New Story: Too late the Hero A coda written in response to the episode: Thirty Days Veronica Jane Williams xkhoi@iafrica.co. DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Voyager, the characters, the Delta Flyer. I own the story. RATING: PG13 (some violence) TOO LATE THE HERO Ensign Tom Paris stood in cargo bay one. He should have known it was a hoax as he looked around him, seeing it empty. That was the second time this week, his third week out of incarceration. After that first evening, in B'Elanna's quarters, enjoying his first good meal after a month, with B'Elanna teasing him playfully about his status as Voyager's newest ensign, he realised he was living in a fool's paradise. Even Captain Proton had been neatly relegated to the bottom of his drawer. What was he expecting anyway? It seemed that after four years on Voyager, there were still some disenchanted crew with old scores to settle. As if living in close proximity, cooped up on a starship trapped somewhere in forever, hadn't taught anyone the painful reality of accepting the inevitable and working together as a team. If he thought he had many friends on Voyager, he was rudely awakened in the past three weeks. Feeling like he did at the beginning on board Voyager, when their mistrust, their dislike of him had been almost tangible. From both Maquis and Starfleet crew, a mercenary bum to the one and a Federation traitor to the other. Who didn't know what an honourable cause was even if they pasted it against his forehead. If at any time he was reminded forcibly of a time he tried so hard to bury very deep, it was now. If at any other point he was able to mask past hurts and pain, guilt, accountability, behind old tried and tested facades, they did not help now. And how he tried. How he tried. But even those closest to him he could not fool. B'Elanna had been asking some pointed questions lately. Harry... He was ready to admit to all the accusations leveled then against him, and accept their animosity and hatred of him. He was guilty then. He thought in the past four years he found at least a measure of reprieve, of pardon. He learned in the past four years, that the road to healing, of transformation from rebel to redeemed, was a difficult road. But he walked it, with all the obstacles thrown in his way. Now, it seemed, as far as some are concerned, he had been living under the Captain's protection. How the they rubbed it in! Mama's blue-eyed boy, some snickered. He owed the Captain everything - his life, his restoration - he was more than prepared to give her full credit for allowing him those opportunities such as they presented themselves, in which he could explore his new-found self worth. How life's ironies extended even to the furthest reaches of the Delta Quadrant! From the very person whom he held in such great esteem - he once swore he'd die for her - he learned that he could find a cause, believe in it, and follow his heart to see it through at whatever the cost. How many times in the past four years hadn't the Prime Directive been violated? By the same token, how many times during the past four years didn't the Prime Directive stand in the way of helping the desperate and the beaten, the repressed and oppressed? He, Tom Paris, ex-con, ex-mercenary, ex-traitor, ex-rebel, ex-bum, found a cause and believed in it passionately. And almost drawn like a magnet to the water-planet with its great oceans, old remembered dreams of yore surfaced. Almost as if seeing that ball of water flicked the tiny switch in his brain and unlocked that deeply treasured love and fascination for the sea. And he saw himself as the saviour of the oceans. He, Tom Paris, transformed from nihil causa to honoris causa in a matter of minutes. To follow that cause, he knew he would tread a path on which he would break the rules. He did not expect to be applauded for his actions, the flaunting and disregard of adhering to orders of command, for what he passionately believed. It rankled most that his Captain could throw it all in his face. The old parental "after all I did for you" syndrome, "I made you what you are today and don't you forget it," the "I made you, I can break you" he just never thought he would ever hear from the person whose leadership he valued and admired most. And she did just that. Painfully reminding him of how grateful he should be that she saved his sorry butt. Busted him out of prison, so to speak. That was what hurt the most. And every day of the past three weeks since his release from the brig, he just couldn't get it out of his mind. That every minute of every day he should walk the corridors of Voyager, just grateful that he's walking there at all. That he is there not by the grace of God, but by the grace of a god. And the other irony: that his honoris causa appeared to have borne little fruit. He smiled without mirth as he thought how late the hour for heroism. Too late he wanted to be something by which he could be remembered forever. Now he had fallen from grace, and grace to him now, no longer even a prayer away. No clemency. No peace. He sighed. If the last three weeks were anything to go by, it was going to be an unpleasant term as a demoted field lieutenant. And he wondered how long that would last. Harry was still an ensign... He sighed, thinking to keep the latest round of pranks and sly digs directed at him to himself. They were having a field day abusing his status as an ensign. He was by no means a crier, but this was getting downright out of hand. It was wasting his time. He was almost late for duty. Twice. But