Sins of the Fathers

by

 

vanhunks

 

December 2002

 

Rating: R (for language and angst)

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters.

 

Summary: Tom Paris is a very angry young man who hates Kathryn Janeway with a deep-rooted hatred.

 

Warning: Strong language and deep angst.

 

 

SINS OF THE FATHERS

 

PART ONE

 

The Cochrane swept gracefully over the Earth's Southern Hemisphere on its approach to New Zealand. Kathryn Janeway scanned the verdant landscape. The tamed beauty of the undulating hills, the trimmed copses and a river that snaked silvery in the late afternoon sun burst as something of a surprise on the eyes of anyone visiting the area for the first time. One might be forgiven for thinking, let alone assuming, that the President of the Federation resided here, or that one of the numerous Federation Institutes of some vague description was based here; this was the New Zealand Penal Colony, home of criminals and political prisoners. Kathryn smiled grimly at the paradox of a Federation prison set in such beautiful surroundings. Perhaps, the thought belatedly struck her, it was to salve the conscience of the Authority, an apology of sorts through which they compensated for the minor discomfort the prisoners were made to suffer by having their freedom revoked. Or else, the aesthetic ambience of the facility was designed to invoke a latent desire, an inner provocation towards self-realisation and self-rehabilitation. That way, half the Authority's battle was won, and a prisoner could be released early on the legitimate grounds that he himself had made amazing inroads into his own recovery.

 

It always amazed her: the way the Federation could look after her errant sons and daughters.

 

Tom Paris was no exception. Though to what degree any introspection and self-rehabilitation had taken place after almost six months in prison, she would only know once she had seen him, or gotten to know him better.

 

There lay the rub. It was the thought of seeing Tom Paris up close and very personal that set her stomach churning again. The last two days she had been in a constant state of turmoil, at one point reconsidering seriously whether she should pursue him as the choice for the task she had to assign him. Although she did consider others, Tom was the best candidate. It had taken some soul searching and when she had finally resolved that she could no more avoid Tom Paris than deny her very existence, the final decision had been made. At some point, she knew, she would have to face him again.

 

Kathryn gave a sigh as the Cochrane touched down on the shuttle launching pads after being given clearance by Prison authorities to land.

 

Since she had been apprised of her latest mission, she had been jumpy as a cat, trying to remain as calm as she could ever be. She hadn't wanted to think about anything, but knowing that the only pilot she knew who had first hand knowledge of the Maquis and who could pilot Voyager through the Badlands, was Tom Paris, prisoner, her thoughts had been urging her like a thirsty horse straining towards a water trough, triggering painful bursts of memories - too many things that had lain dormant in the last years. Her carefully cultivated reserve and bearing had been given a jolt then, rudely awakening her to the past.

 

The past meant Ethan. Ethan had to be protected at all costs...

 

Mark had noticed her subtle change in mood immediately when she returned from her briefing with Admirals Hays and Nechayev, though she tried for all the world to be upbeat about her latest assignment. It was Hays who suggested the candidates, and while Nick Locarno could have been a serious consideration, that brilliant young pilot had gone missing since he was dishonorably discharged from the Academy. His last known whereabouts had been the Badlands... Still, it was Tom Paris who topped her list and he was the best candidate for the job. 

 

"What's wrong, Kath?" Mark asked her a week ago, when she had been too quiet to his liking. Mark's voice had sounded concerned  and for once she was a little irritated by it, although she tried to hide it.

 

"Nothing," she replied curtly, then sighed when she saw the hurt expression in his eyes.

 

"Pretend I didn't ask then," he said lightly, but the damage was done. The hurt look remained, though he tried his best to conceal it from her. Mark deserved to know what ailed her.

 

"I have to go to the Badlands," she said finally, after remaining quiet for some time, sitting on her couch, her feet drawn up under her. Her dog scrambled inelegantly on the couch and Kathryn stroked her thick coat idly while she stared out the window. 

 

"That's a bad thing?"

 

"No, not necessarily. I need a pilot, and the best person for the job is in prison."

 

The moment her words were spoken, she had Mark's attention. Why not? He knew Tom and he knew Tom's father... Mark knew almost everything...

 

"Tom Paris."

 

It was a statement, but one charged with meaning. Kathryn had given a nod, sighed heavily and hugged Molly fiercely to her. Unbidden had come Ethan's image and for a moment she felt the old, old and fierce, protective tug in her heart when she pictured Ethan. Kathryn had hardly realised that she closed her eyes until she felt another weight bear down on the couch next to her and felt Mark's hand touching her hair. Kathryn had wanted to bury her face against his chest then and have a good cry; shed all the tears she had kept at bay for more than twelve years - an unholy alliance of pain and hurt and anger and love and pride. Almost, she wanted to give in. Almost. Then the hard resolve won out again, as it had come to her rescue so often in the past. When she opened her eyes and looked at Mark, she saw his concern, saw it and accepted it, no longer so irritated by it.

 

"Yes," she whispered.

 

"Kath, it's over, Kath. It's been over a long time... Tom was only a very rash young adolescent then..."

 

"I know, Mark, I know."

 

Mark had given her another of his kindly looks, one that assured her he understood. Yet, she couldn't get her mind off the present, the prospect that she would have to face Tom Paris again - an older Tom Paris, wiser, more rebellious and perhaps even more bitter than he had been twelve years ago.

 

Tom Paris. The very mention of his name was just such a catalyst. She closed her eyes again for a moment, not heeding the worry in Mark's eyes or that Molly had jumped off the couch and settled herself on the floor in front of her mistress. Kathryn knew that she had to get it over and done with, face the inevitable and get on with her life. She would be Tom's commanding officer if he agreed to the assignment and that gave her enough courage. Always, the chain of command and rigid duty as a Starfleet officer would save her, and that way she could conceal herself safely behind those masks.

 

"Kath..."

 

"Hmmm...?"

 

"Will you let me know how things go, Kathryn?" Mark asked again, unable to relinquish some of his concern when he smiled at her. She had tried to smile back, but she just couldn't order herself to comply. Still, Mark had appeared satisfied when she nodded. Voyager would be docked at Deep Space Nine; they'd leave for the Badlands from there, get in, get out and back home - a short mission of two and a half weeks.

 

"I will call you from Deep Space Nine before we leave," she told him.

 

"Only after you've called Ethan, Kathryn," Mark said soberly.

 

"Yes...yes," she had replied distractedly, picturing Ethan's golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her face had lit up in a smile then, a smile that was unvarnished, spontaneous.

 

Mark had given a laugh.

 

"I guess only thoughts of Ethan could elicit such a beauteous smile."

 

"He's the only man in my life, Mark."

 

"Oh, Kath! I'm hurt."

 

Mark had wrung his hands together, given an impossibly ridiculous imitation of a crying clown and she had burst out laughing. She had been glad that the ambience of cheerfulness had been restored. When Mark's own burst of laughter subsided, he had given her a sober look.

 

"That's much better, Kath. It's good to see you laugh. I'll call him in Indiana when you're gone. He said something about visiting the underground caves on Mars."

 

"Bring him home in one piece, will you? And Mark?"

 

"What is it, Kathryn?" he asked.

 

"You're going to seek out Helena before I return?"

 

Mark had looked comically sheepish then.

 

"I promise."

 

She raised one eyebrow, clearly showing her scepticism. Mark raised his hand, palm towards her.

 

"Scout's honour!"

 

Kathryn sighed again as she alighted from the shuttle. Mark was so kind, so gentle, he never made any demands on her, never kissed her, never touched her in a way a woman sometimes desired to be touched. Most times he sensed her withdrawal and respected her need for privacy, allowing her later to vent, or just talk until all the coiled-up emotions left her. In his company she could unwind without the pressures of being pressured...

 

***

 

Kathryn walked towards the small facility where some prisoners were busy working. She had been given clearance and all she had to do now was get Tom Paris to agree to her proposal. She dreaded this meeting, but it was something that had to be done, and done speedily. She was still churning inside, feeling slightly ill at the thought of seeing again the person who as a young boy confronted her at her parents' home and...

 

Realising that Tom Paris needed to see a strong-willed and determined Captain Kathryn Janeway afraid of no one, Kathryn reined in her raging emotions and savagely brought herself to some calm, restoring as she always did, her hard-won equilibrium. Tom was Tom. Tom was angry, mad at the world, mad at everything that crawled, flew around or walked on two feet, and mad at her. She was ready for him.

 

Ready.

 

She stood on a little rise, looking down on the young man who was occupied with welding some machinery.

 

Draw in a deep breath, Kathryn. A deep breath...

 

She looked at the blonde hair, the hands that held the instrument, noted his concentration, idly taking in the way the heat and exertion created a film of sweat on his exposed skin - his neck, bared chest, bare arms, face... His face was stronger, more set than the adolescent appearance of the young Tom Paris she had seen so many years ago. Still, even from where she was standing and studying his face, the air of repressed anger still lingered about him, and once when he seemed to lose concentration, she noted the almost cruel twist to his mouth.

 

She took in a deep breath, not really surprised that he hadn't noticed her presence.

 

"Tom Paris."

 

He looked up, slowly turning his face towards her and squinting as he tried to see her. When he rose to his feet, he scrambled up the rise to stand, facing her. She could see the frown, followed by a flash of recognition in his eyes. Her heart pounded.

 

"I'm Kathryn Janeway."

 

Tom Paris let out a little laugh, and his lips curled derisively as he looked her up and down. Kathryn remained, her body stiff, enduring his blatantly leering, knowing look.

 

"Yeah...yeah, I know who you are. You're the...whore my father couldn't leave alone."

 

Kathryn blanched at the uncensored manner in which Tom addressed her. His words cut through her, causing a burning sensation in her. Still, outwardly, she managed to keep her cool, even when he stepped closer and continued to stared brazenly at her.

 

"Tom..." Kathryn sighed, "I'm not here to discuss my private life with you - "

 

"Oh, it's your private life? My father screws a junior officer on board the Al-Batani all the way to Urias and back,  ruining my mother's life and mine and you say it's your private life?"

 

Tom advanced on her and for a moment Kathryn thought he would strike her. The crystal blue eyes glinted angrily. If he came any closer, his chest would touch her bosom. Kathryn bristled at this blatant invasion. She was aware of him, a thought that struck her as a blinding flash, washing arrogantly and unreservedly over her initial resentment that he was standing too close to her, far closer than she'd allow anyone within her precious space. Tom was sweaty, yet the musk of his cologne lingered. She shut out the smell, felt the quivering heat of his agitation as his breath fanned her face. What did she expect? Did she expect that Tom would forget? Did she think he'd forgive? She moved back half a pace, only enough that he understood she wasn't afraid of him; that he knew he was in the presence of a senior officer. She raised her hand in what she knew was a vague, unsuccessful attempt to appease the heated young man.

 

"Tom Paris, you have no ri- "

 

"Tell me, Kathryn Janeway," he cut in, "how many times did my father screw you? Long enough to make a baby with you, huh? After the baby, he didn't stop, did he? Did he screw you then? How many times?"

 

Kathryn reeled at Tom's words - harsh words that boiled like flowing lava from him, unstoppable as it  burned and destroyed everything in its path. It touched her; the shaming accusation seared her heart, tarnishing the sudden images that flashed of Ethan as a baby looking at her with wide-eyed innocence... Tom's words, his very tone and crudeness, she realised absently, had perhaps been long repressed and which her very presence seemed to have triggered.

