"Torres to Sickbay."
:::Yes, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?:::
"Doctor, are you free at the moment? I've completed that bit of programming for you that you wanted."
:::Yes, I'm free, Lieutenant. No one is here at the moment. Would you prefer to meet me in one of the holodecks?:::
"I was thinking of that; but I checked; they're all in use at the moment. If you don't mind, I'll just drop this off to you, and we can work on the installation another time."
:::I'll be waiting, Lt. Torres.::: The cheeriness in his voice was evident. It occurred to B'Elanna that she was glad that someone was going to be happy to see her, but she ruthlessly suppressed that train of thought. There were plenty of people that were glad to see her. Kes and Harry, for instance. They liked to see everyone, though. She had to admit that her staff in Engineering did not seem happy to see her. They probably would be rejoicing as soon as she left at the end of her shift.
B'Elanna had managed to avoid Paris since she had turned down his most recent dinner invitation; and he now seemed to be avoiding her as well. Neelix fawned on everyone; and expecting a Vulcan to be "happy" to see anyone was a fantasy. Janeway and Chakotay didn't seem particularly happy about anything, and B'Elanna was at a loss to figure out what Seven-of-Nine was thinking or feeling at any given point. Growing up Borg did not lend itself to the expression of personal feelings. B'Elanna shuddered. As much as she had fought against her Klingon heritage, that was nothing compared to what it must have been like to have been raised by the Borg.
As B'Elanna traveled from Engineering to Sickbay in the turbolift, another spell of lightheadedness assaulted her. She had to grab hold of the bar inside the lift to keep her balance. 'Burying yourself in work all the time isn't a good idea,' she told herself roughly. 'But burying myself in work is the only think that keeps me from thinking about Tom,' she countered mentally.
B'Elanna did not want to think about his smile, or the sound of his voice as he told a joke, or his beautiful hands as they pranced over his keypad at the helm, or the way they felt when he... "Stop it!" she shouted to herself, glad that no one was with her in the turbolift.
B'Elanna felt her stomach lurch again as the turbolift reached Deck 5. Just thinking about her handsome former lover was turning her stomach, now. What a perfectly un-Klingon thing that was. She sighed. If she had wanted to keep thoughts of Tom from invading her mind, breaking up with him seemed to have been the wrong way to do it.
The Doctor's "Hello, Lieutenant!" was particularly enthusiastic as she walked into Sickbay. B'Elanna returned his wave. Yes, the Doctor was happy to see her this evening. She handed him the padd with the family program modifications.
"Here it is, Doctor. I've loaded in the parameters for human pregnancy, childhood and adolescence; and I've worked on the algorithms for a fair randomizing of all the variables in the program, including the gender of the child. You may get a baby that cries all the time, Doctor, I'm warning you. This is not going to be a lollipop kid. There are no guarantees about bad things not happening this time, but I've taken special care that the probabilities for illnesses, disabilities, and accidents are all exactly in line with norms on Earth. That's what you said that you wanted."
"It is indeed, Lieutenant. If I am to derive any value from my family, I must leave some things to chance. I've learned my lesson."
"Still, if you want me to do any specific modifications to the program before you decide to install it, hail me and I'll take care of it. Oh, by the way, the random elements include that one choice you have about, uh, how to initiate the modification. You can jump into the scenario before or after the pregnancy actually starts, it's your choice."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. That's very thoughtful of you." B'Elanna shook her head, even as she grinned. This whole thing still seemed weird to her.
Shaking her head may not have been the best idea. The room swirled, and muttering "baQa'," a Klingon curse she almost never used, B'Elanna had to grab onto a biobed to keep from losing her balance the way she had in the turbolift.
The Doctor noticed. "What's wrong, Lt. Torres? Are you ill?"
"It's nothing, Doctor. I'm pretty tired. I've just been working much too hard lately, I think. Unless you have some of those Macroviruses floating around in here again. My stomach is - unsettled, like it was when we were invaded by those flying monstrosities.
"If that's the case, Lieutenant, you should have availed yourself of my professional services sooner. That is, after all, my true purpose on this ship. Come over here and let me scan you."
"Doctor..."
"I know how much you hate my interventions, Lieutenant, but I insist. Have you any other symptoms that you can tell me about?"
