Title: Sealaionn 5: The Shadows Heaven Casts
Author: TrekPhile47
Summary: The evil is over, the war had ended. What scars remain?
B'Elanna is well on the road to recovery, and Tom is too. ...Isn't he? How much water does it take for the damn to break, and how many men does it take to rebuild it?
Rated: R, for the "F" word and any other baddies that I missed.
Disclaimer: They aren't my toys, I have to borrow them from the rich kid down in California, and I don't have enough cash to buy my own.
Spoilers: None, you're safe.
Keywords: B'Elanna, Voyager
Classification: Angst
Archive: Ask permission, stealing is rude and breaks a law or two. TrekPhile47@hotmail.com
Notes: This is the final story in the Sealaionn series, it answers questions, but if you like hanging off a cliff don't read this!
I also had to make a choice: messy breakup or makeup? I think B'Elanna has been through enough, nothing too angry. (Construe it as you will.)
***
What is your substance, whereof are you made
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
...
In all external grace you have some part,
but you, like none, none you, for constant heart.
William Shakespeare
*
"B'Elanna, you know that even though this is your last official session, you can come back any time if you want to talk further," the Doctor said as B'Elanna Torres was leaving Sickbay.
Nine therapy sessions behind her, nine grueling agonizing sessions, and eighteen hours of her life she would have rather spent doing something else. Anything else besides sorting through the muck of three weeks time. The less she thought of Kulkinara-Amet, the better. Never again was too soon.
She was home free. She didn't have to go to therapy anymore. That thought was enough to make her skip out of Sickbay, but seeing that, the Doctor would have yanked her back in for a head check.
"Thank you for the offer," she said obscurely and slid out of Sickbay before Doctor could wedge himself farther into B'Elanna's personal life.
Her day, despite being spent lazily, caught up to her and a yawn popped her jaw. She made her way to her quarters where Tom would no doubt be, sawing logs before he had to go on duty again.
As she traveled down the graphite-gray halls of Voyager, she caught a few sympathetic glances from the other crewmembers that were traveling. At least they didn't pat her on the arm or tell them how sorry they were. They were sorry? God, if she heard that phrase uttered one more time, she would kill someone. It wasn't as if she was totally incapacitated and out of her gourd.
The memories were already beginning to start to fade into the recesses of her mind like scars on the skin. (Minded that like memories, scars are basically permanent.) She could go entire hours without feeling Kul's touch, without hearing Tamrak's mind. She wasn't hallucinating now that she was weaning off the medication the doctor had given her to suppress their effects on her; she was only unlucky every other six hours. She would see the room where she was defiled in, she could smell the death in the air, she could hear the moaning cries in her ears---they were her own.
But, even though the Doctor was telling her that she was doing well, B'Elanna could see it for herself. She was returning to normal weight and color, and her eyes didn't look dead, they began to grow more lustrous by the day. She could stomach most of the food that she put into her stomach (though with Neelix's food, it was good anyone could stomach it); and she could sleep an entire night without waking in a sea of her sweat.
Captain Janeway had promised that in another week, she could go back to her normal duties in Engineering.
B'Elanna heaved an unconscious sigh as she got into the turbolift. She couldn't wait to have her work occupying 95% of her conscious brain again. Even when she stopped to visit Engineering during her time off, Joe looked at her forlornly, ready to relinquish Chief Engineer and get his own much-needed sleep.
She entered her darkened quarters and the stillness was and unwelcome surprise. Even when Tom was sleeping, he sounded like he had a small animal caught in his throat.
"Tom," she whispered as she moved over to her bed. There were no Paris-shaped lumps occupying the space on her bed. "Computer: lights half-illumination."
The soft ambient glow cast serrated shadows along her floor, picking up object's silhouettes and running to hide in darkened corners of the room. B'Elanna made her way around to her shower and grunted in pain as she ran into the coffee table, which had been moved and turned into a footrest to accommodate Tom's legs as he sat up drinking coffee as he watched her sleep. Both their clothes lay strewn on the floor and Tom's odds and ends had floated from his quarters to hers.
She would have been lying if she said she appreciated all his crap floating around her room. Though she loved the way he was, she hated the way he lived. If anything fell to the floor, he didn't give a damn until it hindered his way from the bed to the bathroom. So, while being Doc's Medical Malady of the Month, she was also (though not officially named so) Tom's Cleaning Lady.
