Title: Second Time Around
Category: TV Shows » StarTrek: Voyager
Author: Dee474
Language: English, Rating: Rated: K+

Disclaimer for entire story: As usual, I own nothing from any of the official Star trek universes whether in book or film form. Assume anything different from the books (which I haven't read)/ show is because of it being an alternate universe.

Authors Note. Dates are based on information provided in the Trek Annotated Timeline by Win Scott Eckert.

A million thanks go to OPYKJ and Capt Acorn for being amazing betas.

Section 1

Alpha Quadrant. Changed Timeline. June 26, 2367.

Setting up the mystery of what really happened at Caldik Prime.

Originally odd chapters 1-9

Caldik Prime

Early morning

"Ensign Paris, you're with me," Dr Crusher declared.

They grabbed the disaster medkits and headed for transporter 3. Tom gave a brief, grim nod to Transporter Chief O'Brien as he took his place with the other four members of the team already waiting on the pad. Six teams were being simultaneously beamed down to the disaster zone.

The Chief was fiddling with the controls.

Come on, Tom thought to himself, let's just get it over with!

Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pictured a candle burning steadily, a focal point of calm and serenity. Firmly, he took control of his thoughts. I can do this! He breathed out while continuing to picture the calming flame. A moment later he felt the usual tingle of the transporters and he was on the surface.

He opened his eyes.

I can't do this!

It was his worst nightmare brought to life. There was almost nothing of the Caldik Prime Township left intact. What had been a bustling commercial outpost for interstellar traffic and trade, consisting of roughly a thousand buildings, was now a smouldering heap of rubble. All around him bodies lay burned and mutilated. Unbelievably some of them were still moving … and screaming … and crying.

This is my fault. All my fault! Dear God, what have I done?

He began to shake uncontrollably, lost in the tempestuous swirl of guilt-ridden thoughts, as he took in the magnitude of the disaster they had transported into.

He felt his arm being gripped. Looking over he saw Dr Crusher smiling at him. "It's okay, Tom. The first disaster is always the worst. We'll do this together, one person at a time."

She was encouraging him, but at the same time it was an order. Get your act together. Tom nodded and took hold of his medkit. Now is not the time to fall apart. I need to help these people. I can't do that if I'm a mess. Focus! Who needs my help the most?

A single voice cut through the maelstrom and into his awareness. A little girl screaming for her mother. He turned his head, looking for her.

There she was! A few metres away from his position. Three, maybe four years old. A ragged blue dress hung tattered and useless over her petite frame. Her large, beautiful eyes - only just visible through the haze - were red from the combination of smoke and crying. Her body was burned, but not as badly as some of the others. Her arm looked like it could be broken, too. She must be in terrible pain.

She was half sitting, half lying, draped over a badly burnt person that was probably already dead. Based on the way the little girl was shaking the body as she screamed out, it had to be her mother.

He rushed over to the side of the small child, noticing immediately that the still form next to her was indeed a dead female. Calmly, deliberately, he allowed the mask of friendly but professional competence that he had perfected over the last couple of years to fall over his face. "Hello," he said, "My name is Tom, what's yours?"

Twenty minutes later the little girl's arm had been reset, first aid applied to her burns and the new playsuit Tom had immediately ordered to be beamed down fitted perfectly. Tom's latest nonsensical story was successfully distracting her from the real-life horror story surrounding them as Tom finished repacking his medkit and carefully considered his options. Having ascertained that the dead person had definitely been her mother, and that there were apparently no other living relatives - that the child knew about, he was in a bit of a quandary.

I can't just abandon her. I'll just have to take her with me, until I can find someone else to look after her. I'll ask her to be my assistant and 'help' me to read the tricorder readings while I'm helping some of the other victims. Hopefully, it will give her something positive to focus on.

Dr Crusher looked over in approval as Tom hurried over to another patient. The recently treated little girl was clinging firmly to his hand and her little legs were pumping in overtime to keep up with her rescuer. It looks like Tom will be fine. I'll keep him in sight for the next half hour or so, just to make sure, but I don't think that he will need my help after all. With that encouraging thought she got on with the grim business at hand, finding another survivor to treat.

Caldik Prime was the only planet in the tiny star system which was not totally inhospitable to life or populated entirely by pre-warp civilizations. Its only selling point was its location, a strategic stronghold for Starfleet, intersecting three other pivotal political hotspots. The township accounted for ninety-eight percent of the planet's mainly civilian population.

In contrast, the nearby Starfleet Facility was quite small, only housing 800 staff members, almost half of whom had failed to report for duty after the crisis erupted and were currently being listed as missing in action.

The Enterprise had been the first starship to respond to the emergency call. With backup still to arrive it was a race against time to save as many of the injured as possible.

