Passages of Fortune -- Chapter Two

"More tea, Tuvok?"

"No, thank you, Captain. This will be sufficient."

Kathryn refilled her own cup instead before returning the pot to the table. She settled herself back against the sofa cushions, marveling that it was nearly a half hour into Alpha shift, yet not a single drop of coffee had passed her lips. This really was turning into a nice, calm, "no need for coffee" day.

The current shift rotation had been an excellent idea. The Bridge was in the capable hands of Lieutenant Hamilton. Command staff and department heads would have a chance to catch up on projects and assignments, while the crew would get a slight break as well. A few days with no real pressures were almost as good as shore leave.

She'd turned this security briefing with Tuvok into an informal, relaxed session in her ready room, rather than his office. Thankfully he'd gone along with her preference, despite the ultimate seriousness of the topic. Kathryn suspected he didn't entirely approve, but was merely humoring her with stolid Vulcan patience for human foibles. They were such good friends that she didn't mind.

To keep him--well, if not happy, then content--she picked up one of the padds he'd brought to the meeting and looked over the data once more. "This is outstanding work, Tuvok, and very promising. I especially like the idea of combining shield rotations with harmonic modulations. That could prove invaluable in the future."

Tuvok nodded gravely. "We have already run a series of drills to test the process on a small scale, Captain. It should be relatively simple to incorporate the programming into all ships' systems."

"And this is all a result of what we learned when the Borg drones tried to assimilate the ship?"

"Not entirely. Lieutenant Carey found the compatible data when the Engineering staff first started to dismantle the Borg components left behind after that encounter. It was Lieutenant Kelly who made the connection that also allowed us to analyze and then adapt some of the cloaking technology of the Voth for security purposes. Overall, it was an excellent example of team effort. It is unfortunate that we are not able to make full use of these alien technologies, but that is no reason why we should not attempt a little assimilation of our own."

Kathryn coughed over a sip of tea. "Tuvok, was that a joke?"

He gazed at her steadily. "Of course not, Captain. Merely a statement of fact."

She put her cup down hastily. "Of course. This will all be extremely useful in protecting key areas in the event of an invasion. Cargo Bay Two is the perfect choice for an emergency command center and shelter." They had learned many hard lessons in the past four years. Self-destruct or abandoning ship were options that would truly have to be left to the last resort. Far better to make Voyager more defensible by any means possible. The entire crew would be retrained in security measures and personal combat techniques, and every system safeguarded with the new enhanced protocols. "Well done, Commander," she said proudly, handing him the padd. "Let me know when we're ready for full implementation."

"I believe we can commence ship-wide practice drills within a few weeks, Captain," Tuvok replied. He stacked the padds neatly, then took a sip of tea, watching her over the rim of his cup. Kathryn knew him well enough to read past the calm mask of his face, and wasn't surprised that there was something else on his mind.

"Captain," he began, with a hesitation that was unusual for him.

"Yes, Tuvok?"

He glanced briefly at the pleasant arrangement of the tea set on the table, the vase holding a small bouquet instead of the usual single flower, and the captain's boots, gracing a spot under the sofa rather than on the captain's feet. "If you will forgive me for saying so, you seem to be in a rather...relaxed mood today."

Kathryn couldn't help but smile. "I think the word you're looking for is 'mellow', Tuvok."

With the slightest of frowns he said, "Yes, I believe that is the way Mr. Paris might put it."

"It's just that sort of day, Tuvok, and I'm doing my best to enjoy it," she tried to explain.

"Indeed."

She wasn't sure if he was expressing understanding or disapproval. Before she could clarify the situation, he went on.

"Such days are rare events in our lives, and we should savor them at every opportunity. Our briefing has been a most satisfying experience."

That was the closest he would get to saying he also appreciated days like this, and had enjoyed his time with her. Kathryn nodded, smiling with less pleasure than she wanted to show, but enough for Tuvok to tolerate. "Thank you, Commander, it has added to my day as well. What's next on your agenda?"

Tuvok stood, at easy attention. "I am scheduled to meet with Ensign Wildman, to discuss schooling for Kim. The child has a unique educational opportunity ahead of her, with all of Voyager as her classroom, and the entire crew as an exceptional teaching staff."

Oh dear, Kathryn thought, wondering if the poor child had any idea what was in store for her. "Now, Tuvok," she cautioned, choosing her words carefully, "Kim is very unique herself. Even though the Doctor has verified she's physically and emotionally mature enough to start formal schooling, let's not forget she's still just a child, and will need some fun in her life, and some different ways to learn."

The sound Tuvok made was almost a sigh. "No, Captain. Her mother has stressed her own concerns for that prospect, and Mr. Neelix and Mr. Paris have already volunteered to create some educational yet...entertaining holoprograms for Kim."

"Good. That should be perfect. I wonder if Tom could help me come up with a program to make quantum cosmology more entertaining."

"Undoubtedly, Captain," Tuvok said, with a slightly pained look that said he'd had enough mellowness for today

Kathryn set him free with a dismissing wave. "Keep me updated on the new protocols, Commander."

Tuvok nodded, wished her a good day, and left. She cleared up the table and the remains of teatime, put her very mellow feet reluctantly into her boots, then gathered up the padds and data chips she needed for her class. That and the inspection of the new lab would keep her busy till lunchtime, after which she would take command of the Bridge for the rest of day shift.

Maybe by then she'd have a cup of coffee, just for the hell of it.

******

Amidst the buzz of laser torches and the thumps of shifted consoles, Commander Chakotay watched with satisfaction as the finishing touches were implemented in the new Astrometrics Lab. Not quite finished--it would be another week before all the equipment was ready for full initialization. Enough would be ready today for the captain's inspection, and the commander was confident she would like what she would see.

There was something deeply gratifying about the smell and feel of a new facility, which was especially true here on Voyager. It was a symbol of hope, of progress; a significant step in their long journey home. Perhaps it wouldn't have been possible without the boost Kes had provided, or the data they had "assimilated" from Seven of Nine, but Chakotay was not one to scorn such advantages. Neither was Captain Janeway, after all this time in the Delta Quadrant. As much as she had influenced him to re-embrace Starfleet ways, he had taught her a rebel's need to grab whatever opportunities they could--if they were morally acceptable.

He mourned the loss of Kes as much as anyone on board, but her gift had been given freely and with love. And there was a bit of poetic justice in using Borg data to help chart their way home. The rest would come from their own efforts and hard work.

Work which was proceeding apace about him. Techs were dusting off control panels and stowing tools, while other crew secured the few pieces of inactive equipment. The project was just enough ahead of schedule that Chakotay was hoping to grant the construction gang a shift or two off, once the inspection was over. They had certainly earned some downtime.

A good deal of the credit for that could be given to Ensign Harry Kim, who would be officially installed as head of the lab during the upcoming inauguration ceremony. He would also receive a well-earned commendation at that time. Harry had done exemplary work in all stages of the project, which included the daunting task of selecting his own staff, recruiting whom he could without leaving Stellar Cartography short-handed. He had also conducted, under Chakotay's supervision, extensive cross-training sessions to fill the remaining slots. It was going to be, the commander thought with well-justified pride, one of the finest departments on the ship.

Taking one more look around, Chakotay spotted Harry crouched under the main control console of the lab's most exciting feature--the enhanced view screen. The ensign seemed engaged in some delicate fine-tuning of the circuitry, so Chakotay decided to check the environmental controls rather than disturb him. Halfway there he was intercepted Ensign Debra Lang, who must have entered the lab while his attention was elsewhere.

"Yes, Ensign?" he said, as she offered a padd for his inspection.

"The new duty roster from Lieutenant Rollins, sir," she said crisply. "He needs your okay before filing it."

As Chakotay gave the report a quick glance, he noticed Lang was studying everything around them, with evident admiration. The sight of the huge display screen left her a little open-mouthed. As with many of the younger crew members on Voyager, she had been through a great deal more than average ensign her age. It was nice to see she still had a sense of wonder. He remembered how well she had conducted herself during the Nyrian incident, and appreciated her strong devotion to duty.

"Impressive, isn't it?" he asked, thumbing his approval and handing the padd back to her.

"Oh, yes sir," she replied enthusiastically. "It's the talk of the ship." Her gaze travelled the room again, then came back to him. Now he saw something other than appreciation in her eyes. "I was wondering, sir," she began, sounding a bit unsure of herself.

"What's that, Ensign?"

"Are there any positions left to fill on the new staff? I'd be very interested in cross-training if there are."

The question was slightly puzzling. "Didn't you just finish your navigational instruction? I understood you were quite happy being assigned to helm duty."

She nodded. "Well, yes, sir, I am...but like I said, everybody's talking about this place, and I think I'd like to be involved in the important work that's going to be done here."