She really wanted to go to sleep, but she couldn't knowing that all the debris on the floor could kill her if she had to get to the bathroom to vomit up her dinner.
Oh well; it was blood on Tom's hands, she was too exhausted to go looking for him. If he wanted somewhere to roost tonight, her door was open...as usual. ...Of course, she wouldn't deny him access, either. She pulled an oversized undershirt over her and slipped between the coolness of Starfleet bedgear. She hoped that she didn't dream.
***
Tom came in about two hours later, and it was the light from the hall that made her rouse from her sleep. She kept her eyes closed so that Tom wouldn't feel obligated to talk to her. She listened as he rummaged around to get to her bathroom and his sharply cut curse as he barked his shins on the coffee table. Even half asleep, she chuckled, "You moved it."
"Ha, ha," he retorted sarcastically and stripped off his boots and socks. He placed a small kiss on her cheek as he passed her. A compulsory action, she noted.
"We have to clean up this mess," she groaned as she sat up to watch him.
"Let's jump off that bridge when we come to it," he said, unzipping his jacket, taking off his two undershirts and letting his pants join them. He pulled on his ratty old purple shirt as he made off to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.
The clothes didn't trip him up.
"Where were you," she asked quietly, listening to the water running.
"Busting up the Camaro," he muffled around the toothbrush lolling out of his mouth. He began to scrub as she watched so he didn't have to explain himself more thoroughly.
"At 3:30 in the morning," she gruffled and lay back down into the extra-firm pillows. She didn't get any answer back.
Tom came back over to the bed smelling of soap and minty toothpaste. The water still clung to his red-blond stubble that was carpeting his face and he had a deep cobalt-colored water stain on his shirt. He slid between the sheets and settled his body into a comfortable position that he could easily catch a few hours of sleep with. As his arm grazed B'Elanna's shoulder, the icy coldness of his skin made gooseflesh rise on her. In automated response, B'Elanna half-wrapped herself around his body with her warmth.
At first, he shied away from her touch, but he finally gave in and pulled her into his arms, whispering nothings into her hair.
Is sounded strangely like he was trying to protect her.
***
The coldness came rushing back through her body four hours later, which prompted her to half-awaken. She shivered and huddled herself closer to Tom, instead, she snuggled wrinkled and sleep-warm blankets.
"Tom," she whispered though the sleep in her throat.
"Here," he replied as soft as goosedown. In the dark, B'Elanna could barely make out his form, the only thing that gave it away was the light of the passing stars, which lit his face like lighting on a hot summer night does. It was entertaining to watch; it held the same captivation of a space-borne tempest. "Did you have another nightmare?"
"No, I got cold," she said, rubbing intolerant sleep from her eyes. She padded over to him and sat at his feet on the carpet, like a disciple sitting in front of a guru pregnant with knowledge. "On the contrary, you seem to be the one who is upset. ...What's wrong?"
"I was just watching you sleep," he noted, still hushed in the night's frozen breath. "And I was just...thinking."
"A dangerous pastime," she teased gently. Tom's eyes flicked to hers and then out to the starscape. Night and day were trapped in his eyes as the blackness of space and the whiteness of stars mirrored against the cerulean sky of his irises. B'Elanna's breath caught in her throat as she realized how beautiful his eyes were in this way. She wanted to reach out to him, to make his eyes gaze into hers, to feel his body in hers again. It ached her right down to the blood that ran through her veins.
"Was it me," he whispered into the stillness.
B'Elanna wasn't even sure that she'd heard him, his voice was so weak. Then, realization came into her and made her stomach harden around her dinner. She couldn't have sworn that Tom hadn't taken it this way, he'd only kissed away her tears, made her feel safe around him again; he'd just soothed her and whispered, "Don't worry, I understand."
Obviously, he didn't.
She didn't know what to say; her tongue became lead in the cotton of her mouth. When she'd first told him, she had a litany of things to say, but after two weeks of not having to resource them, they'd slipped free from the clutches of Memory.
"Is it me?"
"How can you think that what I did was because of you?"
"Call me paranoid," he sighed, his eyes finally wafting back to hers, "but there are reasons why people cheat on their lovers."
Her body began screaming at her mind on the exact reasons why she shouldn't get caught in this conversation with him. Because it's late. Because you're tired. Because you just finished therapy. Because this isn't the time.
Because the truth could make you lose him forever.
