Title: A Thin Red Line
Author: Annie M (trekgirl@mushy.freeserve.co.uk)
Series: Voyager
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Codes: P, Crew, P/T
This story was written last year, as a challenge from a
mailing list I belong to. The challenge question was:
Why have we never seen Tom Paris bare his chest?
Summary: Why does Tom keep his shirt on, when all around
him are loosing theirs? Set around mid-season 5 of the
series.
Disclaimer: Viacom/Paramount owns the ship and all
characters. I'm just kidnapping them for fun and not profit.
Thanks to PJ in NH and pjs for beta reading.
~~/~~/~~/~~
A Thin Red Line
by Annie M
The Resort program had lain dormant in Voyager's databanks
for months. The events of the past year had taken its toll on the
ship and crew, and surprisingly on some of the recreational
activities also. The fun and sunshine of the resort had been
replaced with Captain Proton's monochrome scenarios,
Velocity--according to the holodeck logs, both the captain and
Seven spent a hell of a lot of time playing it--and the smoky
atmosphere of Sandrine's.
One could argue that all of these programs were equally
entertaining. Neelix, however, would not have agreed. He
fervently believed that there was nothing better to encourage his
crewmates than the sparkling and reflective heat one found on a
sumptuous, tropical beach.
Suggesting a Delta Quadrant style Bar-B-Q on the beach to the
captain, at a staff meeting to boost morale (yet again), had been
met with a disdainful glare from Janeway. Seven had thought it
frivolous but Commander Chakotay, intuitive man that he was,
had immediately supported the idea.
"Sounds great, Neelix," he'd said. "It's just what this crew
needs. With all the uphill battles we've faced this year from
the Borg, and the Malon among others, and not to mention that Void
we passed through. What do you think, Captain?"
Kathryn Janeway gave her first officer a thoughtful look. She
knew he had mentioned the Void for her benefit more than
anyone else's. Chakotay knew she was still harbouring feelings
of guilt about their 5-year-old journey. In fact, she was sure that
if they asked the doctor, he would probably tell her most of the
crew were still feeling the after effects of the Void on their
equilibrium, some more so than others.
"You're more in touch with the crew's feelings than I am,
Commander."
Her comments raised a few eyebrows around the table.
"I'll leave this Bar-B-Q to you and Mr. Neelix. I'll be on
the Bridge. If there's nothing else, this meeting's adjourned."
Not exactly the most enthusiastic permission he had ever
received from his captain, Neelix recalled but he was sure that
Captain Janeway would enjoy herself later this evening when
she was due to make an appearance.
As Neelix turned juicy cuts of meat and vegetables over the fire
he looked about him. Tahiti. A small tropical island found in the
South Pacific on Earth according to the ship's computer.
When he had tried to elicit suggestions for the cookout from the
senior staff, it was to his and Tom Paris' surprise that B'Elanna
Torres had suggested Tahiti as the locale for their social
function.
Neelix had noticed a look pass between Paris and Torres;
B'Elanna had shrugged her shoulders and murmured to Tom, "If
we're going to do this on a beach it might as well be at one I
like." Tom and Neelix had both chuckled.
He noticed them now, a few feet away from Harry Kim, who was
having his backed oiled by Jenny Delaney. B'Elanna lay face
down on a towel, clad only in a skimpy black bikini. Tom Paris
sat next to her wearing baggy black swimming shorts and a
white tee shirt, plainly ogling B'Elanna's pert backside.
Naomi and Sam Wildman were splashing each other at the
water's edge, in matching red swim wear. Chakotay and Ayala
were wading into the water as Megan Delaney surfaced from
the ocean after a short swim.
"Ah, Mr. Vulcan!" Neelix exclaimed, "I'm delighted you could
come and join us." Neelix beamed triumphantly at the Vulcan
security chief. Tuvok was dressed in a pair of white cotton
pants that cut-off just above his calves, which he wore with a
garishly designed green and yellow Hawaiian shirt.