It was a very upright, Starfleet-type response, although something about it didn't quite ring true to the first officer. "You're doing valuable work now, Ensign," he reminded her.

Another dutiful nod, as her gaze momentarily left him, then came back. "I know that, Commander. But just last month, when we were preparing to leave Safe Harbor, the captain said it would be of great benefit to the ship if more people were trained in more areas. So I'd like to be as useful as I possibly can, sir."

He couldn't quite recall if the captain had expressed those sentiments in those exact words. He did know the importance Kathryn placed on the majority of the crew being capable of multi-tasking. She'd put him in charge of the entire cross-training process, and he could find no real flaw in Ensign Lang's proposition. Yet, something about her request still didn't seem right.

Her attention had wandered again, and this time he turned his head to follow her bright-eyed gaze. For a moment he thought it was the view screen that still had her so captivated. Then movement caught his eye, and hers.

It wasn't the screen she found so fascinating, but the person now working in front of it, carefully polishing the console. Hair disheveled, uniform mussed, face slightly grimy, but obviously a sight Debra Lang couldn't get enough of.

Ensign Harry Kim.

Chakotay quickly looked away, stifling a smile. Now it all made sense, and confirmed a bit of speculative scuttlebutt he'd heard through Scott Rollins. The pretty young ensign had a crush on the handsome young Ops officer. It really wasn't that surprising. They'd worked well together before, and seemed quite compatible.

Well, he wasn't one to stand in the way of romance, even if it was destined to be out of his own reach on Voyager. So far, settling into long-term relationships seemed to have a positive, stabilizing influence on most of the crew members who had done so. That was as important to their survival out here as anything else.

He could grant Lang's request, hope that Harry Kim had the sense to recognize a good thing, and pray neither of them got hurt. As he glanced at her, and threw a discreet look at Harry, he guessed that it would certainly be a less tempestuous relationship than some he could think of.

With Lang's attention still centered on Harry, Chakotay allowed himself a grin as he recalled his recent encounter with Tom Paris. Maybe it hadn't been fair to use a rumor he'd heard at lunch the day before to dumbfound the pilot, but better the lieutenants get a friendly warning from him now, rather than a stern reprimand from Captain Janeway at a later date. He probably wouldn't be issuing similar advice to this young pair, if things progressed that far.

At the console, Harry straightened and turned. He seemed a bit startled that he was under observation, but he acknowledged the commander with a half-salute, and gave Debra one of his dazzling smiles.

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes dilated, and Chakotay knew she was well and truly smitten. She had the presence of mind to turn back to him with her feelings fairly well under control. "You'll consider my request, sir?" she asked, unable to keep a little hopeful breathiness out of her voice.

Chakotay nodded. "Actually, I think it may be a good idea, Ensign. Let me consult with the man in charge--" he tipped his head in Harry's direction--"and then we'll see."

The young woman did her best to contain her elation, although the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable. "Thank you very much, Commander!" she acknowledged, then snapped to attention. "I better get this padd back to Lieutenant Rollins." With one last fleeting look at the object of her affection, the ensign whirled around and left the lab, stepping lightly enough to be floating.

Chakotay resisted the urge to turn around to see if Harry had caught any of the nuances of what had just transpired. He would wait till after the captain's inspection to approach the ensign about the possibility of a new addition to his staff. Spirits willing, he had made the right decision and this would work out well, both for the lab and the two ensigns.

He carried on with his intention to check the environmental controls. Finding the settings not quite to his liking, he grabbed the nearest tool kit and knelt down to crack open the service hatch. It would feel good to have a little hands-on part in the project.

"Commander?"

He looked over his shoulder. Standing over him were Ron Jarvin and Tabor Kal, who had been borrowed from Engineering for the final phases of construction. Jarvin had a padd in one hand, extended in Chakotay's direction. Tabor was a step behind, with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Slowly, he straightened, dusting off his hands. "What's up?" he asked, taking the padd.

"Final specs for the imaging systems, sir," Jarvin answered. "We got those last few glitches under control, and can run a test anytime."

Chakotay nodded as he reviewed the data. Two of them weren't necessary to make this routine report. Jarvin, as supervisor of the detail, should have sent Tabor with it. Had they run into a problem they couldn't handle?

No, the report was standard and accurate. He handed it back over. "Carry on, then," he told them firmly.

Jarvin accepted the padd, looked at it, then glanced hesitantly at Tabor. The Bajoran stepped closer, surreptitiously elbowing his friend in the back. Both men wore guarded, somewhat wary expressions. The sort of look, Chakotay recognized with a sudden chill, that most of his former crew had worn in their rebel days, that he hadn't seen on any Maquis face in a long time.

"Something on your minds, gentlemen?" he inquired, careful to keep his own expression blank.

Tabor cleared his throat and nudged Jarvin again. Jarvin threw him a sharp look, then said to Chakotay, "It's about the lab, sir."

"What about the lab?"

The chill in his voice was unmistakable to the men who had known him for years. Jarvin pressed on, although his eyes betrayed some nervousness. "Do you honestly think this is going to help us get home any sooner? Wouldn't it have been better to save our energy reserves and supplies for emergencies?"

Chakotay crossed his arms and gave them a piercing look. "We wouldn't have undertaken this project if we didn't have those resources available. It was the responsibility of every person involved to make sure we didn't misuse or waste them. Each system was designed to use energy as efficiently as possible--including the one you two worked on." He flicked his hand towards the padd Jarvin held. "Are you telling me now that you think your work was a waste of time, or that you didn't do your jobs right?"

Jarvin took an unsteady step backwards. "No, sir," he answered hastily.

"We worked as hard as anyone else, Commander," said Tabor, lifting his chin defiantly. "But there's no guarantee all our efforts are going to pay off."

"Everything we do out here to survive is a gamble, Kal," Chakotay reminded him.

The young man wasn't through. "Everyone on the regular staff is Starfleet," he noted with a slight sneer. "Why not any Maquis?"

Incredulous outrage shot through him. "Because no Maquis had the right background qualifications, and none volunteered for cross-training," he said through gritted teeth. "If either of you want to discuss this further, I'll be in my office at 0700 tomorrow morning. In the meantime, keep your concerns to yourself. Understood?"

Jarvin gave a swift nod, Tabor a reluctant one.

"Dismissed."

As they hastily departed, Chakotay got his anger under control. More disturbing than Tabor's near-insolence was the fact he had been unaware of a grievance they must have been nursing for a while. While Jarvin had a history of being a follower, Tabor wasn't known as a troublemaker, and both were generally reliable, decent men. Chakotay couldn't think of any reason why they'd be dissatisfied at this point in their journey home, and fervently hoped he had convinced them they were wrong.

There hadn't been any indication lately of problems like this--not through the grapevine; not from Lieutenant Rollins who usually spotted potential trouble. The one thing they could not risk was a renewal of the tension between Starfleet and Maquis. It was time to make a few discreet inquiries, and keep a close, watchful eye on all his former crew.

Chakotay bent down, checked his work on the recalibrations, then shut the hatch. He stowed the tools one by one, breathing calmly, focusing on what lay ahead. He knew the lab would be a success, and that the captain would be pleased. That was all that mattered at the moment.

******

Zero eight thirty and fifty seconds.

Fifty-five. Time to be fair and check his internal chronometer against ship time.

Excellent--they were in perfect synch.

Fifty-seven...eight...nine.

Zero eight thirty-one. Perfect.

"Hey, Doc."

The Doctor looked up from the console, shaking his head but smiling inwardly as the door panels whispered shut behind his medical assistant. "Well, Mr. Paris," he said cooly, "almost on time, I see."

The lieutenant froze in mid-step, frowning. No, actually, the Doctor suddenly realized, the frown he was already wearing when he entered merely deepened. And instead of the snappy retort the EMH had come to expect from Tom Paris, all he got was a shrug, a half-hearted smile, and an apology.

"I'm sorry, Doc. You know how it is, readjusting to the duty schedule after some time off. I--shouldn't have taken so long for breakfast."

The Doctor blinked, taken aback by the genuine sincerity in Tom's voice. Not that he didn't appreciate it, but he'd been looking forward to one of their typically spirited exchanges. It caused him a brief moment of concern that the lieutenant didn't seem quite himself this morning. Even though his surface attitude sometimes indicated otherwise, Tom did take his medical duties seriously, which pleased the Doctor no end--although he would never say so, not in so many words. He'd long since learned that Tom thrived on challenge and didn't mind limited praise for his accomplishments. The deep, natural empathy the officer felt for others, and his ability think clearly in a crisis, had proved more than once that he had been a good choice for the post of physician's assistant.

