Disclaimer and A/N see chapter 1
*****
That was odd. Tom was now twenty minutes late for his shift. Captain Janeway sent another backward glance at the turbolift, before informing Commander Chakotay of her observation.
"He wasn't kept in sickbay after returning to the ship." Chakotay replied, and then mentally added to himself, Yes, well seeing as the Doctor wasn't able to catch up with him after he ran out of sickbay before he'd undergone his medical, that's not very likely, is it?
Janeway frowned, and sat up in her chair.
"Bridge to Paris."
No response.
"Bridge to Paris, please respond."
Silence.
"Computer, locate Ensign Paris."
"Ensign Paris is in his quarters."
Janeway turned her concerned face questioningly toward Chakotay.
"I'll go and check it out." Chakotay said, already on his way to the turbolift.
What the hell was he playing at? Chakotay fumed on his way to the pilot's quarters. A small voice of reason plucked at the back of his mind, telling him that something wasn't right about it, Paris wasn't even answering his comm badge, but he countered with the fact that he wouldn't tolerate this lax behaviour from anyone else, so making him justified with his criticism. His anger had nothing to do with the fact that it was the arrogant and infuriating damned Tom Paris who had screwed up. Or at least that's what he told himself.
Out of automatic courtesy, he chimed first, and then admitted himself when there was no response.
He swept a quick, sharp eye over the room. It wasn't as chaotic as he'd expected, but it was certainly what some would kindly call 'well lived in', with the odd crumpled shirt here, a couple of stray PADD's there. But no Paris.
Chakotay caught a faint noise from the bedroom.
"I swear, Paris, if you're still asleep, or have someone else in there..." He called out as he made his way for the door. He was about to advance into the room when he saw the figure in the bed, but stopped short when he took in the disturbing scene before him.
The sheets had coiled and twisted around Tom's long legs, leaving his bare chest exposed and covered with the thin sheen of sweat as it frantically heaved up and down, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths with unnatural rapidity. His hands were convulsively clutching at the sheet beneath him, whilst his head was tossing from side to side, his lips moving fervently but his mutterings too quiet for Chakotay to hear.
Chakotay's reaction was one of both alarm and awkwardness. He moved to the side of the bed.
"Paris? Ensign, wake up."
Tom was becoming even more distressed now. His mutterings were being interrupted by groans and what could only be described as pained, choked sobs. His arms had now started to fling out in front of him.
Chakotay had always known that the Ensign suffered from nightmares, you couldn't help but notice when sent on away missions together, as they often were, the two of them shut together in a shuttle for what always seemed far too long. But it had been a long time since he'd seen anyone caught up in such a distressing and obviously terrifying state from one.
"Paris, it's okay, wake up. Tom? Tom wake up. Now." He had stretched a tentative hand out to Tom's shoulder. Upon contact, his blue eyes flew open. Tom frantically pushed the hand away and hastily slid across to the other side of the bed.
"Tom, it's Chakotay, you're okay." Chakotay had started to move round to Tom's side of the bed, but Tom caught the movement.
"Keep the fuck away from me."
"Okay." Chakotay took a step backward, and was at a loss as to what to do next. He was contemplating calling for the Doctor when Tom buried his head in his hands, and fought to bring his breathing under control. Chakotay slipped round to him and sat on the side of the bed, being careful to still keep his distance.
"Are you okay, Paris?" Chakotay asked quietly.
He'd forgotten he had moved closer without Paris seeing. Tom had immediately jumped off the bed, defences firmly in place, but not before Chakotay saw a flash of panic cross the young pilot's features.
"What the hell would you care?" Tom practically shouted. Chakotay managed to remain silent; he knew that Paris was still recovering from his nightmare and refused to get into an argument with him.
Tom glanced at the chronometer.
"Fuck." He found out a fresh uniform and moved into the bathroom to change. When he came out dressed, he held a vial in his hand. He opened his bedside drawer, in which Chakotay couldn't help but notice a bottle of scotch with a large quantity missing, and pulled out a hypo-spray, loaded it and pressed it to his neck. He then stood in front of Chakotay,
"Sorry I'm late Sir. It won't happen again. Shall we go?"
Chakotay nodded, and they both left together. On the journey to the turbolift, Chakotay asked,
"What was in the hypo?"
"Painkiller."
Chakotay merely remained silent. Paris, you need to learn how to throw out the minor lies as convincingly as you churn out the major ones. Of course, he probably did when he wasn't distracted and still obviously shaken up, Chakotay added as his frown deepened.
