A/N: Life got busy and I missed a week. Thanks for your patience. This chapter includes dialogue from the Voyager episode "Blood Fever" written by Lisa Klink.
July 5, 2386
Starbase 47
"Priority One message for you, Commander," Aaron called to Tom as they stood in Ops together. Aaron worked the computer panel in front of him. "From Admiral Janeway, Sir."
"I'll take it in my office, Aaron," Tom said as he briskly walked past his first officer. He moved through the door, waiting until he heard it swish closed, before he activated the comm panel with his voice.
"Admiral," he addressed, as he moved around to sit at his desk. "I'm glad you got my message. I wasn't expecting a reply so soon–"
"Your message was…troubling, Commander," she interrupted. "Extremely troubling. But you must know that I'm not at liberty to discuss security matters such as this with anyone. Even Chakotay, Commander."
He sat heavily in the chair across from the computer. Dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his forehead, he groaned at her words. "I'm sure you aren't. But I know that you had more information that you couldn't tell me. Is T'Lassa right?"
"Tom, you know I can't–"
"With all due respect, Admiral," he retorted sharply, "No amount of rationalizing makes a difference to me. Your older self, the one who changed history to get us home…somehow I don't think it would to her either. Ma'am," he added, swallowing hard at the sound of his own insubordination in his ears. His eyes flashed icy with pain, but he countered it with anger that made him grit his teeth. "My children are…dead," he hissed, almost growling to keep his voice from breaking. "And my wife…" His voice trailed away, no words precise enough to explain that tragedy here. "...doesn't remember who I am," he added lamely, focusing on the one part of that tragedy that hurt him the most. He sucked in his breath. "And T'Lassa thinks that whatever happened with that graviton disturbance was deliberate. I want to know the truth…or at least, more of the truth than I know. Please, Admiral," he begged, covering his eyes with one palm.
She was quiet for a long period. He uncovered his eyes, looking at her visage on the viewscreen in front of him. He had seen the look on her face so many times in the past. Her jaw was set, her chin tilted slightly upward, almost in defiance, at the same time that her lips trembled ever so slightly with emotion. Her blue eyes reflected the pain that was otherwise concealed. She visibly pulled herself together, raising the stoic mask into place. "Mr. Paris, the Doctor informs me that you are due to visit the Rehabilitation Hospital on Luna in five solar days. I'll be on Earth at that time. We should talk then."
He narrowed his eyes at her questioningly, wondering if she was trying to communicate more than just her words to him. "That's right," he said gently. "Are you–"
"Call me, Mr. Paris. I promise, I can explain more when I see you." She signed off without another word, leaving him to wonder.
XXX
"Would you explain what you meant, Commander? About the music?" Echenna asked gently as she sat across from Tom in his office, the only place on the station where she could counsel him in private. She had offered him use of her office on the Endeavor, but he refused to leave the station. More ex-Voyager crew served with Chakotay on the Endeavor than in any other capacity in Starfleet. The thought of seeing some of his old friends again, after so much had changed for him, was unbearably painful.
"The music?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"Last time, Commander," she began again. "You started to use a song to explain something to me…but you…you had difficulty. I wanted to touch base on that again," she stressed.
Difficulty, he thought bitterly. Out of her mouth, the word was almost an insult. As bad as the Doctor saying discomfort when he meant excruciating pain, because he himself had no frame of reference. The situation she was referring to was in fact him almost putting his fist through his computer console.
"How much do you know about ancient Earth music, Counselor?" he asked distractedly.
"Almost nothing, Commander," she admitted. "When you say ancient…do you mean classical music, like Beethoven? Or 20th century contemporary, like the Beatles?" she asked for clarification.
"Music with words," he muttered. "Have you ever heard the Beatles? They were by far the most prolific musicians of the 20th century. Them, Elvis Presley, and Elton John."
"In a survey course I took on Federation history on Betazed, a long, long time ago. Is that part of what you were trying to explain?" she added.
"I guess it doesn't matter…" he muttered again. He started again, as if what he had said before was unrelated. "We used to take turns playing music, while we were working. You know, the design team and the engineers. It was always such a nice way to learn about each other's cultures. Klingon opera, Vulcan funerary dirges, Bolian dance music…rock and roll, as that was called back then. Although, Elton John and the Beatles evolved from rock and roll, about a decade and a half later. My favorite from that time was always Elton John," he said, as if he was answering a question she hadn't even asked out loud. "He had a longer career than the others. Elvis died, and the Beatles broke up. He started in the 1970s and kept making music into the next millennium. His classic stuff was always the best, though."