"Nice shirt, Tuvok!" Harry Kim called out.
B'Elanna turned over to take a peak at her superior officer and
immediately started laughing. "Tom, did you lend Tuvok one of
your beach shirts?" she asked between giggles.
"Hey! I have great taste in clothing," Tom responded, feigning
offence at such a charge.
Tuvok ignored the comments, arching his eyebrows at the group
as a holographic busboy appeared carrying a tray full of tall,
exotic looking, beverages.
"I was sure you would turn up in your uniform," Neelix joked to
Tuvok.
"Commander Chakotay advised me to wear attire that would
'blend in,' " Tuvok responded.
Neelix could only imagine Tuvok following such orders under
pain of death, but he appreciated the effort the Vulcan was
making.
Naomi bounded up to Tom and B'Elanna, throwing herself into
Tom's lap.
"Come on, Tom. Let's go for a swim!" she said, pulling at Tom's
hands. "You too, B'Elanna," she cajoled leaning over Tom's lap
to give B'Elanna's backside a playful slap.
B'Elanna twisted around and sat up. "Why you little..."
Who invited this kid anyway? B'Elanna thought as she picked
up a handful of sand and tossed it at Naomi. The child laughed
as sand landed in her hair and she took immediate refuge under
Tom's tee shirt, pulling it up and over her head and spooning
sand blindly in the general direction of B'Elanna.
"Wanna play rough, huh?" B'Elanna teased as she stood up and
grabbed the small child's ankles. Pulling her out of the
protective confines of Tom's torso and up over her shoulder.
"You are so going to get it, missy," B'Elanna was saying as she
marched down to the water's edge, Naomi laughing and pleading
all the way.
"I didn't mean it!" she wailed.
"Then I guess I don't mean this," B'Elanna responded as she
dunked Naomi into an oncoming wave. She grabbed the child
up and repeated the process, being careful not to let the water
cover Naomi completely.
Tom watched them both, grinning and a little amazed at the
easy intimacy B'Elanna had with the child. He was never too
sure if she actually liked children; it was something they had
never thought to discuss.
"Hey, Tom?" Jenny Delaney called out to him, "Why don't you
take off your shirt? I could rub some lotion on your back like I
did for Harry."
Harry Kim rolled his eyes to the holographic heavens. Was
Jenny insane? Did she think B'Elanna was deaf because she
was 15 metres away, and playing with Naomi?
"Ah, that's okay, Meg. B'Elanna already did me," Tom replied
looking for some kind of response from B'Elanna. Maybe she
hadn't heard? Yeah, right.
"It's Jenny. So why don't you take off the shirt?" Jenny
persisted, barely noticing Tom's goof with her name.
"Give it a rest, Jen," Megan advised from her position at the
Bar-B-Q, where Neelix was serving her a kebab.
Tom pulled lightly at the hem of his shirt, raised it about a
quarter of an inch, hesitated then let it fall. He could already
hear the questions his friends would ask following his disrobing,
and see their curious glances.
Not too many years ago there was a part of him that would have
welcomed that curiosity....
~~/~~/~~/~~
The sun was a blazing white-hot sphere, in a cloudless sky. His
skin burned and itched, as he felt the sun sucking every last
millimetre of moisture from his body. Tom Paris was stripped to
the waist, removing the top half of his prison issue coverall in an
effort not to stifle to death. Now, he was just burning to death
instead.
He gritted his teeth against his tightening flesh and bent to
retrieve the empty power-cell, trowing it into a recycling unit
near by. As he moved he could feel rivulets of perspiration flow
down his back, chest and arms stinging him viciously. The
ankle bracelet he wore--a convict location device--chaffed his
left ankle, tormenting the already raw flesh.
Muted laughter caught his ear and Tom turned to find several
inmates crowded around a water pipe. They appeared to be all
male, stripped as he was, abdomens exposed. The armholes
on their jump-suits either hanging about the prisoners legs or
tied off loosely around their waists. They stood around the pipe
catching water in their hands, drinking and taking turns at
dunking the backs of their necks under the spray.
