July 14, 2386

Starbase 47

"Commander!" Lt. Baytard announced loudly from his station at Ops.

"What is it, Pablo?" Aaron asked, moving across the space to his console, where his attention was riveted.

"That alarm again, Sir," Baytard explained, pressing panel after panel as he scrolled through the security footage, which was tripping the sensors.

"Intruder alerts…with nothing visual on the monitors, and no data in the sensors," Aaron muttered, stating the problem out loud that had been confounding them for the better part of the shift.

"Sir, I'm detecting elevated tachyons on Level Three," Ensign Palmetto called from the science console.

Aaron sucked in his breath, dreading what that could mean. "Ensign, are you using the modifications to the scanner uploaded by Commander Kim?" he asked crisply.

"Aye, Sir," she replied. "They passed diagnostics and went online at the beginning of the shift. It's in my report, Sir."

"I'm sure it is, Ensign," he said amicably, teasing her despite his gnawing worry.

"Pablo," Aaron called across the room. "The first alarm…that was Level Three, wasn't it?"

"Aye, Sir," Baytard replied. He was somber.

"Let's have a look-see, shall we?" Aaron said aloud. He tapped his combadge. "Security, this is Commander Michaels. We need a detail on Level Three. I'll meet you there."

Aaron took off at a brisk gait. "Call Commander Kim to Ops, Pablo," he instructed. "He was getting some shut eye, but he needs to see whatever this is."

XXX

By the time Aaron arrived at Level Three, he knew something was seriously wrong. Every alarm he passed was flashing and the computer, at regularly timed intervals, chimed the intruder alert. He unholstered his phaser and advanced slowly toward the security contingent, who were slowly sweeping from west to east.

"The control room, Sir," Ensign Gingris, a member of the security team, whispered as Aaron approached her. Gingris had her tricorder out and scanned. "Strange readings…full of interference. Tachyons off the scale, Sir."

"Spread out, Ensign. I've got this," Aaron told her, waiting until she moved to the adjacent corridor before he moved. He kept his weapon poised.

After the rest of the security detail had fanned out to cover the entire area, he advanced toward the control room. He held the tricorder out in front of him, watching the readings fluctuate. The tachyon particles were off the scale, just as Gingris had noted. He saw the patterns of interference she had mentioned as well, realizing the wave pattern was vaguely familiar. It reminded him of the graviton waves they had detected, the ones that had caused the spatial distortions before the explosion.

Just outside the door to the control room, he got the eerie sensation that he was not alone. He cleared the door, spinning quickly, to see a blurry white figure reaching into the control panel on the wall, the panel readout blinking erratically during the meddling. He found he couldn't focus on the figure. It seemed to freeze then advance in time, like he was watching a recording being started and stopped over and over. He called out, hearing his voice reverberate and coil back onto itself until the words became unintelligible. He tapped his badge, but it didn't register. He called out just in case, but got no answer, just the sound of his first word overlapping and echoing.

The sounds of his speech did disturb the entity, however. Without looking back, one arm reached backward from inside the panel. From the edge of the entity's fingers a white beam of energy shot out, blasting through the air, knocking Aaron to the ground.

He screamed at the pain, every nerve in his body burning as if a bomb had exploded inside his chest. The scream died as he felt he could no longer make any sound. His throat, his very breath, blazed in agonizing fire. He started choking, tasting the metallic tin of blood, and the bitterness of charcoal, like burnt flesh. It took every ounce of strength he had left to reach up and touch his chest. His hand fell away, as the horror took hold. His uniform had fused to the giant, charred hole in his chest. His vision darkened, as he felt the cold realization that he was going to die. His last thought as he lost consciousness was of trying to shield this from T'Lassa. The unbearable pain would only be made worse by his unintentional infliction of it on her.

XXX

T'Lassa dropped the hypospray, heard the echo as it clattered when it hit the floor as if she were listening through a tunnel. Inside her chest, her lungs suddenly burned, each breath more agonizing to take than the next, with the sensation that she was breathing fire instead of air. Instinctively, she clutched at her uniform, with an odd sensation that it was fusing to her skin, only to feel it was fine. Her breathing became panicked, no air reaching her lungs, like she was smothering or drowning. She staggered backward, and the nurse caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. "Doctor, what's wrong?" she asked in concern.