 

"Tom, for God's sake - "

 

Kathryn could see his nostrils flaring; see the way his pupils dilated. She hadn't expected it. Oh, she knew that he'd remember. She knew he would be bitter. But this? It was so palpable that the air between them hissed. The scene was an ugly reprise of almost twelve years ago, but then, she could defend Tom's cruelty as youthful self-absorption and perceived pain, his inexperience and ignorance of the truth. Before her stood an adult Tom who had obviously not forgotten her, who had not forgotten Ethan and who clearly never forgot his father's role in her life or forgave Owen Paris for his transgressions . If anything, brooding over it for so long had the desired result. Tom was as malicious now as he had been then. Now, what excuse did he have for the man he turned out to be? His face was flushed; it appeared he had been waiting for a long time to face her in just such a situation. She wondered idly how in the space of a few terrible seconds Tom Paris could summon up so much wrath and resentment towards her.

 

"So, Captain Janeway, did Daddy eventually get tired of you? No? I hear he visits Indiana from time to time. Is your bed warm enough for him?"

 

Shocked to the core, Kathryn drew in her breath sharply. She wanted to smack Tom; she wanted to turn on her heel and walk away. Tom was unutterably sadistic. He was cruel now, as cruel as he had been as a sixteen year old. When Tom lifted his hand again, she jerked away and hit her commbadge.

 

"Janeway to Security - "

 

"Captain, I - " Tom cut in sharply, his hands going up in some sort of capitulatory gesture. She realised it wasn't his intention to strike her. As suddenly as the rage exploded from him, just as suddenly it subsided. He appeared a little calmer. Still, the apology she thought she deserved was absent, and so was the remorse she imagined for a fleeting moment she had seen in his eyes. Kathryn expelled a sigh of relief when he backed down. She hit her commbadge again.

 

"Stand down, Security. It's alright. No harm done," she said firmly, her eyes never leaving Tom's face. He still looked insolent, still had an irreverent air about him that made her quiver inside, but she kept her anger in check. "Now, Tom Paris, back off or I will alert Security again." Kathryn was relieved when Tom shrugged, the fight temporarily staved off. For a fleeting moment only, she grudgingly admired that he could bring himself under control. 

 

"I take it you're here for a reason, Captain Janeway," he said coolly, Kathryn noting the slight emphasis on "captain". Hands on her hips she faced him, refusing to back down. He was, after all, a junior officer, or would be if he agreed to her terms. She was a Captain and even here, in the surroundings of the prison, the chain of command could be enforced. His ugly accusations would have to wait to be addressed, or simply ignored, like she had done too many times in the past. This time she studied him intently. She derived an unbidden pleasure in seeing how he waited for her to speak, knowing that he had weighed his options. Clever of him, very clever.

 

"I have a job for you," she said evenly.

 

Tom's mouth twisted into what she thought was a smirk.

 

"But Captain, I'm already doing a job...for the Federation..."

 

This time Kathryn ignored the challenge and turned away towards a copse, indicating he follow her. He followed her until he walked alongside her, hands behind his back. Even that, she thought, was part of his little charade of baiting her. Whatever happened, whatever he thought of her and however he acted towards her in the past few minutes, she had to dig deep to find the fortitude and accept that she needed his services. Not for him was she going to show his needling and bad-mouthing had any effect on her. Hoping that he'd respond likewise, she tackled the matter in as friendly a manner as she could, so she apprised him of her mission. She had to track down a Maquis ship in the Badlands. Her Chief of Security was on the ship, undercover, and he hadn't reported for two weeks.

 

"Maybe it's just the Chief of Security that's missing," he offered, his voice now more placid, even interested. 

 

"Maybe..."

 

Then Tom turned sharply to face her when she mentioned the name of Chakotay, who commanded the Maquis vessel.

 

"He'll tell you he left Starfleet on principle. He considered me a mercenary," Tom said harshly. "He never liked me."

 

"I was apprised of that too. You know that region of space well, Tom. We're to take Voyager into the Badlands."

 

Tom gave a laugh. "No Federation vessel has made it through those plasma storms!" Kathryn detected the sudden heightened interest and smiled inwardly. Tom hated her guts; to his credit he made a good show of banking it down, but he was going to accept the commission, of that she was certain.

 

"You haven't seen Voyager," she told him, unable to keep the pride from her voice.

 

When they stopped again, Tom turned to face her and again, his brilliant blue eyes were unafraid and challenging. Something in her crumbled. What it was, she didn't dare analyse, but for a few heart-stopping moments when Tom looked at her, she saw his father, she saw Ethan...Ethan... Kathryn closed her eyes briefly and when she stared up at Tom again, there was a slight frown, a curious gleam in his eyes. The moment, awkward and charged though it was, was over as soon as it was born, aborted when Tom's voice intruded on her fleeting reverie.

 

"I have no problem helping you track down my friends in the Maquis, Captain. All I need to know from you is: what's in it for me?"

 

Kathryn didn't fail to notice how his stressed 'friends'.  She gave an inward shrug. She had read him correctly. Tom saw an opportunity and he was going to take it. He was going to lead her to his friends. For the first time, Tom Paris looked expectant, the dissolute air, the anger briefly gone; he appeared fully aware that his destiny, or his immediate reprieve, lay in her hands.

 

"You help us find that ship," she told him calmly, "we'll help you with your next outmate review..."

 

*********************

 

 

PART TWO

 

In her ready room, Kathryn stared at the young boy whose face filled the screen of her vid-com. It seemed to her that his face lit up in a broad smile the moment his picture appeared. As always, a thrill resonated from deep inside her, trembling towards the surface and warmed her again, causing her to smile as she looked at his face. Ethan had the clear, open regard of the innocent, as yet uncorrupted by  life's dark side. She was realistic enough to acknowledge that those elements would impact on his life sometime and as with most other people, it would form an inseparable facet of the sum of his parts.

 

Ethan's blonde hair was growing into the new style he was busy cultivating. Now it lay long and sleek against his head, cut neatly in his neck and allowing for even bangs on his forehead. It did seem slightly oldish, Kathryn mused, yet it was what Ethan wanted. He was finally out of the old military-like short cropped style he favoured in the last months. Almost all the boys in his class were in the short brush stage and Kathryn shook her head. She was rudely awakened to the age of peer pressure when it was not cool to be different. She sighed. Hopefully Ethan would soon establish his will and do his own thing regardless of what his peers thought. But right now, the boys did things in packs and Ethan happily hunted around with them.

 

Ethan's eyes were such a bright, crystal blue that the first years after his birth had been the most difficult for her. Always, he looked at her with his father's eyes. His father. She couldn't look and not remember, and remembering meant walking daily on a road strewn with thorns.

 

Even minutes after Ethan's birth, she hadn't wanted to look at her son. Ethan awakened in her the extreme joy and miraculous experience of motherhood; with it, and never far behind the Joy walked the pain, the memories, and memories of a man too kind, too magnificent who remained by her side even when she hadn't wanted him to and who refused to let her carry her burden alone. For that, Tom Paris hated her and hated her son and hated his father...

 

Kathryn's elbow was braced on the desk top and her chin rested on her hand as she continued staring unseeingly at Ethan's smiling face. It was the latest batch of pictures of him and Ethan had been typically reluctant as she followed him about the grounds at Indiana, making holo-images of him. She just ignored his agues and waved it aside, declaring that she was going on an extended mission and she had to have her complete fill of looking at him whenever she missed him too much. She always missed Ethan, even now, with the latest mission just a short two and a half week journey to the Badlands and back.

 

Kathryn was awaiting the signal that Ethan was ready to communicate with her. It was their last day of school and he'd be regaling her with his latest results, keeping her up to date on Molly who was his responsibility whenever she was away. Gretchen Janeway declared flatly that tending her grandson was more than enough for her old bones, she didn't have to have the added strain of caring for an over-eager lady dog that didn't know her manners around men. The men being Owen Paris and his old friend Admiral Gordon who visited Indiana sometimes. Whenever Elizabeth Paris was with, the men - that included Ethan - were shooed away from the main house, and poor Molly along with them.

 

She had been waiting for the last half hour while her crew was busy with preparations and final arrangements to leave Deep Space Nine. Even though she was impatient waiting for Ethan's call, she smiled at the thought of some of her new crew, young ensigns who were on their first missions after graduating from the Academy. They were fresh-faced and green and eager and hopelessly going over the top deferring to her, calling her 'Sir" as if she'd deck them if they didn't.

 

Already young Harry Kim had a run-in with Quark; Tom Paris had come to Kim's rescue and now Paris and Kim appeared great friends. She gave a little sigh. Tom still looked at her with  a maddeningly direct gaze that made her slightly uneasy and she knew that in those blue eyes lurked something dark, evil, something that would very soon explode. Strange how she could almost feel it whenever she saw him in the corridor, or looked at him on the bridge. He seemed always to be completely aware of her, even when he didn't look at her, and those times he looked... Those times he looked, she detected the rage just beneath the surface. If it weren't rage, it was something equally dangerous. Perhaps, when they were a day or so into their journey, she should have another talk with him.

 

Her communication with Ethan would be the last for more than two weeks, and she would see him only in a month's time. He had been moaning lately about not seeing enough of his mother and then she had given him the lecture her father had always given her, about being a Starfleet officer and how family life took a back seat while the Federation needed all her sons and daughters during this unstable period when war loomed. Ethan had given her one of his quirky half-smiles - his mouth curved up at one corner - which always thrilled her. Everyone who knew her and who knew Ethan would tell her how much like her he appeared. Still, she played down the resemblance; she couldn't see anything much and she supposed it was because her view of her son was tainted by familiarity.

 

"You know you're right, Mom. I had to try, couldn't I?" he would say sometimes. One day, Ethan would be right and she'd be wrong and she'd be damned if she let him see it. Still, for all his bravado Ethan was still a boy, heading for his angsty teens and adolescence. He was growing so fast. So fast. If Tom Paris were any frame of reference for how a young boy could grow up, she supposed she had to prepare for a difficult time with Ethan. Tom Paris... What manner of strength, control, dignity of person and respect he had as an adult and responsible male, remained as yet concealed from view.

It was something she hoped fervently wouldn't cause too many ripples with Ethan; an unavoidable fact that one day soon, her son would be a young man on the threshold of his life.

 

It was only the other day that Ethan was a dependent, helpless little baby who needed her all the time. Now he was a strapping, almost thirteen year old who asked too many questions about his father... The years had flown by so quickly. In the first years the struggle to look beyond her own pain and traumas as Ethan stared at her with his innocent blue eyes, and to see only his complete dependence on her and her love for him, had been almost insurmountable. Still, Ethan referred to the only man in his young life as "Uncle Owen" and Owen Paris had been good-natured to accept it as Kathryn's wish. That way, it softened many blows, turned off many potential questions and minimised speculation about Owen's role in her son's life.

 

Kathryn closed her eyes briefly when she remembered how Tom Paris, only sixteen years old then, had arrived in a shuttle at Indiana and surprised his father there. Owen had been holding Ethan, who had been only a year old then and Owen's eyes had been so tender as they gazed on the child. She had been standing next to Owen, her hand on his arm as he held Ethan to him and making silly cooing sounds when already then Ethan could say "Dada".

