Chapter 5: Privacy
Admiral Janeway spent her morning as she often did these days, going from meeting to meeting, answering the endless stream of HQ communiqués that were all marked as being some level of urgent, and reading diplomatic reports and strategy proposals in between. Tensions between the Klingons and the Romulans were making things difficult. Every Federation attempt to help rebuild the Romulan infrastructure was being met with Klingon protest; each conciliatory gesture to the Klingons brought outrage from the Romulans. She'd spent two hours in a meeting with delegates from each side, and then two more hours in a meeting with the brass, rehashing the first meeting.
Now, in the privacy of her office, she was tired. But it wasn't the stress of a long day, or even the chronic fatigue that followed her since Voyager docked at Jupiter Station and she'd repeatedly postponed taking leave. No, this was a moral exhaustion; a kind of spiritual bankruptcy that had been over-taking her by degrees since she set foot in San Francisco almost a year ago. She stood at her office window, looking out at the grounds of Starfleet Headquarters. Really, she wasn't actually looking at anything. She didn't take note of the gentle wind moving through the trees that framed her view. Her eyes didn't take in the sunshine, the fact that grounds were robust with flowers that had been planted for the impending graduation festivities of the Academy. She didn't see the ducks floating serenely in the pond across from her building, or the blue, blue sky that was reflected in the waters beneath them.
Somewhere, somehow, Kathryn Janeway had lost her zeal for her life. And she couldn't even be bothered to worry about it.
Her secretary commed her office to tell her that Andrew Reese was calling for her. She gently informed Kathryn that it was the fourth time that week he had tried to call her, and that he sounded impatient. She and Reese had met at a Starfleet function six months ago, and began seeing each other shortly after. He was in the Federations' diplomatic core, and was frequently off world. They rarely got to see each other, but when they did it was comfortable, pleasant. She was far beyond the age when she would try to convince herself that their relationship was a great love, an affair that would change her life. What they had together was predictable and efficient. Or at least, it had been, until she stopped returning his messages. It wasn't that she wanted to stop seeing him, exactly. It was more that she didn't care one way or the other. She had no doubt that after this time, he wouldn't attempt to contact her again. She sent the communication directly to her message service.
She pulled herself away from the window. She had to go to another meeting, though one that promised to be mercifully short. It was on the other side of Headquarters, however, and she had to give herself ten minutes or so to the traverse the grounds. Leaving her building, she was joined by two other Admirals, and they were in turn surrounded by a small flock of assistants and staffers. She chatted with them about a development with the Romulans, but if someone had asked her later to recount what was said, she would have been at a loss. The whole group turned a corner, coming to the top of a large stair case that led down to one of the main paths that cut through the HQ campus. The path below was long and wide, and every few meters there was a bench or small fountain. When she reached the first step, her eyes fell to a group of officers that stood around the first fountain. They were chatting and laughing, and one of the men was gesturing with great zeal to the others, deeply involved in the recounting of some story. The sound of one of the men's laughter found her, cut through her through, and she froze on the step she stood on.
She knew, even with his back to her, that it was Tom. His hair was blonde in the sun; his back and neck were straight, and his head held at an angle that conveyed effortless confidence. He was in full uniform, yet something about his posture said that he could have been in civilian clothes for all it mattered. She remained on the first step, and the group that she'd once been in the front of fanned out around her, continuing on down the steps.
She hadn't seen Tom since Voyager had docked. He and B'Elanna had quietly divorced as soon they'd entered Earth's atmosphere, and he'd taken a Federation assignment in Europe, working on ship designs. Kathryn was somewhat surprised when she learned that it was Tom who'd petitioned for divorce. She was also profoundly relieved he would be living on another continent than her, though the relief carried a kind of heaviness with it rather than making her feel lighter.