Echenna wavered, as she thought of redirecting him, thinking his mind was unfocused and wandering, while at the same time not wanting to interrupt his apparent stream of consciousness, because it was the longest stretch of time he had talked to her without prompting. She tried to gently interject. "What about this music is taking so much of your attention, Commander? Can you explain that to me?"
He looked away, his voice softer. "B'Elanna never really liked his music all that much, although she had a few songs of his that she liked. Rocket Man was her favorite. A little too depressing, if you ask me, but she just…got that, I guess. I always tried to look at the bright side of things. But there was this song. I played it for her on Voyager, while we were dating. It's called Your Song. It's a song about writing a song for someone. Sounds stupid, but…it was perfect, I thought. The most perfect love song I have ever heard."
"Why is that, in your opinion?" she asked, feeling like she was beginning to push him someplace he was uncomfortable going. Getting him out of his comfort zone and his numbness was the only way to affect any healing at all. Could this be a breakthrough?
"Because…he is able to…express his love…without saying the words. You know? More than words, if that makes sense…" he rambled.
"You mean saying 'I love you?'" she asked.
"Right," he whispered. "I hope you don't mind/That I put down in words/How wonderful life is/While you're in the world," he quoted, coughing at the end to clear his throat before his voice totally quit on him. "That's what he means. And he said it perfectly."
She sat quietly, studying his face. Such a strange topic, that he couldn't seem to let go. She sensed regret and guilt just as she always did, but it was more intense here like this than it had been in such a long time. She pushed again. "Why the remorse when you talk about this?"
He was quiet for so long she thought he had intentionally ignored her. When he did reply, his voice was tight and shaky. "If you can't say it, like that…you should have some other…more…elegant way to phrase it, right? Rather than just…not…not saying…anything…"
Something inside him ripped, and she felt it in her chest, like someone had punched her. She lost her breath for a moment, forcing herself to shield herself from him while she collected herself. With her mental shields in place, she felt calmer asking, "Do you wish you had told B'Elanna something that you didn't?"
"B'Elanna…Miral…" he muttered as his voice broke. "I never said it, not once…to either of them…" he whispered, tears brimming his eyes.
"That you loved them?" she asked, upset that she couldn't completely disguise the surprise in her words.
"That…I…loved them," he said, the words strange on his tongue, like a foreign language. "Pathetic, isn't it?" he asked, full of self-reproach.
"But you did love them, Commander," she replied. She felt it again, like a fist pounding against her breastbone. A pure wave of anguish that carried his love with it, for his wife, daughter and son.
"And I…never told them," he admitted, his voice heavy. "My daughter died…not knowing for sure…that I loved her…" He broke down. "What kind of woman marries someone who can't tell her that he loves her?" he wailed.
There it was, she thought suddenly. Why he was so angry with himself, that thick sludge of self-hatred that polluted everything she had ever felt from him. "Someone who knew how you felt, without the words. Love is an action. The both of them saw the things that you did, knew how you made them feel with your actions–"
"It's not enough!" he shouted, his anger lashing.
She waited several beats before she spoke again. "It obviously bothers you that you didn't tell them. Why didn't you? Do you know?"
Harry had asked him that, he remembered. Poor Harry had been stuck in between B'Elanna and him for three days while they hung in limbo after her declaration of her feelings for him. Despite himself and the pain he knew it would cause to go back there, he couldn't resist remembering.
February 6, 2373
Sakari
Tom stood back with Chakotay and Tuvok as the fight began. She flipped Vorik onto his back the second they made contact, then grabbed a branch and used it as a weapon against him. They wrestled with the wood until Vorik flipped it up and crashed it into her face, sending her sprawling. He pounced, and she rolled away, punching and kicking, then rolling him down a set of stone steps. She hit him again and again.
Tom watched with a sense of detachment at first. God, she was tough. His admiration for her strength did little to ease his fear as he watched her being injured. She seemed to be winning, almost defeating Vorik, but Tom could tell she was tiring and weakening. Her strength was all but gone.
Vorik started to fall, but grabbed her around the throat. She managed to break free, punching him hard before he belted her across the face. He fell at her feet, unable to rise.
B'Elanna turned back to them breathless, exhausted, and wobbling on her feet. Tom moved to her, catching her as she fell into his arms. She clung to him with a ferocity that surprised him, especially considering how weak she had become. He sank down to sit, cradling her against him. "It's over, isn't it?" he asked, unaware of how he held her head protectively against his chest, gently pulling her hair back from her face.
