"Computer, lights," Neelix said, once he had punched in the security code authorizing them entry. The door slid open and Neelix hung back, letting B'Elanna enter first. She took a few steps inside, and paused, feeling as if she'd entered someone else's life. Like everything else on Voyager, the walls were gray, but possibly in a burst of pique, someone had chosen a carpet just a shade lighter than the Ocampan desert.
A round glass table with two chairs sat in the middle of the room, while a large bed covered in blue and white bedding was pushed up against the windows. Generic and non-offensive artwork decorate the walls, but B'Elanna's attention was immediately drawn to the crib settled against the foot of the bed; whoever lived here was getting ready for a baby.
"Well?" Neelix asked expectantly.
B'Elanna swallowed hard. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel, but she was pretty sure 'nothing' wasn't the answer Neelix wanted. She wanted to experience a rush of memory coming back at her, but none of the furnishings or decorative items sparked any kind of emotion. One thing she knew for sure; these quarters were more inviting and comfortable than the apartment she'd occupied on Quarra.
Her gaze fell upon a pair of black men's shoes lying by the side of the bed, appearing as if they'd been kicked off haphazardly. "I - those aren't mine."
"No, they're most likely your husband's."
"Husband?" B'Elanna asked, stumbling over the word as if it were in a foreign language. The Doctor had made a similar reference earlier, and she'd protested then. It was easier to rely on the story she was telling herself than open herself up to even more intense disappointment. "I- I don't think so. I- he left, there isn't anyone." It was difficult to keep her voice steady but somehow, she managed.
"No, there is, B'Elanna," Neelix said. "I can prove it to you." He picked up a silver framed picture that decorated the top of cabinet and handed it to her.
She took the picture in her trembling hands carefully and stared hard at it. The image showed her - sitting on the lap of... that waiter. Tom. His face against her cheek, and she was leaning into him, beaming, her hand pressed across her heart, a gold band prominently displayed on her ring finger.
"The waiter from the tavern?" B'Elanna asked in disbelief. She felt lightheaded as she touched the picture carefully, obscuring Tom's face with her finger, and concentrating only on her image. The B'Elanna Torres in that picture was someone she couldn't even imagine being; that B'Elanna Torres seemed blissfully caught up in a moment, unaware she could lose everything and everyone just like that.
"Lieutenant Tom Paris, our pilot, and B'Elanna Torres, our Chief Engineer. That picture was taken on your honeymoon," Neelix said.
B'Elanna nearly dropped the picture. Tom was the oft-mentioned 'Mr. Paris'? The smooth-talking waiter with the beautiful blue eyes who couldn't resist flirting with nearly every woman who came into the restaurant? Of all the ridiculous things that had been told her to since she came aboard Voyager, this was the most ridiculous. Tom had been kind to her, yes, but how did that translate into him being her husband? Guys like Tom didn't fall for women like her.
"It's not possible," she said firmly.
"How else would we have it?" Neelix argued back. B'Elanna barely heard him as her attention was drawn to a box with a viewscreen in the corner. She knew she should know what it was, but her mind was a blank. She glanced back at Neelix questioningly as she ran her fingertips along the smoothly finished wooden surface.
"It's an antique television. You gave it to Tom as a present," Neelix said.
… I've been working on a little surprise for you.
… Oh? Naughty, or nice?
"He watches cartoons," B'Elanna said suddenly. She looked at Neelix, startled by the revelation. "How do I know that?"
"Because you're starting to remember," Neelix answered proudly. B'Elanna glanced back down at the picture. This time, she didn't try to obscure Tom's face. In the image, his fingers curled against the stem of a champagne glass, his eyes closed, and a broad smile stretching across his face as he tipped his head against hers. It hit her then; the Tom Paris in that picture was lost in B'Elanna Torres.
She thought back to Quarra, how Tom always stopped to talk to her, how he'd urged to eat, offered to come to the doctor with him… and then the last time she'd seen him, he'd offered to walk her to the transport. And all those times when she'd noticed him looking in her direction when he didn't think she wouldn't notice. As if he felt what she didn't.
"I wondered why he was so protective of me," she said in a voice cracking with emotion and bewilderment. She clenched the picture tightly to her chest as she moved through the room, looking at everything in a new light. She observed the bat'leth on the wall, paused briefly to run her fingers over its edge and was startled to discover it wasn't sharp at all.