When she tried to speak, her throat burned as if she had swallowed acid. She felt the edges of her vision start to darken, as if she were losing consciousness, even as her rational mind knew nothing was happening to her. Her logic took over, letting her know, if she was all right, that these sensations meant only one thing. Aaron was not. It was the last thread of logic, and it snapped.

Aaron! she called out in her mind, frantic, not able to sense the flutter of his thoughts. She sensed an all encompassing effort in his mind, with no answer able to be transmitted. With every ounce of strength she had, she tried to fortify him, so he could answer her inside their psychic bond. Aaron, she called again, straining, as she would have shaken him.

Las, she finally heard, weak and raspy, and her mind filled with images so quickly she couldn't sort them-- a white blurry figure, the broken panel, a shot of energy, a blast of white hot energy coming at him, blowing through his body…all floating in a sea of physical pain that was slowly drowning him. Her brain processed it all instantly, although not all of it made sense. But, she knew one thing, only one, with absolute clarity. He was dying.

Her blood turned to ice as the black hole opened inside her, sucking everything away, except fear. She felt insubstantial, ephemeral, falling into a bottomless pit...in the darkest shadows in her mind...

What had actually transpired became unimportant, as she sensed how close to death he was. Wherever he was on the station, she wouldn't reach him in time. No one could. A sense of impending, permanent loss threatened to crush the breath from her, but she knew, in his last few moments of life, that he didn't need her grief. He needed her strength. She steeled herself, swallowed her fear. It was coming, she knew, quickly. Only seconds were left.

I'm so sorry, he thought, and she was knocked breathless by an unbearable wave of sadness. He wasn't afraid to die. The only fear left was that she would have to endure his pain, being connected to him, and that he was leaving her alone, inflicting the same pain upon her again that had crippled her so before. The sadness, the unbearable anguish that forced tears from her eyes and down her cheeks as her nurses looked on helplessly, was, she also somehow understood, a human phenomenon, his life flashing before his eyes.

Only he wasn't an old man, with decades of memories to scroll by. He was a man in his prime, so instead, what streamed across her mind was instead a fictional play, scenes of things he had never done, dreams he had never fulfilled, wishes left unanswered. She saw children, dark haired with her elfin ears, standing in Golden Gate Park in the sunshine, hiking up a mountain under a canopy of pine, standing on the fire plains on Vulcan, walking up the steps of Mt. Selaya, strolling along a pristine beach, at his side a gray haired woman touching the first two fingers of his hand. A thousand things he would never see, a million places he would never go...all the people he would never know, who would never exist, because he would be gone.

She felt him slip farther from her, the visions slowly fading, and she fought again to pull him back, all the while hating that she was prolonging his suffering, asking him to stay like this, fighting a battle that could not be won. The pain crippled her, his despair pulling her down into the dark that had begun to swallow him.

All she could do, instead, was open up her mind and let her feelings for him radiate outward, the only elixir she could offer for his pain. She wanted him to feel her love, the very last thing, as he faded from this life. Faintly, like a whisper she had to strain to hear, she heard him again. I know, T'hy'la. You gave my life back to me. Made it worth living again. However short a time.

And then he was gone.

The psychic bond was severed, and the recoil shot through her brain like a taut spring. She screamed, convulsed, her eyes rolling back into her head. She could no longer feel the hands of the two nurses who were lifting her onto the biobed. Her consciousness began to fade, and she reached for it instead of fighting, anything to ease the pain. She briefly came awake as she felt her body being shaken by the shoulders, her name being shouted into her face.

Dr. Conlin's face swam in her field of vision. "Aaron," was all she could say, her throat burning like each word was sandpaper. Aaron was dead. The grief she had held back before, to protect him, came at her like a tsunami, carrying with it all the casualties and wreckage of her life, shredding her into a thousand pieces, and she surrendered to the welcoming blackness that offered her reprieve.

July 17, 2386

Starbase 47

Tom had gotten the news from Dr. Conlin while he was still on Earth. The three day journey had acted as a buffer for his unbearable grief. Now he was numb. It was too much loss in too short a period of time. He needed to be numb, or his sanity would very well be forfeit. Aaron was dead. T'Lassa was dying. The first place he went after his shuttle docked was the Infirmary.

