Title: Phoenix Rising: Fall
Author: Jessica
E-mail Address: Jessa5@aol.com
Size: 79K
Category: A, U; K/T, K/f
Rating: PG
Teaser: On a Voyager that is run by the children of the original crew, where
protocol is disregarded and a 22-year-old can be a commander, Harry Kim
has settled into life as a Captain.  And though it seems to his impressionable
crew that his life is complete, there is a deep sadness that lurks inside . .  
. 

Archiving: OK to archive at KTH and ASC, anywhere else, you can have it as
long as you drop me a line at Jessa5@aol.com letting me know, and you keep my
name and all disclaimers/notes on it.  Yeah, as if you want to archive this
anyway . . . ::shrug:: Enjoy.

(It's like Imzadi, The Visitor, and Quantum Leap all rolled into one,
but K/T.  Hee!)

Author's Note: Umm.  This story might not make any sense at all to you.  It's
okay, it doesn't make much sense to me either.  You'll understand the prologue
when you finish Part One -- if you don't, then either I really don't know what
I'm doing or you're really dense. <G>  I'm leaning towards the former.  As 
for the
time-travel's mechanics, just think Quantum Leap.  Yes, there's a paradox.
There always is, when you do time-travel.

Disclaimer: Short version: Paramount Star Trek no infringement.

Phoenix Rising
by Jessica Fisher

PRELUDE

Dead.  They were all dead.  Every last one of them -- the ship too.  Just
BOOM, and they were gone.  So many years with so few deaths, then one fatal
error . . . The man cradled his head in his hands, feeling the waves of guilt
and pain wash over him and squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of
emotion.  The pain was a dull throb, something he was used to, something he'd
been dealing with for half his life.  But the guilt . . . the guilt was a
drug, flooding his veins and producing the quite unpleasant side affect of
nausea.

What had he been thinking, leaving them there to fend for themselves while he
went down to the planet to discuss trade with the ruler?  He should have known
that it was a ruse, that the stations docked warships, not supply freighters. 
He tried to tell himself that he had been lucky to get out of the palace, that
he had been lucky that he was not captured by the guards and brought to a
public execution, but he couldn't believe himself.

They were dead, and it was his fault.  As their captain, he should have been
there to lead them . . . he shouldn't have left the ship in the hands of a 22-
year-old girl, no matter how capable.

But then, suppose that it hadn't been her poor leadership that had been the
problem?  She was not a poor leader.  Perhaps it was less-than-genius
engineering.

Whatever the cause, Voyager had been blown to bits and Harry Kim was the only
survivor.

***

PART ONE: Fall

Harry sighed as he rested in his chair at the end of another long day. 
Voyager had been traveling through an empty sector of space for weeks, and the
shifts were increasingly dull.  However, the crew's banter was always lively
when Naomi was on the Bridge.  If Tuvok had still been alive, Harry reflected,
half the Bridge crew would be pulling double shifts for being disorderly. 
But Tuvok was dead, along with most of Voyager's original crew.  Harry was not
strict with his officers; they had never been to Starfleet Academy, they
had never lived on a planet, and they were used to a casual atmosphere on the
ship.  Voyager, after all, was the only home they had ever known.

" . . . so I told him he could just keep his water buffalo and shove it up his
ass," Naomi Wildman said as the crewmen on the Bridge burst into laughter.

"How could you do that?"  Michael Paris asked through a laugh.  "The poor
guy!"

"If she'd acccepted it, think of the consequences," Janice O'Connor giggled. 
"I can just see it: 'For a good time, give Naomi a water buffalo!'"  Harry
couldn't help but to smile as the crewmen tossed lewd comments back and forth
regarding Naomi's wild love life.  It had been a long time since Harry had
participated in such discussions, and they had never taken place on the Bridge
and had a different cast of characters -- and although there had been one
unfortunate incident with a rooster, nobody had ever offered any of them a
water buffalo in exchange for a date.

But then, all of them were dead now.  Harry was the only senior staff member
left . . . and he had created his own senior staff.  The console that he had
manned for so many years was now run by Tom Paris's son Michael; the chair at
his side was occupied by Janice O'Connor.  The tactical station left
vacant by Tuvok seventeen years before was run by Naomi Wildman.  He gazed at
the stars swimming by on the viewscreen and thought of how many years he'd
been traveling through unfamiliar space.  He wondered what would happen when
they reached Earth . . . *if* they reached Earth.  The crew would have their
own children by then.  With the improvements made to the engines over the
years, Voyager would reach the Alpha Quadrant in approximately twenty years. 
After Harry had assumed command, he had done away with many of the Starfleet
rules and had begun trading technology with other races, improving Voyager as
he went along.  The replicators had unlimited energy, the engines were twice
as fast . . . Harry realized that he hadn't thought about home in years. 
Voyager was home now, and Earth was a distant memory.  Almost all of his crew
had never even been to Earth; they probably didn't really care if they ever
got there or not.  There was really no purpose in going back.

But it was something to do.

Various members of the beta shift came to replace the crew on the Bridge, who
headed for the turbolift in small groups.  Harry sighed, turned command over
to the Lieutenant at the conn, and headed for his quarters.

***

"So Naomi, what are you doing this evening?" asked Janice as she, Naomi, and
Michael sat in the mess hall.  Naomi tossed her head, sending long brown hair
flying about her face.  She smiled in the direction of a handsome young
Bajoran man sitting at a table across the mess hall.  The man smiled back and
headed towards them.

"Joran and I are going to spend some *quality time* on the holodeck," Naomi
responded nonchalantly.  Michael smiled conspiratorially.

"Quality time?" he asked.  "You probably won't spend much time on
the holodeck at all before going over to his quarters."

"Hey!  I'm not *that* easy."

Janice laughed, her pearly white teeth showing between full red lips.  "Come
on, Naomi, everyone saw you coming out of his quarters this morning. 
Don't try to deny it."

