Chapter Text
Prologue
It’s not like Tom Paris had never been dumped before. If he stopped and counted, he probably would need all his fingers plus all his toes to tally the number of women who had told him variations of, “Get your stuff and get out.”
But he never thought he would hear it from B’Elanna.
“We didn’t exactly have many choices on Voyager,” she said, then added, “I’m sure you can see the truth of that.”
He didn’t. Nor did he like the new man in B’Elanna’s life: human, a bit shorter than Tom but more heavily muscled, and a genius of a chief engineer. When Starfleet decided Voyager’s Maquis crew members could shadow established personnel to prove readiness to serve, B’Elanna was assigned to this guy. That was nearly six months ago. Since then, B’Elanna, Tom, and Miral had lived on the Denmark, where B’Elanna was an assistant engineer on alpha shift and Tom took the helm on beta shift.
“I fought this, Tom, I did.” B’Elanna’s clenched hands uncurled. “But I can’t change how I feel. I’m sorry.”
Tom arranged for an immediate leave of absence. He packed his things, kissed Miral goodbye, and told B’Elanna to keep the television set. A week later, she sent the divorce request. Tom was in a passenger shuttle on his way to Earth. He pressed his thumbprint to the padd to consent, and just like that Tom Paris was single again.
Tom did what he’d done the last time he was single in the Alpha Quadrant and not in prison. He went to a bar. He found a spot not too close to the bartender but not too far away and decided to drink until he felt like stopping. How many days ago was that? Tom wasn’t sure. He liked the feel of a glass in his hand. Solid.
“Anyone sitting here?”
The husky voice was familiar. Not just the voice, but hearing it by his shoulder.
“Captain,” he said, slurring only a little as he turned toward her.
“Admiral,” she corrected. “But we’re drinking buddies now, so call me Kathryn.”
She eased onto the barstool next to his and signaled for the bartender to bring her whatever Tom was having.
He hadn’t seen her since the homecoming party. It had been a formal, Starfleet gala, which meant classical music, finger food, and boring speeches. Now, in this dive bar in Marseille, Kathryn Janeway was every bit her Alpha Quadrant self. Hair pinned. Boots shined. She was even wearing her uniform for chrissakes.
But something in her eyes was a thunderstorm.
“How did you know where to find me?” Tom asked.
A swig of her whiskey disappeared. “Your commbadge.”
Oh. He was wearing his uniform, too. Tom had forgotten.
“B’Elanna told me what happened.” Kathryn signaled for another drink. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
Tom had an ex-wife, half custody of his daughter, and no idea what to do next besides order another whiskey, which he did.
“Starfleet is initiating a research project at Jupiter Station on open-door holodeck simulations as a tool for crew community-building and morale.” Kathryn took the whiskey the bartender meant for Tom. “You’re on the team.”
Tom bristled. “I don’t need your help.”
Her thunderstorm eyes took in his three-day stubble and disheveled hair. They lingered on his whiskey-wet lips and the empty place where his wedding ring used to be.
“Of course you don’t.”
She drank his whiskey, then finished her own. She slid off her barstool. Tom was used to Kathryn’s sinuous movements. But something was different, more loose in the hips and shoulders. Her head was tilted. Her lips didn’t quite meet. She kept a hand on the bar for balance.
“We’ve never tried to change each other, have we, Tom? We’ve always brought out the best in each other.”
“Sure.” Tom put an elbow to the bar and swiveled to face her. “One ocean planet notwithstanding.”
But the rank pips on his collar now showed full lieutenant — not under her command. She ran a fingertip along the bumps, her knuckles brushing Tom’s jaw. His eyes drifted closed. Her fingertips moved to his neck, his cheek. Tom’s lips twitched.
Kathryn’s hot breath swirled in Tom’s ear. “How drunk are you?”
Tom knew that timbre in a woman’s voice. Low. Sensual. The side of his mouth curled as his eyes opened. “Drunk enough to want to find out what you have in mind.”
Her knowing grin set him racing across the street to his hotel room, grabbing his duffel bag, then returning to the bar slightly out of breath as she tapped her badge and called for transport.
They materialized on transporter pads in the lobby of a Starfleet apartment building. It was night in San Francisco.
“Thank you, Cadet Watkins.” Kathryn was already stepping off the transporter pad.
“Admiral.” The cadet behind the console stood at attention. “You’ve received several deliveries. Would you like me to —”
“I’ll get them in the morning.”
