Kathryn Janeway lay stretched out on her couch, a novel in hand and mug of
coffee within reach. The book was based on a normal everyday man in the
twentieth century, who had walked in on a governments assassination
attempt. Knowing the truth about the attempted murder, he ended up on a
run for his life. His government wasn't being held back by country borders
in order to snuff out his life and they also weren't stopping at trying to
kill him exclusively, drawing his ex-wife and adopted child into a race
against survival. It was a good novel, enticing story line filled with
conspiracy, romance, and twists. This was the first time she had been able
to sit still long enough in two weeks to actually pick it up. The problem
now was that she was unable to get past the paragraph she had started to
continue her read from.
Even during her time off she couldn't get Tom Paris out of her head. The man was…infuriating! He just appeared on her ship after leaving with no reason, though Janeway suspected there must have been one. And after two weeks he still hadn't come to talk to her about his status on the ship, not requesting anything like a switch of duties, a request to fly the ship even if only for one night shift. He hadn't come to talk to her about a thing, and that bugged the hell out of her.
She'd finally given in to her annoyance and called him to her office that morning in high hopes to talk. Talk about what? Anything. She wanted to see how he was doing back on the ship. What he'd been up to the last year. If he was planning to stay with Voyager… she'd crossed her fingers at that. Admitting to herself that she had treated him poorly upon his arrival on Voyager had been a difficult thing to do, but she couldn't go back in time and change things so she didn't bother to linger on those hopes. Instead she chose to wallow in guilt and to make amends for her actions. This morning hadn't been that successful.
Tom had come to her office as requested. He still refused to take a seat when offered, preferring to remain standing, his guard always up. What had happened to make him so wary of her and everyone else on board this ship? He hadn't been like that since the first two years on Voyager. God, she let her novel drop onto her uniform clad stomach. It had taken him two years to properly warm up to the people onboard Voyager. Certainly, for two of those years he involved himself in everybody's business, had friends and aquaintances, but it took two years before he seemed to really accept everyone. Now he was back in that state, and she didn't know how to help him. She had pushed him away when he arrived back, and it didn't look like he was going to come back without a fight. It was always a fight with Tom Paris.
If she only knew how true those thoughts were.
"Lieutenant Kim to Captain Janeway."
"Go ahead." Acknowledging the voice over the comm system she stood and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her uniform; it looked like her break was over.
"We've picked up an energy disturbance twenty lightyears aheadahead. It matches the signature of the anomaly we ran across last year, the one that jumped us ahead four years travel."
"I'm on my way." She left her now cold coffee where it was, forgotten, and headed toward the bridge.
((/\))
"Paris! Where the hell are you going? We haven't had our 'talk' yet." Neelix picked up his pace down the corridor, heading towards the source of the angry voice. He knew it was Burkenson, he'd been watching the man for the last week as he followed Tom out of the messhall every time the pilot's shift was over. He had no doubt that it had been happening the week before as well, but Neelix hadn't been looking out for it until he'd noticed a hastily covered bruise on Tom's arm a few days ago.
"I've decided we aren't going to have our little 'talks' anymore Burkenson. Back off." The voice, which Neelix easily identified as that of Tom Paris, was threatening. Neelix was almost running now.
"You don't get to decide that, Crewmen." Burkeson sneered and Neelix finally rounded the corridor to see three men standing at the other end of the corridor. Two of them were obviously tensed to fight. Tom stood glaring at them both. Burkenson decided that that was all the disobedience he would take from Voyager's messhall assistant, and he swung his fist back with surprising speed for his build, and let it fly towards Tom.
Tom threw his right arm out at the same moment Burkenson attacked, and caught the flying fist easily. He snapped it back, causing the ensign to fall to his knees, crying out in pain. Neelix bit back his shock, as he watched the scene unwind.
"What is going on here!" he bellowed, startling himself with the anger in his voice. Tom instantly turned his cold grey eyes towards Neelix in surprise, taking his sight off of Cartel.
((/\))
Tom had had enough of this ritual beating. It had been going on since he came back to Voyager, and he'd allowed it to happen. He figured that if it would help the crew of Voyager get over their anger, their feelings of betrayal, than he would allow it for a while. Besides, no one on this ship, besides Seven and maybe (a small maybe) Tuvok, could pose a threat to him in a fight, so he didn't defend himself. Now however, he'd had enough.
He caught the fist easily, once again reminded of how much stronger he was than his attacker. He snapped the wrist back just to the verge of the breaking point, a very painful angle, and prepared to take Cartel down when a voice, seething with anger and authority cut through Burkenson's cries of pain. The fact that it was Neelix's voice was what caused him to look over at the Talaxian in a moment of surprise. A moment of surprise that he was trained to avoid, but still let get the better of him. Hey, it happened every now and then.
He saw the warning in Neelix's eyes the instant he looked at him, but couldn't defend himself for Cartel's attack. The man's fist came in low, hitting Tom on his left under the ribs. Despite the fact that the punch was weaker than Tom was used to, the pain that spiked throughout his body from the blow sent him instantly to knees. He heard an anguished scream of pain, realizing it was his own as he wrapped his arms around his gut to protect himself. His body was on fire, he fought to breathe, to regain control.
Neelix came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort, not understanding what was happening. Somewhere in Tom's mind he realized that Neelix would be calling for medical help, and he would be placed under intense study from the doctor. Not wanting that, Tom tried to tell his friend that he was fine, just needed a moment to walk it off. Neelix ignored him. As the blue light of the transporter enveloped his body, Tom noticed that Cartel and Burkenson were staring at him in confusion, as security came up to take them to holding.