Naomi grimaced, the horns on her forehead drawing closer together.  "For your
information, I was in his quarters to get a PADD that had the sheild specs on
it," she said haughtily.  She turned to Keta Joran, who had come up to stand
behind her.  "Isn't that right?"  Naomi smiled her
You-Have-No-Clue-What-I'm-Talking-About-So-Just-Say-Yes smile at him, and he
nodded agreement.

"Yeah, the shield specs.  So, Naomi, we still on for tonight?"

"You bet.  In fact, I think I'm done here . . . why don't we go right now?"
she asked, getting up as she spoke and retrieving her tray to place in the
reclamator.  "I'll see you two tomorrow," she said, smiling the Oh-You-Poor-
Dears-With-Nowhere-To-Go smile at them as she left.  Michael grinned and shook
his head as he turned to Janice, a lock of light brown hair falling over his
blue eyes.

"She's hopeless," Janice remarked, pushing the remnants of her food around on
her plate with a fork.  "She'll have slept with every guy on the ship by this
time next year!  There'll be nothing left for the rest of us!"

"Janice, you know that's not true," he said, angling his head so that he could
see her green eyes through her heavy frame of fiery red hair.

"Isn't it?  Who hasn't she slept with yet?"

"Well, there's me for one . . . "

"You don't count."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael asked, rather offended.  "I *am*
male, you know."

"Of course I know!"  Janice shook her head slightly; "How could I not?" she
muttered under her breath.  Then, in response to his confused look, she
justified herself: "I was just saying, you don't date anyone, so you don't
count."

"Oh, as if *you* ever date anyone."

"I'm the Commander, I'm not supposed to date anyone!"

"Whatever!  You just don't want to because you have a crush on the Captain." 
Janice's head shot up, her eyes blazing, green piercing blue.

"Who told you that?" she whispered, her voice low and deadly.  Uh oh.  Michael
knew better than to get Janice angry -- she had a legendary temper; it came
along with the red hair, he supposed.

"Nobody did.  I've seen you looking at him when you think nobody's paying
attention."

"Aren't you supposed to be looking at your *console* while you're on the
Bridge, Lieutenant?" she asked, emphasizing his rank.  He was really in for it
now; Michael felt a blush rising in his cheeks.

"I . . . "

"Look," she said, her face softening at his discomfort.  She usually lost her
temper completely, but for some reason, Michael had a different effect on 
her. 
"Just don't tell anyone, okay?  Especially him.  I know how close you two 
are. 
This conversation never happened, got it?"  He nodded nervously.  Janice
looked at him sharply, then got up and left, leaving Michael slightly
flustered but greatly relieved.

It was very odd to him that Janice had feelings for Captain Kim; Harry had
been a surrogate father to him since his real father had passed away. 
That was eleven years ago, when he was an impressionable ten years old . . . 
more than half his life.  Harry had been close
to him before that too, however.  He knew that his father and the Captain had
at one point been the best of friends.  Michael's father had never explained
exactly why they weren't as close as they had once been, but he had guessed it
had something to do with a woman -- probably his own mother, Jenny Delaney. 
He knew that when Harry had first come on the ship he had gone out with Jenny
a few times.  Maybe it had been more serious than he had been led to believe 
. . .  
Then again, he recalled a night some years ago when his aunt Megan, who had
moved in with them at his father's death, had gone to the Captain's quarters
for some unknown reason and not come back until the next morning.  At the
time, he hadn't know the implications of that, and hadn't thought of it 
since, 
but looking back on it now he realized that was not the only time Aunt Megan
had been gone all night.  Though there were no grudges held in the family,
Michael also knew that his father had been involved with his aunt for some
time before marrying his mother.

There were, however, some odd occurences he remembered from his childhood. 
Once he had been playing in his parents' closet and had come across a picture
of his father with a woman he'd never seen; she wasn't completely human, and
he guessed that she was part Klingon.  Harry had been sitting with him that
day, and Michael had asked him who the woman in the picture was.

"Where did you get that?!" Harry had demanded, grabbing the picture away. 
"Where did you get it?"

"I found it in thet closet," the surprised eight-year-old Michael had
responded.  "Who's the lady?"

"Put it away.  Put it back where you found it," Harry had answered, handing
him the picture.  "I don't ever want to see it again."

"But who is she?" Michael had asked, not satisfied.

"Michael, PUT THE PICTURE AWAY.  Just put it away."  Michael had done as he
was asked, cowed by tone of Harry's voice.  He'd never asked about the woman
again.  Never thought about her again.

It occurred to him now, as he exited the messhall on his way to the turbolift,
that the woman in the picture probably had something to do with the
separation between his father and the Captain.  Harry had seemed quite upset
by it, and in the picture, his father had had his arm around the woman. 
In fact, it seemed so obvious to him now that she had been an important figure
in his father's and the Captain's lives that he was kicking himself for not 
realizing
it sooner.  Michael resolved to find out who this mystery woman was, and 
finally
discover the reason that the Captain was so . . . distant.

***

Harry sipped hot chocolate as he read over the crew behavior reports from
Janice.  He had to admit that the girl was excellent at her job,
especially for someone so young.  In the Alpha Quadrant, a girl of 22,
Janice's age, would just be starting out on her first mission, as he had 
done. 
They certainly wouldn't be second in command of a starship.

Janice was a good commander.  It was as if she had been born with the sole
purpose of having this job on this ship.  Harry hadn't been aiming for command
at all when he had started out on Voyager.  He was perfectly happy as Chief of
Ops, though he admittedly wasn't too happy with being only an Ensign for so
many years.  Command had practically been thrust on him, what with the deaths
of the rest of the senior staff.  Captain Janeway had been killed when he was
28, the same year Michael was born.  Seven of Nine and Tuvok had been killed
four years later on an away mission together, and Neelix passed away the year
after that.  B'Elanna . . . B'Elanna had died when he was 26.  It had been 23
years, but it felt like days still.  Harry had taken command at the age of 
38. 
The memory was clear and vivid in his aging mind; they had been under attack
by a belligerant species known as the Lorka after refusing to trade technology
. . . 

