Making Up is Hard to Do
Chapter 9
The bathroom deck was cold and the room dark. Tom awoke shivering and apparently had hit his head on the sink given a minor head wound and some dried blood. Nothing I can't fix with a dermal regenerator.
His mind cleared. The pain was gone. "Computer, what time is it?"
"It is 2020 hours."
Seven hours! Beta shift.
He pulled himself up slowly and placed his hands on the sink for support. The Bajoran globe was still giving off flickering light and wafting smoky incense.
His image looked at him as before. He looked a bit younger, more filled out, and with less strain. Now the second question came.
"Who are you?"
Tom thought about it. Who am I? What makes me Tom Paris? How do I self-identify?
His mind raced back and recalled all the memories that had flooded through him just hours before. So much anguish. But that was in the past. Or maybe the future? It is so confusing.
But what did he think about himself today? Who was he right now? That had to be answered.
Two things immediately entered his mind, the two most important things in his life. B'Elanna Torres and Voyager, in that order. He smiled.
Since he had arrived on the Starship almost seven years ago he had changed dramatically due to both of them. He was more mature but still a free spirit at heart. The eternal flyboy. He did what he wanted on his free time although much of it was spent with B'Elanna. Still he tended to put certain priorities ahead of her like ALICE. And Holodeck programs. And working on hobbies. And hanging out at Sandrine's. And fun with Harry. And taking serious risks such as going warp 10….
He stopped. Was that him? Is that how he identified himself? Fun loving and cavalier Tommy the helmboy? B'Elanna liked that boyishness about him but not always. Something was missing with him and her. What was it?
B'Elanna. B'Ella. Bea. No matter what he called her she was it. He had just experienced months of what life had been without her and it hurt so much. Never had a breakup torn him apart like this one did. There was so much agony that he almost went crazy. She had always been there for him before their blowup and he just would not let her in completely. That was going to stop right now.
But it hadn't been easy for her either. He never thought what time apart meant to her emotional stability until he saw her in her quarters with Janeway and Chakotay. But he had always put B'Elanna first, didn't he? Doing little things for her to show how much he cared. But he did not tell her often enough how much he loved her. That tough Klingon exterior meant she did not like the mushy stuff. But now he knew just how wrong it was for him to think that way. She did like it. He had to tell her.
He also thought about what Voyager meant to him. It was a feminine vessel with its grace and neural interface. So easy to handle in his skilled hands.
He had just turned twenty-four when he came on board her as a proficient pilot with an attitude. But he now took his job much more seriously. He had responsibilities. He was the chief pilot. And he would turn thirty-one in two months.
If Captain Janeway had not intervened when he was in prison, he would not be here. He would not have found B'Elanna once again during their Maquis days and what that reunion had become. Voyager was his home now. He would grow old and eventually die here if something did not kill him first. Did he want to go out as a joker?
He mulled that over and it kept hammering at him. No Voyager meant no B'Elanna and vice versa. Memories came back of her smile, her laughter, her touch, making love passionately, sharing a kiss, sneaking her roses and dark chocolate, sharing popcorn, and sending silly notes to her PADD. But he also thought of her competency, her drive, her spirit and dedication, her brilliance, her leadership, and that fiery temper that she tended to control much more than she used to do. And she was always there for him even when she had abused herself in the depths of depression. She was a very special woman. She was his woman, once he claimed her. But he hadn't, had he?
He grasped that two women dominated his life in a positive way. One was made of living and breathing flesh and blood. The other was alive due to its pulsing engines, neural interfaces, and power generation. Together they made Tom Paris what he was.
And the answer to the second question began to form itself in his mind as he recalled an old and long-forgotten event from years ago.
Tom drifted back in time to a conference he attended as a young test pilot flying for Starfleet. The guest speaker was Admiral Robert Duncan, a top pilot in his own right. He said that you never can be Starfleet until you totally embrace it. He called it "You have to love to suck." They all knew what that meant and the crowd laughed.
During the question and answer period one of the pilots brought up his having a difficult time with his new wife and her accepting his budding career. He asked the admiral how he handled his Starfleet vocation and a personal life. Tom was shocked when the admiral spoke from his heart.
Duncan smiled. "Military life has been unchanged for centuries. Having a spouse or partner and children is part of that life for many of us. But most of you struggle because you put your career first and family second. Or you do the opposite. But the truth is they are equal and you must balance them." There were many nods. Tom remembered thinking hard about what the senior officer said.