"The blood fever has been purged," Tuvok said with finality. "They will both recover." Tuvok rose to assist Vorik, who had lost consciousness, as he lay splayed on his stomach on the ground.
"It won't take them long to reestablish communications, especially if it was deliberately sabotaged," Chakotay tried to reassure them.
B'Elanna was barely conscious, but she still held Tom like he was a life preserver on a turbulent ocean. Tom said nothing, but the look on his face stopped Chakotay from saying any more. Something had happened while they had been separated.
Chakotay had watched the two of them grow into friends in the three years they had known each other. Then, he had observed with more curiosity as she had seemed smitten with Tom, although Chakotay had never asked her about that for fear of being knocked out cold. At least she was willing to flirt with Tom at any rate.
But now? She lay comfortably against Tom's chest, holding him in a way that suggested more than mere friendship. Was it true? Did she have stronger feelings for him? B'Elanna had always pulled at his heart, as he had known how utterly alone she had allowed herself to become, at least when it came to romantic involvements. Of all the souls in the universe, she had chosen Tom Paris?
At first, the thought was almost comical. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Tom had a certain impulsive way about him, but as a man and an officer, she would be hard pressed to find someone braver or more loyal.
Almost an hour passed as B'Elanna lay asleep against Tom's chest. Finally the captain made contact.
"Beam Vorik, B'Elanna, and Tom straight to Sick Bay," Chakotay said, meeting Tom's eyes as he spoke. They stood, Tom lifting B'Elanna, supporting all of her weight against him. Tom nodded to Chakotay in thanks for letting him stay with her despite his lack of injuries.
February 6, 2373
USS Voyager
Once the transporter deposited them in Sick Bay, Tom immediately lifted her off her feet and laid her on the biobed. She suddenly stirred, aware of the shift and of being out of his arms. She reached for his hand, pulling it against her chest and holding it there.
"What happened, Mr. Paris?" the Doctor inquired.
"Whatever you did for Vorik didn't work. They almost killed each other in ritual combat," Tom spat.
"Oh dear," the Doctor proclaimed. "Perhaps my methods weren't as sound as I'd hoped. I should reevaluate that, it seems." The Doctor started running his scanner over B'Elanna while Kes was doing the same for Vorik.
"He has a broken arm, two sprained wrists, a mild concussion, a ruptured dorsal muscle, as well as multiple lacerations and contusions," Kes announced clinically. Tom tried to stay objective, but couldn't help feeling Vorik had deserved it, at least a little bit. B'Elanna had walloped him.
"Standard procedures, Kes," the Doctor called. "She has a crushed larynx and some internal bleeding," the Doctor said to Tom. "I'm assuming Lt. Torres was the victor?" he asked innocently.
"Was that even in question?" Tom blurted. "What about the biochemical imbalance?" he asked.
"All levels are returning to normal," the Doctor informed him.
"So she's ok?" he pushed, needing to hear the words, regardless of anything else.
"She's going to be fine, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said, softer than usual, his program detecting Tom's blatant concern for her.
"Is she sleeping?" he asked softly.
"Yes, she is."
Tom bent down, gently extracting his hand from hers. He brushed her hair away from her face, lightly kissing her forehead. He walked away, stopping in the doorway to turn back to her one last time before he exited.
XXX
When B'Elanna woke, she knew she felt rested, like she had slept for days. Mysteriously, she was alone. Tom had been there with her, but no longer.
In her life, she had often found herself alone. No real family and just a small group of friends, with enormous walls she had erected between herself and everyone else in the world. The power to hurt had to be given, she knew. No one possessed it of their own accord. She had always made it her first priority to make sure she did not give that power away to anyone. To keep it that way, she had resigned herself to being alone. It was the easiest thing to do.
She couldn't remember ever feeling quite as alone as she did right now. It was more than just the walls. It was acute, sharp, painfully deep inside her. Somehow in this crazy mess, she had let Tom inside those walls. Now she had no idea what to do, other than entertain the thought that she needed to build a new, better wall, and fast.
"Welcome back, Lieutenant," the Doctor said amicably.
She sat up warily. "How long was I out?" she asked.
"Fifteen hours. But your body needed the recuperation time. Everything is fine, Lieutenant."
"How long will it take before these feelings go away?" she asked innocently.
"To what feelings are you referring?" he asked.