Within the first half hour the rescue teams found their efforts being hampered by the planet's atmosphere which had inexplicably become impenetrable to their broad-range scans soon after beam-down. Based on the types of injuries already being treated, the teams all knew that finding the survivors quickly was of paramount importance. When their efforts became limited to the old-fashioned techniques of physical manpower, picks and shovels, several security officers and other physically strong officers were quickly added to each of the teams to help. Another ten minutes after that, the transporters suddenly stopped working, and the situation became even direr with the movement of supplies, injured and team members now being limited to shuttles.

Tom worked quickly and efficiently to treat the next three patients he found. He had just finished healing another broken arm when he heard a shout.

Looking over he noticed that one of the other team members was frantically trying to move boulders from on top of a structure. Tom ran over to help. They soon discovered a group of survivors, huddled together. While his colleague went to help an elderly Trill, who was struggling to breathe, Tom made himself useful by prioritizing the other injuries. As more of his team made their way over to help Tom directed them to the most urgent cases.

The whole time that he worked his little shadow remained firmly at his side. She refused adamantly every well-intentioned attempt to persuade her to leave him and sit with T'mela, the local nurse who was now doubling as a carer for any unclaimed child found amongst the ruins.

The Enterprise teams worked frantically in conjunction with the local Starfleet contingent to find, rescue and treat the living and the injured still trapped among the decimated buildings. For many crew members of the newly formed Enterprise Disaster Emergency Recovery Team (or Enterprise DERT as they were more humorously called) this was the worst disaster recovery effort that they had been involved with. Apart from one or two exceptions they had previously been assigned to medical ships before accepting the transfer a year ago to the new Enterprise medical specialist section. The teams were used to dealing with disasters like plagues, not devastating scenes like this. To think that a single shuttle accident had resulted in such desolation was mind-boggling. The sheer level of destruction all around was unnerving and left most of them struggling to make a difference.

As the hours passed the workers were uncovering mainly dead bodies. The survivors were few and far between. There was no time for social niceties or chitchat. Not that anyone felt inclined to do so.

No-one that is, except for one Thomas Eugene Paris, the newest DERT member.

More than one of his co-workers found themselves unexpectedly grateful for his input, even as they envied his ability to lighten the mood of his patients with his humour and inconsequential chatter. It seemed that whenever one of the team found themselves flagging with discouragement, Tom was also there, ready with some joke or humour-laden suggestion that brought a momentary smile to their face and a renewed sense of purpose to their actions.

Even though he was focusing his efforts on triage, Tom couldn't help racking his memory for effective treatment suggestions to supplement his colleagues tried and true methods. The Enterprise was not a hospital ship, and they had been unprepared for the seriousness of the situation they now found themselves in.

Many of the seasoned doctors were intrigued at the extent of Tom's basic knowledge and understanding of field emergency medicine techniques and treatments; as well as his ability to creatively supplement them with innovative solutions. Nor had it taken long for Dr Crusher to approve his suggestions for ways of getting some of the other science division teams involved in their efforts either.

The young man's unorthodox style and lightening quick ability to think on his feet was all the more impressive given his graduating major. He was a pilot, not a medical, nursing or even science graduate. And yet, here he was, making an essential contribution to the DERT effort.

As a result a large portion of the team were quietly reassessing their assumptions that this recent, young graduate was on the Enterprise because of his family connections rather than his own ability.

The hours went by quickly as the teams worked tirelessly to bring life and order out of the chaos. Thankfully, most of the survivors had been found huddled together in protected pockets. Not only did this make it easier to find them, it had the flow on effect of encouraging the rescuers to keep going and to leave no stone unturned. Figuratively as well as literally speaking.

With their focus on the injured people, most of them paid scant attention to the subtle, but ominous warning signs radiating from the environment around them.

Sarel and Talla

Mid Afternoon.

A number of hours later Tom knew that he needed to stop for a decent break. He looked down at the drooping shoulders and listless form of his little charge. She had been a real trooper, but she finally looked exhausted enough for him to get her to go to sleep. He pressed his combadge. "Paris to Dr Crusher," he said, "Permission to take a lunch break for myself and Ghi'Annhah."

"Good idea, Tom." Dr Crusher responded. "Why don't you take enough time for Ghi'Annhah to have a rest and play time as well," she ordered in her friendly but no nonsense voice.

"Aye, Sir. I'll do that." Tom replied with a smile. He collected his things and then, taking Ghi'Annhah by the hand, wandered over to the one of the more remote break sites. He knew from his previous attempts that Ghi'Annhah wouldn't relax, let alone sleep, if she was surrounded by a large group of noisy strangers. He would have liked to take her back to the Enterprise, but with the transporters still down, and the shuttles needed for emergency transports, he couldn't really justify it at the moment.

Ten minutes later Tom had bypassed three of the more populated safe zones and made his way to site one. Only a few workers, mainly forensic medics and their security details, were still close by - working to positively identify the deceased. Finding a comfortable place, he settled Ghi'Annhah down to play with the ragdoll one of the team members had found in the rubble. That done, he got busy organising their meal.