Whatever was troubling Tom, he seemed ready to shake it off and get down to work. Ignoring the Doctor's temporary silence, he smiled crookedly and said, "So, do you have a specific assignment for me, Doc, or did you decide to make this inventory day in my honor?"

That was more like it, the EMH thought, hiding his own smile and willing to follow Tom's lead. "As I said earlier, Lieutenant," he replied briskly, "I have a consultation scheduled, and I need you to keep an eye on things and be available for any patients who may come in. Of course, the supply lockers could be checked for restocking, and I believe Ensign Parsons left some lab results for filing..."

Tom put up a hand and sighed in mock resignation. "Okay, Doc. I get the picture. There's plenty to keep me occupied and out of your ha--way."

Even though he knew the jibe was slightly forced, the Doctor almost reached up to smooth the top of his head in response. He caught himself in time and turned the movement into a sharp gesture pointing towards the lab. "Go."

Tom went, his spirits at least partially restored, if the pleased smirk on his face was any indication.

Not for the first time, the Doctor found himself amazed by the lieutenant's ability to shift emotional states so rapidly, and seemingly so much easier than some humanoids could. He knew it was mostly a defense mechanism on Tom's part. Indeed, it was probably a vital survival trait, given the pilot's relationship with the equally volatile and occasionally dangerous chief engineer.

"And not a broken clavicle in sight--yet," he noted out loud, as he gathered up the padds needed for the upcoming consultation, and headed for his office.

At precisely 0845, the door slid open to admit Chief Dara Morgan and Lieutenant Moira Kelly. The Doctor beamed at their punctuality, stood up and beckoned them to join him. They entered the office, greeting him as they sat down.

"Morning, Doc," Dara said cheerfully. The slender warrant officer had a bright, effervescent personality, that sometimes bordered on the abrasive. She ruled the shuttle bay with an iron hand, and the Doctor had heard it was quite a sight to see her chewing out burly mechanics twice her size. It was well known that her fervent devotion to the ship's constantly-changing complement of shuttlecraft rivaled B'Elanna Torres' zealous dedication to the engines and warp core.

Dara had earned an early reputation as a "party girl" on the ship, but that hadn't prevented her from settling down before the first year was over with the much more reserved Moira Kelly. The lieutenant possessed a quiet, watchful nature, which served her very well as a security officer. But she wasn't overly serious--she liked to socialize, and possessed a fine singing voice, which had provided delightful entertainment for many social events, most recently the Henley-Baytart wedding reception.

Her low-pitched, formal "Good morning Doctor," contrasted sharply with her spouse's upbeat tone. In appearance, as well, the two women couldn't be more different--Moira a statuesque redhead; Dara dark-haired and so petite. The Doctor felt they were a perfect example of the old human adage "opposites attract." They were very much in love and totally committed to each other, and about to take that commitment one step further.

"Now then," he said, once they were settled, "let's talk about your plans." He made sure to employ the empathetic doctor/counselor mode Kes had worked so very hard to instruct him in, especially in cases like this.

Dara grinned excitedly. "You bet, Doc," she said, reaching over to take Moira's hand. "We're ready to do it."

Moira smiled at her. "Yes, we are," she agreed serenely.

"Very good." He picked up a padd to review the notes he had made on their medical histories. His design features had always allowed him to access information directly through his matrix, yet from the beginning and through all the changes his program had been through, it made him more comfortable to "eyeball" data, as Tom Paris liked to put it.

"You've both been on low-dose boosters since your marriage, strictly to eliminate your cycles, so there will be no residual contraceptive effects to worry about. You each stopped receiving the boosters three weeks ago, and--" The EMH paused for a second, looking up to make eye contact, as a good family doctor should. "--you've probably noticed nature reasserting itself."

"Yeah, and it's a damn nuisance," said Dara with a frown.

The Doctor gave her a "there, there" smile, and looked at Moira. "Lieutenant?"

She nodded. "Yes, we started about a week apart. And it's not so bad, not like it must have been for women in the old days."

"Says you," Dara muttered. Moira ignored her.

"It won't have to be for very long," the Doctor assured them. "I'll start you today on hormone therapy to get your cycles in synch and stimulate ovulation. You were both in excellent condition at the time of your last physicals, so I foresee no problems. We should be ready to go through with the procedure in another two to three weeks." He consulted his notes once more. "And you're still set on the role you'll each take?"

Moira answered first. "Yes, we are. Dara's going to donate an egg, and I'll carry the child. If things work out, and we decide to try again, we'll switch next time." She smiled fondly at her partner. "Right, hon?"

Dara's normal ebullience vanished for the first time during the interview, and her expression became thoughtful, if not a bit anxious. "Right," she said, in a very subdued voice. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled, and the Doctor realized she was trying to disguise an effort to sniff back tears. Within a few seconds, she had herself under control, smiling back at Moira and squeezing her hand tightly. "We're gonna have the cutest kids on this ship," she declared.

"Cutest daughters," he reminded them gently. "Although Federation medical statutes allow gender selection in male/female fertilization, the process of ova merging will always result in female offspring. If in future you wish to have a son, you will have to consider a gift from a male donor."

The women looked at each other, Moira biting her lip, Dara with raised eyebrows. The EMH realized they hadn't thought that far ahead. Dara leaned close to Moira and whispered something. Moira nodded, then sat back and looked at the Doctor. "I think we'll just wait and see on that possibility," she said. Dara nodded emphatically.

"Fine, then. Now, if you'll come along with me," he said briskly, standing up and ushering them out of the office, "we'll get started on that hormone therapy."

They each settled on a biobed in the main ward, exchanging little grins and bright-eyed looks of anticipation. The Doctor prepared the appropriate hypospray, giving a running commentary as he worked. "Generally, it only requires one or two doses to ensure you'll both be ovulating at the same time. I'll need to see each of you a week from now, and every three days after that, to check. The therapy will slightly alter what would constitute a normal cycle. You'll be receiving a few extra hormone injections, Lieutenant, to help prepare your body for the pregnancy." Despite the medical dryness of his patter, he found himself getting caught up in their excitement. "And when conditions are optimal," he finished, turning to them with a huge smile, "we'll make a baby."

To his consternation, they both burst out laughing. He felt his face crumple, as his emotional subroutines faltered, and he didn't know whether to be hurt or laugh along with them. Then Dara rescued the moment as she wiped her eyes and said, "It's a deal, Doc. We'll make you the godfather."

"Wh-why, thank you," he said, truly touched by the gesture. He wished Kes could have been there to see it. No doubt she would have been pleased for him. Then, not for the first time, he wondered how he had acquired an algorithm for clearing his throat when he needed to get past an emotional moment.

"Ahem. Let's continue, shall we?" He scanned each woman in turn, quickly confirming the state of their health, then deftly administered the hormones. "The harvesting procedure is simple and exact, with the micro-manipulation techniques available, and my own enhanced abilities. I'll select a healthy egg from each of you, then merge them in vitro in a hormone-enriched medium, which will facilitate the parthenogenic conception. Then the potential zygote will be implanted in Lieutenant Kelly's uterus, and we wait to confirm that nature has taken its course."

Dara slipped off the biobed, fidgeting slightly. "What--what if it doesn't, you know, work out, Doc? I did some reading, and sometimes things go wrong, right from the start."

He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and smiled for Moira's benefit. "The procedure has a 98.9% rate for the first attempt, Chief. I don't think you have anything to worry about. If there is a problem, it will be a very simple matter to try again."

Moira joined Dara and gave her a quick hug. "Everything's going to be just fine."

The Doctor turned away to give them a private moment, and used the time to download some vital facts into a padd for the mother-to-be. When he looked back, they were still standing close together, but Dara seemed less anxious. He held the padd out to Moira. "This contains information about proper diet, exercise, precautions, and other things you'll need to know."

"Precautions?" Moira frowned slightly as she took the padd. "I'll need to talk to Commander Tuvok. How will this effect my duty schedule?"

"You should be able to keep up with your regular duties for the first few months," he said. "Mr. Tuvok will be able to inform you what restrictions are preferred for security personnel after that, although general Starfleet protocols dictate that you perform no hazardous duties in the third trimester. Oh, and one other thing--once you are pregnant, and you're ready to make an announcement, the captain would like to be among the first to know."

"Oh, of course," said Moira. "I remember that from the memo that went 'round just before Kim Wildman was born."

Dara rubbed her hands together, smiling gleefully. "We've got so much to plan! Larger quarters, baby clothes--Moira, we have to start thinking about names!"

"We've got lots of time for that."

"But there're so many to choose from!"

"We'll have nine months to narrow it down, Dar."

Still sharing in their enthusiasm, the Doctor decided to make a joke at his own expense. "As godfather, I'd love to make a suggestion, but you know how I am about names."