the pranks happened most of the time when he was off duty. And alone. And at any time, they were faceless. He was still pondering on this mad dash for nothing down here to the cargo bay, when, in the darkness, he could feel he was not alone. The hair at the back of his neck bristled. He swung round, only to see something gleaming, then he felt the glancing blow to his head. He was still reeling with dizziness, when the first of the blows rained on him. One, two pairs of fists beat down on him everywhere. He doubled over at the first blow to his mid-section, almost lifting him off his feet, and when he straightened again, trying to shield his face, felt another fist. Two blows to his face caused a shower of blinding sparks as he sagged to his knees. Already a stickiness formed where he touched his nose. He tried to fight them off. Them. There weren't two, but three. One held him, exposing him to the blows from the other two. His arms were clamped tight behind him. He felt something crack, and knew it to be his jaw. He had no defense as blow after blow landed on him. His assailants were silent, all that could be heard, Tom's groans. And their grunts as they punched him mercilessly. His legs buckled under him as he started to collapse. Trying to raise himself from where he collapsed on the floor, he gasped again as two booted feet rammed into him again. It felt to him his stomach was being ripped open. He clutched his stomach, overcome by the blinding pain, and excessive nausea. He couldn't see his assailants in the dark, and already he was slowly losing focus, the blows to his head causing his eardrums to burst. Or it felt like that. There was a continuous buzzing sound in his head. He lay on the floor, bracing himself on hands that suddenly felt like rubber. He sagged down again. I must be in hell, he thought. Last time he was surprised like this was in his cell in New Zealand... He had been caught completely by surprise, and though he tried to lash out in the dark, only occasionally found his mark. But then, he wasn't unconscious while they.... His last coherent thought was calling silently B'Elanna's name, and the blurring images of the dinner that they had together. He felt a hand grab hold of his shirt front, and guessed his commbadge was being ripped off just before he mercifully sank into the oblivion of unconsciousness. ***************************** Joe Carey looked at his chief engineer, and mentally shook his head. They were both practically on all fours at one of the EPS conduits, and B'Elanna was tackling her task with so much meaning, there had to be something afoot. "B'Elanna, this can wait, you know. It's not as if it had to be done yesterday." He stopped what he was doing, and looked at her fierce countenance. He was concerned, and it showed in his voice. "Come on, what's up, B'Elanna? You're like a cat on a hot tin roof." She looked speculatively at him before she decided to stop her work, then admitted: "Have you noticed anything strange in Tom's behaviour lately?" she asked him. "Oh, you mean back to being his quirky, smirky self? Yeah, I did. Who hasn't?" "It's not funny, you know. He's been acting strangely lately, Joe, and I - I am worried. Something happened to him a few days ago, and - and he's not talking." Joe's concern was evident in his face. He was just one of the many who had accepted Tom's new reduced status for what it was: an attempt to be heroic in the face of great opposition, who honestly believed in what he had attempted. Secretly they felt they applauded Tom's courage to take his punishment on the chin. And if what he did, seemed to all and sundry, and in particular Voyager's hierarchy, rather all for naught, the way he conducted himself in the face of the punishment meted out to him, evoked in the crew a greater admiration than they had for him before. If only Tom himself believed that, he sighed. "B'Elanna, you know, you can tell him from me, and I speak for many of us, he'll be fine. We still respect him as we always did." "Joe, he doesn't seem to believe that. And frankly, it is a cause for concern." "Look, let me finish up here. You give yourself a break, and go to him." "Thanks Joe. I'll be back." "Yeah, you can't leave your precious engines." She gave him a playful swat on the nose, then left engineering. ****************** Tom stood in the bathroom of his quarters and assessed the latest damage done to his face and body. He winced as he touched his ribcage lightly over the area of his left side. He felt damned certain the second last rib was cracked. He hadn't been able to breathe properly during the night, and spent the time lying awake, in pain. This time he kept away from sickbay, not wanting to have to fabricate another story, which the EMH wasn't going to believe anyway. He had been attacked again last night, and that only a week after he had been beaten senseless in the cargo bay. He had vague memories of waking up, finding himself still lying on the cold floor, blood oozing from his nose. And his mouth. There was a continuous low buzzing, painful sound in his ears. And he had three cracked ribs. He tried to reach to his chest to hit his commbadge, and found it missing. He silently thanked the gods it was in the dead of night as he stumbled through the corridors, and into sickbay. Great, he thought, just my luck as he saw through his blurred vision the Doctor sitting in his small office. Who looked up then down again at his console when he saw it was Tom. "Ah, if it isn't our demoted field lieutenant. What can I do for you, Ensign?" he