"All these…jumbled…emotions," she replied. "From the chemical imbalance."
The Doctor shook his head in irritation. "I should not have allowed non-medical personnel to describe your condition to you without verifying first. I apologize, Lieutenant."
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.
"Your pon farr did not cause you to hallucinate…nor did it alter your personality in any way. Not to the point where you would experience false emotions. The pon farr merely affected your self-control. Or more accurately, removed it."
She was reeling. Somehow, though, hadn't she known that had been true? What she said and what she did hadn't seemed out of the ordinary to her. Because it felt normal. That was how she felt. The realization made her dizzy. She thought about what she had said to him and cringed. How could she just go back to pretending? Pretending, she thought in amazement. Pretending that she felt nothing. She tried to shake it off, telling herself she would redouble her efforts. No matter what, she would never let him know the truth.
Years and years later, when her daughter had asked her when she knew for sure that she loved her father, the only thought that was clear had been that moment. Waking in Sick Bay after that Sakari mission, needing to hold him and being unable to, because he had gone. She had never told Miral that it was almost another year before he knew for sure.
September 18, 2373
USS Voyager
They crashed to the floor of Sick Bay, a jumble of arms and legs misaligned with standing. B'Elanna felt like a turtle that had been turned on its shell. Her arms and legs felt so heavy she couldn't move them, after so long in space floating weightlessly. She had been oriented on top of Tom, and she rolled off, facing away from him.
There was a loud hiss, a sharp crack, and then the feeling of someone yanking off her helmet. "Fifty cc's of triox, now!" someone yelled. The breath she took was dizzying. She heard another thump as Tom's helmet hit the deck.
"Seventy-five cc's triox. He's only got two lungs." That was the Doctor.
The room had started spinning, disorienting her terribly. But she could hear Tom gasping. He was alive.
"Another minute and it would have been too late." The Doctor again. B'Elanna watched as Tom was lifted off the deck and onto a biobed, a tech unclipping the rest of his EVA suit. Arms lifted her as well, to a bed on the opposite side of him.
"Fix the inertial dampeners…the ship is spinning," Tom groaned.
"The ship is fine. Your brain is spinning, Mr. Paris," the Doctor deadpanned.
"Make it stopppp…." Tom groaned. A hiss, then quiet.
She looked up. The Doctor had sedated him. Then he was at her bedside. "Is he alright?" she asked somberly.
"Mr. Paris is too full of hot air to asphyxiate, Lieutenant."
He ran the scanner over her. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. Your Klingon physiology has saved you once again. Your redundant respiratory system protected your primary system from damage."
They were ok. Relief flooded her insides.
But now he knows.
She didn't regret saying it. But now what? Nothing would ever be the same.
September 20, 2373
USS Voyager
"Where've you been?" Harry asked, standing at the table in the mess hall with his breakfast tray in his hand. He looked down at Tom, who sat alone at a table, no food in front of him, with his head resting on both hands folded on the table top. "B'Elanna's been asking me where you were for the last day and a half–"
"You talked to her?" he asked sharply, lifting his head up so fast it made his head spin.
Harry sighed, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, and she looked about as well-rested as you do. Which is…not at all. You look like you haven't slept in a week." Harry sat, despite the lack of invitation. "What the hell is going on? And why is it I'm always off duty when something important happens with you two?"
"This isn't funny, Harry," he moaned, dropping his head back on his hands.
"Whoa," Harry huffed. "You think everything is funny, at least a little."
"Wait!" Tom suddenly shouted. "Something important…" he repeated quietly. "Wait, what did she say to you?" he asked urgently. "What did she tell you?"
"Everything," Harry said, wincing as he saw Tom's face pale.
Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She thought we were seconds from death…" he mumbled.
"So she's lying to you with her last breath? Is that really what you think?" Harry asked incredulously.
"No…but it can…cloud your judgment, don't you think?" he asked weakly.
Harry sighed. "Or maybe…she was finally thinking clearly…clearer than she's ever thought before."
Tom covered his face with both hands, resting his elbows on the table. "How could she possibly love me?" he whispered, a rhetorical question that Harry had the distinct impression he needed to answer anyway.
"Because you're brave…and compassionate…and funny…and understanding." At Tom's wary, confused eyes, Harry added quickly, "Her words, not mine." Tom chuckled despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach. "You always accepted her the way she was, never expecting her to be something she wasn't. Those are my words, but I know she feels that way."
