Saturday afternoon; Alpha shift had left, and she was reading reports when the comm line buzzed: text only.

"I found police shows in the archives. Pizza and beer on the menu. Interested?

Casual dress. Note: other folks may drop by.

— T"

Should she? On the other hand, it's not like she had anything planned.

"Save me a slice. Any stouts on the beer menu?

— KJ"

Neelix and Harry were there when she arrived, followed by the Delaney twins. Tom wouldn't let her donate rations. "It's my turn to buy dinner," he murmured. "And you're the first woman I've ever known to drink stout." She just smirked at him as she took the bottle.

It was a fun evening; she just sat back and watched her crew enjoy themselves, though she noted that Tom steered the conversation away from the ship or ship's gossip.

It was also a rather cozy evening; the TV screen was relatively small, so everyone had to huddle around the couch. By the end of the night, she realized she'd been sitting against Tom's leg. He didn't seem to mind. She didn't mind, either.

XXX

"I hear you joined in TV night over the weekend," Chakotay murmured, just loud enough for Tom to hear at the helm.

She didn't like his tone of voice, but decided to be casual about it. "Yes, interesting to note that the plots are basically the same." She looked over at Harry and raised an eyebrow. "Though I don't think Neelix and 'The Streets of San Francisco' are a good mix." Harry grinned and ducked his head to hide his laughter; Tom's shoulders were shaking; Chakotay just looked confused.

"He kept asking where Starfleet Headquarters was located and why no one was using shuttles or phasers. It didn't sink in that this show took place, oh, 200 years before the Federation was established," she explained.

"Poor Jenny had to keep ducking into the bathroom to laugh," Harry said, chuckling.

Kathryn just smiled, then glanced over at her first officer. "And by the way, what's said on the bridge, stays on the bridge, Commander," she said lightly.

Chakotay nodded, definitely feeling outflanked.

XXX

Friday evening, and Kathryn grimaced as she took a sip of her now-cold coffee. She poured it into the recycler and was about to replicate another cup when her vid buzzed.

"Come by the holodeck? I have a new program that I'd like your opinion on. Might help you overcome your fear of golf. P.S. There's food.

— T."

She had to chuckle; a recent discussion of sports on the bridge turned to golf, and she admitted that she'd never understood the game.

"You know, Lieutenant, I don't recall saying that I was afraid of golf. But I'll come down to see what you're up to."

— K"

She was confronted by a strange sight. A series of what looked like putting greens … many with banks or small hills … others with tubes, bridges and an ancient windmill, for heaven's sake. Tom leaned casually on a putter, openly laughing at her reaction.

"What on Earth?"

"Miniature golf," he said, swinging the putter up to his shoulder. "Brand name Putt-Putt. A craze during the 20th and into the 21st centuries."

"Those don't look like any putting greens I've ever seen. What's with the windmill?"

"Ah! The object is to putt the ball into the hole; but first you have to get around, over or through the obstacles. Oh, and this is a Par 3 course, so you have to do it in three strokes."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"You know, this is a bit like pool. Part of the strategy is knowing how to bank your shots."

Kathryn raised an eyebrow and looked over the course as she considered his words. Then she gave him that grin.

"Well, now, why didn't you say so, Mr. Paris," she teased in a fake Irish brogue. "Have another one of those putters?"

"I created one for you. But I have a feeling you're going to make me regret this."

XXX

The evening after the crew received the first letters from home, Tom walked down to the holodecks. The ship was quiet: people were either grieving or celebrating in their quarters.

He found the program he was looking for: Lake George – CKJ. The privacy lock wasn't on, so he slipped in.

The cabin was illuminated by moonlight; he could hear the night sounds of insects and the lapping of the lake around the dock. In the yard, a line of Adirondack chairs faced the lake; the sole occupant revealed by the glow from the fire pit.

She turned at the sound of the door. "Wasn't expecting company."

"I can leave, if you'd prefer."

"No," she said waving a hand toward a chair. "Better I don't drink alone."

He poured a drink from the bottle on the table and sniffed the contents. "Where did you get real Irish whiskey?"

"Captain's privilege," she quipped.

"Quite a day," she said as he settled into the chair next to her. "I heard about the Maquis. Did you lose anyone?"

"I knew some of them slightly. B'Elanna, Mike … they're all taking it hard."

Kathryn nodded. "Grief and survivor's guilt …." she shook her head, and Tom realized that she was speaking from experience. "I'd stopped thinking of everyone in terms of Starfleet or Maquis," she continued. "You're all my crew. But then something like this hits us in the face."

They fell silent again, and Tom gathered his courage.

"I heard about your fiance. I'm sorry," he finally said.

Her gaze shifted back to the lake. "I expected it, but to get that letter …" She took another drink. "It's just as well that I put off the wedding. At least I don't have to start a divorce petition."

"Why would you have done that?"

"Because I couldn't … wouldn't leave him in limbo," she said, more firmly now. "I know Voyager will get home. But I know there's a chance I won't, or that I would be very old by the time we did. I didn't want him to waste a lifetime waiting for … for someone who is no longer the woman he proposed to."

She tilted her head back and looked over at him. "Did you get anything from your family?"

He shrugged. "It didn't get through in time. Just as well, since I suspect that my father wouldn't turn down a chance to tell me what a screw-up I am."

Kathryn sat up in a flash, grabbing his hand before he could react. "I don't believe that," she said as her eyes bored into his. "But even if it is true, this is the beginning of contact with Starfleet. We'll be sending information home. He's going to find out what a good officer you are. What a good man you are. And if that doesn't do it, I'll find a way to make him understand."

He looked down quickly, blinking furiously to hide the tears that were forming. When he could trust himself, he looked up at her. "Thank you," he whispered. "That means a great deal to me."

Kathryn's features softened, and he could almost feel the wave of affection from her. "It's the truth," she whispered back. Her hand loosened; he turned his so that their palms touched and laced his fingers through hers. She smiled slightly before she settled back in her chair.

They spent the rest of the evening holding hands, just watching the moonlight dance on the lake.