AUTHOR'S NOTES:All right, this started out a simple PWP vignette, but it kind of got out of control, and it's growing into a real monster that is now what friend of mine calls PLOP (Plot? Lots Of Plot!).  What is it with me and The Coda That Ate Manhattan anyhow? Well, anyway...I didn't get to do the one for "Extreme Risk" like I was intending to, but I did manage an idea for this sweetie that I actually am going to transform from neural impulses to keystrokes and electrons.  Here goes.......TITLE:Forever's PerspectiveAUTHOR:VoyagerbabeRATING:PG-13 this part, NC-17 the whole thing.PART:1 of God-Only-Knows.SERIES/CODES:Voyager, P/T, TuTIME FRAME: Coda to 5th season episode, "Gravity"ARCHIVE:Yes.DISCLAIMER:Star Trek Voyager, all it's characters, names, settings, and little techno-thingies belong to the Great and Mighty Viacom Monster.  What they do, say, think, and feel in the story below belongs to me, and only me.  Steal it, and Tribbles and Mothers-in-law will invade your home and take up residence in the night. ***Tom Paris had been rejected by women before.However, he could not recall one ever shoving him bodily away and declaring him unfit for civilized companionship.  Especially not beautiful half-Klingon Chief Engineers who answered to the name B'Elanna Torres.  It was, however, understandable.  He and Tuvok had spent over two long months on a class-D planet.  A hot, arid, barely livable class-D planet.  The kind of planet where arachnids were the local staple and water was a resource worth killing over.  The kind of environment where a man got dirty very quickly, where a man tended to perspire by the gallon, and where precious water was used only with the minimal frequency tolerable for purposes of cleanliness.  And thankfully, the kind of environment where these things hadn't been readily noticeable.The Starship Voyager, on the other hand, was a very clean ship.  There was a code of appearance that assured that the cleanliness of the shining metal and gleaming panels would extend to the personnel, and even the air was purified.  Hence, the unfortunate away team had immediately achieved significant olfactory distinction. But now, after a lengthy and thoroughly pleasurable session involving soap, real hot water, shampoo, and no small amount of scrubbing ,he felt almost human again.  As he grabbed a towel and began to rub the lingering droplets from his short blonde hair, he contemplated the issue of what to do next.  It was not a long contemplation. Food.  A good, replicated meal that had at no point in it's history involved more than four legs.  Thankfully, the Captain had decided to allow her two formerly marooned officers replicator credits equivalent to one month instead of two days, reasoning that they had certainly earned it with mere survival.  Tying the sash of his dark blue robe around his trim waist, he tried to decide what to order.  He hadn't had a full month of rations available since the death of the betting pool...perhaps the one good feature of what was other wise the uncomfortable and difficult period where the Captain had required him to play the part of a malcontent.  He could buy a rather nice full-course meal with that, as well as maybe another off-duty or holodeck outfit to replace the leather and khaki of the now-retired Captain Proton suit, and he would still have enough left over to replicate something nice for B'Elanna.  B'Elanna...now *there* was something for a man to come home to.  He hadn't really thought about it until he was back on Voyager, but despite the likelihood they would be stranded for the rest of their lives, and despite Noss' pixie-like beauty and charming mix of naivet=E9 and resilience, he hadn't had a single romantic thought about her.  All of his wondering, all of his hope, all of his fantasies had been devoted to B'Elanna so completely that he had never even had to remind himself they were there.  Tom smiled as he realized that this was probably the first time something like this had ever happened to him.  Not being stranded--hell, Voyager was stranded merely by fact of it's position in the Delta Quadrant.  Not even eating spiders--and the planet's version didn't hold a candle to the Bajoran pulakoo--or even being forced to spend extended time with Tuvok.  It was the first time that he had really admitted to himself that he no longer could claim any control over the actions of his heart.  This was not a mere physical affair, this was not a particularly long infatuation, something he could break off with a few honeyed words and never really miss.  This was love.    He had just decided to start things off with a steaming cup of coffee--the real thing, no substitute-sludge-ala-Neelix or what-the-hell-were-they-thinking-when-they-freeze-dried-this Starfleet rations--while he decided on the actual meal, but as he opened his mouth to ask the replicator, something caught his attention.  His comm panel was blinking.  Someone was sending him a message. Tom's blue eyes lit up as he immediately put aside all thoughts of steaming java for the hope that the message that was waiting would be from B'Elanna.  And that hopefully, the message would prove just as hot if not more so than the coffee he was denying himself.  He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he sat down at his workstation to retrieve the message.  B'Elanna was a brilliant engineer, a powerful athlete, a tireless and creative lover, a brave officer, and a loyal friend, but she could also be an excellent writer. More than once, they had livened up uneventful days with a series of play-and-erase messages relayed between conn and engineering.  The sort of messages that made him count the seconds until the end of his shift, and occasionally caused him to curse her for the physical reactions some to her more explicit passages...and the sort of messages the Captain would undoubtedly kill them both for if she knew about.  