The things you leave behind
Her mother's death is sudden, coming two and a half years after Voyager's return to Earth.
It strange to think of one's self as an orphan, when one is the age of fifty. But standing in the turbolift at Headquarters after she finds out, this is how she feels. Her father is long dead, and now she has no mother.
The funeral is a quiet affair, and her sister Phoebe organizes everything. It takes place in Indiana, and she doesn't think to invite any of her former crew. Most of them are away from Earth on assignment anyway, and even if they weren't she isn't sure she would know what to say them.
She's never been very good about asking for emotional support, or even knowing when she needs it.
When Tom Paris drops down wordlessly beside her at the funeral, she feels awash with gratitude. Her sister and brother-in-law sit in front of them, and when Phoebe begins to cry, her husband holds her.
Watching her mother's coffin lowered into the ground, the seat next to her occupied by her former helmsman rather than a husband, a lover, she fails to weep. She feels nothing. As though someone has given her a pain killer targeted specifically for the aching loss she felt only a few hours earlier.
When a family friend stands up and gives a long, moving speech about the value of family, the worth of a life being what one leaves behind, she feels Tom's hand slip into hers. Shortly afterward she realizes that there are tears streaming down her cheeks, but she has no idea when they started.
Walking through the trees in the cemetery with Tom, she remains mostly silent. It isn't until they sit down on a bench that she even ventures to glance at him.
"B'Elanna wanted to be here, too," he says, sounding regretful. "But we were torn as to whether we should bring Miral."
Looking forward at the trees in front of them, she shakes her head.
"I'm glad you didn't bring her. . . She's too young to have to sit through this."
He nods in acknowledgment, watching as the wind moves leaves in lazy patterns near their feet.
"How did you know?" she asks, now looking at him with a searching expression.
"Tuvok," he responds, meeting her gaze. "I'd contacted him to ask something pertaining to the program I'm writing and he told me."
She looks away again, squinting her eyes in the mid-day sunlight.
"You should have told everyone. They would have wanted to be here, too. . . It's not just B'Elanna and I."
She knows he's right. But she also suspects that's why she didn't tell her former crew. That as much as she needed all of them, she didn't want to have to sit next to Harry Kim or Naomi Wildman at her mother's funeral.
Forced to put on a strong face as they lowered into the ground the woman who raised her.
She says nothing, and he regards her with a soft expression she can barely see, just out of the corner of her eye.
"It's been almost three years, Kathryn. You got us all home and everyone is back where they belong. They don't still expect you to be their Captain. . . You're allowed to be a person."
The accuracy with which pinpoints her feelings, much like the familiarity with which he voices is it, is startling to her. She looks at him with a mixture of shock and discomfort.
He smiles at her softly before threading her hand through hers again and watching the continued dance of leaves.
"I'm so glad you're here," she breathes, after a moment, and his smile immediately widens. "Can you stay at all? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."
"Six months, to be exact. Which is entirely too long in my book." He pauses, looking even more regretful than before. "But as much I'd like to stay, I have to transport home in a few hours. B'Elanna and Miral are leaving for a month the day after tomorrow and I need to get back to them soon."
"A month?" she asks, obviously concerned. "Where could they possibly be going for an entire month?"
"B'Elanna's over seeing the refitting of Deep Space Nine. She's managed to do most of it from here, but there's a month that she has no choice but to be present for. . . I tried to convince her to let Miral stay with me, though I'm not sure why I bothered. There's no reasoning with a Klingon mother."
Despite his attempt at humor, it's obvious the prospect of being without his wife and child pains him deeply. She gives the hand she's holding a reassuring squeeze.
"You could beam back with me for dinner," he points out. "I'm sure you could use a break from. . . all this."
He knows, with excruciating detail, what 'all this' entails. His mother died several years before Voyager was lost in the Delta Quadrant, and he can clearly remember the steady stream of friends, family and colleagues who inserted themselves in the Paris home for a week. His older sisters covering for him while he hid out in his old room, away from his father's expressionless face and the waiting crowd of people who surrounded him.
"I wouldn't want to take away from your last few days with your family. You should spend time with them alone before B'Elanna leaves."