After she'd found him in Sickbay that night, they never again saw each other off-duty. He was rarely seen in the mess hall or on the holodeck. He stopped spending time with Seven; a decision that Janeway accepted but felt all the more guilty for. Seven hadn't understood, and the fresh sense of loss in the young woman's eyes reflected what she herself was feeling. He didn't look at her, even on the bridge. And when he sat at the helm, his back to her, his shoulders seemed to sag, as if carrying a heavy weight. The only time he'd dared to look at her at all was when her future herself had come to Voyager, just prior to their return to the Alpha quadrant. Tom had stared at the older Janeway, and then back at her, as if trying to wrap his mind around what his eyes were telling him. He had been distracted enough, mercifully she thought, not to notice the way her future herself had in turn looked at him. It was a look that had made her stomach churn at first, and she frantically worried that the older Janeway was looking at someone who was no longer present in her timeline- someone who was dead and gone. But then, as she watched, she surmised that death wasn't that kind of loss that Admiral Janeway was experiencing.
It was the look of seeing a lost love. And upon realizing it, she'd shut her eyes to block out the image of her own face, however aged, looking at Tom with unmasked desire and regret. She'd tried to convince herself prior to Quarra that her feelings for Tom were only platonic, and she'd done an impressive job. After Quarra, it was, of course, more difficult. But the excuses and explanations in her head continued. She began to tell herself that it was simply the vague recollection of closeness, of familiarity, that had drawn her to Tom. That what had happened between them on Quarra was regrettable given their actual situations, but that it meant nothing regarding the feelings they had for each other in their real lives.
And then, watching herself watch Tom, all of her self-deception was stripped away. She loved him. And she lost him. And it was plain as a day. Not surprisingly, B'Elanna had seen it, too, and she watched the engineer regard Admiral Janeway with curiosity. When the Klingon's eyes then met her own, she expected to see loathing or accusation. But she didn't. Instead, B'Elanna had looked at her with sympathy; a sudden softness that she found too much to bear. When the meeting they were in ended, she'd fled the briefing room, away from B'Elanna's sympathy and the reflection of her own longing, as fast her legs could carry her. She'd felt like she'd had her skin pulled back, her most private thoughts exposed for the universe to see. When she returned to the bridge, she tried to look anywhere but forward. Anywhere but the back of Tom's head.
Now, standing on the steps of Starfleet Headquarters, she couldn't remember the gnawing pain that settled in her stomach then. Instead, she stood watching Tom, and he, as if by empathic command, turned around. There was twenty meters and fifty people between them, but his eyes found hers immediately. There were people all around, the last of the group descending down the stair case. Everyone else around them fell away, and she didn't move. After a beat, maybe two, he smiled at her. It was smile that lit up his entire face, and his blue eyes shown with a happiness she hadn't seen in him in years. She felt the breeze rustle her hair, heard the leaves that circled lazy patterns on the path and stairs between them. She saw his face framed by the crystal blue sky that was beyond.
She realized that someone was calling her, and she belatedly looked to them. It was one of the other Admirals. She'd now fallen significantly behind the group, and he was looking at her with impatience. The Admiral called to her again, but after she responded, her eyes automatically looked for Tom. She couldn't find him now, and she searched the crowd feverishly as she made her way down the stairs to rejoin her cohort. As they passed the group of officers he'd been standing with, she craned her head left and right to try to spot him, but she didn't. If she'd been alone, she would have stayed, asked the officers standing there if they could tell her where Tom went. But she wasn't, and she was now running late. The reality of her life came crashing back to her, and she continued walking down the wide path. Still, every few meters, she glanced behind her.
. . . . .
In her apartment, Janeway threw clothing haphazardly into a bag. She realized with regret that her civilian clothes were desperately in need of updating, but she didn't have the time or the patience to deal with it now. She put her hair into a ponytail, it was just long enough to be pulled back, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Walking to the transport, her free hand tapped a nervous rhythm below her hip as she walked briskly.
It was one day since she'd seen Tom at HQ, or rather, thought she'd seen Tom at HQ. Afterward, she'd sat impatiently in meetings, not hearing anything that went on, until the end of the day. Then, she'd made her way to Admiral Paris's office, asking his secretary if he was able to be disturbed. The brunette woman had looked at her with interest; Janeway and Owen Paris sometimes ate lunch or met in his office, but she never showed up unannounced to speak with him. His secretary announced her, and she strode into his office like the lobby was on fire.
She'd made it through five painful minutes of small talk before she'd practically blurted out that she'd seen Tom. He looked at her with confusion, but she hadn't noticed, asking instead how long he was staying in San Francisco and what he was doing at HQ.
