TIME FRAME: Present day + Ten years in the future.

WHAT YOU ARE HERE FOR: THE STORY.

   A KISS FROM BEYOND FOREVER: Part One of Four.

        By: Amy Player

 *Oh, Tom, I really wish you were here.*  Lieutenant Commander
B’Elanna Paris sank back wearily in the overstuffed chair, staring
numbly at the empty bottle in her hand.  It seemed unbelievable that
such a tiny baby could be that hungry, or cry that loud until she was
satisfied.  And at two in the morning!  Didn’t little Kathryn understand
the concept of Mommy pulling a double shift that day!?

 She wished she could have passed it off on Tom, letting him feed
their baby while she got some much-needed sleep.  But of course, that
was an impossible dream.  Tom had died six months ago, on the same day
their daughter had been born, and dead men found it very hard to help
out around the house.

 B’Elanna felt tears sting her eyes at his memory, but she blinked
them back.  She didn’t have time for that.  It had been six months now,
and she had to learn to live her life again without him.  She couldn’t
surrender to grief every time she thought of him, because she always
thought of him.  Every waking moment, she was reminded of him; through
places they had been together, through mutual friends, but most of all,
through Kathryn.

 The tiny infant was the very image of her father.  Her downy hair
was the same sandy blonde, while her eyes were the same shade of vivid
blue as Tom’s had been.  Sometimes, Kathryn would laugh, and those eyes
would twinkle in such a familiar way, reminding her of the tall,
handsome man who had first stolen her heart with his own boyish laugh.
Those were the moments that hurt the most.  The moments a new mother
should have cherished.

 B’Elanna shook her head to clear all thoughts of her lost love as
she pushed herself to her feet.  The old adage, “a woman’s work is never
done,” came to mind as she began her daily chores at two fifteen AM.
Kathryn’s clothes and her own had to be replicleaned, she had to clean
all the bottles the baby had used before they began to grow things, and
she had to pick up all the toys that and other paraphernalia that
cluttered the rooms.  Only then could she do anything for herself.

 Of course, these days, that meant little more than a cup of tea
and a moment to relax.  Unpinning her long, chestnut hair, she loosened
the braided coronet, letting it cascade freely over her shoulders and
down her back.  Dark blue Starfleet-issue pajamas replaced her black and
gold uniform; she felt no need for anything more ladylike--after all,
who was she trying to impress?

 As she took the tea from the replicator, her gaze fell on the tall
stack of engineering reports she still had to read and assign.  All
before her next shift began at oh-eight hundred.  The prospect of yet
another night with no sleep was overwhelming, and something inside
B’Elanna snapped.
 
 The tea hit the bulkhead, the cup shattering and the dark liquid
dribbling down the gray wall to the carpet.  B’Elanna looked at the
spreading stain for several seconds, frustration, grief, and fury
building into an explosive combination.  She fell to her knees, her
hands clenched into fists as she stared up at the cold, uncaring
ceiling.

 “Damn you, Thomas Eugene Paris,” she cried, “damn you to hell!”

     * * *

 Tom Paris couldn't remember the last time he had been this tired.

 For the last forty-seven hours, something had been making
Voyager’s crew vanish.  Every hour, another person would be lost, and
things were becoming rather desperate.

 He had spent those long hours on the bridge and down in
engineering, trying to help B'Elanna and the Captain find a way to shake
this thing that was making his fellow crewmen disappear.  They had tried
every maneuver they could think of, and even invented some new ones on
the spot, yet they were no closer to an answer than they had been at the
beginning.

 Tom envied the Captain her dogged determination in attacking this
problem, but he had the feeling Janeway sometimes forgot that the rest
of the crew were mere mortals.  One by one, people had been forced to
drop out of the frantic hunt for a solution.  Even B'Elanna's Klingon
endurance was nearing its limits when he had left engineering to test
out a new pattern of maneuvers.

 He never made it.  The combination of caffeine and adrenaline that
had been keeping him going had given up, and before he knew what had hit
him, he had dozed off at his post.  Upon finding the helmsman asleep on
his controls, Commander Chakotay had asked the Captain—despite Tom’s
protests that it was only a momentary lapse—to give him a few hours off.
She had agreed immediately, adding an order to get at least eight hours
of sleep before he came back.  Janeway had received the same order, but
somehow, Tom got the feeling she had no intention of obeying it.

 As for him, following orders was not a problem, he was hardly able
to keep his eyes open as it was.  Still, as the turbolift reached deck
eight and he stepped out into the corridor, he couldn't help thinking
that in those few hours, several more of his friends would be gone.

 Harry Kim had already fallen victim to this anomaly, and Tom
wondered if he would ever see the young man again.  He remembered how
different Harry had been when he first came aboard, still dripping wet
behind the ears, and charmingly naïve.  Naïve enough to make friends
with a cocky traitor on temporary parole.  That friendship had built up
Tom’s self esteem, giving him the confidence to pursue his feelings when
he found himself falling in love with Voyager’s beautiful but elusive
Chief Engineer.

 Now that B’Elanna had finally admitted her own love for him, he
treasured her more than life itself.  The realization that she could be
taken at any moment, just like Harry...it was almost too much to bear.