((/\))
The soft sound of the transporter rang throughout sickbay and the EMH walked briskly towards where it was placing his patient. He was always ready for thousands of emergencies, equipped with the medical knowledge of the Alpha quadrant as well as the Delta Quadrant. So when Tom Paris materialized in a kneeling position on his floor, huddled over his gut, the Doctor knew exactly how to react.
"Tom, I know I'm one to receive praise, but being on your knees is slightly extreme." The blue eyes looked up, filled with pain as the Doctor knelt down beside him and began a bioscan.
"You're right. I'll get up now." The pilot spoke through clenched teeth; the tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow began dripping down his cheek. The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder, not wasting anymore time with currently useless banter.
"You will not get up until I know what's wrong. Tell me."
"Not much to say. I got punched in the gut, it knocked the wind out of me."
"And thus sending you cowering to the ground in a quivering heap of flesh. What happened Mr. Paris?" The Doctor was very serious about his question, frowning slightly when his scans weren't picking up any medical problems. He paused at Tom's left gut; the pilot's hand was protectively covering it. Hmm. "You can stand now?"
"Yes." Tom slowly climbed to his feet, obviously fighting back a few tears from the pain. There was no fooling this EMH.
"Good. Make your way to that biobed" he gestured to the one right beside them and then adjusted the focus of his medical scanner. When Tom was sitting on the bed's stiff cushions he turned back to face him. "Remove your shirt please."
"Doc, this isn't necessary. I just got the wind knocked out of me, nothing more."
"Remove it if you can, or I will cut it off. Either way you will end up shirtless within the next few moments." The EMH glared at his always stubborn patient, masking his concern with annoyance. What is it that Tom was trying to hide from him? When the Shirt, after a few moments of silent grimaces and clenched teeth (he would have to sdo some dental work later), was removed the EMH immediately began a much more detailed scan of the pilot's torso.
Tom had developed his muscles well in the last year, not saying they were undeveloped in the first place though; far from actually. Tom had never had any problems with any physical testing that the EMH had performed countless times over the last seven years. He was quite possibly the fittest being on the ship before he left, and right now that wasn't even a question. He could put a gladiator to shame. Doc was just as impressed now as he had been when Tom had first come to see him several weeks before.
Doc focused his scan on Tom's left side where there was slight inflammation due to the fist that had obviously collided with him. Then he saw it, and frowned. He re-checked his readings, twice, before focusing his black eyes in confusion on Tom. One look into that pale face and he knew that Tom was going to pretend he didn't know anything about it, which obviously wasn't the case. It was impossible for someone not to notice this.
The doors leading to the corridor slid silently open, interrupting his thoughts and Seven of Nine, clad in her formfitting grey suit glided in, pausing when she saw them at the biobed. Tom twisted slightly, facing her instead of having her gazing at his side. She focused on the pilot a moment, a slight frown marring her features before she turned to address The Doctor.
"I am sorry for the interruption. I will come back at a later time." She turned and departed through the doors she had walked through mere seconds before. The instant she was gone he re-checked his scans. This was…this! This… was not what should be there!
"Mr. Paris! What the hell is going on here?!" The pilot's eyes took on a questioning, blank look. "No." He countered before the pilot could speak. "I do not want you to pretend to know nothing of this. I know you know about this! This is, it's… sick! What the hell happened to you in this last year? And don't give me any more stories about your 'duties' as one of their officers." Tom looked away, hiding his face from the searching gaze the EMH leveling at him. In fact the EMH was putting forth his menacing you-will-tell-me-the-truth look he had learned since being activated. When Tom turned his head to finally meet his eyes he was tempted to inject the man with a 'series platau Vulcan A laxative' and send him to his quarters, teach him a lesson, because it wasn't Tom that was now looking at him. It was another one of those goddamn masks that the pilot never seemed to take off. Not anymore.
"Can you remove them?" his now stony faced friend asked him. He 'haroomfed' in annoyance.
"It seems that that's all you ever ask me to do! Remove things which have no business being in or on your body in the first place!" The pilot, for once, had no argument or defense to throw at him. That in itself was the admittance that Tom obviously agreed, and didn't want to talk about it. "I'll remove them immediately, but you'll have to lie down as still as possible. The easiest way I can see to get rid of them is by transporting them out of there."
"Just don't take anything else with them." The joke was as humorless as the situation. He glared at the pilot, his technical mind running too fast for his programming, if that was possible. Tom would be the death of him! If it was possible for the EMH's hair, or what he had of it, to turn gray than this man lying in front of him would be the cause of each discolored strand. He focused on the transporting system for a long moment, calculating each mathematical realignment needed for this delicate transport procedure. After another moment of silence he glared at the man who couldn't see him whilst lying down.
"Stay still." No smart remarks were released from his patient. He activated the transporter. No glimmering could be seen on the pilot's body as the modified technology worked to remove the obstacles which had been inside Tom. After a moment though, there was a blue shimmer on the medical tray beside the EMH. He watched the light dissolve from existence and leave in its place on the small silver tray three two inch long, half a millimeter wide, flexible white needles. The EMH glared at them with disgust, as he thought about what they meant. Tom however, was sitting up, all traces of pain removed from his features, he turned his blue eyes to settle on the EMH.
"I suppose this won't remain between us."
