COPYRIGHT December 1999,  BY: R.G. Mac Auslan
THIS STORY IS WRITTEN FOR PLEASURE AND IS NOT INTENDED TO INFRINGE ON ANY 
PREEXISTING COPYRIGHTS THAT MAY BE VIOLATED.  FEEL FREE TO SHARE WITH 
FRIENDS, BUT NOT FOR PROFIT.  THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, A WORK OF THE 
WRITER'S IMAGINATION. THE CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS USED IN THIS STORY ARE 
PURELY FICTIONAL AND ARE NOT BASED ON ANY PERSON AND/OR PERSON'S ACTUAL 
EXPERIENCES.
   
Title:  Truth is Stranger Than Fiction
Author: rita
  
E-mail: mommacita1@juno.com
Fandom: STVoyager
Rated: NC-17 
Pairing:  Various 
Archive: Yes, please
Content Warning:  This story contains descriptions of violence, graphic
non-consensual sex, and graphic consensual sex.  Part 1 contains only the
implication that violence occurred before the story opens.
Author's Notes, Reserve and Restriction:  Voyager has returned, fairly
"soon" from where canon is now (sixth season), to the Alpha Quadrant,
crew intact.  Tom Paris is a Lieutenant.  Tom and Belanna broke up before
Voyager returned.  This story has not been beta'd, so feel free to make
corrections.  When the story is complete, I will forward a corrected copy
to our exalted archivist.  I welcome feedback (positive and constructive
negative) and suggestions for the direction the story should take.  Two
more segments are ready for posting and more are in the draft stage, but
where the story ends - and how - is still unclear.  
   

Part One

"How could a parent do that to his own child? He knew exactly what would
happen and sent his own son!" Chakotay asked Tuvok, fully aware he'd
asked the same question about the same two people more than once before. 
This time though... Although the battered body had long since been
transferred to Star Fleet Central's Torture and Trauma ward, Chakotay
still saw it when he gazed at the stained carpet on the embassy floor. 
Should he have known?  
   
Tuvok did not answer the Commander.  He shifted uncomfortably, unwilling
to trust his voice not to betray the deep emotions he did not quite have
under control.  Let the Commander vent for both of them.  Could he have
done more?
   
He remembered the last time he had seen Tom Paris.  It was on-board
Voyager.  Janeway, Chakotay, and he were going over the candidates for
the refit Voyager crew when Paris had requested permission to speak with
them.
   
***
   
"Captain, Commanders," he had greeted them with his usual casual air.  "I
don't know whether you've considered my continuing to serve on Voyager
yet, but I wanted to let you know that I have another... opportunity.  My
father has requested that I be his personal aide at Star Fleet Central."
   
"That's quite an honor," Chakotay remarked.
   
"Indeed," Tuvok confirmed.
   
"Well, yes," Paris continued, "it is.  But, if you... need me on Voyager... " 
He let the sentence trail off.
   
"Tom, we could never deprive you of such an opportunity."  Janeway
assured him.  "How wonderful that you and your father have reconciled."
   
"Uh, yes, yes it is.  Thank you Captain, Commanders."  Paris turned to
leave.
   
Tuvok stopped him at the door.  He tilted his head and regarded the
lieutenant intently.  Coming to a decision with a slight nod, he reached
into his pocket and pulled out a security communicator. Generally used
for undercover operations, it would operate without the tell-tale chirp
of the normal communicator if the back was pressed along with the front. 
It also contained a silent, and supposedly undetectable, homing device
that operated if the back was pressed alone.  "I will be manning the
security channel, Lieutenant," he said in a voice that reached only
Paris' ears, passing over the communicator while shaking hands with the
lieutenant..
   
Paris looked surprised and relieved.  "Thank you, sir," was all he said
as he palmed the proffered device.  Once the doors had closed behind him,
he immediately exchanged the communicator on his uniform for the new one.
   
***
   
Chakotay wondered what he and Janeway had missed at Tom's last interview
with them.  Some nuance - had Tom been asking her to insist he stay with
Voyager?  Obviously, the answer was yes.  How had they missed it?
   
Tuvok decided he should have acted more decisively.  Lt. Paris had
predictably waited until he was completely desperate before activating
the communicator.  Tuvok rebuked himself for not having everything in
place before the lieutenant signaled.   Certainly, surveillance could
have been in place.  Although the renegade Klingon ambassador and his
aides might not have been captured, Paris' injuries - physical and mental
- would have been much less serious.
   
***
   
"How is he, Doctor?" Captain Janeway  walked in and inquired of the
Holodoc, transferred to the Torture and Trauma ward specifically to work
on Tom Paris' case.  Chakotay was less than a step behind her.
   
"Physically, he's recovered well," the Doctor replied.  "He has full
range of motion in all limbs, his internal organs have healed, and he's
been very cooperative with physical therapy.  He does whatever he's told
to do."
   
This did not sound like Tom Paris to the Captain.  "But..." she prompted.
  
"But he ONLY does what he's told to do.  And he's aphasic."  At their
questioning looks, the Doctor expanded, "Mute.  Doesn't speak.  Doesn't
make a sound, actually, except in his sleep."
   
"What can be done?" Chakotay asked.
   
"Well, Commander Tuvok's tried mind-melding with the Lieutenant.  At
first Mr. Paris reacted violently to him.  But Tuvok was able to calm him
through the meld.  Unfortunately, Mr. Tuvok came up blank - literally. 
He said Mr. Paris' mind appears as a blank wall - behind that wall is Tom
Paris, but Mr. Tuvok was afraid if he tried to tear down the wall, it
would make matters worse.  If he's left here, the prognosis is for no
improvement.  Chances are he wouldn't deteriorate, but his current state
would probably become permanent."  The Doctor hesitated.
   
"What is the medical team's recommendation?" Captain Janeway prompted.
   
"We are recommending a somewhat unorthodox approach.  Normally, we'd
recommend sending the patient home to be in familiar surroundings with
family to encourage him.  However, in Mr. Paris' case that is, of course,
untenable.  So we considered what surroundings he might find
comfortable."
   
"That would be Voyager," Chakotay stated.
   
"Precisely.  With Voyager going on a six-month shakedown cruise, and with
me rejoining the crew, it is feasible to take Mr. Paris along in hopes of
providing him with the right stimulation for a full recovery."
   
"Let's do it then." The Captain had no hesitance.  Chakotay hid a smile
at her predictable response.  The Doctor managed not to smirk.
   
"We will have to provide round-the-clock supervision.  And those
supervising will have to be trained.  Mr. Paris, in addition to his
aphasia, has some strong dislikes.  Since he can't express them verbally,
their occurrences tend to cause him severe stress."
   
"I'm sure we can find a sufficient number of volunteers so that won't be
a problem.  Mr. Paris was... is well-liked among the crew."  Janeway
settled the issue.  She and Chakotay would set up a schedule when they
got back to the ship.
   
"Can we see him?" Chakotay didn't distrust the Doctor's judgment, but
wanted to see Paris' condition with his own eyes.
   
"One at a time," the Doctor replied.  "He reacts very badly to more than
one person in the room at a time.  This is part of the training his
caretakers will need to have.  That's also why he's in a private room. 
Knock, then enter and step quickly away from the door.  He needs to have
clear access to the exit.  Oh, and don't touch him.  He tolerates
assistance when he needs it, but not otherwise.  And if he doesn't
anticipate being touched, he panics at the sensation."
   
The Captain and her First Officer exchanged glances.  "Why don't I go in
first?" she suggested.  Chakotay nodded and she went to the door
indicated by the Doctor and followed his instructions. She entered a room
with a bed, bedside table covered with padds and paper books, and a
single arm chair.  The arm chair was placed as far away from the bed as
possible in the small room.  A half-open door led to the sanitary
facilities.
   
"Tom?"  Janeway tried to keep her voice soft, gentle.
   
In response, Tom Paris opened his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting
position on the bed.  His glance went to Janeway, standing next to the
arm chair, then quickly to the door, finally resting on a spot somewhere
in front of him.
   
"It's Captain Janeway, Tom," she tried again.  Perhaps he'd been asleep
and didn't recognize her.
   
Tom nodded once, still not looking at her.  She moved into his line of
sight.  Tom immediately stiffened and his glance darted to the door
again.  Janeway moved back to the chair and sat down.  "Better?"  Tom
glanced over, nodded quickly, and began to relax.
   
"Voyager leaves in eight days for a shakedown cruise," the Captain began.
She was looking at her hands and missed Tom's violent head-shake at
this.  "We'd like you to come along."  She looked up to find Tom Paris'
brilliant blue eyes, filled with silent tears, staring directly at her. 
He dropped his gaze as soon as their eyes met.  "Would you like to be
with us?"  The tears fell then and Tom forced his eyes to almost meet
hers, not quite succeeding.  He nodded with slow certainty.
  
"All right, then.  The Doctor will make the arrangements and you'll come
on board when he does.  I'll make sure everything you need is ready for
you."  She stood up briskly, not sure how to continue, and said, "Well. 
You have another visitor , so I'll be on my way.  I'll see you on
Voyager, Lieutenant."
   
Chakotay waited a few seconds after the Captain exited Paris' room before
repeating the entry procedure.  Tom was still sitting up, but had wiped
away his tears and closed his eyes.  "Tom, it's Chakotay.  How are you
doing?"
   
He was not prepared for Tom's response.  Tom's eyes flew open and widened
in terror.  He opened his mouth and let out a long, wordless scream, then
flipped off and under the bed.  The Doctor and the Captain were there
immediately, the Doctor ordering the two others out peremptorily.
   
The scream shut down gradually, finally ending in gasping sobs. The
Doctor came out of Tom's room shortly afterward.  "He'll be fine," he
assured Janeway and Chakotay.  "This is the same reaction as he had to
Commander Tuvok.  Unfortunately," he added wryly to Chakotay, "you
couldn't perform a mind-meld to calm him."  He thought for a moment. 
"Much as I hate to put him through this again, I think perhaps we should
test each of the volunteer caretakers before Voyager departs."  Janeway
nodded thoughtfully. Chakotay didn't respond, already mentally reviewing
his memories, both near-term and Delta Quadrant, to try to account for
Tom's reaction to him.
   
***
   
"All right, then," Captain Janeway looked at the dedicated group gathered
in her Ready Room, "we've established that Tuvok, Chakotay, and Belanna
cannot participate directly in caretaking.  However, we still have enough
staff to make it work.  Harry, you'll take the night-shift;  we'll make
sure you're only scheduled for alpha and beta shifts on the bridge."
  
