Chapter Two Evaluation
Very late that evening, B'Elanna Torres returned from dinner with her new colleagues and changed into black silk pajamas to relax. Although pleasant enough, the table conversation had been more than just fluff at times. Other Starfleet officers had joined the group and a few were more than discourteous. Lieutenant Commander Dick Brownfield asked how she could just up and abandon her daughter at the space station, orders or not. And there was Lieutenant Freddy Bristow who after a few glasses of wine decided she was hot and insisted on walking her home. Harry Kim put a stop to that, after some effort. And Ensign Jenny Delaney made sure she sat next to Torres to pimp her for information about her sister. She knew Megan was never any good with children.
The stroll back to her quarters with Harry was lighthearted, however. Kim regaled her with academy stories about Paris that had B'Elanna rolling with laughter. Tom was certainly a jokester who had made friends with Harry way back during academy days. Evidently the two had come to view themselves as the old movie pairings of the Cisco Kid and his sidekick, Pancho, or maybe antiquated television's the Lone Ranger and Tonto, given the Captain Proton program they had designed together. And of course there were some off-color and spicy tales of Tom's never-ending thirst for female companionship with that huge libido of his. Torres found that revelation to be offensive and Harry got the message. He shut up.
When Torres pressed Kim as to why Tom had never married, the Korean-American winced. All he could offer was that Paris was a private and deeply caring person who needed someone special to make him feel complete. The Tom Paris he knew pursued women endlessly but also required constant reassurance that he was loved. Harry also thought Tom needed a woman with a strong enough personality to stand up to his crap. But he also desired a lady who could take it, as well, although Tom rarely lost it. The half Klingon lieutenant found herself smirking at the thought.
B'Elanna also thought that last comment was curious and pushed for more. "I thought Tom had a violent streak?" Harry just shrugged and said his friend was complicated. He iterated that Paris' ideal woman was someone who was 'independently dependent,' an intelligent, competent, and resilient person in her own right but one who also wanted a man to share her life and to take care of her. Tom simply had never formed a lasting relationship with that kind of female. So in Tom's fantasy mind, for some reason the perfect woman became Starfleet Lieutenant and Engineer B'Elanna Torres. That actually made some sense to her. She was definitely like that with Max.
So now she was taking some time to examine the PADD that Troi had provided. There were the typical file preliminaries. "Paris, Thomas Eugene. Male. Thirty-four. Born 2346, Portola Valley, California. Father: Starfleet Admiral Owen Paris. Mother: Retired school educator and administrator Julia Paris. Older siblings Moira (Paris) Anderson and Kathleen Paris-Rogers." Okay, nothing there that is revealing. She drank some bottled water, as she read certain portions of Troi's report.
Aha. "Patient Paris suffers from extreme psychosis. He lives in his created world as a married man with a child. His belief is that he is wed to B'Elanna Torres and has a daughter, Miral. This situation has hindered recovery, for Torres acts as a conduit to Nexus. Paris experiences separation depression, anxiety attacks, delusions, suicidal tendencies, mania, withdrawal from family, and hallucinations. The patient often becomes violent, particularly when confronted by holopictures of him taken by Starfleet investigators on Caldik Prime, when shown his Maquis uniform and identification, and offered other evidence of being the helmsman on the Liberty. He has shown nothing but contempt for other credible information taken from official Starfleet and civil records. Medical treatment has included progressively stronger doses of Haldol, Haloperidol, Perphenazine, Thorazine, Proloxin, Navane, Thiopental, and various cocktails mixing those components with experimental psychotropic medications. No measurable effect upon Paris."
Wow. If he wasn't nuts already, all of that would probably drive him there.
She flipped the page and continued. "Therapy sessions with counselors have failed to cause patient acceptance of his being Thomas Eugene Paris, a single and failed Starfleet officer and former Maquis paramilitary freedom fighter. All the 'evidence' he has offered to counter reality has been refuted by official records and family intervention to include sessions with his sisters and parents. He refuses to accept the overwhelming and compelling evidence before him and claims it is all fabricated."