This time, he was ready to join in their delighted laughter.

***

Filing the lab reports in the medical database didn't take all that much time, but Tom was relieved when he finished the somewhat tedious chore. As he logged off, he decided he might as well go ahead and take care of restocking medical supplies as the Doctor had suggested. Maybe he'd get lucky and a patient or two would wander in with some exotic ailment. Any kind of excitement would almost make up for not still being in bed with B'Elanna, or at least take his mind off that scene in the mess hall.

Serving his watch in Sickbay this morning would give him the rest of the day off. However, if B'Elanna was still busy cleaning up her quarters by the time he was done, she certainly wouldn't appreciate being disturbed. He had a feeling that even though she wasn't scheduled for duty till 1600, she'd likely report to Engineering early to check up on things. He could spend the afternoon being efficient himself, dealing with the mess in his own quarters, or getting caught up on helm reports and the cross-training schedule. Or he could seek B'Elanna out and try to smooth things over before she went to work.

No, it would probably be better to let the whole thing simmer until tomorrow.

Maybe. In the meantime, those supply cabinets wouldn't restock themselves.

Still weighing his options, Tom entered the main ward and was surprised by the boisterous laughter that greeted him. His mood immediately brightened when he realized that one of the sources was his friend Dara Morgan. She seemed to be sharing a good joke with her spouse and the Doctor.

"Hey, Eaglet! How's it going? Hatch any new shuttles lately?"

Turning from the others, Dara gave him a bemused smile. "That's 'Chief Eaglet' to you, Lieutenant," she teased him right back. Then she let out a throaty chuckle. "I'll be hatching something better than a shuttle soon."

Tom blinked in confusion. "You what?"

Still chuckling, Dara went to Moira's side and linked arms with her. "Say 'congratulations,' hotshot. I'm going to be a mom!"

He shook his head, wondering if he had heard her right. "You're what?" he repeated, painfully aware of the smug look on the Doctor's face.

Dara opened her mouth, then paused, shaking her own head in confusion. "No, wait. Moira's going to be a mom, and I'm going to be a--a--"

"The other biological parent," the EMH supplied helpfully. "But I think it will be much simpler, if not entirely physiologically accurate, to say you're both going to be mothers."

Tom just stared at them both, still bewildered. "Wait a minute...do you mean that one of you is--pregnant?"

"No, not yet," said Moira hastily, rescuing him from Dara's perplexing announcement. "But in a few weeks, I probably will be."

"Oh, hey--that's terrific!" Tom said, finally getting the entire picture. He hurried over to give both women a big hug, and plant a delighted kiss on Dara's cheek. "Congratulations--in advance. This is great news."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Paris," the Doctor chimed in. "You'll have a whole new branch of medicine to study. Obstetrics is such a rewarding field."

Tom heaved a sigh as he gave Dara another kiss. She pushed him away with a laugh. He faced the EMH and said, "Thanks, Doc. I can always count on you to point out the bright side of every situation."

"Any time, Lieutenant."

"Are you through with us, Doc?" Dara asked. "We've got a lot to talk about."

"Yes, Chief. I'll see you both next week as we discussed."

"No problem."

The happy couple said good-bye to Tom and left Sickbay. He waved them off, wishing they had stayed a little longer to talk. There was something he didn't like about the full weight of the Doctor's photonic gaze on him now that they were alone. "Obstetrics, Doc?" he asked. "Wouldn't...oh, say--Samantha Wildman be better suited to assist you in that area?"

The Doctor snorted lightly. "You can be sure the entire staff will be updating their studies, Mr. Paris--including you. And really, it was only a matter of time before this became necessary. Based on certain observations, and a few private discussions, I believe we can expect something of a--I believe the old expression is 'baby boom.' "

He spoke with a certainty that made Tom feel strangely uncomfortable. "Come on, Doc," he said nervously, "there aren't that many people on Voyager ready to settle down and have kids."

"Not yet perhaps, but the social dynamic among this crew is changing dramatically," he replied, his expression suddenly very serious. "For the most part, they've accepted our situation out here, knowing that home is still very far away. People are already pairing off, and they will be thinking about the future, and the possibility of starting families."

"Crew replacements," Tom murmured, thinking of things Captain Janeway had said in the past. Children to grow up and take their parents' place in the effort to get Voyager home. It wasn't an entirely pleasant thought.

The EMH nodded. "Precisely, but psychologically, there's more to it than that. This crew has essentially become a family, but it's part of human nature to want more. There's a need to love and nurture, and the desire to give something to the future."

Tom was beginning to suspect where this discussion might be leading, and it was making him edgy. Marriage was one thing, settling down was another; but he and B'Elanna had never talked about a future that included children. He didn't like to think they were both avoiding the subject--which wasn't that unlikely, given the sometimes-troubling circumstances of their respective childhoods. Rather, it had never come up. There had been too much else to concern them since their engagement.

Yet based on what the Doctor was saying, the subject might soon be unavoidable. Despite his happiness for Dara and Moira, Tom felt he wasn't ready to tackle the subject on a more personal level. Professionally, though, he could give it a shot. "All right, Doc, give me the texts and I'll start studying up," he said, with a bland smile.

The Doctor regarded him thoughtfully. "You might want to consider doing more than just that, Lieutenant."

His discomfort bloomed into full-fledged anxiety. This was worse than what Chakotay had done to him earlier. It was a struggle to stay calm, but he knew some of his nervousness probably showed. "Doc--"

"Tom, please." The use of his first name, and the kindly way the Doc put a hand on his shoulder, startled Tom into silence. "Let's talk."

Stunned into compliance, Tom allowed himself to be led into the office. He sat down and faced the EMH apprehensively. "Okay, fine," he said in aquiescence. "Let's talk."

The Doctor folded his hands on the desk and studied him for a moment. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way," he finally said, "or think that I'm prying. But I want to remind you that I'll be scheduling you and Lieutenant Torres for the standard Starfleet pre-marital examinations sometime in the next month or so. Part of the exam requires that I ask certain questions--in particular, whether or not you're considering having children."

"Yeah, I know," Tom answered, noncommittally. "I saw the template when Samantha and I were reviewing procedures last month."

"I'm getting the distinct impression that you and B'Elanna haven't discussed the prospect at all," the Doctor said somberly.

Tom nodded, accepting that he might as well admit it. "The subject just hasn't come up, Doc. And--I wouldn't even know how to bring it up. It's...I like kids," he found himself explaining more than he wanted to. "I love Kim, and even though things are tough out here, I love having her around. It's different thinking about having kids of my own, though. I don't know if I want to be a parent, and have all that responsibility." He took a deep breath and dropped his head before finishing, "And I'm pretty sure, even without ever having talked about it, that B'Elanna's not ready for it either."

"You've thought about it, Tom, and that's a start," the EMH replied encouragingly. "One of you should be aware that it's going to be mentioned before your wedding, and I certainly wouldn't know how to broach it with B'Elanna, any more than you do, it seems. At least we're both somewhat prepared to deal with it when the time comes."

Tom shrugged in resignation. "Yeah. Thanks, Doc." Talking it out now made him feel a little better, though he suspected that wouldn't necessarily make it any easier to do so with B'Elanna...whenever. Still, the general idea of more children on Voyager was intriguing. "Were you serious about--a baby boom, Doc?"

"Perhaps I was exaggerating just a little," he admitted. "However, even if some couples are still only considering their options, we must consider ours. You and the rest of the staff should pursue your studies of obstetrics, and perhaps one or two of you might want to branch into pediatrics. We'll have to plan an expansion of Sickbay to include a nursery, or even a child care facility."

Tom let out a little whistle of amazement. "Wow. You've been giving this a lot thought, haven't you?"

"It's all part of the service, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said with a touch of smugness. "But we also must consider the prospect of counseling any parents-to-be. Child-rearing will be extremely complicated in a closed society such as ours. The existing Starfleet protocols for raising families on starships will have to be adapted for our unique situation." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "It may also become necessary to impose some--well, guidelines, for want of a better term. We can't have too many crew members--mothers or fathers--on restricted duty all at the same time."

"Complicated" was beginning to sound like the wrong word for all this. Tom thought it was downright mind-boggling. Subconsciously, this might have been part of the reason he hadn't tried to discuss it with B'Elanna, or why it made him uneasy. It might be preferable to see other people make the attempt before...considering the option, as Doc so succinctly put it. "Well, at least Dara and Moira have Sam Wildman for a source of practical advice."

"Yes, indeed." He turned away for a minute, rummaging through stacks of padds, accessing files from the console behind his desk. "I'll prepare a beginning curriculum for you all, but in the meantime, you may want to start with this."