"Right, Captain, no problem.  The Doctor's already briefed me on the
nightmares and what to do and not do."
  
"Good.  Seven, you'll take the morning shift?"
   
"As you wish, Captain."
   
"Seven, if you don't wish to participate... ?" Chakotay let the question
dangle.
   
"Not at all, Commander.  My command of colloquial Standard has gotten in
the way of my meaning."  Seven looked at Tuvok briefly and restated her
response.  "I am honored to be included in this group and entrusted with
the responsibility."  Tuvok nodded at his student in recognition of her
more adequate phrasing.
   
"Lieutenant Wildman, can you... ?"
   
"Sam, please, Captain.  I can do beta shift as long as I'm only scheduled
on-duty for alpha.  Naomi, you know.  I really don't feel comfortable
working gamma."
   
"I think that can be arranged," Chakotay commented and Janeway nodded.
  
"Then that leaves the relief team.  Neelix, I'll leave mealtimes to you
and the Doctor."
   
"Very good, Captain, I've already got some ideas worked up."
   
"Just be sure to check them with the Doctor first, Neelix."
   
"Oh, absolutely, Captain."
   
"And I'll serve as relief at any time - and I do mean ANY time - I'm not
on duty.  Doctor, anything to add?"
   
"Just a few reminders.  Mr. Paris' sedation will wear off shortly.  He
was told he would wake up on Voyager.  We've converted one of the smaller
quarters into an open area.  Only the sanitary facilities are closed off.
So everything and everyone in the room can be seen from everywhere in
the room.  Mr. Kim, remember not to encourage a bedtime.  Mr. Paris is
not a child, although he is currently completely passive.  If you suggest
bed, he will go to bed.  Encourage passive entertainment with you -
novels, vids, music, that sort of thing.  When he has nightmares, try to
talk him awake and make sure you identify yourself frequently."
   
"Understood, Doctor.  I'd best go to Tom's quarters now."
   
"Yes, good idea." When Harry had exited, the Doctor turned his attention
to Seven of Nine.  "I suggest you encourage independence and development
of a routine during your time with him.  It would be a large step for him
to get himself up, dressed, and ready for breakfast without prompting.."
   
"Developing a routine is not difficult for me to encourage, Doctor," the
ex-Borg replied.  "However, encouraging independence may be more of a
challenge."  She stopped for a moment and Chakotay detected an uncommon
expression crossing her face.  "Perhaps I should emulate the Captain's
encouragement of me in the Delta Quadrant."  The Captain, struggling to
keep a straight face, heard Chakotay choking back laughter behind her.
   
"That might not be a bad idea," the Doctor remarked thoughtfully, as
though unaware of the joke. "But perhaps you should emulate selectively."
Seven nodded, serious again.  "Ensign Wildman - Sam - I'd like you to do
the most aggressive experiments."  Sam's head cocked to one side
quizzically.  "Allow me to explain.  Beta shift is Mr. Paris' most alert
time.  He is most aware of his surroundings and best able to contain his...
for lack of a better word... terror when he's wide awake.  I know that
Naomi is taken care of for most of that time.  But, after he's used to
you, I would like you to suggest bringing Naomi with you - or having
Neelix bring her at lunch time.  If Mr. Paris is agreeable, try it for a
short period of time with someone available to take over instantly if
things don't go well."
   
"Someone waiting out in the hall?" Sam asked.
  
"Precisely."  The Doctor said.  "Well, that covers it.  If I'm no longer
needed, Captain..."
   
"Wait a second."  Belanna interrupted.  "What about us?" She indicated
herself, Tuvok, and Chakotay.  "I don't know why Tom can't bear having us
in the room with him, but I'm not going to let him go on this way."
   
"I assure you, Lieutenant, he is not doing this consciously or
maliciously.  Until he is ready to communicate, we won't be able to
figure out why he's singled you three out.  Pushing him, I assure you,
will only make matters worse."
  
"One step at a time, Belanna," cautioned Janeway.  "Thank you, Doctor, I
know you have pressing business in sickbay.  Sam, Seven, you're
dismissed, too."  After they had exited, the Captain continued, "Now,
rumor control - that's where you three come in.  With the influx of Alpha
Quadrant crew, how do we handle Tom's situation?  For that matter, how
much do we explain to the Delta Quadrant crew?"  She looked around at
thoughtful gazes.  "Think about it, people.  In three days everyone will
be on board.  In five, we leave.  Which reminds me, Chakotay, do you have
any suggestions for ," she sighed, "a Chief Conn Officer?"
  
***
   
Small steps.  The evening Tom tapped the next card for Harry to play in
solitaire.  The day Naomi tripped and Tom caught her up in his arms
before Sam could get to her.  The morning Harry was called to the bridge
before either Seven arrived or Tom awoke and Seven walked in to find Tom
waiting for her, washed and dressed.
   
Larger steps.  The morning Seven was called to engineering and Tom
stopped her, shaking his head "no", when she reached to call for a relief
caregiver.  The evening Harry arrived to a note saying Tom was
baby-sitting Naomi in the Wildman quarters. The day Harry brought Tom to
lunch in the Mess Hall.
   
***
   
It was well into beta shift, so the room wasn't crowded.  'Funny how they
kept the Captain's Dining Room as a Mess Hall and Neelix as chef,' Harry
thought.  "Well, at least there won't be any leola root," Harry remarked
to Tom as they took their trays.  He was rewarded with a slight smile. 
Tom watched Harry carefully, copying his movements almost exactly as he
placed silverware and napkin on his tray, took a mug for coffee, and
moved to the buffet.  
   
Neelix was carefully sequestered with Tuvok to prevent his enthusiasm on
seeing Tom in his domain from overwhelming Tom.  But the trial excursion
did not escape notice.  "Who is that?" Irene Bloch, a new ensign from
Astrogation asked the table in general.
   
Ann Wald, her Engineering room mate looked up.  She hadn't seen him
before, but could guess who he was.  "Must be the mystery man of Voyager,
Lieutenant Paris."
   
"Who?  Oh, I know, the guy that cryptic welcoming message talked about. 
How'd it go?  'Lieutenant Paris is rejoining Voyager and will be on-board
when we depart Earth.  Currently he is recuperating from his injuries and
has no mandatory assignment.'  Then it went on to say Baytart was the new
Conn officer.  You ever see him before?"
   
Ann shook her head.  "Good looking though - in a gaunt sort of way."
   
"You'd be gaunt, too, if you'd been worked over by Klingons," a male in
Sciences uniform put in.
   
"What?" said the two women said together.
   
"Don't you remember hearing about the scandal at the Klingon embassy?  It
was all over the vids."  Both women shook their heads.  "Paris got caught
in the middle of a plot to pull the Klingon Empire out of the
Federation," the man explained.
   
"What happened?  Give me details!" demanded Irene.
   
"Don't have any.  You can look it up, I'm sure."
   
***
   
As Tom progressed, his caretakers' shifts decreased.  His door,
unnumbered, might have been a supply closet, and the numeric passcode was
known only to those who needed to get in or out.  The door was always
privacy-locked.  Seven checked in on him in the morning, then went about
her Astrogation duties.  Neelix brought breakfast and stayed to fill him
in on ship gossip.  Harry swung by on his break to take him to lunch. 
Sam and Naomi visited in the late afternoon.  They took turns taking him
to dinner and spending the evening.  Harry slept on the daybed every
night.
   
One morning, Neelix invited Tom to come down to the Mess Hall for
breakfast, since he had an elaborate dinner menu planned and needed to
start immediately.  Tom agreed and quietly assisted Neelix with his
preparations after he had eaten.  Time passed quickly and the Mess Hall
began filling for lunch.  Tom stayed near Neelix and managed to contain
his mounting terror as the exit door seemed to grow farther away, blocked
by more and more people.
   
Tom's eyes were flitting between Neelix and the door, trying to keep
close and looking for an escape. Then Chakotay entered.  Tom went white. 
His eyes rolled back in his head.  Neelix caught him as he fell and
Chakotay, without thinking, came over at a run.  With crew crowding
around, Tom came out of his faint, spotted Chakotay, and began to scream.
   
***
   
Silence.  He didn't open his eyes.  Not yet.  Quiet breathing, not his,
somewhere in... wherever he was.  Something pliable supporting him.  Not
floor.  Something softer under his head.  Pillow, cushion.  Body covered,
clothed.  Okay.  Not so bad then.  Legs, arms, head.  All move - not
restrained, not broken.  Okay.  He took a deep breath and opened his
eyes.
   
Tom propped himself up on his elbows to look around. Neelix was sitting,
eyes closed, in a meditative position on the floor of his room.  Tom
smiled at the sight of the Talaxian attempting Vulcan meditation
techniques. Tentatively he stretched, testing his muscles and causing the
bed to creak.
   
At the sound, Neelix started and his eyes flew open.  Seeing Tom awake,
he jumped up and ran over to the bed, pulling up short as he remembered
Tom's phobia.  "Tom, Tom, I'm so glad you're awake!  I told them I'd stay
with you.  It's all my fault!  I should have kept better track of the
time.  I should have called and told them you were there.  I should have..."
   
Tom stopped the flow of words the only way he could, by jumping out of
bed and clapping his hand over Neelix's mouth.  Then, realizing what he'd
done, he immediately released Neelix and retreated backwards, hands up in
surrender.  Neelix remained standing, mouth open, for a moment.  Then he
started giggling.  "Oh my, oh my, you are improving.  And I deserved
that.  Yes, I did.  Oh, my."  He sat down hard on the floor, still
laughing.

***

Part Two

The crew was down to less than half its able-bodied complement.  An
ailment called "the sniffles" had felled almost every Delta Quadrant
veteran, including the Captain and senior staff.  Only Harry Kim and Tom
Paris were exempted.  As the Doctor explained to the irate Captain, "This
is an Earth disease called 'rhinovirus', more commonly known as a 'cold'
or 'the sniffles'.  Most earth-bound humans develop an immunity, but five
years out in the Delta Quadrant must have weakened the crew's immunity."
   
"Well, why didn't Kim get it then?" the Captain growled.
   
"He didn't come to Earth, you may recall.  We left him at Deep Space 9 to
go to visit his parents."
   
"And Tom?"
  
"He was in isolation almost the entire time he was on Earth, first with
his father, then..."
   
"I know where he was.  I don't need to be reminded."
   
"Quite.  Well, I'm sorry but there's no cure.  Just ride it out for a
week to ten days and you'll be fine and your disposition will improve,
too."
   
