Summary: Answer to Narrative Challenge #38 at Jupiter Station: Tom and Kathryn crash the Delta Flyer while on a routine away mission. Tom loses his memory, but is convinced that Kathryn is his wife.

Disclaimer: The characters of Star Trek Voyager belong to Paramount. This story is not intended to infringe upon their copyright. I won't see a single penny for this, so if you sue me you will find that my pockets are the polar opposite of deep. Please send your comments to [email protected].

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ALLUSION (1/2)
by Lacadiva

"Easy, Tom," Janeway said as she pulled the Ensign to a sitting position against the wall. "You're going to be fine."

"What happened?" He reached up to touch his head. Blood decorated his fingertips.

"Don't be too alarmed. Head wounds have a tendency to bleed a lot. It looks worse than it actually is. How do you feel?"

"Like I. . ." he stopped and looked at her strangely. "You. . ."

"What?"

Tom's face revealed his panic. He shuddered and closed his eyes, squeezing them shut hard.

"Tom! What is it? You're probably going into shock."

"No."

She touched his face, his left cheek, the only spot free of blood. His skin felt cool and clammy. "Tell me what's wrong," she ordered in an even voice that belied her fear.

Tom shuddered again, then opened his eyes. They looked even bluer with bright blood clinging to his forehead.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Janeway's stomach hitched. "Tom, this is no time for jokes."

"I'm not joking. Why would I joke about this? I don't even know you."

She felt the air being sucked out of her lungs. "I'm Kathryn Janeway."

"Kathryn," he repeated. "Kathryn. Did you do this to us, Kathryn, or did I?"

"It was an accident," she said, forcing herself to remain calm. Their survival depended on her cool detachment and ability to take command of the situation. But how could she do that when her chief helmsman was suffering from such a severe memory lapse? And was it temporary?

"You're very lovely, Kathryn, even with a bloody shoulder."

She smiled a little. "You don't remember me at all, Tom?"

"Should I?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry that I. . ." Tom began fading before he could finish his words, slipping into unconsciousness. "Maybe you can tell me who I am," he mumbled. "I seem to be a little fuzzy on that, too." He began sliding to a prone position on the floor.

"No, Tom, NO! Stay with me. You have to stay awake!" Janeway slapped his face a few times, until his eyes opened. They were unfocussed, and looking every place by directly at her.

"Lemme sleep," he said. "Head hurts."

"I know, but you can't go to sleep, you can't risk unconsciousness now. "

"It's okay." His eyes closed again.

"No, it's not okay, Tom!"

He snapped awake and stared directly at Janeway.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"Tom," he repeated, as if trying his name on for the first time. His eyes suddenly widened. "I feel sick."

Tom turned to the side and wretched loudly. Janeway held him, whispering to him as the helmsman emptied his system. He shuddered, whimpering a bit through the retching as pain echoed through his injured head. When he was done, he held fast to Janeway's arm, then lowered himself back against the wall, breathing deeply.

"Sorry," he said. "I make a heck of an impression, huh?"

"Forget it," Janeway replied. "Let's get that head wound taken care of."

"Sure. And then you should let me help you with that shoulder," he said, pointing.

She knew it would keep him awake, keep him focused, so she consented. She pulled the emergency medkit from its place on the damaged wall of the shuttlecraft. She opened it and pulled out a wad of gauze and a tissue regenerator and gave them to him.

She gingerly cleaned his wound, then ran the tissue regenerator over the still bleeding gash just below his scalp line. "If you'd kept your seatbelt secured, you could have avoided this mess," she gently chastised.

"I can see how much better you fared with your seatbelt intact. Ow."

"Sorry, but you can't expect this not to hurt if you don't keep still. Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you remembering anything yet?"

"No. I'm trying."

He took the regenerator from her with a weak hand and waited while Janeway unfastened the front of her uniform and pulled it from her injured shoulder. The gray tank she wore under it was soaked with blood.

Tom moved forward to help her, but gasped and fell back against the wall.