 Tom almost turned back to the bridge to keep searching for a
solution, but then he shook his head. *No, I'm not any good to them
right now. It would be too easy to make a stupid mistake. I'll get some
sleep, but then I am going to find the damn thing that took my friend.
And I am going to make sure it never hurts anyone else again.*

 Just as he reached his quarters, there was a sudden, blinding
flash of light, and a moment's dizziness that caused him to stumble, his
tired reflexes barely catching him in time to prevent a fall.  The
disorientation was similar to one's first trip through a transporter,
and Paris blinked furiously, trying to clear the red and green retinal
ghosts from his vision and see where he had been taken.

 He discovered he hadn't moved a centimeter.  Voyager's familiar
bulkheads still surrounded him, and the markings by the door read:
"Staff Officer's Quarters: Paris", assuring him that he was even in the
same corridor.

 Sagging up against the wall, he rubbed wearily at his eyes.
Great.  *Harry is gone, more are disappearing every hour, and now I'm
seeing things.*

 Dismissing the strange flash as too much work combined with the
unpredictable effects of the ever-changing concoction Neelix passed off
as coffee, Paris continued through the doors into his quarters.

 The lights were dim, but his ears were working fine, and the sound
of a woman crying was clear.  He squinted, trying to identify the
huddled form caught in the pool of light from the corridor.  Something
about the feminine form beneath the dark blue pajamas was very familiar
indeed.

 “B’Elanna?”  If he had drawn his phaser and shot her, it would
have produced less of a response.  She nearly jumped out of her skin,
whirling around to face him.  Tom stepped back, his heart in his throat.
What the hell was going on here?! Who was this woman?!

 She looked like B’Elanna, same height, same lithe, muscular build,
the same exotically beautiful features.  Yet there were differences.
While his B’Elanna had her hair cut in a shoulder length pageboy, this
woman’s tresses flowed nearly halfway down her back in gentle waves.  A
thin, Y-shaped scar marred one high cheekbone, and something else...her
very manner was different.  She seemed depleted somehow, as if some of
that Klingon fire he so loved had been violently snuffed out.  And then
there was her age.  Tom had recently surprised his lover with flowers
and candy for her twenty-eighth birthday, but this B’Elanna seemed a
good ten years older.

 This B’Elanna seemed just as shocked to see him as he was by the
changes in her.  Her hands flew to her mouth, and she began to back
away, her large, dark eyes almost perfect circles of astonishment as she
shook her head.  “No.” she murmured, “No!  You aren’t real.  You can’t
be real!”

 Tom reached out to her, unable to bear seeing her so confused,
hurting so much.  He didn’t know what was going on, but he thought it
might be a comfort somehow to just be there for her.  She stood like a
statue as he stepped nearer, but when his hand touched her arm, it was
too much for her.

 She let out a tiny scream, and her eyes glazed over, fluttering
closed as her legs betrayed her and she crumpled to the floor.  Tom
stared at her inert form for a few moments, then numbly, he tapped his
badge.

 “Paris to sickbay.  Emergency assistance in Lieutenant Torres’
quarters, B’Elanna’s passed out.”

 The response was nothing like he had expected.  The Doctor didn’t
seem to care about what had happened to B’Elanna.  Instead, he seemed
more concerned with Tom’s very presence. “State your name again,” the
hologram insisted.

 “You know me, Doc.  It’s Tom.  Lieutenant Tom Paris.” He frowned,
beginning to get angry, “Doctor, I am looking at the woman I love
unconscious on the floor here.”

 “Impossible, Klingons don’t faint.”

 “Then her Human half fainted and took her Klingon half with it.”
Tom knelt, scooping her limp body up in his arms. “I’m bringing her to
sickbay, Paris out.”
 

   * * *

 "We've lost another one, Captain."  Janeway looked up from her
work at the auxiliary engineering console and glanced over at her Chief
Engineer.

 She realized that she had been half-expecting that the phenomena
would just give up and leave her crew alone; but it had remained,
another hour had gone by, and another one of her people was gone to who-
knows-where.

 Putting the computer model she had constructed on hold for the
time being, she walked over to where Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres was
scowling at her console.  The machine was not impressed by the fearsome
looks being directed towards it, and the sensor data remained unchanged
as Janeway stepped up.

 "Who was it this time?"  Deeply engrossed in her readouts, Torres
jumped at the Captain's voice, but she recovered almost immediately, so
Janeway pretended not to have noticed.  The younger woman's hands danced
skillfully over the keypad, cross-referencing the signal of the missing
comm badge with crew records.

 At Torres' sudden intake of breath, Janeway knew who it was, and
her suspicions were only confirmed when the Lieutenant glanced up.  Her
voice was little more than a whisper, and there was a haunted look in
her eyes as she announced the anomaly's latest victim.

 "Captain...it's Tom."  Janeway felt a boiling wave of frustration,
and had to bite her lip to keep from saying some very un-Captain-like
things.  Of all the people to lose now!  Not only was the man Voyager's
best pilot, but she needed Torres working at her best during this
crisis.  Right now, she was staring incredulously at the name on her
screen, her skin the color of chalk as her hands curled into fists.