Torres skipped down a few paragraphs. "Without serious measures prognosis for recovery is very poor. Brain intervention or permanent removal from society may be required. Before those methods are taken, however, it is suggested that Paris be allowed to confront his 'wife.' I recommend that Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres be temporarily assigned to Starfleet Headquarters with duty at Starfleet General Hospital. It is hoped that Paris speaking with Torres will open his mind over time to accept the truth. With her successful involvement followed by recovery, training, and education, Paris has a very good chance to be a contributing if average member of society. Further reports to follow. Troi, Commander."
Torres contemplated that synopsis and now better understood what was expected of her. This was certainly a lot of bother for one insane man but he was the son of Admiral Paris. So she perused the next file, Paris' academic progression as a Starfleet legacy. He was highly intelligent with an IQ of 155 and, like her, rebellious by nature. Prep Academy, Starfleet Academy with very high honors, and then pilot training for an operations and command track cadet with impressively exceptional reaction times. Medical proficiency in his secondary field was off the charts. Definitely had a doctor's insight and more than a basic knowledge of medicine. He excelled in computer programming and holodeck design. Everything she read said future admiral.
His hobbies included flying, designing complex holodeck programs, and magic tricks. He loved to snow ski. Sure, skiing. The perfect outlet for a speed freak out-of-control wild man.
All considered Tom Paris was a pretty normal guy. Sure, he had been born with the silver spoon of the Admiralty at his immediate disposal but he seemed to be a pleasant enough person on paper. All he had to do was use his brains, education, upbringing, and connections and he was there; a career success story. But he had fallen on hard times due to poor judgement and perhaps too much youthful exuberance coupled with an overabundance of testosterone. But she also figured it was that constant need to feel wanted and loved that just gnawed away at him. Torres could understand that, given her father leaving her at a young age. And a mother who was more warrior than nanny. Max had filled that desire in her and she loved him so much for it.
It didn't take much reading for Torres to know that the downhill slide for an adult Tom Paris began with the shuttle crash at Caldik Prime. A Board of Inquiry was followed by a general court-martial where he fibbed under oath. That error, along with him being found guilty of the charges, tossed Tom Paris out of Starfleet in disgrace. Federation prison followed; ten years' worth. He behaved himself enough to be released early only to run off to the Maquis and the Liberty, a doomed ship that became trapped within Nexus after going through The Ribbon. All of what she was told about the real Tom Paris was there in detail and confirmed.
A paper manila envelope had been provided so she opened it to remove a recent holopicture of Paris in his brown hospital clothes. Although his hairline was receding a tad, he still had tousled blonde hair that she really thought would be fun to run her hands through. Those crazed cerulean eyes displayed his obvious madness but were so intriguing. And that impish smile of his showed a mischievous nature that Torres found to be fascinating. For a moment she was thinking that if he wasn't so creepy he would actually be quite handsome and might even be a good catch. Her skin flushed a bit as her blood warmed and moisture formed between her thighs.
That was when she just burst out laughing. Attracted to Tom Paris based upon a picture! Come on! But Harry said he was a ladies man who had 'panty-dropping eyes' and could talk a woman into bed in minutes. Putting the image down, the Starfleet engineer now took out additional pictures of Max and Miral. Max had his high forehead, curly-brown hair, and those piercing dark brown eyes she loved so much. And it always amazed her how much that daughter of theirs looked like her parents even at the tender age of almost three. The young lady had her Mom's forehead ridges, although not quite as pronounced. And her brown eyes and brown hair were definitely Torres genetics. And there was Max's smile, big as life.
Suddenly something startled her about that. Picking up Paris' picture once more she compared his face with the holopicture of Miral. She could almost swear that her daughter had Tom's smirk, that quirky one she would see when her offspring was up to something naughty. Just my imagination. I miss them both.