"What is it?" Janeway asked, leaning toward him, looking for additional damage.

"My ribs, I think. . ." he said, teeth grinding.

"Stay still. The last thing you want to do is -"

"What?"

"Just keep still."

"Puncture a lung. You were going to say puncture a lung. It's okay."

Janeway felt along his ribcage gently probing for signs of broken or splintered bone. Tom cringed from every touch, nearly leaping out of his own skin when she found the sorest spot.

"Okay, Mr. Paris, you're not moving."

"Mr. Paris? I thought I was Tom?"

Janeway felt a wave of sickness move through her again. How could Tom not know his name? How severe was his head wound? Was there a crack in the skull? Bleeding along the brain? What was causing his lapse in memory?

"Your name is Tom Paris. Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris. Does that ringing a bell?"

"Can't say that it does at the moment. Say, where are we anyway?"

"None of this looks familiar?"

"No, but I think it's safe to assume that wherever we are, it's usually in better shape than this," he said, looking around the damaged shuttlecraft.

"True. We're in the Delta Flyer. You built this."

"I did? Didn't do a very good job, huh? Let me try your shoulder again."

Janeway moved as close as she could to minimize Tom's movements. She heard him make a strange sound, a sniffing sound.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" he claimed guiltily. "Actually, I thought I smelled something familiar."

"Smoke? Burning wires?"

"No, L'air du Temps."

She pulled away and looked him in the eye, despite the pain in her shoulder. "I sprayed a bit on this morning. I don't know why."

"It suits you."

"I'm surprised there's any left with all the smoke and sweat and grime."

Tom gestured for her to resume her position. He maneuvered closer, his breath hitching from protesting ribs. But rather than resume healing her arm, he buried his nose in the curve of her neck.

Janeway nearly jumped across the floor. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry!" he shouted. "I just . . .I think I recognize the smell, I mean, it means something, something important, and I can't figure out what. I'm sorry. I won't do that again."

Janeway crawled back to Tom and sat, looking him dead in the eye. "I understand you are confused, and probably a little afraid, but I warn you to be a little less familiar, Ensign."

"I promise to be on my best behavior," Tom said, raising his right hand as high as he could without triggering pain.

He used the tissue regenerator deftly and easily, watching as the skin on her shoulder reconnected, and the bruising became less visible. Exhausted, he sat back and watched as she shimmied back into her uniform . "It's rude to stare, Ensign," she snapped at him.

"Sorry. Absent memory's no excuse for rude behavior. See? I remember. Am I a doctor?"

"No."

"I feel like I know what I'm doing."

"You've spent a lot of time in sick bay assisting our holo-doctor."

"Kathryn, what about you? What's your rank? What's your specialty? What kind of outfit am I hooked up with? Mercenaries? Revolutionaries? Ex-patriot pirates out for a little fun and booty?"

"Hardly."

"Are we an item?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know. We're obviously traveling alone in this shuttle, I couldn't help but wonder."

"Quit wondering, Ensign," she snapped, repackaging the medkit and tossing it aside. "We are not an item."

"That's too bad," Tom said with a disappointed look.

"Even without memory, you're still Tom Paris, through and through."

Janeway stood and looked down, hoping to assert a bit of authority. " I am the captain of the USS Voyager, and you are my chief helmsman. You're here with me on my orders. We were returning to Voyager from a routine mission - an attempt to establish diplomatic ties with the crew of a passing ship when we experienced a massive power surge that blew the navigation systems and brought us here. We've lost contact with the ship and frankly I don't know when to expect a rescue."

"Or 'if'?"

"Yes. Or 'if'." she said, looking away. The shuttle was a mess, all twisted metal, crushed components and hanging wires burning, smoking and sizzling. Outside was more hostile - complete darkness - not even light from a nearby moon. And it was very cold.

"Anything connecting?" she asked, a little soft this time.

"I wish. What else can you tell me?"

"Why not see what you can remember?"

Tom began with a determined look, but as the moments ticked by, his look became sad, then desperate, and then afraid. His bright eyes began to fill with tears.