"Kathryn," Owen said, eyeing her carefully, "he's not in town. He has a design deadline at this week and hasn't been able to get away all month." Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. She would know Tom anywhere. There's no way she mistook someone else for him standing there below her, smiling up at her as he had long ago. Smiling at her as he had before everything had collapsed in on them. She suddenly felt woozy, and Owen seemed to sense it, pressing her to sit down. "Kathryn, I haven't pushed the issue before, but you haven't taken any leave since you left Voyager. I know you took the mandatory medical leave required then, and I can't order you, exactly, to take leave now. But I'm worried about you. You need rest." She kept her eyes closed as he spoke, and she sipped the cold water he'd handed her moments earlier. Had she really imagined Tom standing there? Was she so tired of her real life that her mind was starting to create illusions for her as a way out?
"Maybe you're right." Her voice sounded feeble, small.
"You have weeks and weeks of leave built up. Why don't you take some time now? I can make sure your commitments are covered." She felt herself nodding, and heard Owen begin to make calls, pulling favors to get her out of negotiations and meetings to which she was already committed.
Her leave began immediately, and it was three weeks. As she rapidly strode toward her destination, she pushed away doubts about what she was doing. Before she'd left Headquarters the day before, she'd tracked down Tom's address. The job he had taken was in Paris- a fact that gave her enough hope to power a small starship- but he'd taken up residence to the southwest, in an area that sat nearly astride the ancient boundaries that delineated Brittany from Normandy. She was scheduled to transport there in fifteen minutes.
In fifteen minutes, she was going to be on the same continent, in the same town, as Tom Paris.
Once on the transport pad, she nodded to the transporter operator, stilling her fidgeting hand at her side. The officer, a young man with light hair like Tom's, nodded back, and she felt the familiar tingle as light engulfed her.
The air was cooler when arrived. It wasn't cold, but chilly. It was afternoon in Saint James, and when the sun finally set, the air would be nippy, the heat of the summer not having set in yet. The transporter operator in town had given her directions to Tom's street. She walked through the town slowly, taking in the sights; trying to picture Tom here, going about his daily life. Saint James was big enough to be considered a town, but not large enough to be considered a city. The street names were a mix of French and English, and she followed one of the main streets, passing an ancient cathedral and a small farmer's market as she plucked her way. She turned down a side street. According to her directions, Tom's place was only a few blocks away. She passed a small café that had a small crowd despite that it was early afternoon.
It felt like she sensed him before she saw him. As though she knew, as soon as she saw the café and the people that gathered there, that she'd find him here. He was sitting outside, roughly facing her, but his head was at an angle and he was chatting with two older men. Both of the men held shopping bags in their hands, one of them was sitting and one of them was standing. They'd probably been walking by and stopped just to say 'hello'. There was a couple about Tom's age at the next table, and their little girl skipped back and forth in front of Tom and the men. Her hair was impossibly blonde, as Tom's had been when he was younger, and Tom and the men talked to her in French with wide smiles and shining eyes. She was about ten meters away from them now, and she heard one of the men say something to Tom that made him laugh. Tom chuckled, running his hand through his hair. Kathryn froze.
He looked so happy. As if none of the last four years had happened. As if he hadn't had a failed marriage, or been demoted, or lost his best friend in between. She thought at once that it was selfish to come here, that it was a mistake to invade his privacy. To invade his happiness. She made up her mind to leave, but just as she did, he looked up and his eyes met her. Tom looked at her serenely, and then smiled a dazzling smile. It was the kind of smile she'd imagined the day before. It warmed her from the inside out, and she found the will to move her legs. She couldn't hear his voice, the men he'd been with were now leaving as if by silent cue, and there was the sound of goodbyes and scraping chairs. Still, she saw his head cock to the side and watched his mouth pronounce 'hey' as she continued walking toward him.
When she reached him at the table she wasn't sure what to do. He didn't stand to greet her, but this didn't quite worry her given the way he was smiling at her. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and Tom leaned back in his chair.
"They have amazing espresso here," he said, pushing a metal chair toward her with this foot. She dropped the bag she was carrying into another chair, and sank down into the proffered one. He looked at her, and she looked back, but neither said anything.
"Hello," she finally said, lamely. His eyes wrinkled and he chuckled softly.
"Hello, yourself." She tore her eyes away from his face, and looked around them.