Looking at her, he shrugs.
"They're your family, too. It isn't an intrusion."
At another time or place, she would dismiss the statement as a polite echo of her own statements over the years.
But now, after two days of feeling like an orphan- two days of watching her sister retreat into the comfort of her husband and children- Tom's words strike a chord deep within her. Her eyes swim with tears that are quickly blinked away.
"I need to take care of a few things here first. Thank people for coming. Make sure my sister is holding up after all of this."
"That's fine," he reassures. "We can leave whenever you're ready. Do you want me to come back to the house with you, or would you rather go alone?"
She hesitates before answering him, and he realizes that she doesn't want to go alone but also doesn't feel comfortable asking him to stay.
He stands, holding out his arm to her, and she floods with gratitude all over again.
"Did I mention I'm glad you're here?" she asks, as they pick their way back through the trees.
"Yes. But feel free to say it as often as you like."
. . . . .
When Tom pushes open the door to his home, a living room strewn with toys immediately comes into view.
She visited their apartment in San Francisco several times, but the house in Portland they bought just under a year ago.
"B'Elanna hates snow," he'd explained, over comm link several months earlier.
"San Francisco doesn't have snow," she'd countered, sad that they'd moved away from the town she still lived in, but feeling slightly irrational for it given that she never saw them anyway.
"Ah, yes. But San Francisco has my father. Another thing B'Elanna likes to avoid."
She'd worried at first, but his tone held no bitterness and his characteristic grin indicated it was just the reality of most in-law relationships.
Looking back at him over the comm link, she'd chuckled.
Standing presently in Tom and B'Elanna's entryway, the thud of footsteps is quickly heard.
"Daddy!" Miral exclaims, throwing her tiny arms around her father.
Though only two and a half, she equals a human child of roughly four in size. The ferociousness of her hug betrays her Klingon ancestry even more than her speedy development.
"Look who I brought with me," he says, motioning his head to Kathryn, who lingers just behind him.
"Aunt Kathryn!"
Before Tom can warn her to be careful, Miral throws her arms around her godmother, sending the petite woman back a few paces.
"Did I mention she's gotten stronger?" Tom quips, scratching the side of his face.
"I noticed," Kathryn replies, finally disentangling herself from Miral's arms. "And bigger. . . You're almost tall enough to see over the panels of a shuttle."
Tom laughs at the remark while B'Elanna appears from the kitchen, wearing a rueful expression.
"Let's not give her father more ideas than he already has, Kathryn."
Tom gives his wife an appreciative look his former Captain doesn't see; a silent thank you for dropping rank, if only for the evening.
Looking at B'Elanna's put off expression, Kathryn tries to stifle a smile.
"I take it I inadvertently hit on a recent topic of conversation?"
B'Elanna rolls her eyes but smiles, joining them in the entryway.
"You could say that. . . Tom's plans for Miral to learn to fly have been a topic of . . . discussion since she was born."
Tom smiles, leading his daughter into the dining room with whispered commentary neither woman can hear.
B'Elanna lingers in the entryway, her expression changing to a soft one as she moves closer to Kathryn.
"I'm so sorry about your mother," she says, looking at her with tears that have suddenly formed in her eyes.
"Oh, it's alright. . . She lived a long life."
The reply comes out feebly and neither of them believe it. The younger woman immediately moves to hug her, Miral's embrace paling in strength compared to her mother's.
"I'm so sorry," B'Elanna repeats, and immediately Kathryn feels her own eyes well with tears.
"Thank you," she replies sincerely, as she pulls away.
After dinner, she helps Tom with the dishes while B'Elanna occupies Miral in the living room.
"Would you like help dealing with your mother's house?" he asks, wiping a plate.
"Oh, Tom, it's going to take weeks. . . That's the reason I petitioned for the personal leave."
"I know. But four weeks still isn't a lot of time."
He pauses as she hands him another plate, their eyes meeting over the sink. They both know that four weeks can be a painfully long time to be alone with one's thoughts.
"I have to transport to meetings in New Jersey twice a week, but other than that I can do my work anywhere. . . It isn't any bother."