"There's nothing wrong with my disposition that turning you off wouldn't
cure!" snarled the Captain.
   
"No, of course not," the Doctor murmured, knowing quite well she wouldn't
terminate his program.
   
Janeway stormed out of sickbay trying desperately to think through the
fog filling her head.  She went over it several times.  The Fets, rulers
of the planet below them, owing allegiance to the Romulans, had requested
"in person visitation".  Obviously, the only member of her senior staff 
well enough to pay that visit was Lieutenant Kim.  She could only hope
the native government didn't know too much about Starfleet ranks.  Well,
there was nothing to be done about it.  He had to go.
   
***
   
"Senior Staff to the Captain's Ready Room for an emergency meeting."  Tom
tossed the cards in his hand down and looked up, not quite meeting
Harry's eyes, but coming close.
   
"Sorry, Tom," Harry said, tossing his cards onto the pile.  Tom just
shook his head and smiled.   Harry had learned that meant he wasn't
bothered by whatever was happening.  "Okay, then, if I'm not coming back
tonight, I'll comm you."  Tom nodded and started straightening the deck
of cards as Harry left.
   
***
   
The Captain explained the situation to the gathered staff.  "Who can
accompany Harry?" she asked.  
   
Tuvok shook his head, which aggravated his sinus headache.  Why weren't
Vulcans immune, he wondered..  No matter.  "Captain, all crew members who
have any experience with alien-contact protocols are indisposed.  Even
Seven of Nine."
   
"What about our Alpha Quadrant crew?"  
   
Tuvok carefully did not repeat the head shake.  "Not recommended,
Captain.  None of them have any experience whatsoever in that area, and
this is a potentially hostile situation."
   
"Well, here I was, so happy to get all my senior - and most of my junior
- officers back.  How was I to know a few sseasoned newcomers would have
been such a benefit," Janeway replied wryly.  "I don't suppose you could
be spared, Doctor?"
   
Chakotay coughed to clear his throat and replied for the Holodoc, "No,
Captain.  In case of complications, he's needed on board."
   
"Yes, of course.  Any other ideas?"
   
"Captain, do I understand that the person going with me would be acting
as a... subordinate... according to Fet protocols?  So that person would
need to understand the rules of contact, but not necessarily interact
with the Fets themselves?"
   
"Yes, Mr. Kim, that's correct.  What are you getting at?"
   
Harry felt uncomfortable.  Hell, he WAS uncomfortable, both with his idea
and having to present it to the senior staff.  "I thought Tom could go
with me."  Into the shocked silence that greeted his suggestion, he
continued, "Look, he certainly knows the protocols, he's not sick, he can
pilot the shuttle, and he wouldn't have to say anything, just stay by my
side.  He's not afraid of strangers as long as he has a clear exit path. 
And he's gotten better about that, hasn't he Neelix?"
   
The Talaxian honked loudly into a large handkerchief before replying. 
"Oh yes, he can handle being in the Mess Hall by himself at mealtime. 
Well, as long as..." he looked pointedly at Chakotay and Tuvok, then
glanced at Belanna.  "Sorry," he mumbled.
   
"Doctor?"
   
"Actually, giving Mr. Paris something useful to do -useful to the ship -
might be a very good idea.  And this... excursion sounds no more stressful
than the Mess Hall has been at times."
   
"All right, then, if no one has any other suggestions, let's check with
Mr. Paris."  She looked around the room.  No one spoke up.  "Janeway to
Paris."  She heard the chirp as Tom activated his communicator.  "Would
you join us in my Ready Room please?  In uniform?"  The line closed on
Tom's end with no response, but Janeway didn't expect one from the mute
lieutenant.  
   
The Doctor monitored Tom's quarters, reporting a few minutes later, "He's
in uniform and out of his quarters, Captain.  He appeared to need several
seconds to override the privacy lock on his door."  That last was met
with a mixture of chagrined looks and smirks by those around the table.
   
Janeway abruptly straightened.  "Chakotay, Tuvok, Belanna, you'd best..." 
A chorus of startled, "yes, of course, Captain" responded. They abruptly
rose and almost ran from the Ready Room, Chakotay and Tuvok to the
bridge, Belanna for the lift down to Engineering.  Janeway turned to
Baytart with a questioning look.
   
"I've passed the lieutenant in the hall several times and spoke to him in
the Mess Hall this past week.  It didn't seem to bother him.  He nodded
at me and smiled when I criticized the food.  I've been told that's as
much communicating as he does."
   
"Pretty much.  All right, stay then.  He should be here in a moment."
   
***
   
Belanna jumped into  the lift as soon as it arrived, pushing whoever was
in it towards the back.  Then she looked up.  Against the rear wall, just
getting his balance back, was Tom Paris.  He looked up to see what had
hit him and stiffened.  'Oh, no,' Belanna thought, remembering his
screams after a single glance at her in the hospital.  
   
Tom stiffened when he saw the Klingon who had pushed him and was now
blocking his way out of the lift.  'No, no more,' he thought, 'I'll die
first.  I'll force them to kill me.'  He closed his eyes, preparing to
try to fight his way to the door, when he felt a gentle hand on his arm.
   
"Tom, it's okay.  I'm leaving.  I'll be out of here in a second... Tom,
are you all right?"  Belanna moved to him when she saw his eyes close,
grasping his arm in case he passed out.
   
Belanna.  It was Belanna's voice.  Tom suddenly realized he hadn't seen
her since... before.  At least he didn't remember seeing her.  He opened
his eyes.  He had to blink several times before his mind accepted that
the Klingon blocking his escape was actually Belanna.  She was asking him
something - was he all right.  He nodded, a little shaky.
   
"Do you need help getting to the Ready Room?"  Tom assessed his
condition.  He had been on the verge of another panic attack and the
symptoms were receding slowly.  Left to his own devices he would sit on
the floor until his heart stopped pounding and his legs stopped shaking. 
However...  He nodded, yes, he did need help.
   
"It's okay if I put my arm around your shoulders?"  Tom nodded then
braced himself.  It was only a few steps to the Ready Room.  The door
slid open as they approached.  Those inside jumped to their feet as
Belanna helped Tom to the nearest chair.
   
"What happened?" "Belanna how could you... ?" assailed them both.  
Tom put up a hand to stop the onslaught.  He breathed in deeply, then 
took Belanna's hand and raised it to his lips briefly to indicate he was all
right with her and to say thank you.  From the looks he was getting, he
knew this wasn't the first time he had mistaken her for his Klingon
captors.
   
Belanna sneezed suddenly and withdrew her hand.  "I shouldn't get so
close to you, I'll give you my cold," she explained at his puzzled look. 
He nodded and she took the seat next to his.
   
'I wish you could explain,' Janeway thought at Tom, then sighed.  That
wasn't going to happen, not in this meeting, anyway.  "Ladies and
gentlemen, back to the subject at hand."  She looked directly at Tom,
discovering he had surveyed the room.  'Taking roll' she thought as he
looked back towards, but not directly at, her.  "Tom, we have need of
your services."  Janeway explained the circumstances and Harry's
suggestion.  "Well, what do you say, Tom?  Can you do this for us?"
   
Tom could never say no to the Captain under the best of circumstances. 
And these certainly didn't qualify.  He did what he was told.  It kept
him going.  Kept him from thinking.  He would do this, simply because the
Captain and Harry had told him to.  He had obeyed his father, too, and
that was... 'no, don't go there, not now, maybe not ever.'  Tom raised his
head to timidly meet the Captain's eyes and nodded.
   
What the Captain saw in Tom's eyes she never shared with anyone.  How
could she, when she wasn't sure herself?  Fear, certainly; resignation
that she couldn't understand; and behind those something to which she
could only give the name 'Tom Paris' - courage, determination, even
defiance, pushed into the background, but not gone. 'No, they didn't
break you, did they?' she thought.  'They'd have to kill you before you
broke.'
   
***
   
The formal greeting ceremony didn't go exactly as planned.  It was a
trap, sprung as the two Voyager officers strode down a narrow hallway
towards the audience chamber, Tom a half-step behind Harry.  The first
bolt caught Harry's shoulder and spun him around and into the opposite
wall.  Tom was on top of him instantly, shielding him.  Unarmed, Tom
grabbed Harry's phaser from his belt and returned fire while thumbing his
communicator.  "Away Team to Voyager.  Two for emergency beam-up to
Sickbay."
   
A moment of silence followed as Chakotay identified the hoarse voice
coming through the speaker.  "Acknowledged, Mr. Paris.  Prepare for
immediate beam-up."
   
They arrived in Sickbay as they had been positioned on the planet seconds
before:  Tom lying over Harry, arm outstretched to return fire.  As the
Captain and Chakotay entered, the Doctor was helping Tom up.  The Doctor
knelt to tend Harry and Tom found himself looking at his superior
officers.  'Chakotay!  Chakotay knows... he saw... NO!' Tom silenced the
screaming voice in his mind.  'You're a Starfleet officer and you need to
make your report.' He reached behind him to steady himself on a bio-bed
and met their eyes again.
   
"Tom, are you all right?"  Janeway voiced her concern.  He had paled upon
seeing them - upon seeing Chakotay, she suspected - but now seemed to be
pulling himself together.
   
Tom nodded, then looked towards the Doctor, who had Harry up on another
bio-bed.  "He'll be fine, Mr. Paris.  It's not a shallow wound, but it didn't 
cause any nerve damage."  Tom nodded again and looked back at the Captain, 
waiting.
   
"Can you tell us what happened, Tom?"
   
He nodded again.  Told what to do, he could do it, would do it.  He
cleared his throat.  "The welcoming ceremony was a ruse, Captain.  We
were attacked as we entered the hall.  I couldn't swear to it, but I
think I saw Romulan armor.  In fact, I'm not sure the 'natives' weren't
surgically altered Romulans."  He paused, thinking back over his
experiences with Romulans as a child.  "You know, Captain," he continued
slowly, "I'm almost sure they WERE Romulans."
   
"The wound's weapon signature is consistent with Romulan weaponry,"
remarked the Doctor over his shoulder.
   
"Tom, I'd like a written report on this incident tomorrow."  Tom nodded
and waited again.  Janeway realized he was waiting for orders. 
"Dismissed, Lieutenant.  I'll see you in the morning with your report." 
Another nod, and Tom turned to leave, stepping back and edging around
Chakotay to get to the Sickbay doors.
   
"Well," Chakotay murmured to Janeway, "at least he didn't scream and pass
out this time."
   
"Give it time, Chakotay, give it time."
   