"Tom, this is all beautiful. I can see why you'd want to live here." A server appeared next to them, and Tom ordered her a coffee. She was grateful for the gesture; it bought her time to stare at him while he conversed with the server. When the man left, Tom was looking back at her. She knew he was waiting for her to speak. "I was surprised when I found out your job was in Paris." Her voice was neutral, matter-of-fact. Her eyes were anything but. He nodded.
"It was a dream job, really. The location was a bonus." He looked at her and the smile fell from his face. "I tried to live in the city for about a month, but I couldn't do it." He could have meant because of the traffic, the noise, the expense. His voice told her, however, that it was none of these, and she felt pain well within her. "Everywhere I looked, I saw you. I thought maybe it would be nice, that the memories of the ancient version of the city would keep me company." He shrugged. "Instead, they haunted me. I found this place through a friend and never looked back." His words could have conveyed a darker sentiment, a desire not to see her, not to think about her. But his eyes were watching her affectionately while he spoke, and his body was unconsciously angled toward her in his chair.
"You've been haunting me, too," she replied, not even considering her words. "Yesterday at Headquarters, I thought I saw you. I thought you were there and that your eyes found me across the crowd, and that you smiled at me." She shook her head at the memory. "I found your father afterward, and he told me that you hadn't left France all month." She sipped the coffee the server had brought her, looking into the cup to see if there were answers inside it. "I decided I had to do something, had to change the course my life has been on." Across from her he was smiling gently, but there was something else playing in his face.
"And so you decided to find me? You came here?"
"Without so much as a second thought." He looked at her. "Well, maybe a few second thoughts. But they were after I'd already packed and left the house. And I didn't think your father would let me back on HQ grounds until I took the leave anyway." They both laughed, and Tom scratched the side of his face.
"So you did all of this, made this decision, because you saw me? Or rather, because you thought you saw me?" His voice was bit incredulous.
"I decided if I'm so unhappy as to see things that aren't there just for relief, it's time to do something different." She was earnest as she said it, looking at the table between them as she deciphered her thoughts. In front of her, she heard him laugh out loud, and when she looked up he had his hand clamped over his eyes, his shoulders shaking with waves of mirth. "I tell you that I'm cracking up- that I'm profoundly unhappy with my life- and you laugh?" She couldn't hold onto the indignation, and was laughing herself by the time she finished the question. They sat their laughing for a minute, before he reached across the table and took her hand. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Kathryn," he said, a rueful expression coming to his face, "you didn't imagine me. I was there. At Headquarters. I came to see an old friend who was back from a mission in the Beta quadrant." Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.
"But your father. . ." She looked positively dumbfounded, and he felt both amusement and pain for her.
"Kathryn, I didn't tell him. Things are still not. . . Our relationship still isn't easy. I don't advertise when I have time off, or when I'm coming to Headquarters. I put in my time with him, and I try to work at our relationship. But I also won't sacrifice my sanity." She closed her eyes, absorbing what he was telling her. She hadn't imagined him. He'd really been there, smiling up at her under the San Francisco sun. She heard him laughing again, and opened her eyes to see him shaking his head at her.
"What?" she asked in a tone that he hadn't heard in some time. It had an edge, but it was playful. Whenever she used it, he knew that he had her.
"You," he replied smiling ."You made this colossal decision because you thought you'd imagined something that was, in fact, real." His face grew serious. "What if my father had known I was there? What if you'd seen him and never had to question whether it was real or not?" Her eyes fell to the table again, and her mind spun. She would like to think that seeing Tom would have pushed her to action on her own. She'd been so galvanized after she saw him, so manic and alive. But there were also a pile of excuses for her to hide behind, and an ocean between them. He saw the thoughts pass over her face, and he squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you thought you were crazy." He smiled at her. It reminded her of the previous day.
"You saw me," she began, her voice low, "there were fifty people around us and I was on a staircase meters from where you were. And you saw me immediately." Her voice sounded far away. "It was like there was no one else."
"I would find you anywhere, dear." It was true. She placed her other hand on his, holding on to him like he might be figment of her imagination just yet.
They sat in silence, hands clasped, for almost an hour. They were surrounded by people, but were alone in the privacy of their affection.
