Chapter 7: Sunset, starlight
Sipping his tea and watching as the Romulan sun began its slow decent, Tom felt a deep pang of sympathy for the Remans.
Romulus was essentially a grey, boring planet. The architecture bespoke a Spartan attitude, as well as a pronounced lack of imagination. The shops, including the restaurant outside of which Tom currently perched, screamed conformity. Even the sky, when the Romulan sun was at its peak, appeared a sickly beige.
Each day, however, the planet was transformed by the dazzling array of colors that painted the sky and everything below during the setting of its sun. The five-hour display punctuated the lives of those on Romulus, and seeing it, one understood why even the brutal Admiral Alidar Jarok once waxed poetic about the beauty of his homeworld.
As the horizon became alive with orange and yellow hues, Tom contemplated the fate of the Remans. The forsaken citizens of the Romulan Empire; the populations whose tidal-locked planet forced them to build their civilization in a permanent night. Forever robbed of light at home. Forever prevented from appreciating this awe-inspiring sight by their acquired sensitivity to light.
Tom failed to come up with a more tragic fate, or else, a more fundamental explanation for the Remans' stinging hatred of their Romulan brethren.
Casting his eyes back to the Senate building in front of him, he continued to wait patiently, as he had done for the previous three hours.
The previous three hours and three months, to be exact, as it was three months earlier that he left Deep Space Nine with a sickening feeling of dread and a suitcase full of questions.
Three months and three hours since he'd last spoken to Kathryn directly.
He'd tried to contact her dozens of time after returning to the Titan. He tried comming her apartment, her office. Each time, he received the notification that she was 'unavailable'.
Never had an automated voice seemed so cold to him, or a blank screen with a Starfleet insignia so utterly infuriating.
Kathryn had always replied, of course; sending him back a recorded message that detailed the events of her day and interesting tidbits of information about Voyager's former crew. Her feigned comfort might have even been convincing, the first few times, if not for the slight strain in her face whenever she forced a smile.
As people began filing out of the Romulan Senate building, he pondered how deftly his feelings for Kathryn had snuck up on him. His feelings for B'Elanna, as well as for Katherine Bishop, he'd seen coming light years away. The passion, the longing, had found him in degrees. But its approach both times was steady and anticipated, like the docking of a ship.
With Kathryn Janeway, his feelings shifted abruptly, tearing through him like a phaser blast he never saw coming.
Re-examining their friendship, he couldn't think of a time when he'd ever pushed away thoughts about her that weren't quite platonic. He hadn't spent years pining for her, or else tossed and turned in his bed, willing away images that warmed his skin to the touch.
Somewhere between meeting her on the Mississippi and leaving Deep Space Nine, the profound friendship he felt for her shifted, like a changeling, into something he didn't recognize. And as desperately as he suddenly found himself to pursue those feelings, he was even more terrified that he was losing her entirely.
After six weeks, Tom had given up trying to contact her. This was not the first time Kathryn Janeway has avoided him, and he resigned himself to the idea that there was nothing he could do to sway her until she herself changed her mind.
He began to bury himself in work. He worked double-shifts and came home exhausted down to his toes. And even then, in the solitude of his quarters, he sunk himself into reports and other tasks that could have waited for another day.
Anything not to think of the empty space and longing that existed where his best friend used to be.
Anything not to contemplate how Kathryn's body had felt against him, or the way the familiar smell of her had invaded his senses days after she was gone.
He avoided Deanna and her knowing looks at every juncture possible, was slow to return messages from Harry and other distant friends. His self-imposed isolation became deeper and deeper until the evening Will showed up at his door, a bottle of Romulan ale concealed under his arm.
"You've been working pretty hard lately. You aren't aiming for my job, are you?"
He'd smiled at Will's attempt at humor, but knew better than to think this visit was simple small talk. Instead he'd tried to stall.
"Maybe. I hear the ship's Counselor will support me if I start a mutiny. I think others would, too." He added, returning his attention to the bottle in Will's hands. "I think the only people who would stick with you are the pilots."