 Janeway couldn't help but feel a measure of sympathy for her.  She
was well aware of Torres' passionate new romance with Tom Paris (indeed,
their more public displays of affection had resulted in the two officers
being called onto her carpet on a number of occasions), and fully
understood the feelings that came when a loved one was suddenly ripped
away.  She had been through the same ordeal with her fiancée, Mark, whom
she had lost forever when Voyager was swept into the Delta Quadrant.

 Those feelings could be paralyzing if you dwelled on them, and
Janeway knew she had to distract Torres from thoughts of the handsome
pilot and keep her mind occupied with cold, hard mathematics.

 "B'Elanna, I want you to go over everything we got during that
last shift.  Every byte of data from every sensor on this ship.
Internal, external—-if someone was using a tricorder when it happened,
check that too—-I need to know the exact location of every particle of
dust that might help us get to the bottom of this.  Understood?"

 Torres' expression remained unchanged, distant and filled with
loss as she nodded her assent.  *All right,* Janeway amended, *I guess
she needs a little more of a challenge than I had thought.*

 "Have it on my desk by fourteen hundred hours."  That got the
engineer's attention, and Janeway had to repress a smile at her own
success.  It was an impossible deadline, borderline cruel to inflict on
a young woman who hadn't slept in almost two days and just lost her
lover to an unknown phenomenon.  Already, Torres was nearly dead on her
feet, dark circles under her eyes bearing witness to the stress she was
under.

 But as Janeway looked into those deep brown eyes, she could see
that despite the fatigue, Torres’ agile mind was racing with computer-
like efficiency and no time for emotion.  Exactly as had been her
intention.

 As she went back to her computer model, the Captain knew that at
fourteen hundred hours, she would get her report.
 
     * * *

 B’Elanna Paris blinked back to consciousness under the bright
lights of sickbay.  She shivered slightly, feeling the spot on her arm
where the apparition of her husband had touched her.  It had seemed so
real, his face, his voice, his touch...but she knew it couldn’t be.  She
must have been hallucinating, and that was why she was in sickbay now.

 But where was the Doctor?  That annoying hologram was usually
right there, hovering over her like a mother hen every time she wound up
in the ship’s medical bay.  Especially lately, for after her attempted
suicide six months ago, he left nothing to chance.

 Then she heard it, a young man’s voice that made her blood run
cold and her heart flutter.  The voice of Tom Paris, raised slightly in
consternation.  She sat bolt upright, and sure enough, he was there on
the next biobed: talking, gesturing, breathing, and very much alive.

 “What are you saying, Doc?! That I’m supposed to be dead?!”

 Tom was concentrating completely on the Doctor, fully in the grip
of righteous indignation.  The physician’s back was turned to her, and
B’Elanna took the moment just to look at Tom.  It might be a
hallucination, but if it was, she liked it and wanted to take advantage
of it while it lasted.

 She was surprised that the image her mind had conjured up was not
of the man who had walked out of sickbay six months ago, promising to be
right back.  It was a younger Tom, about twenty-eight or twenty-nine
years old, just the age he had been when they had first fallen in love.
His eyes were the flashing warp-core blue she remembered so well, and
his face had the same boyish features, charming and innocent, but with
just a hint of the rogue within.  It was hard to tell when he was
sitting down, but he seemed just as tall, and the blue sickbay garb
showed off his lean, muscular body to perfection.

 B’Elanna decided then and there that there was only one thing to
do.  She had to hold him again.  She would get up, go over there, and if
her arms passed right through his hallucinatory image, it would all be
over.  She would be officially crazy.  Yet if he didn’t disappear--if
the Gods had indeed granted her a miracle--well, B’Elanna wasn’t sure if
she would break down in grateful tears or pass out all over again.

 She had just swung her legs off the bed, when she heard the
sickbay doors hiss open.  The steady click-click of heeled boots
indicated that the person who had just entered was a woman, and that
sharp, commanding stride could only be the Captain.  Janeway’s voice was
a comfort to B’Elanna, assuring her that no matter what, The Captain was
there and would get them all through this.

 “Doctor, what’s this about--” Her words choked off in a gasp of
utter astonishment as she saw the man on the biobed.  For a long moment,
she seemed at a loss for words, but finally managed to speak.  “Is
he....”

 “Lieutenant Tom Paris?  Yes.”

 Janeway was surprisingly sharp for someone whose face was still
deathly pale from shock.  She caught the slight emphasis on the rank of
Lieutenant in the Doctor’s tone, instantly remembering that Tom had held
the rank of Lieutenant *Commander* at the time of his death.  “So what
do we have here? A clone? A temporal incursion?”

 “Apparently, the latter.  I’ve carefully matched this man’s bio-
readings with Tom’s over the years, and I found a perfect match
precisely ten years ago.  The probability of this being anything other
than the genuine article is too high even for me to calculate.”

 Tom stood, stepping between the two of them as if to remind them
that he was a part of this too.  “So I *have* somehow gone ten years
into my own future.”

 The Captain nodded, and he continued, “And in this time period,
I’m supposed to be dead.”

 “That’s right.”

 “And B’Elanna there,” he pointed to where she was still sitting
half-way off the biobed, listening, “she’s my wife...I mean, she’s my
*widow*?”

 This time it was B’Elanna who responded, surprising herself with
how calm and steady her own voice was. “Yes, Tom, I am.”