Why didn't I think of that?
Tepid though the water would be in this heat, the thought of
quenching his thirst and giving his body a little release from the
unforgiving orb of sol was enough to make Tom's tongue thicken
in anticipation.
He headed for the small group.
"You're a little fair ain't you, newbie?" One of the group
observed rather loudly as Tom approached.
"Fair and pretty," muttered another.
"What you in for, newbie?" a tall, thin, alien asked. The alien
stood about seven feet and had the longest arms Tom had ever
seen. The alien's arms hung limply at his sides, dangling way
past his knees. Its features were humanoid and plane against
pale green skin, and at first glance you could be forgiven for
thinking you had stumbled across an oversized, genetically
engineered lettuce leaf.
Tom stood silently, not sure what to say or how to handle them.
"Did the warden cut out your tongue, newbie?" the lettuce leaf
asked again. His comment generating a series of snorting and
guffaws from the congregated group.
"Murder." The word tripped off Tom's tongue before he gave
himself a chance to even think about it.
Why the hell did I say murder?!
Caldik Prime.
Tom's momentary surprise at his own words was not allowed to
linger. 'Lettuce' clapped Tom's shoulder and chuckled.
"Murder, huh? So what, newbie? You think you're serving time
in a maximum-security pen?"
Tom closed his eyes.
Another round of raucous laughter erupted from the group.
"What are you really in for?" asked another.
"Treason," Tom replied simply. "I was in the Maquis."
A serious hush descended briefly among them and all eyes
were now fixed on Tom Paris. The silence seemed to be filled
with questions, unspoken accusations, fears and regrets,
though no one spoke a word, until at last:
"Is that how you got that scar?"
Instinctively Tom's right hand raised up and caressed the skin,
just under and to the left of his sternum. He fingered the pale
red line, which ran around to a point somewhere under his arm
absently.
"No," he admitted quietly, "I was in an accident."
Caldik Prime.
The seven-foot tall, green alien stood aside and motioned for
Tom to take a drink.
Tom stepped forward and cupped his hands, catching the
sun-warmed water. He splashed it against his face, drank
blindly for a few seconds and then leaned his head under the
pipe, letting the water sluice down the back of his neck and
shoulders. Letting the water drive away the grime as his own
mind tried to drive away unwelcome memories.
Caldik Prime. His brief but miserable time in the Maquis; months
spent in a drunken stupor; his father; the faces of his dead
friends; his Starfleet career.
Everything about his life lay in ruins, and now all he had left was
time to reflect on it. Too much time and a scar he refused to
have removed. A scar he wore as a symbol of his selfishness
and arrogance; a reminder of what he was, what he had become.
He had spoken the truth; he was a murderer.
It was torture for Tom to be reminded of his recent past, but in
his mind he knew he needed to be punished for it. Starfleet had
only booted him out because he told the truth. His father had
disowned him because he had refused to lie.
So, while he lay recovering from his injuries at Caldik, Tom had
begged the surgeons to let that one spot on his abdomen heal
on its own. It was not a life threatening injury he had pleaded,
and doctors being doctors, they'd succumbed to his wishes
eventually. The scar, they concluded, would do him no harm.
The irony of Tom's present predicament was not lost on him
either. Here he was in a New Zealand prison, finally being
punished by the authorities, but he was not here for the greater
crime of murder but for attempting to save the lives of
Chakotay's Maquis cell.
He knew he was no great loss to the Maquis--they had all
treated him with contempt--knowing of his "golden boy" Starfleet
background and his humiliating fall from grace. He had not
helped their image of him either, drinking copious amounts of
booze in a pathetic attempt to hide his own guilt and depression.
Pretending that he didn't care; couldn't be hurt, and playing the
mercenary so well that there were times when even he would fall
for the hollow charade.