"Tom, can you bring us around them?" Chakotay had asked, yelling over the roar
of ruptured conduits and phaser fire from the Lorka ship as he crossed the
Bridge to stand behind the pilot.

"I'm trying, Captain, but we only have thrusters and I need more," Tom
responded, tapping frantically at his panel.

"Bridge to engineering, we need more power!" Chakotay shouted.

"I'm giving you everything we've got," was the frazzled response from Carey. 
The Captain turned his head to the other side of the Bridge, about to call out
for Harry to reroute any extra power, when the conn exploded behind him,
tossing both Chakotay himself and Tom to the floor with a sickening crunch. 
At first glance, it was obvious that they were both dead.

"I'm transferring controls from the conn to tactical," Harry called out from
his station.  "Aoki, can you handle the thrusters?"  The crewman he had
gestured to replied the affirmative.  Harry tapped his commbadge. "Bridge to
engineering."

"Carey here."

"Can you aim a broad polarized trioxal beam at their Bridge?" he asked, his
mind cycling through all possible alternatives in milliseconds.

"A polarized trioxal beam?"

"It'll disable their shields.  Can you do it?"

"Yes, I think so."  There was a slight pause.  "Okay, we're ready."

"Initialize on my mark.  Three, two, one, mark!"  The beam shot out from
Voyager's bow and spread across the enemy ship's shields.

"Their shields are down, targeting phasers," came a triumphant shout from Aoki
at tactical.

"Better make that photon torpedoes," Harry suggested.  "Phasers won't be
enough.  Fire at will."  Two bright torpedoes arrowed out from Voyager and
went straight at the Lorka ship, which exploded in a flaming ball of debris. 
A cheer rose up on the Bridge, and Harry smiled.  "Stand down red alert."

"Enginering to Bridge," came Carey's voice again.

"Kim here."

"What happened up there?  Is the Captain . . . "

"Chakotay and Tom Paris are both dead."

"I guess that makes you the Captain," was the response after a short pause. 
Harry almost jumped in surprise.  He hadn't even thought of that.
"I . . . suppose it does.  Unless someone else wants to take command."  There
were heads shaken around the Bridge.

"You'll make a great captain.  Congratulations."  It was a grim way to receive
command of a ship, but it was necessary.  Harry hadn't ever wanted to command
a ship -- that was why he dedicated his time to engineering.  But he was
determined not to let these people down; he had to protect them -- for his
sake as much as theirs.

So Harry had assumed command, and Voyager had never seen a better Captain.  As
he thought about it, Harry realized that it was almost humorous to look over
the past decades he'd spent on Voyager.  It was just one person dying after
another, people replacing other people . . . at the fault of poor Captaining. 
Years ago this train of thought would have seemed tragic to him, but after 
losing
so many friends . . . death almost seemed unimportant.  Thinking of most of 
the people
who had died hardly even caused a ripples in his calm demeanor.
Countless many had died under Janeway's six years of command, and many more
had died in Chakotay's ten years.  Harry could only recall two deaths in the
eleven years he'd been in command.  One of those was from old age, and the
other from a malfunction that had resulted in the explosion of the tactical
console on the Bridge.

If only Janeway had realized that they couldn't run a ship with Starfleet
standards in a quadrant that had never heard of the Federation, and Chakotay
hadn't been so intent on following her even after her death, maybe half the
original crew would still be alive.  Maybe B'Elanna would still be alive. 
That was all that really mattered, wasn't it?  That B'Elanna was dead.  Part
of him had died with her that day, part of his life had ended.  Everything had
changed.  Sweet, innocent Harry Kim was gone, replaced by a cold, hard man. 
Through the years he'd gained experience, and the scars that came with it. 
He'd had his share of away missions gone awry, but he always had found a way
to get back to the ship alive, if not in complete health.

Sometimes he wished that he'd died on one of those away missions, so that he
could finally have peace.  Yet he knew that he had a responsibility to all the
people on the ship and their children, to the hope of having a future.  
Thinking back on his
inherent ability to get out of tough situations with a minimum of damage, he
couldn't help wishing that he had been with B'Elanna on the away mission where
she had been killed, instead of watching her leave accompanied by Tom Paris.
Tom had done nothing -- he had sat by and
watched them kill her, trying to save himself, not worrying about her.  Harry
had never been able to forgive him for that; Tom was supposed to be in love
with her!  He was supposed to care more about her than he did about himself! 
What kind of "love" was so incomplete?

***

Michael cycled through the crew files on his access panel.  It had taken him a
while to get past the files on the current crew and into the files of the
original crew -- Harry had locked most of the files up when he had taken
command.  He first came across the file on his own father, Tom Paris.  It had
been many years since his father's death, but Michael still felt a deep
sadness in his heart at the thought of him.  As he read the file, he
discovered things he had never known about his father.  He had been a
criminal?  He had falsified reports?  Yet he had turned his life around. 
Interesting.  He supposed he could make a big deal out of the new knowledge,
but his father was dead; what he had or had not done didn't make the slightest
bit of difference anymore.

He came across the file for the original Captain: Kathryn Janeway.  He had
never known Captain Janeway -- his birth was only days after her death.  She
looked like a nice enough woman.  Chakotay, he knew.  Nothing surprised him in
those files.  Eventually, he cycled to Harry Kim's file.  The picture that
came with the file shocked him -- it had been taken when Harry had first come
on Voyager.  Michael assumed Harry must have been his own age at the time --
the now graying hair was raven black in the picture, the fine white scars on
his face and hands nonexistant, the skin taut and smooth, glaringly 
beautiful. 
He was grinning in the picture, a rare sight.  This was not the same man that
Michael had known all his life, not the same Harry Kim who commanded Voyager
now.  Something must have happened over the years to change him.

The next picture in the database flooded him with memory.  It was the woman in
the picture he had seen so many years ago.  B'Elanna Torres, Chief Engineer. 
She was gorgeous.  Date of birth, date of death . . . nothing that told him
who she *was,* though.  He'd need to break into the personal logs for that.