He doesn't voice that he doesn't want her to go through her mother's things alone. Having to deal with the possessions her mother has left behind, after her sister and brother-in-law transport back to their waiting jobs.
"You should talk it over with B'Elanna," she cautions. "It would mean leaving your house empty for almost a month."
"I already have," he replies. "She agrees. . . It's not like we have any pets to look after. "
Putting down the dish she's been working on, she fails to hide her surprise. He and B'Elanna have been alone for all of two minutes since she arrived, and even then it was only to bring out dinner from the kitchen.
"You've already talked with her about it?"
She sounds incredulous, even skeptical, and he smiles at the reaction.
"We have conversations down to a rather efficient speed," he assures. "And to be honest, it was actually her idea."
By the time Tom and B'Elanna walk Kathryn to their door, she still hasn't replied to Tom's offer.
B'Elanna's face betrays more expectation than her husband's, the latter simply looking at her softly as his little girl clings to his hand.
"So, I'll you see in two days?" she asks, and he abruptly looks relieved.
"Yep. I'll beam over sometime before 20:00."
She hugs Miral and B'Elanna goodbye, wishing her former Chief Engineer well on her month-long endeavor.
Standing in front of Tom, she hesitates. She hasn't hugged former pilot since he first appeared at the funeral and she isn't sure if it's due to her reluctance or his.
"Thanks," she says, not quite meeting his gaze.
"Of course," he responds, moving toward her.
When he wraps his arms around her, she goes willingly. Somehow content when he rests his chin on the top her head.
. . . . . . .
The afternoon before Tom beams to Indiana, Kathryn spends hours worrying that him joining her is a mistake.
The two of them do well together in a crisis or when around other people, but left alone in quiet moments they tend to flounder. Small talk is awkward or stilted rather than flowing naturally, and the lingering looks of doubt he sometimes gives her serve as a reminder of the years of things that have gone unsaid.
Sitting on her mother's sofa, she remembers the conversation she had with Chakotay in her ready room, almost six months after the incident with the Moneans.
"You have to do something about Tom, Kathryn," Chakotay had pleaded. 'I know things are still strained since his demotion, but it's taking a toll on morale now. Everyone on the bridge feels the tension radiating between the two of you."
The word 'tension' wasn't quite right, they both knew. It was more like a polite distance. A fumbling awkwardness that neither she nor Tom knew how to resolve.
"We're fine," she lied. "It's just going to take time for things to settle down again. . . Mister Paris and I are just feeling our way through this."
He gave her a pointed look at the avoidance of Tom's new rank; an avoidance that was frequent and completely belied any reassurance she sought to offer her First Officer now.
"How long is it going to take, Kathryn?" he pressed, obviously unswayed. "Another six months? Another year?" The two of you don't even play pool anymore."
It had been strange, Chakotay being the champion of her stagnated friendship with Tom. But then, it was her banter with her pilot that often set the tone for bridge shifts. A signal to others, the way he looked at her with complete confidence in a crunch - despite that he'd lived through twice as much as Harry Kim, and wasn't naturally prone to optimism.
"It will take however long it takes," she stated, failing to keep the bleakness from her voice.
As the Indiana sun sets, bathing her mother's living room in soft shades of yellow, she pictures Chakotay's face across from her. Imagining him reclined comfortably in her father's chair, rather than light years away on Dorvan V with Seven and their two children.
How long is it going to take, Kathryn?
His voice had been quiet in her ready room, but the words still echo in her ears as though he shouted them in an even smaller space. The sound, faint and haunting, finding her again, long after she thinks it's faded.
When Tom finally arrives, his mood matches her own. He is emotionally spent from saying goodbye to his daughter and wife, and when he appears at the threshold of the house, he's both physically and figuratively wilted.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, and he slowly shakes his head.
She nods, moving to the dining room. He stays standing where he is, and when she returns, she hands him a small glass of sherry. He takes it with murmured appreciation, following her into the living room and sitting beside her on the couch.
"I was thinking we could start with my father's office tomorrow," she says, after they've sat for a while in silence.