***
   
"Red alert!  Damned Romulans!" Janeway cursed as another volley hit them
from a cloaked ship. 
   
"Apparently their cloaking technology has been improved so that they no
longer need to uncloak before firing, Captain," Tuvok remarked mildly,
then turned to hold onto his console as another volley shook the bridge.
  
"Shields?"
   
"Shields are holding at 96%, Captain," Harry and Tuvok answered together.
Baytart turned around to make a comment about stereo on the bridge when
the next volley knocked him from his chair and slid him head first into
the riser below Tuvok's station.
   
Janeway knelt to check on the Conn officer, while Chakotay, from long
habit, tapped his communicator and called "Paris to the bridge."
   
He looked in horror at the Captain who had already raised her hand to her
communicator to belay the order when the response came, only slightly
delayed from Starfleet regulation response time, "Aye, Commander.  On my
way."
   
Then he was there, drawing a sharp breath as he stepped from the lift and
saw both Tuvok and Chakotay, then continuing unhesitatingly down the
steps to his station, stepping carefully around the groggy Baytart - who
was being helped up by a yeoman.  Sitting and surveying the
instrumentation quickly, he turned to the command chairs.
   
"Get us the hell out of here, Mr. Paris," the Captain ordered.
  
"Aye, aye, Captain.  Course Kennedy Albright 75, Warp 2."  He laid the
course in flawlessly, as though he'd never left the helm.
   
They were pursued and evasive maneuvers were necessary when shelling came
from three quadrants.  Baytart, recovered, moved to relieve Paris, but a
quick headshake by the Captain returned him to the auxiliary console.
  
Several moves later, they were in an asteroid belt, temporarily befuddling 
their foes.  Tom called over his shoulder as his fingers danced on the 
console, "Captain, we can't outrun them.  We've got to turn and fight."
   
Banishing her astonishment that Tom would offer an unsolicited
suggestion, Janeway turned to Tuvok.  "Commander?"
   
"I concur with the lieutenant's assessment.  Mr. Paris, as we clear the
asteroid belt..."  Tuvok and Tom mapped out a strategy on the fly and Tom
laid in the flight plan as they exited the belt.  
   
***
   
"With inspired flying by Lieutenant Paris and pinpoint accuracy by Mr.
Tuvok, we were able to eliminate our attackers.  The officers are to be
commended highly for their actions.  It should be noted that Starfleet
needs to get a handle on these new cloaking devices and develop an
effective countermeasure as soon as possible.  Janeway out."  The Captain
closed her log, stretched and considered what to do next.  Tom was
certainly ready for at least light duty at the helm, although, once the
attack was over, he had quickly relinquished the Conn to Baytart and
retreated to his quarters.   Janeway had dismissed Harry after a few
minutes so that he could check on him.  Harry reported he found Tom
curled up sound asleep in his bed, still in uniform.  That had caused
Janeway to look at the clock and realize Tom had manned the helm for over
six hours after being away from it for over a year.  Janeway started at
the door chime.  Baytart walked in at her "Come."
   
"Captain, I think we need Lieutenant Paris back on pilot duty.  Do I have
your permission to have him recertify with me in the flight sims?"
   
"You saved me a call to you in the morning, Mr. Baytart.  I think that's
an excellent idea.  How will you be rotating him into the schedule?"
   
"Well," Baytart hesitated, "he seemed a bit... uneasy after things calmed
down on the bridge.  I'd like to sound him out on primary shuttle service
and emergency bridge duty."
   
Janeway sighed.  "I'm afraid that, unless the ship's in danger, he'll
agree to whatever you propose.  But that does sound like a good mix of
tasks until he's been back on active duty for a while.  Check it out with
him in the morning and tell the Commander to start rotating him in
immediately."
   
***
   
No nightmares, Tom realized as he woke up. No nightmares and a full
night's sleep.  He sat up in bed and stretched.  Looking to his left, he
saw Harry Kim still asleep on the day bed and smiled.  Maybe soon Harry
could get some sleep in a real bed in his own quarters.  
  
Quietly, Tom got out of bed and followed his morning routine.  He came
out of the bathroom drying his hair just as his communicator chirped.  He
pushed it and, out of long habit, waited.
   
"Lieutenant Paris?"
   
The voice was unfamiliar. Tom answered uncertainly, "Paris here."
   
Relief was evident in the voice.  "Oh, good.  For a moment I thought...
Well, never mind.  This is Baytart.  I wondered if I could meet with you
this morning?"
   
"Sure."
   
"Around 0900 in your quarters?"
   
"Okay."
   
"Good.  I'll see you then."  After a few moments of silence, Baytart
closed the connection.
   
Tom frowned, wondering what Baytart wanted.  Harry was still sleeping. 
If he had a replicator, he could have some breakfast.  But this room had
no replicator and even his computer access was limited.  He supposed they
were worried about what he'd replicate and what he'd learn in his - how
did Neelix put it? - damaged condition.  They were probably right.  He
picked up a padd and began to read.
   
Harry woke up a few minutes later with a start.  "Tom!" he cried jumping
out of bed.  Then he saw him sitting on the couch, looking up from his
reading.  "I didn't mean to sleep so soundly.  Are you okay?"  Tom nodded
and smiled slightly.  "Did I sleep through one of your nightmares?"  Tom
shook his head no.  "You didn't have any nightmares last night?"  No
again.  "Tom, that's great!"  Harry enveloped him in a hug, which Tom
passively accepted.  Releasing his friend, Harry said, "I'll get dressed
and we'll go get some breakfast."  To his surprise, Tom looked at the
clock and shook his head no.  "Why not?"
   
It seemed as though, after months of accepting his silence, everyone
demanded speech of him.  With difficulty, Tom forced one word out. 
"Baytart."
   
"Baytart?  What about him?"
   
"Commed me.  Coming here at 0900."
   
"Why?"  Tom shrugged.  He didn't know.
   
"Well, I'm sure it's okay.  Really, Tom, it can't be anything bad."  Tom
nodded, although he wasn't at all convinced.  "Tell you what, while you
meet with him, I'll go down to the Mess Hall and bring something back. 
Okay?"  
   
Tom nodded and Harry readied himself and left, meeting Baytart as he was
about to ring the door chime.   Harry looked over his shoulder to see Tom
rise at Baytart's entrance.  Tom looked uneasy, but Harry decided not to
turn back.  For the moment, Tom seemed able to control his fears.
   
As the doors closed behind him, Baytart stepped towards Tom, who stood
still, waiting.  Finally Baytart spoke.  "Look, if this isn't a good time, you 
should have said something.  We could have met at another time."  Tom shook 
his head.  "Oh, jeez, it didn't even occur to me.  You were talking yesterday, 
so I just assumed... and you answered me on the comm..."
   
Hesitantly, Tom replied, "I can speak."
   
Baytart said, "Oh, good," then noticed Tom still hadn't moved.  "Look,
I'm kind of at a disadvantage here.  You're obviously uncomfortable, but
I don't know why."
   
"If you would... step away from the door... come and sit down?"  Tom hadn't
had to do this before;  everyone else who dealt with him seemed to just
know.  'Just how much do they know?  How much did Chakotay and Tuvok tell
- NO!'  Once again he silenced the hystericcal voice inside his head, this
time acknowledging he'd have to come to grips with it sooner or later. 
Tom backed away and sat in the armchair across from the couch.  Baytart
sat opposite him on the couch. 
   
"Okay, you've just got to tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.  I
just won't know, I'm afraid."  Tom nodded and Baytart continued.  "I
wanted to talk about whether you're ready to resume piloting."  Tom
stared at him in frank amazement.  Sure, they needed him in an emergency,
but to resume duty?  How could they even begin to trust his stability. 
In the silence, Baytart stumbled on and Tom tried to stay focused on what
he was saying.  "So, you know I'm the Chief Conn Officer, right?"  
   
Tom shook his head, but when Baytart tried to apologize and explain, Tom
stopped him.  "It's okay.  I'm not upset.  I mean, if I had given it any
thought, I would have known someone had to be.  And you're a logical
choice."
   
"Okay.  Well, you performed so well yesterday that I went to the Captain
and asked her about recertifying you and putting you back in rotation." 
Tom raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.  "And she had been thinking
the same thing.  But I... we wanted to be sure it's what you want."  Tom
nodded.  "You see, that's the thing.  The Captain warned me that you'd
pretty much agree with anything I said, and you are.  And frankly,
Lieutenant, I don't know you well enough to know what you're really
thinking."
   
Tom forced himself to speak again.  "The only thing that has ever
mattered to me is flying.  I... I really want to fly again."
   
"Well, good.  Now, here in the Alpha Quadrant there's quite a bit of
shuttle flying needed.  For a warship, especially after what we went
through in the Delta Quadrant, it seems like we're more involved with
moving supplies than protecting the Federation."  He gave a wry grin.  "I
don't like it that much, myself, although some of the pilots appreciate
the time to themselves.  We've been doing mainly one-man shuttling. 
There's enough help in the cargo bay and planetside to load and unload
without having to send a team out.  Seems strange, to have so many
friendly, populated planets around.  Anyway, what I was thinking was that
would be a good way to get you back into the rotation.  What do you
think?"  Tom nodded his agreement again.  "Come on, Paris," Baytart
retorted, frustrated.  "Don't you have any opinions or questions?"
   
Tom thought for a minute, carefully phrasing his reply.  "No opinions,
but one question:  is there any chance I'll be allowed to fly Voyager
again?"  He asked the question so quietly, with such a resigned tone,
that Baytart was startled.
   
"Well, of course.  I meant to add that.  Look, I know you're not
comfortable on the bridge, but I want to rotate you in as a relief pilot 
if you're willing."
   
'Not comfortable on the bridge,' Tom repeated silently.  'No, no I'm
not.' He looked directly at Baytart, hoping he would understand.  "I need
to fly Voyager.  It's what I do best."
   
"Okay, no problem.  The Captain wasn't sure how you'd feel."  Tom nodded.
"So let's get you recertified and make sure she's satisfied with your
performance as relief pilot - I'll make sure you're at the top of the
list - then we can start rotating you into the helm schedule.  Fair
enough?"  Tom nodded again.  "Oh, yeah, the Doctor will only let you do
light duty for the next month, then he wants to reassess your physical
condition."  Another nod.  "Okay, then, I guess you're pretty much
available any time, so how about I check my schedule for the next week
and set up times to get together in the holodeck to run the flight sims?"
Tom agreed and Baytart stood.  "I'll be in touch later today, then."
   
Tom stood and walked him to the door.  Softly, he spoke, "Baytart,
thanks.  I won't let you down."
   