 His already fair skin blanched almost pure white as he sat down
quickly, clutching the biobed for support as the ship seemed to spin.
“Aw hell.”
 
 B’Elanna realized that what was for her an answer to prayer must
seem to him a terrible nightmare.  To suddenly be thrown ten years into
the future was bad enough, but to learn that you’re going to die so
young and break someone’s heart in the process...‘Aw hell’ was a vast
understatement.  He looked so lost, like a little boy whose entire world
has just come crashing down around him.

 She went over to him, instinctively putting her arms around him
for comfort.  Even though she knew this wasn’t her Tom Paris, it was so
unspeakably wonderful to hold him again that it took her breath away.
The feel of his smooth skin and firm muscles through the thin cloth, the
smell of his hair and the faint piney scent of his aftershave...it was
all so familiar that it was as if he had never died.  As if he had
simply gone on an extended away mission somewhere.

 Tom let himself be lost in her embrace for a long, wonderful
moment, then pulled away. He looked up at her, his beautiful crystal-
blue eyes wide with confusion and a little bit of fear.  “I...I don’t
know what to say, B’Elanna.  I’m sorry.  So very, very sorry.”

 “Hush,” she whispered, drawing him close again.  It wasn’t his
fault, he wasn’t the one who had climbed into the shuttle and never come
back.  And even if he had been, she knew that it still wouldn’t be his
fault: she had studied the logs of that horrible mission enough times to
know there was no way he could have returned alive.  “Don’t be sorry,
Tom.  There as nothing you could do.  Nothing you could--”

 All the tears she had been holding back came out in a rush, and
she collapsed on his shoulder, crying out all the pain of the past six
months.  Tom wrapped his strong arms around her, awkwardly patting her
back while she sobbed.  He nodded to the Captain and Doctor, and they
acknowledged the intimacy of the moment, Janeway stepping out of sickbay
quietly with the hologram firmly in tow.

 “It’s all right, B’Elanna darling,” he soothed, “it’s all right.”

 “Why...” she gasped between sobs, “Why did you have to be taken
from me?  I need you...our little girl...she needs you!

 She felt Tom suddenly stiffen, pushing her away to look into her
eyes.  “What?! We have a baby?!”

 Wiping the tears from her cheeks, B’Elanna nodded.  “Kathryn.
Kathryn Kes Paris.  She was born the day you died.  She looks...she
looks just like you, Tom.”

 He was silent a long moment, doing a remarkable openmouthed
impression of a shocked fish.  Finally, he managed to speak, but the
words were forced and raspy.  “Aw hell.”

    * * *

 At thirteen fifty-eight hours, the doors to Janeway's ready room
burst open with an air of mechanical panic, as if they knew that the
person entering wouldn't hesitate to walk right through them if they
didn't open in time.  Looking up from her own research, the Captain's
eyes widened as she saw B’Elanna Torres enter.

 There was no doubt that she had been hard at it since her
assignment.  The look on her face was that of a driven woman, past
exhaustion and propelled by pure willpower.  She had shed her gold and
black outer tunic, working in the sleeveless gray undershirt, her bare
arms streaked with dark patches of lubricant and glistening with sweat.
Her hair was sodden and matted, held back from her face with a spare
length of cord, and a crust of dried blood had formed over a nasty cut
on one cheek.  *What in the world has she been up to?,* Janeway
wondered.

 Before she had a chance to ask, Torres dropped into the chair
across the desk, leaning forward with an eagerness that was surprising
given her appearance.

 "Chronitons, Captain!  In the warp core!"  Well, that certainly
explained the way she looked.  Crawlways around the warp core could
often reach temperatures of over forty degrees Celsius, with stifling
one-hundred-percent humidity.  Only Torres' inherent resistance to heat
would have even allowed her to function under such hellish conditions.

 Yet even though Janeway was herself an excellent engineer, she
couldn't see what engines and sensors had to do with one another.

 "What were you doing in the warp core, Lieutenant?"  It was
exactly the right question.  Torres was practically glowing with triumph
as she handed Janeway a padd detailing her find, narrating as the
Captain perused the raw data.
 
 She had begun by examining the sensor readings as told, but had
found nothing except a minor fluctuation in the warp core, well within
safety limits.  However, with nothing else to go on, she had gone
straight to the diagnostic interface within the core itself and spent
over an hour tracking down the origins of that fluctuation.  It was a
faint chroniton pulse that had left a subspace 'echo' on the dilithium
conversion matrix at the time of each disappearance.

 As Torres finished, Janeway couldn't help but admire her
determination in tracking this one down.  Now that they knew chronitons
were involved, it was safe to say that the missing crewmembers had been
moved somewhere in time.

 When and where were still unknown, nor were they anywhere near
finding a way to retrieve them.  But this was a major step in that
direction.  A victory that needed to be acknowledged.

 "Good work, B'Elanna.  Can I get you something to drink...my
treat?"  Torres nodded gratefully, a lock of hair falling out of it's
makeshift restraint and sticking to her ridged forehead, defying her
half-hearted attempt to brush it away.

 "Iced Raktajino."  Janeway's own brow furrowed in puzzlement at
this odd request.