 

Tom Paris, sixteen, had a youthful, arrogant swagger about him when he walked up to them. Even at a distance, Kathryn could see Tom's anger, the eyes that flashed, the flaring nostrils. She could feel how the older Paris stiffened as he braced for Tom's approach. Tom planted his feet in front of his father, squared his shoulders in an unconscious Owen Paris gesture. Upset as all of them were, Kathryn had time to note that Tom was already taller than Owen Paris. Always, Kathryn would remember Tom's eyes, the way his body primed itself to attack, yet stayed just centimetres from actually succumbing to the urge to strike. Perhaps, something of the natural respect children had for their fathers still remained in Tom that he didn't hit Owen Paris as the older man held the baby. Tom pointed a trembling finger at Owen Paris, a finger that waved towards the baby and to her in turn.

 

"So it's true then," Tom spat at his father. He hadn't looked at her, but she knew if he did... "You really

fathered a bastard...with-with...her!" The hysteria rose in Tom's voice and for a few tense moments Kathryn was afraid that he would attack her. Owen Paris took a step closer to Tom and Tom retreated one pace.

 

"Tom, son, Ethan is not - "

 

"So that's his name. You screwed this bitch and made a baby with her while your wife is crying her heart out. I'm at home, Dad. I've seen my mother's tears! Where the hell were you when she needed you? Bedding your latest fling - ?"

 

"Tom, for heaven's sake. Leave, before you say more hurtful things," Owen Paris said. That moment Ethan started wailing at the sound of angry voices around him.

 

Kathryn had taken Ethan from Owen, and cradled her baby close to her. When she looked up, Tom was standing so close to her that she cringed at the look in his eyes. She had to remember he was just a young boy, too enraged to be rational. But what was rational? Tom seeing what he was seeing? Tom saw Owen Paris holding her baby; he saw the loving look in Owen's eyes. Tom heard about her and Owen Paris on board the Al-Batani during their Urias expedition... Kathryn tried to understand...tried desperately to understand... She reached with her hand to him, tried to touch him but he pushed her hand furiously away.

 

"And you!" From somewhere Tom's voice came, stringent, accusing, quivering with rage, and it cut through her, her whole body screaming in the crudeness and shocking unfairness of his accusations.

"Listen here, you whore," he spat at her, "my father has only one son. Didn't you know? He was just looking for a bitch in heat and found a very junior officer on his ship who was more than willing to be screwed by Captain Owen Paris."

 

"Stop it, Thomas. Kathryn's been hurt enough already - "

 

"He has only one son," Tom continued relentlessly. "I am his son and he doesn't give that son the time of day. N-Not the time of day," Tom hissed, suddenly faltering over the last words. His yes, once so fired with indignation, suddenly filled with vengeful tears. "Don't you forget it - "

 

"Tom, my son - "

 

"It's a little late to go all fatherly on me, you crazy old bastard. It doesn't matter anymore, does it? You're holding that kid like you're never going to let it go..."  Tom's voice trailed away to silence as Ethan lifted himself away from Kathryn's bosom and reached to touch Tom's hair. Tom stared in fascination at her baby - the fire, the tears, the indignation replaced by wonder. He took a few steps back and pursed his lips, the words bursting softly from him. "He has - he has blue eyes, like mine... hair...like mine... He - He looks like me... D-Damn you! Damn you to hell..."

 

Kathryn looked imploringly at Owen, but Owen shook his head. He wasn't going to tell Tom anything, she realised, that might lessen the burden of guilt a little, that might make Tom understand. Tom was beyond any understanding, beyond rationalising that his father could care for another being like he cared for his own wife, or the son he had by Elizabeth Paris. Kathryn recalled Owen's words of the week before. She had wanted to tell Tom everything, had wanted Owen to tell his son everything, tell him the truth about the woman Tom Paris now called a whore...

 

"Thomas already hates me so much, Kathryn, without all this that happened."  Owen's hand had caressed her sleeping son's head when he spoke. "What does it matter that he hates me even more? I can handle it..."

 

The truth was, Owen wasn't handling Tom's rejection well. He just hid it better than anyone she knew...

 

"You've taken enough punishment already, Owen. And, it...it's not Ethan's fault, you know. My baby is innocent, Owen...innocent," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

 

"I know...I know," he said with great concern. "Tom already sees me as the object of all his woes, and perhaps, yes, I've been have been guilty." Owen's voice had been hoarse with emotion that day.  He had taken her in his arms and hugged her gently. "But Kathryn, don't you see," he said soberly, "I want to protect you and Ethan, to give Ethan the father he deserves..."

 

"You don't have to do it, Owen. I'm already seen as destroyer of homes, as - as a - "

 

"Don't demean yourself, Kathryn. It happened, and you've paid the price. Now, you're blessed with a wonderful little boy who, God help me for saying it, looks so like Tom..."

 

Kathryn had watched as the young Tom Paris strode  away from them and head to the shuttle that brought him to Indiana. Owen had given her a deeply pained look that more than any words or gestures told her how sorry he was that Tom attacked them like that. Owen had left not long after that, to follow Tom home and to speak with Elizabeth. Sometime, sometime Kathryn knew, they had to unravel the unbearably tangled web they weaved; start over again and give Tom peace of mind, even if it left her with the nightmares and the trauma of living with a daily reminder that maybe, her life could have taken a different turn if Owen Paris didn't happen in it. 

 

**

 

Kathryn Janeway sighed. Tom Paris clearly didn't have any peace of mind yet. Now, almost twelve years later, he still called her names... This time though, she took it in her stride, remained as calm as she could. That day so long ago, she had taken her baby inside the house, ignored her mother who had been busy preparing lunch, and headed straight for her bedroom where she held Ethan desperately close to her and sobbed against his warm body until she had no more tears. Later Gretchen Janeway had entered, taken the baby from her and made her lie down. She had fallen asleep soon after, and even then, her sleep was marred by dreams of grotesque figures...

 

Her reverie was broken when her vid-com beeped, alerting her to an incoming call. Her hand flew to the panel and a second later, Ethan's face appeared. He looked flustered, as if he had been running.

 

"Mom, did you know Molly is pregnant?"

 

"And surely, Molly would have greeted me if she could speak - "

 

"Sorry. Hi, Mom. I missed you - "

 

"Liar..."

 

"Oh, yes. Molly is pregnant - "

 

"You said that, honey."

 

"And here are my results. One term end progress report coming up..."

 

Kathryn laughed as she waited for him to download his results to her vid-com. Ethan looked so patently expectant that she couldn't contain herself as she read his results which appeared in the lower left-hand corner. She gave a low whistle.

 

"Are you certain these are yours, Ethan?" she asked, just knowing how he would bristle at her scepticism.

 

"Are you certain I'm your son looking at you with love in his eyes and happiness in his heart?"

 

"Definitely. Who could mistake grandmother Gretchen's mole on the right side of your jaw? My, you're in a mood today. You don't miss me?"

 

"Oh, no. You gave me Molly to care for and even though Grandma grumbles like anything, I have to look after her too, you know. It's such a responsibility!"

 

"Ethan, honey, tending to Molly while she's with child, is a responsibility. Ask Mark to help you, will you? You know how Molly complains when I'm not there...."

 

"Women!"

 

"Ethan!"

 

Ethan's hand went up in capitulation and he laughed brightly.

 

"Mark's taking me to the lava caves on Mars, Mom. We're leaving the day after tomorrow and will be back in two days' time."

 

"I'm sorry I'll not be with you, sweetheart."

 

"Don't worry, Mom. I'm kinda getting used to being home alone...Oh, boy!"

 

"Hey, don't you dare be glad about it!" she admonished lovingly.

 

"Mom! Didn't you know? That's the best time, when no one's watching!"

 

"I'll be home in a month, honey, for a whole five weeks then..."

 

"I miss you, Mom," Ethan said quietly, the bravado of seconds ago evaporated. He was still so much her little boy.

 

"I know, honey. I miss you too."

 

"So, Mom, what are you getting me for my fabulous term end results, huh? Huh?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Excuse me, Captain Janeway, but what have you done with my mother Kathryn?" Ethan asked, smiling broadly and raising an eyebrow.

 

"Oh, she's right here, where she knows it's not always good to offer rewards and incentives as bribes for good results. But, since you did ask the Captain, here is something your mother left on her vid-com at home. You have the code for Janeway Lambda, giving you access to Ethan Janeway's files on her computer. Enjoy your little gift, Ethan..."

 

"Hey, thanks, Captain!"

 

"You don't know what it is - "

 

"Anything is good enough, coming from my mother," he said with heart-felt conviction.

 

Ethan's face beamed and Kathryn's heart lurched wildly for a second as another face superimposed on his. For a second she froze as the smile left her face. Her mouth felt dry; a shocking sob tried to force itself to the surface where it could rend the air. Ethan's face blurred, and the other face remained. Kathryn swallowed painfully as she tried to control the rising nausea when it hit her stomach.

 

"Mom?"

 

Through a haze she looked at her son until his face came into focus again. His eyes were clouded and he looked close to tears.

 

"What is it, Mom? Did I say something to upset you?"

 

Ethan, almost thirteen, feeling guilty at imagining that he hurt her...

 

"No, no, Ethan. You didn't do anything wrong, you hear, honey? Nothing. It's just that I remembered something - "

 

"Something that hurt?"

 

"Not so much anymore...."

 

"Then I'm glad."

 

Ethan said the words without smiling. The brightness was suddenly gone, as if a cloud blocked out the sun. Ethan appeared suddenly nervous and for the first time she realised how good he had become at hiding things that bothered him. He had been happy, beside himself with joy when he saw her a few minutes ago, yet, something had been bothering him and he hadn't shown any signs. Her son was growing up, and not without pain... How had she not noticed before that Ethan's ear was twitching? Was she too happy to see him that she didn't notice something she usually never missed before? When his ear twitched or he tugged nervously at the lobe like he had done a minute ago, it was almost the only way she knew that something was bothering him. Her own sudden panic was gone and replaced by deep concern for her son.

 

"Ethan..."

 

"Mom?"

 

"Is something bothering you?"

 

Ethan was suddenly quiet, looked this way and that way before meeting her gaze again. Then he dropped his gaze. Her heart thudded wildly. Always, when something bothered him, she sensed it, and sometimes she didn't need so see that tugging of his lobe. Ethan had been in high spirits minutes ago. Was he learning to play the game so successfully too? "You can tell me, Ethan."

 

"I love you, Mom."

 

Kathryn sighed. She braced herself.

 

"What's it, honey?"

 

"Tom Paris called me last night, Mom."

 

Kathryn went deathly cold; her face felt like all blood left it.

 

"Tom?"

 

"Yes. He said he wanted to see what his baby brother was up to..."

 

**************************

 

 

PART THREE

 

Tom Paris fumed. The trip from the Captain's ready room to his quarters on deck 4 took forever as he passed young ensigns who looked curiously at him for longer than he thought he could stand, and when he hissed at them, they scurried anxiously on their way. Harry was still on the bridge and much as he tried to get the kid to relax in the presence of senior officers, and tried to get the greenhorn to accompany him to the holodeck for a brand new programme of an old haunt he devised, Harry Kim ascribed to the dictum of "when you're a new kid on the block, the block can get pretty heated and oppressive in the presence of the powers running it." Harry was running himself into a tizz round the block trying to fit in and pleasing every damned officer on board, especially her...