So now she opened the most important PADD document, Tom Paris' transcripted rantings as to what he believed to be the truth. He talked about his being a rehabilitated Starfleet officer, one that had finally made his father proud. And of a Caretaker and how that angry entity threw a Starship with a combined crew of Starfleet officers and Maquis about 70,000 light years into the Delta Quadrant. That right there was more than enough evidence that Tom was being nonsensical. She knew the Maquis had no love of Starfleet and would never serve together.
After seven years in that Quadrant, the 'USS Voyager' returned to Federation space and Earth. Tom described how that vessel was supposed to have entered the San Francisco shipyards for a long-overdue and necessary rebuild but ended up at Deep Space Nine's facility instead. Then he discussed how the newly-appointed vessel commander, Captain Chakotay, was tasked to provide escort duty for ships transiting near Nexus, although the ship had a skeleton crew and the repairs were not yet complete. Not much else was there regarding the ship and its activities.
But there was plenty about B'Elanna Torres and Miral. She read how Tom had wished he had known B'Elanna during their Academy days, although he was three years older than her.
She paused and thought. That's odd. Why would he say that? Of course I knew Tom as a cadet but he was nothing more than an acquaintance. So she shrugged and continued reading.
Paris talked of her joining the Maquis and how they ended up on Voyager. Tom explained how the two of them were not exactly close at first. She once called him a pig and thought he was arrogant. That was until they shared a horrific experience in a Vidiian prison where Torres was separated into two beings and they and a 'Pete Durst' were to have their organs harvested. Durst was and sadly he died. But that shared experience and what followed caused Tom and B'Elanna to become close friends. And a couple years later they were on Sakari IV where Torres was suffering from Klingon blood fever and she bit him, claiming Tom as her mate.
Uh huh. Sure I did! Torres shook her head and laughed, for she had indeed claimed someone like that but it was Max. She bit him her senior year at the Academy, not Paris or anybody else. She was monogamous and her own chin scar where her husband had bit her on their wedding night proved it. Her hand touched that scar; the memory of him biting her was so strong.
But Torres' mouth opened in wonder anyway. Something compelled her to look once again at Tom's holopicture very carefully, just in case. No bite mark there. Obviously he is delusional.
So reading on revealed how the two of them danced around each other for a year, flirting and growing even closer until they worked on a Day of Honor program together. Now she knew he was nuts. There was no way she would do that; she hated blood pie and Klingon pain sticks! But then she read that the two of them had ended up that day floating in space after a warp core recovery mission went badly. As they ran out of oxygen right before being rescued he told her he was so glad that the last thing he would see was her. He even mentioned a dream he had of them being married with kids. And she told Tom she loved him. Right! I love Tom Paris! Yes, he is absolutely insane.
Now what is this shit? Oh, Kahless! The next sentence had her shaking her head once again and laughing. But she soon stopped when matters turned serious. Paris insisted that they then became lovers, for three years. Tom told the shrinks that B'Elanna eventually thought he was just using her for sex and companionship so she was going to end it. That was when he realized in the middle of an intergalactic space race with her as Flight Engineer that no one in the universe was more important to him than B'Elanna. So he stopped the ship and asked her to marry him even as they were about to blow up. And after the crisis ended he said he might have to beg her to answer him. So she said…"Yes, Tom! Oh God, yes!"
B'Elanna nearly dropped the document and placed a hand over her shocked mouth, hardly believing what she had just said. She had not read that; she had spoken it out loud as naturally as could be. Even though it was merely Tom's transcribed interview of his phony proposal story blow-by-blow, his words came across to her as so genuine. It was as if she could actually hear and feel them. As with Max's proposal and her acceptance, Tom was so excited when she said yes! And according to Paris they were married that night and honeymooned on something called the Delta Flyer. It was there that they took the Klingon Blood Oath.
The Klingon Blood Oath! Hell, she had never done that with Max! Totally oblivious to Klingon culture, Max Burke had no interest in anything Klingon with one exception: sex. So he never asked her, although she had dropped enough hints that this ritual was very important to her. She even asked Max to read Women Warriors at the River of Blood but he always had other priorities. He never understood as a full-blooded human that the male must take the lead to prove his worthiness to be her mate. And Paris thinks he did that with her when her own husband did not? He is such an idiot.