 "That's Klingon coffee, isn't it?"  Despite being half Klingon,
Torres had consistently denied that part of her heritage, ignoring
Klingon culture and rituals, and making no attempt to develop a taste
for their cuisine.  Why this sudden yearning for Klingon coffee?  The
answer was soon clear, as Janeway found out how Torres was still on her
feet after so long.

 "Three times the caffeine of the Earth version."  Janeway smiled
and fetched the drink, but as she gave it to Torres, she noticed
something disturbing and stopped.  The engineer's hand was trembling,
the taut muscles clearly delineated in her wrist and forearm betraying
her fight to keep it steady.

 Shifting from the role of a friend and comrade to that of a
Starship Captain, she assumed her "Command Tone" as she frowned in
concern.

 "Lieutenant, how many of these have you had in the last six
hours?"  Torres shrugged, trying to seem casual and unconcerned.

 "Two or three..." she paused, and a deep blush spread over her
cheeks as she realized she'd been caught.  "...Or six."  Janeway put the
drink back in the replicator, noting the slightly wistful look on
Torres' face as it shimmered and vanished.  Then she turned back with a
glare that could have melted duranium.

 "That's irresponsible, B'Elanna, and you know it!  It's one thing
to have a few cups of coffee to help you stay alert—-God only knows I do
it often enough myself—-but you've gone way beyond that.  Look at
yourself...you can't even hold your hands steady!"  Torres met her gaze
evenly, saying with her eyes what she didn't dare vocalize.  *It's your
fault.  If you hadn't given me such a deadline, I wouldn't have had to
push myself like this.*

 Trouble was, she was right.  That had been an unfair load to place
on an already-overworked woman, even with the best of intentions. Though
the choices the Lieutenant had made in meeting her orders hadn't been
wise, they had gotten the job done, and Janeway knew she probably would
have done the exact same thing were their positions reversed.

 Still, looking at Torres—-too worn out to even sit up straight,
but wide awake from self-inflicted stimulant overdose-—Janeway felt
compelled to right the situation she had inadvertently caused.

 "I want you to go to sickbay and have the Doctor give you
something to counteract all that caffeine.  Then you are going to go to
your quarters and get some sleep."  Torres hesitated a moment, then
granted the Captain one of her rare smiles, all too willing to yield
this fight.

      "Aye, Captain.  Right away." Hauling herself to her feet, she left
the ready room, and Janeway sat down to re-examine the new data on the
chroniton traces.  She might have ordered another to rest, but it would
be a long time before she could grant herself the same luxury.

 Red and yellow light flickered in Lieutenant Torres’ eyes as the
Doctor ran a dermal regenerator over the gash on her face, making the
wound tingle as if a thousand tiny fingers were playing over the ripped
flesh.  The feeling was maddening, reminiscent of poison ivy when she
was a girl, and it took every ounce of her self control to keep her
hands by her sides.

 Trying to keep her mind off the irritation, Torres actually began
to listen to what the Doctor was saying.  His holographic features were
set in a disapproving scowl as he passed the instrument back and forth,
taking advantage of his captive audience to deliver a lecture along with
his medical attentions.

 “Prolonged exposure to excessive heat and humidity, caffeine blood
levels off the scale, extreme exhaustion, leaving a laceration open to
invite infection...you’re half Klingon, Lieutenant, not immortal.”

 Torres rolled her eyes in exasperation.  The Doctor was a
excellent physician, but his programmer had possessed a flair for the
melodramatic that was often infuriating.  Though she knew he was right
in saying that she had overextended herself, he somehow managed to make
it seem that she had been on the verge of suicide.

 Even now, as he snapped off the regenerator, his glare spoke
volumes, projected eyes conveying his smug displeasure better than
organic ones ever could.  He opened his mouth to speak, and Torres held
up a hand, doing her best to look properly repentant.

 “I’ve already told you I won’t drink any more Raktajino, Doctor,
and I’m going to bed as soon as you release me. What else do you want?”

 She was lying through her teeth.  B’Elanna had no intention of
giving up the fight against whatever had taken her lover.  She would
take the antidote, then keep going anyway.  They had made a huge
breakthrough in learning they were moving in time, but there were still
a thousand unanswered questions.  Were the victims moved in space also?
And if so, had Tom been lucky enough to land on Voyager?  The thought of
him being hurled into empty, airless space, mouth open in a silent
scream, blue eyes forever staring, frozen, sightless...it had propelled
her through moments of exhaustion where she was sure she could not go on
another second.  She had to know if he was alive.  And if he was, she
had to save him.

 Unaware of her true thoughts, the Doctor didn’t even look up as he
filled a hypospray from the medical replicator.
 
 “I suppose a reasonably sane work schedule would be too much to
ask.”  Torres sighed deeply and put her hands on her hips,

 “Right now, yes.”  The Doctor’s only response was a derisive
sniff, and he worked silently for a few more seconds before turning back
to her.  He lifted the hypospray up to the light, the small vial at the
base filled with a glittering, pale blue fluid.

 “This will neutralize the caffeine in your bloodstream and allow
you to rest naturally.  Under normal circumstances, I would add a mild
tranquilizer, but considering how long you’ve been awake, I don’t think
that will be necessary.”  The hypospray hissed as it injected it’s
contents into her body, distributed at twice normal speed by her eight-
chambered heart.