asked as he straightened up again and walked towards Tom. Tom noticed how he too, emphasized the first syllable as if it were a swear word. He didn't have the energy for a witty reply, the pain too overpowering. He probably thinks I'm drunk, Tom thought. But before Tom could respond, he blacked out again, just managing to fling himself over the biobed. Some minutes later Tom looked at the doctor while he was scanned, and saw for once some concern in the hologram's eyes. "Mr Paris," he said, his address of Tom not going unnoticed. "You didn't get these injuries in your Captain Proton programme. Nor did you get them climbing that infernal mountain of yours." "And how would you know that, Doc?" Tom asked, with something akin to his old attempts at wise-cracking, still wincing as he tried to lift his head, and testing his jaw rather gingerly. "Mr Paris, an injury on the Eiger would constitute a broken ankle and some concussion. Captain Proton, I believe, would never have been caught off guard." And that was all he said as he continued regenerating broken skin, abrasions, set his ribs, set his broken nose, set his jaw, stopped the internal bleeding of his busted spleen, patched up a punctured lung, and regenerated Tom's eardrums. "There, that should do it," the EMH said, now no longer unkind, and actually disturbed at the extent of Tom's injuries. "I'd like to keep you here for another twenty four hours, Mr Paris, but I guess is you're just going to walk out here." "Doc," Tom said as he straightened up on the bed, "Please... not a word to anyone," and there was a pleading note in Tom's voice, and entreaty in his eyes. "Mr Paris," Doc said tersely, "you've been badly beaten up, by persons on this ship; you have injuries consistent to those sustained if you were in a twentieth century motor vehicle accident. Serious injuries." "Please, doctor, a favour. Don't say anything - " "But Mr Paris, I have to - " "Doctor, please," as Tom rose from the biobed, planted his feet gingerly on the floor, and stumbled slightly out of sickbay, with a deeply concerned EMH looking at his retreating figure. Sighing, the Doctor went into his office, sat down at his console and started: "Chief Medical Officer's Log: Although he has asked me not to inform anyone of the senior crew, I have to report that Mr Paris..." ******************* Now he looked at his nose, tweaked the bridge of it. I look like Jack Hawkins in "The Robe." Anymore of this, and a profile of my face could be embossed on a Roman coin instead of Caesar's. He sighed, last night's attack had not been as violent as the one a week ago. There had been two this time. Surprising him right here in his quarters. The lights were out, and again he couldn't see them. They left him, slumped against his desk. They didn't bother to lower their voices this time, and they sounded vaguely familiar... Still. He was due on duty at the Conn in twenty minutes, he didn't want to be late, and have to look at the Captain again, apologise... He had just slipped on the rest of his uniform, fingering ruefully the single pip in his collar, when his door chimed, and a second later B'Elanna walked in. "B'Elanna, sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be in engineering?" "Tom," she said without preamble, "something's been bothering you lately." "Oh, yeah? Like walking around with this?" and he swiped with some anger at his neck, indicating his new insignia. "It's more than that, Tom." She looked at him with troubled eyes. "B'Elanna, I've been an ensign before, you know, way back in my very green days. I can handle it. Besides," he said as he leaned over to kiss her on her mouth, a kiss that wanted to linger, but she pulled away, "besides, you get to enjoy it very much, right here. In the privacy of our cabins." For a moment her eyes flashed angrily, then remembering what she came here for. "Tom, what happens between us, you know it's just playful teasing. I like it. You like it. It's fun, here, pulling rank." She paused, then added, softly, looking at him and holding his stare: "But it's not funny, Tom. Is it?" Tom closed his eyes for a few seconds, and was almost tempted to tell her of the unwarranted attacks on him, last night's one almost certainly leaving him with a cracked rib. Then he looked at her, and thought: I can't tell her. I can't. "I'll get through this, B'Elanna. Now, I've got to go. I'm on duty at the conn." "Tom, you've been acting strangely, even toward me, this last month," she said a little plaintively. He smiled at her this time, then bent to kiss her again as he readied to leave. But she was not finished. She placed her hands against his chest, and felt, rather than saw him wince. "Tom, you've been hurt!" she said as he took hold of her hands to release them from his chest. "Just some tumble down the Eiger, B'Elanna. Forgot the safeties were off," he said carelessly. "You've an experienced climber, Tom. Even with the safety protocols off." "Let it rest, sweetheart." "Tom - " "Please, B'Elanna. I have to go. Lock up, will you?" he said, a smile hovering. B'Elanna looked at Tom as he left his quarters and felt like fuming. Something was going on, it seemed far more serious than he would let on. ******************** Tom ignored the snickering as he entered the turbolift, ordered Deck One. When he entered the bridge, he nodded to the Captain and quietly took his seat at the conn, just as Ensign Baytart, rose to vacate the seat. His back stiffened as the Captain's voice ordered him to set in the new course for the star system they would be entering in a