Tom's head hurt and his arms felt like spaghetti. The combination of too much Mowasi "muscle relaxant", and the spontaneous work detail that Captain Janeway started in the holodeck left Tom doubly worse for wear for his morning shift. With all of two hours sleep he scratched his tousled head and as he as if on automatic pilot, he headed towards for his morning shift in sickbay.

B'Elanna and Nanton walked quickly down the corridor. The large pockets of Nanton's beige work clothes were stuffed with fabric rolled up like scrolls. As they walked, she pulled out one after another and showed them to B'Elanna. Once unrolled it was revealed that each fabric was a large glossy photos of from Shantix Three. Nanton presented them with an unusually chatty narrative.

B'Elanna didn't slow her pace and showed little more than polite interest until one in particular caught her eye. She started listening to Nanton.

"…This one here is a series of islands that were formed out of a coral reef before the Kantari ocean receded."

B'Elanna was captured by the picture. "Wow. I've never seen anything like that! That would be some pretty rugged climbing."

Engrossed in the photo, B'Elanna rounded a corner and collided with the hung over pilot. The photo was crumpled, but not as badly as it was after she slammed Tom against the wall.

"Ptaha!" B'Elanna growled at him and kept Tom pressed against the wall.

Tom's reflexes were slow, but he welcomed B'Elanna's close proximity. "Hey, B'Elanna," he said in a disarming tone, "Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess I'd just do anything to get close to you."

B'Elanna snorted.

His boyish eyes met her furious gaze. He playfully looked her over.

"Where is this?" Tom asked as he took note of the large photo plastered against his chest.

"None of your business." B'Elanna pulled the picture away from him and dropped both of her fists to her side. "Look at you. You're a mess." She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "You smell like a targ that has been rolling in tlhol veQ!"

Tom gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged.

Sarcasm laced his words. "Nobody much cares what I do around here anymore. Not like one Maquis spitfire I know. Bet you never dreamed that you'd get to play Starfleet captain?"

"Play?" Hostility boiled in every word. "You're the only one demented enough to play around here, Tom Paris. And if you weren't acting like such a bum maybe more people would care about you did and give you some responsibilities."

Tom cut her off. "People? You mean your buddy, Chakotay?"

"Chakotay, me, whoever. The point is if you weren't screwing around wallowing in your own self-pity you'd see that there are people on this ship who'd like to rely on you."

"Rely on me? What the hell for? What good was I to you, B'Elanna? Zapped off the bridge and stuck in a Krenim cell playing lab rat for months on end."

"Tom, what does that have to do with anything? You're here now."

He stared at her blankly. Here now? Was he? He really didn't he feel like it. He backed down from the argument and began to walk away.

Muttering over his shoulder, he replied, "Yeah right. But what good is a pilot without a ship to fly?"

B'Elanna shook her head and muttered under her breath, "Hopeless." Then she turned around and ordered Nanton. "Don't ask! Not a word. I don't want to talk about it."

The tall, dark-haired alien stood with her head bowed low. She looked like she had retreated into herself for the duration of the argument.

Since she got no argument B'Elanna started walking, and Nanton followed a half a step behind.

"I'd rather slit someone's throat than talk about my feelings."

The wide-eyed alien sought to be as helpful and non-confrontational as possible. It was the Mowasi way. For the rest of the day Nanton expertly functioned as a buffer between B'Elanna and the combined Voyager crew and Mowasi engineering team. With silent stealth like efficiency she intercepted many incoming reports. If proof reading a few padds was going to prevent blood shed in engineering, Nanton felt it was worth the effort.

Typically B'Elanna might have been offended by someone interfering with her work, but after all they'd been through, combined with the tremendous job before her, and the cold fury that the persistent memory of Tom's behaviour stirred, she decided to accept the help.

In sickbay Tom spent the day in the Jeffries tubes working on the rewiring. Exhausted, stressed, and stuck in there for many hours, his mind began to wander. The tube felt eerily like a Krenim observation chamber. Slowly, then more progressively, his mind began playing tricks on him. Working on the relays he'd become distracted by what he thought were lights running down the side of his torso. When he looked for them they weren't there, but the anger at being held by the Krenim against his will, prodded, and analyzed like an inhuman object rose from deep within. Tom did his best to shake it off and put his anger into his work.

A Mowasi worker about to test a subsystem needed to inform Tom of what he was about to do. He came to the Jeffries tube where Tom was working and said softly, "Lt. Paris?"

When Tom didn't respond the fellow casually tapped on one of Tom's shoes since his feet were sticking out of the entrance to the tube.

In response Tom kicked and hit the man forcefully in the groin, thrust himself out of the tube, took the man to the ground, and planted a knee on the Mowasi's torso. He was about to punch him in the head.

The Doctor hollered, "Lt. Paris!"

Tom slowed but didn't move from striking position. He appeared disoriented.

"Tom!" The Doctor continued urgently. "Tom?"

Tom let his hand relax.

Perceiving his state, the Doctor spoke firmly and calmly while Tom came to grips with his surroundings.

"You are in sickbay, Tom."

He slowly released his other hand from the man's throat.

"This man is no threat to us."

Tom lifted his knee off of his sternum and stood stunned.

"Uh… yeah, right. Um, sorry."

Tom offered the terrified fellow a hand up.

"I guess I …"

The Doctor interrupted his floundering attempt at offering an explanation, "I need to examine you. Now. Over here."

At the end of the engineering shift, one report arrived that Nanton couldn't field. The Doctor came down to personally deliver it but B'Elanna insisted she didn't have time to go to sickbay.

"I don't think you grasp the seriousness of Lt. Paris's condition."

The Doctor pushed himself between B'Elanna and the panel she was focused on as she tried to ignore him.

B'Elanna retorted, "I don't think you understand how low Tom will stoop to avoid responsibility, Doctor."

"Lieutenant! This is a diagnosed medical condition. You need to set aside your personal grudges and realize that Tom needs help."

"Look, you are the Doctor. If you think he needs medical leave, give it to him. If you think he needs treatment, you don't need my approval. Do what you need to, but don't hassle me with Tom Paris's antics."