"Nothing," he said. "I can't remember anything."

"Start with something recent. What you had for breakfast this morning."

"Too easy. I just need to look in the corner."

"Try not to look."

Silence again. "I don't know."

"Try recalling names, other than your own, of course."

"Harry."

"Yes! Yes! What do you remember about Harry?"

"Nothing. It was just a guess."

"Try again."

"My head hurts."

"You must try again."

"NO! Aaah."

Janeway caught him by the shoulders as he tried to slide back down to a prone position on the floor.

"Please, just let me sleep now."

"You can't. You may never wake up."

"Fine with me."

"Tom, please."

He looked in her eyes smiled. "Are you sure?"

"Sure of what?"

"That there's nothing between you and me?"

"Positive. Now sit up."

Tom pulled himself up, grinding his teeth and breathing hard as he struggled, until he sat straight up again. He trembled as he tried to breathe in shallow breaths without causing pain.

"I'm going to attempt to send another distress signal. Will you be all right?"

"Yes. I won't go to sleep."

"Keep talking to me, so I know you're awake."

"I don't know what to talk about."

Janeway stood and made her way to the controls. As she worked hard at restoring damaged circuits to program the distress signal, she constantly checked over her shoulder to make sure Tom remained awake.

"You said I'm the chief helmsman. Am I a good pilot?"

"The best."

"Where did I learn?"

"You learned the basics at Starfleet Academy. The rest, at the helm. You can't fly a ship as perfectly as you do in a class room."

"I'm that good?"

"I never lie."

"That's good to know. Do I?"

"Occasionally."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"I'm sure you've turned a few events to suit your needs from time to time."

"So you're saying I'm deceitful."

"Not at all. You're just. . . . Tom."

Tom laughed, then grimaced when his ribs protested the slightest movement.

"I wish I could help you."

"Don't worry about it. The console is shot. I couldn't repair it, even with the proper tools. This baby is all yours."

"I wish I remembered."

"You will."

"Uuhhhh"

Janeway pushed through debris and rushed back to his side. "What is it?"

"More of the same," Tom said. And then, as if struck by an electric charge, Tom jumped. "I remember!"

"That's good Tom! What do you remember?"

"I see it! I totally see it!"

"What, Tom? What do you see?"

"You!"

"Me? Where? On the bridge? In my ready room? Sick bay?"

"No, my house."

"House? What house?"

"Yes. Log. . .a log cabin. Log cabin in the woods."

"Tom, you must be confused with another memory."

"No, I don't think so. I see it in my head. Big as day."

"We've been on Voyager for over five earth years. Before that, you were spending time in an Auckland penal institution. Before that -"

Tom grab her arm, despite the pain it caused him, regretting the pain it caused her.

"I know what I'm talking about. This is a real, honest to goodness memory. I can see every detail, feel every detail. I can smell the wood burning stove, smell coffee brewing in the old fashioned pot. I can smell pine, fresh pine and clean air. And L'air du temp. Exactly what you're wearing now. It's you. I know it's you."

He closed his eyes, his grip tightening around Janeway's arm. "You're hair is longer, you're wearing it up. You take it down, spreading it about your shoulders. You're sweater is white wool. I can feel the scratchiness of it as I -" He opened his eyes quickly, looking directly into hers. He blushed with embarrassment.

"Don't stop now, Ensign," Janeway said with a low, insulted voice. "As you. . .?"

"As I take you into my arms and kiss you."

"Oh, for goodness sake. Tom, you have never kissed me."

"Yes, I have."

"Tom, I don't know where you're getting this vision from, but -"

"YES I HAVE. You're my wife."

Janeway's head cocked slightly to the side. "Excuse me?"

"You're my wife," he said with conviction, but her look caused his conviction to fizzle. "Aren't you?"

"No, Tom. I'm your captain, and I'm your friend. We have never been married."