week. He kept his mind on his work, and thought how much more difficult it was now, the feeling that had been brooding ever since he was first thrown in the brig. Now, he was a sailor who fell from grace. In the beginning, on this ship he did so many things he thought heroic, to be accepted, to be a respected member of this crew. He pursued that ideal with so much dedication, his main goal, to make good on his sorry life. Then he accepted all the sordid tags they put on his name. It was what he deserved then, didn't he? He was a miserable specimen who had been given a second chance by a Captain with a no-nonsense attitude. A second chance that he, like a drowning man, grabbed with both hands. Because someone trusted him. Someone had faith in him. Someone whose faith and trust in him, he destroyed, because he wanted to follow his heart, for what he believed in. He died a thousand deaths that day in her ready room when he looked her in the eye and saw the disappointment and shame there. The kind he had seen one time too many when his father used to look in that same way at him. All that he had worked so hard for in four years, shattered when she removed his pip from his collar. That action alone, more than time spent in the brig, symbolised, at least as far as he was concerned, loss of faith and trust in him. And that hurt most. For all his past transgressions, he felt, he paid a hundred times over, and a hundred times he tried, almost pathetically, to please, just so someone could pat him on the back. He looked at the wide viewscreen in front of him, into the darkness, and thought: My life is going nowhere. He coughed slightly, and felt a sharp pain in his lower rib-section. He gasped, struggled to breathe, then realising the Captain and first officer's eyes were on him, he tried forcibly to control the pain that now seemed to ravage his entire chest region. "Mr Paris, unless you've been working long hours, I suggest you spend your free time more fruitfully," came the Captain's voice. Obviously suggesting that he had a very late night. He sighed. How difficult can it be now, when he has already fallen from grace, to make right? Now that all the things Harry accused him of so many years ago, when he, Tom, wanted to go by the book: "You're working from a different rule book, Paris." "You're more Starfleet than you let on, Tom," Harry's words again. Now, he's broken every rule. For a cause. For a dead cause. That rankled. Now, it felt to him, he didn't have the energy of four years ago to battle to regain respect, lost trust, being barely tolerated, to try and wipe from their eyes, mistrust, shame, restore their faith in his ability, their trust in his sound judgment. I tried too hard then, Dad, he said quietly to himself, and don't know if I have the strength to do it again. He thought that the moment he went off duty today, he'd record another letter to his father. He needed to hear, in his heart, his mind, the very words his father used to drill into him. In those years when he had been too rebellious to filter from all his father ever tried to teach him, the one thing standing out in these last two months like a beacon in his memory: "My son, we have greater strength in us than we give ourselves credit for. It's in you. It's in all of us. All you have to do, is focus on it in your adversity. And believe in it. There is none of us who could not find growth, inner strength in the things that trouble us. Believe me, Tom, in your life you'll be thrown in a crucible so often, not wanting to believe in yourself, but son, once you come out there, you'll be a man." Tom wondered how, flying Voyager at maximum warp, concentrating on maneuvering a seven hundred thousand ton starship through a nebula, he could in these moments think of his father's words. His father had been often in his mind lately... ****************** It was 1700 when Tom finished his shift on the bridge, and Lieut. Hamilton came to relieve him. Kathryn Janeway watched the exchange between the two pilots, and she thought how quiet Tom had become in this last month. His deference to her was almost embarrassing to witness, and for her, painful. There was none of the mock deference whenever he said, "Yes, Ma-am," now to her. The way he used to say to her, only up till two months ago. If truth be told, she missed that about him. And she never thought she'd admit that to herself. It wasn't a mock humility. He was just humble. The way it behooved a lowly ensign, she sighed. I must have sounded much like his father that day in the ready room. She could see his hurt, the pride that in spite of everything, still lurked in his eyes. He was a Paris through and through. She was not about to defend any decision she took regarding his punishment. She went by Starfleet rules. When he decided, on his own to help a dying planet, he broke so many rules. He must have been aware of the consequences of his actions. She had no choice. By the same token, he had no choice either. That was what he believed in his heart. She didn't expect him to change the stand he took. She had to admit, his behaviour throughout his incarceration in the brig, was exemplary. His behaviour now, is exemplary, she admitted ruefully. Not that he had ever been seriously out of line before. He took his punishment and reduced status like a man. Looking at him now as he nodded in her direction before walking past her to the turbolift, he presented to her, and here she cringed almost, the image of an officer and a gentleman. She had so often hoped to see Tom like she had seen so many