 With her face healed and the Captain’s orders satisfied, Torres
stood quickly and started towards the door.  The drug was beginning to
take effect, and much to her relief, she was no longer having to fight
so hard against her own trembling muscles.  As the queasiness subsided,
other sensations that had been buried under the caffeine-induced nausea
surfaced.

 She realized she was utterly filthy.  Her grimy uniform itched
intolerably, and her sensitive nose told her that the mixture of
coolant, lubricant, power relay catalyst, and good old-fashioned sweat
and dirt that coated her smelled none too pleasant.  Her hair had fallen
out of it’s polymer cord restraint, and the sticky strands were hanging
in her face.  She reached to gather it back again, but the movement came
slowly, her arms feeling as though someone had tied ten kilo weights to
them.

 Torres shook her head to clear the growing fogginess from her
thoughts.  All she had to do was go back to her quarters and take a
quick shower before going back to engineering.  Why was that suddenly
such a daunting task?  *It’s just the last fifty-odd hours catching up
with you, B’Elanna.*  She thought, *How hard can it really be...it’s
just one foot in front of the other...*  The speed of thought itself
seemed to slow, and she had to concentrate intensely on every movement.
*One foot in front...in front of...of....*

 She had almost reached the door when she felt the Doctor’s hand
clamp down on her shoulder, steering her back towards the biobed.
Torres glanced back at him, and realized there would be no arguing her
way to a quick release this time.

 “Not so fast, Lieutenant.  I want to monitor your vital signs for
a few more minutes...I had to give you an extremely high dosage, and I’m
concerned it could shock your system.”
 
 Torres obediently allowed herself to be led to the nearest biobed.
She wanted to protest, but her tongue felt thick, an alien appendage
that wouldn’t form itself around the words.  This should have concerned
her, but her inability to communicate lost its importance as she lay
down, her sluggish mind knowing nothing but how wonderfully inviting
that bed was.

 Coarse medical sheets were like satin to her abused body, and no
thick down mattress could have felt better than that four-centimeter
foam pad.  Some tiny corner of her mind cried out, insisting that this
was no time to go to sleep, but the rest of her couldn’t remember the
reason for that urgency, and then she no longer cared.

 Her eyes drifted closed, and by the time her head came to rest
against the thin pillow, she was fast asleep.

    * * *

 Kathryn Paris cooed softly in her sleep, rolling over as one pudgy
thumb found it’s way to a sweet, heart-shaped mouth.  She was truly a
beautiful baby, and despite her blonde hair and blue eyes, Tom felt she
looked just like her mother.  Kathryn had that same exotic beauty, a
hint of the high cheekbones that would appear when she was older visible
even now beneath the baby’s rounded cheeks.  She even had tiny ridges,
flowing from her hairline down the bridge of her little nose in a faint
but familiar pattern.

 She was perfect in every way, every finger, every toe perfectly
sculpted in doll-like miniature.  But more than that, she was theirs.  A
living, breathing symbol of their love for one another.  Tom had always
adored children, and the knowledge that he would eventually have such a
beautiful little girl with the woman he loved so dearly should have been
a dream come true.

 But it wasn’t, because he knew he would never really see her.  He
would die just as this little angel was coming into the world.  He
wouldn’t be there to see her first smile, help her learn her first
words, or encourage her through her first toddling steps.  He wouldn’t
be there to help his wife through the long, sleepless nights, or to
share the little joys and sorrows of parenthood.  Tom Paris wouldn’t be
there for anything, because he would be dead.

 He looked up, and met B’Elanna’s eyes over the crib.  Mixed in
with a mother’s pride was an indefinable sorrow, and her voice trembled
as she whispered, “Well, what do you think?”

 She looked so vulnerable.  Tom knew that it would be a huge step
of trust for a woman with a childhood as rocky as hers to even consider
having a baby, and she had obviously loved him enough to take that step.
B’Elanna had thought that they would raise this baby together, but he
had ducked out at the last minute and left her alone.

 “She’s...she’s very pretty,” he managed.  B’Elanna practically
glowed under the complement, and it was too much for him.

 Tom stepped away from the crib, fists clenching in helpless
frustration as he rushed out of the bedroom.  *What the hell is wrong
with you, Paris?!* He chastised himself, *How could you even think of
leaving B’Elanna when she was about to have your baby? Why would you do
it?!*

 It was an old, all too familiar pattern.  He had betrayed his
father.  He had betrayed his family and their traditions.  He had
betrayed his oath to Starfleet.  He had betrayed the Maquis.  The
pattern had been so well established that Janeway had even tapped him to
betray Voyager!  And now, just when he thought he had really turned his
life around, he discovered that he would betray a wife and child he
didn’t even have yet.  Tom would leave them in their hour of greatest
need, never to return.

 Kathryn awoke and began to cry, and Tom nodded in sympathy.  *I
know exactly how you feel.*  He heard B’Elanna lift her from the crib,
gently speaking to her to hush her cries.  The rhythmic cadence seemed
to be some kind of nursery rhyme, but Tom didn’t recognize the words,
and curiosity drew him closer until he could make out what she was
saying.

 “...through the Hiesenburg compensators, which freeze the quantum
resonance in space time to allow the matter to be accurately converted
by the...”