Dr. Conlin stood next to the biobed, more exhausted than Tom could remember seeing him. On the bed before him was T'Lassa, unconscious and pale, as still as death. "She's in a coma. Or, to be more precise, a Vulcan healing trance. There's nothing else I can do for her. She decides if she lives or dies. Each is equally possible now."

"What happened to her?" the sound of his own voice startled him, after so many hours of his only words inside his head.

Dr. Conlin was trained as a medical professional, to deliver bad news. He did it all the time. He had done it so many times in the last few months that they all blended together in one long stream of misery. But his eyes filled with tears as he spoke, both because the news was personally devastating to him, and also because the man standing in front of him had been pushed far beyond his breaking point already. There was no complete explanation without more tragic news.

"Commander Michaels is dead, sir." The doctor watched Tom's face, already ashy smudges under his blood shot eyes, go slack with shock. In any other circumstances, he would have crumpled. But now, knee deep in casualties, and the loss of everything he loved, he was numb. He just couldn't process any more grief.

"Commander Kim notified me, Doctor," Tom said stiffly. "What about her?" he asked, each word heavy, as if it had taken all his energy to speak them.

Conlin took a deep breath, hating what he had to divulge. "She was in direct telepathic communication with Aaron when he died. It caused severe trauma and damage to her neural pathways."

"Why would she allow that to happen?" he asked, not expecting Conlin to answer.

The pain in Conlin's voice cut Tom to his very soul. "The energy discharge blew a hole in his chest, and, from what I could tell, set his lungs on fire." Tom closed his eyes, looking away as sickness rose up from his insides. Conlin's voice shook as he continued. "He didn't die right away. She--" he steeled himself as his voice roughened with emotion, "she was….trying to help him, ease his pain while he was dying." Tom's eyes filled with tears. "It's just about the bravest thing I think I've ever seen."

Tom found his voice after a great struggle. Bravery, perhaps. But he also knew the plainest of truths. "She loved him."

Conlin seemed to just stare at him, his eyes agog. "Wait a minute." He grabbed Tom's arm, pinched it hard. "A mating bond?" he asked sharply. Tom backed away, uncertain of his sudden fervor. "They were mated?"

"Yes," he finally stammered. "How did you not know that? I thought everyone on the station knew that. What does that matter?"

"Damn it, T'Lassa, why didn't you tell me?" he swore at her unconscious form, working furiously at the controls of her biobed.

"Doctor, what's going on?" Tom demanded.

"It's too late, damn it!" He yelled as if Tom hadn't said a word. "Why? For God's sake, why?" he yelled at her again, anger contorting his features. He slammed his hand hard against the diagnostic console surface.

"Doctor, report!" Tom nearly screamed, to get Conlin to focus.

"If she was bonded to him, the link was severed when he died. For Vulcan physiology, it's one of the most difficult strains on the neural systems. It can be fatal."

"That had to have happened to her before," he whispered.

Conlin sighed, knowing the facts of her husband's death, as they had been colleagues for many years. "He was hundreds of light years away in Cardassian space when he died."

"Are you telling me she's going to die?" Tom asked, aghast.

"It's only a matter of time," he said dolefully.

"Damn it, Doctor! This is crazy! Are you trying to tell me that all these mated Vulcans are just dropping like lovebirds when their mate dies? It's insane!" he yelled, louder than he had anticipated.

"Tom, it's because he was human." Conlin watched as Tom's breathing stilled, and continued in a coldly clinical way. "Vulcans have enough direct control over the mental faculties to retract from the bond when they sense the other is dying. Mated to other non-telepathic species, the bond is sort of double reinforced, in their brains only. She was already weak from offering her support. When he died it overloaded her neural pathway. If I had known...she should have told me. I may have been able to prevent this. My God…." He pressed his hand over his mouth hard, the full force of the loss nearly overwhelming him.

"If Aaron had known this could have happened, he wouldn't have let her do it," Tom attested.

"He may not have been strong enough to stop her, at the end," Conlin added sadly.

His face set firm and determined, Tom repeated, "He would never have let her do this if he had known it could kill her."