The warmth spread inside him, even in the turbulent maelstrom of emotion disturbing his equilibrium. "I thought she was avoiding me…" he said meekly.
"She…may…have been doing that," Harry offered. Tom groaned and buried his face again. "You said nothing, Tom. Nothing. Mr. Smooth With Words himself…struck dumb by three simple words."
"That was literally the last thing I ever thought she was going to say when she said she needed to tell me the truth. I didn't know what to say," he complained.
"I may be the one who's a little green when it comes to women…but I think it's standard to say you love her too," Harry snickered. "Especially when you do."
"I've never said that…to anyone…ever…in my entire life," he said firmly.
"Tom, I seem to remember you languishing on my sofa and telling me you were in love with Kes not that long ago," Harry countered.
"That was different," Tom argued. "That was just a…fantasy…an impossible hope."
"But you were so sure," Harry argued back sarcastically.
"This doesn't feel…like that," Tom countered. Nothing had ever felt like this, he thought, but couldn't say. There was nothing in his realm of experience to which he could compare it. Did that mean he loved her? It would explain so much. How deeply she could always wound him, when she was only trying to protect herself from pain.
Whatever she had said to Harry about him…the things about him that she supposedly loved him for…he was those things…because he wanted to be that, be his best self, for her. He had been in need of redemption, and Janeway had afforded him that opportunity, one he hadn't squandered. But deep down, being the man he had always wanted to be didn't mean anything if she still held him in contempt.
"Well, then, how does this feel?" Harry sighed in exasperation.
"Real."
July 10, 2386
Starfleet Rehabilitation Center, Luna
"About 85% of her memory engrams are affected," The Doctor explained as they walked together through the warmly lit corridor of the rehabilitation facility where B'Elanna was an inpatient.
"That's what I was told. T'Lassa had surmised as much before she was moved from the Starbase," Tom explained.
"And yet, all of the basic things like walking, talking, self care, social interactional norms…none of that was affected," the Doctor continued to explain, though he was relaying facts that Tom was already aware of. "It's odd, Commander. T'Lassa isn't a neurologist, so I can understand why she wouldn't question anything. But no one who has examined her can make any sense of her memory loss. If I didn't know better, I would say her memories were selectively removed."
Tom stopped his forward motion and turned to face the Doctor. "Are you serious, Doc?" he asked.
The Doctor sighed. "I do know better, Mr. Paris. I misspoke. But the pattern to her memory loss is far less random than anyone currently under care at this facility, or anyone in any documented case study in the Starfleet database. Outliers in any situation often can point the way towards understanding. We are optimistic, despite how bad things appear right now."
"Have you noticed any memories spontaneously appearing? Anything else from her life that she remembered?" Tom asked hopefully.
"Her father. And she recognized a holoimage of her mother. And once the nurses explain who someone is, she doesn't lose it. But it doesn't extend back to a time before the accident," the Doctor explained. The Doctor looked worried, which wasn't a comforting thought.
"Let me go in first," the Doctor asked, motioning for Tom to stay behind him.
The door slid open silently as he placed his thumb against the lock on the door. "B'Elanna?" he called softly, as he crept in slowly, trying not to startle her. She turned away from the three dimensional puzzle she was working on and smiled.
"Hi, Doctor," she said lightly. "Hi, Tom," she added, looking past the Doctor into the hallway where he waited.
Even the way she said his name, the inflection in her voice, the dullness of her eyes, the plastic quality of her smile...all struck the Doctor. This was a completely different person than the B'Elanna he had known.
Tom forced his own smile, his eyes telling the sadness that lay beneath. Her smile was vacant. She turned back to the table, fumbling to place two pieces together that didn't fit. Tom looked at the Doctor, apologizing with his eyes.
"Who's been taking care of you?" she asked without looking up.
They exchanged confused glances. "What do you mean?" Tom added gently.
"His mobile emitter," she muttered, almost to herself. She looked back at them briefly, but in that instance, that one sentence, she was herself. Her eyes had cleared. Then it was gone, and she turned away again.
"B'Elanna?" Tom was shocked. He saw the surprise on the Doctor's face as well, and he bent quickly to look her in the eyes. "You remember him?"
"He's Miral's godfather." It was a statement of fact, plainly put.
The Doctor watched Tom blanch at the sound of his daughter's name. He continued to watch as he fumbled, almost choking as he tried to respond, but couldn't. He crouched on the floor in front of her, seeing the clarity escape her. Confusion crushed her forehead down over her eyes. "Who is Miral?" she asked both of them.