Will had laughed at his joke, but quickly stilled, looking at his First Officer with measured concern as he poured two glasses of the blue liquid.
"What are you planning to do when we dock at McKinley Station next week?"
Tom had shrugged, eyes on on the glass he'd just accepted.
"Catch up on the backlog of work that accrued in my absence. Read the never-ending stream of reports. . . Maybe break into your quarters and steal some of your Romulan ale."
Will ignored the last part of his comment entirely, no longer willing to accept his friend's dodges.
"You've been caught up for two months, Tom. Which is horrifying given that three months ago you came back to five months worth of work."
Tom smiled politely, but made no reply. Will had watched him with a frown before barreling on.
"You should spend some time planet-side. Maybe look up people in San Francisco."
At this, the smile had fallen from Tom's face, replaced by a look of warning. Will was his friend as well as his Captain, but in neither capacity did he appreciate the older man meddling in his personal life.
Riker had taken note of his expression, shifting tactics as he put his feet up on Tom's coffee table.
"You know, Deanna and I served on the Enterprise for more than ten years before we got together again."
Tom eyed him before responding.
"The two of you had known each for years before ending up on the Enterprise. I suppose that's a lot of water under the bridge."
"A lot of water and a lot of mistakes," Riker acknowledged. "Most of the mistakes being on my part."
Tom shot him a look of sympathy, but made no reply.
"I think, after a while, we fell into a comfortable friendship because it was what we both wanted. But there were moments, long before we got back together, when we each wanted more." Will shook his head, continuing, "moments that we both tried desperately to ignore."
"Good thing you had your encounter with the Ba'ku."
Tom's tone had been cheerful, but Will regarded him with a serious expression.
"Most people aren't so lucky, Tom. If we hadn't spent time on that planet, if all our worries weren't replaced by youthful enthusiasm, I don't know what would have happened."
The open fear in the Captain's normally unflappable countenance had transfixed the younger man, and he'd felt his defenses pool with Riker's around their feet. The older man turned his head to look out Paris' viewport, his face bathed in the glow of the stars streaking past at a frantic pace.
"You have to make your own moments, my friend. You can't hope to get lucky- assume time will stop for you."
Will paused, his face wistful.
"It did once for me. But most times, it doesn't. And then you're just left with an empty cabin and a window with a view."
The next morning, Tom had tried to contact Kathryn again, and once more, was told she was unavailable by her automated service. When he contacted her secretary directly, he was told that she was preparing to go off-world, and would be leaving within next day for a trip that would last two weeks.
Her destination, however, was apparently classified, though Tom wasn't sure if it was classified for a higher security clearance, or just from him.
Janeway often went off-world on diplomatic missions, and it was possible that this was all just a coincidence. Still, Tom heavily suspected that she had arranged to be away while his ship was docked in Earth's orbit.
He suspected, too, that wherever she was going would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to follow her.
It had been no surprise when Chakotay and Seven had no idea where Kathryn was heading. The latter was downright terrible at keeping secrets from the former, and the former was just as bad at keeping secrets from Tom. There's no way Kathryn would have told them anything, though Tom had checked just for the sake of thoroughness.
He'd also known better than to ask his father. The man wouldn't budge if Kathryn's trip was really a matter of sensitivity, and if Tom pushed, it would draw questions that he would rather not have to answer. At least, not yet.
When he had finally contacted Tuvok, the Vulcan remained silent, looking at him as though sizing him up.
Tom had tried not fidget under the scrutiny, standing straight as he took in Tuvok's surroundings. Behind his friend's dark features, he could see the setting Vulcan sun through the window of his home. The bright light cast a glow throughout the living room, its rays reflecting on the metal clasp of a discarded purple jacket, as well as the communicator that lay beside it.