"Not unless you can give me a damn good reason." The pilot opened his mouth, Doc cut him off aggressively. "Any excuse to this being a part of your job description will not be noted. Having 'three' of these nerve needles placed inside of any being is considered a form of torture. I don't know what you have been up to this last year Tom Paris, but I will no longer remain silent about my 'theories' on the whole subject. You may return to whatever duties you were up to, I have 'work' to do." Tom's blue eyes stared at him, his face void of emotion. Doc could see the gears working in Tom's head, until finally his patient stood, replaced his shirt and left sickbay without a word.
A good thing he didn't speak either, because the anger the Doctor was feeling at this moment would have been unleashed and he knew now that Tom was not the one he should be directing it at. He walked into his office and slumped tiredly into his cushioned chair. Though his subroutines didn't allow for him to physically become tired, he figured this was exactly how it felt.
He should have put it together before now. He should have known something was seriously wrong with Tom's departure in the first place. Judging by the internal and invisible-to-the-eye external scars his young friend had sustained over this last year, everything the man said he had left for was obviously a lie. Mended bones, burns, internal bleeding, and now those needles. He hadn't ever expected to come across them in his existence, though he had heard about them and how the Cardassians had favored them on the prisoners that were seemingly impossible to break.
Generally the needles are carefully injected into their subject through a syringe. They must be fabricated delicately in a lab, having to be precise size and length in order to work. The custom-made torture device is sensitive to direct forceful pressure, in Tom's case today it was a fist. The pressure rams the finely speared points into nerve tissues, causing the nerves to form a wave of spasms, which affect the entire body. It could make the most seasoned Klingon warrior cry. And on top of the physical trauma those minuscule needles caused, there was also a hefty dose of psychological trauma, which is normal for all methods of torture. The direct use of pain is the bridge between the body and mind. It's very convincing to any victim.
"Doctor to Captain Janeway." He resignedly contacted her.
"Go ahead."
"Could you please contact me through the private medical channel." He heard her pause a moment, obviously knowing about Paris's attack and putting two and two together.
"Give me a moment Doctor." He turned on his viewscreen and waited for her to open the channel. He knew that at this moment he was breaching a trust he had forged with Tom, but he could no longer remain silent. The past year had taken a serious new outlook, and he needed to confer with the Captain in order to begin to understand what was going on. Whether Tom wanted it or not.
((/\))
"Thomas. It's nice to see you."
"Thank you sir." He gazed up at the tall man with graying hair. He wouldn't have recognized him as his father if he hadn't been wearing the insignia stating his rank as an admiral. Thomas doubted there would be many admirals currently on DS9 to meet him, so when this man approached him, he knew it was Admiral Owen Paris, his father.
He looked different from what Tom remembered. His face had more lines, he had less hair and a larger gut. Of course, Thomas could be wrong in his evaluation, seeing as he didn't remember much of his family. Now, standing at attention in front of his father, he felt no connection to the man personally. He had hoped it would be…different than this. Thomas could admit to himself that he had wanted to feel, what was it? Love? Affection? Some sort of emotion that would give him the personal satisfaction that this was his family? Yes, that was exactly what he had hoped, dreamed for, all these years. Open arms, a large smile full of acceptance and love. Instead he waited stiffly, as if he were just another recruit, while his 'father' appraised his appearance, assessing him like everyone else he had ever met. Thomas made sure his disappointment didn't show.
He needed a way to quench the disappointment. He knew that as far as first impressions went this was probably one of the best responses he would get from his father. No wonder the man had sent him to his 'private school.' It was actually more like a private hell. Oh, the admiral was talking again.
"You look good boy. All that training seems to be giving you a strong back. Not even my best students stand at attention so well." Thomas decided that that was probably meant as a compliment, thus he should answer appropriately.
"Thank you sir."
"Good. Our ship leaves in ten minutes. Follow me." The admiral walked past Thomas, and he was forced to turn quickly and catch up with the man's long strides. Unfortunately he hadn't seemed to hit his growth spurt yet, but he was hoping it would come soon. Being one of the shortest soldiers back at the base was not a picnic, as the saying went. It hadn't taken Thomas that long though to set up his position within the pecking order there. When Terc'Al, one of the largest Klingons on the base, had attacked him three years before, he'd knocked the guy flat effortlessly.
After that nobody really bothered him, with exception to the large supply of insults constantly directed his way. It seems they all thought he was there for the sole reason of being the son of an admiral. Personally he'd rather not be there at all, but voicing that opinion would mean that he wasn't truly dedicated to their work, or methods of. Shortly after that truth would be out, an accident would occur, and Thomas would cease to exist. And this man, this admiral, his father, whom he was currently following to a shuttle bay, had absolutely no idea how things really worked at the base, or what the base was really training people for. It was Thomas's secret hope that, had the Admiral known what the base was really training people for, he would've been whisked away by his father in a nanosecond.
Finally though, Thomas allowed his eyes to wander over the sites of the station. He'd been here four times in his life, on the way to some uninhabited moon for more training. He hadn't been allowed out of the shuttle bay, only given two minutes to transfer to a different, fully powered shuttle. This place was huge! And what was that blue guy eating? Oh gross, the arms on his food were moving.
Thomas looked at everything he could without allowing his father notice. It was one exercise Thomas enjoyed; see everything in as little time as possible without anyone else knowing. Unfortunately the admiral seemed to have a set destination and no room on the schedule for anything else. Thomas had never been given the chance to mingle with civilians or their customs. This was all so new and exciting and different! While some people clearly didn't get along, everyone else was talking, smiling, friendly, going about the business of their lives. It was so different from the base. No one ever smiled there; there was nothing to smile about. Laugh a good laugh at the expense of others, sure. Or maybe people did smile there, and Thomas, being so closed off, never noticed or joined in.