Tom took the padd the EMH held out to him. "McCoy's 'Comparative Physiology'?" Unnerved, he stared at Doc, as a chill ran up his spine. "This--this is because of B'Elanna, right? Because she's half-human?"

The Doctor returned his gaze sympathetically. "Every such case is different, Tom. But you have to be prepared for the possibility that if you do want to start a family someday, it may require medical intervention."

He swallowed hard and nodded, knowing how likely that could be. That might make it even harder for B'Elanna to think about having a child. He had no idea what her own parents had gone through to have her, and certainly her feelings about that would more than complicate her own choice about parenthood. No matter how much their love for each other had enabled them to confess deep-rooted fears or emotions, there were still so many unknowns and uncertainties they'd have to face as their future together unfolded.

Tom didn't realize how withdrawn he'd become, letting his thoughts run in anguished circles, until he felt Doc's hand on his shoulder. He looked up with a jolt, suddenly aware of an ache in his hands from clutching the padd tightly.

"Please don't worry about this too much, Lieutenant," the Doctor advised him kindly. "I'll hold our conversation in strictest confidence. Talk to B'Elanna when you're ready. I'll do my best to advise you both when the time comes."

"Thanks, Doc," Tom murmured gratefully. He knew he would have to do some serious thinking before he'd be ready to mention any of this to B'Elanna--and despite the Doctor's counseling, he wasn't prepared to do such thinking any time soon. Taking a few deep breaths, he stood up firmly, determined to shake off the troubling mood. He'd keep this particular text stored in his Sickbay locker for now.

It wasn't fair to be feeling so wiped out after coming off leave. Somehow the day just had to start improving soon. If he was at the helm, he could lose himself in piloting, in the never-ending glory of stars and space.

He'd have to settle for the never-ending boredom of stocking medical supplies.

"Mr. Paris?"

Tom recognized that tone and glanced at the Doctor, who was standing impatiently between the office and the main ward. He was definitely out of counselor mode and back to strict taskmaster, though there was still a touch of concern in his gaze. "Yeah, Doc?" he said, trying to put just a little insolence into his voice.

"I trust you took care of those files?"

"Of course."

"And the supply cabinets?"

There was something about that fussy, petulant tone that always made Tom feel good--like he was needed to goof off in order to make Doc's day complete. It may have been a strange basis for their friendship, but it worked.

Tom strode forward eagerly, giving the Doctor an arch look in passing. "On my way."

"And don't mix up the neural suppressors with the neural stimulators, like last time!" came the stern warning.

With a relieved chuckle, Tom got to work. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it was a start.

******

Even after all these years, after all his experience, there was something about the imminence of an inspection that could still make Chakotay feel like a green cadet facing his first review. He knew his pride in the lab wasn't misplaced; he knew the captain would most likely shower them with praise. However, that did nothing to relieve the pure, unadulterated nervousness he was feeling, complete with dry mouth and sweaty palms.

The commander glanced sideways at Harry Kim, who looked Academy-fresh in a clean uniform, and seemed much more at ease as he put one last layer of shine on the main control console. The other members of the Astrometrics team, along with the construction gang, were standing by at various stations, making last-minute checks and comparing notes in low, conversational voices. They all looked ready for anything, and more relaxed than he felt.

Looking around carefully, he found Jarvin and Tabor talking to a lieutenant--a 'fleeter--from Tuvok's staff, on loan to help install security protocols. Their little outburst hadn't done much to help his mood. He'd kept the pair under casual observation and didn't think either of them would show up in his office the next morning. They appeared to have simmered down, taking his warning to heart. Like all the others, they seemed eager and ready to show off their efforts.

He was more than ready too, if the captain would just get here. Resisting the impulse to check the time, he took one more look around the lab to steady his nerves, trying to recapture the confidence and satisfaction he had felt earlier in the day. There was no real reason to feel any apprehension, except perhaps that it was simply part of being human.

Finally, the doors to the lab slid open. The polishing cloth in Harry's hand disappeared, and the ensign snapped to attention. "Captain on the deck," he announced in ringing tones. It wasn't quite appropriate, although somehow it befitted the occasion. The rest of the crew snapped to as smartly as Harry did. Chakotay squared his shoulders, assumed the proper stance of a first officer at the ready, and put his best face forward.

Captain Janeway stepped into the lab, her habitual air of command tempered by a friendly smile. She glanced here and there, taking in everything with a scientist's eye, as she walked forward to meet her two officers. She gave Chakotay a smooth nod and a pleased look that he easily interpreted as a "Well done." Then she looked at Harry, her head cocked to one side, one eyebrow raised slightly. "Ensign," she said, with some hesitation.

Harry's lips pursed, then spread into a grin. "Don't worry, Captain," he said respectfully. "I've learned how to do it without spraining anything."

Chakotay was a little taken aback by the remark. The captain, however, simply rolled her eyes, looking away from Harry quickly, chuckling as she did so. Realizing that they were sharing a private joke, Chakotay relaxed, smiling when Kathryn finally sobered and met his gaze.

"Sorry, Captain," he said with a helpless shrug. "You give them a little power and it goes right to their heads."

She nodded, and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Too true, Commander," she agreed. "At ease, everyone," she called over her shoulder to the others. As they complied, she stepped forward, between the two men, resting one hand on the console's rim. With the other, she ran her fingers lightly over the control pads. "Well, gentlemen," she said eagerly, "show me your new toys."

Some thirty minutes later, as they watched the captain receive an explanation of the new coordinate mapping system from Ensigns Harper and Golwat, Harry leaned close to Chakotay and murmured, "She likes it."

"Of course she does," the commander replied, his emotional state back in balance. "You did fine work, Harry, and there's nothing the captain appreciates more."

"Well, I was a little nervous."

The confession made Chakotay feel somewhat better, though it would not do to admit his own trepidation. "That's completely understandable, given the enormity of the project, and the impact it's going to have on our journey home. All the hard work and worry will pay off, you can be sure of that."

"Yes, sir." Harry leaned forward, and used his sleeve to wipe away some smudges on the console that Chakotay couldn't see. As a lock of hair fell over the young man's forehead, altering his spit-and-polish appearance for a moment, the commander remembered they had something else to discuss.

"By the way, Ensign," he said as Harry straightened, "have you decided who's going to take charge here while you have Bridge duty?"

Harry nodded. "Jenny Delaney's going to for now, and help finish Golwat's cross-training. We've got the final configurations set for automated running during Gamma shift, but we'll need an alternate for Beta, since Ian Mulcahey will still be pulling duty in Engineering."

Although the construction of the lab had required a large team of engineers and various systems specialists, the actual staff would consist only of Harry himself and four others--Golwat, Christa Harper, Mulcahey and Brian Dell. Cross-training and double duty were all well and good, but they had to be careful not to stretch the crew's abilities too far. Fortunately, Chakotay had the solution to Harry's problem.

"Well, let me make a suggestion," he said, patting the ensign on the back. "Ensign Lang has expressed an interest in joining your team, and even though she just made the move into Navigation, she'd be a good choice for back-up, given that training and her experience at Ops."

If Harry had any idea that Debra Lang's interest wasn't limited to his work, or that the first officer was attempting to play matchmaker, he didn't show it. He looked thoughtful, and then pleased, realizing it was a good suggestion. "Thanks, Commander. I'll have to talk to her, and then see if Jenny can take on an extra student."

Chakotay was saved from further discussion of the subject when the captain rejoined them. "I'm very impressed, Commander," she said warmly, touching his arm for one second. "Well done, Harry," she added, shaking his hand. "You made good use of resources without seriously affecting our energy reserves or supply of raw materials. Your staff seems ready for anything, which almost makes me wish we'd run across a spatial anomaly or two so we could see this place in action."

"Well, with our record, we're bound to sooner or later," Chakotay said with a small laugh.

Harry stood straight and true. "And we'll be ready, Captain," he assured her.

She clapped them both on the shoulder proudly. "In the meantime, though, while it's quiet, the whole team has certainly earned some time off. Consider yourselves all off-duty till your regular shifts tomorrow."

"Thank you, Captain," Harry said, smiling at her, and then the others present, who were all grinning in anticipation of downtime. "The inauguration ceremony is scheduled for next week."

"Ensign, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Chakotay gave her his best innocent smile. "Am I also excused from duty, Captain?"

Hands on hips, Kathryn regarded him with mock impatience. "Actually, Commander, I believe you're scheduled to relieve me on the Bridge at 1600. You do remember that little detail from when we discussed the shift rotations?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

"But you're free till then," she said, with a gracious wave of her hand. "Go have lunch or something." She broadened the gesture to include the other crew members. "Dismissed, all of you," she ordered airily. "I've got a few minutes to spare, and I want to experiment." Turning her back on them, she ran her hands lovingly over the console, activating readout panels one by one.