Glancing upwards in exasperation, B'Elanna considered bolting for the exit, but another sudden roll of her stomach made her decide to cooperate with the Doctor's inquisition. "Well, I've been a little lightheaded, sometimes. Not too often, but sometimes. My staff would tell you that I'm irritable, I guess. Everyone is walking on eggshells around me, or so Kes tells me. I have to admit I do seem tired all the time lately, I think because I haven't been sleeping very well. I've tried exercising to make my sleep deeper, but it doesn't seem to help. I've also tried sleeping extra hours, but I can't seem to shake the fatigue anyway. And my..." She hesitated. It was probably nothing, but he was asking for symptoms; this might be one. "Well, my breasts have been really sore the last few weeks. Swollen, I guess. I just can't figure out what's wrong with me. You don't think I am really, seriously sick, do you." Suddenly B'Elanna was worried. Maybe she had been too laissez-faire about her health.
As she had been reciting her symptoms, the Doctor had been moving his basic medical tricorder over B'Elanna. Grunting a quick, "Fascinating," he moved to his instrument console, switched on a computer screen, and took hold of another probe. This time all of his attentions were centered upon his patient's abdomen.
"Doctor, what in the name of Kahless is wrong with me! Tell me, now!" B'Elanna began to get alarmed, which resembled anger to the untrained eye.
"Actually, Lieutenant, nothing is 'wrong' with you. You are simply experiencing a perfectly normal bodily process. What a coincidence that we should be talking about my family program at a time like this!" The Doctor beamed at B'Elanna. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. You are going to be a mother."
"I am going to be a WHAT!"
"A mother. In about seven or eight months, or thereabouts."
"That's impossible," B'Elanna said, flatly.
"What do you mean, Lieutenant? I seem to recall that there was evidence to believe that you and Mr. Paris have had an intimate relationship. Am I in error?" The look of a raptor appeared in his eyes. "So far, the literature has never been able to confirm a virgin birth, but . . . "
"I don't mean it's impossible that way. But it just can't happen."
"Of course it can, Lieutenant, especially to someone who is as lax about their contraceptives as you have been. My records indicate that you did not come back to renew your implant when it passed its effective limit three months ago. You will recall that you said that you would 'come back later' for it when I examined you after your experience with Mr. Paris on that Tantrum world. Not that that is particularly unusual, of course - no one ever listens to my advice. I don't know why I persist in giving it."
"Doctor, what did I need it for! There aren't any other Klingons within thousands of parsecs from here!"
"Why did you think that you could only have a child if you had relations with a Klingon? Do you think I am in the habit of prescribing medications and treatments for my patients that are not needed?" His indignation was aroused.
"Doctor, I know I can't have children with a human so easily. Klingon and human matings need 'technical assistance' to happen. Do you know how much my mother had to go through to get me? She told me about it enough! Every time she was angry at me, in fact, which was pretty often!"
"I am familiar with the technical aspects, Lieutenant," he said dryly. "It is precisely because it is so arduous an undertaking that almost all couples make arrangements for the reproductive compatibility of the resultant offspring with one species or the other, based on expected lifestyles. Since your parents obviously were not sure from which species your most likely mate might come, they made sure your reproductive system was compatible with both humans and Klingons. Quite prescient of them. An amazing technical achievement and, I might add, so elegant a solution to the problems of interspecies mating that I almost might have thought of it myself."
B'Elanna looked at the Doctor in complete confusion. This can't be happening. "This must be a mistake. My organ systems are Klingon."
"Most of them are, Lt. Torres. Not the reproductive system. At least, not entirely. Your uterus is capable of nourishing an embryo fertilized by either species, and the hormones to maintain pregnancy are virtually identical for both. We can see that 94.7 % of the eggs in your right ovary are compatible with Klingon sperm; while in your left ovary, 97.3 % of the eggs are human-compatible. I would say that you would be slightly more fertile with a human, actually, given that ratio. The egg for this pregnancy must obviously have come from the left ovary." The EMH walked over to his scan display and punched the console several times. "Yes, here it is. I totally missed that during your examination when you returned from the planet. A new protocol is indicated, I think . . . "
"DOCTOR!"