And according to Tom, a few months later Torres became pregnant with Miral and she desperately wanted to alter her appearance while in the womb. That much was true; she did not want her daughter to have her forehead ridges and suffer ridicule. But it was Max who stopped her, not Paris, right before he deployed. And then Tom recalled her giving birth in Sickbay with an EMH present while he was supposedly at Voyager's helm running away from the Borg and into the Alpha Quadrant. That much was true, at least partly. Max was on the Equinox and the Orion's doctor was indeed an emergency medical hologram, a holographic woman who had once been assimilated and reprogramed by the Borg. She delivered Miral with Torres lying there alone and in agony. But then the EMH was reassigned to Starfleet Headquarters a year ago or more. Never did catch her name.
And that loving husband of hers before he left had actually put credits down with the ship's betting pool on when she was going to deliver. She was sooo glad she could accommodate him because he was right. He made a lot of Ferengi latinum slips off of that bet. She had banked it and it was still there. She had the deposit slip.
But Tom then told of finally being released from duty. He ran to the turbolift and then Sickbay to hold his daughter and kiss his wife senseless. B'Elanna could actually feel his touch as she placed her hand on her cheek. Tommy Paris just exuded emotion in his interview when it came to her. Tommy. Where did that come from? But she knew. Owen Paris had called him that in their meeting so it just came out. And she had missed that feeling of Tom's made-up abundant joy with Max because he wasn't there when Miral was born and still had not seen his daughter. Maybe she simply wanted a caring person and family man around more than she had imagined. From what she had read, Paris was supposedly that way. Max could be quite the cold fish, except in the bedroom.
She knew this transcript was based upon pure bunk, of course, merely the delirious desires of such a sick individual who concocted all of this and more. Tom Paris must have been deeply embroiled in Nexus for a long, long time to speak with such passion and detail. There was just so much here that she could not wade through it in one night even if she wanted to. The rest would wait until the morning.
Walking into the latrine, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, taking time to stare into the mirror as she removed her makeup. While looking at herself she pursed her lips to pluck a few hairs near her lip. Then those musical lyrics once again came shooting into her head, pounding away like an insistent drumbeat. She smiled this time, however. Somehow she knew that her husband was trying to comfort her, wherever he was. I know my kingdom awaits. And they've forgiven my mistakes. I'm coming home, I'm coming home, tell the world I'm coming home…
"…let the rain wash away, all the pain of yesterday." Somehow finishing that sentence just sounded wonderful to her as she sang it out loud. To her, there was something truly remarkable about rain. Rain cleared the air and certainly washed away the pain. Rain had done that for her before. It helped make things just a bit more clear. The clouds lifted and the sun burst out. To her, rain was gentle like a whisper. But it was also as powerful as a shout.
Then B'Elanna could actually hear the rain pounding on the window of her guest quarters. Ready for bed, she entered the bedroom to take in one of those San Francisco squalls that had suddenly come up. A quick jerk opened the glass wide so as to take in the fresh and moist air with its ever-present and slight taste of sea salt teasing her lips and tongue. This felt so good.
So she decided to leave the window open just a crack to hear the melodious pitter patter on the sill. Turning off the lights, she crawled under the covers and embraced the darkness, her eyelids becoming heavy. Soon she would be checking them for holes, as her mother used to say. Reaching for that holopicture of Max, she hugged it closely to her breasts; her desire to be intertwined with her husband was so overpowering. But sleep overtook her with a huge smile on her face. For the first time in weeks, her dreams were pleasant and she slept in comfort through the night.
The next morning came quickly. B'Elanna awoke early to go out for a run around the shuttle field, feeling absolutely refreshed. She was so relaxed now and not worrying about her husband or what had happened to him. Something told her he would be okay; everything was going to be fine in the end. Cuddling Max's picture had convinced her of that. So before getting up to dress in her gym clothes she retrieved the picture from her blanket and went to give Max a nice wet kiss. To her horror she discovered that what she had been holding all night was the image of Tom Paris.
