Summary: Pg-13, P/T. Day of Honor coda that follows B’Elanna’s memories leading up to her “I love you.” Covers mostly Blood Fever and Day of Honor. Email me with any questions or comments at [email protected]. Feedback is appreciated!
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all its characters belong to Paramount Pictures, a Viacom company; no copyright infringement intended. Story, Promises, by Laura Barnes AKA Gypsy, however it may be archived or posted so long as the disclaimer, summary, and author’s name are left attached.
=^=
B’Elanna Torres sat at the bedside of Tom Paris, who lay blissfully unaware of his close brush with death, tired but relieved as she continued her ardent watch: he was going to pull through, but with the damage to his lungs still healing, further monitoring was required. The Doctor had released her to quarters, remarking dryly on how well her Klingon stamina held up, but she had insisted on staying in sickbay; Klingon stamina aside, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Tom’s side. Now that she had admitted how she felt, honor required her to follow through on that promise.
The Doctor had reluctantly agreed with a dramatic roll of his eyes, and had ordered Ensign Wildman to put a chair next to the bio-bed so she could stay as close to Tom as possible while still remaining in what the Doctor had deemed as a seemingly restful position. Sam had obeyed him in gentle bemusement as she brought pillows and a stool, her smile saying more than words how she approved of this dedication that B’Elanna was showing Tom.
Tom shifted slightly, muttering something incoherent in his sedative-induced sleep. B’Elanna squeezed his hand reassuringly within her own, searching his face for any sign of stress; there was none, and his lips smoothed into an almost smile as he drifted once more into the throes of deepest slumber.
B’Elanna resisted a shudder as she remembered seeing those same boyishly charming features through her helmet’s faceplate. It had been so close in those final moments, as they clutched at each other in a desperate attempt to evade the deadly coldness of space around them. Every second had seemed drawn out and endless, the effect of lack of oxygen, the intimacy their eyes exchanged beyond her power of description. Tom’s words had been overplayed by the intense emotion that emanated from his shock widened blue eyes, and his hand had come up ever so slowly to caress the side of her helmet. But space was to keep them apart, even as they struggled to overcome it.
Despite the reassurance Tom had given her then, B’Elanna was afraid. And it was not something either side of her, Klingon or human, was easy to admit. She knew now, staring down at the man she loved prone on the bio-bed, that she was desperately afraid. Terrified even. What if she was wrong? What if he didn’t love her like that, but had simply been expressing his shocked appreciation?
*No, B’Elanna,* she scolded herself. *You will NOT second-guess yourself now. You just have to wait until he recovers, and then you’ll see how he really feels.*
That wasn’t so hard, really; she could watch him sleep forever. To her it seemed that it was only the only time in which he was truly free, unburdened by the past and his emotional mask he put in place to hide how he truly felt. It was the only time Tom Paris could truly be Tom Paris.
Her human-half self had watched him sleep in the Viddian camp, even though the danger and intensity of the situation had him on a simmerous edge, and that sleep had undoubtedly been plagued even in its lightness. That was when she had first grasped the concept that Tom Paris wasn’t as bad boy as he let on. Behind his swaggering rogue persona, a man of impeccable character and compassion lay hidden from the observer’s eye, waiting to be discovered by anyone with enough interest to look. Maybe it had been more obvious than she cared to admit as a whole being, but the scared, vulnerably human side of her had no such prejudices. All that she saw was a man with his own insecurities reaching out to help her battle the terrors within, and rising to defend her when confrontation arose. She carried that knowledge precious close to her heart, and when she was rejoined, there it had remained, safely stored as a reminder that she shouldn’t underestimate the man she had once dubbed “pig.”
Slowly, over time, B’Elanna had found herself watching Tom Paris from a new angle, and numerous times hid that fact from him, and from herself, by becoming overly defensive and hostile. They began a game of verbal fencing, twisting even the smallest thing into a challenge. At first, B’Elanna had been afraid that her attacks would scare him away and ruin their friendship. But it soon became apparent that not only was Tom not afraid of her, he actually thrived on their dagger play. He seemed to accept that this was to be their competing field, and threw himself at the gaming wholeheartedly; they were evenly matched in determination, and he won half of the challenges even as she beat him in her own fairly cut percentage. She began to relax to the idea that he was in for keeps, battle gear and all, even moving to enjoy and anticipate their encounters with gleeful interest.
Then the incident in the mines had occurred. B’Elanna stiffened in anger even thinking about how Vorik had violated her, how he had sent her blood pulsing through her veins, desire coursing through her mind and body, and had driven her into the less than eager arms of Lieutenant Tom Paris. She looked down at him, hoping her sudden tight grip on his hand had gone unnoticed. He slept on peacefully, oblivious to her attentions, and she relaxed a bit in her chair.
*That part was almost funny, though,* she mused sleepily as she snuggled back on the pillows. *And inevitable.*
What she offered had tempted him; she had sensed the restrained tension in the kiss he permitted himself, felt the thudding of his heart as his pulse quickened to her pressed desires, and how he had almost crumbled when she had whispered her heart’s deepest secrets to him. She knew how hard it had been for him to pull away from her begging embrace, and at the time she had been torn in angry torment.