"Oh, yes, Lieutenant. Sorry to have gone off on that little tangent. As far as your symptoms go, they all sound perfectly reasonable for someone with mixed human and Klingon heritage. The swelling of the breasts, in particular, is associated with both Klingons and humans. We'll be needing to see you every . . . "
B'Elanna screeched the EMH into silence. "I can't have this baby, Doctor! I am the chief engineer of Voyager! I work hours on end, and sometimes I'm not home long enough to get any sleep myself! How can I care for a baby? There are all kinds of dangers in Engineering-radiation, accidents. I can't do this! I'm alone!"
"I hardly think that's true, Lt. Torres. Ensign Wildman has had many of the crew help her with Tabitha. And Mr. Paris would certainly help you. He's quite sympathetic when it comes to families. He was extremely helpful to me when . . . ."
"Don't you DARE tell Thomas Eugene Paris about this!"
This outburst managed to silence the EMH. After successfully achieving a modicum of control over her temper, B'Elanna went on. "Besides, Doctor. Since I had no idea I was pregnant, I have certainly exposed this baby to radiation hazards."
The Doctor picked up his medical tricorder, checking B'Elanna's abdomen again with care. "You had no idea, Lieutenant? Just how long is your normal menstrual cycle, then? And how many days long is it, on average?"
"Four weeks. Give or take a day or two. It usually lasts for about four days." B'Elanna felt her throat suddenly go very dry.
"Hmm. And you had a normal cycle last time?"
"It was a little short."
"How short, Lieutenant?"
"A day long. Maybe less. Maybe . . . a couple of hours." She exhaled sharply. How could she have been so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"A little spotting during implantation in the uterine wall. Perfectly normal, then." He scanned her abdomen one more time. "And I can detect no problems at all with the embryo. A perfectly normal, healthy, three-quarters-human, one-quarter-Klingon female fetus. Now that we know, protective measures can be taken to prevent any radiation exposure to her." He smiled encouragingly at B'Elanna.
Oh, great. It's a girl too. What kind of mother is B'Elanna Torres going to be, with such a great role model to follow! "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I can't do this. I need to end this. Now."
The Doctor's smile faded. While he still might have needed some work in regards to bedside manner and the evaluation of a patient's emotional status in certain situations, the Doctor did not need assistance in interpreting the look on B'Elanna's face. Furious, yet frightened, too, although she would have throttled anyone who dared suggest to her that she was the latter.
"Am I hearing you correctly, that you are saying that you do not wish to carry this child to term?"
"You are hearing me correctly."
"I will do a termination of pregnancy if you insist, but there are certain regulations restricting this procedure. There is a waiting period."
"How long?"
"The procedure cannot be done prior to the passing of at least a 72 hour period from the time the pregnancy is confirmed, to make sure that the mother is not making a snap decision influenced by being in shock from first learning of her condition."
B'Elanna looked at the chronometer. "I'll be back three days from now, at 1933 sharp."
"Lt. Torres, shouldn't you talk over this decision with Lt. Paris, first?"
"I told you not to bring him into this."
"But Lieutenant . . . "
"We are not together, anymore, Doctor. There's no point to it. Leave him out of it. In fact, I don't want anyone else to know about this but you and me."
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I cannot do the procedure without my assistant's presence. That is by Starfleet regulation, also."
B'Elanna bent her head down and closed her eyes. Kes. Kes would have to know. Her stomachs did another leap over each other. She did not want to think about the look that would be in Kes' eyes when she heard about this, but it could not be helped.
"All right. You'll have to tell Kes. Make it clear to her that NO ONE ELSE is to know. Not even Harry. And especially, not Paris."
The Doctor bobbed his head. B'Elanna leaned on the biobed again. Her stomach was really flopping around now.
"Lieutenant," the Doctor said softly. "Are you in need of any assistance?"
"Can you make my stomachs behave for the next few days?"
"The literature suggests that keeping the stomach filled sometimes helps. Human females often have extreme reactions to pregnancy, with nausea very common and vomiting occurring frequently. Your Klingon stomachs should protect you from the worst of such symptoms; but if not, come to me and I will give you something. Try food first, Lieutenant, the blandest you can find."
As B'Elanna exited Sickbay, the Doctor regarded her thoughtfully. This was another aspect of the family that he had not considered. The subroutines in his program for sadness and regret were activated.