Voyager's former Security Chief rarely left Vulcan these days, a testament to how much the stoic man had missed his family in his seven long years away. He had taken a post in the planet's capital, and made it to Earth for special events like Kathryn's birthday, or crew reunions. But generally, he was loathe to leave his homeworld, and Tom hadn't even thought it a possibility that Kathryn's long-time friend would accompany her on the two-month mission she had instead taken her former helmsman on.
"Commander Paris. You are looking well."
"It's good to see you, too, Tuvok. But I can honestly say that I've been better. I'm looking for Kathryn, and with markedly little success, I'm afraid."
There had been no sense in beating around the bush. Though the two men kept in touch, Tuvok undoubtedly knew Tom was contacting him about Kathryn. He could read Tom like a book, and knew Kathryn even better.
The silence that stretched between them had lasted forever, and Tom fixed his eyes on the shining points of metal rather than the man's dark stare.
"She is on Romulus. The Federation is beginning another round of negotiations with the Romulan Empire."
Tom had nodded, his lips pressed into a hard line.
Romulan space wasn't as difficult to get into as it was before the Dominion War, but it was damn near close. The only difference now was that if he made it, he wouldn't be summarily shot.
At least, not by the Romulans.
"Good luck, Mister Paris. The journey ahead of you. . . will be difficult."
Tom had smiled at Tuvok's words. Trust this man, of all people, to summarize his predicament in a single, understated sentence.
"I suspect you're right, Tuvok. But thank you for the help."
After that, it had taken five days to negotiate his way into Romulan space, but by the time the Titan had docked at McKinely, he's assured his passage. He'd had to use every connection, every favor. And even then, that hadn't been enough.
He'd been forced to use the pull of his last name. The implied connection to Starfleet royalty. It would have turned his stomach, if, by then, he hadn't been consumed with the sole objective of seeing Kathryn.
Sitting outside the restaurant on Romulus, watching as the familiar auburn-haired figure navigated her way down the Senate steps, he began to wonder if he'd made the right choice, coming there.
On either side of Kathryn were Romulan Senators, and Tom could make out one of the Senator's body language even from their distance. The man's unease, his doubt, even as Janeway strolled with practiced comfort, gesturing in a familiar way as she spoke.
The Romulans already pulled out of a serious treaty with the Federation once the year before. The road Tom's friend presently navigated was a long and painful one, and he doubted very much there was an end in sight.
As the group came closer, making it to the bottom of the steps, Tom could clearly see the look on Kathryn's face. He knew instantly that she was exhausted, but desperately trying to hide it.
He knew, too, that the fatigue threatening to overtake her was only partly to blame on whatever she'd encountered with the Romulans.
After all their work three months earlier, after all the honest conversations and out-and-out arguments on ten different planets, the Federation had decided not to change a damn thing in the allocation of funds. Nothing had been announced yet, and certain public measures to reflect the appearance of progress would likely be made, but Tom had already heard the news through the pipeline three weeks prior to leaving for Romulus.
When he'd learned of the decision, sitting in Will and Deanna's quarters for dinner, he'd felt physical pain. And then that pain had been joined by the ache that somewhere, probably alone in her office, Kathryn was dealing with the same news.
He'd thought of the fair-haired boy back Agauos and been consumed by sadness. And later, with hope.
He tried not to believe that this wasn't the Federation's plan all along, and even the cynical side of him agreed as much. If it had been, they would have assigned someone other than Kathryn to do the bidding. One of the many Admirals who were more flash and less substance; a person of lesser character, who wouldn't feel profoundly betrayed by the outcome, burning out long before her time.
At the base of the stairs, the Romulan Senator shook his head and Janeway's face softened, touching the man's arm slightly. As tired as she was, she was equally resolved. She still remembered exactly why she came to this planet. Exactly what it was that she wanted to accomplish.
Watching the scene enfold, Tom abruptly decided that coming here, trying to convince her to pursue a romantic relationship, was a mistake.
Kathryn Janeway was many things, but always- always- she was someone who knew what she wanted. And as much as it pained him, as much as he desired her, a romantic relationship with him didn't seem to be a part of that.
