Story: Comes the Morning

Veronica Jane Williams
xkhoi@iafrica.com

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  It would be useful to read the EIGER SANCTION
TRILOGY, as there are specific references in this story to
events in that trilogy. 


DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Tom and B'Elanna, Voyager, Romulan
Ale, Sandrine's. The story is mine.

RATING: G

COMES THE MORNING

She was wearing a very light yellow dress, the skirt reaching
her ankles, and flaring out as she made a pirouette in the long
grass. Her head was covered by a wide brimmed hat, and the breeze
played with her long golden hair that hung almost to her waist.

Before them stretched a field of long grass, its tufts almost
gold, like a cornfield. In the warm summer sun, it shone, the
slight breeze causing the grass to move, like fingers moving
over the strings of a harp, in beautiful cadence. It stretched
as far as the eyes could see.

Elvira walked through the long grass, almost as high as her waist,
touching tufts and caressing the stems with trembling fingers.
Her lips were slightly open, the brim of the hat throwing shadows
in her face, but her eyes were blue-blue, looking into the distance.

Then she looked back once more. A short distance away, under a
cluster of trees, Sixten was standing. She looked at him, then
he smiled as he beckoned her to go on. She turned again, and moved, 
throwing out her arms, celebrating the new day, her eyes upwards 
towards the sun.

**

Tom looked at the figure of Elvira filling the screen, as she moved
in her own dance towards him.  For a split second it appeared as
though she looked at him. 

Now, he thought, right at that moment she's going to throw her head
back. Then it will happen. He watched as Elvira, with arms 
outstretched, threw back her head. Then a single shot rang out, the 
screen froze, with Elvira's face in frozen death. The screen remained 
frozen as the next shot rang out. 

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

He switched off his computer.  He never particularly liked this
film; the ending always filling him with a sense of morbid
waste. Elvira Madigan and her lover committing suicide in the
eponymously named film. Yet there was something this time,
looking at the blank screen, that pricked his own feeling of
desolation, a sense of dread, emptiness. He sighed. Maybe it was
because her lover Sixten made a decision of life and death,
right or wrong. For both of them.  

And he knew what brought on this current mood. Yesterday's
events had thrown him into searching his soul, and he was
certainly not the only one affected. But he felt drained. 
Emotionally. He had  been fighting, they were faced with moral 
and ethical dilemmas, and while they pondered and searched for 
answers and exits, while they agonised over solutions and 
resolutions, he watched the life ebb slowly out of her.

He could still feel the wild thudding of his heart as he looked
at her, lying on the bed, her body covered by an alien being.

"Tom," he could hear her still breathing, "let me die,"

His voice hoarse and low, "please, please, sweetheart, don't
ask this of me."

"I'd rather die..." He saw a single tear escape.

"B'Elanna...I - "

He saw with horror as she went into cardiac arrest, then the
Doctor stabilizing her. But she remained unconscious.

He closed his eyes. We almost lost her. I almost lost her. And
for a while yesterday it seemed that her life meant nothing,
and that was what rankled the most. He badly wanted to respect
her wishes, respecting her reasons for not wanting to be treated
by a physician whose hands were sullied with the blood of the
innocent.

Yet.. how could I make her understand?

He sighed, thinking of their confrontation last night. Right after
the Captain had been to see her. He could sense the smouldering
anger, see the old fire in her eyes, in accusing glance at him.

"Tom, it's my life, mine. I should decide on my fate, not have
decisions taken out of my hands."

"B'Elanna, look around you. You are not alone on this ship in
this godforsaken quadrant. Any decision made, affects not only
you, but all of us. Me."

"Do you know what that man did, Tom?"

"He saved your life, B'Elanna."

"My life is - "

"Don't. Don't say it, B'Elanna."

She looked at him with belligerence, her eyes blazing. She was
sitting on the couch. She shrank a little as he tried to touch
her hand. He pulled away and sighed again.

"I - I don't want to lose you, sweetheart."

"You don't know what that man did for the - "

"B'Elanna, answer me one thing: did you want to die?"

She gave him a startled look. Then she said slowly, "I'd
rather have died than that butcher touch me."

"I see," he said tersely. "Then the rest of us who wanted you
alive, don't count, is that it? I don't count."

"Tom, you don't understand..."

"You're right, sweetheart. I don't understand."

He slowly rose from where he had been kneeling at her feet,
gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and quietly left her quarters.