"Sure," he responds, but it's obvious his thoughts are elsewhere. Likely trailing behind the transport that ferries the women he loves to Deep Space Nine.
After an hour of relative silence, she leads him to his room, turning down the blankets on the bed as he places his duffel bag on the ground with a soft thud.
"Is this your old room?"
As he asks, he regards the room skeptically. He can't really see her here.
"No. Mine is across the hall. This was Phoebe's."
She doesn't tell him that room all the way down the hall sits ready but empty. That she took an hour to rearrange Phoebe' old room because she couldn't bare to sleep in her mother's.
He says nothing when the taught expression appears on her face, knowing too well that there are thoughts Kathryn Janeway never shares with anyone. Least of all with him.
"Let me know if you need anything. I'm just across the hall."
After she leaves him, he changes into his sleep clothes and sits in bed, working for several hours. Sleep probably won't find him tonight, and even if it does, nightmares may await.
Staring at the same bit of holocode he's been working for the last twenty minutes, he tosses the PADD aside.
At some point, she realizes that she isn't alone in the bedroom, but she isn't sure how long he's been standing there. Her sleep has been fitful, and waking up for the fourth time, her brain is slow to process the dark shapes that the moonlight beyond the window reveals.
"Tom?" she asks, her voice even lower than normal.
"I didn't mean to wake you. . . I just couldn't sleep."
"Everything alright?"
She's surprised when he sits on her bed instead of responding, his body only centimeters from her own.
He looks out the window rather than down at her, and his face, bathed in light, seems much older than it is. The skin below his eyes sags noticeably, his forehead beset with worry lines.
"Do you think that while I'm here . . . you could forget that you were my Captain?"
His question coupled with is proximity should be enough to put her at red alert. And coming from anyone else, it would be.
But failing everything else in their relationship, she still instinctively trusts Tom. And failing that, she knows the complete devotion with which he loves his wife.
She could probably walk across the room naked and he wouldn't even think to look. Not that she's going to test that thesis anytime soon.
It helps, too, that she understands what he's asking, the shape of his concern emerging in the darkness of her bedroom. Alone with her in the coming weeks, he doesn't want to have to hide the fact that he's a man who painfully misses his family. Nor does want her to have hide that she painfully misses the woman whose belongings they'll sort through and pack away.
Room by room, putting into order a lifetime that has come quietly to a close.
"I've never been very good at lowering at my shields," she admits.
It's a confession as well as an apology.
"I know. . . Neither have I, I suppose." He pauses, looking down at her. "But we could try together. We could leave behind all the defense mechanisms and the awkwardness. . . While I'm here, you could trust me."
The openness in his face is shattering to her, and she instinctively reaches for his hand.
"I do trust you, Tom. I always have."
His expression becomes rueful and she fumbles helplessly for words. They both know her statement is the truth, but something about it also courts a lie.
It obscures the reality that though each of them trusts the other, neither are very good at trusting themselves.
"I'd like to try," she says eventually, and he nods, getting up from her bed.
"You could stay," she offers, as he makes his way toward the door.
She isn't sure why she says this to him, given that she's someone who's quick to invade the personal space of others but acutely defensive of her own.
Partly, it's because seeing his open fear and doubt has stirred something deep within her- her desire to protect and watch over him, shielding him even when she doesn't need to.
She'll realize, days later, that it's also that he has stolen into her bedroom the way her younger sister used to when she one of them was upset. Phoebe having crawled into bed beside her, and two of them talking in furtive whispers until they finally fell asleep.
Looking at her from the doorway, he immediately shakes his head.
"It's tempting offer, I admit. But you wouldn't sleep a wink with me in here with you."
"I'd like to try," she repeats, and this time he laughs a bit.
"All things in due time. Tomorrow we'll try to make conversation without awkward silence, and then we'll go from there."
The way he gently teases her is familiar. She waves him off to his own bedroom with a put off expression that bespeaks an underlying affection. He smiles at her through the darkness, closing the door behind him.
When she falls asleep once more, her rest is sound. Her thoughts comforted, even in unconsciousness, by the presence of the friend who now sleeps just across the hall.