Tom's face fell as he saw the message.  It was from Tuvok.  He had really had enough of that Vulcan over the last two months.  Tom didn't want a message about the planet, he didn't want a message about Noss, and he didn't want a message about Vulcan disciplines.  He wanted a message from B'Elanna about what what she was or wasn't wearing, and about all the delightfully evil things that Klingon blood and engineer's training had taught her.  Not a seven word, Vulcan-dull message from the unbearably rigid, colder-than-a-Breen-winter, stiff-necked security officer that he'd already spent waaaaaaay too much time with.  "Ensign Paris: Please look outside your door." Tom shrugged. Might as well look.  Most likely, Tuvok was returning Paris' red-and-black tunic.  He had given it to Tuvok on one of the particularly cold desert nights, when the older man's Vulcan physiology, borne of scorching heat, had begun to react violently to the chill.  Tom could get by with one of the hand woven blankets Noss had supplied them, but although he was too proud to ask the junior officer, Tom had seen that Tuvok had needed the sturdy synthetic of a second uniform jacket.  Sure enough, as the doors opened, the tunic was laying on the threshold, neatly folded and cleaned.  Even a small rip across the right shoulder had been precisely darned.  Shaking his head at the Vulcan's precision, he picked up the tunic and turned to go back into his quarters.  Two small items fell from the folded cloth.    A data padd and a box.Curiosity demanded to be satisfied, and he quickly gathered them up, calling for the computer to increase the lights from the restful one-half, to a three-quarter illumination that would allow him to see the little gifts more easily.  The box was about the size of a folded tricorder and perfectly square.  It's lid had been wrapped separately from the box itself, using folds in the scarlet wrapping so crisp and sharp that he wouldn't be surprised to learn they were some Vulcan form of origami.  The two pieces were neatly tied together with a simple black ribbon, Vulcan calligraphy written out in matching ebony ink along the rim of the small container's lid.  As for the data padd, it's screen contained a letter. *"To Ensign Thomas Paris:" *He couldn't help a smile at the formality.  "Can't even bear using 'Tom', can you?  What did you call it back there when we were teaching Noss Fed Standard...a 'corruption' of my name?"  He'd retaliated though, using his easy banter with the woman to convince her for nearly a full week that "Tuvok" wasn't really his name.  It had taken the other man a while to realize that "Tuvie" wasn't an innocent mispronunciation.  Chuckling lightly at the memory, he went back to the letter. *"As a security officer, it is a vital part of my duties that I be able to accurately assess a person's character.  I place a high priority on this skill, but I have been forced to re-evaluate it's application in the persons I associate with on a daily basis.  Logic would suggest that I would know these people better than those I have just encountered, but I have found myself often allowing my initial perceptions of my crewmates to go unchallenged. Such was the case, I admit, with you, Ensign. I have always respected your ability at the helm and your competence in assisting the Emergency Medical Hologram, however this has been overshadowed by a number of other derogatory traits.Despite your age, which while virtually a youth for my own people, is still quite young amongst yours, you are perhaps the most emotional male aboard this ship.  The most emotional member of the opposite gender would unarguably be Lieutenant Torres, which was the reasoning I had attributed to your romantic affiliation.  Your responses to situations are often unorthodox, and you develop areas of specialized interest that often do not pertain to the century in which we live.  Your choices of entertainment are frivolous at best, and your sense of humor incomprehensible. You were not one of my preferred companions among this crew. Many of my former statements regarding your personality and preferences still hold.  Recent events, however, have altered a number of my perceptions as to your character."*Tom blinked hard, looking at that last sentence again.  Could it be?  Was he actually holding in his own two hands an actual Vulcan apology?  Intrigued, he continued reading...... *"Your recklessness and tendency towards dismissal of regulations blinded me to your bravery and self-sacrificial tendency. I have seen you imperil yourself for others on several occasions, but it was not until I was wounded on the planet that I realized this trait.  You did not flee, but remained in a situation that held a 47% chance of death or serious injury to rescue me.  Despite your continual complaints about our situation and lack of hunting skill, you also were most helpful in our survival, surprisingly emphasizing your failings more often than you told me of your successes.In a Vulcan, this would be considered indicative of negative self-perception.  I would be willing to share several Vulcan techniques for the remedy of this condition.  It is most unfortunate that you suffer from it, as your skills and bravery are equivalent or superior to the rest of the crew.  Perhaps once it has been addressed, we could move on to emotional control tactics, and the refinement of your sense of humor.In regards to your relationship with Lieutenant Torres, I had believed your affiliation to be based on what human's call 'lust'.  Both you and the Lieutenant fall well within the standard for physical appeal for your respective genders and species, and my enhanced Vulcan senses and training in biology have caused me to note signs of sexual attraction and increased hormonal production when you are in proximity of one another.  