 

The rat. Harry's clumsy obeisance in the ready room two days ago all but endeared the new Chief of Operations to the Captain. So what else was new? Their sickly deference made him feel like puking. Sure thing, she was his ticket out of that dump they called a friendly jail but that didn't mean he had to do some kissing in strategic places just to get in her good books. Harry kissed left right and centre, though to give the kid credit, he did say, "I don't need anyone choosing my friends for me, Tom."

 

Yeah, right. That was supposed to make him feel better about making friends and being an observer on a very short leash controlled by her. What the hell had be expected? He'd be piloting Voyager straight from Deep Space Nine? Hell, the short journey into the Badlands would be his sole claim to respect when it came to navigating this baby beauty through those plasma storms. He'd better make a damned good job of it and not lay claims of familiarity to the Captain.  Maybe then he'd get her to smile, for once.

 

Tom bristled, then shrugged his shoulders in a careless gesture. He didn't care much - at least, he thought he made a pretty damned good show of hiding it - that the others ignored him, shied away from him, made it patently obvious that even on a ship as small as Voyager, one's sins can ride on one's back in full view of those watching and pouncing to make a killing. The doctor and first officer didn't show they loved him to distraction. And once he had seen them get their claws into Harry the Greenhorn, he knew they'd not make him forget. He was what he was - no good trash responsible for the deaths of three crew, booted out of Starfleet for telling lies and telling the truth. He had a conscience, hadn't he? Fat lot of good telling the truth did for him. He still got booted out, didn't he? He grimaced inwardly at the irony of it all. If he lied, he would have been home free. Telling the truth, got him into trouble.  That was certainly something. It paid to lie. That way, he could face even Janeway and mask what he really felt. He shrugged again. Getting booted out of Starfleet sent him straight into the arms of a band of renegades.

 

"I went out looking for a fight, Harry," he had told the kid two days ago. He enjoyed ruffling the poor kid's sensibilities. If he didn't... If he didn't, he'd start feeling again and be a twelve year old kid  wanting his Dad to look at him with love in his eyes, or, God, forbid, wishing the old man could hug him. If he let himself feel again. "So I found the Maquis..."

 

The Maquis became an attractive investment for the likes of him. Get in, play the field, get lucky, get laid, get latinum and hide safely where no one reminded him he was a no good trash son of an admiral. Well, not unless he counted Chakotay who hated his guts and wanted to beat the snot out of him every time he came within two metres of the warrior.  Now, he was on the point of betraying Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway got him to agree.

 

Tom gave a sigh of exasperation. Being summoned to the ready room by the Captain of the vessel and on an open comm link, still rankled like acid inside him. He had known the minute he heard her voice, the strained if barely repressed tone of anger about it, that there was Big trouble on little Voyager. No doubt, everyone who heard Kathryn Janeway's voice then, also knew that it meant someone - Tom Paris - was going to get a dressing down.

 

He had stalked out of the observation lounge where he had been sitting in a corner all by himself when the hail came. He had become used to being considered a nonessential item on board the ship and it had been only the first day after they left Deep Space Nine. The way the others stared at him like the whole ship knew he was only barely tolerated by all senior officers on board made him cringe inside, but he graced them with a sure-fire device that would deflect the hurt... He smiled and kept smiling by the time he exited the observation lounge and made his way to the ready room...

 

When he entered, she had been standing behind her desk, her body rigid and across her face, he saw how she herself had difficulty in concealing her anger... In a perverse way, he was glad that she had the thunderous expression on her face. It was easier to look at her then and remember he had enough ammunition to keep the flames of his loathing burning ever high.

 

*

 

"You wanted to see me, Captain," he stated, standing like a well-drilled greenhorn hands behind his back.

 

"Mr Paris, I’ll make this very brief, so I'll not invite you to sit down."

 

"I must have done something wrong then, Captain?"

 

She had ignored his response, and he could see how she tried to control herself. He had to give it to her. She was the master of suppression.

 

"Leave my family alone, Tom, or - "

 

"Or what, Captain? You'll drop me off by the wayside? Boot me out of my observer status?"

 

"I could keep you confined to your quarters, with no privileges."

 

"Well now, Captain, seems to me I already have no privileges.... Why, surely I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

 

Kathryn Janeway drew in a deep breath, expelled it slowly.

 

"Mr Paris," she started, "I received a communication from my son that you contacted him. Last night."

 

Damn the kid...

 

"Why, I just wanted to know how he was doing, Captain."

 

"He's nothing to you, Tom. Leave him alone. He's had enough to deal with already, and to have you make certain claims  - "

 

"Let's say I was curious - "

 

"Back off, Tom."

 

"Ethan didn't seem too phased when I spoke with him. Actually, he - "

 

"Tom, you've done enough. My son doesn't need any more upheavals right now."

 

Why should he tell her something dark and deep inside him drove him to look at the boy again? Ethan still had the refined features of three years ago when he managed to see him at his school without being detected. Ethan still looked too blonde, like Tom had been at that age; he still had those clear, bright blue eyes that stared at him without blinking and made Tom for once a little uncomfortable. It's all he wanted to see - to keep a constant reminder that he had to treat Janeway with the disgust he always had whenever he thought of her together with his father in one bed. All he had to do was look at her son, and he'd be back on keel again, setting in perspective his life as a Paris, his ties as the son of Admiral Paris and keep hating Kathryn Janeway so that she would never know how he really felt, though he had no doubt she hated him for intruding in her life. Now he stood in front of her and all he had to do, was remind himself that she lay writhing under Owen Paris. All he had to do was picture his mother in tears.

 

"Well, then, Captain. You have my promise," he replied. A thrill ran through him when Janeway pursed her lips at his words.

 

"I think I'll need more than that. On this vessel you are directly under my command. As such, I expect you to comply like every other crewmember. On a personal level, I must ask you to refrain from communicating with my son, Mr Paris. All circumstances considered, it would be best. Now, do I have your promise?"

 

He had refused to give in to the shame that started to bud inside him, refused to think about the look of fear and pride on Ethan's face and then the mouth that set into a resolute pose so much like his mother that for a moment it caused a tight knot in his stomach. Still, Kathryn Janeway wanted a guarantee that he'd not meddle again. Yet, how could he forget? If guarantee was what she wanted, she could get it.

 

"Aye, Ma'am..." he said stiffly, then remained standing until he heard her soft injunction.

 

"Dismissed."

 

*

 

Now, as he made his way to his quarters, he still fumed. He had been forced to accede to her demand that he leave her son alone; he didn't look good when he exited the ready room and everyone turned to look at him. All of them heard her hailing him in tones that suggested she was going to wipe the floor with him, and when he had to walk past Rollins towards the turbolift, he hadn't known where to hide his face, except...smile.

 

"Damn her..." he muttered.

 

Inside his quarters he walked straight to the replicator and ordered a whiskey. Tom took the glass and walked to his couch where he sat down and slowly sipped the liquor. A minute after he downed the last drop, he  poured again. After the third glass he felt better, his body becoming relaxed as he rested his head against the headrest of the couch.

 

"Damn that bitch," he muttered, then suppressed a sob that took him by surprise. He wasn't going to go into maudlin display of emotions that had been riding high in him since he was an eleven year old kid, seeing Kathryn Janeway in his father's office. That day he had wanted to show his father the sailing ship he had just completed building. He had been fired, excited, ready to flip over if his father smiled as indulgently at him the way he did Kathryn. He craved his father's approval.

 

Kathryn Janeway, young, just nineteen at the time, turned away from Owen Paris and looked at him, small frown marring her features before recognition dawned. When she smiled, he couldn't help the instinctive response of smiling back at her. He was an eleven year old kid, wet behind the ears and even then, he momentarily forgot that Owen Paris didn't like his son visiting him while he was on duty. Kathryn Janeway's hair had been tied in a ponytail, and in the light that sprayed into the office from the wide window that overlooked the grounds of the Academy, it looked as if a halo was hovering just over her head. Her hair had shone like magic. After that he had always been aware of Kathryn Janeway and most times he braved it to his father's office, it was in the hope of getting a glimpse if  she happened to be there.

 

It never occurred to him then that there could be something more between his father and Kathryn Janeway. He had been too young to understand, only seeing it as a senior scientist teaching his most apt pupil into the hidden mysteries of the universe.  She had not been a threat then and he had allowed his receptive heart to idolise her, if only because his father favoured her so much. For years, her smile, her burnished auburn hair and her petit figure held him captive. It was only later, when he was fifteen, that he started to notice the difference, and that had been after the Urias expedition when she had been a junior science officer on board the Al-Batani, his father's vessel. They had returned and he notice how close they were. Very close. Baby boy close...

 

Tom shook himself, then shrugged. He was getting drunk, and he liked the sensation. It dimmed his senses and made him bold, made him forget to be angry and made him forget about snickers behind his back and open scorn on the faces of certain officers. Who knew what Kathryn Janeway was thinking? She barely trusted him, didn't trust him enough to man the conn while traveling towards the Badlands.

 

Close. Very close. Baby blue eyes, blonde hair close.

 

Perhaps if he went to speak with her and demanded from her the same favours his father gave her... Who knows? She just might not reject him. After all, she could hand out favours to his father, so was the son any different? Janeway had bristled at the way he invaded her space that day in New Zealand, that much he noticed, but he could win her trust, could he not? Just like his father did. 

 

On an impulse he rose and  returned to the replicator and replicated another bottle of whisky. He reminded himself that he could detoxify the moment he was summoned to the bridge which wouldn't be in the next three days at least. Lucky for him space age technology saw to it that he could get very drunk, and if he chose, be sober the very next moment. Lieutenant Stadi was doing just fine guiding the vessel through benign territory; piloting Voyager with none of the serious challenges that awaited as the Badlands approached; that kind of piloting was more her line. He knew he was unkind in his appraisal of her ability, but he hadn't been at the conn since he boarded the vessel. He knew Voyager would just dance under his fingers. Janeway... He bristled that she didn't make use of his services like one who needed him desperately, like she intimated to him in New Zealand.

 

"Just a nonessential item on the ship," he muttered derisively as he slumped on the couch and poured another drink. "A nonessential item..."  Tom gave a little sob, then suppressed the bout of feeling sorry for himself and gulped down the contents of his glass. Another drink followed and another drink. "This is the good shtuff," he said much later, slurring his words, yet still remaining steady as he rose to his feet and clicked his heels. Raising his glass in an imaginary salute, he muttered, "To Janeway. May she suffer as I have suffered..."

 

He tried to picture her, just fresh after lovemaking with his father, her lips swollen and red, well kissed, her face flushed in the aftermath of passion and her eyes gleaming with triumph. Tom allowed the image to fester, to remain embedded in his mind. He tried to feel disgusted as it always did, tried to wipe the image of entwined arms and legs from his brain. He gave a smile of triumph when the old rage didn't overrun him. No, this time he didn't see his mother and her tears, he didn't feel the old fury at his own unhappiness; this time he didn't experience the extreme resentment that his father could so casually sleep with Kathryn Janeway.

 

Somehow, picturing Kathryn Janeway as a soft, enticing kitten that mewled and beckoned him, stirred his senses and created entirely new sensations in him. His newly filled glass paused in mid-air as he imagined his hands covering her creamy breasts, his lips brushing the hollow in her neck. He imagined her could hear her moans of pleasure as he kissed her slightly parted lips; imagined her in a nightie so sheer that he could see dark patch as she stood with the light behind her. 