***

<Chief Engineer's personal log>

Today was a typically boring day.  We had a systems diagnostic in engineering 
. .
. I didn't really have to do much, because Harry came in and helped a lot.  I
honestly don't know what I'd do without him . . .  Anyway, Tom and I went out
to the holodeck for dinner.  He took me to some French restaurant.  It was
rather dull, but I suppose if it makes him happy, it's good enough for me. 
You know, we don't seem to have much to do anymore.  We'll eat, then we'll sit
back, and we'll talk for about five minutes.  Then there won't be anything
more to say, and either one of us will leave, or he'll kiss me and we'll go on
from there.  I don't know why we even bother.

I shouldn't be saying things like that.  I do care about Tom, I love him . . .
I think I do, anyway.  We just . . . don't have the kind of relationship where
we talk a lot.  I don't really need the talking, though, I can do that with
Harry.  He always listens to me, always has something to say.  Like I said
before, I don't know what I'd do without him.  I worry about him sometimes
though.  He just seems so lonely . . . I wish he'd just give up on Seven of
Nine and find some girl who'd make him happy.  He's too good for her, really
he is.

<laugh>

I don't know why I'm bothering to put all this in my log.  Harry can take care
of himself.  Can't he?  Besides, I'm no counselor.  I take care of the
engines, I take care of myself.  Harry takes care of the computer, he can take
care of himself.  Tom . . . well, sometimes I think he doesn't want to take
care of himself.  I'm not about to come running at his bidding . . . Just
because I'm dating him doesn't mean he owns me.  I don't think he understands
that.  I talked to Harry about it; he understood.  He always understands. 
Sometimes I think I'm involved with the wrong guy -- but then, Harry and I are
completely different, and besides, he's . . . what?  I guess I always just
think of him as a close friend.

And he *is* a close friend -- the best.

<end log>

***

Megan used her access code to gain entry to Harry's quarters.  They looked as
they always did: empty, barren.  Tonight was no different from the way it had
been for the past nine years.  She would be sitting in her quarters alone when
her commbadge would chirp, and Harry's voice would come through it.  They
hardly needed words anymore . . . "Megan," he would say, his voice tense, and
she'd respond with "I'm on my way."  The first time, it had been different. 
She remembered that first time vividly; it had been slow and tender,
restrained.  She had initiated the relationship, coming to his quarters one
evening unexpectedly.

"Come sit down," he had said, ushering her in.  "Is there something I can do
for you?"

"I was thinking that maybe there was something *I* could do for *you.*"  At
that he had quirked an eyebrow.

"What might that be?"  She had gotten up from her chair and relocated herself
to the sofa, close enough next to him that their thighs were touching.  He was
holding perfectly still, waiting to see what she would do next.

"You seem so . . . lonely.  I thought that maybe you could use a little . . .
companionship," she had responded, lazily circling her fingers up his arm.

"Megan, I . . . "  He had started to say something, but she looked up at him
and his eyes darkened with arousal.  It had been so long, so very, very long
since he had been with a woman.  The last time he had slept with anyone had
been almost twenty years before, the night before he had left for DS9 for his
very first assignment -- Voyager.  "I'm . . . "

"Shhh," she had whispered, placing a finger on his lips and smiling at the way
he unconciously kissed her fingertip.  "You need this."  Any resolve he might
have had drained away as she turned and swung one of her legs over him,
pulling herself over so that she was straddling him, her breasts pressing
deliciously into his chest, her hips grinding against his.  He had moaned
then, his lips reaching for hers and his arms encircling her.

Megan smiled at the memory.  Afterward, they had talked for a while.  Harry
had explained to her that he could never feel anything more than friendship
for her, that their relationship could never go beyond casual sex.  She had
agreed; she knew that he needed it, and it was certainly pleasant for her as
well.  She had agreed to keep anything he said to her in the bedroom in the
strictest confidence, along with their entire relationship.  So it had
progressed in that fashion for the past nine years: she would come to his
quarters, they would sleep together, and in the morning he would be gone
before she woke up.

She walked through the sitting room and into the bedroom, where Harry sat at
his desktop console.  Megan slid her arms around his neck from behind and
kissed his cheek warmly.  He switched off the computer terminal and stood,
turning to her.  No words were spoken; he bent his head and captured her lips
in his, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her against him.

***

Megan was awakened by a movement in the bed next to her -- Harry was shivering
in his sleep.  She lifted herself up onto one elbow and gazed at him.  It
wasn't the first time this had happened -- Harry regularly had nightmares. 
Usually, he would shiver and mumble incomprehensibly.  After many nights of
listening, she could make out only two phrases: one was a name, "B'Elanna,"
and the other "I love you."  She had made the connection instantly, knowing
how he had withdrawn after the death of his best friend.  It confirmed her
suspicions, but at the same time created more questions.  How long had Harry
loved B'Elanna?  Had he ever told her?  If not, why?

She watched as his face contorted in pain, and her heart went out to him. 
Leaning over him, Megan pressed her lips to his forehead, stopping his
shivering.  He moaned, tilting his head back, his lips searching for hers. 
He'd never done this before; she assumed that he must still be asleep.  He
found her lips and kissed her with such vibrant energy that she almost jumped
away from the shock.  Harry had never kissed her like *that* before . . . He
nuzzled her neck, his silky hair tracing paths on her skin.  "B'Elanna," he
murmured, half-asleep, his hand sliding up the side of her face.  Megan froze
as his hand reached for her forehead.  When he felt the smoothness of her
skin, his eyes shot open and he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head
back; a small cry was forced out of her lips.

"Harry, you're hurting me," she whispered, cringing at the pain in her scalp. 
He released her and turned away.

"Why, Megan?" Harry asked, pain threaded through his voice.  "Why didn't you
just wake me up?"  She massaged the back of her head where he had yanked her
hair, and gazed at him warily.  Never, in all the time she had known him, had
he been violent with her.

"I didn't know I was doing anything wrong," she responded defensively.  "I . .
. just wanted to help.  You looked like you were in pain, so I thought--"

"You didn't think," he snapped.  He flipped over and gazed at her, his eyes
shiny and piercing.  "You didn't think."