"But I remember! The bed - the bed we share has a hand carved frame from Brussels. You ordered it yourself. I remember putting it together. Remember I hit my thumb with the hammer? You laughed for hours about that. We both did until our stomachs hurt and our eyes watered. We couldn't even look at each other without bursting out and . . .you don't remember any of this, do you?"

Tom looked so sad, she almost wanted to pretend that she did. "No, Tom. I don't remember it because it never happened."

Tom slid back against the wall and closed his eyes. "You don't remember ice fishing on the lake? Or opening Christmas presents by the fire? I gave you a bracelet once, one you saw in a store window. I thought it was simple and not so special, but you loved it. You said you'd never take it off."

Janeway pulled her arm away from Tom and showed him her wrist. Tom closed his eyes and turned away from her.

"You're saying I'm crazy?" he asked through bitter tears.

"No. I think you're a little confused."

"That's an understatement. If these memories are false, where did they come from? Why do they feel so real?"

"You've had a physically traumatic experience. Sometimes, wires get crossed."

Tom closed his eyes, and remained silent for the better part of an hour. Janeway checked him frequently, asking him questions. He barely responded, and when he did, it was only in monosyllabic mumbles, grunts or looks.

The ship's life support was damaged, and while it still pumped out fresh air, it could no longer heat it and keep the cabin comfortable. So Janeway located emergency thermal blankets and wrapped her self and her ensign in them. When the temperature continued to drop, she found it necessary to conserve warmth by snuggling next to him. He did not protest, nor did he seem particularly concerned with their closeness.

"I'm not crazy," he whispered. That was the last thing he said to her for several hours.

Janeway woke up and checked the chronometer on the ship. Eleven hours had transpired with no word from Voyager. She looked over at Tom, and cursed herself for falling asleep. So had Tom.

"Tom, wake up."

He would not.

"Tom!" She slapped his cheek, shook him. He remained unconscious.

She felt panic stirring in her, but before she could act on it she felt the familiar oddness that overtakes her when being transported from place to place.

They re-materialized in sick bay. Instantly the Holo-Doctor ran a tricorder over her and then on Tom. He instantly injected Tom with a hypospray and secured him to a biobed.

"Your turn, Captain," he said.

* * *

Janeway sat in her command chair staring mindlessly at her data PADD. She'd read it three times, and still could made no sense of it. She was waiting to hear from the Doctor, waiting to know Tom's condition. Would he remember anything? Would his memory even return? And what of his false memories of being married to her?

From where did this idea come? Something deep in his psyche that needed to be examined, exposed or analyzed? Was it just the trauma of being trapped on a shuttle in the middle of nowhere?

"Sickbay to Bridge."

Janeway nearly jumped out of her seat. "Go ahead, Doctor. How is Tom?"

"Ensign Paris has regained consciousness. His memories are returning, slowly but surely. His injuries were severe but no longer life threatening. Thanks to excellent doctoring, he should be able to return to duty in two days."

"That's fantastic, doctor. When can he have visitors?"

"Whenever you like, but I must insist that brevity is essential. Mr. Paris needs his rest. And goodness knows he'll have little of it once he's back in commission, working double shifts on the bridge, all night carousing on the holodeck, dangerous away missions. I seem to spend more time patching him up than any other member of Voyager, and I also -"

"Thank you doctor, we'll keep it brief so long as you do. Janeway out." She could not help but smile. "Status report, Mr. Kim?"

"All systems normal, Captain."

"Maintain orbit."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway thought briefly of using a few replicator rations on a cup of coffee. Not just a regular coffee, but a nice macchiato, or perhaps a cappuccino. Perhaps she'd visit Sandrine's tonight in honor of Tom, and have a nice French roast, and then -

She felt a chill run down her back, felt a tingling in her fingertips. The Holodeck. Tom's memories. She stood, struggling with what her head told her to do, and what she knew was wrong.

"Mr. Chakotay, you have the bridge."

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"Yes."

Janeway stepped into the lift. "Holodeck one," she ordered.

* * *

She stepped inside. The room was dark, not in use, and glowing grid lines where hatched across the walls, ceiling and floor.

