Part the Eight – Where B'Elanna's illusions break, Tom crumbles, and Chakotay quits trying to fool himself!
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Slumping with the exhaustion that seemed to dog him since he had awakened in sickbay, Tom folded his long legs and sank loosely to the floor, beside him B'Elanna's unconscious form lay on the sofa where after a bit of a struggle Tom had managed to place her.
Normally carrying her the short distance from the door would have been a simple task but the combination of rubbery limbs and certain areas of his anatomy conspired, resulted in a few mentally yelled curses and a couple of bruises for both participants.
Bruises which Tom fully expected to add to his growing collection. Although the AI had explained that he shouldn't have any problems acclimatizing to his altered form the change itself had left him drained and it was fatigue more than adjustment problems which left his limbs clumsy and Tom had lost count of the number of times he had bumped his shins and elbows on various fixtures and fittings.
His chest was another matter entirely; Tom just could not get used to the idea, frequently forgetting he now needed slightly more room to get around objects. Turning through the door to the bathroom was a trying experience, his only consolation that his breasts were made up of soft flesh and seemed to absorb the majority of the impact whenever he miscalculated and collided with the doorframe, otherwise he imagined he would soon look like the victim of an abusive relationship.
The Doctor, quickly becoming fed up of spending precious research time in patching up Tom and putting up with the pilot's sour expressions, authorised the loan of a dermal regenerator so that the young man could treat his injuries without having to frequent sickbay and reduce the risk of being spotted by the crew during a visit. However, this was on the strict provision that Tom would yield to the Doctor over treatment of anything more serious than the odd knock, trusting that Tom would use his own medical training responsibly, for he was not above taking a fall in his present state.
It was a testament to the young man's level of maturity and growth that he not only agreed with the Doctor but also fully intended to keep his word to the EMH. Which only in a small part played on the fact that the less time he saw of the insides of sickbay the better, and more that Tom despite his frequent complaints actually regarded the holographic man as a friend.
Sitting watching, waiting for his girlfriend to regain consciousness was not exactly a riveting experience but preferable to watching paint dry, if not marginally more painful for despite the soft carpet, the floor was just as hard and unyielding, not the most comfortable place to sit. Tom's buttocks soon began to feel exactly just how hard, he should have, he decided, dragged a cushion off the closest chair.
Snorting at himself, Tom found the idea of B'Elanna's reaction had he just dropped her where she fell so he could take the time to prepare a comfortable place to park his butt. It would have been more amusing had B'Elanna been awake to share the joke with, she would have undoubtedly reminded him that he was lucky to have made it to where they did without crashing either one into the floor, cushions or no and his butt would just have to suffer along with the rest of him.
His butt however chose a different option and was steadily going numb. Tom silently debated the chances of managing at the moment the complicated process of actually hauling himself up and across to and empty chair; provided of course that his legs decided to cooperate and support his weight. Deciding that there was a high probability that stand more chance of successfully breathing in a vacuum he took the easier option and stayed exactly where he was, hard floor and all.
Thereby resigning himself to a fate that involved a nasty case of pins and needles in the not too distant future, Tom dropped his head onto the sofa cushions besides B'Elanna's hip. Banging his forehead on the seat a couple of times trying to knock some sense into his own skull, it was that or pound it into the floor in frustration. Given that the sofa was softer, he chose the least painful option, besides bruises on his face would be harder to explain to the Doctor and he was already suffering enough with a numb behind without adding a headache to the mix.
With each gentle thud of his head B'Elanna's face twitched, her eyes rolling behind their lids, unobserved by Tom. Then again, it would have been somewhat difficult for him to see from that angle without having developed eyes in the back of his head along with the other bodily changes, and for that small mercy, he would have been eternally grateful had he actually stopped to think about it. However, he was currently otherwise occupied and so the moment passed unnoticed.
A callused hand reached out and gripped the back of Tom's head, halting the repetitive movement by forcing his face into the cushions, accompanied by the growling voice of an un-amused Klingon woman. "Tom, stop that".
"'Lanna?" The rich contralto voice, which responded despite subtle differences, was unmistakably Tom's, feminized with an echo of rich almost sultry tones, but all the same it was still Tom.
