III.
:Delta Flyer to Away Team, do you copy? Torres to Paris: Tom, are you there?:

The long-ignored knot that had formed in the pit of Tom's stomach the moment he sent Harry and B'Elanna ahead unclenched at the sound of the static-ridden hail. He scrambled to grab his comm badge, still pinned to his discarded uniform jacket.

"We're here," Tom reassured as he tapped the line open. "And in more or less one piece. I've dealt with the Captain's injuries for the moment, but she isn't going to be able to walk out of here anytime soon."

:I don't think either of you are going to be able to do that. Harry and I made it up just before the tunnels collapsed:

He blinked hard, trying not to imagine that. "You're both okay?"

:We're fine. A few cuts and bruises:

'A few cuts and bruises' could cover a lot of ground with B'Elanna, but he let it go.

"So if we can't get out through the tunnels, I assume you two have some other ingenious plan for rescuing us?"

:We might. Is the Captain conscious?:

"I'm here, B'Elanna," the Captain replied for herself. "What do you and Harry have up your sleeves?"

It was Harry who answered. :Captain, are you familiar with the surveys that the Enterprise performed in the Selcundi Drema sector about ten years ago?:

The Captain's forehead creased and an eyebrow lifted slightly as she searched her memory. "They were surveying a series of planets being torn apart by unfamiliar but apparently natural geological forces." Tom watched as comprehension dawned and a scientist's excitement lit her face. "They determined that dilithium deposits were causing tectonic stresses on the planets' cores."

:Exactly: B'Elanna took back over. :We think that this moon is experiencing a similar effect. The dilithium seems to have aligned itself into lattices which are capable of producing a piezoelectric effect. They could be transforming the ionic energy from the atmosphere into the seismic waves we experienced:

The Captain was nodding. "That would explain why the sensors didn't pick up on the potential seismic instability. The dilithium lattices wouldn't leave the same geological markers as other forms of tectonic stress."

:That's what we were thinking as well: Harry agreed.

Three science-types on an open comm line could make for unnecessarily lengthy conversations. Feeling it was time, or past time, to step in, Tom interrupted, "This is all fascinating, but how exactly does it get us out of here? Not that the place isn't starting to grow on me, but, as far as I understand what you are saying, those tremors weren't a one time adventure." And, now that he knew that the passage to the surface was sealed, the air was beginning to feel a bit thin, but he left that unsaid. His friends would be all too aware of that reality without his reminder.

:We think: B'Elanna continued, and Tom could imagine from her tone the exasperated look that she would be throwing at the Flyer's communications panel in his absence :that we should be able to use the piezoelectric effect to boost the transporters and cut through the interference from both the ionized atmosphere and the dilithium in order to beam you out. We're already using the lattice to augment the comm signal:

"How much time do you need?" the Captain asked, now fully back in command mode.

:We should be able to make an attempt in a little under an hour. But, Captain, we're working on theory here: B'Elanna let the full implications of that go unstated. Tom caught his captain's eye and nodded.

"Understood. I have full faith in you and Harry," and with that she signed off.

Now that they had a time frame for how long it would likely be before they could get the Captain back to Voyager's sickbay, Tom pulled the medkit back open and began to check up on her injuries. Her leg was stable, with all arteries clear and no complications present. The injury to her head gave him pause: a field tricorder could only tell him so much. Wishing he had a few of the EMH's diagnostic algorithms, he tried consulting his patient: "How is your head feeling, Captain?"

"I'll live," was the short reply, giving Tom renewed sympathy for the Doc's ongoing battle to convince his commanding officer to give even a modicum of consideration to her own well-being.

Predictably, her attention had already turned elsewhere. "Selcundi Drema. Do you know the story, Mr. Paris?"

So they were back to that. "Sure. That was during my last year at the Academy – the second year of the Enterprise's mission. Everything that happened on that ship became instant gossip."

"Including their run-ins with the Prime Directive?"

He matched her gaze, unflinching. "Especially those."

"If I recall, Captain Picard and his crew were commended for their actions."

And then he was tired of the game. If they were going to have it out, then out with it.

"The circumstances were different," no need to clarify from what.

A corner of her mouth twitched.

"Are you trying to let me off the hook, Mr. Paris?" Her tone made it clear that she didn't feel she needed the help.

Despite everything, he chuckled. "I'd never be so presumptuous, Captain." Her raised eyebrow begged to differ, but he merely continued, "I was a 'Fleet brat too, you know, plus I had the benefit of those yearly Prime Directive lectures." Finishing up his work on her injuries, he returned the equipment to the medkit. "I know the nuances and the unwritten exceptions; the reasons that reprimands turn into commendations. At Drema IV, Picard had a request for help, albeit from an unusual source. And – always the kicker – there was a chance to save a sentient race from extinction."

With Monea, there had only been an ocean. And a direct order not to interfere.

She considered that, and him, for a long moment.

"Are you saying you were wrong?"

Tom shook his head, sitting back on his heels. "No. But neither were you."

At that, her look turned measured. She nodded: "I'm listening."

Right then. Begin at the beginning, Thomas...

"Captain, four years ago in Auckland, you made me an offer – an offer that was very straight-forward in Starfleet terms: I would help out in what ways I could to apprehend members of a terrorist organization, and you'd give me a chance at an early parole."

She nodded again, accepting the apparent non sequitur, letting him speak.