“You’d let me go insane rather than help me!” She had hugged herself in a desperate attempt to warm her feverish body.
“You know that’s not true,” he shot back, guilty determination written all over his face. If she had been well, she would have seen the pure agony that plagued him in his attempts to both calm her and keep himself in check.
Even when Tuvok had practically ordered Tom to help her, he had been hesitant. Somewhere, in the part of her that was unaffected by her heated passion, she knew why; he was afraid of jeopardizing the rocky relationship they had both been dancing around. Finally, when she had pinned him to the ground, that restrained passion had snapped. He had flipped her onto her back, smothering her growl of approval with a fierce and nearly painful kiss. Just thinking about how it had felt at that moment with Tom’s body intimately covering hers, all the glory of sensation that had rushed through her as his weight and obvious desire pressed promisingly against her own, lust matching feral lust, and something even more binding them closer, was enough to send her blood sizzling all over again. She licked lips gone dry with the memory, closing her eyes to something closer to a dream in her almost sleeping state. And then…
And then Vorik had ripped Tom away from her, leaving her seared body alone once again, untouched by loving hands, and amazingly cold despite the fires of Ponn Farr ripping through her. The rage that consumed her at that moment was so great that it had nearly burned way every trace of affliction, and she had hurled herself screaming at Vorik, ready to do as much damage to the sniveling p’tach as her hybrid physiology would allow. Even Vorik with his lust strengthened Vulcan prowess was no match for even a half-Klingon in an anger induced quest for blood.
The ensuing fight had drained her, leaving her physically and mentally exhausted, but thoroughly purged of fever. She had collapsed wearily into Tom’s open and waiting arms, eager to hold her in amenze for what he unwillingly been unwilling to do; cradling her close he had whispered comforts to her as he personally carried her to sickbay, unwilling to let her go until he was assured the doctor had her taken care of. She had slipped into unconsciousness with his fervent soothing still echoing in her ears.
Their next close encounter had been in the turbolift. It began as a stiffly formal affair, but with all the pretext of relaxed comradeship, and B’Elanna had been pleasantly pleased with her efforts of nonchalance until Tom had halted the lift and turned to her in exasperation.
"Look this is ridiculous. We're going to be together on this ship a long time...." His eyes refused to let her avoid his gaze, and the baby blues held her captivated as they always did, letting her see the confusion and the pain that they held, that she had inflicted. It dawned on her that she truly cared for this man, and that even if it hurt her to lose him, it was worth it to relieve his pain.
She tried to let him out, almost cheerfully though inside her heart was breaking. "Right. We need to pretend that the whole thing never happened."
His face was open when she looked at him. The Paris mask had slipped, and B’Elanna got a very rare glimpse of the vulnerable side he was able to hide so well, and she softened slightly.
"But something did happen, B'Elanna," he said slowly, his words drawn out and putting slight emphases on did. His eyes searched hers for some reaction to his insistence, and she knew that she had to reassure him, and herself.
“Look, I appreciate what you did on the planet- what you were willing to do. But I was under the influence of a Vulcan chemical imbalance. Whatever I did, whatever I said- it wasn’t me.”
No, no, no! This sounded so wrong! It was too calm, and it wasn’t what she wanted to say at all. *But it’s better this way, B’Elanna; he won’t get hurt.* That stiffened her resolve, and she argued herself into a composed mask of placidity, using the brewing fire beneath the surface to weld it into place.
His next words succeeded in totally shattering her brave front.
"I know, you're afraid your big, scary Klingon side was showing. But you know, I've seen it up close, and it wasn't so terrible. In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing it again someday."
B’Elanna had begged her body not to betray her, for her heart to be softer in its beating, her dueling stomachs to be quiet in their rumbling, her legs to support her weight. She adverted her gaze as dangerous thoughts too close to the surface to even consider voicing raced about, encouraged by Tom’s confession.
*Careful, B’Elanna. Don’t say something you’ll regret…*
Tom took her continued silence to be the end of the conversation, ordering the turbolift to start again towards its intended course. The only noise in the awkward space were the chirps and beeps from his PADD, and even they seemed drowned out by the demands that her heart was exerting.
The lift had come to a smooth halt at her destination, and she had taken a few shaky steps towards exit before giving into temptation with just a few words of challenge.
“Be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant.”
She had been talking as much to herself as she had to him when she had said that. Such double talk had warned even as it had encouraged, and B’Elanna had known then and there just how much she was about to risk: no matter how light their flirtation would begin, eventually there would be a step into the no return.
*And you were the one who finally took it, weren’t you? Maybe that does qualify you as honorable…Or maybe its how you follow through with it that matters; a promise is a promise only if it’s for keeps.*
“I will follow through,” she murmured aloud as sleep finally claimed her. She let herself have one last look at his sleeping face through heavy lidded eyes. “I love you, Tom Paris. A promise for keeps…”
=^=