She could hear the shouting match coming; it was so predictable that she knew the end of the argument before it began. She hated predictability; she loved the thrill of finding things of disarray, she worshipped the chaos in a personality. She didn't want to be another statistical statement of Vulcan logic.
"I'm afraid," she whispered in truth, clutching her knees to her chest. "Don't hurt me, please."
"Me hurt you?" the words sounded softer still, soft and wet like a chick from the egg. It wasn't harsh, if that's what he'd intended it to be, it was questioning. "I have a feeling I couldn't hurt you no matter what I did."
On the other hand, she had all of his romantic emotions in her fist and at any time she could squeeze and make them run everywhere like a broken egg.
It was such a low blow to herself that she nearly doubled over with nausea.
"But I can hurt..." she whispered into the fabric of her shirt.
"Damn, can you hurt me," he smiled with no humor at all. His features were ripped apart as he threatened a sob, then finally managed to speak; "I don't know what to say B'Elanna. I don't even know if it was right of me to even say anything, because it just happened to pop out. I don't know if you want me to forgive you or to scream at you."
"I would like forgiveness, but I would understand you yelling at me," B'Elanna whimpered, holding her head. "Either one; though you're more entitled to screaming at me."
"You've been through enough," he said.
"Don't pity me," she noted with no emotion. "I had hoped that this could all just fade away and forget that it ever happened."
"And what would suppressing them gain you? Five years down the road, would you dump me becuse of Kulkinara-Amet?"
Nothing she could have said would have come out right, so she remained silent.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "She was a snake, Tom. A goddamned, mother fucking snake."
There was actual mirth in his eyes, "How's that?"
"She had a way of...twisting everything to make you want her perspective. She made things look clearer through her lens, no matter how muddy the water," B'Elanna placed her hands on Tom's bare knees, and the muscles jumped beneath her touch in their familiar way....
"What could she say to you that I couldn't," there was no way to mask the hurt she'd wounded in him, so he didn't bother trying.
"She told me what perhaps I needed to hear." She couldn't look at the shock that Tom wore like an ill-fitting mask, so she didn't, she let her eyes soak into the night. How many quarreling lovers looked up from their homes and into these stars? Did they solve their problems or travel their own separate ways?
B'Elanna knew that this was going to be a trial that would tell each of them how they stood, where they were on the pecking order of things.
So who wears the pips in your---
"You're not making any sense," Tom said finally.
Right: Tom needs black and white here; he doesn't need muted gray. "She said chaotic things that made complete comprehensible sense. ...She appealed to my feminine side."
"I do that all the time and all it gets me is a busted lip," he scowled. B'Elanna recognized his flippancy as self-defense. She was starting to rub salt in all the open wounds. She'd try to get better aim next time and hit a place that salt didn't hurt so much.
She didn't know where that was in Tom; he was covered from head to toe in ancient wounds that wouldn't heal right until he had the opportunity to talk to people. Namely, the Admiral Owen Paris of the fascist regime that seemed to be stacking up against Tom.
If Tamrak were right, that was one cut that would never get to be healed.
"I'm not sure how to explain it to you." Weak: totally out of character for her. Maybe she should get out the Klingon pain sticks and they could settle this in normal fashion.
He didn't dignify her weakness with a response.
"'There are things a man can never give,'" she recited from accursed memory.
His blue eyes turned dark as he stared down at her.
"Kul said that to me," she offered. "'Men weren't built for intimacy, they were built for their bodies.'"
"Why are you saying that," he asked, looking ready to clamp his hands over his ears.
"Because it is exactly what Kul said to me," she replied to him. She realized where this course was taking her and decided an alternate route. "Women and men have traveled together in their herds since the dawn of time, only pairing off seemingly to mate. ...Women are more likely in tuned with women, and men relate to men a lot more."
He nodded, understanding where she was gently leading him.
"But in your heart, you know that your sex is off limits because it has been tabooed for such a long time," she said. "And yet, it doesn't stop people; they do it anyway. It may be because they truly can identify with their own sex better, or just because they are curious or afraid."
"Which category do you fall under, then," almost afraid of her response.
"Curious, I suppose. ...Kul promised me a gentleness that she swore that you could never give," B'Elanna whispered. She wanted to touch him, to make sure that he hadn't frozen in time to just ice away all the pain that she was creating for him.
"And?"