Chakotay exchanged a knowing look with Harry, who was beaming with pride. Then they led Golwat, Harper and the rest out of the lab, leaving the captain to play with the new toys.

******

//The first divisions of the fertilized oocyte are termed cleavage. They distribute the cytoplasm approximately equally among daughter blastomeres, so although the cell number of the preimplantation embryo rises its total mass actually falls slightly.//

Tom looked up from the text padd of "Gray's Anatomy" (212th Revised Edition, New Melbourne 2368) and rubbed his forehead wearily. With the supply cabinets stocked to overflowing, and the crew in apparently excellent health, he had needed something to do till his relief showed up. It didn't bother him too much to think about the possibility of other people's children, so he'd decided to begin the studying the Doctor had recommended. Now he was wondering if he might have picked the wrong chapter, or even the wrong source, for what he would need to know in future.

//The cell cycle is quite long, the first two cell cycles being around 24 hours each, thereafter reducing to 12 to 18 hours. Cell division is asynchronous and--//

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

And here was relief in the form of Ensign Samantha Wildman. Tom hastily put the padd aside and smiled in welcome. "Good morning. How did it go with Tuvok? How's Kim?"

Samantha pulled up a stool and sat on the opposite side of the console from Tom. "It went well. Kim's very excited about school. In fact, right now she's having her first lesson in music appreciation with Lieutenant Nicoletti."

"That's terrific. Did Tuvok approve those holoprograms Neelix and I came up with?"

"Not exactly 'approved'," she said with a laugh. "Conceded to, yes." Curiously, she glanced at the padds scattered on the console, and craned her neck to peek at the computer screen filled with reference data. "Looks like you're going back to school yourself, Tom. What's going on?"

With a sigh, Tom tapped the monitor. "Doctor's orders," he told her. "New study material for us all."

She picked up the padd he had abandoned. " 'Embryology and Development,' " she read the chapter heading out loud. Her expression went blank for a second, then her eyes widened. "Oh, my. Does this mean what I think it means?"

"I don't know," Tom said slowly, not wanting to give away what might still be a secret. "What do you think it means?"

Her face lit up. "Dara Morgan and Moira Kelly--they're ready to have a baby."

Tom blinked. "How did you--oh. They probably asked you all sorts of questions already, seeing as how you're our resident expert on motherhood."

"A brilliant deduction, Mr. Paris," the Doctor observed drily, emerging from the office. He joined his two assistants, peering over Samantha's shoulder at the padd in her hand. "Ahh, you've chosen an excellent starting point. Begin at the beginning, I always say."

Irritated by the little jab, Tom remained silent, ignoring the EMH's anticipation of a comeback line. Samantha looked at the text once more, going a bit glassy-eyed as she tried to absorb the stultifying material. "I don't know, Doctor," she finally said, shutting off the padd. "I've been through all this, from the beginning, but I think if we're going to be assisting you with prenatal care and deliveries, I'd prefer study material that was a little less technical and a lot more pertinent."

"Good point, Sam," Tom said quickly, snatching the padd from her and burying it at the bottom of the nearest pile. "I made a mistake in starting with that, even if it is one of Doc's favorites."

The Doctor sniffed disapprovingly. "Fine." He stepped around imperiously to Tom's side of the console, and began tapping commands into the computer. The data on the screen shrank to a smaller list. "This selection of texts will probably be more suitable for our needs," he admitted less gruffly. "But," he warned, straightening and giving them both a stern look, "once you and Ensigns Murphy and Parsons have embarked on this course of study, you will all be quizzed at regular intervals. Understood?"

"Oh, of course, Doctor," Samantha replied earnestly, giving Tom a conspiratorial look that was almost a wink. She had saved all of them from a lot of boring hours of study.

"No problem, Doc," Tom agreed with a barely disguised smirk.

The Doctor gave a curt nod, then stalked off. As he began fussing and fiddling with the nearest prep tray, they could hear him mutter, "Kes would have had no trouble with 'Gray's Anatomy.' "

Even as she choked off a little laugh, Samantha looked at Tom in concern. "What's wrong with him?" she asked quietly. "Have you two been going at it all morning?"

Tom shook his head. "No more than usual. But we did get into a pretty serious discussion about--the complications we might run into if more people decide they want to start a family. Not just our training, but concerns about child care, and safety. Making sure crew members can handle parenthood and duty. It's all kind of--"

"Intimidating?" Samantha interjected, gazing at him somberly. "Believe me, I know. It's also overwhelming and complicated, but it does have its rewarding moments. I just hope that anyone considering having a child gives it a lot of hard thought first."

"From the way Doc was talking, I think that's what's happening," Tom assured her. "No one's going to--jump into this."

She let out a little sigh of relief. "That's good to know. What about you, Tom--what do you think about it?"

He should have seen the question coming, but it still disturbed him, as it had when the Doctor brought it up. He was going to have to learn to handle the subject without feeling so ill at ease, especially if he ever hoped to discuss it with B'Elanna. It might help to take opportunities like this to practice and sort out his own feelings. He swallowed down the aversion that was tightening his throat, and tried to give Samantha as honest an answer as he could.

"It's...umm...not something B'Elanna and I are likely to rush into, all things considered," he said stolidly. She nodded sympathetically, and encouraged, he went on. "Voyager's probably not the best place to bring up kids, but we're still facing a long trip home, and we may have to become a generation ship. And Doc thinks having children--having a real family--could be a vital need for some people." Tom felt his mouth go dry, and he swallowed again, smiling faintly. "Does that make any sense?"

Samantha reached over and patted his hand. "It makes perfect sense, and I wouldn't be surprised if that's the way a lot of other crew members feel. Sometimes I wonder how I'd survive out here without Kim."

Tom looked at her closely and asked a question he'd never dared to before. "Even with all the risks?"

They both knew how much known and unknown danger encompassed "all the risks." Samantha closed her eyes for a second, then looked back at him resolutely. "Yes," she answered simply.

It wasn't difficult to understand. He knew what his life would be like without B'Elanna. Their love would carry them through the risky years ahead. Samantha was facing a lifetime without her husband, and drew her strength to survive from her daughter. In that, she was more fortunate than some on the ship.

Her experience as a mother would be of tremendous help in what they might be facing. Even so, Tom was concerned about learning a new branch of medical care that carried so much responsibility. At least there were four of them to share the potential burden. He glanced across the room at the Doctor, who had given up any pretense of being occupied with something else, and was following their conversation, watching them intently. "Can I ask you a question, Doc?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

"Don't break any medical confidences, but tell me straight--how soon will we see another couple in here for prenatal counseling and care?"

He wasn't prepared for the startled look the Doctor gave him, or the answer he got--from Samantha. "It won't be a couple, Tom," she said in a quiet voice.

If she had hit him in the face, it couldn't have stunned him more. He stared at her, trying to comprehend her words. The day had already held too many disconcerting surprises, and this one was just too much. They'd been talking about babies, and risks, and now she was trying to tell him-- His mouth worked soundlessly, before he managed to say, "Sam...you--you're not..."

She quickly shook her head, a little distraught over his reaction. "No, but I'm thinking seriously about it," she tried to explain. Then she put a hand to her head and turned away. "Oh, I shouldn't have said anything."

Tom was at a complete loss. "Sam..."

"Lieutenant." The EMH waved him to silence as he hurried to Samantha's side. "It's all right, Ensign," he said, putting a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps it's time you discussed this with someone else, and I know you can trust Mr. Paris, as a friend and colleague."

The complete sincerity of the compliment was the nicest surprise Tom had gotten all day, and he gave the Doctor a look of gratitude. "It's okay, Sam. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Samantha glanced up at the Doctor, who nodded at her confidently, then looked at Tom. "No, you were honest with me, and I do need to talk to somebody about it," she said. "Some people may not understand, and I need to have it all straight in my head."

Tom knew exactly what she meant by that. "Sure you do. Can I start by asking why?"

She twisted her hands together, a little nervously, and took a deep breath. "Mostly, it's for Kim. I've been thinking about it for months, especially since she started growing up so fast. For a while, it seemed as if no one else on the ship wanted to take the same chance I did--raising a child out here, though of course I didn't have a lot of choice in that," she noted with a rueful smile. "But I just can't bear the thought of Kimmy growing up alone--with no other children to play with."

Her anguish touched Tom deeply. He'd spent a great deal of his childhood around adults, sometimes willingly, but for the most part, not. He wouldn't want that to be Kim's fate.

Samantha took his silence for the understanding it was, and went on. "So...so I talked to the Doctor about my options. I'm going to have to talk to Captain Janeway too, because there will be legal and ethical details to work out. But I'm willing to have another child, so Kim can have a brother or sister to play with, and...and still be part of a family, if--" She paused, then continued, in almost a whisper, "if anything happens to me before we get home."