Now, sitting at his console, he almost applauded Sixten for taking 
a decision, one which affected both of them, saving them both from 
a hopeless situation. Even if it meant killing themselves. He
wondered though, that Elvira had a choice, but she chose to be with
her lover, and die with him. God, he was feeling morbid, and the
feeling persisted. He hadn't been sleeping, a certain dying woman,
whose life was slowly seeping from her, invading every pore of his
being, invading his sleep. Even with his eyes closed, he could
feel the horror and the fear that she was dying...dying...
He shivered. He needed to get out.

Sighing her got up, went to his cupboard and hauled out his climbing
gear. I must go, he thought. 

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

B'Elanna woke slowly, not surprised, after the Doctor paid her
a visit the previous night and administered a sedative.

"Your body is still healing, Lieut. Torres, and will do better
if you sleep well."

The first thought, her altercation with Tom. She closed her eyes
again as she remembered his pained expression. She had to make
him understand, she mused. She had to find him, she thought.
To explain.

"Computer, locate Lieut. Paris."

"Lieutenant Paris is on holodeck two," came the computer's voice.

"Computer, what program is currently in use on holodeck two?"

"Program running is Paris Alpha 4."

Oh God, he's climbing the Eiger, she thought with a rush. And guessed
he would have the safeties off. With twentieth century climbing
gear. Archaic stuff he believed in. Said there was a greater 
challenge of man against nature. 

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

Tom was sitting on the ledge, at the small entrance to the cave
where he and B'Elanna drank poisoned tea - was it two months ago?
He was cold, but he didn't care much, having turned the temperature
to almost zero. And he climbed almost free-hand up to the ledge.
He felt the shivers beginning to rack his body, so he went inside
the cave. They were so happy here, that time.

"You need the break, sweetheart, you've had a very rough time."

"Thank you," Tom she whispered, "I've enjoyed being here,"
and she fingered the beautiful pendant he made for her lovingly.

"Am I your Painted Lady?" she asked, her question unnecessary, but
she asked anyway. She wanted to feel special to him in that moment.

He held her closer to him, "You sure are, sweetheart."

"Like the boy's Painted Lady that almost died, she recovered. Did
you see me like that?"

He nodded. "She had the courage to fight and come back. Like
you, sweetheart. You're a fighter. I love you, B'Elanna."

Tom closed his eyes as he thought on that conversation. And
her words: "I have much to live for, Tom." She kissed him then.

"You're a very patient man, you know. You're patient with me."

"I need to be, B'Elanna. I need to be."

***

"Be patient with me, Tom."

"B'Elanna?"

"Yeah, it's me, Tom."

"Why do those words sound so familiar?" he asked, in an attempt at
flippancy, but she was serious.

"It's what I always said in times of crisis, and when I needed
you. Like now..."

"How did you get up here?" he asked a little stupidly. She had
to climb up.

"I put the safeties on, Tom."

"Yesterday - "

"I know, Tom. I need to talk, Tom. We need to talk."

He nodded, took her hand.

They walked deeper inside where the flat rock still stood. Tom turned
her, saw her shivering and immediately increased the temperature to
normal.

"There, that's better," he said as he held her arms and rubbed her
to give her some warmth.

They walked deeper into the cave to the other entrance. She half
expected to see the Northern lights again. He sat down, bracing
himself against the rock behind him. She sat down next to him.

"Tom - "

"B'Elanna - "

Smiled as they started at the same time. He nodded to her.

"I - Tom, yesterday -  I'm sorry... I - I needed to feel that I
had a choice, Tom."

"I realise that, B'Elanna. You don't know how much. I wanted to
respect your wishes, but..." he sighed, "it was difficult,
B'Elanna, when all I felt, all I saw was you lying there...
dying..." he said so softly, she almost didn't hear him. "I - I
saw how - how you...started to slip away...slowly."  

He closed his eyes and clenched his fist so tightly, she could see 
how his knuckles showed white against his already fair skin, and
he was trembling.

"You don't know how - how..." he tried to formulate words, but
the way he almost stammered, she could see he was still acutely
distressed. So she touched his hand gently, willing him to look at
her. His blue eyes looked deeply troubled, and caressing his hand,
she could feel a slight trembling.

"You - you couldn't breathe after a while. Then you went into
cardiac arrest. Your eyes closed after that and - and..." 

"Tom, don't, if it hurts."

"I - I've never been so scared, B'Elanna. Never. I - I felt a hand
squeezing... squeezing tightly round my heart. It felt like that.
And - and I became cold, so - so cold, at the thought that - "

Tom had drawn up his knees and resting his arms on them, then he
buried his face in his arms. Her hand touched his fingers. He looked
at her again.