She was on the holodeck, looking out at a recreation of an ancient Klingon battleground. The bat'leth was heavy in her hands. Her hearts in her throat, she couldn't even take the luxury of a moment to admire Tom in his Klingon armor. "Today would be a very bad day to die," she said softly, as she handed him the ancient weapon.
When she passed the dining table, she ran her fingers over the shiny smooth toaster surface (how many slices of peanut butter toast had Tom made for her?), eyed the pottery tea pot and matching mugs, and then finally, her gaze was drawn baby's crib with a little mobile of spacecraft hanging above it. She ran her fingers over the crib gently and then looked down at the little pink blankets folded across the small mattress. Her breath caught at the back of her throat.
She glanced back at Neelix, who offered her a supportive smile. She turned back to the crib and leaned down to stroke the soft material.
... you know, this is one special kid we're having.
... you're just figuring that out?
B'Elanna blinked as the crib suddenly blurred in front of her. She tightened her hold on the crib to keep from losing her balance.
"I'll be outside if you need me," Neelix said softly. B'Elanna didn't acknowledge his departure.
B'Elanna remained kneeling by the crib for a long time, not really seeing anything at all. The revelation that she was married to the waiter from the restaurant – no, no, not really a waiter but rather Voyager's chief pilot – had rattled her. She couldn't deny the mounting evidence. She did belong on Voyager, she was married, but there was still so much that felt unknown to her.
After a while, she rubbed her hand roughly against her eyes, and carefully replaced the framed picture on top of the cabinet. She took a deep breath and then proceeded to inspect and explore these quarters in more detail.
A stack of PADDs occupied the surface of one of the side tables, while some roses – long dead, now dried – in a blue and porcelain vase sat on another side table. B'Elanna stared at the roses; had she and Tom fought prior to their disappearance on Quarra? It was impossible to tell now what color the flowers had been, but Tom spent precious replicator rations on a bouquet of yellow roses in the aftermath of conflict. How do I know that? She picked up the vase, walked into the bathroom, dumped what little bit of water remained into the sink, and threw the flowers into the recycler.
B'Elanna opened the closet. About a dozen uniforms hung side by side – with the red taking up the left side and the yellow-jacketed ones on the right. She then pushed the uniforms aside, revealing other articles of clothing. It appeared as though Tom Paris favored the color blue and had a weakness for brightly-colored and ornately decorated vests. On what she assumed was her side of the closet, B'Elanna realized her tastes ran to the pretty and romantic; among her off-duty options, she found a floral sundress, hanging next to a velvety brown sleeveless dress.
… Fresh flowers? An afternoon on the holodeck? It almost feels like we're dating again.
… The secret to a lasting marriage. Keep the romance alive.
B'Elanna shuffled through the rest of the clothes, but nothing else triggered a memory. She closed the closet and then opened the dresser drawers. The top drawer held a collection of pajamas, while there were a couple of pairs of cotton tank top and short sets, she immediately gravitated towards the silky ones with lacey adornments that slipped through her fingers as they fell back into the drawer. She knew without a doubt these pretty things belonged to her.
… I could add a steamy love scene between the Starfleet conn officer and the Maquis engineer.
… That's realistic!
Abruptly, B'Elanna slammed the drawer shut and turned to lean back against the dresser. She could see everything from here and she realized that even if she couldn't remember this life - even if she was being manipulated - she wanted to live this life. Desperately.
She thought of apartment 3C down on Quarra with its utter lack of personality. She recalled lying awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how she was going to cope once the baby arrived.
B'Elanna sank down on the bed, stroking the soft material of the blue comforter lightly. Which side of the bed was hers? she wondered. She liked to sleep on her side, though with her belly growing, it was getting increasingly more difficult to find a comfortable position. How did Tom like to sleep? Heat flared up in her cheeks as she contemplated the intensely intimate question, and to distract herself, she reached for one of the PADDs on the nightstand. Most of the PADDs were engineering manuals, but one caught her attention.
"'Warrior Women at the River of Blood'," B'Elanna read out-loud. The very same tome she'd been reading at Quarra, the one that felt familiar when nothing else in her life did. The PADD clattered from her hands to the floor, but she made no move to pick it up.