Megan shrank back from him, frightened by his sharp tone of voice and half
believing that at any moment he would hurt her again.  She started to get out
of the bed, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."  She hesitated, not sure whether to listen to
him or not.  Harry rubbed his hand down her back, then around her side.  He
gently cupped her breast and kneaded it, urging her back down.  "Come back to
bed, Megan."  He said the words with tenderness; he had never spoken to
her that way before.  This was indeed a night of firsts.  Megan could almost
believe, just for that one moment, that they loved each other, that they
needed each other.  She lay back down and immediately his lips were on hers,
his body covering her and rubbing against her lightly.  "Let me make it up to
you."  His voice was deep and sensual, and she couldn't resist him.  Maybe,
just this once, he would make love to *her,* not some phantom figure from the
distant past.  Maybe someday he would love her, want to be with her forever. 
Someday.

***

Michael switched off the computer terminal.  This was too confusing.  His
father had been involved with B'Elanna Torres, a half-Klingon Chief Engineer. 
The way she sounded in her log entry, it seemed as if she had been closer to
Harry than to Tom, however.  Judging by the dates, she must not have meant
much to Tom; he got over her quickly.  Maybe she didn't have anything to do
with the gap between Harry and Tom, maybe she was insignificant . . . He'd
have to read through more logs later.

Right now, though, his mind was on Janice.  The scene in the mess hall
earlier had broached some serious topics; Michael didn't want to admit that he
*did* spend a great deal of his shift staring at her.  She was his best
friend, he was being ridiculous.  But oh, she was so beautiful, with that
flaming red hair and those emerald green eyes . . . They'd grown up together,
been friends their whole lives.  Anything more that might happen would ruin
that friendship.  Yet . . . if he could just *tell* her how he felt, such a
great weight would be lifted off his shoulders . . . Still, he was positive
that she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her.  Janice was too busy
staring at the Captain.  Michael couldn't help wondering if she knew about
Harry's relationship with Aunt Megan . . . if it could be called a
relationship.  As far as he could tell from his memories, Megan occasionally
(and the occasions were few and far between) disappeared to Harry's quarters
for the night; that could hardly be a relationship.  More like casual sex.

Wait a minute.  Casual sex?  Harry Kim?  Just the thought of Harry having sex
at all was strange to him -- he'd treated him as a father for so long.  And
the Captain was never casual about anything.  Michael realized that as close
as he was to Harry, he hardly knew a thing about him personally.  Nothing
about his past, nothing about his life, nothing about what he'd left at home. 
He wondered if that was purposeful on Harry's part.

It was quite possible that the Captain didn't know about Janice's feelings for
him . . . though he had promised her he wouldn't tell, he felt it almost
necessary to speak to Harry.  Besides, he'd always come to Harry with his
problems; maybe he could help him out with his confused feelings for Janice. 
Michael resolved to speak to his Captain about Janice, and maybe find out
about B'Elanna Torres in the process.

***

Harry gazed at the younger man with fatherly tenderness.  "What can I do for
you, Michael?"  Michael fidgited, looking uncomfortable.  His courage
dissolved as he confronted the reality of his decision to speak to Harry. 
"Sit down."  He obeyed instantly, as he had obeyed that voice his entire life.

"I . . . need some advice.  I thought, maybe, well . . . maybe you could help
me.  I feel a little ridiculous coming here with a personal matter, but . . .
"  He trailed off, gazing down at his shoes.  Harry leaned back in his chair,
almost smiling but not quite.  He knew quite well why Michael had come to him.

"It's about Janice, isn't it?"  The young man's head jerked up, his deep blue
eyes fixing on liquid brown with surprise, a curl of brown hair bouncing on
his forehead.

"How did you--"

"Experience.  Go on, tell me about it."

"Well, it looks like you know already.  Is it really that obvious?"  Harry
quirked an eyebrow in traditional Vulcan fashion.

"No, I suppose if I didn't know better I wouldn't have noticed."

"If you didn't know better?" Michael asked, confused.

"I was a lot like you.  Many, many years ago."  For some reason, that struck
Michael as rather funny; he had to fight to hold back a laugh.  The Captain
had been like him?  Young, inexperienced?  Impossible.  Harry Kim had always
been just the way he was now, had always known all the answers, had never been
naive and innocent.  Then again, the picture he had found in the crew manifest
. . . "You'll feel better if you talk to someone.  I'm
listening."  Michael took a deep breath and began.

"Janice is . . . everything.  I mean, we're so completely different, but we
*are* really close.  It's, well, it's like we connect, y'know?  I guess we
think on the same level.  If we're fixing something together, we don't even
have to talk because we know what the other person is going to say.  Then
again, she outranks me by a lot, and she's older and more . . . well, more
experienced than I am.  I know it's only a year of difference, but it feels
like a lifetime.  She's really independent, I mean, she can take care of
herself.  Sometimes I think that she doesn't really need any of us at all; but
I *want* her to need us.  To need *me.*  Because I need her.  I--I think I
love her."  Harry looked thoughtfully out the window as Michael again stared
at his boots.  Harry could tell that it had been hard for Michael to say that,
and that he meant it.  The memories that he had tried to repress for so many
years came back in a rush, and Harry realized that those same words could have
come out of his own mouth 25 years earlier.  Just change "Janice" to
"B'Elanna" and it'd be practically perfect.  B'Elanna . . . He had loved her,
loved her with all his heart; he still did.  Yet he had never told her how he
felt, and that he regretted deeply.  With a start, Harry realized that Michael
had asked him a question and was waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"  Michael's eyebrows drew together in
concern.

"I said that I don't think I should tell her.  I know that she doesn't feel
the same way about me, and that she's attracted to you.  What do you think?" 
Harry sighed and looked at the younger man's face, feeling the ever present
stabbing at the back of his eyes but knowing that he had cried away all his
tears for B'Elanna many years ago.  And what was this silly concern with
Janice having a crush on him?  Harry knew that it was just something to keep
her occupied while she tried to supress her feelings for Michael.  He'd seen
the way they acted around each other.