Her thoughts in a jumble, B'Elanna moved as if on automatic pilot out of the Sickbay door. She found herself in front of the turbolift, stepping aside for Ensigns Lang and Ashmore, who eyed B'Elanna curiously as they exited. Entering the half-filled lift, B'Elanna meant to say "Deck 11" to return to Engineering, even though she did not have any reason to go back there tonight. Lost in thought, she said nothing and instead found herself on Deck 2, standing in front of the mess hall door. B'Elanna was briefly confused, but then mentally shook herself. 'It's dinnertime, Torres,' she said to herself. 'The doctor said that eating would help your queasiness.' After her mental pep talk, she entered the mess hall.
Of all the people who had to be standing in line in front of her, why did it have to be Thomas Eugene Paris, the last person she wanted to see? B'Elanna could not believe her bad luck. Compounding her distress was the sensation that her second stomach was trying to rise up through the first one and exit her body via her throat. She absolutely refused to be sick! At the very thought, her anger began to assert itself.
Tom, who was awaiting his turn to accept Neelix's dinner offering, turned around to greet the person who had just came in the door. He was momentarily staggered to see the one person he had been longing to see, the person who had been so assiduously avoiding him for the last several days. Calming himself the best that he could and smiling warmly, he quietly said, "Hello, B'Elanna. It's good to see you again."
Her temper erupted at her hapless ex-lover. "It is NOT good to see you, petaQ!" Pivoting on her heel, she ran out of the mess hall.
"And a fine day to you too, Lt. Torres," Tom said grimly to her trim back as she retreated to the safety of the corridor.
From his position in line directly in front of Tom Paris, Tuvok stared at Lt. Torres as she stormed out the door. Neelix, after a brief hesitation of his own as he observed the outburst, handed the security officer his meal, shaking his head in wonderment as he did so. Despite a careful evaluation of the exchange between his two fellow officers, Tuvok could detect nothing in Mr. Paris' words, tone, or attitude to account for her behavior. Shifting his attention to Paris, the Vulcan was struck by the young man's extreme pallor, closed eyes, and ragged breathing.
"My word, Tom! What was that all about?" Neelix asked breathlessly as he leaned over the counter.
Through clenched teeth, the helmsman said, "Lt. Torres has apparently decided to eat dinner somewhere else. I think I may do the same." Tom backed up a step to deposit his tray back on the stack.
"That is unfortunate, Lieutenant. I had thought to ask you to join me for dinner," said Tuvok.
Tom turned to the tall, dark man beside him in some surprise. Tuvok seldom ate meals with anyone, other than for an occasional meal with the captain. "I'm not very hungry today, Tuvok. You'd do better with someone else for a dinner companion."
"I do not see anyone else in the mess hall that I would prefer sharing a meal with, Mr. Paris. If you are not hungry, you might do me the honor of sitting with me anyway to share some conversation, which, I might add, is considered an invaluable aid to the digestion." He did not elaborate on the fact that it was particularly helpful when eating a meal prepared by Neelix. Despite his emotional turmoil, Tom was perceptive enough to recognize Tuvok's unvoiced comments, not only about Neelix's cooking, but also the desire to speak with Tom.
"Are you sure? My 'conversation' might not be particularly enjoyable for a Vulcan to hear right now."
"'Enjoyable is not a necessary condition of the invitation, Lt. Paris. On the contrary, any sort of conversation you care to make will be satisfactory to me."
After considering the request for a few seconds, Tom placed his tray back on the counter and chose Neelix's special of the day, which happened to be Vargallian casserole with sweet tubers and bread pudding. During his wait for Tom, Tuvok surveyed the room and noted a seat for two people that was about to open up at the far end of the mess hall. He nodded towards the table when Tom turned around with his food. As he was about to walk away with Tom, the Vulcan heard Neelix hiss, "Mr. Tuvok!"
Tuvok looked back at Neelix. The Talaxian's face was glowing in approval. "People skills, Mr. Vulcan! Glad to see those people skills!"
With an expression that could have been interpreted as distaste if observed on the visage of a being that was not a Vulcan, Tuvok followed the helmsman to the table they had found.
"I guess you can tell that my relationship with our chief engineer is 'kaput.' "
" 'Kaput,' Mr. Paris?"
"That means ended, finished, absolutely over, a snowball's chance on Vul . . . ah, let's just say permanently and completely dead, and leave it at that."