Tom was too old to think that this life would end if his feelings for her went unrequited. The flutter in his chest would remain for sometime, he knew. But eventually, they would once again settle into their close friendship. The awkwardness would dissipate. One or both of them might even move on.
Years later, the only evidence of the spark they'd once shared would be an occasional meaningful look. Maybe one of longing, or simply of reflection. But other than that, there lives would continue. Things between them at some point would mend, and so, too, would his heart.
But if he stayed here, if he pushed her, he would lose her friendship. And that was a risk Tom knew down to bones he was unwilling to court.
As he got up from his seat and left the courtyard behind, he didn't see Kathryn's eyes follow him.
She had seen, coming down the stairs, that he was there waiting for her. But she'd kept her mind on the Senator's worries as she tried to contain those that were steadily welling within her. And then, before she could make up her mind what to do, she saw something she never before witnessed, her face filling with alarm and a sharp pain materializing in her stomach.
Under the painted Romulan sky, Kathryn Janeway watched as Tom Paris walked away from her; his retreating form highlighted by the light that shown in his hair and the dark trail of doubts he left in his wake.
. . . . . .
It took her an eternity to track down where he was staying on Romulus.
An eternity that spanned exactly three hours and twelve minutes.
There were only two thousand Federation citizens on the entire planet, and only one, thankfully, to have the last name of Paris. But for some reason, Tom had given a different first name when taking his temporary accommodations, and this delayed the process of finding him by three hours and seven minutes.
Or so Kathryn estimated, as she, with trepidation, made her way down the street on which his hotel was located.
Though she had ignored Tom for three months, she had never been without him. Each time he had tried to contact her, fear that their friendship was destabilizing consumed her. It followed her into her meetings and then on the transport back to her apartment. It trailed her, like a loyal dog, when she went home to Indiana.
No other sound had been worse than the beep her office terminal emitted, indicating that she had an incoming comm from Tom.
Except, of course, the silence that ensued when, after six weeks, the beep stopped.
But even then, thoughts of Tom had found her, taking possession of her mind no matter where she was. Flashes of memories, random sensory imprints from their eleven years together, invaded her consciousness, as well her dreams, in constant onslaughts.
His face, youthful and defiant, when she first found him in Auckland. The rueful expression he always got when he missed a shot at the pool table in Sandrine's. The feel of his cheek, wet with tears, when he'd admitted his longing for a friendship that no longer existed. The sound of his voice, bright and taunting, whenever he traded barbs with Chakotay.
The way his body had felt pressed against hers in that ally on Dorvan V. And then the way it had felt pressed against her again on Deep Space Nine.
But the memory that haunted her with the greatest frequency was was one from three years earlier, before he was stationed on the Titan. He'd been on leave and managed to make it to New Jersey for Seven's birthday. Chakotay built a bonfire in the yard, and the two man sang ancient songs as the fire and the distant glow of the city blocked out the starlight above. There was one song Kathryn knew, though she always forgot the words, and she watched with contentment as Tom and Chakotay sang it in perfect harmony, the starless sky behind them.
Alone in her bed, her ears rang with the sound of their voices rising above the crackling of the fire, the words wrapping around her no matter how much she tried to block them out.
Well, did she make you cry, make you break down- shatter your illusions of love? And is it over now, do you know how- to pick up the pieces and go home?
Walking in the Romulan heat, she pushed away the memory again.
As terrified as she had been of what was happening between herself and Tom, all of her reservations had pooled around her feet when she watched Tom walk away from her, disappearing into the horizon and the setting sun.
She'd moved heaven and earth to get the rest of her schedule postponed. Used every contact she had to track him down.
Standing in the lobby, watching as he sat sipping tea just as he had hours earlier, she wondered if she'd made a mistake finding him. His face was contemplative but not distraught. His free arm lay relaxed at his side. He seemed content. Complete.
When she joined him at the table he sat at, he smiled at her. But something about the familiar smile and his soft expression afterward filled her with fear rather than hope.