It didn't matter now, anyway. He was finished; maybe
Chakotay's cell was too. He ran a finger against the scar again.
He didn't deserve any better.
~~/~~/~~/~~
"Jeez, I mean," Jenny was still saying, "every other guy here,
apart from Tom and Tuvok, are showing us a little chest action."
Harry could not deny the truth of Jenny's words. Chakotay and
Ayala were still out swimming, bare chests exposed. Here he
was, enjoying the feel of the sun on his bare back, and even
Neelix was wearing a super-short tee shirt that showed off a lot
more of his abdomen than was necessary, in Harry's opinion.
He could also understand Tuvok's reluctance to bare himself in
such a public place, but Tom?
Harry didn't know what to think; maybe it was nothing and no big
deal. If Tom decided to wear his tee shirt all day, so what? It
didn't mean anything.
"Hey, Delaney!"
Everyone but Jenny had been expecting this call.
Jenny turned to stare at the approaching form of Voyager's chief
engineer. B'Elanna strutted towards Jenny with a catlike grace,
and although devoid of uniform, the sight of her was no less
intimidating for the stellar cartographer.
"He takes it off for me, and only me! Got it?" B'Elanna stated
in an even yet deadly tone.
"Yes, Lieutenant," Jenny squeaked.
"The food's ready, everyone." Neelix called in timely fashion.
Hopefully averting any further disasters.
~~/~~/~~/~~
"You know, you could use a regenerator on it, Tom."
B'Elanna suggested several hours later, laying snugly and sated
Against Tom's chest. They had returned from the holodeck, without
further incident two hours before, and now they were resting in
the aftermath of a languorous session of lovemaking.
"You don't have to keep it," she whispered against his neck as
her fingers gently wove along Tom's sternum and ribs, tracing
the old scar that still resembled a thin red line under his heart.
"I need it," Tom whispered. "I need to know it's there."
B'Elanna raised herself up slowly against Tom's longer frame
and asked, "Why? Why keep it?"
Tom shook his head and stared at B'Elanna. "Three people died
at Caldik Prime, B'Elanna. By my hand. I need to remember
that, and this is how."
"You're not a killer, Tom. Caldik was a terrible accident--"
"You weren't there, B'Elanna!" he said interrupting her, his voice
filling with emotion. "You don't know what happened. It was my
fault."
"Are you telling me it wasn't an accident now?"
"Of course it was," Tom answered instinctively, then considered
his words. He sighed heavily and remained silent for a long
time.
He fixed his gaze on the dark ceiling of his quarters and tried to
remember the past with a little more clarity. This was always
difficult as there were long stretches of that past that were
permanently lost to him through his four-year addiction to
alcohol.
Yet, through it all, he'd worn this scar as a cautionary reminder
of his excessive self-indulgence; his own scarlet letter.
Taking off his shirt in public was, initially, a way to warn others
of his past transgressions. In his mind it didn't matter if anyone
knew what the scar meant or not, it only had to be seen.
Self-flagellation.
Why now, did he cover it up?
B'Elanna answered the question for him.
"You're not the same man you were then, Tom. You've changed.
You changed a long time-ago. You're not the arrogant pig who first
stepped onto Voyager five years ago."
B'Elanna leaned over him and kissing his forehead, stared deeply into
his eyes. Tom blushed as he tried to avoid her unwavering attention.
"You deserve better, Tom. Stop beating yourself up over something
you can do nothing about. What happened was terrible but it's done.
The fact that you're here, now, and still thinking about them is
good."
A puzzled expression crossed Tom's eyes and he frowned up at B'Elanna,
not quite understanding what she was getting at.
"Because you remember them," she continued, "you'll never repeat it,
Tom. Never. But you don't need a scar to remember them by."
B'Elanna bent to him again, kissing the scar and tracing it with
her tongue.
Maybe, after all this time, he did deserve a little better.
Regardless, he would never forget.