"Oh. That has become common knowledge, Lieutenant." Tuvok, after taking a few bites of his food, added, "But is your relationship really over? Her reactions just now were quite extreme, to say the least. Since you gave her no apparent cause to be upset, something else must be bothering her. Perhaps she is even now regretting the loss of your friendship."
The helmsman sighed as he picked at his food. "I wish I could agree with you, Tuvok, but she's made it very clear that she doesn't want to have anything to do with me." Tom looked out the windows of the mess hall to the stars beyond. The idea that B'Elanna might have finally figured out that Tom was not good enough for her crossed his mind, but he could not bring himself to burden the Vulcan with this revelation.
"I would not be so certain of that, Mr. Paris. The two of you seemed quite well suited to one another. You share temperaments that are somewhat prone to impulsivity and which lack a measure of reserve, making them volatile, that is true. Disagreements tend to be frequent in unions between beings that share these traits. A significant amount of time needs to be spent by the respective parties in 'making up,' or so I have observed."
Tom managed a weak smile. "You're absolutely right, Tuvok. 'Making up' would constitute a great deal of our lives together. The trouble is, the 'respective parties' have to be speaking with one another in order to make up. You saw what just happened when I said, 'hello!' "
"May I suggest that you give her a little time before approaching her again."
Now there was some advice that he hadn't been hearing more than a dozen times a day. "I'll think about it, Tuvok. Not only is it the logical thing to do, it's the only thing to do. She'd probably break something, preferably something on me, if I tried to speak to her now." Despite the surface lightness of his words, the helmsman looked anything but lighthearted. Taking a few bites from what was on his plate before toying with the rest of it, Tom looked up tentatively to meet the eyes of the Vulcan. "I don't mean to pry, Tuvok, but I've heard a little about how strong Vulcan marriage bonds are supposed to be, and I know that you've been married a long time. Does that famous Vulcan logic mean that you can count on always being able to figure out what is going on with a Vulcan woman? That you can avoid having misunderstandings?"
"I have found that it is impossible to live with any sentient being for very long without a certain number of misunderstandings occurring. It is a natural part of any relationship."
"That sounds like 'no,' Tuvok."
"The sharing of information between partners is never perfect, Mr. Paris. One believes that the other knows about something, without stopping to recall that the other party has had no opportunity to gain such knowledge. Assumptions can be made that are inappropriate in consequence. It is not logical, I must admit. But it is true that misunderstandings can occur between members of any race, including Vulcans. The difference is that we are trained from childhood to deal more appropriately with such misinterpretations than by pure emotion." Tuvok paused a moment. He was not quite sure how much more to say to Tom.
"You mean you actually talk about your differences instead of trying to take the other's head off when something really threatening is said, such as, 'Hello,' for instance."
"I am not quite sure I would usually phrase it that way, Mr. Paris; but yes, I believe your statement is essentially accurate."
Tom gave up all pretense of actually eating his dinner. The tubers conjured up memories of much pleasanter meals eaten in a harshly cold cavern on Tantrum IV, and he did not seem to have a taste for any casserole or bread pudding tonight. After taking a sip of coffee, Tom decided that if he was ever going to ask the question he had been burning to ask, it would have to be now.
"I don't know if it would work with me, Tuvok, but I have heard that humans sometimes have successfully studied Vulcan philosophy and techniques, to assist in controlling anger and other strong emotions. Would you consider helping me learn to control mine better? Of course, I'm not sure I have any right to ask this after I gave Harry so much grief for coming to you for help when he had that problem with Marayna."
"You have every right to make the request, Lieutenant, and I am more than willing to work with you. Your method of dealing with Mr. Kim's obsession would have been just as valid an approach as mine, had she actually been a holodeck character."
"Do you think it might help?"
"I would never advise anyone against making the attempt to improve their self-control."
"Thanks Tuvok. I really appreciate this. When can we start?"
"Come to my quarters when we finish here, and we will begin at once. I promise no miracle cures, Mr. Paris, you must understand."
"I'm not expecting any, Tuvok. I'm not even expecting you to help me fall 'out of love.' I'd just like some help in learning how not to display my heart on my sleeve for anyone who looks at me to take potshots at. Especially her." Lt. Tuvok did not need to ask who "her" was.
"The practicing of meditative techniques will be beneficial in and of themselves, Mr. Paris."