Her eyes focused on the small terminal on the desk on the other side of the room. In a few paces, she was seated in the grey and blue armchair. B'Elanna inhaled deeply and tapped the power-up button. A second later a password field flashed onto the screen. B'Elanna's fingers seemed to know automatically what to type. She held her breath as the screen displayed a long list of documents.
"The personal logs of B'Elanna Torres," she read out-loud. She saw that the entries spanned almost seven complete years. The last one had been recorded three weeks previously. About the time she had arrived on Quarra. "Computer, play last log entry."
A second passed before B'Elanna heard her own voice echoing through the room.
"Chief Engineer's log, Stardate 54584.27. I told Captain Janeway this morning that Voyager needs a complete overhaul. I've asked Seven to look for a world where we can set down or a station with adequate maintenance facilities; so far, nothing. I'm doing the best I can, and my staff is working double-shifts to keep crucial systems operational. Today, all the relays in grid nineteen A blew out. I rerouted everything over to twenty and twenty-one, plus wired in the B relay, but it's a temporary measure. Icheb has run diagnostics at least a thousand times and tells me all systems are running well within specified parameters, but I asked him to plan on running the tests every morning for the next seven days, just to be sure. He told me it's not an efficient use of his time, but Icheb doesn't know Voyager the way I do. The ship tends to overload when you least expect it, especially since we constantly divert power and plasma flow through conduits and wiring that can't possibly support the high resistive and voltage levels. Tom tells me I need to relax. He says the stress isn't good for the baby. He's right, I know, but if something else goes wrong on this ship, it's my responsibility fix it, and one cascade failure leads to another. Damn. I hate red alert. If it isn't one thing, it's another. End log."
B'Elanna sat very still for a moment and then said, "Computer, replay last thirty seconds of the log." The computer picked up from the moment where she first mentioned Tom and played to the end. B'Elanna took a deep breath. "Computer, replay the last thirty seconds of the log." And again, there was her own voice talking about Tom. She played those thirty seconds two more times, before understanding what the klaxons in the background meant. This was the moment when my life changed.
That realization led to a vague recollection of running down the corridor, as smoke billowed out from Engineering, with her tricorder registering rapidly increasing radiation levels.
... evacuate, we must evacuate. Radiation levels are approaching lethal levels, Captain!
... understood, Lieutenant. Evacuate your area and set the escape pods on course for the closest M-class planet.
B'Elanna took a deep breath and then requested, "Computer, play the very first log in database."
"Personal log, stardate 48321.81. I thought I'd finally gotten away from the claustrophobia of Starfleet's rules, their regulations, and even their stupid uniforms. But here I am, wearing yellow for Engineering. Putting this uniform on means Chakotay has given up, given in. I see his point, but we are Maquis, they are Starfleet. How the hell is this supposed to even work? Captain Janeway was in the Badlands to take us prisoner and now she wants us to join forces? Chakotay tells me becoming one crew is the best decision, that we all need to work together to return home, even if it means accepting Starfleet again. They didn't want me the first time, why would they want me now? End log."
It was eerie to listen to her own voice recording events she didn't remember. But B'Elanna was glad she'd found the logs; it gave her more confidence she wasn't usurping someone else's life.
After listening to her logs for another two hours, B'Elanna found herself in front of Tom's television set. The remote control—which she remembered Tom objecting to now – sat on the top of the box. She pressed "Power" and the television blinked on.
... jingles. Confusing, I know, but I left them in for authenticity.
B'Elanna gripped the remote tighter.
Tom lying on the floor and waking up, shaking. I think I've had enough for tonight, he told her when she'd suggested a cartoon to chase away the nightmare. He'd turned off the television, pulled her into his arms. Told her he'd had enough for one night. She'd cradled him in her arms that night, pressing her lips against his, relishing the warmth of his skin against hers for the first time in weeks.
B'Elanna dropped the remote and went back to the terminal. The television continued to play in the background, but she didn't pay any attention.
"Computer, download personal logs of Thomas Eugene Paris, security authorization Torres Beta Nine." She didn't even question how she knew her security code. The computer beeped back an acknowledgement and B'Elanna picked up the PADD containing Tom's logs. She stared at the PADD for a long time, knowing that she was about to violate a confidence.