"I know you won't."

***

Part Three

Shuttling supplies was boring, Tom decided. But, he realized, it was a
comfortable routine. Check the load as it was loaded.  Fly down to the
planet. Check the load as it was unloaded.  Exchange pleasantries with
the planetary crew - that was getting easier, no one knew who he was.
Politely decline any invitations for food or drink - no point in risking
anything.  Return to Voyager.  Turn in the checklists.  It was even more
boring when compared to the emergency piloting he did at Voyager's helm.
He seemed to be called to the bridge for every red alert, and only for
red alerts.

This planet looked to be more of the same.  Most of the crew was
planetside on a brief shore leave, but Baytart had tactfully scheduled
him for his usual one-man cargo run.  This time he brought an empty
shuttle down and was taking it back fully loaded.  As he gazed at the
fragrant fields around the landing site, he wished one of his caregivers
was with him.  What he had seen of the planet as he landed and from the
flight line was inviting and he might have been able to manage a bit of
shore leave himself.  He shrugged mentally.  Probably just as well not to
try it:  why ask for trouble?  He did a preflight check and was about to
board the shuttle when a call stopped him.

"Lieutenant!  Sir!  Please wait!"

Tom turned and saw an unfamiliar young ensign running towards him.
Probably one of the alpha quadrant replacement crew, he thought.  He
remained at the shuttle door as she approached.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but I ... umm ... I missed my ride back
and I'm scheduled for engineering in 18 minutes - 17 now.  Lieutenant
Torres, well, she isn't real forgiving about lateness."  Tom smiled
slightly despite being ill-at-ease.  Unless Belanna had changed
drastically, that was an understatement.  "Anyway, I know you've got a
full load, but could you give me a ride?"

Tom nodded curtly and gestured her into the shuttle.  As she seated
herself, he considered her, tilting his head to one side.  Reaching a
conclusion, he followed her in and seated himself at the pilot's console.
Tom silently completed his preflight check and prepared for take-off.

Once they were out of the atmosphere, the ensign began prattling
nervously.  "So, I know you're Lieutenant Paris, but I don't think we've
ever been introduced.  I'm Ann Wald."   Tom nodded, never taking his eyes
off the console.  "I've been reading about your exploits in the Delta
Quadrant.  You're quite a hero."  Tom shrugged, looking up briefly to
establish that he had visual contact with Voyager.  He pressed a button
on the console and "Acknowledged, shuttle Archipelago," rang through the
cockpit, startling Ensign Waldman.  She recovered and continued talking.

Tom let her wind down, his silence discouraging her continuing discourse.
Finally, she mumbled, "This isn't working the way it was supposed to,"
and lapsed into silence.

Tom smiled inwardly.  "What isn't working?" he asked, softly, startling
her.  "You won your bet, didn't you?"

Ann was too flustered to try to deny it.  "How did you know?" was all she
managed to gasp.

"Well," Tom was getting uncomfortable now, not used to talking at length
to a stranger.  "It's very unlikely that Lieutenant Torres will ever know
about your lateness.  She's down on the planet and Vorick's shift
supervisor today.  And since none of the other shuttles have gone back up
- I've been in the cargo bay the whole timee - you couldn't have missed
your ride.  So there must have been a bet."

"Oh.  Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Not really.  A few weeks ago I wouldn't have noticed any of that."  Tom
mentally noted that a few weeks ago he wouldn't have spoken to her,
either.

Ann sighed and looked down at her hands.  At that moment, Voyager
announced, "Shuttle Archipelago, you are cleared to land in Shuttle Bay
2."  For the next few minutes, Tom was busy landing the shuttle in the
shuttle bay and recording the unloading of the supplies.  When he finally
left the shuttle bay, he was surprised to find Ensign Wald waiting in the
hallway.  She looked so miserable that Tom took pity on her.  "So what's
the rest of the bet?"

"Well, Irene and I - Ensign Bloch in Astrogation - we noticed you in the
Mess Hall and wondered about you.  So we read up on you.  You're known as
the Mystery Man of Voyager, you know."  Tom shook his head, he hadn't
known.  "Anyway, there wasn't much about why you, umm, were ..."

"A hermit?" Tom suggested, surprising himself.

"Something like that."  Ann blushed.  "Anyway, the crew members who know
you just tell us to leave you alone - well, that's when they bother
talking to us Alpha Quadrant newbies at all.  So Irene and I kind of set
up a challenge to each other.  I guess you haven't noticed, but the Delta
Quadrant crew sure has.  Whenever we'd try to follow you or meet up with
you, someone would get in our way.  So I figured I'd try this.  But it
isn't going to work either."  She sighed.

"I still don't understand why you're unhappy.  Didn't you just win the
bet?"

"Not exactly.  The bet isn't just to meet you or talk to you, that would
be too easy."  Tom choked back a chuckle - talking to him too easy!  Ann
blushed again.  "The bet was to find out where your quarters are and, to
prove we did, to bring back something personal from your quarters."

"Oh."  Tom was nonplused.  "So you thought you could strike up a
conversation with me," Tom didn't bother to tell her just how far-fetched
even that was, "and I would invite you into my quarters?"

"I guess we didn't think it through too well, but, you know, there is
your reputation ..." Something in Tom's face made Ann stop short.

Tom took a deep breath and managed to rasp out, "What do you know about
my reputation?"

"Well, you know, what the boards say."

"The boards?"

"The ship message boards.  You can get into the archives and those are
just full of bets and gossipy stuff about you.  From the Delta Quadrant,
I mean."  Tom breathed out.  The Delta Quadrant boards.  That was safe
enough.  Ann continued, "Then there's all the stuff on the current
boards."   At Tom's alarmed look, she asked "Haven't you seen the
boards?"  Tom shook his head no.  "Oh, they're all about you.  About what
happened to you.  You've been the major thread since we launched."  Tom
grimaced and shook his head in disbelief.  "Oh, yes," Ann confirmed.
"But you're nothing like the boards say.  Of course, the boards have you
so many different ways, that's not surprising.  Almost like the old
"blooper reels" from the vid shows, where they show things they didn't
use in the actual show."

Tom managed one hoarse word, "Who?"

"Who what?"

Tom tried again.  "Who writes these ... things?"

"Oh, mostly Alpha Quadrant crew.  People who don't know you."

Tom nodded.  That made sense.  What had she told him he was called?  The
Mystery Man of Voyager?  That must fuel a number of imaginations.  "No
one ... sets them straight?" he asked softly.

"No one who knew you from the Delta Quadrant will even talk about you -
except to say that after all you did you deserved better.  Whatever that 
means."

Tom paled and grabbed the wall as a wave of vertigo washed over him.  How
many people knew what had happened?  None of the new crew, but did his
old crewmates all know?  The thought threatened to shut him down.  He
stumbled and Ann caught his arm.  He flinched away and got his balance.

"You okay?"

A short nod followed by a deep breath.  'Follow the other path,' he
instructed himself.  "Show me.  Please."

"The boards?  Sure."

"Fine.  Here's the deal.  You get me on the boards with your passcode and
I'll make sure you win your bet."

***

The public boards had been a great source of amusement during Voyager's
first mission.  Tom, sitting with Ann at a public terminal in a
little-used lounge, remembered being linked with Harry, Chakotay, even
the Captain, as well as with Belanna.  Then there were the betting pools
on how long he and Belanna would last, who would dump whom, and whether
any (and which) parts of his anatomy would be broken.

Looking at the boards now, Tom realized most of the speculation about him
was in a similar vein, given the assumptions.  He knew that the senior
staff monitored the boards, but did not participate or interfere unless
the speculations turned nasty.  Since the senior staff didn't expect him
to be reading the boards, in fact had limited his computer access to
ensure he didn't, undoubtedly they regarded the postings as harmless.
Tom had to agree that they were.  What seemed to be known was that
sometime between leaving the Delta Quadrant and shipping out again on
Voyager, he had been badly injured and that Klingons were involved.  His
history, from the Delta Quadrant and before, was public knowledge, as was
his relationship with Belanna.  The suppositions took off from there.

Tom turned to Ensign Wald.  "Thank you," he said simply.  He rummaged
through his pack and came up with an empty hypo-spray with his name on
it.  "This should convince your friend."

Ann shook her head.  "I'm really sorry.  This was a bad idea."  Tom
shrugged and continued to hold the hypo-spray out. Ann took it
reluctantly.  "Thank you."

Tom, already turning back to the engrossing stories about him, waved
absently, then thought of something.  "Wait a second.  I can't access the
boards under my passcode.  Can I use yours for now?"

"Sure.  It's the least I can do after I tried to trick you like that."

"I may ... want to respond to some of this stuff.  Is that okay?  It'll
be traceable to you."

"Yeah, it's okay.  Who's going to trace it anyway?"

"Well," Tom hesitated.  If the crew knew the boards were monitored,
they'd be of less use to the senior staff.  "You never can tell who'll
read them," he answered, deciding a "sin of omission" was called for.

Ann laughed.  "That's why they're called the PUBLIC boards.  I can tell
you one thing.  Nobody but Alpha Quadrant crew reads the Alpha Quadrant
threads."

That got Tom's attention.  "Why?"

"Because we're 'separate but equal'.  You've got a closed society and we
can't join."

"That's not ..." Tom trailed off as he thought of the Mess Hall.  He
couldn't remember seeing Alpha Quadrant crew and Delta Quadrant crew at
the same table ever.  Ann nodded, seeing his train of thought.  "Have you
brought this to anyone's attention?"

"Whose?  The senior staff are all Delta Quadrant."

"What about Counselor Cress?"

"He's not senior staff.  Besides, what could he do.  None of the Delta
Quadrant crew go to him - they all go to Commander Chakotay."

"I see him."  Tom meant that literally.  The Betazoid counselor visited
him three times a week.  They sat silently for the required hour, then
Cress left.  If he got anything from Tom's mind, he didn't tell Tom about it.

"Yeah, but you're the only one."

"The Commander's a good counselor," Tom defended.  "And the crew's used
to him.  He knows all our histories."

"Then how come you use Cress?"

Tom shrugged.  "It's personal."

Ann almost snorted, then realized she was bordering on insubordination.
"Read the boards," she said cryptically, then turned and left.

***

Tom spent several more hours reading the boards, then went to his
quarters.  He was unsurprised to find that Ann's passcode worked fine on
his computer as well.  Tom was once again wishing for a replicator so
that he could make himself some dinner when Harry walked in.