exemplary officers in her long career. That Tom is now before her. What every parent dreamed of: my son is a man - but what price the sacrifice? He went about his tasks much as he did before, but with so much quietude about him, she felt almost worried. As if he isn't Tom Paris, gifted, "the best damned pilot you could have". She felt only a small tinge of guilt, but was not sorry about her decision she took. She has dealt enough times with crew who accused her of being all kinds of things. She can deal with Tom's anger. Though, she thought, Tom was not angry at her... He was something else. "I broke you out of prison." Her words. "Who made you God?" B'Elanna's words, not so long ago. And that, in short summed up what she knew the crew thought of her. Kathryn Janeway closed her eyes and wished for a moment she could just dump all of them on the next class-M planet, and settle there. And not have to bear this burden alone... Alone? she thought, as she turned her head and looked at her First Officer. Chakotay... He sensed her eyes on him, saw the concern there, touched her hand very briefly and said softly. "He'll get through this Kathryn. He's stronger than we think." ******************** The Emergency Medical Holographic Programme bent over the deeply unconscious figure on the biobed. Three weeks previously, the same man had lain here and begged him not to inform the Captain. He had been able then, and had great faith in his own expertise, to correct Tom Paris' injuries. The injuries had been extensive then. Then, Tom Paris had been caught by surprise. And suffered excruciating pain. He was not fooled. The recently demoted ensign had some cracked rib two weeks ago. He had seen a record of it when Tom had done duty in the sickbay that day. A person or persons - he was inclined to think there were more than two - surprised him again. He wondered why such a pernicious and dastardly act could be committed against a defenseless man. This time, there was a deep crack in his skull, causing severe sub-dermal bleeding, and concussion which, if Tom can't wake up soon, could cause him to go into a coma. That was besides, again, a few cracked ribs, a collapsed lung, bruised kidneys and this time, a broken wrist. He surmised the ensign tried to defend himself this time. Something had to be done, he thought, as he looked at young Gerron, the Bajoran who four years ago, had still been in his teens. "I found him in the shuttle bay, Doctor. I don't know who did this." Gerron looked with some concern at Tom Paris, one of the few officers he liked. He didn't like the way Tom was constantly needled by some of the crew. He didn't need it, and, Gerron felt, he didn't deserve it. To him, Tom was Tom, a man, an officer who had taken time off to make friends with a lonely and very confused young man. He looked up to Tom, in a way he would an older brother. "You remind me of myself, when I was your age," Tom told him once. By some luck, he was on his way to Stellar Cartography, passing through the darkened shuttle bay, when he saw Tom lying near the Delta Flyer. He looked again at Tom, a sickly pallor to his skin. "What is going to happen now?" he asked the Doctor. The doctor looked at him, then at the unconscious Tom. "Well crewman, I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know what I must do." *************************** Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay were in her ready room, going over crew evaluations when the Doctor's voice broke into their conversation. "Go ahead, Doctor." she said, looking at Chakotay. "Captain, I think you should come to sickbay. There something here you should see." And with that, the Doctor signed off. "Well?" said Chakotay. "Are you going to heed the Doctor's commands, Kathryn? You should, you now. This can wait the extra hour." "Fine, Chakotay, then you finish the backlog," she said with an imperious air. And that's when I'd like to take hold of that sweet neck of yours, dear Kathryn, and kiss you to distraction, he thought, not without pain. The whole affair with Tom had upset her beyond what anyone, save he, could see. He smiled ruefully remembering the day in this very room, he referred to Tom Paris as her personal reclamation project. And though the way he said it, sounded callous, he knew that she had a greater regard for Tom than anyone else on this ship. He was even inclined to think, that like a mother, she loved him like an only and beloved son. And like a mother, had shown her disappointment when the same only and beloved son erred in her eyes; went against her wishes. He knew how difficult it was for her to apply Starfleet rules when it came to meting out his sentence and punishment. She stood by her decision, but he knew how deeply the hurt sliced through her; that Tom, of all officers, could go against regulations, ignore directives, direct orders. How true it is, he thought, that you come down on those you love most, the hardest. The way Kathryn went about punishing him, her words and actions, he privately thought un-Captain like, and inspired more by her own acute disappointment in him than anything else. Her words and actions laced not only with disappointment, but anger. He could almost hear her: "I could understand and accept this kind of action from anyone on board Voyager Tom. This insurrection, insubordination from anyone else, but you? How could you?" I wonder, Kathryn, whether you are even aware how much you love this surrogate son of yours, Chakotay thought. That your censure of him, hurt you so much, because of your high regard