"But we're married," she reasoned out-loud. "No secrets, right?"
And B'Elanna began to read.
She started at the beginning, fast-forwarding through some of the duller logs - the ones that described in excruciating detail the things Tom had eaten for breakfast. The first couple of years' worth of personal logs recounted his pursuit of the Delaney sisters and there were some brief mentions of someone named Kes who had been involved with Neelix. And of course, there were a lot of adventures and such with Harry Kim. There were some ruminations about his father, a brief reminiscence or two about his mother, and cryptic references to an incident called Caldik Prime. As the logs entered the third year of Voyager's journey into the Delta Quadrant, B'Elanna started to hear her name with greater frequency.
"Stardate 50172.38, personal log." Tom Paris' voice filled the quarters. "Harry and I spent a month's worth on replicator rations on dinner tonight. Steak, potatoes, onion rings, you name it, we had it tonight. It seems indulgent, and I know I'm going to regret it in a few days when Neelix's cooking is my only option, but it felt good to celebrate our freedom. I've now been to prison twice, but New Zealand feels like a Risian resort after what the Akritirians put us through. I still feel disorientated from the clamp, but the Doctor assures me that it will pass in a few days. I was getting ready for bed when B'Elanna came by. She looked exhausted, said she'd put in a double shift in Engineering. I pointed out we were well into Gamma shift now, and I was surprised she was still standing. 'We Klingons are pretty tough,' she said with the barest hint of a smile. 'But so are you.' And then her words tumbled in a rush as she explained she'd just stopped by to check on me. I asked her if the Doctor had sent her, and she said no, and suggested we meet for breakfast in the morning. 'Harry too?' I asked. She said yes, but as it turned out, Harry skipped breakfast, but we didn't miss him."
B'Elanna rubbed her eyes. She felt increasingly weary and a bit guilty about this intrusion into Tom Paris' life, but she couldn't quite stop listening to the inner thoughts of the man who was her husband. Every now and then, he would mention a holodeck program he was working on. He'd mentioned one called Sandrine's, another that took place on Lake Como, and musing whether B'Elanna would enjoy a romantic getaway to Tahiti. But it was clear Captain Proton was his favorite program to play, but he'd poured his heart and soul into one called Fair Haven. Just reading the descriptions caused a snippet of conversation to edge back into B'Elanna's mind.
… If you ask me, that whole program is an accident waiting to happen. You've been running Fair Haven around the clock. Just yesterday, I had to replace three holo-emitters.
… I ran a full diagnostic this morning. Everything is fine.
… Whatever you say. But, when your quaint little seaside town starts to depolarize, don't come running to me.
"Doctor to Torres."
B'Elanna snapped out of her reverie. "Torres here."
"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
"I'm doing well," B'Elanna answered. The truth was she was exhausted, her mind still felt cloudy, and her stomachs were starting to twist in hunger.
"Are you remembering?" the Doctor sounded intensely hopeful.
"Bits and pieces, but I still have a lot of questions."
"Don't worry. It will come back to you."
"I hope so," B'Elanna answered. She stared back down at the PADD and the mustard colored letters blurred in front of her eyes. She'd left off on the log where Tom had mentioned he'd be piloting the Delta Flyer on a two-week mission with Chakotay, Harry and Neelix. Subsequent short entries detailed their findings, and the trials and tribulations of spending so much time in a small space with the other three men. B'Elanna was about to hit play again when she had a sudden flash of memory: Tom lying on the sofa, remembering the anger directed at her
... I can't concentrate on sensor readings right now!
... Try!
... I can't! Stop pushing me! I don't want your help!
Frenetic energy pulsed through her body as she recalled how Tom had struggled with the aftermath of a battle that seemed so real, how he'd pushed her away when she'd come to check on him. B'Elanna rose from her chair and paced the length of the quarters, her hand resting protectively on her abdomen. Back and forth, back and forth and then pausing in front of the sofa, where she'd initially found Tom curled on the floor, shaking and bewildered. Later, when the truth had been uncovered, he'd apologized for the way he'd behaved – profusely, his voice tremulous, contrition softening his face, roses cradled in his arms – and she'd forgiven him, as before, as always.