 A wide grin broke out on Tom’s face.  B’Elanna was reciting
technical manuals!  He slipped up behind her, teasingly adding, “And the
little transporter lived happily ever after.”

 She turned, dark eyes flashing a challenge as she continued to
rock the squalling baby. “What?”

 Tom held out his arms, and she handed him the infant.  As she did
so, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, realizing for the first
time how exhausted she looked.  He gently stroked Kathryn’s satiny
cheek, giving her mother a quick look as he began to sing softly, the
same lullaby he remembered his own parents singing to him when he was
young.

 “Angel of God, tender and strong,
 Protect my child all the night long.
 Give her dreams that are loving and bright,
 And see that she wakes to the morning light.”

 Slowly, Kathryn’s wailing tapered off, and she fell asleep once
more.  Careful not to wake her, he passed the child back to B’Elanna,
who took her, a look of wonder in her eyes.  “Where did you learn that?”

 He shrugged, “It’s what my parents used to sing to me when I was
little.  Didn’t your parents sing you lullabies?”

 “No.  I think Daddy might have wanted to, but my Mother always
thought things like that made a child weak.  I...I don’t know any
lullabies.”

 “What about nursery rhymes? Surely your Mom approved of Mother
Goose.”

 B’Elanna frowned quizzically, “Who?”

 *I guess that answers that,* he thought.  “They’re a collection of
old poems for young children.  They usually don’t make much sense, but
they have a steady rhythm and they’ve been used for hundreds of years to
put children to sleep and teach them basic rhyming.  I’m sure you can
find them in Voyager’s database.”

 “I never thought to look for something like that.” She admitted,
“I just recited the tech guidelines to her when I needed to put her too
sleep.  I figured that she doesn’t understand the words anyway, and as
long as I use a gentle tone of voice, it doesn’t really matter what I
say.  Besides, they’re about the only thing I can recite at length.”

 B’Elanna paused, then looked up, solemn brown eyes meeting blue.
“Maybe you can teach me some of this ‘Mother Goose’ before you have to
go.”
 
 “I’d love to.” He waited as she set Kathryn back in her crib and
covered her with a soft, knitted blanket.  When she came back, she took
his hand, leading him to the couch in the living room to avoid
disturbing the baby again.  As they sat down, he asked, “So how are
things coming on getting me back to my own time?”

 “Janeway and the Kim’s are on it.  I wanted to help, but the
Captain won’t let me.  She ordered me to take today off.”

 Tom smiled, “The *Kim’s*?  Who’s the lucky woman?”

 “He married Annika almost five years ago.” Seeing Tom’s confusion,
she amended, “You would know her as Seven of Nine, but she went to her
given name eight years ago.  She’s now a Starfleet officer, Voyager’s
Science Officer, and my second in command down in engineering.  Not to
mention Harry’s wife.”

 Tom was grinning broadly now. Just wait ‘til his Harry Kim heard
this! The poor kid wouldn’t know whether to be delighted or terrified!
“So, are there any little Kim’s yet?”, he asked.

 “No. Because of all the Borg implants, Annika can never have
children.  But they’ve been a tremendous help with Kathryn.  Harry
especially.”

 He knew that she meant it lightly, but it brought a whole new wave
of guilt crashing down on him. Harry Kim was raising his daughter, the
best friend taking over where the father had walked out.  Of course, if
anyone on Voyager was going to raise his little girl other than him, he
would want it to be Harry.  The guy was just the kind of squeaky-clean
role model he wanted for Kathryn.  Even still, he wished it could be
him.

 Not for the first time, Tom wondered exactly how he had died.  He
knew it had something to do with a shuttle, but that could be almost
anything.  Hell, he could have been run over in the shuttlebay for all
that told him.  His thoughts darkened as he imagined various
possibilities.  If he had been showing off, taking a dangerous risk just
for the sake of stupid machismo, he knew he could never forgive himself.

 B’Elanna seemed to sense his troubled thoughts, sliding a bit
closer on the couch and putting one hand on his.  “Tom?  What is it?”

 “I’ve got to know.” He blurted, “I’ve got to know exactly what
happened.  How I died.  Tell me everything, don’t leave out a single
detail to try and spare my feelings.”

 She was silent for a long time, seemingly gathering her courage to
tell him the story of that horrible day.  Finally, she looked up into
his eyes, and the deep sorrow he saw there nearly took his breath away.
“All right,” she whispered, “I guess you deserve to know.”

 Her eyes were distant as she began, lost in the memory. “It seemed
like just another day.  Voyager had just concluded negotiations with the
Zalcarn.  We traded them starcharts and what we knew about the Hirogen
for spare parts and maps.  Nothing unusual.” She smiled slightly, “The
Zalcarn Ambassador looked like a slug with legs, but he was kind of cute
anyway.  I remember he was absolutely fascinated with me; their children
hatch from eggs and he had never seen a pregnant woman before.  It took
all of us keeping an eye on him just to keep his hands off me...he
couldn’t believe that I had a baby in there.”

 Her hand moved absently over the flat plane of her stomach, and a
dreamy look came into her eyes as she thought of how lightly that day
had started.  “But just as we were about to transport him back to his
own ship, we were attacked.  It seems there had been a coup on the
Zalcarn homeworld by a group of xenophobic extremists.  They sought to
destroy anyone or anything that had ever had contact with outsiders.
Including the Ambassador.