for him. From no one else on this ship could you have tolerated Tom's sometimes irreverent wise-cracks. But you did. Because as much as Tom Paris for once in his life had seen something he could do, and find a cause he could believe in, you passionately believed in him when you bartered for his freedom. And that's why it hurt you so much. You don't even know how much he has emulated you in pursuing this goal to the point of breaking the law. Yes, he thought, the captain and the captive, mother and surrogate son, leader and protege - they had a lot of ground to cover on the road the healing the breach between them. A long road indeed. ******************** Kathryn Janeway tried unsuccessfully to stifle a gasp of utter shock at Tom's condition. The Doctor had just finished listing his injuries. His pallid skin was colored only by the dark circles under his eyes, and looking properly now, could see that in the last number of weeks, must have had his nose broken three or four times. He was deeply unconscious, and a cortical stimulator secured on his forehead. To say she was shocked, was an understatement. She looked at the Doctor, a question clear in her eyes, "I don't know who's responsible, Captain," he said as he set about healing Tom's other injuries. The broken ribs received attention, as did the broken wrist. "My God," she said out loud, "why, in the name of heaven?" "That, I think Captain, is what you should find out," the Doctor said, a little tersely. Kathryn Janeway nodded. Her hand reached out and touched the unconscious man's bare shoulder and her eyes closed briefly. Then she hit her commbadge and ordered all senior officers to the briefing room. At that moment, the sickbay doors slid open and B'Elanna rushed in. And headed straight to where Tom lay on the diagnostic bed. "B'Elanna - " "Forgive me, Captain, I've only just heard," she said, her eyes covered with a sheen of tears. "I - I need to be with him - " Kathryn Janeway looked at B'Elanna and nodded almost curtly. Then she left the sickbay. Paused outside the doors that just closed behind her, B'Elanna's look of anger and accusation that could not be masked by her tears, following her all the way she took to get to the briefing room. B'Elanna pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed, taking Tom's almost lifeless hand in hers. Looked at his face, the closed eyes. "Doctor - ?" she looked up at the EMH. "Where do you want me to start, Lieutenant?" "This is obviously not the first time, Doctor...so how about at the beginning?" looking now at Tom again. Her eyes filling with tears. "Lieutenant, he stumbled in here about a month ago, badly beaten up. I was surprised that he could even walk here. But whoever attacked him, also removed his commbadge. He didn't tell me about the times in between, but I know about them," the Doctor said. "Right now, he suffers from deep concussion, the result of a severe blow to the head. He has had broken ribs every time this happened, a busted spleen, thrice a broken nose, a broken jaw, a broken wrist, twice collapsed lungs... Need I go on...?" Tom's quiet form, his complete stillness was the only answer to her silent question as she asked: "Why would anyone do this to you, Tom? Now?" Resting her head on the hand that was covered with hers, she felt the tears at last flowing in hot and painful little rivulets down her cheeks. Her quiet sobbing now the only sound in the room. The Doctor let her alone, thinking of a time not so long ago, when this very sick man was ready to fight for her life, right or wrong. Who never left her side, whose slumped body over her unconscious form reminded him of the great love stories of old: Tristan and Yseult, Eros and Psyche, the great love of Orpheus and Eurydice... "Lieutenant," he said softly, his hand on her shoulder, "I've stabilized him, and he will come out of his coma. Sometime soon. Hopefully. Whoever did this to him, did some thorough work," he said as he moved about the sickbay. "Perhaps your presence is also required in the briefing meeting. He'll be fine here, Lieutenant. In good hands." B'Elanna reluctantly let go of Tom's hand, rose slowly and nodded to the Doctor. Her initial shock at seeing Tom lying there now replaced by such a deep anger, an anger that had slowly been building since Tom was released from solitary confinement, his refusal to share his troubles with her. She sensed he was given a hard time by some crew, but this? This? The need to kill him? Or just the need to exert with sadistic pleasure their dislike of Tom? A dislike that until now, was hidden. Now that his status is the same as theirs? She entered the turbolift when someone quickly joined her. "Gerron?" "Lieutenant, I found him early this morning, in the shuttle bay." "What?" came her shocked response. "He - he was lured there. It's not the first time lieutenant. He's been beaten up a number of times. I thought I'd tell you." "Do you know who did it?" she asked pointedly, making the almost shy young man blanch. "No, lieutenant. But I can tell you, whoever it is, is giving him a hard time. Now that he's an ensign and - and..." he paused. "And...?" "No longer under the Captain's protection..." he said quietly, then added, "that's the word going round..." The young Bajoran looked now at her. "I - I don't like what happened, lieutenant." "There's something more, isn't it?" she asked again, more kindly this time. He nodded. "I - whoever they are, lieutenant, they - they're not only Maquis crew." That was as much as he could say by the time she reached deck one and walked