He saw the small silver signs indicating the shuttle bay off to the right. The Admiral took a left and carried on with his steady pace. Tom, not wanting to give the image of upping his superiors, spoke up with as little emotion as possible.
"Sir. I believe the sign to the shuttle bay indicated a right at that last corridor intersection." The admiral stopped and stared down at Thomas, his blue eyes flashing. At least they had one thing in common, though many people had bluer eyes than they. Then the man nodded, seemingly satisfied, and switched direction. Thomas followed him, stretching his legs to increase his steps and speed. It was then that her realized the wrong turn had been a test. The admiral was testing his awareness. He knew at that moment that this trip would be test after test after test. First vacation in how many years to see his family? It didn't look like it was going to be fun.
The ride to Earth was uninterrupted. Tom sat on his grey cushioned chair in the messhall, admiring its squishiness. He could only remember ever being in one other cushioned chair, but he wasn't sure when or where it was. For the time though, he was content to enjoy its comfort as he answered all of his father's questions. They were the expected ones; how do you like your school? Tell me about your courses. I hear your one of the top students at the school. That's good. Are you looking forward to graduation in a few years? I have a place in Starfleet Academy reserved for you the day you can join. You're going to make one hell of an officer…blah blah blah. Thomas fed his father the stories he had been ordered to give. School was great. He was currently learning piloting, engineering, the Vulcan language, and so on. He 'agreed' that he was one of the top students in the school, but he knew that he was considered the best. His skill for his age was 'phenomenal.' Whatever. Thomas wondered if they would let him fly this ship to pass the time, then of course it was the Starship Enterprise and Thomas wasn't 'supposed' to be at that flying level yet.
During this trip, the admiral filled Thomas in about the well-being of the rest of his family. It seems six years ago his mother, who happened to be an excellent pilot, was killed in a freak accident, taking one of his three sisters lives within the deadly crash as well. Tom tried very hard to feel a loss for them, but how could he when he didn't know who they were.
His other sisters , Fiona and Angela, hadn't wanted anything to do with Starfleet after the accident. They went on their separate ways; Fiona had become a doctor on some moon colonization, and Angela was an artist. She played the piano very well and also seemed to have a skill with paint. She would be home the last two days of Thomas's visit. The young man remembered his thoughts from earlier; this wasn't going to be a great trip.
He was right. The admiral had lined up social gathering after social gathering to both host and attend, while Thomas was visiting. He was paraded around like a trophy. Introduced to colleges, friends, even some Bolion ambassadors. He was asked the same questions over and over again, and he answered everyone with the same remarks. He was charming, intelligent and well mannered; Everything his father had wanted. The man couldn't be more happy, beaming at every complement and congratulation for having 'such a fine young officer.' At least the week was almost up.
It was then that he finally met her. The piano in the background was beautiful, the sounds flowing over the large gathering of Starfleet officers. Thomas had excused himself from the group of cadets he was currently conversing with about the recent discovery of a gel which was thought to have power storing components. Thomas believed with the right technology the gel could be used as a solid power source for an entire ship. They didn't agree with him, but they were still learning about all of that.
When he weaved his way through the crowd he laid his eyes upon her, and she seemed so familiar he held his breath a moment, trying to remember. She was beautiful. Her dark blond almost brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun with curls falling around it. Her slender hands danced over the piano's keys, feeling the music and creating its story. Her eyes were closed as he approached her, her shoulders swung lightly in rhythm to her song. He knew who she was. This was his sister, Angela.
She finished her song and opened her eyes, they were a bold green, unnatural, exotic. When those green eyes met Thomas's blue ones, there was instant understanding. She was his family. He nodded at her, not knowing how to smile. For the next two days she was allowed to watch him while the admiral went on a political function. She introduced him to so much.
They had traveled to the Federations holographic zoo, as the real species were either extinct or in a protected environment. These were amazing creatures. He had never been taught anything about them, seeing that they weren't important within his line of work. She'd given him peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He had never had anything so sweet or…gooey for lack of a better term, to eat. He ate as much as possible. They took long walks through major cities, allowing him to see many stores. The amount of material object these people bought and sold was incredible! Thomas's own personal belongings included a pair of civilian clothing and a dermal regenerator.
The most valuable thing she had done for him though, was teach him to play the piano. He picked up on it very easily. She said she had never seen anyone learn anything that fast. Thomas had almost panicked as he tried to think up an excuse to his learning abilities, but she had smiled and told him how he learned didn't matter. He watched her a lot. Whenever she wasn't looking he would memorize her features, the way her hair would fall about her face when she let it down. The way the right side of her mouth lifted fractionally higher than the left when she smiled. He also noticed the thoughtful looks she would give him when she didn't think he was watching. He saw anger in her eyes, and confusion and worry. For him? He dreamed so.
When he had to report back to Starfleet's shuttle bay he had to remind himself who's command he was under. He resisted the urge to stay behind on Earth where all these people were so alive and free. They had no idea how lucky they were, to have all that he had learned about at their fingertips every day. Now he had to go back to his world. Up everyday by four. Bland food, hard training, and harder people. A world where he slept in a room with tinted glass walls for privacy, and a hard bed. Actually, he hadn't been able to sleep on the soft cushioned bed within his fathers' home, so he had moved to the floor. He missed her before he'd even said goodbye. He hoped he'd see her again, but he wasn't certain. He had to go back to the base. If he didn't he would be considered rogue. He would be killed. He wasn't willing to risk that, yet. It was then, stepping onto the Enterprise to take him back to DS9 that he vowed to himself that he would see her again. He just had to be patient.