Oh, God, not that question. She didn't want to have to tell him how it felt; he would misinterpret it in so many wrong ways. This was the parallel universe of all explanations; sure there are a lot that look good, but none of them are the ones that is the wanted one, and anything less that what is expected is total sensory overload.
"I..."
"And," his voice was more firm.
"She was right, in a way. The illicit feelings were nothing to shake your finger at, but she was dead wrong about the gentleness," B'Elanna said, her hand grazing his arm. His skin prickled and he looked down at it, shocked for making him seem human.
"And the other two reasons," he pressed.
If this were any other time, she probably would have laughed; it would have been short, harsh and bitter, but she would have laughed. "Hardly the type," were the words she was pretty sure she'd said to him through the mist in her brain.
"And the fear of it," he asked, his eyes catching the light and threatening to run away with it. "Did you do it because you were afraid of her.
He'd misconstrued the fear part, but she could kill two birds with one stone as long as they were hunting.... "I feared what she would do to me if I didn't, I was afraid of myself for letting her do it and...I was afraid of you."
"Of me?" Shocked didn't come more pure out of a hypospray.
"Of loosing you," she finished better for him. "And I was afraid that she was right when she said that women were better then men. I had to know the truth."
"So we've circumnavigated ourselves back to truth," he said with a tone that meant he was impressed with her piloting skills. He wasn't the only one who could fly... "So, now, what is the truth, B'Elanna? We've gone this far, let's go to the end of the cliff."
Jumping off was the unspoken part.
Her lips trembled, "I'd by lying to you if I said I didn't like it. ...But I'd also be lying if I told you that I would do it again."
"There's no substitution adequate enough to fool you that it's the real thing." For the first time, B'Elanna understood how truly he worked when he was on a roll of flippancy: he felt nothing, but did it for bravado. Of course, this was opposite from the way he worked, but her whole life had turned upside down, so why not have things come join it and be right side up?
B'Elanna raised herself up and met his lips. Despite herself, they were so hot against his coolness, and she hoped that would be enough to melt him.
"Don't pity me," he said, using her tone to let her know it was she in his voice.
"You think this is pity," she retorted, taking his mouth so he wouldn't answer her right away. "Do you want this to be a pity fuck?"
He groaned against her mouth, not sure whether or not he wanted her to have control or not.
Gentle, hell. Men were as gentle as lambs as long as they had control. It wasn't being gentle that Kul should have been talking about, it was the control.
Kul: what a joke. She probably did sit around and look pretty, a geisha in every sense of the word. She was always told who was in control and as soon as she realized what she was, she was pissed. She should have called Janeway back to thank her, and not to kill her.
Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor, or in this case, your master and john.
Kul wanted love from B'Elanna. She was so miffed about love when it came to her and Caretaker; she wanted love Caretaker that she'd lie to him (saying that he did indeed love her, when as they both knew he didn't) to get power and comfort that she'd so desperately needed.
Stand on your own two feet. Better yet, get on your knees, pucker up and kiss my a---
"This is not pity, B'Elanna," Tom intoned as his lips grew more persistent at her body, wishing with their touch that he had petite Kul hands to get into the spaces that B'Elanna had closed until she had them in working order again. "Only if I didn't know you would this be pity."
Tom was right: there was no substitution that could fool you it was the real thing.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said. "I wanted to die with you."
"You saved me," she whispered into his ear. "When I thought it was all over, you were the one who told me not to fall to my knees in the last prayer."
Tom regarded her silently, and B'Elanna continued kissing him, staining his skin with red blotches of her sharp teeth. They needed this, talking could only go so far, then it was body language that led one home. "I'll always love you."
"I know," she nodded, remembering the rope at her neck, now Tom's arms holding her to his body.
"No substitutions," he asked gently as he kissed her.
"Never again," she promised.
"I could never hurt you," he whispered to her through the haze of their emotion, "but you sure as hell could hurt me."
She handed him the egg of his emotions, "Don't let me hurt you. Ever."
"I don't know," he said matter-of-factly with a smile twinged in his lips, "I kind of like the making up part after something like this."
Her smile electrocuted him and left a mark on his skin, "Beats the hell out of the doctor's therapy."
"Don't ever die again," he ordered as he lay next to her. "I couldn't loose you again."
"You'll never lose me, Tom," she kissed the place where the tears started to flow. She gently touched the place where his heart lay, beating serenely to a musical symphony unheard; "I am here."
End