 

For the first time he gave in to and savoured  the riotous impulses of seeing Kathryn Janeway naked. Always before, the images had filled him with revulsion, as if a guilty finger pointed at him and showed him how off-limits she was. She was his father's property. She bore  Owen Paris a son and gave him, Tom Paris, a little brother whom he hated from the start. Even that thought couldn't eradicate the way he saw himself remove the nightie by the thin straps, sliding them gently off her shoulders and the second her breasts were exposed, to cover one delectable nipple with his mouth.

 

A deep rumble started inside him, from the pits of his stomach, and worked its way all over his body. He stared with some bemusement at the way his crotch swelled and the bulge strained against his uniform. No longer was he embarrassed that thoughts of her could make him react like this. He was hard, painfully hard. With a quick gulp he downed the rest of the whisky and threw the glass on the floor. It crashed into pieces. He grabbed at his crotch, felt the heavy arousal and smiled.

 

Images of Kathryn Janeway writhing under the body of his father; of her smiling like a predatory cat, inviting every man to touch her, flashed through Tom like a light that flickered constantly.

 

Breathing in deeply, he willed himself to lose the arousal, the heat searing as he clutched at the bulge to try and force it down. Very slowly the control worked, although his mind was still conjuring up images of Kathryn lying naked under him.

 

He felt excited, fired by the conjured images. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were fevered. All he could think of was Kathryn Janeway, and the way he was going to remove her clothes and screw her till she begged for more. He was good at it, wasn't he? They always begged for more, and his back always ached from the deep long scratches made by them as they screamed in their orgasm.

 

He'd get Janeway to scream like a cat. It was easy. She couldn't say no to his father, why should she deny the son?

 

Then he would walk away. After he made her his like his father did, he would walk away. Walk away...

 

It was a determined Tom who made his way to the door of his quarters, and took a deep breath as the doors swished open.

 

"And I'm going to make her beg for more..."

 

**********************

 

 

PART FOUR

 

Kathryn Janeway rocked to wakefulness and lay gasping for a few seconds as she stared at the ceiling. The dream had come again, vivid and terrifying images that mocked her until she tried to throw herself off the bed and willed herself to wake up. Somehow she knew that she had been in a dream state and sensed instinctively that she was caught in a grip that wouldn't let her go. Falling off the bed and waking up had become something that she had trained herself to do over the years. An insistent buzzing her in head and the resulting headache that ensued were the legacies of her nightmares.

 

This time, Tom Paris joined the throng of figures that crowded her dreams. Turning to her side to look at her chronometer, she drew in her breath sharply.

 

In the darkness she could discern a figure, someone standing next to her bed and who had probably been standing there for some time. Her eyes stole to the commbadge she knew lay on her bedside and the moment her hand reached for it, another hand grabbed it away.

 

"Oh no, you don't, Janeway.'

 

She froze as she heard Tom Paris's voice, sharp and flinty. She jumped up from the bed and when he pressed her down, she was ready to hail...

 

"Secur - "

 

A hand quickly covered her mouth before she could complete her hail.

 

"Quiet, now. You wouldn't want to wake the rest of the ship, would you?" Tom breathed. "Not a word from you, Janeway, when I remove my hand," he continued. Tom's hand moved away from her mouth, slowly, ready for any new move that she made. Her heart thundered erratically, painfully thudding against her ribcage. In the seconds that she could force herself to some calm, she sat up again but Tom pushed her back forcefully.

 

"Tom, get out,." she managed, but the hand that held her down, pressed into her throat.  She heard a growl escape from him.

 

Oh, God... This can't be happening... Not Tom Paris...

 

For a few critical moments she felt helpless, unable to do anything, her body refusing to obey her. Still, her body convulsed as she tried to disengage herself from his grasp. She wanted to scream. Tom's face was close to hers and in the darkness his eyes held a gleam in them that left little doubt about his intention. Even so, the thought ran through her, he had no business being in her quarters in the first place... No business. Her hands grabbed at his, trying to prise them from her throat; his fingers clamped tighter and she could feel her face swelling from the pressure. Something wanted to burst, her attempt to cry out smothered by his vice grip.

 

He's going to kill me...

 

Just that thought, superceding for a moment all other pending violations surged through her. Her strength returned and she fought harder, squeezing Tom's fingers lose, scratching at his hand. The fingers closing on her throat clamped tighter and the small window she got to prise her lips open, she bit into his hand. He gave a small yelp and the next moment, Kathryn a sharp sting as Tom's palm connected with her cheek. Her head snapped back, but the short reprieve of losing his grip on her was enough to make her jerk away from her and gain precious advantage. But Tom jumped forward quickly, making a grab for her.

 

"Keep away from me - " 

 

"Only after you've given me what I want, Kathryn Janeway."

 

"What do you want, Tom?" she asked as she tried to sit up on the bed, but by that time Tom had both hands at the sides of her head, and his weight bore down on her. She could feel his arousal and cringed. Her breathing became laboured and her chest burned from the effort of it. Tom had been in her dreams and terrifying as her nightmare had been, the reality of his body over hers finally gave her the strength to push him away from her. With superhuman effort she heaved and pushed as hard as she could.

 

"What - " he staggered drunkenly away from her.

 

"Security. Intruder alert." she called out quickly, realising that her commbadge had fallen somewhere on the floor. It was dark and when Tom rose to his feet, he laughed out loud.

 

"Go on, Janeway. Scream as much as you want. No one's gonna hear your screams..."

 

She turned cold at his words.

 

"This is not like you, Tom. Leave, before you're a candidate for the brig - "

 

She watched in horror as he closed in again on her. He grabbed for her, the action a little ineffectual as he stumbled against her. Still, it gave him the opportunity to pull her to him and squeeze her breast. She gave a little cry.

 

"Damn you, Paris," she bit out as pain lanced through her.

 

"What, and miss touching you like this and this?" he muttered again as he squeezed the other breast and bent down to kiss her. She ducked from under him and put some distance between them.

 

"Tom, you're drunk. You have no business breaking into my quarters - "

 

"Show you what I learned in prison, Captain. It's how I could disable your voice command. Thought I was stupid, didn't you?"

 

She had been shivering violently at the intrusion and Tom's obvious brazenness and crazed intention. When he advanced on her again, she tried to stall.

 

"You're a good man, Tom - "

 

He burst out laughing.

 

"Me, good? Yeah, right. Because right now I'm going to taste what you've given so liberally to my father. You felt good just now, Janeway. You're going to give me more...more..." he muttered as he tried to grab her.

 

This time Kathryn had the better of him.

 

"Oh no, you don't, Paris."

 

As he came closer, she pulled him by his arm and the next moment, her fist connected with his face, full on between the eyes. Tom gave a cry of surprised pain and before he could retaliate, a knee hit into his groin with great force that made him double over. The next moment as Tom bent over and gasped in pain, Kathryn grabbed his head and pulled him towards her. With his arms flailing at the sides and using his break in concentration she rammed her knee into his stomach. Tom groaned deeply, and by the time he sagged forward, Kathryn's fist connected with his jaw again. Tom pitched over backwards, already unconscious by the time he hit the floor.

 

Only then Kathryn, breathing heavily, began to shiver again as reaction set in. She stared for several agonised seconds at Tom's prone form. His mouth was open, and a trickle of blood oozed from his nose. Memories, images from her dreams assailed her. Her nostrils twitched. Her stomach began to heave again. Giving a little cry she stumbled in the darkness to the bathroom where she retched violently. Her muscles strained painfully as she bent over the bowl. Wave upon wave of nausea rocked her body and still Kathryn, sobbing as she realised what had almost happened, couldn't control the bouts.

 

Some time later the nausea subsided. Rising stiffly, she cleaned herself. Cursing as she tried to see her face in the mirror, she gave up, but knew that the shock of Tom's appearance and his attack on her shocked her deeply. Her eyes had slowly become accustomed to the darkness but in the mirror her face showed only as a shadowy figure.

 

Breathe in and out, Kathryn. Slowly...take it easy... Another deep breath... that's it...

 

Kathryn wiped her face as tears began to stain her cheeks. When she could breathe evenly, she walked back to her bedroom.  Tom was still unconscious; she smiled grimly and shook her head. 

 

"Lights at ten percent," she ordered and when it still remained dark, remembered that Tom had disabled her voice command. "Another major infraction," she muttered to herself as she walked to her desk off her lounge and sat down at her computer, quickly entering and encrypting her new voice commands. Kathryn thought to remind Lieutenant Rollins, the Security Chief, to ensure that her codes were not breached again. Tom Paris remained a threat for as long as he was on Voyager and even after the mission. She had to something about him...

 

"Lights, fifty percent," she ordered finally and gave a sigh of relief as her suite lit up .

 

She walked to her bedroom and pulled on her gown, grimacing as she noted the dark bruise on her knee. Kathryn stared down at Tom Paris while she tied the cord round her waist.

 

"Oh, Tom..." she said softly, shaking her head. Then she hardened herself. He was stirring, and she knew that in a few moments he would be awake. She padded back to the bathroom and muttered to herself, "He'll need help waking up..."

 

Seconds later Tom gasped loudly as a jug of water was pitched directly in his face.

 

"What the - ?"

 

"Get up," Kathryn commanded.

 

When he struggled slowly to his feet, dripping wet, she stifled the urge to laugh.

 

"I should have killed you, Paris. That you're still living, you can put down to my Starfleet discipline of preserving life at all costs. It's not that I didn't have the heart to kill you. Starfleet law stopped me short. You've given me enough grief for more years than I wish to count and you don't deserve to be standing there and staring at me," she said harshly.

 

Tom did stare at her and almost she wanted to feel sorry at the way his eyes changed from the arrogant glare and crazed sexual urges of earlier when he fondled her and tried to kiss her, to a look of deep shame. The look lasted only a few seconds as he recovered from her accusation and threat. He rubbed his jaw, wiped at the blood that had been trickling from his nose.

 

"Then, Captain, I'll tell you that you should have killed me. I have no way of offering an apology, neither will I give you one. I was right all along. You must have felt good in my father's arms."

 

Why couldn't he stop? Kathryn thought. She gave a resigned sigh, the jug hanging from limp fingers as she spoke. 

 

"Tom," she asked softly, "what do you think your father did to me?"

 

Why did she even ask?. Tom put his own construction on her relationship with his father - a most base and crude perception of beauty and honour and loyalty. She knew what he was going to say before he even spoke.

 

"He fucked you."

 

She cringed.

 

"And what else?" she taunted suddenly, not really certain why she let him bait her like that.

 

"Bedded a junior officer - "

 

"Your father loves me, Tom Paris, in a way you will never understand," she cut in, unsmiling as she noted how he cringed. Tom had always claimed that Owen Paris never gave his son the time of day and Owen... She sighed. Owen suffered...

 

"He made a bastard with you." She saw how Tom's hands balled into fists at his side. At least, the fight had left him too and this time she'd waste no time calling Security. She gave another sigh.

 

"He is my son, and his name is Ethan, Tom."

 

"Ethan...your son...""

 

They stood in her bedroom, squaring off, yet Kathryn sensed that Tom would not try to attack her again. She gave a shudder. He was going to rape her. That thought ran like a raging river through her. He would have tried harder if she resisted and he weren't as drunk as he had been.  Kathryn tried to remember that Tom could still have some honour in him, waiting for the honour part to kick in. He didn't know that she had the advantage and that he lost his by being drunk.  She silently thanked her old friend Worf. She was able to defend herself, even if she allowed Tom to violate her precious space. A shudder ran through her. She would probably have killed Tom had he been sober and more aggressive. She shook her head at the thought and felt close to tears as Ethan's smiling face and bright eyes flashed in her mind.