. . . . .
After they left the café, he led her to his house. It was only a block and a half but they made their way slowly.
"Aren't you going to give me a tour of the town first?" Her face was innocent. He wasn't buying it at all.
"Are you really telling me, Kathryn, that you haven't already given yourself a tour?" She didn't answer him, but looked sheepish. "Kathryn Janeway," he pronounced, "explorer in any quadrant." She laughed and his hand found hers.
"So," she drawled, "did you just construct an imaginary project to dodge your father, or are you really working on something important?" There conjoined arms were swinging between, and Kathryn couldn't remember walking like this way with someone even as a teenager.
"No," he supplied, "I was working on a new prototype. But the deadline was two days ago and I'm now enjoying some time off."
"You're off work right now?" She stopped, inadvertently yanking him as she did so. He nodded.
"I don't have a lot on my desk for the next few weeks. Summer is just beginning. The weather is gorgeous." He said it as though it all made perfect sense, as though it was common place.
"You took time off because the weather's nice?" She was incredulous. "And because, essentially, you can?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Two weeks." They began moving forward again, and he cast a glance sideways at her. "How long do you have?" A week, he knew, meant she needed time to organize her life. Two weeks meant she thought she might be completely losing it.
"Three weeks," she replied, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice. He whistled.
"My father must really think you're cracking up. Did you start calling people by my name or something?" He smiled, and she glared at him.
"No." She tried to put weight in her voice. "He just. . . Thought I was tired." With her free hand, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Other than the required two weeks we all got, I haven't taken any time off since we got back." This time it was his turn to stop and her turn to be yanked. They'd been walking for two minutes, and they'd barely made it ten yards. At this rate, they would lucky to make it to the house by nightfall.
"You haven't taken any personal time?" His tone of voice went past disbelief and into accusation. It was the same tone he'd used when she'd skipped lunch and then tried to skip dinner when they were on the planet together. She shook her head. If this wasn't the first time he was seeing her in over a year, if the last time he saw her it hadn't been marred with pain and shame, she would have had a lecture coming. She knew it, and thought sarcastic comments about silver linings. They continued on in silence, their hands still clasped between them.
After two minutes, they stopped in front of a stone cottage with green shudders. A wooden fence, painted white, surrounded the property, and in front there was a trellis overgrown with flowering plants.
"This is where you live?" She sounded surprised.
"Yep. The bones of the property date back about five hundred years, so I got a pretty good deal on it. But most of the house's construction is less than fifty years old, and was designed to look older." He put his hands on his hips, looking at the front yard. "Still, I've done a lot of work on it, and there's a lot more left to do." The property was cozy, warm. In each window there was a planter, brimming with blooming flowers of purple and gold. There were stepping stones that led around the side of the house and disappeared into the back. They were obviously real stone, not ceramic, and their color coordinated with the hue of house.
"I love it," Kathryn breathed. Tom looked at her and smiled.
"Come on, there's someone inside who'll be happy to meet you." She didn't know what to make of this, but gamely followed him through the yard and up to the door, where he keyed in his code.
"What? No archaic locking mechanism? I'm surprised." He heard her voice from behind him.
"Funny you should say that," he said, opening the door wide. "That is my very next project." She snorted as she wiped her feet on the mat before entering.
The cottage was much brighter than she anticipated, as well as more spacious. Large windows flanked either side of the living room, and the furniture in the front room was an eclectic mix of styles and colors. Kathryn closed the door behind him, and Tom pulled off his shoes, setting them on the wood floor beside the fire place that was at the front of the room. Within seconds, a clamoring of paws could be heard on the floor of the hallway that was to the left of the fire place. Then a golden retriever appeared, whining and desperately trying to lick Tom's face as he crouched down to meet her.
"There's my baby," Tom said, scratching the dog's ears affectionately. Tom settled on the floor and Kathryn soon joined him there.
"And who is this?" she asked, as the dog licked at her hand and rubbed against her arm. The dog was almost full grown, but her paws were still a bit too big for her body. She easily slid and stumbled on the wood floor.
"This is Neelix," Tom deadpanned. For about ten seconds she actually believed him, and looked at Tom in horror. He laughed at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I named her Gavroche. But I call her Gavvy for short."