Even during her time off she couldn't get Tom Paris out of her head. The man was…infuriating! He just appeared on her ship after leaving with no reason, though Janeway suspected there must have been one. And after two weeks he still hadn't come to talk to her about his status on the ship, not requesting anything like a switch of duties, a request to fly the ship even if only for one night shift. He hadn't come to talk to her about a thing, and that bugged the hell out of her.
She'd finally given in to her annoyance and called him to her office that morning in high hopes to talk. Talk about what? Anything. She wanted to see how he was doing back on the ship. What he'd been up to the last year. If he was planning to stay with Voyager… she'd crossed her fingers at that. Admitting to herself that she had treated him poorly upon his arrival on Voyager had been a difficult thing to do, but she couldn't go back in time and change things so she didn't bother to linger on those hopes. Instead she chose to wallow in guilt and to make amends for her actions. This morning hadn't been that successful.
Tom had come to her office as requested. He still refused to take a seat when offered, preferring to remain standing, his guard always up. What had happened to make him so wary of her and everyone else on board this ship? He hadn't been like that since the first two years on Voyager. God, she let her novel drop onto her uniform clad stomach. It had taken him two years to properly warm up to the people onboard Voyager. Certainly, for two of those years he involved himself in everybody's business, had friends and aquaintances, but it took two years before he seemed to really accept everyone. Now he was back in that state, and she didn't know how to help him. She had pushed him away when he arrived back, and it didn't look like he was going to come back without a fight. It was always a fight with Tom Paris.
If she only knew how true those thoughts were.
"Lieutenant Kim to Captain Janeway."
"Go ahead." Acknowledging the voice over the comm system she stood and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her uniform; it looked like her break was over.
"We've picked up an energy disturbance twenty lightyears aheadahead. It matches the signature of the anomaly we ran across last year, the one that jumped us ahead four years travel."
"I'm on my way." She left her now cold coffee where it was, forgotten, and headed toward the bridge.
((/\))
"Paris! Where the hell are you going? We haven't had our 'talk' yet." Neelix picked up his pace down the corridor, heading towards the source of the angry voice. He knew it was Burkenson, he'd been watching the man for the last week as he followed Tom out of the messhall every time the pilot's shift was over. He had no doubt that it had been happening the week before as well, but Neelix hadn't been looking out for it until he'd noticed a hastily covered bruise on Tom's arm a few days ago.
"I've decided we aren't going to have our little 'talks' anymore Burkenson. Back off." The voice, which Neelix easily identified as that of Tom Paris, was threatening. Neelix was almost running now.
"You don't get to decide that, Crewmen." Burkeson sneered and Neelix finally rounded the corridor to see three men standing at the other end of the corridor. Two of them were obviously tensed to fight. Tom stood glaring at them both. Burkenson decided that that was all the disobedience he would take from Voyager's messhall assistant, and he swung his fist back with surprising speed for his build, and let it fly towards Tom.
Tom threw his right arm out at the same moment Burkenson attacked, and caught the flying fist easily. He snapped it back, causing the ensign to fall to his knees, crying out in pain. Neelix bit back his shock, as he watched the scene unwind.
"What is going on here!" he bellowed, startling himself with the anger in his voice. Tom instantly turned his cold grey eyes towards Neelix in surprise, taking his sight off of Cartel.
((/\))
Tom had had enough of this ritual beating. It had been going on since he came back to Voyager, and he'd allowed it to happen. He figured that if it would help the crew of Voyager get over their anger, their feelings of betrayal, than he would allow it for a while. Besides, no one on this ship, besides Seven and maybe (a small maybe) Tuvok, could pose a threat to him in a fight, so he didn't defend himself. Now however, he'd had enough.
He caught the fist easily, once again reminded of how much stronger he was than his attacker. He snapped the wrist back just to the verge of the breaking point, a very painful angle, and prepared to take Cartel down when a voice, seething with anger and authority cut through Burkenson's cries of pain. The fact that it was Neelix's voice was what caused him to look over at the Talaxian in a moment of surprise. A moment of surprise that he was trained to avoid, but still let get the better of him. Hey, it happened every now and then.
He saw the warning in Neelix's eyes the instant he looked at him, but couldn't defend himself for Cartel's attack. The man's fist came in low, hitting Tom on his left under the ribs. Despite the fact that the punch was weaker than Tom was used to, the pain that spiked throughout his body from the blow sent him instantly to knees. He heard an anguished scream of pain, realizing it was his own as he wrapped his arms around his gut to protect himself. His body was on fire, he fought to breathe, to regain control.
Neelix came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort, not understanding what was happening. Somewhere in Tom's mind he realized that Neelix would be calling for medical help, and he would be placed under intense study from the doctor. Not wanting that, Tom tried to tell his friend that he was fine, just needed a moment to walk it off. Neelix ignored him. As the blue light of the transporter enveloped his body, Tom noticed that Cartel and Burkenson were staring at him in confusion, as security came up to take them to holding.
((/\))
The soft sound of the transporter rang throughout sickbay and the EMH walked briskly towards where it was placing his patient. He was always ready for thousands of emergencies, equipped with the medical knowledge of the Alpha quadrant as well as the Delta Quadrant. So when Tom Paris materialized in a kneeling position on his floor, huddled over his gut, the Doctor knew exactly how to react.