"I - thought in those moments that you were - were..."

She saw him pinch his nose bridge, his eyes closing again, and knew
that he was overwrought. He's still in shock, she realised with
awful clarity. He's still in shock, and last night, last night,
it was he who needed me, came the realisation on the heels of the
first one.  And I sent him away. In anger. 

"Tom," she said, "please look at me."  But she felt his shoulders
were shaking, and waited till he collected himself. His eyes
were red when he looked at her again.

"I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. And I - I'm sorry if
I sound selfish saying that, B'Elanna." She watched how his throat
worked, as if he wanted to break into tears again. His eyes were
fevered when he spoke again, haltingly:

"You're all I have, B'Elanna, right here," and his placed his fist
against his chest, "in my heart." 

She placed her hand on his and said: "It's where I want to be,
Tom. It's where I want to be."

He pulled her closer, in his embrace, and placed his lips against
her hair. Then she started speaking.

"Tom, there in the sickbay, when I was unconscious, I was all
the time aware that you were there, at my side."  She whispered
then: "You never left me, did you?" He nodded.

"Somehow I could hear your words, of comfort, encouraging me to
fight. And I wanted to fight, so badly, so badly. If it weren't
for your voice. Last night I was angry, maybe I'm angry still. But
I realise too, that whatever your decision would have been, it would 
have been because you love me. I treasure that, because it means to 
me that I'm needed in someone's heart: yours."

He smiled for the first time that morning. A watery, hesitant
smile, and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"I - I was reminded of the poisoned tea we drank here, sweetheart,"
he said softly. "When I saw you on the bed...dying... I thought
on that day, how drinking that poisoned tea was to remind us
of how fragile we are, of our mortality."

B'Elanna dug her hand into her pocket, and brought out the beautiful
pendant Tom made for her. She held it up, so that the morning
light played on it, reflecting the colours of the butterfly in
its centre. Like a little shining star, she decided. She held
it to him, and said at last:

"A part of me yesterday, my rationale, my mind wanted me to give
up my life, honouring those who died, who didn't have the choice."
In the heat of all our passions we want to be brave, go noble,
be heroic. We argue over issues in circles, always in circles
and the decisions we make then, are not always based in
rationale. So yesterday, my life was worth everything and worth 
nothing. But comes the morning..." 

"Comes the morning, our minds are somewhat clearer, and we wondered
why we argued heatedly over this point or that point," came
his rejoinder.

She looked at him, as she held his hand, then caressing his cheek,
finally holding her hand there.

"While my mind wanted me to die for honour, the other part, Tom,
my heart, wanted me to live. For you."

He stood up then, pulled her with him, looked into her beloved
face, and gently, so gently brushed his lips against hers, his
eyes closing at the touch, her nearness, living and breathing
in his arms.

"My love," he said as his arms went around her protectively, his
hand on her hair, the fingers trembling. For long moments he
held her like that, then she said quietly:

"I shall probably always remember that when that doctor treated
me, he did so with the bloodstains of those who couldn't choose."

She paused, then added softly, looking into his still troubled
eyes, "but I shall remember too, that he saved my life..." She said
that on the softest of whispers. 

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered brokenly.

She looked into his eyes, then looked at the pendant still in her
hand, and it seemed to them that the butterfly, his Painted
Lady opened her wings and began to flutter them, as if she were 
flying, with the thrill of being alive, and the joyous celebration
of life.


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

B'Elanna stood at the door of the Captain's quarters, and took
in a deep breath. She felt slightly apprehensive. Not entirely
certain that she was about to do the right thing. Captain Janeway
was right, last night, when she told B'Elanna that there were more
demons she needed to fight off.

Her last moments before losing consciousness yesterday, she saw
Tom's face, a concerned Tom who told her of the nature of her
cure.

"I'd rather die," she told him then. Was she irrational then? she
wondered. Did she want to be heroic and be remembered for honour's
sake? Yet in those last moments before merciful blackness enveloped her, 
saw how her words shattered him. In those few moments his eyes, like 
clear blue glass, broke into a thousand shiny shards.

And last night, when the Captain visited her, she had been filled
with a sense of outrage, of helplessness. The Captain took a
decision, one which angered her. It was her life, after all,
her choice she had to make, and it had been made for her. Even
now, thinking back on those few minutes she stared at the Captain,
she could feel the burning fury, and no matter how much incense
she burned, the feeling of outrage would not dissipate. Not 
completely.