I was even willing to admit a possible emotional attachment of some form, however, given the human tendency to attach emotionally to almost anything-including inanimate objects-I did not place any true significance on this. That opinion changed during our time together on the planet.  I observed your longing for the Lieutenant, and was fascinated to see that quite often, there was little hormonal attachment to these statements.  The combination of grief, hope, and affection I witnessed was what my people would consider the most sacred of bonds that can form between a woman and a man.  It is Koon-tei-Par: The Soul's Bond.It is the same as what I share with T'Pel...a desire that is beyond the flesh.  It cannot be disrupted by time nor distance, and it gives strength to both participants.  With surprising frequency, it even transcends logic with remarkable results.  It is something I do not recall ever witnessing in a human, and certainly not in combination with Shan-ha-Lok: The Engulfment.Such a combination is unheard of amongst my people.  The Engulfment is a physical and emotion love.  The Soul's Bond is spiritual and mental.  I was taught that they were mutually exclusive, but it appears that those teachings were incorrect.  I have enclosed with this letter a package.  If you have not already done so, please open it before continuing further."*Carefully, Tom eased the soft ribbon off the small box, using pilot's dexterity to tease open the beautiful wrapping without tearing it.  Within, the box was made of dark, polished wood, lacquered to a flawless finish and inlaid with gold Vulcan script.  Truly a work of art.  Unlatching the delicate clasp, he lifted the lid, feeling just a hint of resistance imparted by age.  Two medallions rested in a bed of ruby red silk, their golden surfaces gleaming.  Each was expertly crafted, the detail so fine that it went beyond the level of Tom's human eyesight, the seam between the metal and the round gemstone in the center completely undetectable.  Aware that these were no mere replicated baubles, but genuine artifacts, Tom hardly dared to breathe as he lifted the first one to the light before reaching again for the letter.*"These are Vulcan Kel'Sheeva discs.  Each Vulcan family bears their own design, and there are two pair in each household.  What you now hold, Ensign, is one pair of my family discs.  It is the pair that I kept as patriarch of my house, and had I not been transported to the Delta Quadrant, they would have been given to my oldest son, Sek, when he found his mate.  T'Pel and I bear the other set.  She wears hers at all times, as I wear mine, never removing it from my person except when necessity dictates.  The two figures on the front of the disc represent Logic and Perseverance...the two cornerstones of a successful relationship.  They hold Vulcan in their joined hands, and beneath their feet is the temple of Ammonak, one of Vulcan's most ancient and holy sites.  Around the perimeter is written, in the ancient tongue, a proverb: Wisdom is the knowledge of ignorance, the ability to believe without knowing, and the courage to seek beyond sight.On the back of the disc, you will see a man and a woman, clad in ceremonial robes.  Their hands touch one another's faces in the traditional position of the meeting of minds, and above them is the image of Surak, father of Vulcan Logic. The background is the landscape surrounding my family estate, with the suns setting.  The inscription from which the mountains are formed is the words of the Vulcan mating oath, which I fear do not translate well into Federation Standard.It is more than a promise, it is a communion of hearts.  It is an oath to never forsake or forget one another no matter how long the couple may be parted, to use respect, love, and logic in all dealings, to remain faithful despite temptation, and to support one another in all possible ways.  There is also a telepathic link forged at that time, and it is that link that allows me to touch my wife's katra when I meditate, no matter how far apart we are.   I bear no ill will against you, Ensign, for your attempts to foster romance between myself and Noss.  Your actions were motivated by concern for her emotional well-being, as well as by 'Kolrada,' or, 'Transferal'.  You missed Lieutenant Torres, and as such, you desired to see another couple engaged in the romance and pleasure that you were denied for an indefinite amount of time.  Undoubtedly, you were not even aware of that factor, however, it was part of the behavior that brought me to the conclusion that you and the Lieutenant share Koon-tei-Par. It has been my unfortunate personal experience that two people are often separated by distance, if not even by death, and that sometimes a reunion is not logically possible.  There is every likelihood that this could happen to you and Lieutenant Torres as it has to myself and T'Pel--indeed, it did on the planet.  During such circumstances, the disc is an anchor, a reminder of love.  It is perhaps the only thing that allowed my commitment to T'Pel to remain intact in the face of Noss' significant temptation and clear affection.  Not to mention your own arguments. I give these discs to you then, Ensign, until such time as we return home and they can be transferred to my biological son, Sek, who is within mere months of your own age.  May I suggest that you give one to Lieutenant Torres and keep one for yourself.  Though you have not yet chosen to take the oath that in human terms is considered marriage, your bond is strong enough that I do not believe these gifts are misplaced. Seek her out and give this to her.  It is customary to accompany the gift with an expression of your love, and I recommend you do so in whatever manner you believe would convey deepest commitment.Lieutenant Commander Tuvok." TO BE CONTINUED......... ?Well? Do you think it's worth continuing?  Do you want more?------=_NextPart_000_003B_01BE732E.7158FDE0--