Sarel sh'Alihi and Talla zh'Zarath both scowled grimly as yet another person died just as they reached him; the man's aural glow quickly fading to nothingness. Talla passed her medical tricorder over the old man for confirmation and then rose to her feet. As she did so, a small almost imperceptible tremor just under her feet had her reaching out a stabilizing hand toward Sarel.

All around the noise, the carnage, and the chaos of the trauma site, pounded at their senses. Talla stretched out trying to ease the dull ache in her muscles.

Being Andorian the two women had not needed as much physical assistance from security as some of the other workers and had been working by themselves. After all, like many Andorians they were very strong, especially when adrenalin rushed through their veins in times of crisis, like this one. The two had been removing rubble to get to the trapped and injured for hours.

Their last effort, however, had been interrupted when a small tremor caused a medium sized boulder to dislodge. It had grazed Talla's back on its short journey. Not much, just enough that Talla was now feeling the small ache. Talla stretched again and then rubbed at her eyes. As more and more people were recovered the white noise increased exponentially too. The whimpers, the cries of pain, of fear, of heartbreak had all been steadily increasing for the last several hours. With their enhanced Andorian hearing, it was getting hard to ignore.

"Perhaps a break is in order?" Sarel suggested. Talla agreed and quickly commed Dr Crusher for permission.

Through their telepathic link the two bondmates agreed to find one of the smaller groups of workers to lunch with. Despite the many years the two had been in Starfleet they still felt uncomfortable around large crowds of 'aliens.'

Minutes later they found themselves sitting stiffly with Ensign Paris and the little alien girl that had adopted him. All the other groups had been too large, and both knew that Kala would be disappointed if they did not respect his friendship with the young man.

"How are Thriss and Linth?" Tom asked politely as the two Andorians took a seat.

"They are well, thank-you Thoma," responded Sarel, using the Andorian version of the ensign's name that her fellow bondmates - AshyrLinth Th'echykross and KalaahlThriss Ch'iranon - insisted on calling him. Sarel's antenna waved in agitation before she could force them to be still. Thriss and Linth were their mates' close personal friendship names. The right to use those names was never shared with outsiders, only close friends within their clans. And yet, both happily gave that right to this young human, whom the two had somehow met years before, but strangely never mentioned until he had joined the crew a few months back.

While she and Talla would not dream of invading Ash and Kala's mental privacy, both found their bondmates' insistence on granting an outsider, particularly one who lived with and befriended Vulcans, puzzling. Then too, Thomas Paris was, at first glance, the very antithesis of an Andorian. He annoyed them. Sarel, in particular, came from a very strict Andorian upbringing. Choosing to join Starfleet with the other three, in order to maintain their close marital bond, had been difficult enough for her. Making a friend out of Tom Paris was almost impossible. And yet, for the sake of her mates, she would do it.

Talla wrinkled her nose as the pungent smell of death and burning metal continued to assail her nose. She looked at the human, and the little girl with him, for once envious of their reduced olfactory abilities. At the back of her mind, she filed the minor detail that the tiny earth tremors were increasing in frequency. However, the smell and image of the carnage around them was so impacting on her sensors that the tremors barely registered.

It began as an imperceptible rumble that slowly grew louder and louder. Talla and Sarel both froze as their antennae picked up that something was wrong. Tom, upon noticing the two Andorians freeze, started looking around to see what their senses were picking up.

Suddenly, the ground all around started to crumble as an emergent chasm began to split the disaster area in two. As Tom looked around to plot an escape route he saw the buildings to their west disappear from view as they crashed to the ground.

Thankful for his eidetic memory, Tom grabbed Ghi'annhah up in one arm, his medkit in the other, and started running out of the path of terrifying rift. "Come on, this way!" he cried out to those closest around him. Sarel and Talla were quick to follow, both responding automatically to the authoritative tone in his voice, rather than the lack of pips on his uniform.

As he ran he fleetingly felt a moment of gratitude that he'd chosen one of the cleared sites to eat, and that the two Andorians with him were easily keeping up. With his hands full, carrying his medkit and Ghi'Annhah, he wasn't sure what he would do if he came across someone needing physical assistance. Even if he knew rationally that a dead medic could help no-one, he wasn't sure if he could just ignore someone else's plight to save his own neck. Not here, not now.

Following the mental map in his head, Tom changed directions and soon found himself running uphill. By the time he made it to the top Tom had reached his physical limit. Collapsing in a heap he gathered the terrified little girl in his arms. "It's okay," he crooned to her. "It's gonna be okay. I've got you. We're safe. We're going to be okay."

Talla and Sarel automatically stopped next to Tom and sat down too. They had all been running from the earthquake for twenty minutes. Although not as physically exhausted as Tom, they were nevertheless grateful to be able to stop. The ensign had surprised them, being quite fast for a human; especially one also carrying a child.

Behind the two women, several other medics and security officers continued to scramble up the hill, all of them having also responded to the authoritative command voice that Tom had used.

While the last of the stragglers were dropping to the ground beside them Talla was staring hard at the young ensign. But, it was Sarel who asked the question first. "How did you know which way to go?"