 

"Yes, my son," she whispered. "I love my son, Tom. I'm a mother and I will do anything to protect him from you, if you dare to come near him and harass him again."

 

Tom looked at her for long moments before shrugging his shoulders. "If you say so...Captain," he replied dourly.

 

Kathryn had no sympathy as she saw how he shivered from the dose of ice-cold water. She pushed him out of her bedroom towards her lounge. Smiling grimly when he didn't demur, Kathryn realised that even though he was never going to apologise, that was at least how he felt. He appeared sobered up. There was a look of  guilt and humiliation in his eyes and she could swear that he was not aware of how he looked. It gave her hope that some explanation from her would be accepted by him, however unpalatable it was for him to hear it.

 

She loved Owen Paris. Tom's father was an amazing man, a man whom her son called "uncle", but who was father to Ethan. Kathryn wondered if Tom could ever understand the bond she had with his father. Tom had been too young, at the wrong phase in his life to have been confronted with deception, betrayal, mistrust and a web of deceit. Right now, Tom needed to be reminded of his serious infraction of breaking into her quarters and attacking her.

 

"Tom, you were in my quarters, ready to engage in a despicable act. For that alone I really should lock you in the brig for the rest of this mission, and report it to the prison authorities."

 

Tom rocked up when she mentioned prison. It didn't stop him from sneering when he spoke again.

 

"Short of having to kill me, you mean?"

 

"Short of having to kill you."

 

"My father loves you," Tom said suddenly, without bitterness. Instead, Kathryn detected an air of resignation in him, resignation and rejection.

 

"Tom, sit down."

 

"I must leave - "

 

"Sit down. I'm going to tell you just how much your father loves me, then you can leave."

 

"He's a bastard and he fathered one," Tom said again, unwilling to let go of his anger which a moment ago had subsided into the resignation of acknowledgment of Owen Paris's feelings for her.

 

"Your father is the most honourable man I know, Tom Paris. If only - "

 

"He fucked you, Janeway."

 

Kathryn cringed at his crudeness.

 

"Oh, Tom," she sighed, "if only - "

 

Kathryn wondered if she could betray Owen's trust in her. She had to, she decided. Tom as an adolescent boy was not ready to hear their story, but this Tom sitting hunched in front of her, was an adult man who needed and deserved an explanation. She knew it would hurt him, but he had to deal with it, same as she had to and her son had to. Owen Paris had to deal - unsuccessfully it always seemed to her - with his son's scorn and hatred.

 

"If only what, Captain?" Tom asked sullenly, breaking into her thoughts.

 

"If only he told you the truth, Tom."

 

"The only truth I know is that my father was seduced by a junior officer, that he slept with you and that you bore him a son."

 

"Who looks like his father."

 

She saw how Tom paled. It didn't afford her any pleasure. He had insulted her enough, made her life a misery and now, he was targeting her son and she couldn't let that happen. He was never going to let her son rest and Ethan needed peace.

 

Tom looked up at her, his eyes dark and angry.

 

"Yes," he said softly, "yes, a son who looks like his father..."

 

For a moment Kathryn felt sorry for Tom; she knew the truth could no longer be withheld from him. He deserved it, as much as her son deserved to be left alone. She held his gaze, and something in her gave. Then Tom looked away, suddenly embarrassed. At least, he appeared more alert and she was glad. He needed to be sober so that he couldn't hide behind his inebriation and use it as justification for his deeds. She wondered if he knew how his eyes had become puffed and that there would soon be dark bruises under them.

 

"Wait..." she said, her voice even as she spoke.

 

Kathryn left him and walked to the dresser in her room, returning moments later with a PADD in her hand. Tom was standing, and when she indicated that he sit down again, he complied a little reluctantly. Kathryn's heart was thundering. One hand brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her fingers trembled as she held the PADD to Tom. He frowned, then slowly took it from her.

 

"Read it, Tom. Everything is there. All the sordid details about Admiral Owen Paris and a junior science officer named Kathryn Janeway," she said tiredly. "Be warned. You may not like it."

 

Tom flicked on the small panel at the base of the PADD and started reading.

 

Kathryn looked at him and thought that she would remember Tom Paris's face as it changed reading paragraph after paragraph, for a long, long time.

 

At first, there was curiosity, seen in the manner in which Tom's eyes darted across the lines. His eyes seemed bluer than normal, despite the puffiness. His face was a little relaxed, the lips slightly parted, moving as he mouthed some words or phrases. Then he found a word or phrase or sentence and his eyes widened, and the way he drew in his breath, she knew that he was shocked. His expressions changed; Tom turned blood-red at one point, then there appeared to be heat in his eyes; it looked like he wanted to cry. On and on Tom read the punishing notes, punished himself by keeping his eyes riveted to the damning information. Even Tom's ears were red and at one point when he looked at her, she wanted to die all over again.

 

It was not pity she wanted. Nor did she expect compassion. She nodded, her entire body aflame as if someone had thrown her into a furnace and burned her  from inside without ever showing any flames. The heat consumed her, making her want to cry out, but she kept looking at Tom's face as he read her logs and those of his father. She looked at her palms, heated and sweaty, and thought that any moment, blood would squeeze out of them. A sob caught in her throat and she closed her hands into fists quickly.

 

Tom's fingers started trembling as he held the PADD, and when he pressed his lips close, and his face hardened and his eyes bore a look of outrage, Kathryn at last sensed that she had reached into Tom's heart. A nerve twitched in his jaw, and his throat worked furiously as he swallowed. The PADD slipped from lifeless fingers to the floor. For a few seconds he sat motionless and the only movement Kathryn detected was a tear that fell onto his hand and spattered away.

 

Tom rose unsteadily to his feet, gave Kathryn an anguished look. He opened his mouth to say something, gaped a few times, then turned on his heels. Without once looking back, the doors opened and closed behind the rigid form of Tom Paris as he exited her quarters.

 

*********************** 

 

PART FIVE

 

"Harry, back off, will you?" Tom said as Harry kept abreast with him and matched Tom's furious pace as they walked to the mess hall.

 

"Tom, you've been like a bear with a sore head all week. You gonna tell your new buddy nothing's wrong?"

 

Tom stopped dead in his tracks and Harry skidded to a halt. He poked a finger against Harry's chest.

 

"The doctor hates my guts, the first officer is just about barely civil to me, most of the crew snicker when I pass them, and I haven't once piloted this starship yet. So tell me, Harry, why ask me what's wrong?"

 

Harry didn't appear phased by Tom's boorishness. He stood his ground, and, he stood hands on his hips. Tom's lips curled into a sneer, then softened as he noted Harry looking hurt.

 

"It's more than that, Tom."

 

"Yeah, like you read me like a book after nine whole days on Voyager," Tom retorted. He smiled suddenly and was on the point of congratulating the kid when Harry's face lit up in an answering smile.

 

"Okay, fine. You're not going to tell me. You're gonna tell the Captain about them - " This time Tom's smile vanished completely, his mouth suddenly stiff when Harry mentioned the Captain. Harry's eyes got a gleam in them, a triumphant, knowing gleam. "It is the Captain, isn't it?"

Tom balled his fists, fought a blinding urge to push Harry up against the bulkhead and throttle the life out of him. Instead, the smile he gave that didn't feel good on him but nonetheless served as one, had to do. He gave a sigh, and hoped Harry would leave him alone.

 

"Harry, back off, will you? I mean it."

 

Harry looked long at Tom, then gave a shrug. When Tom opened his mouth again, Harry said quickly, "Hey, it's okay."

 

"I can deal with it, Harry."

 

"It doesn't get any easy, does it?" Harry said with some insight.

 

Tom didn't answer. They continued walking in the direction of the mess hall and Tom felt the resentment rise in him when two young ensigns looked like giving him a wide berth when they passed.

 

"Yeah, it doesn't get easy, Harry," he said quietly as they entered the mess hall and joined a short queue at the replicator. "Even the plain tomato soup doesn't come out plain..."

 

He couldn't enjoy his meal. He had been haunted since he left Kathryn Janeway's quarters a week ago. Ever since then he had avoided her, and even when he had been hailed to the bridge, he had concluded his business with great speed. One time he met her gaze and he had looked away quickly again, imagining her saw the accusation in them, and knowing that he screwed up big time. He was restless, most of the time unable to sleep as he thought of her and what he had read of her personal logs. After that he had been like Harry said so openly, a bear with a sore head. He couldn't sit down, couldn't stand anywhere for any length of time without seeing her face and the tortured look on it.

 

Standing, sitting, sleeping, what did it matter? It made him think and he didn't want to think. Kathryn Janeway had turned his world upside down since he had been an eleven year old fawning over her beauty and aloofness and wondering if his father could ever look at him in the same way, with that warmth in his eyes that made Tom want to think fathers and sons were the universe's greatest invention since the introduction of replicators. He had dreams of his father throwing a hand over the son's shoulder and say conversationally and with pride, "Well now, son, that is a pretty good tall ship you've built there."

 

Yes, he had those dreams. Dreams of walking next to his Dad and just talking, or visiting the great Smithsonian, of co-piloting his father on short missions, just...everyday things that sealed the bond between father and son. Then Kathryn Janeway happened and never after that did he feel at peace again. He had been mildly happy as a boy growing up, in the sense that parents were there, in the background. But, there had been so many times he didn't want Owen Paris to be a background Dad, nor even one who censored and censured more than what was necessary. He wanted his father...there. He could never understand his father and by the time he was old enough to have a growing understanding, it was too late. Owen Paris had shown Kathryn Janeway affection and the son was left with the remainder of what an overworked Admiral could give. Tom fired his resentment and kept his hatred of her alive by just imagining the things he thought they did together.

 

Now, everything changed. Everything. Now, even his sleeping moments were wracked by nightmares, not of the three officers who died at Caldik Prime and he had admitted finally to pilot error resulting in their deaths - that had been ravaging on him enough. He had nightmares of his shocking and unacceptable behaviour in her quarters.

 

He couldn't use his drunken state as motivation. He was on the point of doing something that would forever have damned him. Forever. It didn't matter that he was drunk. It didn't matter. His behaviour was reprehensible.

 

Tom gave a little sob, causing Harry to look up briefly before continuing with his meal. Harry knew not to intrude on his friend's deeply personal thoughts.

 

Tom stared down at his plate, unable to lift his fork and dig in. Another sob caught in his throat. Almost, almost, he raped Kathryn Janeway. Even appearing in her quarters and violating a thousand and one laws while still practically a parolee, was too despicable. Once, he had had a flash of soberness in which he saw her extreme fear, an emotion she stubbed quickly. But he had seen it. And it wasn't just a fear of seeing an intruder in her cabin, that was bad enough, but that sliver of fear bordered on the irrational and hysterical before it transformed itself into the anger and superhuman strength with which she defended herself against him.

 

He couldn't look at her. If truth be told, he couldn't look at himself in the mirror in the mornings when he got up to shave. He had left Kathryn Janeway's quarters that night, entered his own where he battled to keep down the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Then he stood in front of the mirror and staggered back, so repulsed he was. He never slept that night.