The two men left the topic of human emotional attachments for several minutes as they talked about other things. As Tuvok was drinking the herbal tea that he favored, Tom queried, "Tuvok, I don't mean to be insulting. I know how sensitive . . . certain functions . . . are to a Vulcan, but I was wondering. About this bonding thing. You do it when you are children? Picking a mate, I mean."
"That is the traditional way. The parents find partners for their children who would appear to make satisfactory mates."
"Does it ever fail to 'take' with one partner or the other?"
"Yes, Mr. Paris. If the bond between the partners does not take hold sufficiently, the completion of the ritual of koon-ut kal-if-fee, about which you have become aware, is often the consequence."
From the finality evident in Tuvok's voice as he finished this statement, Tom decided that to inquire further might jeopardize the meditative exercises Tuvok was willing to give to him, and Tom did not wish to do that. A safer topic might be family. Tom asked Tuvok about his children. All the pilot knew of Tuvok's family was that he had some.
"My three eldest children are all male. They have each taken mates and had at least one child as of the last time I had contact with them. The number of my grandchildren was five, at last count. The youngest, our only daughter, was an unexpected arrival. She was born twenty-one years after the birth of our youngest son."
"You must miss them a lot, Tuvok."
"No day passes without my experiencing a desire to see them."
As the two officers stood up to return their trays to Neelix, Tom asked Tuvok, "What is your wife's name, Tuvok?"
"She is called T'Pel."
"Do you have a holographic image of your wife, Tuvok?"
"There are images of T'Pel and my children in my quarters."
"Is she very pretty?"
It was the Vulcan's turn to gaze out of the window towards the stars. In his quiet voice, Tuvok replied, "T'Pel defines beauty for me, Mr. Paris."
Tom studied the Vulcan's seemingly impassive face. It was truly amazing how much Vulcans could express in a few spare words, despite their masking of emotion, if one took the time to look for it. Tom began to feel hopeful that Tuvok could help him get over B'Elanna. And if the Vulcan was accurate in his appraisal of the reason she exploded at him a while ago - perhaps he might even have a chance to win her back.
The chime to the quarters of Lt. Torres sounded. "B'Elanna, are you there?"
"Yes, Kes. Enter."
Kes walked into her friend's quarters. The lights were down to 20% illumination, and B'Elanna was sitting in the darkest corner of the room. A half-filled plate of dry crackers and a glass of water were sitting next to her.
"He didn't waste any time telling you about it, did he?"
B'Elanna's voice was deceptively calm, and Kes quailed at the feelings of murderous rage and self-disgust that she could perceive emanating from the half-Klingon woman. Taking a seat on the couch, at less than an arm's reach from her friend, Kes tried to project as much sympathy and soothing thoughts as she could toward B'Elanna.
"The Doctor said you had no idea such a thing could happen accidentally."
"She never told me! Kes, she never said anything at all about it! How could she keep such a thing secret!" B'Elanna jumped up and began to pace. "She warned me against getting involved with humans, that was true, but she never said anything about my being able to become pregnant by a human! I was told my major organ systems were Klingon. You'd think being honest with me about what my parents had done to my reproductive system would be obligatory for an honorable Klingon! The fact is, she avoided talking about sex as much as she could, except to tell me not to do it."
"Did your mother take it for granted that Klingons wouldn't ever put you into this position in the first place? I mean, knowing that Klingon tradition dictates mating for life."
"Oh, she didn't take that for granted. She told me, 'Never become *par'machai* B'Elanna.' That means being a lover instead of a wife. 'You bring dishonor upon our House if you do.' That's a dishonor she never had to worry about! No Klingon male ever wanted to have anything to do with me. I was too ugly for them."
"B'Elanna, we've been over this. You know you aren't ugly. Lots of men feel you are attractive. Harry has told me how beautiful he thinks you are. I'd be jealous if he didn't prove all the time to me how much he loves me!" She tried to cheer B'Elanna with a light giggle.
B'Elanna was not mollified. "Sure, lots of men. They've been swarming all over me ever since I got on board Voyager."
"There is one who has made no secret of how he feels about you."
"That was just sex, and you know it, Kes. He's over me already."
"Really? Then how come he's been dragging around with the face of doom since that night at Sandrine's? B'Elanna, he's been suffering . . . "
"Leave him out of it, Kes. I am not exactly thrilled with him at the moment. Look what he's done to me!"