Tom sighed. His memory immediately flashing back in time. Bruno, his best friend and a Starfleet engineer who loved to dabble in geology, had graduated six months earlier than Tom, and had been assigned to the Caldik Prime Starbase. Tom had decided to surprise his friend for his birthday and visit for the weekend. When he arrived, Bruno had already been committed to a speaking engagement at a local conference for amateur geologists. Tom had reluctantly gone along with him. Although he'd only been there because Bruno had begged him to be his moral support, Tom had never the less made an effort to listen carefully, knowing that Bruno would ask him for an honest and detailed opinion later.

Looking at the others he shared reluctantly, "My best friend Bruno was stationed here. He's an amateur geologist in his spare time and presented a paper a couple of months ago about Caldik Prime's unique fault lines. I took an educated guess based on something I remembered from the presentation."

One of the medics gasped and placed her arm comfortingly on Tom's shoulder. "Is that why you came on team this time? To find your friend?"

Tom grimaced, his eyes closing bleakly as he answered. "No. Bruno, and my other two friends who are stationed here, were all in the original shuttle crash that started this mess. Bruno is dead."

In the distance, an explosion lit up the darkened sky. The group jumped up nervously, prepared to take immediate flight once more.

Feeling more trepidation than he was wanting to show in front the others. Tom looked back from where they had come. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the fault line was indeed headed in a different direction to the one he had chosen. From his vantage point at the top of the hill, it was easy to trace the line of damage. It went for miles in two directions extending far beyond the township.

Tom suddenly remembered the explosion that he'd heard while he was running. With a sickening, sinking feeling in his stomach, he looked over to where he thought the focal point of that explosion might be. His eyes open wide in horror, he stared spellbound into the distance. As he watched, the Starfleet complex quickly disappeared into the chasm opening underneath it. Like the rest of the town, there was soon almost nothing left of it.

A mystery

June 26, 2367

Late Afternoon.

Aboard the Enterprise Captain Jean-Luc Picard stared intently at the planet below as he waited for his Senior Staff in the conference room. Beverley Crusher's last report from the surface, which had arrived during the last shuttle run, was sobering. He hoped Geordie and Data would have something more positive to bring.

As Deanna Troi, the last on board to arrive for the Senior Staff meeting, sat down Jean-Luc also took his seat. He locked eyes with Geordie La Forge, his Chief Engineer, and began the meeting. "I hope you have something positive to report, Lieutenant."

Geordie's report was a lengthy and technical dialogue that brought a sombre silence to the room. Jean-Luc summarized the engineer's report succinctly, "So what you're telling me, is that there is something more going on here than a simple shuttle accident?"

"I'm afraid so, Captain," said Geordie. He nodded to Data.

"That is correct, Sir," said the android. "There is no way that a shuttle of that size could have caused the amount of damage we originally encountered."

The captain thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Ensign Paris once intimated to me that his friends were involved in an experimental project here on Caldik Prime. Is it possible that one of the experimental features on the shuttle craft could be responsible for the damage we are seeing on the surface?"

Geordie glanced at Data and then shook his head. "No, Sir. The experimental shuttle schematics is one of the few things that we have been able to retrieve from the facility's computer on the surface. There's nothing there that would account for what we're seeing. Of course, we will be continuing to look into it."

Captain Picard sighed before taking a moment to consider the issues. "Data, what more can you tell me about what we are seeing?"

"It is impossible at this time to extrapolate a cause from the data we have. What is more, early results indicate that the earthquake could not have triggered an explosion of the magnitude of the last event either. I believe that we are, in fact, looking at more than one event. Although, it would appear that great effort has been made to make it look like a single one."

"Make it look ... did you say? Are you suggesting then that it is not, in fact, an accident that has happened here?" Captain Picard immediately responded.

Data hesitated to answer, but Geordie jumped into the gap. "It appears to be that way, Captain. At least to us. We're just not sure yet that we can prove it. I have a bad feeling about what we're seeing. Something here isn't adding up." He paused, hesitant to put his deepest concerns into words.

"Go on," the captain encouraged.

"To be honest, I don't like the way we lost sensor and transporter activity so soon after arriving. We're picking up the rest of the star system just fine. It seems a little too coincidental that we can't get anything from the planet. Contrived almost."

"And you have no idea what might be causing that interference?" the captain probed gently.

"No, sir. On the surface it looks like the natural result of the disaster. But it feels wrong. I just can't put my finger on the how or why. And I'm afraid it's going to be difficult to get clearer answers until the disaster zone stabilizes or we find a way around the atmospheric issues. For the moment, we are limited in what we can find out."

The Captain nodded. "I understand Lieutenant. However, I can't just take supposition and wild theory to the Admiralty. Get whoever you need and find a way around the issues. I want answers, Geordie. And sooner, rather than later."