/
"So, Lieutenant, are you ready for this? Just sit in the observation window, watch, and listen."
Chief of Hospital Security and Vulcan Commander Tuvok explained the rules for Torres to follow. Paris would be released from his room and be led into the courtyard where he was free to interact with other patients, under close supervision. The vegetation contained microphones and cameras to record everything that was being said or done and there were attendants nearby in case anything violent happened. All Torres had to do was remain where she was and watch unobserved. She was free to take notes as she desired but do nothing to attract Paris' attention such as pounding on the one-way glass.
"Ready." Torres acknowledged that the observation could begin.
A door soon opened and several patients drifted in, their distinctive brown jumpsuits easily identifiable from the white-clothed staff. It wasn't a moment before Torres spotted the 6'1" Paris who entered quickly and began to walk around the area at a rapid pace. He was gesturing wildly and talking to himself. So she turned up the audio to see what she could pick up.
"…and then you just laid there in the damned sickbay with that alien sucking the life out of you! And damn you, B'Elanna, you refused to let that holographic Crell Moset operate on you because he was a Cardassian. I begged you and begged you but you would not listen to me. 'Rather die,' you said. So I talked with the command group without your permission and convinced them to let him and the EMH operate anyway. That saved your life! But what did you do? You screamed at me. You hated me. You would not listen to me. It took days before you would talk to me again. And if you had died, what do you think would have happened to me? You are so damned stubborn. But I love you anyway. You are my wife."
Torres had no idea what Tom was talking about. He was obviously still under the misconception that he was married to her and she had never heard of Crell Moset. Then Tom sat down on a bench and started rocking back and forth, talking to himself and rubbing his head. "You know, Dad, I always wanted you to be proud of me. But you never were until I came home. Always pushing me and telling me I wasn't worthy of being a Paris. But I showed you, didn't I? Mission after mission on Voyager as Chief Helmsman. I broke the warp ten barrier with B'Elanna's help. And then I married her; a beautiful and wonderful woman who I really don't deserve. And she gave me the most precious gift of all, Miral. Miral! I miss you so much, Sweetheart! Suddenly he jumped up and ran right over to the one-way glass. He started beating on it while his lips moved. Torres was taken aback because it looked as if he was talking directly to her.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant. He does that all the time. He can't see you and that glass is nine inches thick." Tuvok smirked. "Now he must once again learn to behave. Observe."
Two men in white coats came over and jabbed Tom in the neck with Klingon pain sticks. He cried out and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Then one of the orderlies put Paris into an arm lock and forced him to his feet. The former Maquis pilot was wobbly so they just dragged him off through the door for who knows what.
Torres became unglued, jumping up and heading for the side access entrance. Tuvok grabbed her arm but she broke his grip. "Let me go! What the hell are you doing to him?"
Tuvok remained his unflappable self. "Nothing that is not approved hospital procedure, Lieutenant Torres. He will undergo electric shock therapy and an ice bath now to teach him some manners. Paris must learn discipline, as part of his treatment. He is free to wander about and rant all he likes but must not strike out at people or objects. He hit the glass with his fists. He knows that is a rules violation but he likes to push. And we must push back or the inmates will run the institution. The sticks are low voltage and the pain reduces in a few hours. See, he was perfectly calm when taken away."
"He was nearly unconscious! That was not necessary, Commander! Kahless, I know pain sticks intimately and they cannot be set to low voltage. You know he took a full charge from two of those things to the back of his neck. And I know how they feel on my own body. That was nothing short of torture. And you are going to shock him some more, aren't you? Does his father know about this?"
The Vulcan scratched his head indifferently. "Admiral Paris knows everything and has signed the release forms. You are soft, Lieutenant Torres. Engineers always are. They spend far too much time working on non-sentient machinery instead of commanding personnel in battle."