Conlin nodded, conceding to the point. "But she knew, and she didn't tell him. Which leads me to believe that she didn't want anyone to intervene."

"Some kind of death wish, Doctor?"

"Not like what you're suggesting. More like determination. Or stubbornness. She knew if she died, nothing would have happened to him, other than his knowledge of her death. She was protecting herself from ever having to live without him," Conlin concluded.

Tears welled in Tom's eyes at the sentiment. He didn't have any better answer.

"It isn't very logical," Conlin added. "But then again, when is it ever? Love…."

Anger flared, unbidden and uncontrollable, bursting from his insides, intensely directed at her. At her selfishness, her disregard for everyone else who cared about her, not the least of which was her own child. Her willingness to inflict more pain upon him, even if that had not been her intention or wish. In a stray thought, he felt envious. How easy it would be to just shut down his brain, turn off the pain and the loss...because it was too much.

The sadness and the anger were battling inside him, the sadness finally winning. He sighed, touched her cold forehead. He thought of her soon to be orphaned daughter, his heart breaking. "You need to call T'Mira down here. While there's still time."

July 18, 2386

Starbase 47

Conlin's face was grim as he handed Tom the padd. "There's something I thought I should tell you. I had to record it in my logs, as proper procedure. I didn't want you to read it and….find out that way."

"What?" he asked, feeling himself wind up for more bad news. Confusion and alarm contorted his visage.

"She was pregnant, Tom."

One more drop of sadness in a sea of sorrow. He sat, hung his head into his hands. "I don't know if Aaron knew," the doctor said softly. "I don't even know if she knew. She wasn't that far along."

More tragedy, but he hated the condemnation. "Did you know that Aaron tried to kill himself a few years ago?"

"No," he said with disbelief.

"He suffered from alcoholism, post traumatic stress disorder, depression and anxiety." He watched as the disbelief broadened.

"How--"

"She stopped him. By herself." He looked up, spoke directly to Conlin. "I don't know what she said to him. Or why that same argument made sense then, to him, but not to her, now."

"It was a waste. She died for nothing," Conlin said angrily.

"Not nothing," Tom said with conviction. "I think it makes sense, though. It was always about him. One way or the other."

July 20, 2386

Starbase 47

Tom Paris stood in the mostly empty storage area, staring at the torpedo casing positioned in the middle of the room. How many times had he been here like this? Over 20 times on Voyager, a handful of times before that. So many within the last six months he had lost count, a fact that saddened him more than he'd thought possible. Each one had been someone he knew, worked with, even desperately cared for. Now, just a haze that clouded his thoughts.

This time, however, was the last of what had been holding him together. Aaron and T'Lassa, his close friends. Now also gone, leaving him more utterly alone than he ever remembered feeling. He felt worse than empty, drained, like all his seams had come apart, leaving nothing inside. There was a giant hole in him; he insanely felt like the breeze could blow straight through him.

Strangely, he found that same song playing in his head. Rocket Man. B'Elanna's favorite. Aaron's misunderstanding of it. He wished it didn't make sense to him, but the meaning punctured his soul, especially standing here on the precipice of tremendous loss.

Burning out his fuse up here alone…

Dr. Conlin had been the one, recommending placing them both in the same casket. It was unusual, perhaps, but not unheard of. It had seemed, at last, the logical thing to do. She had, after all, chosen death, rather than continue without him. How fitting then, that their remains would eventually turn to stardust, forever intertwined against the backdrop of space.

He placed his hand against the cold metal, aching. Goodbye, my friend, he thought. Aaron's smile, his indomitable spirit, his companionship, and unwavering support. It had meant so much, more than he had ever said to Aaron, at least in words. It wasn't his way, but still, somewhere, he wished that he had known how important he had been. He willed his thoughts of thanks into his hand, that somehow Aaron would know. It was an irrevocable loss, a waste of the man he had been.

His eyes blurred with tears, as he shifted to the other side. Her body had been placed against him. He could have been angry, or resentful, how her life had been cut short for an even more useless waste. But he wasn't, not anymore.

Out loud, his voice wavering, he whispered to her instead. "It's all right, T'Lassa. He didin't want to live without you either." If anyone could understand, it was him.