Jean-Luc turned to face his senior Security Officer. "Worf, in light of Geordie's report, I want security on full alert. Without making it obvious! Given the political sensitivities at play here, we will need our actions to look as unassuming as possible." He paused for emphasis before continuing. "Having said that, there's no reason not to make a very detailed scan of the sector. If there's more here than meets the eye, I don't want us to be taken by surprise."

"Yes, Captain!" Worf rumbled in his deep voice.

Moving on, the captain now focused on his first officer and his counsellor.

"Will, Deanna - I want Data working with Geordie so I'll need the two of you researching the current players in the area. Do what you can to find out about the local issues. Anything that might have been swept under the carpet, but shouldn't have been." He looked at Deanna before adding, "Counsellor, if you sense anything at all that might be relevant I want to hear it." Riker and Troi both nodded their understanding of their assignment.

He stood up. "Dismissed." As his senior staff slowly made their way out, Picard returned to his window gazing. So, we have a mystery on our hands. Thankfully, I have a good team. Somehow, we'll find the answers.

Still no rest

June 29, 2367

Early Evening.

Tom smiled as he brushed a hand across Ghi'Annhah's blonde curls. Over the past couple of days, the little girl had made a permanent place for herself in his heart. Unfortunately, the multiple traumas had taken a toll on her. Often, just a few minutes after falling asleep, she would wake up screaming from the nightmares. It would then take an hour or more for her to be calm and relaxed enough to try to sleep again.

Now though reinforcements, in the shape of a hospital ship, had finally arrived. And along with it, more medical stores. Tom had taken the opportunity to give his little charge a much-needed tranquilizer. Finally, she was in a deep and peaceful sleep.

Tom, of course, was another issue. With so many still unaccounted for he couldn't justify returning to the Enterprise yet. Even so, after the frenetic pace of the past few days he was grateful to have been given a four-hour break to allow Ghi'Annhah and himself some down time. Dr Crusher had insisted that he use the time for some proper rest, recovery and recuperation. As such, Tom ignored the sound of quick, light footsteps, approaching.

From the doorway Beverley Crusher considered the young man she had come to see. She knew that three of the four people in the initial shuttle accident had been very close friends of Tom. It was one of the reasons that Jean-Luc had asked for input from both Deanna and herself before okaying Tom's presence on the team for this crisis.

Deanna had been very concerned for the young man. She had reported that his first shocked reaction had been quickly superseded by overwhelming horror and guilt. His involuntary verbal response had been, 'It should have been me!' That disturbing comment had been concerning to all of three of them.

As a Senior Officer of the Enterprise - as well as the closest thing to a confidante that Jean-Luc had - Beverley had known, even before he'd arrived, that Tom had turned down the position of Senior Flight Controller at Caldik Prime in order to accept a relief pilot position on the Enterprise. She'd thought Jean-Luc was joking at first. Despite its dubious location, the position itself was a very impressive offer to receive straight out of the academy. No matter how prestigious an Enterprise posting was, being a relief pilot wasn't, and very few new graduates would have taken, let alone asked for, that trade off.

She and Deanna had both agreed that it was understandable that Tom would feel some guilt, in the current circumstances, about not taking the Caldik Prime position. Tom was an excellent pilot and given the talent he'd already displayed on any number of occasions with the Enterprise, it was a reasonable assumption to suppose that he would have been able to avoid crashing the shuttle. Even so, his emotional response had led to a quick think tank session to determine whether it was appropriate to grant the ensign's impassioned plea to be part of the rescue operation. Deanna's right she had thought at the time, the level of guilt and responsibility he's been emitting is disproportionate. Even a non-empath like me can feel it.

Once more focussing on the scene before her, Dr Crusher's tired face briefly morphed into a smile as she gazed at Tom's little shadow cradled securely in the young man's arms. "You're a man of many talents, I see," she said, finally making her presence known as she moved closer. "I would never have guessed from your reputation that you would be so good with children."

Tom looked up. "Thanks, Doc," Tom said gratefully, "I'll take that as a compliment." He hesitated before asking the question that had been burning in his conscience since they'd first beamed down. "Do we have an official body count, yet?"

Beverley shook her head, her face serious. "It's not good, ensign," she said. "Eighty percent of Caldik Prime's population is now accounted for. More than 4000 are confirmed dead. There are still almost 1000 injured being treated – most of them critical. I suppose that we should be grateful that over 350 people managed to escape relatively unscathed."

"What about our Enterprise DERT Teams, ma'am? Did everyone get out of the way in time?"

"Regahia and Cheuntiss are dead." Beverley began. "Matthai and Giovani are injured but will make a full recovery. Sh'alihi is critical, although Dr P'Enteristhri and I both agree that she was found early enough to give her a fighting chance. The others received superficial injuries and were able to continue with our recovery efforts."

Doctor Crusher grimaced as her mind flittered back to the explosion that had caught her medical team unawares just a few hours after they had arrived to help with the survivors of the initial disaster. "Geordi and his team have been going over the sensor readings. They still don't know why the Caldik Prime Starbase exploded like that. But they're working on it."