"Sorry I'm so late, Tom," Harry apologized.  Tom waved the apology away.
"The planet's just so beautiful I could hardly tear myself away.

Tom turned the computer off and swung around to face Harry.  "So why
didn't you stay?  You could have commed me."

"Pretty much everyone's down on the planet.  Even the Doc.  I didn't
think I could find anyone to ..."

"Baby-sit me?  Doesn't Tuvok have the bridge?"

"Not 'baby-sit', just make sure you're okay. Yes, Tuvok's on board, but
could you really tolerate him?"

Tom thought about this.  "Actually, yes.  In an emergency I would call
him.  If I couldn't get myself under control."

Harry sighed and shrugged.  "Okay, next time I'll remember."

"Why not go back down now?"

"I don't want to leave you alone. Especially at night."

"Harry, when was the last time I had a bad nightmare?  It's been weeks,
hasn't it?"

Harry nodded.  "You're sure?"

Tom nodded firmly.

"And you'll remember to eat?"

"I was just about to head down to the Mess Hall when you came in," Tom
lied.  Harry saw the lie.  "I WILL go down to the Mess Hall.  Promise."
Harry still hesitated.  "Go on down and have dinner with Belanna."

Harry's eyes narrowed.  "Tom?"

"I'm not blind, Harry.  And don't worry about my fragile psyche. Belanna
and I were over before we left the Delta Quadrant.  You know that."  To
himself he added, 'and you and I never started - and now we never will.'

Harry relaxed and grinned.  "Okay, Tom, you win.  But I'll be back
sometime tonight.  And don't forget the Doc monitors your intake, so you
better eat."

"I will, I will.  Get out of here already."

Still shaking his head, Harry turned and hurried back to the shuttle bay.

***

After practically pushing Harry out the door, Tom read well into the
night.  One thing became clear:  almost everyone painted him as a victim
and virtually every Delta Quadrant crew member and documented alien
played the villain in one scenario or another.  He supposed that he was
the victim - he must look like one to an outsider - but he hadn't been a
victim in the Delta Quadrant.

Most of the story lines - he didn't know what else to call them - assumed
that, since Belanna was Klingon and he was hurt by Klingons, she must
somehow be involved.  Tom shook his head at this, knowing that his own
reactions to Belanna had only fueled these ideas.  Well, if Belanna
didn't find that offensive, why should he?

Then there were the stories linking him to Harry Kim.  Tom could see
where those came from with Harry sleeping in his quarters. Under other
circumstances - well, why bother fantasizing?  It just wasn't going to
happen.  Maybe now that Harry was dating Belanna, those stories would
abate.  Or they might add to his perceived troubles, he reflected.  'Poor
Tom Paris, dumped again,' he thought, chuckling to himself.  If only they
knew.  If only Harry knew.  Tom shook his head, shaking away the
self-pity.  He could never approach Harry now.  And how could Harry
possibly want someone who - 'No, not now, you're doing something else,'
he admonished himself, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable.  He
turned back to the boards.

Most disturbing were the stories that tried to explain his reactions to
Tuvok and Chakotay.  Mind control and rape.  Well, Tuvok did exercise
some mind control over him when he first came back aboard, but it was
with his full consent.  And certainly there was no nefarious purpose
behind it - quite the opposite.  Tuvok could bring him back from the far
edges of hysteria when the doctor and his handy hypospray weren't
available.

But Chakotay and physical - sexual - domination?  Didn't these people
know the Big Indian?  Even when Chakotay had hated him, he never
threatened him physically.  How could the senior staff, or whoever was
monitoring the boards, let that stand?  Tom knew he couldn't.

He typed a general thread response, exonerating everyone except the
Kazons, the renegade Klingons, his father, and himself:

This is Tom Paris.  I want to thank Ann for loaning me her access so that
I could explain a few things.  First, please don't think that I'm upset
or offended by what's been written about me.  I'm not.  Some of it is
quite funny and a little comes close to the mark of what really happened.

What I really want to share is what *didn't* happen.  NO ONE ON BOARD 
VOYAGER - EITHER IN THE DELTA QUADRANT OR NOW - HAD ANY PART IN WHAT 
HAPPENED TO ME.  My injuries were inflicted solely by renegade Klingons 
trying to force their worlds' eviction from the Federation.  They were 
abetted by only one person.  To my shame, that one person is my father, 
Admiral Owen Paris, who chose to sacrifice his career and his son to the 
Klingons' mad cause.

I know that I behave peculiarly.  The Klingons' 'behavior modification'
techniques are very persuasive.  I am struggling to get past that and get
on with my life. Nothing happened to me in the Delta Quadrant that I can
look back on as making me into the person I am today. For a very short
time when the Maquis and Starfleet crew were getting used to one another,
and to me, there was a great deal of tension and suspicion.  But, after
we became one crew, no one victimized or terrorized me physically or
mentally.  Not that the Kazons didn't try - but they didn't succeed.  I
am very proud of the Tom Paris who came back from the Delta Quadrant.

I enjoy most of the 'guesses' about what happened to me, but not those
that accuse others.  The fact that Lieutenant Torres and I had been a
couple and had broken up had nothing to do with the Klingons' attack on
me.  It is a coincidence that she is half-Klingon.  Commander Tuvok has
mind-melded with me on several occasions, both in the Delta Quadrant and
here, always for my benefit, never to control me or dominate me.
Commander Chakotay is one of the most spiritual, compassionate beings I
have had the honor of knowing.  I can tell you from personal experience,
he does not act out his emotions violently.

If you are looking for villains, blame the Kazons' rough usage of me on
several occasions in the Delta Quadrant.  Blame Admiral Paris for placing
me in danger.  Blame the Klingons who assaulted me.  Blame me for
allowing myself to be used as a pawn in that game.  But do not blame
those who have stood by me and supported me through these times and
others too numerous to mention.  Despite my discomfort with some of them,
they have done nothing to deserve it - the problem is within me.

Please do not look upon this as a veiled warning to stop these threads.
As I said, I enjoy them.  But do consider who they might hurt before you
post them.

T.P.

Tom finished, tired by the intensity of his need to explain and the
necessity of skirting the details of his assault.  As his hand hovered
over the send key, uncertainties besieged him.  Maybe there was a reason
these threads hadn't elicited a command response.  Maybe it was related
to the reason his own access was blocked. Maybe . . .   Exhaustion set in
and his eyes drifted shut.

***

Harry Kim came in whistling in the early morning.  The whistling stopped
abruptly when he saw Tom slumped over the keyboard, head against the
display screen.  In a panic, Harry rushed over, then calmed himself when
he realized Tom was merely asleep.  A frown of guilt crossed Harry's face
at the thought that Tom might have been at the computer all night because
he was afraid to go to sleep alone.

Lifting Tom away from the monitor, Harry inadvertently reactivated it.
He was shocked at what he read, his expression clearly showing it.
Straightening and turning back to his friend, he found himself looking
into Tom's wary eyes.  "Did you want to send this?" Harry asked in as
level a tone as he could manage.

Tom had to try three times before he managed to get words out, and then
he choked out  "I shouldn't?" as a question in a hoarse whisper.

Harry shrugged.  "I don't know.  Why did you write it?"

Tom felt trapped.  Echoes of his father's questions - questions to which
there were no right answers - sounded in his mind.  He tried to say he
was sorry, wouldn't do it again, anything to appease, but the words
wouldn't come out.  He began to hunch in on himself protectively and to
withdraw mentally as well as physically.

Harry recognized what was happening from long, sad experience.  He
dropped to his knees beside Tom's chair, no longer looming over or
blocking him.  He spoke soothingly, not touching his friend.  "It's okay,
Tom.  I'm not angry.  No one's angry at you.  I was just surprised at
what you wrote, that's all."

Slowly, Tom turned his head to meet Harry's eyes.  He searched them,
looking for the glint that meant it was all a trick, a set-up, but found
only concern and sincerity.  He blinked and took a deep breath.

Harry put a tentative hand on Tom's shoulder.  When Tom didn't flinch
away, he breathed a sigh of relief.  "Do you want . . ."  He changed his
mind and started again.  "Can you tell me why you wrote that?"  He
gestured toward the screen.

"Hmm.  Maybe.  I thought - "  Tom stopped to consider before trying to
continue.  No, not that way.  He could feel his throat closing already.
He shook his head to clear it while Harry waited patiently.  After a few
moments, Tom began again.  "Okay.  I, umm, I read the message boards.
The stories about me."  He halted and looked at Harry closely.  Harry
merely nodded his understanding of what Tom was talking about.  With
another deep breath, Tom went on.  "I wanted to set the record straight."

Harry nodded again.  "So why didn't you send it?"

Tom sighed.  "I started thinking."  His throat closed and he couldn't
continue.  When Harry looked at him in the sudden silence, he could only
gesture hopelessly.

Harry smiled reassuringly.  "It's okay, Tom.  When you can, if you want
to, tell me."

Tom nodded, then glanced at the display.  He reached for the keypad, then
looked at Harry.

Harry shrugged.  "It's up to you."

Part of Tom's mind screamed at him to do nothing.  Another part insisted
that Harry was his friend and wouldn't try to deceive him.  Quickly,
before his demons won, Tom pushed the send key.

***

Part Four

"May I join you?"  Standing, tray in hand, at the table where Ensign Wald
was seated, Tom thought this was quite possibly the most difficult thing
he had done in months, maybe years.  He'd rather pilot Voyager through a
battle with the combined forces of the Romulans, the Vidiians, and the
Kazons.  Maybe the Hirosians, too.

"Oh, Lieutenant, of course!" Ann greeted him.  He sat next to her and
nodded politely as she introduced the rest of the table.  The
conversation continued around him, chatter about the latest explosion in
Engineering and the resultant explosion from its Chief, who was dating
whom, what the most popular holodeck program was.  He was able to listen
without drawing attention to himself, and even managed to eat some of the
overly generous meal Neelix had served him.  A few questions about
holodeck programs were directed towards him and he was able to give a
little background on how a voluptuous Vulcan female had come to be in the
Resort program, who had programmed Italian opera, and why the DaVinci
program was restricted.

Tom was curious that no one mentioned Sandrine's, but wasn't about to
ask.  For all he knew, it had been deleted. Then someone mentioned "those
special Delta Quadrant crew only" programs, that only let the Voyager
veterans in.

"Yeah, kinda like the Delta Quadrant crew only jokes, that no one will
let you in on," the Irene Bloch chimed in.  Ann kicked her under the
table.  "Oww!  Ann, why'd you do ... oh!  Sorry, Lieutenant, nothing
personal."