 “The first volley hit before we could get our shields up, and I
was tossed into a bulkhead.  The impact sent me into labor two weeks
early, and I remember the look on your face when you realized what was
happening...you look so sweet when you’re completely stunned.  You took
me to sickbay, and everything I know from there is what I’ve been told.
We were outnumbered, outgunned, and they had made it clear that as long
as we had the Ambassador on Voyager, they would stop at nothing to kill
him.  He had to be taken back to his own ship before we were destroyed,
but we couldn’t transport him as long as we had our shields up, and if
we dropped them for even a second, it would have been over.”
 
 Tom’s eyes were wide, his voice little more than a whisper as he
put together the rest.  “Someone had to take him in a shuttle, and I was
the only one good enough to have a chance in hell of getting him there
through a pitched battle.”

 B’Elanna nodded, “That’s right.  You didn’t want to leave me, Tom,
you really didn’t.  The Captain had to haul you away at gunpoint.  But
you got him there.  You saved the ship and all of us, but on the way
back....” Her voice faded away, and he saw tears beginning to form in
her eyes.

 “On the way back,” he concluded, “I was killed.”

 “You never had a chance, those torpedoes were fired at point-blank
range.  The Captain...she gave me the news right after the Doctor put
Kathryn in my arms...I’d never seen her cry before.  She felt so guilty
for making you go.”
 
 Strangely, Tom found comfort in the tragic story.  He had gone out
a hero, saving the ship and everyone on it.  His death had real meaning.
Even the part about being taken from his wife’s bedside at the point of
a phaser was reassuring.  He hadn’t betrayed her, he had been ripped
away against his will.  Tom had loved her enough to fight to stay near
her, and then he had loved her enough to die so that she might live.

 He felt something move against him, and looked down.  Over the
course of the story, they had moved closer and closer, and were now less
than a centimeter apart.  B’Elanna’s head was resting against his
shoulder, the sweet fragrance of her hair filling his senses.  She
seemed even more beautiful than he remembered her, the anger in her face
and manner softened by a mother’s love.  Tom felt the heat of her body
so close to his, and the gentle strength of her arms as they slid around
his waist.

 “I’ve missed you so much, Tom.”  She murmured, “You can’t imagine
what it’s been like without you.”

 B’Elanna looked up into his eyes, and he felt himself falling into
those dark pools.  Her soft, full lips were so close to his own, and it
would be so easy to just.... *No!* he closed his eyes, trying not to
look at her, not to think of her.  She wasn’t his lover, for God’s sake!
She was a widow, a mother whose infant daughter was sleeping in the next
room!

 However, she certainly didn’t seem to mind.  The sensual tone of
her voice when she said how much she missed him, the look in her dark
eyes as they had gazed into his...he realized that being a mother didn’t
make her less of a woman.  A fiery, passionate, half-Klingon woman who
had been alone for six long months.

 But she was another man’s widow!  He couldn’t do this, no matter
how much he desperately wanted to.  The decision soon wasn’t his to
make, as B’Elanna leaned forward ever so slightly, brushing her lips
against his.  Her touch was like an electrical charge shuddering
deliciously through him, and Tom abruptly realized that she wasn’t
another man’s widow.  She was *his* widow, as strange as that seemed,
and he had every right to love her.

 He let himself go, wrapping her tightly in his arms as their lips
met with passionate intensity.  She was like a starved wolf given free
reign in a butcher’s shop, hungrily exploring his mouth with her own as
her hands caressed his face and body.  Tom discovered that this was a
woman who knew him intimately, who knew exactly what he liked, every
little thing about him as only a wife could.  They fell backwards on the
couch, B’Elanna’s lips drawn back in a feral growl, but before it could
go any further, they were interrupted by a high-pitched wail.

 Kathryn had woken up again.  B’Elanna rolled off him with a deep
sigh, starting for the bedroom as if on autopilot.  Tom held up a hand
to stop her.  “Wait, I’ll get her this time.”  He kissed her lightly on
the cheek as he passed by her on the way to the crib. “She’s half mine,
you know.”

 As he lifted the baby, she quieted almost immediately, an odd look
coming over her tiny face just before she vomited all over the front of
his uniform.  B’Elanna shook her head in dismay as she stepped up behind
him.  “Oh dear.  She must have picked up that virus that’s been going
around the day care.”

 Tom grimaced, “Must have.”  B’Elanna took Kathryn, wiping off the
baby’s chin as she eyed his soiled uniform.

 “You need to clean up too.” He nodded, but as he stripped off his
outer tunic and started for the washroom, she called after him.  “Oh,
Tom!”  He turned back, one eyebrow raised in a questioning look.  She
smiled mischievously.  “Welcome to fatherhood.”
 
END OF PART ONE.

Remember, I’ve copyrighted all the rights and lefts to this story.
Archive it, print it, and pass it out all you want, but remember who it
belongs to. It’s written to be enjoyed, not stolen.

MORE LEGAL JUNK: Viacom is God...yada, yada, yada.... (See top)

WHEN IS THE NEXT PART COMING OUT? When I say so! Ha, ha, ha, ha!