He swallowed hard and then continued. "I sold myself out for that deal, in a way that I never had before, even, maybe especially, when I joined up with the Maquis." He cocked his head to one side, his mouth setting in a thin line. "What I said then – that I was 'all yours'? I don't think either of us had any idea how true those words would be."

"Tom..." she began in something between a reproach and a denial. But he waved her off.

"You were offering me a deal that any good mercenary would jump at – or any good Starfleet officer for that matter. You had no way of knowing that I was neither fish nor fowl." She seemed unappeased; as far as she was concerned that release from prison had granted him a clean slate – 'a fresh start' as she had so recently put it. His admission that it had been anything but that would be both unexpected and unwelcome. However, now that he had started, he barreled on: "What I chose to do at Monea: I knew that it was absolutely the wrong decision for a Starfleet officer and that there would be no loopholes for me to slip through. I knew what the consequences would be and accepted them long before I stood in front of you in your ready room, before I ever set foot on the Flyer."

He paused for a moment then, holding her gaze with the intensity of his own. "But, Captain, it was the right decision for me to make – as right as that choice to take your deal in Auckland was wrong." The brilliant blue, living gem that was the Monean ocean flashed through his mind's eye, and he felt the echo of his conviction that something must be done to save the wonder and uniqueness of that world – whatever the personal cost of that action might be. "I walked out of your ready room that day my own man, certainly for the first time since Auckland, maybe for the first time in my life."

Tom watched as she processed his words, knowing how much he was asking of her. Kathryn Janeway might at times be impulsive and prone to act on instinct, but those instincts had been honed on Starfleet's core doctrines and those doctrines served as both her compass and anchor in the turbulence of the Delta Quadrant. He had veered from those precepts onto his own path and was neither offering apology nor asking for forgiveness. Instead, he was asking her to understand. To understand him.

She had said that day that she admired his principles. But, a lot had been said, and left unsaid, that day.

At last, she began, "So, this time, you chose the cause over the deal," and a ghost of a smile flitted across her face as she added, "and I lost my lieutenant." He didn't miss the emphasis.

"But you gained an ensign," he countered with emphasis of his own, echoing that smile.

"I still don't agree with what you chose to do."

Tom's expression didn't waver. "I never thought that you would."

A beat or two passed while each weighed the other's words and the new balance that had been left between them.

Coming to some decision, the Captain drew her brows together, raising her chin in mock imperiousness. "Well then, Ensign, as I asked before: do you intend to make a habit of ignoring my orders?" Her voice was laced with levity, but her gaze betrayed the depth of her question's importance.

He met that gaze evenly. "Captain, if I did, I would have handed back that first pip when you took the second." He let that settle for a moment before continuing, "Taking the deal that day in New Zealand was one of the two worst decisions I've made in my life; choosing to serve under your command when you offered back my commission was one of the better ones."

She actually laughed at that, if ruefully. "I must say, Mr. Paris, that I'm rather glad you make that distinction."

"Thank B'Elanna some time." He smiled at that memory and, at her puzzled look, explained, "For a conversation we had, a long time ago."

She raised an eyebrow at him in question. "Somehow, I doubt that she would appreciate any gratitude on that score from me right now."

"No, likely not," he admitted.

That eyebrow twitched, along with a corner of her mouth. "Any chance you could throw me some help in that quarter, Ensign?"

"Oh, hell no, Captain," Tom tripped over himself to respond before she got any ideas. "I have older sisters, remember? I learned early on that only someone with a death wish gets himself caught in the middle of a...well, in the middle of anything between two strong women."

Her eyes sparked with silent mirth at his discomfort. "Well, in that case, Mr. Paris, I'll resist making it an order. I think we'd like to keep you alive and well for a long time to come."

There was blackness around the edge of her vision which had nothing to do with the darkness of the cave. Possibly, Tom's increasing concern for her head wound might have some merit. When she felt the first of the renewed tremors beneath her, she decided that it was time to check in with the Flyer.

"Janeway to Delta Flyer," she opened the line. "Harry and B'Elanna, how are you progressing?"

:We are just about ready. B'Elanna wants to run one more test:

The ground began to move again, the waves steadily and rapidly intensifying.

"I'm not sure we have time for that test," Tom murmured. Kathryn nodded agreement.

"Harry, if you are going to try this, it needs to be now."

There was a pause. :Understood, Captain. Just know that you may be in for a bit of a bumpy ride:

Struggling to brace her arms against the rocking floor, she returned, "I think that's unavoidable one way or the other at this point, Mr. Kim. Just make sure we make it out the other end."

:Aye, Captain. Engaging transporters now.:

Released from the transporter beam's hold, only a strong pair of arms saved her from collapse.

"Captain!"

A second set of arms and she was being lifted onto one of the bunks.

"That trip through the transporter didn't do her head wound any favors. We need to get her back to Voyager."

"Go. I'll stay with her."

A pause. "Monitor her vitals – here. Comm me if any of these change."

"Right." Then, "Are you okay?" Even barely conscious, the layers to that question were obvious.

"Yeah. We...talked. Things are better...good."

A non-committal grunt.

"B'Elanna..."

"Later. Go. I'll comm you if anything changes."

Shuffling, and then quiet.

The last thing she felt before surrendering to unconsciousness was the pressure of a warm hand wrapped around her own.