Tuvok noticed she was still seething. Perhaps a different approach was in order. "I do not expect the uneducated to understand the sophisticated methods that are used in hospitals to treat patients with mental disorders. As I said, he will be fine. But you are more than welcome to talk with the nursing assistants if you are uncomfortable. If you would come with me, please."
The two exited the observation area and entered the open courtyard where Paris had been stunned minutes before. Striding across the area revealed several patients who sat in wheelchairs or leaned against the columns, mumbling inanely or simply staring into space. One person, a strange looking balding man, gazed at her intently with pleading eyes but soon looked away quickly. Torres halted; an unseeing Tuvok was still moving to the doorway.
"Do I know you?" Torres asked that question out of curiosity, for the man indeed looked familiar, perhaps from Starfleet Academy. He wasn't quite right, however. Despite all the Federation assurances, space travel was not safe and so many officers and enlisted personnel suffered from chronic fatigue, radiation exposure, or merely 'cracked up.' This man looked healthy but there was obvious pain in his eyes. And maybe what she would call recognition, although she had never met him before.
"I'm B'Elanna. What is your name?"
Absolutely unresponsive and obviously disturbed, the man wrapped his arms around a column and spun around it, laughing and giggling as if he were a child. Torres watched with interest and compassion. So sad. That smile of his was familiar but the man would not speak with her. This behavior was so typical of aged patients in the later stages of Alzheimer's and similar dementias. But he was middle-aged! Now Tuvok was motioning frantically to get a move on.
But then the man reached out to her, not too far to attract attention but more like he had stumbled and was regaining balance. Torres caught him, holding him up as a whisper entered her ear. "Remember this. I…am…Annika." He smiled.
/
"So, B'Elanna, you have spent six weeks watching Tom Paris and have talked with every member of the staff regarding procedures, medications, and options. You have read the medical literature, Starfleet regulations, studied his files, and attended group meetings with administrators in secret. But now you want to speak with the Director of the Mental Facility before your first session with him! What must we do to convince you that Paris' treatments are necessary? What can she do that Admiral Paris and Counselor Troi and I haven't already told you? You must admit that Tom Paris is in good health. He is only restrained or punished when he acts out and that is for the protection of the other patients, not just him."
Torres looked at Doctor Beverly Crusher. She knew all of that. But something just wasn't adding up.
"It's important. Before I see Tom, for our first session alone."
Crusher smiled. Shit. So stubborn. Yet tolerating questions from the medically unacquainted came with a doctor's turf. "Of course. You have every reason to ask. The Director's private reception room is over there. She will be with you in a few minutes. Now, if you will take a seat at that table." Crusher left and Torres plopped into a chair to spin around a bit.
This is so perplexing. Over the past few weeks she learned so much about Tom Paris. He was almost a friend on paper and she began to feel a connection with him, as if she knew things that went beyond what she had read or observed. There was something about how he moved. His face was so familiar to her. Something struck her about the way he would look at people and even her through the glass. His eyes were so full of intelligence and expression. And also a lot of pain. Somehow she knew he was a good person. A loving person. Someone she could actually…. Her hands clenched and unclenched as her mind churned.
But then she concluded that the overwhelming physical evidence indicated Tom Paris was truly insane. He threw fits and tantrums. He babbled endlessly about her and Miral and his father having accepted him. Tom would not only talk to patients and staff about this but also to potted plants and shrubs. He even got down on his knees and addressed a sprinkler head, speaking to it for nearly half an hour. Once when it activated he did not even notice he was getting wet. That was not normal behavior by anyone's standard.
But there was also something else that had happened and it actually frightened her. One afternoon B'Elanna had walked into the 'treatment' room to discover Tom's bloody shirt on the chair. He had been beaten and not too gently; they had cracked his nose and snapped several bones. Apparently he had broken restraint and attacked an orderly with a metal chamber pot and security did not appreciate that one bit. After a severe pummeling, he had been taken to the hospital's Sickbay doctor for treatment. B'Elanna had recognized her as that woman EMH, the same one who delivered Miral. Tom needed two hours of her expert services to mend his bones and treat his bruises. And it was obvious that this holographic doctor certainly had once been Borg, her use of nanoprobes was a dead giveaway, as was her obvious cranial implant.