 

For the last seven days he walked the corridors - when he braved to walk in the corridors and smile at passing crewmen - he imagined he saw her pained face in everyone he passed. Kathryn Janeway with a tortured look on the face of  Magnus Rollins; Kathryn Janeway with a sad droop to her mouth on the face of James Hamilton, the other pilot of Voyager. Even on Lieutenant Stadi's face he saw Kathryn Janeway, looking unhappy, or sad or pained or just...sad... Tom steered clear of Stadi. The Betazed pilot sensed his emotions easily and he wanted to keep them close to his chest. He closed his eyes every time he passed anyone, imagining how the Captain looked. She followed him everywhere, her shocking revelation hanging round his neck like an accusation and all the time in his head, there was the buzz, an insistent scream that he had wronged her, wronged his father and wronged her son.

 

He had hurt her so deeply, injured her immeasurably and she had at least trusted him, had faith that he could take this ship through the Badlands, and what did he do? He acted on old, wild impulses, on a deep-rooted, unstoppable hatred and resentment that his father loved her, that Owen Paris had greater faith in Kathryn Janeway that even in his own son.

 

I've always screwed up...even now...

 

No, he couldn't walk or stand still or eat or drink or sleep without thinking of what he had done to her and her son. No way on Earth or in the entire universe could he ask for pardon. There was none to get and he deserved none, so why ask anyway? Pardon was for the repentant and the guilty and the remorseful and the prodigal sons of Earth, not for Tom Paris.

 

He thought of the last time he had seen his father. Owen Paris had visited him at the penal colony and the old man had a look in his eyes that only now, with hindsight, Tom realised was deep love. No, not love, Tom decided. He couldn't use that emotion to express his own feelings towards Owen Paris. He had called the old man a crazy old bastard who would be better off  leaving him alone. It was too soon, too fragile to consider for ten short seconds even, the look in his father's eyes. Tom had been too hard, the outer shell he cultivated to protect him from hurt and feeling had been too impenetrable. It insulated him, and he could get on with his so-called life without anyone ever seeing or sensing or knowing how much he hurt.

 

What the hell did Harry know? The kid was too green to understand the duplicity of men, to comprehend that men could be devious, for that was not in Harry's sphere of understanding. Harry was a young man of only two shades, Tom thought with a little bitterness. It was comfortable to declare, defend or condemn something as completely black or something completely white. There were no shades in between that could be seen as extenuation There was with Harry at this point in his life none of the things that make or break the lives of others, things like evil or wrongdoing that have touched him. His fresh-faced look was exactly what it was: fresh. He, Tom, was streetwise; Harry was not. Harry must have led a pretty much insulated, protective life, with doting parents and a loving fiancée who cushioned his existence. How uncomplicated could someone's life be?

 

Yeah, that day when Owen Paris left the facility in New Zealand, no one seeing him walk away from his son would have said that he was deeply distressed. But now, looking back, Tom understood his father's expression.

 

Where in the world could there be pardon?

 

I can't go back...I've gone too far away from everyone...

 

"What did you say?"

 

Tom looked up bemused as he saw Harry's concerned look.

 

"Wha-what?"

 

"You mumbled something about not going back. Back where, Tom? To New Zealand?"

 

Tom looked at Harry for a few moments, then shook his head and resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Tom threw down his napkin, pushed his half-eaten meal away and rose to his feet.

 

"Excuse me..."

 

*********************

 

 

The holodeck was semi-dark, and filled with small round tables and chairs. Along its opposite end from the door that she entered, Kathryn could see the long counter and in the furthest corner stood a piano. There was an opening in the middle, like a little dance floor, or space to put something while the tables and chairs were arranged a little haphazardly around it. Kathryn shivered a little and realised that the temperature here was a little lower than on the rest of the ship. The place - a pub of some kind - looked empty, except for the lone figure sitting at a table at the opposite end of the clearing.

 

Kathryn gave a little sigh of relief. For a moment she thought that Tom might have covered his tracks again to avoid her like he had been doing all week. She could understand his drive, his restlessness after he left her quarters. He had patched up his face by the next time she had seen him, but his constant attempts to stay as far away from her had been obvious, even to her senior officers. Her first officer had given her a few strange looks and she wondered if they knew that Tom had been in her quarters. She had spoken with Magnus Rollins and Tom Paris would have to be the greatest hacker in the universe to break into her quarters again.

 

His reaction told her what she sensed deep down had always been in Tom: his ability to feel and be compassionate, even quirky at times. Most of the time he affected the sneer and the bright smiles that never seemed to reach his eyes, but she knew it was in Tom to see reason, something he had, since that terrible day at her parents' home in Indiana when he confronted her and his father and called her the most vile names, been too blinded to do.

 

He looked sick, like he was about to throw up when he left her quarters a week ago. She had preferred not to pursue him, knowing that he needed time to ponder on the new revelation about her, Ethan and his father.

 

Now she could see Tom sitting at the table, striking a lonely figure. His elbows rested on the table and he was nursing a glass. A half empty bottle was the only company to the glass, and trembling fingers that clutched its flute. His face was flushed, though she suspected he wasn't as drunk as he had been the night he broke into her cabin.

 

When she reached his table, he looked up, a movement that was slow as if he had been loathe to investigate the intrusion. Her heart gave a wild lurch before it settled into an uneven beating rhythm. Tom looked beaten, his eyes hollow and his cheeks sunken. The flush was only in his cheeks, the rest of his face pale. He also looked like hadn't slept in a week.

 

Unlike the few occasions when they crossed paths and he avoided her gaze, Tom looked at her in a long, speculative stare, with none of the arrogance and irreverence that marked all their previous meetings. This look was different. It was pained, with a frown that sat strange on his brow and she could see how his throat worked. Was he trying to formulate what he wanted to say? she thought. She dismissed that the moment she acknowledged that the last few days he must have been subjected to some introspection, the incident in her quarters and subsequent revelations enforcing the provocation to self-search.

 

"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked, pulling up a chair, and when Tom nodded wordlessly, she sat down opposite him.

 

The wine she thought, was real, not replicated. Tom didn't offer her a drink, but the hands that warmed the flute of the glass, released it and now rested on the table, the fingers of his left hand drumming nervously. He appeared engrossed in the contents of his glass, and she waited. Tom would open his mouth sometime. She had been wanting this confrontation, had given him the time to reflect and thought that after a week, when he didn't approach her again, to look him up. Tom wasn't speaking to her, and what he learned from her logs was something that needed to be discussed.

 

She gave a light sigh.

 

"Look at me, Tom," she ordered softly when he kept studying his glass.

 

Her hand reached for his, covered it to stop the nervous tapping of his fingers. His hands felt cold to her touch, cold, yet strangely familiar.

 

"Please..."

 

Only then Tom looked at her. For a few agonising moments she thought he would burst into tears. But something did burst from him. It came as a rush from fevered lips.

 

"Ethan is not my brother..."

 

***********************

 

 

 

PART SIX

 

There was a long silence that ensued in which Tom waited for her to respond. Her hand slid away from his, and this time, it was she who was tapping her fingers on the table.

 

"No, Tom, Ethan is not your brother," she replied. She felt rather than saw his nod. Tom looked away, and she followed his gaze, noted how empty the place was. Whatever holoprogramme it was that he created, it was not finished yet. Yes, that was what she sensed when she entered. It looked incomplete.

 

"One day..." Tom started, turning to face her again with darkened eyes, "I was about fifteen, there was a guy who came to my school..." A pause followed.

 

"I guess he told you," Kathryn said, struggling to maintain her composure.

 

"Jake Leary. Pumped my head full of crap about you and my father. Said everyone on the Al-Batani knew. He...wasn't choosy with his language..."

 

Kathryn closed her eyes at the mention of the name. Her hands felt cold and clammy and her chest burned. She took a deep breath as the first sign of hyperventilation threatened. Tom was telling her something she was dead certain no one knew. No wonder he hated them so much...

 

"Jake Leary... came to your school - "

 

"Yeah. Told me how my father bedded a little junior officer, said you weren't very discreet. He wanted to make sure that I knew..."

 

Kathryn sucked in her breath this time. Jake Leary didn't stop on the Al-Batani. He had been thrown in the brig on a different charge but back on Earth, he chose a vulnerable boy, already not on a good footing with his father, on whom to do more damage and for years Tom harboured the impression that his father sinned; built all his hatred on them.

 

"What happened on the Urias Expedition, Captain, that Leary could hate my father so much?"

 

"You read my logs, Tom," she stated, her face cold and pale with the old shame that always overtook her whenever she remembered what happened.

 

"Yeah. I - " he paused again. "I - you should have told me, Captain. Why did you let me think the worst of you and my father? Why?"

 

Kathryn remained quiet a moment before she collected her thoughts. She touched Tom's hand again, feeling the slight shiver he gave.

 

"After my own father and fiancé died, Tom, I was very vulnerable then. Your father was my mentor and taking me on that expedition was a - a way of..."

 

"Making you forget?" he asked.

 

"Perhaps not. More to keep me diverted, I suppose. He - he liked me, Tom. I'm certain now you will understand."

 

Tom nodded and it gave Kathryn courage to continue.

 

"I do, Captain. Only - only..."

 

"What?"

 

"Only, every known anger I had... the reason for it is gone...has never been there. I harboured something that was a figment, Captain. Something that made me miserable and...unkind..."

 

She knew he was referring to his treatment of her, his crudity when he spoke to her. The word whore

stung the most...

 

"I hurt, Tom," Kathryn replied, her voice suddenly impassioned, quivering as the words burst from her. "I hurt..."

 

"Why did Jake Leary target you?" Tom asked, his voice edged with anger..

 

"Your father was never a nepotistic man. He abhorred making anyone a favourite. He had none, Tom. It was something he always said was to protect those closest to him," Kathryn said. When Tom nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes, her heart lifted for the first time since she had gone to see Tom in New Zealand. "And when he showed me the kind of attention my fellow crew thought unfair and abnormal, they - " Kathryn was still for a few seconds. "They singled me out for taunts and digs, you know the stuff. Playing pranks and the like on me. I was a science officer. That I was on board the Al-Batani was because your father selected me as one of the best. He...accepted only the best..."

 

"That didn't count in vile and hidden jealousies..." Tom added and she nodded, hr mouth suddenly dry.

 

"No. Then after some time, Lieutenant Jake Leary began paying me more attention. He was very friendly and the only one who came to talk to me. I was too stupid to realise it - it was all a front. There was a vile, evil streak in him... Leary...he was - "

 

"Big, blonde, blue-eyed..." Tom completed her sentence. "Ethan has his appearance. It is the appearance of the Paris men, and why I thought he was my half-brother..."

 

Kathryn gave a sigh, closed her eyes and felt a tear rolling down her cheek. She frowned, wondering for a moment how she could come to feel like weeping hard again.

 

"Yes. I fell for it. He paid me attention, was friendly. I was marginalised, and he at least didn't make me feel like - " Kathryn looked away, then faced Tom again. "Your father...he tried his best to shield me, but..."

 

"The more he tried, the more you looked like his petted favourite."

 

"Yes."

 

"Then one night, he broke into your quarters..."

 

"I didn't think it too unusual then. He had been friendly and I..." This time there was a long pause, so long that she felt Tom's hand covering hers. When she met his gaze, the compassion she saw in his eyes was suddenly bearable.

 

"You had no reason to mistrust him."

 

"No. We sat down to talk; I had been feeling a little depressed. Jake...made advances which made me uncomfortable, and - and before I- "

 

Another long silence.

 

"It's alright, Captain. You don't have to say it..."