Tom waved the apology away.  He reflected that he spent a lot of time
doing that because people were always apologizing to him, afraid of
offending or frightening him.  "Which programs can't you get into?"

"Well, there are a couple.  But the one most of the old crew use, so it
must be good, is called "Sandrine's".

Tom smiled.  "I just might be able to help you there, Ensign.  But first
I want to find out for myself why it's not public."  Irene grinned in
anticipation.  "Don't thank me yet, I may not be able to get in myself."
He yawned.  "Excuse me.  I think my body's telling me it's past my
bedtime."

Bidding them goodnight, he recycled his tray and left the Mess Hall,
chuckling to himself at the last thing he heard as he exited.  He thought
it was Ensign Bloch who said, "I can see why all the Delta Quadrant crew
wanted him!  I'm about to melt myself!"

***

"Harry?"  Tom tried to sound casual as he watched his friend get ready
for the evening.  He knew he had failed, when Harry's head whipped around
and he arched an eyebrow in response.  "Nothing's wrong," Tom said
quickly, and Harry relaxed.  "I was just wondering, you and Belanna
wouldn't be going to Sandrine's, would you?"

Harry immediately looked guilty.  "Jeez, Tom, I never thought - I mean -
umm."  Tom laughed at his friend's discomfort.  It was so - Harry.  Harry
grimaced at him.  "As a matter of fact we are.  I never thought about it.
I leave you alone almost every night."  Tom shrugged. "No, no, it's not
all right," Harry insisted, correctly reading Tom's meaning.  "You must
get lonely.  Do you want me to ask the Doctor if it's okay to take you
into some of the holoprograms, like Sandrine's or the resort?"

Ask the Doctor.  Of course.  Tom sighed.  What had he been thinking?
That he could just pick up his life as though nothing had happened?  That
there would be no consequences?  "No, Harry," he said softly, and Harry
heard the resigned tone, the one that had finally begun to disappear,
emerge again in Tom's voice.  "That's okay.  I was just curious."

Harry turned back to the mirror and worked on his hair while he replayed
the conversation.  What had he said that sent Tom into retreat?  He was
so deep in thought, he almost didn't hear Tom's quiet question.
"What's going to happen to me, Harry?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not too certain about the exact dates, but we must be nearing the
six-month mark.  What's going to happen to me when we get back?"

"Why should anything happen to you? What do you mean?" Harry repeated.

Much to Harry's surprised, Tom grasped his shoulders and turned Harry
around to face him.  "I'm not in that much of a fog, Harry," he said
firmly.  "I was allowed on board in hopes it would - cure me.  But it
hasn't, has it?  I can more or less function as long as nothing
unexpected happens, right?  I'm too fragile to be trusted alone for any
length of time unless I'm on duty.  I don't have full computer access -
even now.  I can't use a replicator.  I'm monitored at all times.  You
still lock me in here if you're going to be gone all night."  Tom watched
Harry's face and nodded.  "It's okay.  You don't have to say anything.  I
certainly don't want you to lie to me, so maybe you better not say
anything."  He let go of Harry.  "You're going to be late.  Don't worry
about it.  I won't do anything rash."

Harry watched Tom boot the computer and become engrossed in it.  It was a
convincing act.  He hesitated, then shook his head and left to meet
Belanna.  Maybe she, or one of Tom's other friends, would have some ideas
on what he should have said.

***

Worries about Tom's future were put on hold when the Starfleet orders
came.  Voyager was to proceed to the Alpha/Delta quadrant border at flank
speed under sealed orders. The three-month journey would leave plenty of
time for theories about what their mission was to be and how long it
would last.  With little in the way of interim assignments, the crew
needed diversions.  Captain Janeway set aside her misgivings and called
upon her three most creative holoprogrammers:  Neelix, Tuvok - and Tom
Paris.

"Well, gentlemen, what do you propose?" Janeway asked.

"Perhaps it would be best if Mr. Paris worked with Mr. Neelix on
recreational programs while I create some scenarios to hone the crew's
tactical skills, Captain," Tuvok suggested gravely, all too aware of the
taut control with which the lieutenant held himself in the Vulcan's
presence.

Before the captain could answer, Tom spoke up.  "I don't agree,
Commander.  I'm certainly willing to help Neelix to enhance the resort or
to fine-tune new programs, but I think my time would be better spent
working with you on some scenarios that integrate the crew."

Tuvok merely raised an eyebrow in surprise, while Neelix covered his
mouth to muffle his laughter.  The Captain turned to Tom and encouraged
him to continue.  "What do you mean, Mr. Paris?"

Tom shifted in his seat and willed his throat to stay open.  "From what
I've seen and heard, the new crew from the Alpha Quadrant haven't exactly
been welcomed with open arms by the Delta Quadrant veterans."

Neelix nodded his agreement, but Tuvok commented, "I have no reports of
any untoward incidents, like those between the Maquis and Starfleet crews
when they first merged.  Can you be more specific?"

Tom's discomfort became acute.  He swallowed hard, trying to remind
himself that he was doing this for the good of the ship, but to no avail.
At the Captain's gentle, "Go on, Tom," he looked at her helplessly.  In
desperation, he turned to Tuvok and impulsively grabbed the Vulcan's hand
and placed it on his own temple, closing his eyes as he did so.
'Please,' he thought at Tuvok, 'help me.'

Tuvok sent mental understanding and raised his other hand to mirror the
first at Tom's temple.  Tom felt calm strength flow into him.  He was
able to breathe steadily.  "From what I've seen and been told - mainly by
the Alpha Quadrant newbies - that's what they call themselves - the Delta
Quadrant crew has restricted their access to parts of the message boards
and programs.  They can't get into programs like Sandrine's.  They can't
read the Delta Quadrant threads on the boards.  Have you ever seen the
old crew even share a table in the mess hall with the Alpha Quadrant
crew?"  He paused for breath and to gather his thoughts.

Neelix spoke into the silence.  "Tom's right.  He's about the only one
who approaches any of the newcomers.  It's not so much that our old crew
is nasty, Mr. Vulcan.  I'm not surprised you've had no 'incidents'.  They
just ignore the new crew.  They keep to themselves and discourage the
newbies from getting to know them."

"Exactly," Tom said.  "I know some of it's to protect me, but it's time
for that to stop.  I appreciate it and it's helped me get this far, but
-" he gestured at Tuvok's visible assistancce, "I need to stumble a little
now and learn to be less afraid.  And if we're going to be relying on
just ourselves, the crew has to trust each other."  He reached up to
Tuvok's wrists and gently pulled his hands away.  Both men blinked at the
loss of contact.

"You're right," Janeway said thoughtfully as the two recovered.  "We do
need that.  I hadn't realized how much we've all relegated the newcomers
to second-class status."  She paused, then nodded as though reaching a
decision.  "You're also right that we did at least part of that purposely
to shield you.  Are you strong enough to know when to ask for help, Tom?"

"I think Mr. Paris just proved that he is, Captain," Tuvok pointed out.

"Yes, I suppose he did."  Her tone became brisk.  "Very well, then.  The
three of you divide the workload along the lines that Mr. Paris
suggested.  Solicit input from the rest of the crew - both parts of it.
I'd like reports on a weekly basis.  Is that agreeable to everyone?"
There were nods around the table.  "Then, if there's no further
discussion, gentlemen, I suggest you get to work."  She waited a few
seconds before dismissing them.

***

Part Five

It was a small ship. And with full crew complement, it was a crowded
ship.  Tom could not avoid other members of the crew as he had while
closeted in his quarters, protected by those who cared for him.  Still,
he tried, fully aware of how uncomfortable he made others feel.  Aside
from pilot rotation, his duties were independent of those of the rest of
the crew save Seven.  Captain Janeway had assigned the two of them to try
to decode the alien transmissions.  And even there, he and Seven worked
independently then compared notes in daily meetings with the Captain at
the tail end of Alpha shift.

Tom worked mid-Beta and late Gamma split shifts, doing his normal shuttle
and relief helm duties from mid-Alpha to mid-Beta, resting or sleeping
during early Gamma and early Alpha.  This worked well with the other
pilots, who were ready for a break when he appeared, fresh and alert.  It
gave his still weak body a chance to recharge, and it left him little or
no time to think about how he used to spend his off-hours at Sandrine's,
the resort, with Harry and B'Elanna.... 'So much for not thinking about
that,' he said to himself ruefully.  'But at least I don't actually *see*
them and have to deal with it.'  His dissembling skills were almost
nonexistent now, ripped away by his father and the renegade Klingons 'And
let's not go there, either,' he reminded himself.

Tom turned away from the mirror and his thoughts, checked his small, neat
quarters one more time and left for the mess hall.  As usual, it was
empty at this odd hour and he fixed himself breakfast in silence - real
Challah, that delicious egg-and-wheat bread, and dairy cream cheese,
cocoa made with cow's milk, juice from fruits whose names and flavors he
actually recognized.  There were benefits to being in the Alpha Quadrant.
He wondered whether Neelix had thought to stock up before they left the
last Starbase.

As he heated his cocoa, a noise from the entrance caught his attention.
"Good morning, B'Elanna," he greeted her cheerfully.  "What brings you
out so early."  'Well, maybe not all my masks are totally gone,' he
thought, surprised at how easily he slid into a friendly, unthreatened
facade.

"Couldn't sleep.  Up since 0600.  Figured I might as well come down."
She headed for the replicators.

"Want some bread and cheese?"  He had noticed some jalapeno cheddar  when
he pulled the cream cheese from the cooler.

"Got any butter left?"

Tom checked.  "Yup.  Butter and cheese or just butter?"

"Just butter, thanks."

"Bread and butter it is," he said, cutting a thick slice of the rich
bread for her.  As he spread the softened butter, he asked.  "Cocoa?"

"Nah, too sweet in the morning." B'Elanna replied automatically.  Then
her head came up and she became alert enough to realize she was holding
an actual conversation - innocuous as it was - with Tom Paris.

Tom affected not to notice her sudden jolt of realization.  "Grapefruit
juice?" he suggested, remembering one of her wistful responses back in
the Delta Quadrant when they played "when I get back I'm going to eat".

"Mm, that would be nice."

Tom poured a large goblet for her and a smaller glass for himself.  He
left her breakfast on the counter and brought his to a small table.
Unsure of whether she would want to eat with him, he left her the option
of taking her food and leaving, rather than creating an embarrassing
situation for both of them.  To his surprise, she brought her food over.
He quickly swallowed his meds with the juice in his hand and smiled a
welcome that he actually felt.  B'Elanna couldn't hide her true feeling
no matter how hard she tried, so he knew she actually wanted to spend
this time with him.  One of the ship's cats jumped onto the back of his
chair and created a conversational opening.  "He's just being sociable,"
Tom explained at B'Elanna's raised eyebrow as the cat rubbed against
Tom's cheek.  "He's not at all interested in my breakfast."