"Computer," she said, feeling guilty, "access holodeck user list for the past fourteen days."

"Ensign Harry Kim. Lieutenant B'Ellana Torres. Commander Chakotay. Ensign James Carroll. Ensign Tom Paris. Ensign - "

"Computer, list all programs used by Ensign Tom Paris."

"Unable to comply. Programs are secured by privacy lock."

Janeway hesitated, listening to the sound of her own breath, feeling the guilt of the betrayal she was about to commit, but knowing there was no other way to get an answer. "Computer, override privacy lock, Janeway alpha four one four two three."

"Paris one, Sandrines. Paris two, Captain Proton. Paris three, Boxing Program. Paris four, Boudwain the Pirate. Paris five, Montana Cabin. Paris six, Flight Simulator -"

"Computer, run Paris five, Montana cabin."

Suddenly the holodeck gave way to a beautiful landscape, brilliantly bright blue sky, puffy clouds, and jagged mountains in the distance, tall lush grass and rolling hills. And a large log cabin with a beautiful veranda. Janeway began walking toward the Veranda. There was someone sitting on the porch, reading from a data PADD. As she got closed, the woman on the porch stood up and waved enthusiastically. She wore a thick white wool sweater, and wore her long red hair in a loose bun.

Janeway walked toward herself and stood on the stairs. It was *her*. There were minor differences. A softness around the eyes, a nearly perpetual smile. Did she detect a slightly heavier bosom? That could have been the bulky sweater.

"Tom!" her holo-image said to her, as if she were indeed Tom. The program was running. Is this how he saw Janeway? Or wanted to see Janeway?

"Hello," the real Janeway said. She knew she was overstepping her bounds, but she was already here, and curiosity was taking over.

"You look hungry. Come inside, I'll fix you something, dear."

"Dear?"

The holo-Janeway did not notice Janeway's reaction, but turned and went inside. She followed her.

The cabin was beautiful. There was a fire going. Soft, comfy furniture and plush throw rugs. Overstuffed pillows, and hand crafted wood furniture. And the bed. There was the bed, the hand carved bed from Brussels he had talked about.

The holo-Janeway was busy making sandwiches. "There's beer in the fridge," it said, looking over her shoulder. "Tom. . .what's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Janeway.

The holo-Janeway put down knife and went to the real Janeway, looking her dead in the eyes. "What is it, Tom? Is it something I've done?"

"No."

"Then what is it? It hurts me to see you in such pain. What can I do take it away?"

"Nothing. I'm just -"

The holo-Janeway reached out , putting her arms around Janeway.

"Computer end program!"

Janeway found herself standing in the grid room again. She felt dizzy, sick. Should she feel mad? Should she demand he dismantle the program? Is this fantasy Janeway he created a dangerous sign? And what does this image do to her image as his commanding officer? Janeway shuddered. She knew what she had to do. She didn't want to, but she took a deep breath.

"Computer, run all Paris programs containing Janeway simulacra."

** *** **

She had spent the better part of an hour running segments of the Paris holoprograms. She was exhausted. She stood outside the holodeck doors wondering how to proceed. Go back to the bridge and deal with it later? Confront him now, while he recuperated in Sick Bay? Fire off a nasty memo on her PADD? Janeway was at a loss.

She ran through her head the five scenarios she discovered. There was the Boudwain the Pirate scenario. Tom had no doubt cast himself as the dashing pirate hero in question. The holo-Janeway was a queen who abdicates her thrown to become a pirate and, of course and most disturbingly, prove her love to the dashing Boudwain.

And then, there was the cave collapse scenario. Holo-Janeway and the real Mr. Paris fight side by side, battling the Hirogen, the Vidiians, the Borg - whatever enemy one wished to program in. And then the cave collapses, trapping Janeway and Paris inside an icy cavern.

There were a two very harmless ones - simply bridge simulations and flight simulations revolving around actual past Voyager encounters - no doubt teaching tools.