End.
Author: Annie M (trekgirl@mushy.freeserve.co.uk)
Series: Voyager
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG
Codes: P, Crew, P/T
This story was written last year, as a challenge from a
mailing list I belong to. The challenge question was:
Why have we never seen Tom Paris bare his chest?
Summary: Why does Tom keep his shirt on, when all around
him are loosing theirs? Set around mid-season 5 of the
series.
Disclaimer: Viacom/Paramount owns the ship and all
characters. I'm just kidnapping them for fun and not profit.
Thanks to PJ in NH and pjs for beta reading.
~~/~~/~~/~~
A Thin Red Line
by Annie M
The Resort program had lain dormant in Voyager's databanks
for months. The events of the past year had taken its toll on the
ship and crew, and surprisingly on some of the recreational
activities also. The fun and sunshine of the resort had been
replaced with Captain Proton's monochrome scenarios,
Velocity--according to the holodeck logs, both the captain and
Seven spent a hell of a lot of time playing it--and the smoky
atmosphere of Sandrine's.
One could argue that all of these programs were equally
entertaining. Neelix, however, would not have agreed. He
fervently believed that there was nothing better to encourage his
crewmates than the sparkling and reflective heat one found on a
sumptuous, tropical beach.
Suggesting a Delta Quadrant style Bar-B-Q on the beach to the
captain, at a staff meeting to boost morale (yet again), had been
met with a disdainful glare from Janeway. Seven had thought it
frivolous but Commander Chakotay, intuitive man that he was,
had immediately supported the idea.
"Sounds great, Neelix," he'd said. "It's just what this crew
needs. With all the uphill battles we've faced this year from
the Borg, and the Malon among others, and not to mention that Void
we passed through. What do you think, Captain?"
Kathryn Janeway gave her first officer a thoughtful look. She
knew he had mentioned the Void for her benefit more than
anyone else's. Chakotay knew she was still harbouring feelings
of guilt about their 5-year-old journey. In fact, she was sure that
if they asked the doctor, he would probably tell her most of the
crew were still feeling the after effects of the Void on their
equilibrium, some more so than others.
"You're more in touch with the crew's feelings than I am,
Commander."
Her comments raised a few eyebrows around the table.
"I'll leave this Bar-B-Q to you and Mr. Neelix. I'll be on
the Bridge. If there's nothing else, this meeting's adjourned."
Not exactly the most enthusiastic permission he had ever
received from his captain, Neelix recalled but he was sure that
Captain Janeway would enjoy herself later this evening when
she was due to make an appearance.
As Neelix turned juicy cuts of meat and vegetables over the fire
he looked about him. Tahiti. A small tropical island found in the
South Pacific on Earth according to the ship's computer.
When he had tried to elicit suggestions for the cookout from the
senior staff, it was to his and Tom Paris' surprise that B'Elanna
Torres had suggested Tahiti as the locale for their social
function.
Neelix had noticed a look pass between Paris and Torres;
B'Elanna had shrugged her shoulders and murmured to Tom, "If
we're going to do this on a beach it might as well be at one I
like." Tom and Neelix had both chuckled.
He noticed them now, a few feet away from Harry Kim, who was
having his backed oiled by Jenny Delaney. B'Elanna lay face
down on a towel, clad only in a skimpy black bikini. Tom Paris
sat next to her wearing baggy black swimming shorts and a
white tee shirt, plainly ogling B'Elanna's pert backside.
Naomi and Sam Wildman were splashing each other at the
water's edge, in matching red swim wear. Chakotay and Ayala
were wading into the water as Megan Delaney surfaced from
the ocean after a short swim.
"Ah, Mr. Vulcan!" Neelix exclaimed, "I'm delighted you could
come and join us." Neelix beamed triumphantly at the Vulcan
security chief. Tuvok was dressed in a pair of white cotton
pants that cut-off just above his calves, which he wore with a
garishly designed green and yellow Hawaiian shirt.