to the briefing room. ********************* Kathryn Janeway stood at the observation window of the briefing room, staring at the stars streaking by. It always fascinated her, traveling at warp, that millions of stars crystallise into a long streak of colour, a profusion that burst upon the eyes. She remembered, as a cadet going on a training mission into deep space, her complete fascination, enthralled beyond measure, something that surely endorsed her decision to be Starfleet. She never tired of looking at the stars. Yet now, her mind was troubled. It was a difficult meeting. One in which she had to face the anger of some of her senior officers. Their outrage that what had happened to Tom, was her fault. Harry. B'Elanna... B'Elanna... She closed her eyes in pain. B'Elanna had bristled with barely contained anger. "Tom has done everything and more of what you wanted, Captain. Has taken his punishment like a gentleman. He accepted your decision, and hasn't whined about it." "He would never have wanted anyone to know what was happening to him, Captain. Harry butted in. "It's - it's the way of the prison set-up he was in before. He didn't want to sound like a snitch." "As it is, Captain," came the Doctor's words, "he really doesn't know who the assailants are." "Why didn't we hear of this before now?" she asked the Doctor, sensing he knew more than he let on. "It's recorded in my medical log. Mr Paris begged me not to let you know," he said a little unkindly, knowing how it must have affected her. "It would appear to me Captain, that when a person makes a decision, he must take responsibility for that decision. I understand that Mr Paris took responsibility for a decision he took." And for once Seven left a gaping opening in which her own accusation of the Captain's action to censure Tom lay glaring for everyone to see. And that was what the meeting, never openly said, but inferred: that with her own action, she never considered for a single moment the repercussions on a day to day level for Tom. Did she know her crew? It seemed not. Did she think that Tom would be physically abused on such an intense and regular basis in the space of only six weeks? She had been too disappointed, too angry, too ashamed, too... the day she sentenced Tom. Her anger with which her hand snaked out and virtually ripped that pip off his collar. What was I then? she thought with agony. The Captain? God? Kathryn Janeway? Surrogate mother? She smiled at Chakotay's appendage of that name to her. B'Elanna had stayed behind after the rest of the senior officers left. B'Elanna in whose eyes the fight had simmered down a little. "Captain," she said, with that old fearlessness she had come to admire about B'Elanna, "he didn't deserve what happened to him." Her voice was softer now, much like the morning B'Elanna had visited her in her quarters and cried on her shoulder, after another decision she had taken: one of life and death. "I - I know... Tom knows that his punishment is consistent with Starfleet regulations. No one disputes that, Captain. Least of all Tom. But...but I guess none of us thought that his reduced rank would be the ammunition some crew with old scores to settle, would use to victimise him in that way." "I know, B'Elanna...I know that now. I didn't realise it. And how like Tom not to want share his problems..." "Not even with me..." B'Elanna whispered. ***************** "Kathryn." Chakotay. "Tuvok has his best team working on finding Tom's attackers." She look down to where his hand came to rest on her shoulder. A comforting touch. A consoling touch. She looked at him, nodded and looked at the stars again. She was quiet for a long before she spoke. "I - " she started, he could see her throat working as she tried to formulate something without being overcome, "...shall never forget the look in his eyes. Never. He - I could see that my own anger and shame and disappointment affected him. He straightened up after that, there was pride in his eyes and for a few moments..." She closed her eyes at the pain, "for a few moments he looked so like his father." "You have no idea, have you Kathryn?" She looked up at him, traced idly with her eyes the tattoo on his forehead. "What?" "How much like you he has become. He went after what he believed in, Kathryn. Grant him that. Just think of the many times you went after something because you believed in it. You supported me when we went right into Kazon space to rescue a baby which, in retrospect, was not mine. This whole crew engaged Vidians just to rescue us, months after we were on New Earth. I could go on, but you know what I mean..." "I - " "Here, on Voyager, you've become everybody's mother. You offer your shoulder for them to cry on, but, Kathryn, you were more Tom's than anyone else on this crew. There, I've said it." "Chakotay..." "Hmmm...?" "You know me so well..." ************************* Tom opened his eyes slowly, a throbbing feeling in his head, his vision still unfocused and painful if he just tried to roll his eyes. He blinked once or twice, felt a weight on his hand. He tried to look that way, but just moving his head was painful and he groaned. B'Elanna woke the instant she heard Tom's groan. She had fallen asleep, her head resting against his body, his hand clasped in hers. "Tom..." "B'Elanna?" "Yeah, it's me..." and she smiled at their old familiar exchange. Then she started sobbing quietly, the tension of the last three days flowing from her. He placed his hand on her hair, stroked it while she cried, and waited till she stopped. That was how the