It was curious that a hologram would look like that but Torres wrote that off to just another mystery about this hospital. She instead recalled walking around that empty treatment room while taking in the restraining chair with its broken straps that should not have come undone. Tom had been set up; she was certain of that. There was the ice bath and potent electrodes that he had endured for over an hour. Very primitive stuff to be sure but perhaps effective, although she could not see how.
A strange sensation occurred when B'Elanna touched Tom's shirt and some of his blood unnoticeably went on her fingers. By accident she tasted it when she scratched an itch on her face. A shock immediately went through her body, something she had not felt in years. Then she picked that shirt up, taking in his scent. It filled her and her blood became hot; she wanted him desperately.
As she stood there contemplating what that meant, the song in her head returned once more, just as it was doing now. And the blood will dry, underneath my nails. And the wind will rise up, to fill my sails. So you can doubt, and you can hate. But I know no matter what it takes. I'm coming home, I'm coming home, tell the world I'm coming home. Let…
"…the rain wash away, all the pain of yesterday."
"Excuse me? Did you say something? Lieutenant Torres? You wanted to see me?"
Torres turned in her seat to see a uniformed woman standing in the doorway. She moved over to the table and sat down. This blondish person in her early forties outranked her so Torres went to stand up. But the officer indicated she should remain seated. "You may go, Beverly. We will be fine alone." Crusher nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
"I am Rear Admiral Samantha Wildman, director of this treatment facility. I read in your written correspondence that you are ready to talk with Tom Paris but have questions about his case management. All of that has been explained to you before but I can certainly try to address your concerns. As administrators, we are here to do that. We do this so often with family members who never seem to be totally accepting of what we must do. We try so hard but are simply understaffed. And finding qualified attendants is difficult. They seem to be reassigned so often. Or they are…not always the best people available." She smiled, seeking approval of her admission. Torres said nothing.
"Obviously you are not Tom's family and normally we would not discuss his case with you in depth. But In Tom's mind you are his wife and the Admiral has told us to give you whatever you want, even though I must say we have done more than that already. I suppose, however, that it is a good thing you are raising questions now before you confront…or should I say interact with…Thomas."
She poured some coffee. "Care for some? I seem to operate on this stuff. Lubricant for the soul, I guess. As you know, Starfleet calls this the 'juice of life' and in my case that is so very true." She laughed and Torres did as well, feeling just a little bit better. "Sure. Black is fine. Thanks, Admiral."
The two drank some coffee. "So, what can I do to help, B'Elanna? I am here to assist any way I can you know."
"And I appreciate that. I am concerned, Ma'am, that Tom is being abused. I understand that I am no psychiatrist or medico but I have worked closely with enough medical staff over the years to know rough treatment when I see it. He has many bruises and abrasions. And I have seen attendants using a dermal regenerator on him fairly often. Over the past several weeks I have noticed that only Tom Paris is being treated this way. He has been beaten, isolated, shocked, and dunked. No one else is undergoing that form of treatment. Everyone else no matter what they do is left alone or gently removed to their rooms. It seems a bit odd to me, Admiral."
Admiral Wildman nodded and tapped her teaspoon on the table, as she looked at the floor. "Tom Paris is a very unusual case. His psychosis is deeply imbedded and his will seems unbreakable. We believe that he acts out to gain attention so more individuals will hear his story and may even come to believe him. He does things that are simply outrageous. We have caught him talking to plants, trying to discuss flying methods with the therapy dog and cat, punching his own reflection, and even smacking his head on a lamp post. And he talks endlessly no matter what he is doing. He is married to B'Elanna Torres. His daughter's name is Miral. He is a Lieutenant Commander now and Voyager's First officer who has made his father proud. All this talk of the USS Voyager and shipmates who he addresses by name and rank like he knows them. And a Lieutenant Commander! Everyone knows a First officer on a Starship is a full Commander. My word!" She poured a fresh cup for the two of them.