"Tom, I know I'm one to receive praise, but being on your knees is slightly extreme." The blue eyes looked up, filled with pain as the Doctor knelt down beside him and began a bioscan.
"You're right. I'll get up now." The pilot spoke through clenched teeth; the tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow began dripping down his cheek. The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder, not wasting anymore time with currently useless banter.
"You will not get up until I know what's wrong. Tell me."
"Not much to say. I got punched in the gut, it knocked the wind out of me."
"And thus sending you cowering to the ground in a quivering heap of flesh. What happened Mr. Paris?" The Doctor was very serious about his question, frowning slightly when his scans weren't picking up any medical problems. He paused at Tom's left gut; the pilot's hand was protectively covering it. Hmm. "You can stand now?"
"Yes." Tom slowly climbed to his feet, obviously fighting back a few tears from the pain. There was no fooling this EMH.
"Good. Make your way to that biobed" he gestured to the one right beside them and then adjusted the focus of his medical scanner. When Tom was sitting on the bed's stiff cushions he turned back to face him. "Remove your shirt please."
"Doc, this isn't necessary. I just got the wind knocked out of me, nothing more."
"Remove it if you can, or I will cut it off. Either way you will end up shirtless within the next few moments." The EMH glared at his always stubborn patient, masking his concern with annoyance. What is it that Tom was trying to hide from him? When the Shirt, after a few moments of silent grimaces and clenched teeth (he would have to sdo some dental work later), was removed the EMH immediately began a much more detailed scan of the pilot's torso.
Tom had developed his muscles well in the last year, not saying they were undeveloped in the first place though; far from actually. Tom had never had any problems with any physical testing that the EMH had performed countless times over the last seven years. He was quite possibly the fittest being on the ship before he left, and right now that wasn't even a question. He could put a gladiator to shame. Doc was just as impressed now as he had been when Tom had first come to see him several weeks before.
Doc focused his scan on Tom's left side where there was slight inflammation due to the fist that had obviously collided with him. Then he saw it, and frowned. He re-checked his readings, twice, before focusing his black eyes in confusion on Tom. One look into that pale face and he knew that Tom was going to pretend he didn't know anything about it, which obviously wasn't the case. It was impossible for someone not to notice this.
The doors leading to the corridor slid silently open, interrupting his thoughts and Seven of Nine, clad in her formfitting grey suit glided in, pausing when she saw them at the biobed. Tom twisted slightly, facing her instead of having her gazing at his side. She focused on the pilot a moment, a slight frown marring her features before she turned to address The Doctor.
"I am sorry for the interruption. I will come back at a later time." She turned and departed through the doors she had walked through mere seconds before. The instant she was gone he re-checked his scans. This was…this! This… was not what should be there!
"Mr. Paris! What the hell is going on here?!" The pilot's eyes took on a questioning, blank look. "No." He countered before the pilot could speak. "I do not want you to pretend to know nothing of this. I know you know about this! This is, it's… sick! What the hell happened to you in this last year? And don't give me any more stories about your 'duties' as one of their officers." Tom looked away, hiding his face from the searching gaze the EMH leveling at him. In fact the EMH was putting forth his menacing you-will-tell-me-the-truth look he had learned since being activated. When Tom turned his head to finally meet his eyes he was tempted to inject the man with a 'series platau Vulcan A laxative' and send him to his quarters, teach him a lesson, because it wasn't Tom that was now looking at him. It was another one of those goddamn masks that the pilot never seemed to take off. Not anymore.
"Can you remove them?" his now stony faced friend asked him. He 'haroomfed' in annoyance.
"It seems that that's all you ever ask me to do! Remove things which have no business being in or on your body in the first place!" The pilot, for once, had no argument or defense to throw at him. That in itself was the admittance that Tom obviously agreed, and didn't want to talk about it. "I'll remove them immediately, but you'll have to lie down as still as possible. The easiest way I can see to get rid of them is by transporting them out of there."
"Just don't take anything else with them." The joke was as humorless as the situation. He glared at the pilot, his technical mind running too fast for his programming, if that was possible. Tom would be the death of him! If it was possible for the EMH's hair, or what he had of it, to turn gray than this man lying in front of him would be the cause of each discolored strand. He focused on the transporting system for a long moment, calculating each mathematical realignment needed for this delicate transport procedure. After another moment of silence he glared at the man who couldn't see him whilst lying down.
"Stay still." No smart remarks were released from his patient. He activated the transporter. No glimmering could be seen on the pilot's body as the modified technology worked to remove the obstacles which had been inside Tom. After a moment though, there was a blue shimmer on the medical tray beside the EMH. He watched the light dissolve from existence and leave in its place on the small silver tray three two inch long, half a millimeter wide, flexible white needles. The EMH glared at them with disgust, as he thought about what they meant. Tom however, was sitting up, all traces of pain removed from his features, he turned his blue eyes to settle on the EMH.
"I suppose this won't remain between us."
"Not unless you can give me a damn good reason." The pilot opened his mouth, Doc cut him off aggressively. "Any excuse to this being a part of your job description will not be noted. Having 'three' of these nerve needles placed inside of any being is considered a form of torture. I don't know what you have been up to this last year Tom Paris, but I will no longer remain silent about my 'theories' on the whole subject. You may return to whatever duties you were up to, I have 'work' to do." Tom's blue eyes stared at him, his face void of emotion. Doc could see the gears working in Tom's head, until finally his patient stood, replaced his shirt and left sickbay without a word.