Then Tom came.

Tom.

She sighed. She did not make it any easier on him.

"You make it sound like wanting to die is selfish."

"Whose life is it, anyway?"

"The choice was mine to make."

"Tom, it's my life, *mine*!"

"That man is a butcher, set upon me, to heal me with hands sullied
with the blood of innocent."

"Tom, there is honour in dying."

She was too angry to notice how he became quieter, how she brushed
aside his one statement that to him, made any sense at all:

"He saved your life, B'Elanna."

She watched the fight go out of him, retreating behind his mask
again, with no energy to keep on trying to make her see... And she,
she continued burning incense long into the night, hoping, wishing
it would make her fell better. How could she? She vented her
outrage against two persons she respected most. The Captain, she
could see, was not unaffected by her outburst. And Tom.

She sighed again. She wondered, if their positions had been reversed,
and Tom lying there on the bed, dying and the continuation of his
life depended on discussions and decisions. "Answers and exits" he told
her this morning. She brushed away an angry tear, thinking how he must 
have fought for her. Believing that he wanted her to live, no matter
what.

And this morning, up in the cave. She closed her eyes again. She
must be the only person on Voyager, privy to Tom's deepest feelings
and emotions. She felt the shame, that she could reduce him to
make admissions that were in the extreme, painful; words that came out 
with difficulty, stammering. This morning, she had seen Tom, not like 
last night, ready to fight, but with all his defenses down. All. It was
in the way his shoulders drooped over the arms that rested on
his drawn up knees. The way he would always pinch with his thumb
and forefinger the bridge of his nose. He had been crying, she
could see it in the way his shoulders shook. In his eyes. His eyes,
that could break like glass into pieces.

"I - I have never been so scared, B'Elanna. Never."  It was
all there in those words, his fear that he would lose her.

"I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, B'Elanna."

And when he said: "You're all I have, B'Elanna, right here," placing
his hand against his chest, "in my heart."

So much of her anger had dissipated in those moments. She thought
on the times, too numerous to count that she had banged her fists
against his chest, in a manner of speaking. Allowing her to
express herself, all her angers, frustrations, everything, because
she assumed that because he absorbed all of her outbursts, her
outrage, it didn't affect him. How wrong she was. How utterly
wrong.

And everytime he let me attack him without thought for him, I wear
him down further. The tower that would not crumble. How heavily I 
lean against him, most of the time. And last night he let me do it 
again. Wear him down. 

"You're right, B'Elanna, I don't understand," were his words
as he left her apartment.

Their talk this morning had gone a long way to calm her. She
had realised how when he was still trembling, and not from the cold,
that he was still in shock from the previous day's events.
And however noble her own sentiments about death and dying were,
she just never gave a thought to how the others, particularly
Tom, was affected. 

"You are not alone on this ship in this godforsaken quadrant."

"I want you to live."

"Don't I count?"

She meant every word this morning when she told him that her heart
wanted her to live, for him. That she would probably always remember
that she was treated by a doctor on whose hands were the bloodstains
of those who had no choice. She meant it when she told him that
she would remember too, that he did save her life. She felt glad to
be alive.

It was the pendant Tom had given her two months ago, lying in her 
dresser drawer as she searched for a particular sweater, that made 
seeing him so imperative.

"A celebration of life," Tom told her at the time, when he gave it
to her.

A magnificently hand carved, fragile looking butterfly, the Painted
Lady, he called her. 

"She knew how to fight to stay alive, sweetheart," he told her.

"Am I your Painted Lady, Tom?" she asked this morning.

"You sure are," as he took her in his arms, and held her close,
so close, his lips on her hair, rocking her gently.

"I love you, B'Elanna." She closed her eyes as she thought of the
conviction with which he said it.

She knew now, as she stood in front of the door of the Captain's
quarters, that had Tom been lying there, dying, she would have
done anything, anything to save his life, like he wanted to do
for her. 

I love him, and I cannot bear the thought of losing him," came
the admission, at last dispelling those demons she had tried
so hard to fight.

Her hand reached out in a confident gesture as she pressed the
chime and heard the Captain say:

"Enter."

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

Captain Janeway had been sitting on her lounge, on her couch, a cup
of coffee in her hand.

B'Elanna thought idly: It's how I'll probably always picture her, 
with a PADD or a cup of coffee. She looked surprised to see B'Elanna 
stand inside her door.