"Nice shirt, Tuvok!" Harry Kim called out.
B'Elanna turned over to take a peak at her superior officer and
immediately started laughing. "Tom, did you lend Tuvok one of
your beach shirts?" she asked between giggles.
"Hey! I have great taste in clothing," Tom responded, feigning
offence at such a charge.
Tuvok ignored the comments, arching his eyebrows at the group
as a holographic busboy appeared carrying a tray full of tall,
exotic looking, beverages.
"I was sure you would turn up in your uniform," Neelix joked to
Tuvok.
"Commander Chakotay advised me to wear attire that would
'blend in,' " Tuvok responded.
Neelix could only imagine Tuvok following such orders under
pain of death, but he appreciated the effort the Vulcan was
making.
Naomi bounded up to Tom and B'Elanna, throwing herself into
Tom's lap.
"Come on, Tom. Let's go for a swim!" she said, pulling at Tom's
hands. "You too, B'Elanna," she cajoled leaning over Tom's lap
to give B'Elanna's backside a playful slap.
B'Elanna twisted around and sat up. "Why you little..."
Who invited this kid anyway? B'Elanna thought as she picked
up a handful of sand and tossed it at Naomi. The child laughed
as sand landed in her hair and she took immediate refuge under
Tom's tee shirt, pulling it up and over her head and spooning
sand blindly in the general direction of B'Elanna.
"Wanna play rough, huh?" B'Elanna teased as she stood up and
grabbed the small child's ankles. Pulling her out of the
protective confines of Tom's torso and up over her shoulder.
"You are so going to get it, missy," B'Elanna was saying as she
marched down to the water's edge, Naomi laughing and pleading
all the way.
"I didn't mean it!" she wailed.
"Then I guess I don't mean this," B'Elanna responded as she
dunked Naomi into an oncoming wave. She grabbed the child
up and repeated the process, being careful not to let the water
cover Naomi completely.
Tom watched them both, grinning and a little amazed at the
easy intimacy B'Elanna had with the child. He was never too
sure if she actually liked children; it was something they had
never thought to discuss.
"Hey, Tom?" Jenny Delaney called out to him, "Why don't you
take off your shirt? I could rub some lotion on your back like I
did for Harry."
Harry Kim rolled his eyes to the holographic heavens. Was
Jenny insane? Did she think B'Elanna was deaf because she
was 15 metres away, and playing with Naomi?
"Ah, that's okay, Meg. B'Elanna already did me," Tom replied
looking for some kind of response from B'Elanna. Maybe she
hadn't heard? Yeah, right.
"It's Jenny. So why don't you take off the shirt?" Jenny
persisted, barely noticing Tom's goof with her name.
"Give it a rest, Jen," Megan advised from her position at the
Bar-B-Q, where Neelix was serving her a kebab.
Tom pulled lightly at the hem of his shirt, raised it about a
quarter of an inch, hesitated then let it fall. He could already
hear the questions his friends would ask following his disrobing,
and see their curious glances.
Not too many years ago there was a part of him that would have
welcomed that curiosity....
~~/~~/~~/~~
The sun was a blazing white-hot sphere, in a cloudless sky. His
skin burned and itched, as he felt the sun sucking every last
millimetre of moisture from his body. Tom Paris was stripped to
the waist, removing the top half of his prison issue coverall in an
effort not to stifle to death. Now, he was just burning to death
instead.
He gritted his teeth against his tightening flesh and bent to
retrieve the empty power-cell, trowing it into a recycling unit
near by. As he moved he could feel rivulets of perspiration flow
down his back, chest and arms stinging him viciously. The
ankle bracelet he wore--a convict location device--chaffed his
left ankle, tormenting the already raw flesh.
Muted laughter caught his ear and Tom turned to find several
inmates crowded around a water pipe. They appeared to be all
male, stripped as he was, abdomens exposed. The armholes
on their jump-suits either hanging about the prisoners legs or
tied off loosely around their waists. They stood around the pipe
catching water in their hands, drinking and taking turns at
dunking the backs of their necks under the spray.