"Tell her how you feel," he said, surprising Michael with his emotoion.  "Tell
her you love her before something happens and you lose your chance.  You'll
regret it for the rest of your life if you don't tell her; Lord knows I do." 
The last phrase slipped from Harry's mouth before he could bite it back, and
he cursed himself for losing control of himself.  He hoped that Michael hadn't
heard, and he looked away.

"You?"  Too late.  The young lieutenant had picked up every word Harry said;
he had learned well.

"I . . . A very long time ago, there was . . . a woman.  She died.  Michael,
don't make the same mistake that I did," he choked vehemently.  "Tell her how
you feel, and do it now, while you're still young, while you still have time. 
*Please.*"

"Captain . . . tell me about her?" Michael asked curiously but carefully;
maybe he would finally find out about Harry's relationship with this B'Elanna
Torres.  Harry sighed in response.

"No, I've said too much already.  Maybe someday I'll talk about her.  But not
yet.  I'm . . . not ready yet."

"Was it . . . was her name B'Elanna Torres?"  A cold shadow passed over
Harry's face as he focussed his eyes blankly at the younger man.

"Who told you that name?" he asked, willing his voice to remain strong.

"I . . . I was looking through the crew manifest, and . . . "

"I locked the files of the deceased.  I hope you haven't been breaking into
restricted files, Michael.  We do have rules on this ship."  The tone of
Harry's voice was so cold that Michael almost shivered.  Maybe bringing her up
hadn't been such a good idea -- though he was now convinced that she was a
very important part of Harry's life.

"I -- I'm sorry."

"You're dismissed.  Go."  He wanted to stay, talk more, but frankly he found
it disquieting to hear Harry speak in this manner; Michael obeyed wordlessly.

***

<Chief Engineer's personal log>

Keeping logs has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever had to do.  One
of the *many* reasons I dropped out of Starfleet Academy.  Okay, well, the
official logs have the story of how we got out here in the delta quadrant,
etc. etc. etc.  They don't describe what HELL it was in the damn Ocampan
hospital.  Their primitive medicine . . . I probably would have killed them
all if not for Harry.  How about that?  Me, half-Klingon Maquis freedom
fighter, serving on a Starfleet ship as the Chief Engineer, with a perfectly
clean, pure, innocent, goody-two-shoes Starfleet Ensign as one of my closest
friends.  You know, for such a model Starfleet officer, I think he'd make a
pretty good Maquis.  He can handle a tough situation well, for a human. 
Harry's strong.  And just get him out of that uniform, and he could seduce the
officials of any society . . . 

<sigh>

<laugh>

I can't believe I'm putting this in my log.  It's true, though, I suppose. 
And Harry's a hell of a lot better than that moronic pig Tom Paris.  I don't
know what any girl would ever see in him!  Especially not with Harry hanging
around.

I shouldn't think like that.  It's not as if I'll ever have anything with
Harry anyway.  He's too devoted to whatever girl he left at home.

Well, it was a dull day in engineering.  I don't know how anyone got anything
done with an idiot like Carey handling things.  But then, he wasn't supposed
to be Chief Engineer, was he?  I'm certainly glad he's not now -- engineering
is something I *know* I'm good at.  He's fully recovered from the broken nose
I gave him last week, I think.  Now I just have to be careful not to break it
again.

<yawn>

Well, there's your log, Starfleet.  When you find the wreck of Voyager in 70
years, you'll know that the Chief Engineer broke a crewman's nose.

<end log>

***

Michael shook his head, confused.  He'd been reading B'Elanna's logs randomly,
and had come to the conclusion that no matter how much he read, he still
wouldn't get it.  Her first log indicated that she was a tempermental young
woman who's feeling for Harry were much the same as Janice's, and who didn't
particularly like Michael's father.  However, the later logs had her involved
with Tom.  And the even later logs, the ones right before her death, showed
that the relationship was failing.  The thing that had shocked Michael the
most was the revelation in B'Elanna's last log that Tom had proposed to her --
an effort to save the relationship through marriage.  Hundreds of years, and
people still hadn't learned that marriage is definitely *not* the way to
rescue a relationship.  Worse -- she had accepted his offer.  And yet she'd
died the very next day on an away mission with her fiance.  Still, only a year
later, he was married (quite happily) to Jenny Delaney.  The year after that,
Michael himself had been born.

There had to be *somebody* who knew what was going on . . . someone from the
original crew who was close to Harry; well, as close as he'd let anyone get,
anyway.  Now, who would--  A lightbulb switched on in Michael's head: he'd go
talk to Aunt Megan.

***

Harry had read all the logs.  When she had died, he had first been too
distressed to do anything, but soon he realized that he could find the answers
to all his questions about B'Elanna's feelings by reading her logs.  He knew
now that if he hadn't been so damn timid when they had first been stuck out in
the Delta Quadrant, he could have been with her, could have made her happy,
could have been happy himself.  Possibly could have saved her life.

But what was the use in thinking about the past?  It was gone, done, over with
-- the present was far more important, and the future required a fair amount
of attention as well.  Yet, without studying the mistakes of the past, how
could he get a grip on the future?  Harry doubted that he'd be in a situation
like that again, doubted that he'd ever fall in love again, doubted that he'd
ever feel more for a woman than a passing physical attraction.  This
manifested itself in the form of Megan Delaney; she was attractive, yes, she
was willing to love him, yes, but he didn't want that.  Didn't want to let
himself love her.  Didn't want to open himself up, let her see his feelings,
make himself vulnerable.  That's what he'd become if her let her in, let
himself love -- vulnerable.  Vulcans had the right idea in suppressing their
emotions, he thought with a grim smile.