Tom frowned. What does she mean by that? Isn't it all just fallout from the shuttle crash? But Dr Crusher was still talking and he forced himself to keep listening.

"Now that replacement medical staff have arrived," the doctor was saying, "our teams are all in the process of beaming back to the Enterprise for some dearly needed rest."

Once more she paused to study the young man before her. The bright blue of his eyes stood in stark contrast to the pasty white of his face. The black swollen bags under his eyes and the three-day growth on his face was testimony to the driven pace the young man had set.

"You've done an amazing job, Tom. You have certainly impressed the Caldik Prime medical staff. Both Dr P'Enteristhri and Dr Stevens are very happy with your work here over the last few days."

Tom looked away in embarrassment as she complimented him. For a moment, his expression looked just like one of Wesley's. It startled her into remembering that the young man was only seven months older than her son and had just celebrated his 21st birthday. Somehow, despite Wesley's own precocious upbringing, Tom still managed to come across as years older than him. "How about you, Tom?" she asked compassionately. "You've been at it for almost 50 hours straight. The only breaks you've taken have been to either feed, comfort or rock Ghi'Annhah to sleep."

Tom knew that tone. He was about to be dismissed from duty. And that was something that he wasn't ready to face. Sure, he was tired. But he wasn't at the point of total mindless exhaustion yet. While he was busy, in the field or looking after Ghi'hannah, he could keep the demons at bay; but alone with nothing but time and his own thoughts for company while Ghi'hannah slept? He couldn't do it. He aimed his best disarming grin at the doctor. "I'm okay, Doc," he responded.

Recognizing the outright lie for what it was, Dr Crusher paused as she asked herself if she was about to do the right thing?

How much more can Ensign Paris be reasonably expected to handle? This is his first time out with the DERT team. Even my most experienced members are feeling the effects.

Silently, she mentally reviewed Dr P'Enteristh's most recent request.

If only young Ensign Day's situation wasn't so desperate.

She hated to do it, but it came with the pips.

"I have some other news actually." Beverley stated. "About your friend Charlie. He has regained consciousness."

"Really? That's great!" Tom exclaimed, the relief evident in his voice. Dr Crusher put a hand on his shoulder, sorry that she had to burst the bubble of happiness so quickly. "Unfortunately, he isn't responding well to the news of what's happened. Dr P'Enteristhri is hopeful that a familiar face will be more effective in persuading him to co-operate with the treatment team. He asked me to let you know that he would appreciate it if you could go and sit with Ensign Day for a while. I'd be happy to look after the little one for you while you visit your friend, if you like."

Tom's breath hitched before his arms wrapped convulsively around his charge, unconsciously seeking comfort from holding her close. With an effort, he forced himself to respond civilly, despite the pain burning down his throat. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, "but I promised Ghi'Annhah that I wouldn't leave her. I'll just take her with me."

Doctor Crusher watched in disappointment as the ensign's habitual cloak of friendly, self-containment reappeared. To the untrained eye, it would not have been at all noticeable. I wonder how he does it? If I didn't know better, I'd think I had his complete attention.

Deanna had recently brought up this issue of disassociation as a major area of concern and shown her the signs to look for. Now it's impossible to miss the fact that he has just switched off and emotionally distanced himself. Beverley was tempted to just let him go this time, but as it was one of the major issues she and Deanna were focussing on in the Ensign's Personal Development Program…. she opted for the soft sell.

"Are you sure that you're up to a session of patient sitting with your friend?

"I'll just go and sit with Charlie for a little while." He paused and then added recklessly, "I promise, mom. Honest!"

"Excuse me, ensign? I know you're tired, but generally I prefer to go by 'Doctor Crusher.'"

Beverley couldn't believe the response she'd just been given, especially from someone who was 7th generation Starfleet born and bred. Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation or appropriate boundaries at all? Something else to discuss with Deanna at our upcoming group session, I guess.

"Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry about that." Tom grimaced. He hadn't meant to say that last comment out loud. But sassing back to the Doctor had become second nature in the Delta Quadrant and right now, he was so tired that he was running on the last of his reserves, not to mention automatic pilot.

"I'll let it go this time. Are you sure you're up to seeing Ensign Day? He's been very difficult."

"Yes ma'am. I wouldn't be able to relax knowing that Charlie was needing some support right now."

Beverley could empathise with that feeling. "I understand, ensign. In that case you've got one hour, and one hour only."

Tom nodded and repressed the strong desire to shudder. In her own way, Dr Crusher was more like Captain Janeway than his father – mixing a firm adherence to Starfleet protocol with covert motherly concern for the crew members under her command. He'd recently noticed both Dr Crusher and Counsellor Troi showing subtle signs that they were making him a priority pet project. As if I didn't get enough crap from that kind of attention in the Delta Quadrant. Gees, he grumbled to himself, what is it with Captains, Medical Officers and their pet projects. And why do they always have to choose me to be one? Having Owen Paris as a father was bad enough. He most definitely did not need – or want - to be micro-managed by another Starfleet 'parent' figure. He especially didn't need the pressure that came along with it.