Tom understood some of what she must have gone through, making such a momentous, life-altering decision. He knew how difficult it was to admit deeply personal fears, remembering some of the painful, emotional confessions he and B'Elanna had made to each other. So much had changed when he had finally found the courage to tell B'Elanna he loved her, and wanted to marry her, almost in the same moment. Could he--could they--ever make the kind of sacrifice Samantha planned to in the name of love?

She was sitting quietly, her head bowed, her hands folded in her lap. Tom reached over and gently touched her arm. "Sam?"

Warily, but with an almost defiant serenity shining in her eyes, she looked up at him. "What?"

"I think you're doing an incredibly brave and wonderful thing, and I hope it works out," he told her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling in relief. Behind her, the Doctor gave Tom a very pleased smile of his own.

He didn't want to pry further, if she wasn't willing to say more, but his curiosity was piqued. "You, ahh, mentioned options?" he ventured, striving to keep all trace of innuendo out his voice.

Samantha compressed her lips, and shook her head chidingly. "You mean, how and who, don't you?" she asked, without sounding too upset with him.

Tom ducked his head in chagrin. "Umm, yeah."

She blushed faintly. "Most likely by artificial insemination, with the help of a male donor. I'd rather not say more until we work out all the details, but it will be a favor, Tom; a gift, you could say, from a friend."

"Then that will make it all the more special," he said. "If you ever need to talk about it again, let me know, okay?"

"I will," she said, smiling in gratitude.

Tom could only hope that in helping her, he might help himself and B'Elanna. He got up from the stool and stretched, trying to dispel some of the tension that still plagued him. As calmly as he could, he began sorting through the padds, checking them against the revised study list. "I guess we're gonna have our work cut out for us," he said with a wan smile, handing the unneeded texts to the Doctor.

"That you will, Mr. Paris," he agreed. "And I know both of you will honor all medical confidences in the meantime."

"Of course," they responded in unison. Tom held the remaining padds fanned out in both hands to Samantha. "Take what you want."

She selected a few at random, then looked at the Doctor. "I'll have to search the database for books about families and pregnancy written for children. That may make it easier for me to explain things to Kim when the time comes."

Tom went to put the padds in his locker as the Doctor answered. "An excellent idea; I'll be happy to assist you with that. And Commander Tuvok has asked me to be Kim's botany instructor. If certain questions arise, perhaps she'll feel comfortable asking me."

"It's high noon, Doc," Tom announced as he rejoined them, "and Sam looks ready for anything. Am I dismissed?" Technically, he ought to work another thirty minutes, but he really wanted to go before any other surprises or shocks dropped out of the sky.

Samantha just shook her head at his impudence, and went to stow her own texts away. "Yes, Lieutenant, you're free," the Doctor allowed, shooing him towards the door. "The ensign and I can handle things--it's been a quiet day, after all."

Tom felt a smile freeze on his face, and he managed a strangled "Thanks," before he bolted out of Sickbay. A quiet day, he thought bleakly, heading for the lift.

If only.

***

"Please state a destination."

Tom cast a sour glance at the ceiling of the turbolift. "I'm thinking."

"Please rephrase the request."

Where did he want to go? The mess hall would probably be packed, and there was the chance he might run into Chakotay (no thanks) or B'Elanna--and in his current frame of mind he wasn't ready to face her. He could always have lunch in his quarters, but he knew his credits were short, and his appetite had gone off again. He certainly wasn't in the mood to clean, either.

That left the choice of taking advantage of what a shift rotation was designed for--catching up on work. The leave had put him behind on helm reports, and he had to make up a new schedule of flight classes. Routine stuff. Very unexciting. He'd most likely be alone and undisturbed down in Navigational Control all afternoon.

It sounded perfect.

Losing himself in work would only provide temporary relief from troubling thoughts, but it would give his head a chance to clear, and his emotional state to settle. If B'Elanna had calmed down and wanted to talk before she went on duty, he could deal with that. If not, he'd find the time and a way to make peace.

"Please state--"

"Deck 12," he called out decisively.

The computer chirped happily, the lift dropped, and Tom set his sights on surviving the rest of the day.

It was well after 1600 hours when he finally left Navigational Control, having accomplished far more than he had expected. A job well done always made him feel good, so he decided he could spend some time cleaning up his quarters, and have a quick bite to eat. Then he was going to treat himself to a session in the holodeck--Sandrine's had made a popular comeback with the crew--in order to really unwind and feel better.

What he found when he entered his quarters altered his plans just slightly.

They were clean. Spotless. Day-of-commissioning perfect.

Tom stood inside the doorway and looked around in astonishment. Everything that had been tipped over or askew was back in place. There was a new potted plant on the dining table. The bed was made; the cushions and pillows on the couch puffed and set just so. Even the air smelled clean. He walked gingerly, feeling as if he were in some sort of shrine, towards the bathroom. Everything was perfect there too. Fresh towels hanging neatly on the bar; clean sink; the medkit stowed where it belonged, the regenerator fully charged.

He felt a sudden ache in his jaw, and he glanced at the mirror, discovering he was grinning from ear to ear.

B'Elanna. Bless her heart; no wonder he hadn't heard from her all afternoon. He was going to have to call her and thank her--no, better not bother her now that she was on duty. She would have too much catching up to do. But she had made the first gesture of peace, and he already had some idea of how he wanted to reciprocate.

Tom went back into the living area and checked the replicator. B'Elanna had made good use of their accounts in cleaning up both cabins, leaving them with an equal if scant amount of credits. He would have to do something about that. But he'd be able to eat, and have more time to relax in Sandrine's, which he was really looking forward to now.

He would just have to make a few stops on his way there first.

******

With the memory of Chakotay's warning, delivered through Tom, still fresh in her mind, B'Elanna had no trouble leaving Main Engineering when Beta shift ended. It had been an uneventful, almost tedious watch, the sort that made her restless, so she even granted herself the rare indulgence of going off duty a few minutes early. She felt only the slightest twinge of guilt when she informed Ashmore he was to take responsibility for briefing the Gamma crew.

She was looking forward to a few quiet minutes of unwinding in her nice, clean (two hours' worth of clean) cabin before heading to bed. The day had been too long, and too often irritating. It was just after midnight when she entered her quarters, and as the lights came up in response to her order, she noticed they were not quite in the same tidy shape she had left them this afternoon.

A vase of flowers was prominently displayed on the dining table. She smiled as she recognized the tawny blossoms that Tom always claimed were not as soft as her skin. Their tangy fragrance filled the air--almost overwhelmingly so. B'Elanna looked around and saw a smaller arrangement on the night stand, and yet another on her dresser. She wondered if Tom had stripped the 'ponics bay bare in a gesture extravagant even for him.

The other difference was Tom himself, stretched out on her couch, fast asleep. One pillow was scrunched under his head; the other on the floor, along with the half of the comforter that had fallen off his legs. His tunic was thrown over a chair, and it looked as if his boots had been hastily shoved out of sight under the side table.

Any dismay she might have felt over the mess was quickly replaced by the warm, comforting thought that this would be the sort of homey, domestic scene she'd soon be coming home to quite often. It was a very nice feeling, she decided, one she could get used to quite easily.

Approaching the couch with quiet steps, B'Elanna knelt down and kissed Tom on the cheek. He stretched, took a breath that turned into a yawn, then opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Hey," he said sleepily.

She bent over and kissed him again. "Thank you for the flowers."

He smiled through another yawn. "Thank you for cleaning up my quarters," he replied. "It was a--very nice surprise." With a huge stretch, he sat up, holding on to the comforter with one hand while he pulled her up to sit beside him with the other. "Does this mean we've made up for a fight we didn't have?"

B'Elanna poked him gently in the ribs, thinking of the almost-argument they'd had that morning, and the one that had been wordlessly postponed. "I think so. Actually, it wasn't as bad in here as I thought, and since I did have more time to spare than you, I figured I might as well deal with your place as well." She snuggled up closer, resting her head on his shoulder as he put an arm around her. "Are the flowers to thank me for that, or an apology for this morning?"

Tom sighed, as he brushed his lips across her hair. "A little of both, I guess. And a peace offering. We don't have to fight about that, do we?" he asked plaintively.

She quickly shook her head. "No, I don't think we should."

"Good," he agreed. "When you think about it, we're not in that much trouble with Chakotay, and he really was doing us a favor with that--crack he made."

They may have agreed not to fight over it, but the thought of what more than one crew member may have overheard in the space of a certain thirty-six hours still made B'Elanna squirm with embarrassment. "There's no way we could request new soundproofing for our current quarters, is there?"