Doctor, when he activated himself, saw his Orpheus and Eurydice. Granted, Tom's Eurydice lived to see a new day with him, unlike the poor mythological Eurydice who had to remain in Hades. Poor Orpheus. But it was in their great love that the EMH saw the analogy. He would probably always think of them as the mythological pair. He started scanning Tom immediately, and Tom felt relief when the hypospray had been applied to his neck. Tom looked at the doctor in mock anger: "You told... shame on you, Doc." "Mr Paris, they almost killed you this time. I had no option." He looked at his B'Elanna, who was still holding his hand firmly in hers, then at the Doctor again. "Thanks..." "You're welcome, Mr Paris. Now, this time you'll stay here for at least two more days. To rest properly." Tom nodded, then the Doctor disappeared in his office. "B'Elanna?" "Tom, you've been here three days. Tuvok and Security have caught the crew members who beat you up. Right now, I'm just glad you're alive." "Who were they, B'Elanna?" Tom wanted to know, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes. "Tom..." "Please, sweetheart." "They were Starfleet crew, one of them Maquis." When she mentioned their names, he became thoughtful. "I - Just before I passed out, I thought I recognised one of their voices." "They'll be in the brig for a while, Tom. Don't worry about them now, just concentrate on getting well." "Sure, sweetheart, anything you say," as his voice trailed off and he fell asleep. B'Elanna smiled a little indulgently, but also hugely relieved that Tom seemed okay. He had been unconscious for three harrowing days in which Tuvok and Walter Baxter left no stone unturned. Until they finally made their findings known to the Captain. Whose concern had grown by the hour as they struggled to stabilise Tom, who, on the second day, had a relapse. Sighing, she got up, and kissed him tenderly on his lips. He moved his head then, as he must have felt her lips on his, then pulled away reluctantly before she went to her quarters to catch up on some lost sleep. ********************** Three days later Ensign Tom Paris stood in front of his mirror, fingering the solo pip on his collar. He smiled. He learned in the past two days that he still had friends on Voyager. Young Gerron, whom he thanked for finding him and beaming him to sickbay. Joe Carey who came to complain to him about B'Elanna giving them a hard time in engineering. Who spoke on behalf of the rest of the crew when he apologised about what had been done to him. He remembered now his father's words: "Believe that there are strengths in you..." Something which Joe reminded he had. He sighed. He was lucky. The friends he had did not condemn him. Moreover, they still respected him. And that counted. All he had to do now, was go forward from here, with his head held high. With B'Elanna at his side, and his closest friends forming the rearguard, where could he go, but forward? He looked away from the mirror, at his desk, his eyes resting on the magnificent model of an 18th century tall ship. Smiled again. Yesterday, while still recuperating, he received a visit. An unexpected visit, he thought. The Captain stood inside the door of his quarters, with a large square packet in her hands. "Captain! I - er...I did not..." "It's okay, Tom... at ease." she said as he invited her to sit down. But she did not sit, instead, said: "I thought I'd give you this, Tom," and she proffered the packet, which he took and slowly, almost reverently opened it. He stared open-mouthed at the ship, beautiful in shiny dark wood, with mainmast, topgallant mast, mainsail, sails, every single rope, line, knot in minutest detail. Even the anchor hanging over it port bow. His fingers stroked with such care the smooth lines of the carved lady at it's bow, her hair long, plastered back as if the wind were playing in it. Kathryn Janeway looked at the way Tom held the Bounty, with fingers tremblingly going over every line, every sail, every rope and knot, stroking gently its port bow, working his fingers to its aft. He turned the Bounty and traced his fingers along her starboard. He was mesmerised. Kathryn Janeway looked at Tom and knew in that moment that she did not make a mistake. "I - I once saw a film... a film in which this ship, the Bounty, sailed the seven seas..." "It's Captain - " "Yes, Captain Bligh..." Tom said before she could say anything, and he looked at her. She understood. She read it in his eyes. She was not referring to the mutiny, for which the Bounty came known, and she knew Tom saw it that way too. "You reminded me very much of it's first mate, Tom. Like Mr Christian, you followed a course, something in which you truly believed... I - I cannot fault you on that..." Tom's blue eyes looked into hers. They were a way from healing, but he felt this a beginning, and he was pretty certain, his Captain needed that assurance too. He said: "Captain Bligh was a tough Captain. Extraordinary. Incredible. Tough, but fair..." He looked at her. "Like you..." She smiled a little sadly. "It's difficult, Tom..." "I know, Captain," and he leaned forward, touched her hand. "I'll be fine, Captain. I'll be fine. Don't worry." And he gave her his winning smile. She thought she'd never see that again. "I know, Tom." She rose to leave, and left him to enjoy his brilliant Bounty. As the door closed behind her, she said softly, almost to herself: "I know...son..." ************************* THE END PER ANGUSTA AD AUGUSTA Veronica Jane Williams xkhoi@iafrica.com Some feedback would be very much appreciated!