"I should warn you," he said, his voice even, " that the coffee here is absolutely dreadful. You should stick to tea unless you want to relive bad memories of Neelix's coffee substitutes."
She forced a smile, and as she composed her thoughts, Tom's eye took note of the delicate white chain around her neck. It wasn't surprising that she'd put on his gift before coming to see him. But he didn't want to examine what it meant that she'd had it with her on Romulus in the first place.
She took note of his gaze, but before she could open her mouth, he was already speaking.
"How are things going with the Romulans, anyway?"
His voice and his face were as patient as they'd always been with her. Again, his manner quelled rather than encouraged her hopes. She hesitated.
"Slow going. . . I'm not sure that I can get through to them."
Her body slouched as she spoke, betraying her stress. Tom touched her arm, though only briefly, before withdrawing his hand back to the safety of his tea cup.
"They're stubborn," he said, his eyes cast downward at the cup's contents.
"They're afraid," she modified, looking at him as he refused to meet her eyes.
"Afraid of what, exactly?"
His tone was even, non-accusing. She suddenly felt her mouth go dry. She felt convinced, despite all of her years of diplomacy, that this was the most delicate conversation she'd ever had.
"Afraid of change. Afraid of losing their way. They've been on the same path for such a long time."
Tom touched her arm again, this time allowing his hand to linger.
"Fear isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it keeps us from going down roads we shouldn't. . . Sometimes it keeps us from making mistakes."
Watching him as he spoke, Kathryn realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't testing the waters. He'd already made his mind up. Somewhere between coming to this planet and seeing her at the bottom of those stairs, Tom had decided against this.
Her eyes swirled with emotion as she he began to speak, her voice hushed, just above a whisper.
"I don't think this is a mistake."
Gazing at her, his face became expressionless. His blue eyes betrayed nothing.
"You just said that it was. They're afraid of change; they don't want this."
She wasn't sure what was more unbearable- the look he was giving her or the pretext she no longer wanted to keep up. She closed her eyes to shut out both, her voice sounding distant over the thud of her own heartbeat in her ears.
"That's just it. I think they do want this. But they're scared of what will happen if they change and things end up crumbling around them."
When she opened her eyes, Tom was staring at her with open doubt. She continued speaking before he could make any response.
"The thing is, they've now seen what they want retreating from them. And beyond all of the other fears they've entertained, they realize that the most painful is the fear of that happening again."
As Kathryn finished, the lobby began to fill with people, the Romulan workday having ended, and travelers as well as locals emptying out into the capital.
"We should go," Tom said, rising from his seat with regret etched across his face.
Kathryn knew that he was right. The conversation they were having, in either of its meanings, wasn't appropriate for a room full of people. But watching as his face shifted back into his previous expression, she felt desperate to stop him.
"Tom," she said, catching his wrist, and he looked at her expectantly.
There, standing in the crowd of people, Kathryn pressed her lips to his.
It wasn't, objectively speaking, a romantic exchange. As she pressed into him, he stood motionless, allowing her to kiss him but refusing to reciprocate but allowing her the freedom. Wordlessly, her flushed body tried desperately to convince his frozen one. Her tongue explored his mouth, her hands traced the contours of his chest.
When she pulled away, he looked down at her with an expressionless face.
"We should go," he repeated, his voice low.
Her eyes filled with tears. But he looked at her softly, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back.
"Come on," he said, leading her to the building's turbolift.
She followed without complaint. She, too, no longer wanted to continue this in public.
She was a Starfleet Admiral. And if she was going to sob- if she was going to have beg- she would prefer to do so in the comfort of privacy.
When the lift doors hissed shut and Tom suddenly pinned her to the wall, his mouth insistent and his hands traveling up her shirt, every synapse in her body fired. Kissing her all the way to his floor, he managed to enter the code to his door without breaking contact. Her mouth and body caught up, matching his speed.
Just inside the threshold of his guest quarters, their doubts joined their clothes on the floor. The time for fear and patience had ended.
. . . . .