A good thing he didn't speak either, because the anger the Doctor was feeling at this moment would have been unleashed and he knew now that Tom was not the one he should be directing it at. He walked into his office and slumped tiredly into his cushioned chair. Though his subroutines didn't allow for him to physically become tired, he figured this was exactly how it felt.
He should have put it together before now. He should have known something was seriously wrong with Tom's departure in the first place. Judging by the internal and invisible-to-the-eye external scars his young friend had sustained over this last year, everything the man said he had left for was obviously a lie. Mended bones, burns, internal bleeding, and now those needles. He hadn't ever expected to come across them in his existence, though he had heard about them and how the Cardassians had favored them on the prisoners that were seemingly impossible to break.
Generally the needles are carefully injected into their subject through a syringe. They must be fabricated delicately in a lab, having to be precise size and length in order to work. The custom-made torture device is sensitive to direct forceful pressure, in Tom's case today it was a fist. The pressure rams the finely speared points into nerve tissues, causing the nerves to form a wave of spasms, which affect the entire body. It could make the most seasoned Klingon warrior cry. And on top of the physical trauma those minuscule needles caused, there was also a hefty dose of psychological trauma, which is normal for all methods of torture. The direct use of pain is the bridge between the body and mind. It's very convincing to any victim.
"Doctor to Captain Janeway." He resignedly contacted her.
"Go ahead."
"Could you please contact me through the private medical channel." He heard her pause a moment, obviously knowing about Paris's attack and putting two and two together.
"Give me a moment Doctor." He turned on his viewscreen and waited for her to open the channel. He knew that at this moment he was breaching a trust he had forged with Tom, but he could no longer remain silent. The past year had taken a serious new outlook, and he needed to confer with the Captain in order to begin to understand what was going on. Whether Tom wanted it or not.
((/\))
"Thomas. It's nice to see you."
"Thank you sir." He gazed up at the tall man with graying hair. He wouldn't have recognized him as his father if he hadn't been wearing the insignia stating his rank as an admiral. Thomas doubted there would be many admirals currently on DS9 to meet him, so when this man approached him, he knew it was Admiral Owen Paris, his father.
He looked different from what Tom remembered. His face had more lines, he had less hair and a larger gut. Of course, Thomas could be wrong in his evaluation, seeing as he didn't remember much of his family. Now, standing at attention in front of his father, he felt no connection to the man personally. He had hoped it would be…different than this. Thomas could admit to himself that he had wanted to feel, what was it? Love? Affection? Some sort of emotion that would give him the personal satisfaction that this was his family? Yes, that was exactly what he had hoped, dreamed for, all these years. Open arms, a large smile full of acceptance and love. Instead he waited stiffly, as if he were just another recruit, while his 'father' appraised his appearance, assessing him like everyone else he had ever met. Thomas made sure his disappointment didn't show.
He needed a way to quench the disappointment. He knew that as far as first impressions went this was probably one of the best responses he would get from his father. No wonder the man had sent him to his 'private school.' It was actually more like a private hell. Oh, the admiral was talking again.
"You look good boy. All that training seems to be giving you a strong back. Not even my best students stand at attention so well." Thomas decided that that was probably meant as a compliment, thus he should answer appropriately.
"Thank you sir."
"Good. Our ship leaves in ten minutes. Follow me." The admiral walked past Thomas, and he was forced to turn quickly and catch up with the man's long strides. Unfortunately he hadn't seemed to hit his growth spurt yet, but he was hoping it would come soon. Being one of the shortest soldiers back at the base was not a picnic, as the saying went. It hadn't taken Thomas that long though to set up his position within the pecking order there. When Terc'Al, one of the largest Klingons on the base, had attacked him three years before, he'd knocked the guy flat effortlessly.
After that nobody really bothered him, with exception to the large supply of insults constantly directed his way. It seems they all thought he was there for the sole reason of being the son of an admiral. Personally he'd rather not be there at all, but voicing that opinion would mean that he wasn't truly dedicated to their work, or methods of. Shortly after that truth would be out, an accident would occur, and Thomas would cease to exist. And this man, this admiral, his father, whom he was currently following to a shuttle bay, had absolutely no idea how things really worked at the base, or what the base was really training people for. It was Thomas's secret hope that, had the Admiral known what the base was really training people for, he would've been whisked away by his father in a nanosecond.
Finally though, Thomas allowed his eyes to wander over the sites of the station. He'd been here four times in his life, on the way to some uninhabited moon for more training. He hadn't been allowed out of the shuttle bay, only given two minutes to transfer to a different, fully powered shuttle. This place was huge! And what was that blue guy eating? Oh gross, the arms on his food were moving.
Thomas looked at everything he could without allowing his father notice. It was one exercise Thomas enjoyed; see everything in as little time as possible without anyone else knowing. Unfortunately the admiral seemed to have a set destination and no room on the schedule for anything else. Thomas had never been given the chance to mingle with civilians or their customs. This was all so new and exciting and different! While some people clearly didn't get along, everyone else was talking, smiling, friendly, going about the business of their lives. It was so different from the base. No one ever smiled there; there was nothing to smile about. Laugh a good laugh at the expense of others, sure. Or maybe people did smile there, and Thomas, being so closed off, never noticed or joined in.
He saw the small silver signs indicating the shuttle bay off to the right. The Admiral took a left and carried on with his steady pace. Tom, not wanting to give the image of upping his superiors, spoke up with as little emotion as possible.