*****
That was odd. Tom was now twenty minutes late for his shift. Captain Janeway sent another backward glance at the turbolift, before informing Commander Chakotay of her observation.
"He wasn't kept in sickbay after returning to the ship." Chakotay replied, and then mentally added to himself, Yes, well seeing as the Doctor wasn't able to catch up with him after he ran out of sickbay before he'd undergone his medical, that's not very likely, is it?
Janeway frowned, and sat up in her chair.
"Bridge to Paris."
No response.
"Bridge to Paris, please respond."
Silence.
"Computer, locate Ensign Paris."
"Ensign Paris is in his quarters."
Janeway turned her concerned face questioningly toward Chakotay.
"I'll go and check it out." Chakotay said, already on his way to the turbolift.
What the hell was he playing at? Chakotay fumed on his way to the pilot's quarters. A small voice of reason plucked at the back of his mind, telling him that something wasn't right about it, Paris wasn't even answering his comm badge, but he countered with the fact that he wouldn't tolerate this lax behaviour from anyone else, so making him justified with his criticism. His anger had nothing to do with the fact that it was the arrogant and infuriating damned Tom Paris who had screwed up. Or at least that's what he told himself.
Out of automatic courtesy, he chimed first, and then admitted himself when there was no response.
He swept a quick, sharp eye over the room. It wasn't as chaotic as he'd expected, but it was certainly what some would kindly call 'well lived in', with the odd crumpled shirt here, a couple of stray PADD's there. But no Paris.
Chakotay caught a faint noise from the bedroom.
"I swear, Paris, if you're still asleep, or have someone else in there..." He called out as he made his way for the door. He was about to advance into the room when he saw the figure in the bed, but stopped short when he took in the disturbing scene before him.
The sheets had coiled and twisted around Tom's long legs, leaving his bare chest exposed and covered with the thin sheen of sweat as it frantically heaved up and down, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths with unnatural rapidity. His hands were convulsively clutching at the sheet beneath him, whilst his head was tossing from side to side, his lips moving fervently but his mutterings too quiet for Chakotay to hear.
Chakotay's reaction was one of both alarm and awkwardness. He moved to the side of the bed.
"Paris? Ensign, wake up."
Tom was becoming even more distressed now. His mutterings were being interrupted by groans and what could only be described as pained, choked sobs. His arms had now started to fling out in front of him.
Chakotay had always known that the Ensign suffered from nightmares, you couldn't help but notice when sent on away missions together, as they often were, the two of them shut together in a shuttle for what always seemed far too long. But it had been a long time since he'd seen anyone caught up in such a distressing and obviously terrifying state from one.
"Paris, it's okay, wake up. Tom? Tom wake up. Now." He had stretched a tentative hand out to Tom's shoulder. Upon contact, his blue eyes flew open. Tom frantically pushed the hand away and hastily slid across to the other side of the bed.
"Tom, it's Chakotay, you're okay." Chakotay had started to move round to Tom's side of the bed, but Tom caught the movement.
"Keep the fuck away from me."
"Okay." Chakotay took a step backward, and was at a loss as to what to do next. He was contemplating calling for the Doctor when Tom buried his head in his hands, and fought to bring his breathing under control. Chakotay slipped round to him and sat on the side of the bed, being careful to still keep his distance.
"Are you okay, Paris?" Chakotay asked quietly.
He'd forgotten he had moved closer without Paris seeing. Tom had immediately jumped off the bed, defences firmly in place, but not before Chakotay saw a flash of panic cross the young pilot's features.
"What the hell would you care?" Tom practically shouted. Chakotay managed to remain silent; he knew that Paris was still recovering from his nightmare and refused to get into an argument with him.
Tom glanced at the chronometer.
"Fuck." He found out a fresh uniform and moved into the bathroom to change. When he came out dressed, he held a vial in his hand. He opened his bedside drawer, in which Chakotay couldn't help but notice a bottle of scotch with a large quantity missing, and pulled out a hypo-spray, loaded it and pressed it to his neck. He then stood in front of Chakotay,
"Sorry I'm late Sir. It won't happen again. Shall we go?"
Chakotay nodded, and they both left together. On the journey to the turbolift, Chakotay asked,
"What was in the hypo?"
"Painkiller."
Chakotay merely remained silent. Paris, you need to learn how to throw out the minor lies as convincingly as you churn out the major ones. Of course, he probably did when he wasn't distracted and still obviously shaken up, Chakotay added as his frown deepened.