Sighing, he turned his attention to his work as he had done so often in the
past.  Kezval . . . a possible trading partner?  It was an M-class planet,
populated, technologically their equivalent.  Stations in orbit docked supply
freighters . . . Voyager would be in communication range in 24 hours; then
he'd have the dull job of once more arranging trades, of acting diplomatic,
pretending he was glad to be there, pretending he loved dealing with them. 
Captain Janeway *truly* had enjoyed making trade agreements -- he supposed
that that had been her weak spot.  She was much to optimistic, and always
believed the aliens at their first words.  Harry had learned to weigh each
word, to examine the tone of voice in which it was spoken, to watch the eyes
for signs of treachery.  Through his efforts, he had avoided many battles,
avoided the loss of many lives.  There had been a few unfortunate times early
in his captaincy where he had made mistakes, and as a result had needed to
fight his way out of captivity, resulting in the scars on his back, chest,
face, and hands that he had refused to let the Doctor heal.  He kept them as a
reminder of his mistakes, so that he would not repeat them; and it seemed to
be working rather well.

Kezval would most likely be a common trading outpost, no danger involved.  A
quick in-and-out sort of thing.  Like Megan.

***

"Come in, sit down," Megan said, smiling, as she motioned Michael to the seat
across from her.  She always enjoyed visits from her nephew -- he was a very
nice boy, and reminded her of the way Harry had been when first coming to the
ship.  "Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks, I'm fine.  I wanted to ask you a few questions," he replied,
settling himself in the chair.

"About what?"  She smiled maternally and tossed a curly lock of grey-brown 
hair over
her shoulder.

"About what it was like on Voyager, back before I was born."

"Way back then?" she laughed.  "What in the world made you think about that?"

"I don't know," he sighed.  "I guess I just never really thought about it
before.  I was remembering a picture I found in our closet one time, of a
woman I didn't know; I went looking through the old crew files and found out
who she was.  So I asked the Captain about her, because her logs mentioned him
quite a bit, but he wouldn't tell me anything about her, and he got angry . .
. I know you're . . . close . . . to him, so I thought maybe you could shed
some light on the situation."

"I can maybe tell you about the past, Michael, but I can't tell you about the
Captain.  Anything you want to know about him you'll just have to ask him
yourself."  That had been one of the conditions of the relationship, hadn't
it?  She wasn't allowed to talk about it, or about what she learned while in
Harry's quarters.  But if Michael wanted to know about the past, she could
tell him, couldn't she?  It couldn't do any harm.  "What did you want to
know?"

"I wanted to know about B'Elanna Torres.  Who she was, what sort of person she
was, who she was friends with, how she died . . . " he trailed off, watching
Megan's unsurprised reaction.

"I knew someday someone would ask about her.  He couldn't hide everything
behind codes and passwords," she mumbled, half to herself.  "Especially not
with people like you around.

"B'Elanna was an engineering genius.  Everyone respected her ability, though
her engineering staff was rather timid around her -- she had a horrible
temper."  Megan smiled briefly at the memory.

"When Voyager first came to the Delta Quadrant, she and Harry were abducted
from their ships -- B'Elanna was Maquis -- and held by a people called the
Ocampa, who were immune to the disease given to them by the Caretaker.  You
know about the Caretaker, don't you?"  Michael nodded.  Every child had heard
the story of how Voyager came to the Delta Quadrant at some point.  "Right. 
Well, Harry and B'Elanna met in an Ocampan hospital, and tried to escape -- we
met them halfway.  They were always good friends after that.  Harry and your
father were friends already -- they had met while we were docked on DS9. 
Through Harry, I suppose, Tom and B'Elanna became friends."

"Then what?"

"Then, Lieutenant Torres and your father became . . . more than friends.  And
then she died."

"How did she die?"  Michael was intruiged -- he could only begin to imagine
how it must have been for Harry to have his two closest friends involved with
each other . . . That would be like having Janice and Naomi involved, he
thought absently.  Interesting.

"Well, nobody really knew the details, except for Tom, of course.  The two of
them went on an away mission, and were captured, and then somewhere in there
she died.  Does that answer your questions?"

"Mostly, but . . . what was she like?  As a person?"

"B'Elanna was very strong-willed, very powerful.  She was always in control of
everything, always *needed* to be in control.  When she first came on the
ship, she was wild, tempermental, aggressive, antisocial -- Harry's complete
opposite.  Nobody could ever figure out how they got to be such good friends. 
But she changed -- started to become more . . . placid.  Tom liked that, I
think.  I don't know.  I can't remember everything so well anymore," she
sighed.  "I'm getting old."

"Oh, Aunt Megan, stop that.  You know it's not true," Michael encouraged good-
naturedly, drawing a smile from her.

"So," Megan began after a short pause, "how are things with Janice?"

"How are what things?" he responded defensively.

"You mean you still haven't told her how you felt about her?  Honestly,
Michael, sometimes you're just as bad as Harry."  *As Harry?*  He needed some
time to think about all this.

"I'd better be going.  Thanks for your help," Michael commented cordially as
he took his leave of her.

He walked down the hall and turned the corner, then fell to the floor.  There
was a good reason he had fallen -- he had run into Janice, literally.  "Watch
where you're going, hotshot!" she called harshly.  Then, realizing who it was
that was tangled up on the floor with her, "Oh, sorry, Michael.  Didn't know
it was you."

"Umm," he responded, trying to disengage himself from her and get off the
floor.  "My fault.  I wasn't looking where I was going."  Finally, he gathered
himself together and stood, offering her a hand to help her up.  She took his
hand, but only because she knew he would be hurt if she didn't.  "So, where
were you going?"

"To the holodeck.  I wanted to try out this calisthenics program I found in
the database.  Fighting is always more fun with a real partner -- you want to
come?"

"Sure," Michael responded, smiling.  "I could use a workout."

"Getting flabby, Lieutenant?" she teased as they began walking to the
holodeck.  "I bet I could take you in under five minutes."

"Oh, really?" he laughed.  "Well, we'll just have to see about that.  What do
you want to bet?"

"I win, and you have to be my slave for a week."

"Aren't I already your slave?"

"Oh, hush."

"Fine then.  If I win, you have to make me dinner Friday night."

"I don't cook, hotshot."

"Then you'll just have to beat me, won't you?"  Janice couldn't help but grin
at him -- sometimes he was just infuriatingly cute.