" 'Done to you?' I'm sorry, B'Elanna. I had been led to believe that your relations with Tom were by mutual consent."
At Kes' frigid tone, B'Elanna was brought up short. "I don't mean to imply there was any coercion on his part," she stammered. "If there was any coercion, I guess I would have to say it was on my part. But that's my point. He was very reluctant to even havesex with me on Tantrum. I mean, it was obvious. I was available and willing. My looks have nothing to do with what happened between us."
"He didn't seem at all reluctant to me. In fact, Tom told Harry that the reason he held back was because he was afraid that it was too soon for the two of you to become intimate. He said he was afraid that you would be frightened off by getting involved too deeply, too soon."
"I am never frightened," B'Elanna stated emphatically, a chill entering her own voice. "And I see that his promise never to talk to anyone about what happened on that planet has been conveniently forgotten."
Kes sighed. She had infringed upon the Klingon cultural imperative of never admitting to fear, even though B'Elanna professed that she wanted nothing to do with Klingon culture. She would have to tread carefully from now on. Mildly, the blonde haired woman responded, "He's only mentioned it to Harry once, and that was just in passing. And you know, B'Elanna, you've been talking about what happened on Tantrum to me right now."
That brought B'Elanna's pacing to a halt. Even in her fury, B'Elanna had to agree with the basic unfairness of that. "So, I won't rip his heart out for talking, then, but the situation is still the same. He doesn't care so much about me that he would want to have to deal with a pregnancy. I'm sure of that!"
"How can you be sure? Did you ever talk to him about having children someday?"
"We never discussed it, no. Well, maybe we did, on Tantrum. But that was only when we talked about how we . . . he was talking about us being Adam and Eve . . . that's a story from an Earth religion, Kes . . . and I said we couldn't, because a human and a Klingon couldn't on their own without technology...and he said he was glad that we couldn't have a child . . . that it was probably a good thing." B'Elanna's voice began to fade out as she recited this to Kes, remembering the context. The Ocampan woman was not fooled. She knew there was more.
"A 'good thing?' Why?"
"Because he said that Tantrum wasn't the garden of Eden - not a very good place to have children, he meant. We didn't have much chance of surviving ourselves for a long time, let alone be able to raise a baby." She fell silent, remembering the rest of the conversation.
"And . . . " Kes added insistently.
"And . . . " B'Elanna sat down on the couch next to Kes. "Nothing. It was nothing. It was a joke."
"What kind of joke?"
"Oh, he was always asking me if our having had sex together meant we were mates. The Klingon way, you know. He said something about that then."
"B'Elanna, how many times has Tom asked you to marry him?"
"I don't know. A few times, I guess."
"Isn't it true that the reason he stopped asking was because you got mad at him for asking you all the time?"
"He was joking with me. I didn't appreciate it."
Kes looked at B'Elanna with exasperation. "How do you know he was joking? I'm sure Tom wouldn't play games with you like that. He jokes around, but not about the really important things. Just talk to him about this. Get his help."
"No, no, no, Kes - I don't want him involved."
"Then take a little more time about it yourself, then. Deciding whether or not to have a child is one of the most important decisions you will ever make - believe me, I know. And for you there's no going back from this decision. A life is involved, and you must make the right choice. For you, for Tom, for the child you are carrying. You mustn't make it without giving it a great deal of thought. You don't want to make a snap decision that you will regret for the rest of your life."
Kes' pleading finally broke through B'Elanna's resolve. Much as she wanted to have this thing over with, she had to agree that giving herself a few extra days to think about it was probably a wise thing to do. Not that she would change her mind, but careful consideration was not out of place.
"All right, Kes. Reschedule the 'procedure' for a week from now instead of three days to give me a little more time to think things through. But I still don't want you to breathe a word of this to Tom. Or to Harry, because that's the same as telling Tom."
"All right, B'Elanna, I promise." As she rose to her feet, Kes swayed a little.
"Are you okay, Kes?"
"I'm fine. This has just been such an emotional conversation."
"You're telling me!" After a short pause, B'Elanna added, "Kes, I do appreciate your coming to me like this. I know you did it because you care for me."
"I'm not the only one, B'Elanna. I want you to know that."