 

"I must. As God is my witness, Tom, you need to know your father acted in the most honourable way. Before I knew what was happening, my voice command was overrode - " Kathryn saw how Tom flinched at hher words. "...and two other officers beamed into my quarters..."

 

"God...."

 

Kathryn gave a sob. The memory of what happened that night... Images...images...  Their ugly taunts, boasting of bets they won, taking turns... The bile rose in her again as the images kept coming, storming into her conscious. Somehow, she must have been talking for she felt Tom's hand covering hers and it felt good to hold onto some anchor. The men were everywhere... Leary forcing his body on her while the others held her down, something stuffed in her mouth to prevent her from screaming, excruciating pain, her body protesting, protesting. Images of Leary holding her down while the other two didn't bother to take turns but went in tandem... She shook her head, trying to obliterate them. She had wanted to scream...scream...

 

For years she dreamed of what they did to her... That night she had no more strength left, her body wasted, unable to stop them from carrying on and on... Then, the cloth somehow dislodged from her mouth and the only cry she gave, was the one Owen Paris heard when he passed her quarters on a routine round of walking the corridors of the Al-Batani during Gamma shift.

 

From afar it seemed to her, she heard Tom's voice. She opened her eyes, saw how her hands and his were wet from the tears that dripped on them. A little surprised that she could still react like that, she gave a tired little smile.

 

"I'm sorry..."

 

Tom acknowledged her words, his eyes angered.

 

"My father saw to it that they were cashiered out of Starfleet," Tom whispered, "and they hated him even more..."

 

"Not before he had taken DNA samples from the three of them..."

 

"Jake Leary was Ethan's father..."

 

"Yes."

 

"Jake Leary is dead, Captain."

 

"I know. Ethan has been told, you know."

 

Tom paled visibly at her words. She could see him struggle as he probably remembered the things he said to her son, intimating that they were brothers.

 

"Ethan doesn't know any details, Tom. He just knows that his father's name is Jake Leary. Leary had no family and his death - "

 

"The bastard wasted no time telling an impressionable teenager that his father was fooling around with a member of his crew. He hit back in the vilest way, Captain, making me think - "

 

"It was his way of taking revenge.'

 

"Did he know, Captain?"

 

Kathryn sighed deeply and disengaged her hand from Tom's, smoothing her hair in a nervous gesture. Her fingers trembled; she wondered how Tom would react to her explanation. Then Tom cut in, savagely, his voice harsh.

 

"I guess he didn't. I guess Owen Paris thought that since there was already so much talk about a Captain and a certain member of his crew, it would look logical that the baby Kathryn Janeway had, was his...."

 

"Yes..." Kathryn whispered, closing her eyes at the memory of the day she knew that her ordeal had resulted in a pregnancy.

 

"You didn't want to terminate your pregnancy."

 

Kathryn nodded. "When your father entered my quarters and surprised the men, all he could think of was trying to comfort a hysterical member of his crew who had just gone through the most terrible ordeal of her life, Tom. He wanted to beam me to sickbay instantly while the men disappeared from my cabin, but it incensed me even more. I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone to know... It was terrible... The shame, the humiliation, the guilt... I went through all of those, Tom. In the first month after my baby was born, I rejected him. Your mother cared for him - "

 

"My mother! God, no wonder..."

 

Kathryn gave Tom a wan smile.

 

"Her tears were for me, Tom..."

 

"I...understand now..."

 

"It was only a week after my ordeal that I discovered my pregnancy. We were on our way back from Urias and your father..." She paused, her tears now gone and in its place a small dry sob. "Your father brought me to your home and asked my mother to be present. Strange, isn't it? Your mother has the greatest empathy, Tom. Maybe, one day, your father can tell you about her..."

 

"Maybe one day... Leary, he deserved his end, Captain, if you don't mind my saying so."

 

"My mother wanted to kill Leary and his accomplices."

 

"They lost their commissions and could never work anywhere in the Federation again."

 

"Your father saw to that."

 

"I guess he would."

 

"Tom, I'm sorry, you know, that you were left to harbour the knowledge that your father was guilty of infidelity. He never touched me, except that night when he covered my body and I was so hysterical that I fought him off."

 

"I hated my father for years, Captain. Really hated him. Hated you too, for taking him from us. That's what I thought."

 

"My son...he is a good boy, Tom. The day I held him in my arms for the first time, he was already a month old, and I cried the entire day. It was never easy. Never. He looked like Jake Leary and for years I believed it was my punishment. I never had been counseled, except by those closest to me: my mother and your parents. Ethan... every time I looked at him, I experienced the terror of what happened. It confused him many times. The process to healing was very, very slow. I'm not certain that I can ever be healed. It will always be a part of my life, one that is indelible because not only are the memories there to haunt me from time to time, but I have a son who is a living reminder of what happened to me that night."

 

"But I guess you worked hard," Tom said harshly, with self-deprecation, "that you managed to raise a well-balanced young boy, and the little of Captain Janeway I've come to know... She never opts for the easy way out..."

 

Kathryn gave a little smile at Tom's intuitive assessment of her.

 

"I wanted my baby, Tom."

 

"I guess he's a great kid, huh."

 

She had never wanted to acknowledge it, but somehow, seeing the way Tom looked, with so much guilt and shame in his eyes, she had to give him something to think about too, other than feeling he wanted to beat himself for his transgressions.

 

"If it's any consolation, Tom, Ethan is into building tall ships and reading sea adventures..."

 

A slow smile crept over Tom's features and it warmed her a little.

 

"Moby Dick, huh."

 

"Oh, yes. Your father introduced him to it, said it was the first big novel his son read."

 

"He said that?" There was a glow of pride in Tom's eyes.

 

"He said that, Tom."

 

A small silence followed until Kathryn broke it again. Tom's face had lost the smile and the shine in his eyes.

 

"You avoided me all week, Tom," she said quietly.

 

He gave a cough, looked away then at her again. His eyes were a startling blue. A lot like Ethan's, she thought.

 

"I've screwed up big time, Captain. It's a whole new mind set, I guess, thinking of my father as someone who - who - "

 

"Loves his son to distraction..."

 

"I guess so."

 

"He wasn't handling your rejection well, Tom."

 

"How could he? I call him all sorts of names, called you the vilest names on Earth without knowing the truth. Maybe, a young boy - an angry young boy - can be excused, but this Tom Paris..." Tom gave an angry shrug of his shoulders. "This Tom Paris had no excuses, Captain. I don't even know how saying sorry can wipe away your pain and all the hurt I caused..."

 

"That you know the truth is a beginning."

 

"It's not enough!" Tom replied heatedly. "Captain, a week ago I was on the point of  leveling myself with the scum of the universe. Not that I haven't already given myself a giant headstart doing so. I - I almost raped you, Captain. How do you think I should wipe that from my copybook? I harassed you and Ethan, called my father a crazy old bastard so many times, I - "

 

"Tom..."

 

"Don't feel sorry for me. How can I ever apologise to you? Do you know, Captain, I can't forget the look in your eyes when I saw my father holding your baby and I called you a whore? It's haunted me for years; it haunts me now. I can't sleep. I should never sleep. I should forever pay. I - "

 

"Tom, enough - "

 

Tom's eyes were so fevered that Kathryn thought he'd burst into tears any moment.

 

"I - I don't know how to ask for forgiveness, Captain. This whole week it's been eating me up."

 

"Tom - "

 

"And then, you're too kind, too kind to have me on this mission..."

 

"You were the best person, Tom. The best," she tried to placate the distraught pilot. The conversation, so pained at the start, suddenly steam-rolled into this heated self-castigation on Tom's part. So Kathryn touched Tom's hand again.

 

"Look at me, Tom," she ordered urgently.

 

"How can I ask forgiveness?" he asked, still not looking at her.

 

"Tom," Kathryn said firmly, "that you know the truth, is enough for now. I know what you feel. I see it in your eyes. It's okay - "

 

When Tom looked at her finally, his eyes red from unshed tears, Kathryn sighed.

 

"It's okay, Tom. You've been caught in a tangled web; you were as much a victim as I had been."

 

"My father, he should have told me..."

 

"He tried to save my reputation."

 

"And made me think the worst."

 

"If he erred, Tom, it is that he risked - and lost - his son's love."

 

Tom was quiet for several minutes in which she knew he pondered over her words. The calm had come into him again, in the way he breathed evenly, in the way the flushed cheeks returned to their normal colour, in the way his fingers rested on the table without the nervous thrumming of earlier. She realised that he had a lot to deal with still, a whole lot to rethink, including his relationship with his father. He had to unlearn his hatred, eradicate it from his heart and let the love that had lain dormant in him, surface again. It wasn't going to happen in the blink of an eye, but then, the gradual road to recovery was perhaps the road to travel for Tom Paris.

 

After a while, Tom nodded, looked around him and then at her again.

 

"Ethan is a great kid, Captain," Tom said, a smile hovering on his lips, a quirky, hesitant smile.

 

"I'm not going to ask how you know that..."

 

"You don't want to know, Captain."

 

"Good."

 

"Captain, I - "

 

"What is it, Tom?"

 

"I want to tell you that I have good memories of you too. Only, I never allowed it to - to..." Tom struggled for a few seconds to continue.

 

"You don't have to say anything now, Tom."

 

"I - you need to know..."

 

"Then what is it?" She gave him a smile and was rewarded by the way his eyes suddenly lit up, and the relieved sigh that escaped him.

 

"You remember one day in my father's office when you were a cadet and I came there to show him the sailing ship I built?"

 

She nodded.

 

"I wanted my father's approval so much, and I knew that he didn't like me barging into his office while he was on duty. I was going to brave his displeasure - "

 

"I know! I barged in there that day too!"

 

"To brave his displeasure?"

 

"I tried to convince him to be my promoter."

 

"Well, you were standing there, with your hair in a ponytail, looking aloof and beautiful at the same time. You turned to look at me. Your face was friendly and you smiled at me like I was someone important, like I mattered. I was only eleven then. You looked at me like that and suddenly, the reason I rushed to Dad's office wasn't important anymore."

 

"What are you saying, Tom...?"

 

"Many times over the years, when I couldn't hold on to my anger, that was the face I always remembered."

 

Kathryn's heart lifted for the first time in many days and she smiled at Tom. She felt light, as if a great boulder had just rolled off her shoulders.

 

"Thank you, Tom. It means a lot to me. I was thinking you were always going to hate me."

 

"Then I'm glad I could make you smile, Captain."

 

Kathryn rose to her feet and Tom followed her action, taking the bottle in his hand and when he saw how she looked at it, he gave her a wide grin. Kathryn thought how attractive he looked without the lines of strain and discontent that marred his features. He still had to deal with a crew who treated him like the ex-con he said he was, guilty of many transgressions. He was young, strong and he would get through his own private hell, she thought. She gave a sigh as she looked around her at the tables and chairs and long counter.

 

"So, what is this place you've programmed? It's not completed, is it? It looks familiar though."

 

"It should be. I can't think of anyone who didn't visit Sandrine's during their Academy years - "

 

"This is Sandrines?"

 

"Once I've programmed in the holo-characters."

 

"Then I guess the pool table will take pride of place," Kathryn said, smiling as they started towards the holodeck doors.

 

"You play?"

 

"You'll just have to find out, won't you?"

 

By the time they exited the holodeck, Kathryn thought she could get used to Tom's infectious grin very quickly.

 

****************************

 

 

 

END