"Oh Tom,"

Tom stopped and looked back at the Doctor.

"I will be checking to make sure that you're back on the Enterprise at the end of that time."

Tom checked an impulsive groan from being uttered as he processed the implication. Dr Crusher had threatened it enough times the last couple of months after she'd found out about his chronic insomnia. Be back in his quarters 'resting' in one hour or he'd be on the receiving end of a tranquilizer hypo himself. Of course, after that last stupid comment she was probably hoping for the excuse to sock him one.

"Understood, Ma'am. Permission to be dismissed."

"Dismissed, ensign"

With a firm nod, he quickly rearranged the weight of his precious cargo to a more comfortable position before heading over to the makeshift emergency medical centre.

Guilt Battle

June 29, 2367

Early Evening.

When Tom finally got to the hospital ship, he was quickly directed to his friend's ward. But not before the staff duty nurse forcibly insisted on taking Ghi'hannah from him. "Och, the wee little mite is still sleeping. You just leave her here and focus on your friend. She'll be fine with me. And if she does wake up, I'll bring her right over."

Tom immediately tried the same argument that he'd used with Doctor Crusher, but to no avail. After several minutes of useless wheedling, Tom noticed an emerging glare that was remarkably reminiscent of the one effected by a certain female captain of his acquaintance. Having been well trained by said captain Tom reluctantly gave up the battle, and left Ghi'hannah with the nurse before continuing his way.

Turning into the appropriate room, Tom froze and stood immobile in the doorway, just staring. Tom had known intellectually what to expect, but the harsh reality currently filtering from his eyes to his brain refused to be silenced.

Moaning softly in pain, Charlie was little more than a mangled mess. From necessity Charlie's initial treatment had focused on his internal injuries to the lungs, heart, spleen, intestines and spinal column. Unfortunately, Charlie had begun refusing treatment as soon as he'd regained consciousness.

His arms were still broken. His chest, too, remained covered with the emergency regeneration sheets originally used when most of Caldik Prime's medical equipment was lost in the fire. His face was a mottled blend of swollen red and white patched skin grafts, most of his hair was gone and the skin on top of his head was blackened. Despite all this, however, Tom could not stop himself from focusing at the spot where Charlie's leg should have been.

As Tom let out an involuntary gasp, Charlie looked up. "Tom!" he croaked. "You're here! You're finally here!" Charlie burst into tears.

Tom hesitated for a mere moment before walking quickly over to the bed. He put a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry you're hurt, Charlie," he murmured helplessly.

"Bruno's dead, Tom!" cried Charlie. "And they won't tell me anything about Odile. Not anything at all. What's wrong with her? Why won't they tell me?"

"Shhhh, Charlie." Tom said gently, beginning to pat Charlie's shoulder in a soothing pattern. "One thing at a time." His voice was reassuring as he continued. "Communication is very patchy, but she hasn't been listed as dead." He paused, wondering how to reassure his friend while tactfully saying nothing that would come back and bite him. "Odile is obviously in another area. You don't need to worry. I'm sure she's in good hands getting the care and medical attention that she needs." Tom noticed Charlie's medical chart and quickly got up to check it out. He nodded quietly to himself as the notes confirmed that Charlie's case was still very critical. Tom knew, from his own experience, that personal motivation and a positive attitude were essential elements in the outcome of a patient's recovery process.

Putting the chart back in its place, he looked at his friend. He walked over and stared firmly into Charlie's eyes. "Right now, you are this ward's priority. You need to relax, calm down and let the medical staff help you." Tom sat on the edge of the bed being careful not to aggravate any of the injuries. "I know it's overwhelming for you," he soothed, "But you're not alone. I'm here, and your parents are on the way. Your job is to get better. Why don't you try to get some sleep now?"

Charlie jerked in agitated anger, hissing as the involuntary movement sent tremors of pain rushing through his body. "I can't! Don't you understand? You don't have to pretend. I know why they're not telling me about Odile. She's dead. My beautiful Odile. Dead. Because of me. Because I killed them – all of them. Don't tell me to relax. I'm a murderer! Nothing will ever be okay again.

Tom grimaced, fighting to control his response, as Bruno's words brought back unpleasant memories of his own personal hell. He empathized all too well with the sentiment. He'd been where Charlie was, and it wasn't a healthy place to be. Quickly and silently, he used a Vulcan meditation technique to silence his own demons before responding.

"I can understand why you would feel like that, Charlie." Tom gently took hold of Charlie's bandaged hands. "But, it was an accident! And we don't know about Odile yet. This hospital ship is huge, and the staff are still triaging patients as we speak. I'm sure she is here, somewhere, being treated by emergency staff, the same as you. What if I'm right and she is alive? She's going to need you, Charlie."