Miral's daughter shook her head and sipped away. "Not all the time, Ma'am. There are operational exceptions if no one else is available and the officer is highly-qualified. From Paris' file he was command and operations trained at the Academy. And on the Liberty he was not just the chief pilot but also served as deputy commander because of his background."
Wildman drank more coffee. Bitch. "Well, I am not a personnel expert like you apparently are, B'Elanna. Just a Rear Admiral shrink who runs a mental hospital. Several months ago, before you came here, I met with Tom for a personal consultation. I prefer to know my patients. Like you, I also had doubts about him. His story seemed so real. He looked at me and even called me by name before we were introduced. Then he proceeded to say that I wasn't who I said I was. According to him I am actually a xenobiologist aboard Voyager who is married to a Ktarian named Greskrendtregk. I supposedly have a child named Naomi. My 'husband' is on Deep Space Nine. Apparently I started to smirk at the time and Paris became very agitated. Watch this holovideo."
Wildman pulled up a file and the two now observed the viewer.
There was Tom Paris in a typical rage, pacing wildly and slobbering on his jumpsuit. "He is on Deep Space Nine, Sam! And you used to have dinner with B'Elanna and me on Voyager. Naomi is your daughter and she calls us Uncle Tommy and Aunt B'Elanna! Your parents are Linette and James. You have one sister, Nancy! Don't you see? All of this is fake. You are a fake. Everything is fake. Why won't the pain wash away? Where is the rain? Where is my B'Elanna? Where is my Miral? What have you done with them? God, I love them so much."
The video stopped and the Admiral reached across the table to take Torres' hand in hers. A tear was running down B'Elanna's cheek. "My parents are deceased, B'Elanna. I do have a sister but her name is Myra. But no husband. No daughter. And you were on Deep Space Nine for quite a while working on repairing the Orion. Did you ever meet a Ktarian man named Greskrendtregk? It is a small enough station and you would have met him, if he was there."
"No, Ma'am." B'Elanna sniffed. She had never met him. But she also heard what Tom had said about her and Miral and for some reason it touched her very soul. He had used the same words that Max had sung to her when things were bad. Something was very wrong but she was not about to mention that.
The cheery Rear Admiral faced her. "Nor could you! He does not exist. He is a figment of the delusional mind of Tom Paris."
She stood up and faced the door. "What we are doing here is in Tom's best interest, I assure you. Admiral Paris has authorized us to use any force necessary within Federation and Starfleet regulations and civilian clinical guidelines to break Tom's will to fight back. Tom must eliminate his anger and stop acting out or he will hurt himself and others. If he remains violent, he simply will not respond to treatment. What you are being asked to do then becomes irrelevant. It is such a shame. I understand he was once a highly-skilled pilot who could fly a ship through the eye of a needle. It would be so wonderful for everyone involved if he could do that once more. So…wonderful. We would all feel that we accomplished something beautiful here with such a troubled patient."
Torres nodded and an idea formed in her head. "I imagine that for a skilled pilot such as Tom Paris that flying is his life. To not be able to fly would be staggering. Maybe that is the key. I can try to convince him to let go of me and Miral so he can be treated and then fly once more. It's worth a try, anyway. Thanks, Admiral, for clarifying things. No need to explain anything any further. I will do what I have to do."
Admiral Wildman smiled. "I am sure that you will, Lieutenant. You have a reputation for getting things done. We have every confidence in your ability to interact with Tom Paris. It just seems so natural."
Torres saluted and left.
Beverly Crusher then walked in and closed the door. "Well?"
"Tell Admiral Paris not to be concerned. Torres will do what she has to do. I have every confidence that she will be able to break Tom Paris' grip on her and Miral and we will soon have him well on the road to recovery. Owen and Julia will be so thrilled to have their son back. At least Julia will."
Crusher nodded, then turned to Admiral Wildman as a smile settled upon her face. "Oh, I think the Admiral will be elated. Nothing would please him more than to have Tom flying once again."