Why didn't I think of that?
Tepid though the water would be in this heat, the thought of
quenching his thirst and giving his body a little release from the
unforgiving orb of sol was enough to make Tom's tongue thicken
in anticipation.
He headed for the small group.
"You're a little fair ain't you, newbie?" One of the group
observed rather loudly as Tom approached.
"Fair and pretty," muttered another.
"What you in for, newbie?" a tall, thin, alien asked. The alien
stood about seven feet and had the longest arms Tom had ever
seen. The alien's arms hung limply at his sides, dangling way
past his knees. Its features were humanoid and plane against
pale green skin, and at first glance you could be forgiven for
thinking you had stumbled across an oversized, genetically
engineered lettuce leaf.
Tom stood silently, not sure what to say or how to handle them.
"Did the warden cut out your tongue, newbie?" the lettuce leaf
asked again. His comment generating a series of snorting and
guffaws from the congregated group.
"Murder." The word tripped off Tom's tongue before he gave
himself a chance to even think about it.
Why the hell did I say murder?!
Caldik Prime.
Tom's momentary surprise at his own words was not allowed to
linger. 'Lettuce' clapped Tom's shoulder and chuckled.
"Murder, huh? So what, newbie? You think you're serving time
in a maximum-security pen?"
Tom closed his eyes.
Another round of raucous laughter erupted from the group.
"What are you really in for?" asked another.
"Treason," Tom replied simply. "I was in the Maquis."
A serious hush descended briefly among them and all eyes
were now fixed on Tom Paris. The silence seemed to be filled
with questions, unspoken accusations, fears and regrets,
though no one spoke a word, until at last:
"Is that how you got that scar?"
Instinctively Tom's right hand raised up and caressed the skin,
just under and to the left of his sternum. He fingered the pale
red line, which ran around to a point somewhere under his arm
absently.
"No," he admitted quietly, "I was in an accident."
Caldik Prime.
The seven-foot tall, green alien stood aside and motioned for
Tom to take a drink.
Tom stepped forward and cupped his hands, catching the
sun-warmed water. He splashed it against his face, drank
blindly for a few seconds and then leaned his head under the
pipe, letting the water sluice down the back of his neck and
shoulders. Letting the water drive away the grime as his own
mind tried to drive away unwelcome memories.
Caldik Prime. His brief but miserable time in the Maquis; months
spent in a drunken stupor; his father; the faces of his dead
friends; his Starfleet career.
Everything about his life lay in ruins, and now all he had left was
time to reflect on it. Too much time and a scar he refused to
have removed. A scar he wore as a symbol of his selfishness
and arrogance; a reminder of what he was, what he had become.
He had spoken the truth; he was a murderer.
It was torture for Tom to be reminded of his recent past, but in
his mind he knew he needed to be punished for it. Starfleet had
only booted him out because he told the truth. His father had
disowned him because he had refused to lie.
So, while he lay recovering from his injuries at Caldik, Tom had
begged the surgeons to let that one spot on his abdomen heal
on its own. It was not a life threatening injury he had pleaded,
and doctors being doctors, they'd succumbed to his wishes
eventually. The scar, they concluded, would do him no harm.
The irony of Tom's present predicament was not lost on him
either. Here he was in a New Zealand prison, finally being
punished by the authorities, but he was not here for the greater
crime of murder but for attempting to save the lives of
Chakotay's Maquis cell.
He knew he was no great loss to the Maquis--they had all
treated him with contempt--knowing of his "golden boy" Starfleet
background and his humiliating fall from grace. He had not
helped their image of him either, drinking copious amounts of
booze in a pathetic attempt to hide his own guilt and depression.
Pretending that he didn't care; couldn't be hurt, and playing the
mercenary so well that there were times when even he would fall
for the hollow charade.