Stretched against Tom, Kathryn felt his hands trace the expanse of her back. She knew they didn't have another round in them. Not after the last few hours. But still, his hands didn't stop their movements on her body, and he felt rather saw her smile as she pressed her face against his chest.
"I think we destroyed the room," he said, something between embarrassment and amusement playing in his voice.
"Hopefully this won't get back to Starfleet," she murmured, her smile growing larger.
She felt Tom's hand ceased its lazy pattern.
"I'm pretty sure it will. . . The room is in my father's name, after all."
Her breath caught in her chest. When the Federation Consulate had told her they'd located a Paris by a different name, she hadn't even thought to ask what name it was.
She found herself torn between the fear of impending professional awkwardness,and the unbridled joy that Tom had been so desperate to find her that he'd used his father's name.
The latter won out, and she wracked with laughter against him.
"I'm glad you find this funny, Kath. Try to remind me of the humor when my dear father busts me down to Ensign."
Tracing his chest with a finger, she looked up at him with a mischievous expression.
"Well, perhaps he'll be relieved. You engaging in activities that could theoretically produce grandchildren."
Looking down at her, his expression became sheepish.
"Except that he'll wrongly assume the partner of said activities to be Katherine Bishop. Which, I guess, is better for you in the short-term."
Realizing what he was saying, her face distorted in horror.
"Tom! You didn't tell him you ended things with her?"
She buried her face completely in his chest, his chest hair rubbing in entirely distracting ways against her face.
"You realize, don't you, that when you tell him about us, he's going to believe, quite understandably, that you ending things with her because of me. It's going to look like you cheated, and I was the other woman."
Her voice, however stern, was muffled by his body. The combination of intimate proximity and command tone struck Tom as funny, and he failed to hold back his laughter.
"Tom!"
"I'm pretty sure we're going to have to plenty of time to deal with my father." He chuckled again. "I can even feign confusion later when he asks about 'Katherine'."
She considered smacking him again, but instead looked at him with a smirk.
"You know, you're breaking both of your own rules, being with me."
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.
"You said, first, no more Katherines. And, second, that the woman you ended up with would be Betazoid."
Tom feigned seriousness, gesturing with his arm as he replied.
"Ah, yes. But I've always believed in following the spirit rather than the letter of rules."
Against him, Kathryn snorted, and he pressed on, emboldened by her amusement.
"I said no more Katherines because I thought them stubborn, but my current companion seems quite amenable to change. . . And I said I'd marry a Betazoid so as to have an opportunity to see you naked, and well. . ."
He waggled his eyebrows instead of finishing his statement, and Kathryn bit down on the flesh below her mouth.
"Ow," he yelped. "If I wanted someone who bites, I would have stayed with B'Elanna."
Instead of retorting, Kathryn grew serious, shooting Tom a rueful glance.
"You know, the second we show up at her wedding, everyone's going to look at us and know."
"Agreed," he said, picturing the Doctor watching them with thinly-veiled interest. And Harry watching them with thinly-veiled discomfort.
"Who do you think will be the first to realize it, Tuvok or Chakotay?"
He exhaled heavily, the air he displaced finding her face.
"I think they both already know. I contacted each of them when I was looking for you. Can't imagine they didn't read the exact nature of my panic. . . At the very least, Tuvok did."
Kathryn propped herself up with a put-off expression.
"It was Tuvok who gave me up, wasn't it?"
"In under a minute," Tom confirmed. "And don't pretend you didn't tell him where you were going in the hope he would do just that."
She settled back against him with a frustrated sound that he knows is all for show.
"I will admit to my hopes only if Tuvok admits that he is growing soft in his old age."
Tom chuckled.
"Good luck getting that admission. I'm pretty sure that stalling is one of the first things they teach Vulcan children."
Kathryn sighed, feigning contemplation.
"I admit to not being a very patient person." She kissed his chest, continuing, "but I happen to know a very patient man who's willing to do my bidding."
He stroked her hair, his thoughts still lingering on what would happen when they showed up at B'Elanna's wedding.