Tom shot a warning glance at the Doctor to keep quiet. Now was not the place or time to assault her with so much information. "Your mother," he lied.
"Oh. That's right. Did you ever meet her?"
Tom wasn't sure who she was addressing, but he answered. "She died before Voyager made it home."
She turned her complete attention back to her puzzle, forcing the pieces together, breaking the end of one, sending the rest of the construct shattering to the ground. She swept her hand across the desktop in a flash of frustration. It was something, in general, that B'Elanna would have done. But trivial things had never really irked her. Anything could now.
"Has that ever happened before? Spontaneous recall?" Tom asked quietly, out of B'Elanna's ear shot.
"Never," he said sharply.
"What does that mean?" Tom asked urgently.
"I don't know. It's difficult to isolate memories to know which ones she's lost and which ones she's retained. But I've studied the reports made by your Doctor. It seems today is an anomaly. It may warrant further investigation," the Doctor said crisply.
Tom turned his attention back to B'Elanna, but she was engrossed in picking up the plastic pieces that had scattered on the floor. He called her, but she ignored him. "We should go," he said quietly to the Doctor. They left without another word.
In the office that had been provided for him by the Director, the Doctor sat with Tom and tried to explain what he had been thinking, what his theories were. "I went over the file, the data, multiple times. I told you it was unusual, the damage. But it's more than that. Her injuries were severe, but she had no head injuries. No significant blows, no trauma, that explains the memory loss."
"What about oxygen deprivation? That can cause damage, can't it?" Tom asked.
"Yes, but if that were the case, I would have thought that it would have been more extensive, rather than just isolated to memory. You would expect some motor detraction, or sensory disturbances. I know your Dr. T'Lassa thought as much, and included it in her report. She doubled and triple checked just to make sure. She definitely thought it was odd, but probably never mentioned it to you."
"She just explained it as brain damage. I thought...I guess I just never asked any more questions than that," he said, almost apologetically.
"It's all right, Mr. Paris. You were dealing with enough already. But I am concerned. T'Lassa had limited neurological resources available, especially with the station damage. But this facility has the finest resources in the quadrant. There are more tests that we should run."
"Thank you, Doctor," Tom said sincerely.
"I don't want to give you any false sense of hope, Mr. Paris. But there may be more than can be done."
The relief Tom suddenly felt was welcome after so many endless days of worry and despair. "I do appreciate this, Doc. It's been very….hard….for me….and…." He shifted uncomfortably, not used to the Doctor in a serious way.
"Anyway," he sighed, changing the subject. "There's something I wanted to clarify with you. You kind of threw Counselor Hubron under the bus before, you know, about my habits and whatever. But you heard most of that from Aaron, didn't you?"
The Doctor was suddenly uncomfortable. "How would he know all of that?"
Through a crooked grin, Tom added, "The holodeck records are only accessible by the Chief Medical Officer."
"I don't see how that's important," the Doctor said in defense.
"No, you wouldn't. But Aaron and Dr. T'Lassa are a...couple. A Vulcan couple." The Doctor seemed to just stare. "I know you read all there is available in Voyager's database about Vulcan mating rituals. They're….telepathically linked. There isn't anything she knows that he doesn't."
"Commander Michaels is human, is he not?" The Doctor asked.
Tom nodded. "T'Lassa's part human too. But I guess it runs in her family, being able to communicate so well with humans. He isn't telepathic, but he can communicate with her that way, even when they aren't in the same room."
"I never would have even imagined. I've been in the room with them before. How odd," he commented.
"Wait til you're with them again. You'll wonder how you missed it. Once you know, it's obvious," Tom said.
"They both obviously care a great deal about you, Mr. Paris. Which was the reason for the report. Half of it was Echenna. The other half was your first officer, by way of your Chief Medical Officer."
Tom rubbed his hand over his mouth several times. "He's been holding me together with one hand while he's been putting the station back together with the other."
"He has become part of your family as well, hasn't he?" The Doctor asked softly.
He laughed once, humorlessly. "I would have given up a long time ago without him. I kept feeling like all I was doing was polishing trash for Starfleet, since they couldn't make up their minds what was going on there. Some days I still feel like that. I'm tired of putting things together just to have them fall apart again. Repairing things just to watch them break. And then, really, I'm just tired. But he won't let me give up. For better or worse."
His holographic eyes shining with sympathy, he added, "For all that, letting him help you doesn't seem like it's so much to ask, does it?"