The admiral continued. "Sometimes one will take priority over the other. I am not saying it won't. But a true career Starfleet officer knows that the relationship he or she has with their family is just as important as their career. One enhances the other. The military career provides security and financial income, as well as incredible sacrifice and hardship. And danger periodically. You can lose your life serving others but we accept that." He drank some coffee.
He thought a moment and continued. "Talk to your wife about the family being your rock of support. Your wife is your lifeline. I would not be here today if it were not for my wife, Roxann. Roxy is also Starfleet and a ship's captain on a mission right now. I miss her terribly. She is a professional tactical officer, my best friend, my lover, and a wonderful mom. We raised two girls even with her career. She provides a home when she is not deployed somewhere. We have moved all over the Alpha Quadrant and she rarely complains. She is everything to me." He got emotional. "I would be lost without her."
Many officers were shocked at the admiral's openness but others knew exactly how he felt. Tom had forgotten all of this but now it came back to him like a warp core detonation.
/
Paris stared into the bathroom mirror. He was unexpectedly weepy. But there it was. Lost without B'Elanna. Lost without Voyager. They must be together, him, her, and the ship. And especially be more attentive to B'Elanna. Finally let her in.
Then the answer came to him as the question was asked.
"Who are you?"
Tom answered with certainty. Or so he thought.
The image nodded but looked strangely pained and doubtful. It did not smile or fade away this time.
Something was still missing. Tom was holding back. Instinctively he knew it; he had to let it go and take that last step. He wracked his brain. What? Tell me what it is I must do.
The fire within the globe became super-hot and caused it to detonate. The incense ignited into a fireball.
Then it was as if shards of broken glass and an inferno ripped into his very being. Tom once again screamed from waves and waves of intense agonizing pain. He yelled at the top of his lungs as his hands went to his throbbing head as if to hold it together.
But the agony was far too strong this time. It was as if his brain was about to explode. His body was on fire and his nerve endings shrieked for relief. Too much. Can't take this anymore. Make it stop!
He was dizzy and slipping away. His breathing became labored and began to slow. He was about to die and he knew it.
Then he realized he could not endure his pain by himself anymore. He needed her to support him. He called out. "Help me, B'Elanna! For God's sake help me!"
/
Lieutenant Torres awoke with a start in her recently sanitized quarters. Her nightlight was still on and barely illuminated her bed. Several PADDs were strewn about with reports streaming in and diagnostic programs running. What was that? Who called me? She looked around but no one was there.
Tom. The ritual! Red nightgown or not, she had an overwhelming compulsion to run to Tom Paris immediately. Override his door locks. Find and comfort him. Love him. She sat up and started to locate her slippers.
But Freddy's warning came back to her. Whatever you do, DO NOT go to him physically.
B'Elanna closed her eyes and her mind floated as she began to meditate. You are Tom's lifeline. Then she could see him. He was naked in his bathroom in agony and dying.
Her mind raced and the words silently poured out. Tom, I'm here. Tom, I love you. Take my hand. Ask me, Tom. Please ask me to marry you. Please, Tom!
She abruptly became drowsy. Before falling asleep, she murmured out loud, "Tom, come back to me." Flopping backwards on her bed, she slept.
/
Tom was moments away from death when a second image appeared in the mirror. He could barely see through the flames but there was B'Elanna Torres standing proudly next to him in her red nightgown, her right hand tightly gripping his left with interlaced fingers. She calmly thrust out her left hand palm down with her fingers spread. Her mouth moved.
The pain was so intense he could not hear her words. But she was imploring him, pleading him, begging him to say something she desperately needed to hear. Something they so urgently required. What, B'Ella? What is it?
Then it finally became clear as his body began to shut down. Aubrey was right. B'Elanna was indeed his lifeline. But she was so more than that. She was his mate. His wife. She was the mother of the children they would have together. There was no life without her. They must bond.
With tremendous effort he reached out to the mirror and seemed to touch her left hand. With his last tortured breath, Tom Paris excruciatingly stated what he had wanted to tell her for over a year but just could not get it out due to fear of rejection. "B'Elanna Torres! Will you marry me?"
In her quarters, a dreaming B'Elanna reached upwards with her left hand. A tear dribbled down her cheek. "Yes, Tom, I will marry you!" Her hand dropped. She slept in peace.
Seconds later Paris's lifeless body hit the deck as he went to oblivion.
Paris was gone. Torres was gone. The mirror image smiled and faded away. Quenched by Tom's ultimate sacrifice, the globe extinguished itself and the incense ceased.
Now the grieving could begin.