"From Hugo?" Tom nodded, content to bask in the affection of his dog. "Isn't it a little sad to name a dog after a character that dies tragically? Besides, Gavroche is a boy's name." Tom feigned hurt before bringing Gavvy's face close to his.
"Don't you listen to her, baby. You're beautiful, and so is your name." The dog licked and licked at Tom's face, and he tried to dissuade her. Kathryn laughed, rubbing Gavvy's back. Eventually, Tom pulled himself up off the floor, extending Kathryn a hand once he'd risen. Gavvy whimpered and looked between them, following Kathryn into the kitchen as Kathryn followed Tom. "Are you hungry, Kath?" She was a bit hungry, but she suddenly felt so nervous that she couldn't think of food. She shrugged and he nodded. "We can go into town for dinner tonight, but in the mean time there's some fresh cheese and bread on the table if you'd like to nibble on something." Neither the cheese nor the bread were replicated. Tom had bought them in the market the day before, along with various fruits and vegetables that had been grown locally. He liked buying real food, and knowing where it came from. He felt it anchored him, and he swore that replicated bread could never match freshly baked in taste.
She tore off a piece of bread from the loaf and popped it into her mouth. Eating saved her from having to speak, and she looked around the kitchen as she chewed slowly. They didn't sit down at the table that was in the room, but instead stood leaning on chairs. Kathryn looked out the window at the backyard, and Tom looked at her not looking at him. When she turned back to him, his face looked resolved, as if he had just decided something. It was the same look he'd gotten on Voyager whenever he figured out why one of the nessels was dragging.
"Come on," he said, and took her by the hand back into the living room. He picked up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and took her up the stairs to the cottage's second story. The ceiling here was lower than the first floor. Not so low as to feel cramped, but just low enough to feel cozy. He led her down the hallway and they passed what she assumed was a guest bedroom, but Tom didn't stop. Instead, he led her down the hall and into his bedroom, setting her bag down on the high dresser that was beside the door. "The master bathroom is in there," he said, gesturing at a door across from his bed. "You're welcome to use the one down the hall, of course, but the master has a bath tub. A feature I, admittedly, never use."
"Perfect," she said, smiling and trying to sound casual. Really, she was terrified. They were in his bedroom. By his bed. And she couldn't decide if this was exactly what she'd come for or if she wanted to bolt down the stairs. Her discomfort was evident in her posture, and Tom resisted the urge to sigh.
"Kathryn," he said softly, "I thought you might want to take a nap with me."
"A nap?" her voice sounded relieved despite her best efforts. He didn't feel like beating around the bush.
"It's lovely to see you, and I'm so glad that you're here. But I'm as scared about all of this as you are, and I'm not looking to do anything quickly. Sleep, however, I think I can handle." His openness now reminded her of their first day alone together on the planet, after Voyager left. She'd been doing her best to reassure him, but he'd seen through it all and reassured her instead. She closed her eyes, feeling color creep across her cheeks. "Besides, I'm surprisingly tired from my busy day of doing nothing, and you, it appears, haven't taken a break in a year. We could both could use some rest."
"Sleep," she repeated. "I think I can do sleep." He grinned, and began to turn down the bed.
"The guest room is just down the hall, if…"
"No." She cut him off with a speed he didn't expect and she didn't quite intend. She could feel the color on her cheeks deepening. "Taking a nap here, with you, sounds nice." She looked at him as he crawled into the bed, and decided her words were woefully inadequate. "As a matter of fact," she amended, sitting down on the bed, "it's probably the best offer I've had all year." He laughed at this as he laid down, settling into his pillow and pulling the blankets over himself. She kicked off her shoes and followed suit. They each lay on their own side of the bed, an arm's length between them. Gavvy jumped onto the bed, having followed them into the bedroom, and curled up at the bottom of the bed, below their feet. Tom closed his eyes, feeling content. Kathryn sighed and mentally kicked herself.
"What's wrong?" His voice was already starting to sound groggy. She scooted over to him, her legs gently pressing against his. She angled her head below his chin, and he wrapped an arm around her torso. Despite all that had happened between, on Quarra and before, they hadn't laid like this in seven years.
"Much better." When she spoke, her breath disturbed the soft hairs at the base of his neck. This time, he allowed himself to shudder.