It didn't matter now, anyway. He was finished; maybe
Chakotay's cell was too. He ran a finger against the scar again.
He didn't deserve any better.
~~/~~/~~/~~
"Jeez, I mean," Jenny was still saying, "every other guy here,
apart from Tom and Tuvok, are showing us a little chest action."
Harry could not deny the truth of Jenny's words. Chakotay and
Ayala were still out swimming, bare chests exposed. Here he
was, enjoying the feel of the sun on his bare back, and even
Neelix was wearing a super-short tee shirt that showed off a lot
more of his abdomen than was necessary, in Harry's opinion.
He could also understand Tuvok's reluctance to bare himself in
such a public place, but Tom?
Harry didn't know what to think; maybe it was nothing and no big
deal. If Tom decided to wear his tee shirt all day, so what? It
didn't mean anything.
"Hey, Delaney!"
Everyone but Jenny had been expecting this call.
Jenny turned to stare at the approaching form of Voyager's chief
engineer. B'Elanna strutted towards Jenny with a catlike grace,
and although devoid of uniform, the sight of her was no less
intimidating for the stellar cartographer.
"He takes it off for me, and only me! Got it?" B'Elanna stated
in an even yet deadly tone.
"Yes, Lieutenant," Jenny squeaked.
"The food's ready, everyone." Neelix called in timely fashion.
Hopefully averting any further disasters.
~~/~~/~~/~~
"You know, you could use a regenerator on it, Tom."
B'Elanna suggested several hours later, laying snugly and sated
Against Tom's chest. They had returned from the holodeck, without
further incident two hours before, and now they were resting in
the aftermath of a languorous session of lovemaking.
"You don't have to keep it," she whispered against his neck as
her fingers gently wove along Tom's sternum and ribs, tracing
the old scar that still resembled a thin red line under his heart.
"I need it," Tom whispered. "I need to know it's there."
B'Elanna raised herself up slowly against Tom's longer frame
and asked, "Why? Why keep it?"
Tom shook his head and stared at B'Elanna. "Three people died
at Caldik Prime, B'Elanna. By my hand. I need to remember
that, and this is how."
"You're not a killer, Tom. Caldik was a terrible accident--"
"You weren't there, B'Elanna!" he said interrupting her, his voice
filling with emotion. "You don't know what happened. It was my
fault."
"Are you telling me it wasn't an accident now?"
"Of course it was," Tom answered instinctively, then considered
his words. He sighed heavily and remained silent for a long
time.
He fixed his gaze on the dark ceiling of his quarters and tried to
remember the past with a little more clarity. This was always
difficult as there were long stretches of that past that were
permanently lost to him through his four-year addiction to
alcohol.
Yet, through it all, he'd worn this scar as a cautionary reminder
of his excessive self-indulgence; his own scarlet letter.
Taking off his shirt in public was, initially, a way to warn others
of his past transgressions. In his mind it didn't matter if anyone
knew what the scar meant or not, it only had to be seen.
Self-flagellation.
Why now, did he cover it up?
B'Elanna answered the question for him.
"You're not the same man you were then, Tom. You've changed.
You changed a long time-ago. You're not the arrogant pig who first
stepped onto Voyager five years ago."
B'Elanna leaned over him and kissing his forehead, stared deeply into
his eyes. Tom blushed as he tried to avoid her unwavering attention.
"You deserve better, Tom. Stop beating yourself up over something
you can do nothing about. What happened was terrible but it's done.
The fact that you're here, now, and still thinking about them is
good."
A puzzled expression crossed Tom's eyes and he frowned up at B'Elanna,
not quite understanding what she was getting at.
"Because you remember them," she continued, "you'll never repeat it,
Tom. Never. But you don't need a scar to remember them by."
B'Elanna bent to him again, kissing the scar and tracing it with
her tongue.
Maybe, after all this time, he did deserve a little better.
Regardless, he would never forget.
End.