But then there was the disturbing Montana cabin scenario. She'd wracked her brain, worrying what she had done to give him the impression that he could cross such boundaries. Had he actually done that? He'd always seemed at ease with her. Playful, but never disrespectful. Had those few playful moments she foolishly allowed given him free reign to think of her in such a way? Was it her fault?

She found herself stopping at Sick Bay. It wouldn't hurt to check on him and see how he was doing. She knew she had to talk to him soon, but would consult the Doctor about when a better time might be. She was way too. . .flustered . . . to deal with it now.

The doors to Sick Bay hissed open. She did not see Paris right away. The Doctor turned to greet her with an irritated look.

"If you are here to see Ensign Paris, I have to say that unless you order me, I must bar him from further visits. This is the busiest Sick Bay has ever been, and nobody's sick! He simply cannot have any more visitors. He must rest."

"Fine, Doctor. Just tell me how he's doing."

** *** ***

She sipped coffee in her ready room and ran over and over how she was going to approach Tom with his breach of protocol. She also considered how he would react, and how she would apologize, for her own breach of protocol and trust. She may be captain, but each and every member of her crew, Federation and Maquis alike, had the right to privacy. The only justification for disregarding his rights was to protect the ship from imminent danger. There was no danger. Just her own curiosity and pride.

Overriding the privacy locks was a security precaution Tuvok had talked her into shortly after the holodeck mishap involving Seska's hidden programming. Tuvok reprogrammed the 'deck to allow Janeway to break in anytime she felt the ship might be threatened by similar programming.

How was he going to feel about having his privacy violated by her? She considered her own feelings of violation - the Janeway simulacra interacting with Paris, exploring relationship variables that were not apart of their reality. Why would he need to see or create this other Janeway, unless . . .

Her breath caught when the door chime sounded.

"Come."

Chakotay entered, carrying a data PADD.

"Your approval," he said.

"This is a routine status report. Why are you bringing it to me? You could have signed it yourself, Chakotay."

"True. I wanted to check in on you."

"I'm fine. My shoulder's fine, like new."

"But how are you."

"Fine, Chakotay."

He shook his head and reached out for the PADD. "You've been away from the bridge all day."

"There's nothing going on. I'm not needed up there."

"What are you hiding from? Who are you hiding from?"

She bit her lip and considered her answer. The truth would have hurt him deeply, and embarrassed her. It would also have pitted Chakotay against Tom, and the way she felt right now, she was hardly a prize.

"No one."

Chakotay always knew when Janeway was not being straight-forward with him. It wasn't often, but it disturbed him nonetheless. "You can talk to me about anything, you know that, don't you Kathryn?"

"Yes. And if I need to talk, you'll be the first person I seek out. I promise. For now, I just want to spend some time alone."

"I'll be on the bridge." Chakotay headed for the door.

"Chakotay?"

He stopped and turned back to Janeway.

"Have you ever done something that you knew was wrong, but you did it because you believed you were justified?"

"I've been trying to cut back," he said with a smile, then continued on.

** *** **

She sat on the bridge, in her command chair, stiffly, primly, wanting to look the model of decorum and control. Tom was declared fit to return to duty, and in a moment he would be walking onto the bridge and taking his position at the helm. She did not want any hint of annoyance to be visible, but she also wanted desperately for him to know that all was not as it was before the shuttle crash.

She heard the hiss of the turbo lift and felt herself stiffen. It was Harry. She watched as the young Ensign made his way to his station.

The turbo lift hissed open again. She knew it was him, before he even stepped off the lift. Instead of going to his station, he stepped up to the conn, hands behind his back, giving his captain a smile.

"Permission to return to duty, captain?"

She hesitated. "Permission granted."

He looked concerned for a moment, but smiled when he saw the helm waiting for him. He was anxious to get back to work. This warmed her. But she would not allow it to break her resolve.

She was going to talk to him. The sooner, the better.

"Mr. Kim, please take the helm for Mr. Paris. Tom, in my ready room, now."

** *** ***

End Chapter One
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