Even though she knew that Lt. Torres was not much for hugging, Kes could not resist giving her one before she walked out of the lieutenant's quarters. Not feeling quite herself, the lieutenant accepted the hug without any fuss.
The lesson with Tuvok went fairly well. Tom found that meditation as practiced by Vulcans was relaxing and surprisingly enjoyable. The first night, Tuvok instructed him in the clearing of the mind to prepare for meditation and showed Tom several exercises to assist in reaching this goal, including the use of certain breathing techniques. Tuvok also suggested that Tom download a copy of The Principles of Logic by Surak of Vulcan into a padd to study at his leisure.
"I don't need to, Tuvok. I already have a copy in book form that I replicated some time ago."
"You already have a copy? This is quite intriguing. Why did you choose this as a book you wished to keep?"
"I've always been interested in Vulcan philosophy, possibly because it is so foreign to my own nature," admitted Tom.
"But you didn't seem to know anything about T'Hain's Principles of Poetics."
"I wasn't interested in poetics, Tuvok. Maybe I should have been," he added, muttering under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"Uh, nothing. Weren't we talking about Surak?
"Yes, we were. Have you read The Principles of Logic, then, Mr. Paris?"
"A couple of times, yes. I don't pretend to have understood it all, but some of the concepts seem to be truly universal." For about an hour, Tuvok queried Tom on Surak's writings and found that Mr. Paris had, indeed, absorbed a significant portion of the wisdom found in the book. From this starting point, they discussed several other works of philosophy from human, Klingon, Vulcan, and Bajoran sources, about more than a few of which Tom had retained at least a smattering of knowledge.
Tuvok found himself reappraising the helmsman. He had always thought that Mr. Paris was most interested in playing pool and searching for female companions during his off duty hours. Obviously, this was not entirely the case.
When Tuvok shared this insight, Tom laughed. "I'm not saying I haven't been interested in pool and 'feminine companionship.' But I haven't spent all my time in Sandrine's or the Resort, either. That gets pretty boring after a while." The younger man fell silent for a few moments, with the Vulcan receiving the distinct impression that the human was collecting his thoughts before proceeding with more revelations about his true character. "There have also been some times in my life, when pool and women were not options for my 'off duty hours.' Such as when I was a resident of New Zealand, for instance."
"I understand, Mr. Paris. However and whenever you acquired this knowledge, the fact that you have it will certainly facilitate your studies with me, should you decide to pursue them."
With sincerity and directness, Tom addressed the Vulcan lieutenant. "I do want to pursue them. If nothing else, you've helped me tonight when . . . well, Tuvok, I'm sure you realize that tonight was not a good night for me."
Tuvok nodded his understanding. He had been a spectator at an ugly scene.
The two lieutenants agreed to meet every other night for the foreseeable future, duty schedules permitting. Several readings were suggested for Tom to pursue. "I hope these readings will not prove to be too onerous for you, Mr. Paris," stated Tuvok. "I have heard some humans complain that they are 'dull reading.' "
A little of the pilot's sense of humor emerged. "If they are too dull for me, Tuvok, then they'll help put me to sleep. If they aren't too dull, then I'll learn something new. Either way, they should help me with my immediate problem. Thanks." Tom walked towards the exit, then halted suddenly. "Oh, by the way, weren't you going to show me that hologram you have of your family?"
The Vulcan walked to a niche in the wall of his quarters and returned with a disc-shaped object. Pressing on the underside, Tuvok produced the image of a classically handsome Vulcan woman with deep bronze skin. He pressed the underside several more times. The faces of family groupings of what were clearly Tuvok's sons, their wives and their children, plus the visage of a beautiful young Vulcan woman appeared successively, before T'Pel's image was again visible. Tom gazed at the woman's face, then met her husband's eyes, saying simply, "I hope I get to meet your family someday, Tuvok. And I see what you mean about T'Pel's beauty," The Vulcan lieutenant acknowledged the compliment with the barest of nods.
As the Vulcan watched the tall young human retreat down the corridor on his journey back to his own quarters, he reviewed what he had learned of the helmsman during the mind meld that they had shared a few years ago, during a murder investigation. From his recollections of that meld, Tuvok realized that he already should have known that there was much more to Mr. Paris than usually met the eye. He resolved not to underestimate Mr. Paris again.