Author's Note: Non-fluffy exploration of "Threshold," and the consequences that weren't.
The Becoming
"We live, not as we wish to, but as we can."
-Mencius
1. Out of darkness
The first thing she becomes aware of, in the profound and shadowy depths of her sedated state, is pain.
As Janeway's mind drifts closer and closer to the edge of consciousness, the dimension of the sensation expands, filling her body and mind with blinding light; a shredding, burning agony that causes her to eventually cry out.
She doesn't hear the sound, a low moan, produced by her own throat, but moments later she's aware of something pressed against her cheek. Warmth, the smoothness of flesh; evidence of another person next to her, attempting to sooth her as she writhes and keens.
The sensation registers as a distant phantom, hovering beyond the torturous flames that seem to engulf her body.
Murmuring. A disembodied voice. A wail- distant, not her own.
It's all overtaken by the blinding sensation of her body- her very cells- apparently being ripped apart.
When the darkness again overtakes her, she surrenders to it willingly.
. . . . .
He's in a fitful sleep when the cry echoes in his ears, then cuts through to something deep in the core of his chest.
He stumbles from the bio-bed, his limbs weak and uncoordinated, even with the sudden rush of adrenaline that now pulses through his veins.
"Lieutenant Paris, you need to rest."
The EMH's admonishment reaches the pilot's ears while the meaning of the words fail to resonate in his mind. His eyes frantically search the dimly lit space, though for what he couldn't say if asked.
"Tom, she's fine. She's right here. But please, you need to rest. You body is still very weak."
Kes' warm, melodious voice offers Paris no comfort. And as he feels himself being maneuvered back to the bio-bed, the tide of panic rises even further within him.
"They need me," he maintains, his voice desperate; openly and unquestionably terrified.
"You aren't any good to anyone if you kill yourself," comes the Doctor's harsh reply.
"Doctor," Kes hisses, as Paris feels himself being carefully but deliberately pushed back down.
The Lieutenant closes his eyes, feeling hot tears begin to spill down, over his dry, flushed cheeks as he's restrained.
"Sshh," Kes soothes. "She's right here, Tom. She's alright. She's right here."
His gulping, quiet cries continue as a slight weight is pushed against his chest, his right arm maneuvered to accommodate it. Then a rush of breath- tiny, just below his ear. A sob? A sigh?
Moments later, his pulse slows and his breathing evens out, his body somehow calmed by the presence of the warmth pressed against him, moving slightly as his chest expands against it.
Still, his confused mind races, his retreat into the realm of the unconscious slow and reluctant.
. . . . .
Sitting in the Doctor's office, Chakotay watches the three patients, their silhouettes barely visible through the relative darkness of the space beyond the clear partition.
"You made the only logical choice," Tuvok assures him, his deep voice unusually hushed as he addresses the ship's acting Captain.
In the shadow cast by Tuvok's long body, full lips purse and a bronze jaw becomes more rigidly set.
"I believe the two offspring that failed to survive the genetic resequencing might serve as evidence to the contrary, Tuvok."
The Commander can't bring himself to use the word 'children', even if the avoidance of it here fails to dull the reality he now turns over and over in his mind.
It was his decision to transform the progeny they discovered on the planet to which they finally tracked Janeway and Paris's shuttle; his orders that led to the deaths, almost three days ago, of two semi-human infants.
Chakotay attempts to collect his disparate thoughts as his eyes lock on the lone child to survive the transformation process, her small chest rising and falling in counterpoint to her father's.
"Is there a reason the Doctor's placed the child with Tom?"
"Lieutenant Paris grew panicked when she was separated from him," Tuvok informs him. "His recovery has been ameliorated by the infant's proximity."
The idea that Tom was even vaguely aware of his children upon waking- the idea that he will feel the loss of the others even more profoundly than anyone has so far feared- stirs a new worry in the already haunted Commander.
"Has he woken up enough for the Kes or the Doctor to tell if he knew there were others?" Chakotay asks softly.
"No. The Doctor has continued sedating both the Lieutenant and the Captain in the hope of accelerating their cellular repair."
Here the Commander's gaze shifts to the last patient, her solitary form occupying a bed several meters from that of Paris and the child.
However is he going to tell Kathryn Janeway that it was by virtue of his commands that she became the mother of an infant child?
How is he going to report to her that, thanks to him, two other children currently lie in medical stasis, their inanimate bodies a morose patchwork of human and reptilian features?
"The infant's growth has leveled off," Tuvok comments, jarring Chakotay from his worries. "The Doctor does not expect there to be any side-effects of the genetic resequencing."
The girl in question, presently sleeping soundly, has thus far had the least turbulent recovery, out of Sickbay's three present occupants. Owing to the accelerated rate of growth she experienced in her evolved physical form, she is now of the size and development roughly correlative to that of a human nine-month-old.
"If Lieutenant Paris has already begun to bond with the child, the more elusive variable in parent-child attachment may have already been resolved," Tuvok continues, "the biological drive in human mothers being more deeply rooted than that of human fathers."
The Vulcan sounds characteristically calm, and Chakotay pauses, unsure whether to regard the security chief's apparent confidence with envy, or something else entirely.
"Coming from a race that has learned to master even the most passionate emotions, you of all people should recognize that we are more than the sum of our biological instincts."
Tuvok nods, an acceptance of the Commander's point. But recognizing that he must here act as confidante to the younger officer and acting CO, he stoically collects his reflections, looking for some source of comfort for his interlocutor.
"I believe that when Captain Janeway regains her faculties, she will recognize that it was your intention- in all of your decisions in this matter- to adhere to those principles she herself values."
In the Doctor's chair, Chakotay rests his chin against his hand, recalling an old Terran saying about the path that good intentions often pave.
. . . . .
It can't be true.
Staring at the still-sleeping form of Tom Paris, the small pod containing their offspring only a few centimeters from his bio-bed, denial continues to resonate within the shrouded recesses of Janeway's mind.
She has already spoken to Chakotay and the Doctor. She knows, down to the last available detail, the situation she now finds herself in.
But still, staring at a child of which she is the biological mother, she thinks this can't be true.
Beneath her quiet panic, she can't decide whether it makes it easier or harder, the idea that Paris has apparently bonded with the child. Can't decide whether it's something about their evolved biology, or else the nature of their positions, the fact that Tom's first instinct upon waking was to look for his children, and hers, upon hearing Chakotay's words, was to control the tears of fear (and soon anger) that welled within her, threatening to burst forth at any moment.
How could Chakotay make this kind of decision for her? How could he not understand all that her having a child puts into jeopardy?
Aware of Kes and the Doctor's watchful stare, Janeway wills herself to close her eyes.
Sleep will not come, nor does she presently seek it as, behind the privacy afforded by her eyelids, grey pools swim with agony and doubt, her mind reaching for a peace that will not come.