***

"Kim to senior staff.  Report to the Bridge -- I'm going down to Kezval for
trade negotiations."

Michael paused, listening to the message, and felt Janice still as well
beneath him.  When the Captain was done, he felt her wriggle around.

"Get off me, you big oaf.  You heard the Captain."  Michael rolled to the
side, wiping sweat off his brow and getting to his feet.  "Computer, what's
the time on that count?"

"Four minutes, fifty seconds."

"I win," Michael smiled as they left the holodeck.

"What? You do not!"

"Oh, please, Janice, I had you pinned!  There's no way you could have come
back in ten seconds."

"Anything's possible.  Rematch tomorrow."

"Fine then.  You're just putting off destiny.  If I could take you today, I
can take you tomorrow."

"Think whatever you'd like, but when you're waiting on me day and night next
week, you'll know you shouldn't have bet with me in the first place."

"I'm smelling home cooking, *Commander.*"

***

Having given his instructions to the crew, Harry beamed down to the palace of
Kezval, where he was greeted by an armed escort.  They led him through a
beautifully tiled hall to a smaller meeting room, where the ruler of the
planet sat at a table.

"Greetings, Captain Kim," he smiled, metioning Harry to a chair with one
scaled arm.  The Kezvali were decidedly reptilian, more so than the
Cardassians.  "I hope you had a pleasant journey here; you and your ship will
make an excellent addition to my little collection . . . "  He made a swift
guesture, and suddenly all the guards had their weapons pointed at him.  Harry
shook his head -- he'd misjudged them.  Well, Janice could take care of the
ship, and it wouldn't take long to get out of here, would it?  He'd done it
many times before . . . In fact, he could just contact Voyager and have them-

"Bridge to Kim -- we're under attack, Captain!" came Janice's strained voice
through the commbadge.  The guards looked surprised; he took advantage of
their confusion to barrel through those closest to him and start running.

"Janice, can you beam me up?" Harry asked breathlessly as he raced through
the hall with the guards close at his heels and firing at him.  Lucky for
Harry, the guards had bad aim -- they hadn't yet hit him.

"Transporters are nonfunctional -- they've hit our primary weapons systems, we
only have phasers and they're not at full strength.  Shields are down to 15%! 
They're using some sort of weapon that we've never seen before -- I can't-" 
Her voice was cut off suddenly by a loud burt of static.

"Janice!  Kim to Voyager!"  He'd gotten out of the building and was headed for
the forest: maybe he could lose them in the trees.

"We --- lost --- can't -- communication," came the garbled voice through the
communicator.  It looked like Harry'd have to get out of this himself, and
pray that Voyager would be safe.

***

The ship rocked dangerously, and sparks flew from the engineering console on
the Bridge.  "Hull breaches decks six, eight, three, and twelve!" Michael
reported from Ops, shouting over the hissing of ruptured relays.  "We can't
seal them off -- the containment fields are nonfunctional!"

"Shields down to 2%," came Naomi's voice from the tactical station.  "We've
lost phasers!"

"Warp core breach imminent," the computer's calm voice reported.

"Bridge to engineering," Janice called.  "Carey, what's going on down there?"

"Sir, Carey's dead," came the frightened voice of a young woman.  Naomi
blanched -- Carey had been a father to her her entire life.  She redirected
her attention to the console before her.  "I don't know what to do!"

"We need to eject the core -- get all your people out of engineering and lock
it off!"

"I can't!  The controls aren't responding!"

"Warp core breach in ten seconds," interrupted the computer.

"Hull breach deck two!"

"Nine."

"Shields are gone!"

"Eight."

"Transferring all available power to-"

"Seven."

"-engineering, maybe they can get a containment-"

"Six."

"-field up!"

"Five."

"It's still not responding!"

"Four."

"Life support is going offline!"

"Three."

"Hull breach deck five!"

"Two."

"Life support is nonfunctional!"

"One."

"Hull breach deck one!"

"God save us."

***

Harry glanced up as a bright explosion lit up the sky.  No, it couldn't have
been, they couldn't have- "Kim to Voyager!  Respond!"  His hail was met with
silence, not even the static that meant the communications system was 
offline. 
Voyager was gone.

He ran blindly on, heading into the mountains surrounding the city.  He ran
for what seemed like an eternity, not knowing if the guards were still chasing
him, not really caring either.  He ran until he collapsed on the ground in
exhaustion, his entire being focussed on drawing air into his lungs, then
releasing it.  In, out.  In, out.

Groaning, he rolled to one side and was met with a view of an opening in the
rock face of the mountain.  A cave -- maybe he could find shelter, evade the
troops that might still be chasing him.  Harry dragged himself into the
opening, feeling the rock cold and unyeilding beneath him.  It was a good
place to die.  *Today is a good day to die,* a vague memory spoke in his 
mind. 
Die.  To die, to finally be relieved of the pain he'd carried with him for so
long.  It would all be over.

Then why, he wondered, am I hiding from the guards?  He answered himself
thoughtlessly -- because I'd rather kill myself than die like B'Elanna did. 
With that thought, Harry passed out.

***

INTERLUDE

"He is not dead."

"He sleeps."

"He wants to die."

"We are capable of aid."

"We shall aid him."

Harry awoke to the odd voices of the figures in black robes surrounding him.

"He wakes."

"He wonders."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, confused.

"We will help you."

"We can change time."

"We will move you to your former self."

"When your goal is accomplished, you will be taken back to the present."

"What goal have you?"

"I don't understand.  You want to send me back in time?  To do something?  How
does that help *you*?"

"We can aid."

"We must aid."

"Where shall we take you?"

"What is your desire?"

*My desire?  Who are these people?  Messing with the timeline is dangerous. 
But maybe if I could go back a few days, maybe avoid Kezval, then maybe . . 
.* 
After all, what did he have to lose?  "I want to save Voyager and her crew."

"It shall be done."  The figures reached their hands over him, and a bright
white light engulfed him, burning, searing, and then--

***