Kathryn and Tom took a lift to a high floor. She led him to a door and tapped at a keypad. She cursed as her finger slipped over and over. Finally, Kathryn called out the code and Tom keyed them in.
Her apartment door slid closed behind them.
Tom dropped his bag.
She was in his arms, pulling him down so she could kiss him more deeply. Tom didn’t like that, so he lifted her up, his hands tight on her rear end. She was an undulation of whiskey and wine, insistent hips and a straining chest.
He pushed her against a wall and wrenched his lips away just long enough to form the word. “Here?”
The legs tight around him began to shake. Panted words and twists of her fingers guided Tom to her bedroom. He let the backs of his knees buckle against the bed, falling with her on top.
There was a contented growl, then slim fingers curled around the waistband of Tom’s uniform trousers.
Chapter 1
Tom woke up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and Kathryn Janeway in his arms. A lock of auburn hair fell across her face. Tendrils shifted as she snored slightly, the way people did when they were sleeping off being ...
“Drunk,” Tom groaned.
Her eyelids fluttered. Tom was held in place by muscles that ached too much to move, so Kathryn blinked into consciousness with her head on Tom’s bicep and her butt pressed against his stomach. An entire wall of her bedroom was windows, but San Francisco fog meant the light wasn’t too painful. Still, her hands went to her forehead.
“Oh my God,” she moaned — not in a good way, not at all the way she had moaned the same words the night before.
“I’m sorry,” Tom mumbled. “I shouldn’t have —”
“Shouldn’t have what?” She sat up, then, realizing they both were naked, held the blanket against her chest. “Shouldn’t have taken me up on my … invitation? This is my fault, Tom, not yours. I shouldn’t have even left home after all the wine I’d had … and then those whiskeys … and then I took advantage of you when you weren’t in your right mind. I just thought — no, that’s not important. I’m going to comm headquarters and have myself put on report for assaulting a Starfleet officer. It may not mean much, but it’s something. I’m sorry, Tom. I —”
“Wait.” Tom grabbed Kathryn’s wrist as she moved toward the other side of the bed. He expected her to glare at him, but she slid back down until her head was on a pillow, her warm wrist still in his hand. Her other arm went over her eyes. “You didn’t take advantage of me, Kathryn. You asked how drunk I was and I answered you. I could have said no. Please, don’t feel badly about this. I don’t.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked if he wanted some coffee. When he said yes, she slipped off the bed and pulled open a dresser drawer.
“Here.” She tossed Tom a t-shirt. “This might fit you.”
The shirt smelled like lemongrass and chamomile tea. It smelled like Chakotay.
***
The coffee was good.
Of course it was. She had the beans, the grinder, and the element that added hot water. The mugs were comically large. Kathryn replicated toast and Tom took a bite.
“Jupiter Station?” he said. “You mentioned something about Jupiter Station.”
She nodded, momentary tension around her eyes the only indication the head movement had to hurt like hell. They were hunched over a two-person table in her kitchen. Kathryn hadn’t bothered to comb her hair, but she was covered from neck to ankle in a light blue robe. Tom wore the too-wide t-shirt she had given him but he’d pulled his own boxer shorts from the floor.
“The posting is yours if you want it. You’d start Monday.”
It was Saturday.
“Pretty quick turnaround.”
She sipped her coffee. “You’ll be fine. You adapt quickly.”
Tom thought about commenting on her use of the Borg-like word. He thought about mentioning some of the quick adaptations he’d made the night before as Kathryn made her bedroom preferences known. He thought about how quickly his life was changing. Two weeks ago he had a wife and a baby he got to see every day.
Kathryn mistook his silence for embarrassment.
“Tom,” she set down her coffee mug, “I saw the description for the research project and knew you would be perfect for it. I placed a subspace call to let you know and that’s when B’Elanna told me what happened. I would never presume to —”
Her door chimed.
“Ignore it,” she said. “I told Cadet Watkins I would get the deliveries in the morning.”
“It is the morning.” Tom glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the kitchen and living room. “If someone took the trouble to bring deliveries up here, the least you can do is receive them.”
She held her coffee mug tight in her hands.
The door chimed again.
Then there was a knock.
Tom stood. “I can’t take it. I’ll go help the cadet.”
“Tom,” Kathryn warned from her chair. But he found the keypad next to the doorway and tapped it. The door slid open.
“Paris?” Chakotay’s voice was disbelieving.
“Oh, hey,” Tom said.
A second later, Chakotay’s right fist connected with Tom’s left eye.