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“Oh, no, Captain,” Harry stammers, looking first at her and then quickly away, wide eyes travelling over every other pair fixed on him. And boy, are they fixed on him. “I’m sorry, ah, I meant-”
“At ease, Ensign.” Janeway’s lips curve into a half-smile. “It happens.”
She gestures airily with one hand. Harry is certain he has never been this pink in his life. He catches Tom’s eyes and the barely restrained amusement all over his face, and knows that he will never, ever live this down. Chakotay is smirking in his chair from behind the fist he has pressed to his chin. Tuvok raises an eyebrow. Harry clears his throat and tries to return his attention to his console.
“Everyone does it, at least once,” Tom says to him at the end of the day, clapping a hand down on his shoulder as they enter the turbolift.
“...Do they?”
Tom’s face cracks and he shakes his head.
“No, Harry,” he says with a long-suffering and affectionate chuckle. “Not everyone calls the Captain ‘mom’. And on the bridge?”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Now that I have heard. Once or twice.”
Tom’s laughing, his complexion ruddy and his head thrown back, the tight grasp he has on his glass doing nothing at all to keep the alcohol inside it. Around them, the Mess Hall buzzes.
“Get your shit together,” B’Elanna hisses as she shoves an elbow between his ribs, “or the Captain will never let us have real stuff at one of these again.”
“But B’Elanna,” Tom wheezes, “you weren’t there. He called her ‘mom’. ‘Mom’!”
Harry’s eyes plead with B’Elanna, his shoulders inching higher. He turns away from Tom.
“Come on, guys, can’t you just drop it?”
“No, no way. I needed this. Oh my god, ‘mom’…”
B’Elanna shakes her head and sighs but when she meets Harry’s stare, she’s sparkling.
“It is pretty funny, Harry, sorry.”
He doesn’t have time to answer before she’s right there, one hand wrapped around her own drink and the other brushing his upper arm.
“Captain,” he greets with a barely restrained yelp, and Tom’s got water in his eyes.
“Don’t you mean ‘mommy’?”
B’Elanna elbows him again but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest.
“I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves,” the Captain says, letting her hand drop from Harry’s arm and keeping her focus on Tom. Her mouth twitches. “Though perhaps, Lieutenant Paris, you may benefit from easing off.” She juts her chin out towards his glass. “Don’t you think?”
Tom’s had a little too much to notice the tightness at the corners of her mouth, the way her easy tone isn’t reflected in her eyes. Harry swallows. His feet shift beneath him.
“Aw, come on, mom,” Tom laughs, “I can manage.”
“B’Elanna,” the Captain says, her voice still deceptively light and her gaze never leaving Tom’s face, “I think your husband wants to turn in for the night.”
“I agree, Captain,” B’Elanna mutters. She reaches out and grabs his sleeve. “Let’s go.”
She’s only taken a step and the protest in Tom’s throat is barely passing his lips when Seven appears. She regards them all, her head cocked.
“Ah, darling,” the Captain says. She takes her attention from Tom and gives it immediately to Seven. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“Kathryn,” Seven nods and permits herself a smile.
The Captain closes the narrow space between them. She kisses Seven gently, briefly, on the temple. When no one else speaks, Seven’s brow wrinkles.
“Have I interrupted something?” she asks, looking at each of them in turn. The Captain shrugs. Seven lingers on Harry and he shifts in place again. The silence stretches into forever. “Ensign Kim?”
“No, Seven, you haven’t interrupted anything” he tries, wilting further under the intensity and sincerity of her open expression, “Tom and B’Elanna were about to head home.”
Seven nods again, much more slowly this time, and she looks at Tom. His red cheeks and the shimmer of unshed tears lift her ocular implant.
“Are you unwell, Lieutenant Paris?” she inquires neutrally. “Your temperature is elevated.”
“He’s just a little drunk, Seven,” B’Elanna says, tugging at Tom’s sleeve again. She glances between the Captain and Harry. “Anyway, we’ll-”
Tom lurches forward out of B’Elanna’s grip. Drink slops over the side of his glass and down his fingers.
“Seven,” he slurs, his voice a pained whisper. Seven’s eyes flick to the vein pulsing in his forehead. “Harry called the Captain ‘mom’!”
Seven’s frown deepens and she turns to the Captain then, blinking a few times. Her lips part.
“Kathryn?”
“Time for bed, Lieutenant,” the Captain says, swiftly and without looking at her. “That’s an order.”
There is enough time without incident between the Mess Hall social and Harry’s birthday party that he begins to believe it's finally over. Neelix has outdone himself with the decorations. The warm lilt of lighthearted conversation envelops the room. The synthehol, and only synthehol, flows. Tom’s grunting with displeasure as he presses a drink into Harry’s hand.
“Don’t see what the big deal is,” he mumbles. “I didn’t get that drunk.”
Harry laughs. He lets the glass swallow the sound as he takes a sip in lieu of replying. No need to go back there and get Tom started.
“There’s the birthday boy,” Chakotay beams as he walks up behind them. “Enjoying the festivities?”
“Yeah, Commander, thanks.”
A spoon clinks against glass and then everything stills, voices snuffed out in instant deference to their Captain.
“Time for Mom’s speech,” Tom whispers into his ear before leaning away. Goddamnit.
With her drink held high, the Captain smiles at them all. Welcomes them to the celebration, thanks them for their presence. Harry feels his face heating when she fixes her full focus on him. It’s not easy to listen to her kind words about how much he means to them all, how much he contributes to their family, with every grin and every look in the room plastered to his flesh. He’s had more than enough of being the centre of attention.
And then, the miracle happens.
He had heard Seven described as an angel before. Had thought it himself a few times. That golden hair, the regal bone structure. The way she seemed to hover above and beyond the rest of them. The Captain brings her speech to a close and as they toast, Seven opens that mouth of hers. A choir straight from heaven to Harry’s burning ears.
“Mommy,” she says, all wide blue eyes and softness, “I think you captured Ensign Kim very well.”
The Captain chokes on her drink, her eyebrows meeting her hairline as she clamps a hand under her nose. Her breath quickens. Seven’s expression doesn’t change at all. The quiet that follows is thicker than the Void.
But Harry isn’t there for it, not really. He’s in the clouds with the angels. He’s free. Tom is vibrating beside him. The Captain’s colouring matches her uniform. He’s free.
Happy birthday indeed.