Both bodies jerked; B'Elanna in shock, realising right at that moment the she was lying on Tom's couch with Tom's soft hair beneath the palm of one hand, with no recollection of how she had ended up there. And Tom; Tom in surprise at hearing himself speak aloud, finally after nearly three days of silence, not counting the sarcastic little voice which voiced the thoughts in his mind, the realisation twisting up the corners of his mouth in an unconsciously sexy smirk.
Seeing the familiar expression on her mate's face B'Elanna was taken aback by the woman before her, despite her own heterosexuality she recognised the unmistakable sensuality of Tom's new form. However, and unfortunately for the pair, as a woman Tom's appearance failed to strike that certain something within her, the spark of attraction that had always burned bright now lay dormant, fizzling out and dying with barely a whisper.
B'Elanna's sad, quiet, "Oh Tom", strike out the relationship's death peal.
One look into her eyes was all it took to confirm Tom's fears, the dark depths warmed by love, sadness, pain, friendship and a host of emotions betwixt and between, everything but the heated desire that until moments ago had burned with all the passion only a Klingon could muster. Desire that used to echo that which now haunted his own blue eyes.
Tom immediately felt the pain of its' loss, as a dull ache deep within his chest, his heart dragging, stopping to skip just a single beat before resuming its' normal rhythm. In response B'Elanna felt her arms lift, wrapping around the pathetic form of Voyager's chief pilot, of their own accord, as silent tears slid down his cheeks and quiet shudders wracked his form. B'Elanna held Tom within her warm embrace offering comfort as he cried out, grieving for stolen futures and the days just past.
Crying, in the unobtrusive manner he had cultivated as a child, his huddled form reminiscent of the child he had once been, memory echoes of crying alone in his room. However, unlike those bitter memories, this time there was a difference, this time strong arms surrounded him, hands cradled his head against a warm shoulder.
This time some cared!
This time he did not cry alone!
o0O0o
Sitting behind his desk, Chakotay sat, a warm cup of tea cradled between his hands, the office lights dimmed to 40 to create a relaxing atmosphere. The usually report cluttered desk currently void of all but the Commander's arms, Chakotay having chosen to work off a bout of insomnia catching up on the numerous PADDs that routinely fell into his lap under the guise of the First Officer's duties.
His sudden nocturnal dedication to duty above and beyond the norm had carried him halfway through Gamma shift and into the early hours of the morning. It was only after finding himself trying to find things to do, creating make-do jobs in an effort to keep busy long after the ever-present backlog of reports had been cleared that he snapped back to an awareness of his surroundings.
In the calm of his office, Chakotay finally allowed his mind to focus on the nagging cause of his insomnia, Tom Paris. The pilot had oft been the bane of the First Officer's existence through-out the early years of Voyager's journey, seemly attempting to provoke the Commander on the slightest provocation after what had been a period of improved behaviour; although part of Janeway's plan to expose the traitor Jonas, Tom's actions had set back their professional relationship and ruined budding acceptance and friendship between the two officers.
Correction, ruined it from Chakotay's point of view, Tom would have been willing to pick up where they had left off before the Captain had drawn him in to flush out the viper within their midst. Logically he understood that Tom had been the Captain's best chance, his past and reputation working for him in this instance, but Chakotay's own pride perceived slight at being forced to play the straight man to Tom's display of acting skills.
Had he thought about with any real sense of duty towards the Lieutenant, who was despite it all a member of the crew, he would have seen something amiss with the whole scenario; Tom, from the moment he granted the chance to fly again had exhibited a fierce loyalty towards the Captain. The disenchanted young man Tom had portrayed did not quite fit with the person he had been becoming, struggling to break free.
Looking back it became clear just how talented Tom's acting abilities were, and shockingly clear just how he had developed them; the many and multi-layered masks the young man wore everyday of his adult life.
After that incident the Commander had, had to work hard to overcome the resurrected barriers, expending considerable effort at first just to remain civil in the pilot's company, however the method and delivery of Tom's apology on 'A briefing with Neelix' really hadn't helped. The smug attitude just another of Tom's masks, slipped on without thought, emotions tidied away beneath the flyboy's shield of indifference once more.
The whole matter still made Chakotay uneasy, but for different reasons now than those originally invoked. Lest he who is without sin.
And now this, Chakotay wondered exactly what masks the pilot would hide behind this time. Abandoning the now cold tea Chakotay gave up trying to convince himself that the heat on his palms was from the discarded mug and not the memory of his hands cupping flesh!
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