed him again before straightening and reaching for her champagne flute again, lifting it into a toast. "Here's to Quantum Mechanics being a required class for engineering majors."