"No, I don't think so," Tom said ruefully. "We'll just have to practice some self-restraint. I know we can do it."

B'Elanna resisted the impulse to grab the pillow and whack him with it. She'd show him self-restraint, just wait.

He must have sensed the shift in her mood, for he sat up straight, gently pushing her away from him. "Hey, I've got another surprise for you."

She looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Go check your replicator account."

Intrigued, she did as he said. To her surprise, her credit allotment was over twice the amount it had been when she'd finished all the cleaning and refurbishing earlier. "Tom! What did you do? You haven't been hacking into accounts, have you?"

His mouth dropped open indignantly. "No!" Then he smiled, rather evilly. "I hustled some rations off Ken Dalby tonight. A month's worth for you, and a month's worth for me," he explained smugly.

"Well, that's almost as bad," she scolded him, hands on hips. "I thought you didn't do that sort of thing anymore."

Tom waved off her protest. "It was just a friendly wager. Besides, the jerk was asking for it."

Dalby may not have been her favorite person from the old days, but B'Elanna felt she should defend her one-time compatriot. She sought for something nice to say. "Tom, Ken Dalby is not--he..."

He crossed his arms and watched her expectantly. "Yes?"

She gave up. "--isn't as much of a jerk as he used to be." Shaking her head, she walked back to the couch and sat down, her arms folded as firmly as his.

Tom wisely did not make a move to get closer just yet. "Well, you couldn't have proved that tonight. He was being loud and obnoxious, showing off his so-called pool skills trying to impress Christa Harper. It was pathetic."

B'Elanna also did the wise thing and did not bring up her memories of the first impressions a certain pilot had made on her several years before. She did think about some scuttlebutt that had drifted through Engineering a few weeks ago, and her own recent observations of Dalby. "Ken's probably just feeling lonely. I think he was a little hurt when Mariah and Pablo started dating, and was really surprised when they got married."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom said, frowning slightly. "Ken and Mariah were never--involved, were they?"

"No, they're good friends, but were never really as close as Ken likes to think they were."

Tom shrugged disinterestedly. "Well, he may think he has a broken heart, but that doesn't mean he has to act like an idiot in Sandrine's. He's probably more upset that Mariah fell in love with a Starfleet regular."

The nonchalant attitude and flippant tone did not fool B'Elanna for one second. Something else had happened in the holodeck that accounted for Tom's previous assertion that Dalby had been asking for trouble. With slow, casual movements, she unfolded her arms and leaned against him, putting one hand on his arm and letting the other drift up to play with his hair. "Funny how that old resentment between Starfleet and Maquis crops up every now and then," she said.

He relaxed a little and eased into her embrace. "Yeah, he made some crack to Jarvin about it."

"Did he?" B'Elanna slid her fingers down to his neck, played with his collar for a second, then moved them back up to stroke his ear. When she felt him relax even more, she pounced, catching the lobe between the nails of her thumb and forefinger. "And what did he say about us, Tom?"

Tom froze. He obviously realized that she'd been using their special understanding of each other's emotions to trap him, while he'd been too preoccupied to notice. "Nothing!" he insisted, trying to back away without moving his head. "He didn't say anything about--us."

She caught the hesitation and squeezed a little harder. "Tom..."

"Ow!" It was with more annoyance than anger that he reached up and slapped her hand away, then backed off completely, rubbing his ear. "You're getting too devious for your own good, Torres," he complained, glaring at her.

She knew he was more upset at being caught out, than actually hurt by her trickery. That didn't deter her from wanting to get to the bottom of this. "Tell me what he said," she demanded.

Tom rubbed his ear once more, ducked his head, glanced away, then finally looked back at her. "He told Jarvin he understood the need for as complete an integration between the two crews as possible, but that he thought some people had taken it a bit too far," he told her between clenched teeth.

B'Elanna felt the angry rush of heat to her cheeks. "Meaning Mariah and Pablo Baytart," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Tom muttered.

The hot pulse moved and centered around her heart. "Meaning--us," she grated out.

Tom nodded miserably, his own color high. "He didn't realize I'd noticed, but he was looking right at me when he said it. I almost snapped the pool cue, I was so mad. So when he wandered over later, looking for a game, and started hitting on Christa--gee, who just happens to be Starfleet, by the way--I had to do something."

B'Elanna smiled thinly, nodding in agreement. "That petaQ. I probably would have--"

"--put him through the nearest bulkhead?" Tom offered, his discomfited expression finally settling into a knowing grin. "That thought did cross my mind, but I figured I'd do something more subtle."

That sounded much more like the real Tom. B'Elanna allowed herself to grin back at him. "Well, I wish you had taken him for three months' rations."

Tom's grin became a smirk. "I thought about that too, except that would have been pushing it."

The last of her anger and indignation faded away. She was a little surprised at how easily they'd each calmed down. Maybe self-restraint wasn't such a bad thing after all.

But it did have its place, and she'd had more than enough of it right now. Tom had successfully defended their honor, they'd managed to deflect two fights--and the day that had started out so badly was ending on a better note. She just wished they'd been able to finish their leave properly. Then again, they'd gotten very good at making up for lost time...

She glanced at Tom, who was trying to fold the comforter one-handed while he rubbed the side of his head. Being sure to let her hands brush against his, she reached out to help him finish the folding. "Does your ear still hurt?" she asked softly.

"Nah, it's all--" He looked at her sharply, registering the gentle seductiveness of her tone and the unmistakable light in her eyes. His brow furrowed suddenly, and he gave quite a convincing little wince. "Actually, it's kinda sore."

B'Elanna let the quilt drop to the floor and moved in. She put her hands on Tom's shoulders, pushing him down into the cushions. He complied readily, slipping his hands around her waist, pulling her close till she was sitting on his thighs. B'Elanna leaned down and whispered, "Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?"

"Yes, please," he said, in that husky, eager tone she loved to hear. "And I think I may have strained something whipping Dalby's ass," he added, just before his lips made contact with hers.

It was a remarkably restrained kiss, B'Elanna realized, as his mouth moved languidly over hers. But what it lacked in--mad passion, it more than made up for in love, comfort, and wonderful familiarity.

***

Waking up this way--curled around a warm, half-naked half-Klingon--had become one of his favorite things. Except when what woke him at some indecent hour was that awful, prickly sensation in his ankle where the circulation was being cut off.

Tom cautiously slid his leg out from between B'Elanna's, and eased into a more comfortable position. They'd moved from the sofa to her bed with every intention of continuing the make-it-better sex. Once they were under the covers, though, they had realized just how tired they both were. It had been a long, long day, and it was easier to succumb to sleepiness than to desire. So they had settled for cuddling and drifting off wrapped around each other.

He was relieved they had made up for the difficulties and misunderstandings of the morning. That had been more important to him than bringing up weightier subjects. Even with Doc's support and encouragement, it was going to be difficult to talk about having children. The possibility of having children, he reminded himself. It wasn't something you could just spring on a person, especially B'Elanna.

No, it was better he hadn't brought it up today--and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that it could wait till it did come up in the proper context. In a day or so, he could remind B'Elanna about their exams, then arrange for Doc to schedule them a few weeks from now. That would be the best way to go. Or if someone--Moira, Sam or anybody--made an announcement before then, maybe it would give him an opening. Either way, he would wait.

Satisfied that he had made the right decision, Tom put his own concerns for the future aside, and concentrated on the present. For a few minutes, he listened to B'Elanna's soft, steady breathing. He rubbed his cheek against the back of her head, savoring the scent and feel that were so essentially her. Moments like this seemed close to absolute perfection. They'd be even better when they had their own quarters and a bigger bed.

His nuzzling must have disturbed her, for B'Elanna moved suddenly, twisting around in his arms to face him. In the soft glow of the night grid, he could see her eyes were wide open. "Tom," she said, in an odd tone.

He smiled at her. "Hey."

Silent, she continued to stare at him, so intently that he grew concerned. "What's wrong?"

She blinked, and as the tension in her expression eased, Tom realized she had only been half-awake. "Nothing," she answered softly. "Just making sure you were here."

"Of course." He kissed her cheek. "Right where you want me."

Touching one finger to his lips, she smiled. "Good." With a little sigh, she rolled over so they were spooned together once more. The awareness that her contentment matched his warmed him more than the closeness of her body or the weight of the covers. Tom closed his eyes and conjured up visions of coinciding shifts, shared meals, and a wide, soft bed.

But in his dreams, which he would only remember hazily, he heard the sound of fleeting laughter, and chased small, elusive figures through the corridors of the ship.

******

(The medical quotes Tom reads are taken from "Gray's Anatomy," 38th Edition, 1995.)

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