He sighed as Charlie stubbornly jerked his shoulder to remove Tom's hand and looked away. Tom quietly assessed his friend's condition before changing his approach. He made his voice harsher as he continued. "So that's it? You don't really care. It was just words and Odile actually means nothing to you?" He saw Charlie stiffen and continued his verbal onslaught.

"And that uniform you've been wearing. It means nothing to you, either? You wasted four years of your life pretending to be officer material. But now that the chips are down and this facility needs every man they can get, you're going to just wallow in your guilt and self-loathing and do nothing to help yourself, let alone anyone else. Really?" He paused to let that thought sink in. "I never took you to be a selfish, spineless coward, Charlie. You're better than that. The Charlie I know wouldn't let a tragic mistake stop him from doing what's right. He'd be doing whatever he could to get himself better, back out there and ready to help Odile when we find her. "

Charlie turned and gaped in disbelief. Tom was never confrontational, never serious, never harsh. He shook his head in dazed bewilderment, shocked out of his meltdown by his best friend's uncharacteristic behaviour.

Encouraged by the response, Tom stopped and quirked a self-depreciating half smile before admitting softly. "Now me, I'm not that amazing. But my friend - Charlie Day. Well, he is." Charlie stared back, swallowing thickly. Guilt battled with a hesitant flickering sense of duty and honour.

Refusing to back down, Tom continued to hold his friend's eyes in a challenging stare even though his voice softened once more. "So how about it, Charlie? Ready to show these people the amazing Starfleet Officer I know is actually hiding in there."

Charlie closed his eyes tightly before opening them to show a renewed glint of optimism and determination. He nodded slightly. "You're right, Tom. I have no business wallowing when I should be out there fixing things. What do I need to do?"

His voice once more a soothing lilt, Tom replied, "Do, Charlie? Right now, you just need to heal. You need to relax and sleep and let the doctors do their job. Just close your eyes, Charlie. Go on."

Tom smiled as Charlie breathed out a ragged breath and obeyed the instruction. "That's it. .."

"Good. Now take a deep breath." Charlie took the breath.

"Let it out. Slowly." Charlie breathed out.

"Good. And again."

As Charlie continued to obey the verbal commands, Tom helped him to settle back properly into the bed and smoothed the bed sheets over him. "We're going to work through this," he encouraged. "Together. One step at a time."

Tom gave a subtle nod to the nurse standing quietly in the shadows, tranquilizing hypo in hand. Efficiently, she came over and administered it to Charlie. Dr P'Enteristhri, who had actually been there the whole time, unobtrusively observing the meeting, now came forward.

Charlie, hearing the movement fought the encroaching darkness and opened his eyes. Through a haze he saw the doctor smiling encouragingly at him. He attempted to scowl. Dr P'Enteristhri was a real pain in the ass at the best of times. "You heard your friend, Ensign Day," the doctor was saying. "Time for a sleep. When you wake up, we'll talk about …" The doctor's voice faded to white noise and then silence as Charlie lost the battle and slipped back into black nothingness.

With Ensign Day settled for the night, Dr P'Enteristhri now looked at Tom Paris and nodded briskly to the young medic. "Well done, ensign." He had observed, of course, not only the physical signs of exhaustion that Doctor Crusher had noted, but also just how emotionally difficult the interaction with Ensign Day had been for the young man. He was very impressed with both the young man and the outcome of his intervention.

Making up his mind, he clapped the young man on the shoulder. "I hate to ask you this, but do you think you could stay here for a few more minutes, just to make sure that Mr Day stays settled." Tom hesitated, indecision written all over his face, and the doctor rushed to reassure him. "Don't worry about Ghi'hannah. The staff nurse has her well in hand. Best to let her get some proper rest for a change." The doctor waited a moment before dropping out a feeler. "I'd also like to let Dr Crusher know that I've conscripted you to this ward for the time being and will be arranging some temporary quarters for you." The doctor saw personal desire and protective responsibility war briefly within the ensign before Tom agreed, "Aye, sir."

The doctor nodded happily. "In the meantime, I'll have Nurse Glen bring you a cup of tea and some biscuits." The doctor left and Tom suddenly found himself with time on his hands. Time which enabled his brain to start working in overdrive. What is going on? There shouldn't be a Caldik Prime incident happening. He frowned as he tried to puzzle it out. It's the wrong month. I wasn't the pilot. I wasn't even here this time. And there was that weird statement that Dr Crusher made earlier. This is crazy.

His gaze was again captured by the sight of his broken friend. I was supposed to be helping my friends, not making everything worse! Firmly, Tom bit back the sob that was trying to escape now that his emotions were coming to the fore with a vengeance. If this is what happens when you change history, it's no wonder that Starfleet developed a Temporal Prime Directive. That thought, of course, made him think of another time he had been involved in a temporal incident. His eyes hardened. And just where were Captain Braxton and his time ship when you wanted them to start meddling? Shouldn't he and his fellow time cops be showing up to send me back to the Delta Quadrant right about now?

Tom groaned. Where did I go wrong? And with that thought Tom was mentally swept back into time and the moment when everything changed.