"Oh, I'm sure," B'Elanna agreed, chuckling as Tom batted a paw away from
his bread.  "And you, of course," she said to the large orange
tiger-striped cat who had seated himself up against her legs, just wanted
to say 'hello'.  You don't even like Challah, do you?" she asked and both
humans laughed as the cat's large yellow eyes followed B'Elanna's bread
from plate to mouth.

"Of course he doesn't, B'Elanna.  He's just offering to guard it for
you," Tom agreed.  "Why you could put it right down on the floor beside
him and he would guard it very well."

"I'm sure," B'Elanna said dryly.  "Well, I'm off to Engineering."  The
cat raced ahead of her, then waited for her to catch up.  She scooped it
into her arms.  "Coming with me?  Are there mice in the warp coils?"  Tom
laughed aloud and B'Elanna felt a thrill go through her that Tom was at
ease enough to laugh at her joke.  "Meet you at Sandrine's tonight?" She
risked extending the offer.

Tom hesitated for less than a minute.  Had the invitation come from
anyone else, he would have questioned it.  But B'Elanna always said what
she meant.  "Yeah.  Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

"Twenty hundred hours?" she pressed her advantage to get a commitment.

"Twenty hundred hours," he confirmed.  "See you then.  Have fun with your
warp coils."

B'Elanna waved the hand not full of orange cat and left with a smile on
her face that lasted until halfway through Alpha shift when Vorik blew
one of the plasma relays.

Tom popped the last piece of Challah into his mouth and looked down in
surprise at his empty plate.  He took a last swallow of cocoa and brought
the dishes to the recycler.  He had actually *eaten* breakfast with
B'Elanna - not played with his food or fought down nausea - actually
eaten.  And even the realization that he had agreed to meet her in
Sandrine's wasn't upsetting him.  'I'm looking forward to it,' he
marvelled.  He finished tidying up and set off for the astrometrics lab,
where they were receiving the alien transmissions, whistling as he walked 
through the corridors.

***

Part Six

The rhinovirus mutated and incubated in Belanna.  When it was ready, it went
looking for a new host.  And found one in Harry Kim.

"Ooh," moaned Kim from the daybed.

"Some date you and Belanna had, huh, Harry? Tom teased, not looking up from
his game of solitaire.

"Yes, I mean no, I mean - oh my head!"  Harry's confused complaint was
interrupted by a huge sneeze.  Tom looked up at that.

"Gesundheit," he said, then frowned.  Harry's normally tawny face was pale
except for the two red spots on his cheekbones.  Tom grabbed the medical
tricorder on the table and approached the bed.  Hesitantly, he reached a
hand to Harry's forehead.  When Harry merely gave him a quizzical look, he
relaxed, but announced, "You're hot."  Running the tricorder over Harry, he
asked, "Did you get Belanna mad at you Harry?"

"'Course not," Harry said grumpily.  "Why?"

Because I think she gave you a surprise present," Tom said. "And I think
we'd better get you to sickbay."

Through the fog of his fever, Harry realized how, well, Tom-like Tom
sounded.  He grinned as Tom said, "C'mon now," and reached around his
shoulders to push him into a sitting position.  Tom knelt and put Harry's
slippers on him as Harry watched bemusedly.  Then Tom put his arm around
Harry again and pulled him upright.  "Lean on me.  There you go," Tom
encouraged him.

It was not until they were out in the hall and Harry's lethargy started
taking over so that he truly had to lean on Tom for support, that Harry
realized that Tom was trembling.  Looking more closely at his friend's taut
face, he saw how thin the façade of normalcy really was.  Yet Tom's arm was
firm around him, his soothing voice calm and strong.  Harry shook his head
in disbelief, then moaned again as his head throbbed and the hall swam in
front of him.

"Almost there, Har," Tom said encouragingly, while tightening his supporting
grip.  He was almost carrying Harry by the time they reached sickbay.

***

"Tom," the Captain began after seating herself on the couch. "Has the Doctor
told you much about Harry's condition?"

Tom nodded and composed himself to be able to speak.  "He said Harry's going
to be sick for a couple of weeks and I can't see him until he's well."  He
spoke in a rush before his throat closed.

"Did he tell you why?"  Janeway asked gently.  Tom shook his head no.  He
looked at her briefly, his eyes pleading for an explanation.  "Do you
remember when you and Harry went on that away mission because the rest of us
were so sick?"  Tom nodded.  "Well, Harry's caught what we had.  Probably
from Belanna.  Because he wasn't on Earth, his immunity was even lower than
the rest of ours.  So he's sicker than we were and we were pretty miserable.
And he'll probably take longer to recover."  She paused.  "And you have even
lower immunity than Harry."  Tom nodded his understanding and Janeway
breathed a sigh of relief at not having to explain further.

"Thank you," Tom murmured.  "I didn't know and I thought maybe I ..." He
trailed off.

"Oh, no, Tom!"  Janeway exclaimed.  "It has nothing to do with you."  Tom
nodded again and she continued, "But that does bring up the matter I came to
discuss.  With Harry unavailable, I wanted to know who you would like ..."

"To stay with me?"  Tom finished for her.  It was the Captain's turn to nod.
"Well, umm, I wondered..." Tom's throat closed again and he held up a hand
signaling Janeway to wait.  She nodded encouragingly.  He tried a different
tack explaining, "I can't seem to ask ... Let me try ..." He took a deep
breath.  "I want to try staying alone."  Seeing the Captain's frown, he
immediately backed off.  "I just thought maybe it would be easier and I -
but I guess not."  He looked down and shrugged.  "It really doesn't matter.
Whoever you can get is fine."

Against her better judgment, Janeway found herself relenting.  It had taken
a lot for Tom to make that suggestion and she couldn't just throw it away.
"If you feel strong enough to do this -" Tom looked up hopefully and nodded.
"I'll talk to the Doctor.  Perhaps he can set up some passive monitors in
case ... in case there's a problem."  She stood and Tom rose, too.  "I can't
promise anything," she cautioned.

"I understand," Tom assured her, walking her to the door.  "Thank you,
Captain."

***

Tom was as surprised as anyone that he could get through the nights alone.
Some of the nights were short, either starting late as he kept himself busy
until he was literally falling asleep, or ending early with a sudden
awakening, heart pounding.  But he got enough sleep to satisfy the Doctor
and was able to control his panic attacks more and more successfully.

By the time Harry was ready to return to duty, he was also able to return to
his own quarters.

***

The virus attacked Tom on his day off.  The Doctor had stopped the passive
monitoring after several weeks with no problems and, since Tom tended to
keep to himself, no one noticed his absence until he failed to report to the
shuttle bay for his next shift.  When the report came to Chakotay, he
glanced at Harry and murmured an explanation to the Captain, who nodded her
agreement.  Then Chakotay quietly left the bridge.


Part Seven

As he had hoped, the Astrogation Lab was empty.  He sat down at a side
console and brought up the piece of the message he was working on.  Seven
had deciphered a couple of fragments that he thought might help him and he
accessed her file to grab them.  He was using the most complicated decoder,
a Sherlock routine as it was called, and was intent on his work, when motion
in his peripheral vision disturbed him.

"Who's there?" he called.

A figure moved into the doorway.  "I'm sorry, Lieutenant - um, I, um,
thought the lab would be empty this time of night. I didn't mean to disturb
you."

"Wait, it is empty.  That is, I'm only using one console. You can come in, I
don't bite," Tom surprised himself by inviting the stranger to join him.
"Really," he assured him as he hesitated.

"Thank you.  Not everyone of the Delta Quadrant crew feels that way."

"So I've been told," Tom said.  He stood and held out his hand.  "Tom
Paris."

The crewman stepped forward and grasped it firmly.  "Rob Malone.  I've kind
of been trying to cross train on some of the decryption routines.  It's
rough-going on my own, though."

"Yeah, I bet it is.  In the Delta Quadrant we started our own little
Academy, mainly based on cross-training, but I guess the Captain hasn't
continued it."

"No, sir."  Rob sighed.  "It would be nice, but probably no one's willing to
instruct us Alpha Quad newbies, Lieutenant."

"Believe it or not, Rob, the Senior Staff is working on it.  But there's a
lot of damage already done." 'And most of it's due to me,' Tom thought
bitterly.  He realized the crewman was staring at him.  "Anyway, feel free
to grab a console," he waved at the other side of the horseshoe-shaped
setup, hoping the man would take the hint.  The path to the door was clear,
but quite a distance away in the huge room.  Tom worked to contain the
creeping panic he was feeling.

Rob didn't take the hint.  "What are you working on?"

"I'm trying to decrypt parts of that alien message that nearly fried our
comm array," Tom explained.  He motioned at the screen he had been working
at.  Rob looked over his shoulder.  "I'm using a variation of the Sherlock
routine.  Seven's working on a different part of the message using Vulcan
subroutine based on an Asian decryption formula.  Then there are the more
straightforward decryptors, but we've had little success with those.
Sherlock and a couple of the Vulcan subroutines seem to give us some results
at least."  He edged away from the other man, uncomfortable with the
physical closeness.

Rob stepped back, aware he had invaded the Lieutenant's private space
unintentionally.  "Umm, could I watch you work?"

"Sure, I'll talk you through what I'm doing, if you like."  Tom hesitated.
"I used to instruct at the on-board Academy - piloting, of course, but
decryption, too.  Seven's better at it than I am, but for some reason," he
grinned, "her students dropped the course quickly.  I think it might have
been the way she referred to them as drones and gave them new 'designations'
for use during class time."

Rob joined him in a laugh, then pulled up a lab stool, positioning it at the
farthest position from which he could still see the screen.  Tom nodded his
appreciation, then turned back to the console.  "I was just about to bring
up a new message portion.  I've gotten as far as I'm going to on this one,
I'm afraid.  I'll mark it for Seven to look at.  We've kind of fallen into
the routine of me working through them first, adding anything she's been
able to decipher from her work, then turning it over to her when I can't get
any more out of them.  She's got a lot more patience than I do and I get
really frustrated with some of the Vulcan subroutines.  They're almost as
cryptic as the message we're trying to decode!"  Tom made some notations for
Seven and closed the file, bringing up the next one in sequence.



To be continued?