"Sir. I believe the sign to the shuttle bay indicated a right at that last corridor intersection." The admiral stopped and stared down at Thomas, his blue eyes flashing. At least they had one thing in common, though many people had bluer eyes than they. Then the man nodded, seemingly satisfied, and switched direction. Thomas followed him, stretching his legs to increase his steps and speed. It was then that her realized the wrong turn had been a test. The admiral was testing his awareness. He knew at that moment that this trip would be test after test after test. First vacation in how many years to see his family? It didn't look like it was going to be fun.
The ride to Earth was uninterrupted. Tom sat on his grey cushioned chair in the messhall, admiring its squishiness. He could only remember ever being in one other cushioned chair, but he wasn't sure when or where it was. For the time though, he was content to enjoy its comfort as he answered all of his father's questions. They were the expected ones; how do you like your school? Tell me about your courses. I hear your one of the top students at the school. That's good. Are you looking forward to graduation in a few years? I have a place in Starfleet Academy reserved for you the day you can join. You're going to make one hell of an officer…blah blah blah. Thomas fed his father the stories he had been ordered to give. School was great. He was currently learning piloting, engineering, the Vulcan language, and so on. He 'agreed' that he was one of the top students in the school, but he knew that he was considered the best. His skill for his age was 'phenomenal.' Whatever. Thomas wondered if they would let him fly this ship to pass the time, then of course it was the Starship Enterprise and Thomas wasn't 'supposed' to be at that flying level yet.
During this trip, the admiral filled Thomas in about the well-being of the rest of his family. It seems six years ago his mother, who happened to be an excellent pilot, was killed in a freak accident, taking one of his three sisters lives within the deadly crash as well. Tom tried very hard to feel a loss for them, but how could he when he didn't know who they were.
His other sisters , Fiona and Angela, hadn't wanted anything to do with Starfleet after the accident. They went on their separate ways; Fiona had become a doctor on some moon colonization, and Angela was an artist. She played the piano very well and also seemed to have a skill with paint. She would be home the last two days of Thomas's visit. The young man remembered his thoughts from earlier; this wasn't going to be a great trip.
He was right. The admiral had lined up social gathering after social gathering to both host and attend, while Thomas was visiting. He was paraded around like a trophy. Introduced to colleges, friends, even some Bolion ambassadors. He was asked the same questions over and over again, and he answered everyone with the same remarks. He was charming, intelligent and well mannered; Everything his father had wanted. The man couldn't be more happy, beaming at every complement and congratulation for having 'such a fine young officer.' At least the week was almost up.
It was then that he finally met her. The piano in the background was beautiful, the sounds flowing over the large gathering of Starfleet officers. Thomas had excused himself from the group of cadets he was currently conversing with about the recent discovery of a gel which was thought to have power storing components. Thomas believed with the right technology the gel could be used as a solid power source for an entire ship. They didn't agree with him, but they were still learning about all of that.
When he weaved his way through the crowd he laid his eyes upon her, and she seemed so familiar he held his breath a moment, trying to remember. She was beautiful. Her dark blond almost brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun with curls falling around it. Her slender hands danced over the piano's keys, feeling the music and creating its story. Her eyes were closed as he approached her, her shoulders swung lightly in rhythm to her song. He knew who she was. This was his sister, Angela.
She finished her song and opened her eyes, they were a bold green, unnatural, exotic. When those green eyes met Thomas's blue ones, there was instant understanding. She was his family. He nodded at her, not knowing how to smile. For the next two days she was allowed to watch him while the admiral went on a political function. She introduced him to so much.
They had traveled to the Federations holographic zoo, as the real species were either extinct or in a protected environment. These were amazing creatures. He had never been taught anything about them, seeing that they weren't important within his line of work. She'd given him peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He had never had anything so sweet or…gooey for lack of a better term, to eat. He ate as much as possible. They took long walks through major cities, allowing him to see many stores. The amount of material object these people bought and sold was incredible! Thomas's own personal belongings included a pair of civilian clothing and a dermal regenerator.
The most valuable thing she had done for him though, was teach him to play the piano. He picked up on it very easily. She said she had never seen anyone learn anything that fast. Thomas had almost panicked as he tried to think up an excuse to his learning abilities, but she had smiled and told him how he learned didn't matter. He watched her a lot. Whenever she wasn't looking he would memorize her features, the way her hair would fall about her face when she let it down. The way the right side of her mouth lifted fractionally higher than the left when she smiled. He also noticed the thoughtful looks she would give him when she didn't think he was watching. He saw anger in her eyes, and confusion and worry. For him? He dreamed so.
When he had to report back to Starfleet's shuttle bay he had to remind himself who's command he was under. He resisted the urge to stay behind on Earth where all these people were so alive and free. They had no idea how lucky they were, to have all that he had learned about at their fingertips every day. Now he had to go back to his world. Up everyday by four. Bland food, hard training, and harder people. A world where he slept in a room with tinted glass walls for privacy, and a hard bed. Actually, he hadn't been able to sleep on the soft cushioned bed within his fathers' home, so he had moved to the floor. He missed her before he'd even said goodbye. He hoped he'd see her again, but he wasn't certain. He had to go back to the base. If he didn't he would be considered rogue. He would be killed. He wasn't willing to risk that, yet. It was then, stepping onto the Enterprise to take him back to DS9 that he vowed to himself that he would see her again. He just had to be patient.