"You know, B'Elanna won't bat an eyelash," he remarked, and it took her a moment to find the thread of conversation.
"Of course not. She wants you to be happy."
"True. But I also think she won't be surprised."
She looked at him with curiosity and he continued, a small smile playing on his face.
"Whenever I talked about you, even before I left the Titan to join you, she would get this frustrated expression on her face. It was the same look she used to get whenever she was talking warp theory or temporal mechanics and I failed to understand her." He scratched his face. "I think she was waiting for me to clue in. Probably you, too."
Kathryn smiled against him again, amused by the prospect of the engineer looking at the two of them with a mixture of smugness and relief when they showed up at the impending festivities.
As Kathryn nuzzled into him, Tom looked out the large window of the room they were in. The sun had already set, and the sky was alight with unfamiliar stars.
He felt content. But he was also surrounded with thoughts about the future.
"I'm thinking about going on inactive duty," Kathryn confessed, after they'd remained for some time in silence.
"You are?" He sounded concerned as well as surprised.
"I don't know how much longer I can be the face of false promises and dashed hopes. I love my work. . . But being at Headquarters the last three months. . . All that progress we achieved on all of those world and then. . ."
Her voice trailed off, and he held her tighter, wishing he could will away the pain and betrayal she felt. Knowing in a second he would take on her burden on top of his if he could.
"They'll probably do anything to keep you. Let you take whatever assignments you want. Operate out of whatever system, whatever ship."
"Probably," she conceded, sounding more deflated than happy.
As much as she downtrodden about her work, Tom wasn't sure she could resign herself to inactive duty yet. There would be occasional diplomatic missions, a few appearances. But the pace would be slow, and he doubted she was ready for that.
He looked at her with sympathy and her countenance shifted.
"I hear the Prometheus-class ships are very impressive," she said casually, gazing at him with a sly expression.
"Fit for even a Vice-admiral, one might say," he responded, equally casual.
He chose not to tell her, yet, that when the Titan docked at McKinley Station, he'd very quietly made inquiries about what transfer options were available to him on Earth. There were several. Two of them being in San Francisco.
"I don't suppose Will Riker would take well to no longer being the ranking officer on his own ship."
Tom contemplated her statement, seeing a glimmer of truth in her joke.
"As long as you stayed clear of the bridge, I'm sure he'd be fine. Especially if you-"
"Kept him supplied in Romulan ale," she finished and he chuckled.
This time, it was her thoughts that wondered, drawn back eventually by the sound of Tom's voice.
"After I got the news about the Federation's decision. . . I made a few inquiries concerning Agauos."
She lifted her head to look at him, interest playing across her face.
"Such as?"
"What adoption would entail, if the adopting parent wasn't from Agauos."
He took a deep breath, and she contemplated her reply.
She wouldn't tell him, yet, that only days earlier she'd done the same thing. That back in her own hotel room, there was message from Governor Mollen she'd yet to read in her haste to track Tom down.
"What response have you received?" she asked, her voice and shifting body betraying her complete interest.
"They're skeptical. But they're also willing to listen. The process could take months. Maybe even a year."
She sunk deeper into his warmth, contemplating the boy who'd taken up residence in both of their thoughts.
"Plenty of time to make decisions," she murmured.
"Plenty of time," he agreed.
As they drifted off to sleep, both of them contemplated the future, but neither thought to worry.
In the end, it wouldn't matter which of them officially adopted the child, or whether they lived aboard a starship or back on Earth.
Either way, they would raise the child together. Tom would teach him about ancient history and space craft, while Kathryn would point out stars, stationary or in passing, as she told him their names and how they got them.
The child would grow up impossibly loved. And after he fell asleep each night, Tom would wait for Kathryn to finish whatever work she'd brought to bed, eventually growing impatient and tossing her work aside before kissing her breathless.
They would fall asleep as they did this night, with the stars and thoughts of the future for company, neither of them worrying that they were missing a thing.