"B'Elanna. This is unexpected. Aren't you off duty for a lot more
hours? Twenty four hours to be exact?"

Kathryn Janeway looked at her chief engineer more closely as she 
stood where she had still planted herself: just inside the door. She 
beckoned the younger woman closer. She looked sad, Kathryn Janeway 
thought. Some of the demons were still there, she mused. Her fight 
was not over yet. She wondered if it ever will be over, and cursed 
for the thousandth time the absence of a counsellor on board. 

B'Elanna came closer, with clearly something - or many things - on 
her mind and in her heart. Captain Janeway put the cup on the coffee 
table and rose, walking slowly toward B'Elanna.

"Captain -  I - I believe your shoulder...is broad enough to - "

"Come here, B'Elanna," she said softly, as B'Elanna stepped closer 
and into Kathryn Janeway's open arms. The Captain walked her back to 
the couch, and sat down, holding a quietly sobbing B'Elanna Torres
in her arms.

Something is bothering her still, she mused. I'm not the only one
who had a sleepless night, came her thought. 

B'Elanna's words last night, spoken with such anger:

"Who made you God?" still bothered her. 

And for half the night she pondered on the burden of leadership, of 
command. Making her wonder whether to override this young woman's 
wishes, was the correct decision she made. She had come to the 
conclusion, rather painfully, that she would have made this decision 
again and again, if it came to save the life of a member of her crew. 
One whose very forthrightness, fearlessness, courage and leadership 
she had come to respect and love. She thought how in the twentieth 
century, when medical practice was considered archaic compared to 
modern day miracles, when parents, husbands, loved ones were faced 
with the difficult dilemma of switching off the life support of a 
critically ill and dying daughter, child, mother, father. And 
yesterday, B'Elanna could not be saved by a miracle, but by a miracle 
of intervention. However dubious that sounded. The correctness of
it would always be hers to wonder about. 

B'Elanna's words cut deep last night. Now something must have 
happened that this same young woman, so outraged and angry, who
burned candles to drive away the demons, is sobbing her heart
out in her arms. 

She soothed her gently, stroking her hair, her face that was warm in 
its feverishness. 

"B'Elanna," she asked at length, when B'Elanna had stopped crying.
"Tell me what's bothering you still."

All B'Elanna did was show her the pendant Tom had given her. Janeway
looked at it, the haunting beauty of it, with the beautiful and
fragile butterfly in its centre, encased in shiny glass. A painted
lady, she realised, remembering seeing hundreds of them back home,
as a child on their ranch.

"Tom gave this to you?"

"He crafted it himself, it's not replicated Captain."

"It's beautiful. It must have had special significance for him."

"Yes... the Painted Lady he called her. She was to remind us how...
how..."

"Precious life is?"

"Yes..."

"She's fragile, but incredibly strong, brave, B'Elanna. Like you."

"That's what he said. I'm his Painted Lady. Who could fight to stay
alive..."

"B'Elanna, look at me."  B'Elanna looked in her eyes. Then the 
Captain spoke:

"If anyone ever doubted Tom's feelings for you, all those were 
dispelled yesterday, the way he fought to want you to live. Even
as he knew he would go against your wishes. He loves you to the
point of desperation, B'Elanna."  Janeway paused here, then said
softly to her:
 
"All his gratitude was in the way he expressed his thanks to me.
Never doubt at all the depth of his feelings for you, B'Elanna."

"I  - I realised this morning, how he felt yesterday, Captain. 
And thank you, that you wanted to save my life. I kept on thinking
when we were stranded on that planet after the Kazon attacked us.
We went after a baby we didn't know."

The Captain nodded at these words.

"I - I needed to come here, to see you, Captain. And apologise for
my outburst. I - I know I'll still feel the same about the doctor, 
but, he saved my life. I've kind of forgotten how precious life is,
like the Painted Lady. 

The Captain took B'Elanna's hand in hers in a comforting gesture.

"I'm just glad to have you back with, B'Elanna. Very glad."

She gave her a gentle squeeze, then said:

"Now don't you think a certain Conn Officer is going to wonder
where you are when you have a date with him?"

At which B'Elanna smiled and looked hugely relieved for the first
time since yesterday.

"Thank you, Captain."

THE END


Veronica Jane Williams
xkhoi@iafrica.com

Check out the Desideratum SAGA at this site:
http://www.angelfire.com/ca/cheile/ronnie.html

My poetry:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/8031/poetry.html