How To Say Good-Bye
© February, 2000
(Voy: J/P G)
Summary: Even with a head injury, things can become a lot clearer.
Thanks to Karen/s for the outline and JanD for the quick beta.
Disclaimer: I own the ideas, Paramount owns the rest. Archive only on ASC and JuPiter Station.
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Nasty little away missions were getting old. The Delta Flyer made it easier to continue the exploring that side-tracked Voyager in the earlier years of the long trip home. Voyager could continue the straight path while the Delta Flyer veered off to do reconnaissance, search for food and raw materials.
This trip was for raw materials. Chakotay and Tom Paris had a load of dilithium and bensonite in the cargo hold and now they were heading toward home and hearth. But it just is never that easy.
Chakotay's gaze went to his console when he heard the annoying signal. "We're heading right for an ion storm," he said as he eased into the seat.
"Coordinates?" Tom asked as he flipped the switch to disengage the autopilot. "Cripes," he said, "it's a big 'un."
Big was an understatement. It spread half a parsec--okay maybe a quarter parsec. They wouldn't be going around it, they could turn around and out run it for a minute or two. Tom banked starboard, dipping the Flyer's nose so as to lift the underbelly a couple of degrees. It would help, but not much. Not with a storm of this intensity. "You better grab something, commander. The storm horizon is going to toss us around pretty good."
Another big understatement. It was all Tom could do to keep upright as he hit the storm edge and tried to ride it through. The Flyer bucked and the computer announced failures all over the vessel as Tom valiantly fought for control. He heard a thud from behind and a curse. Chakotay had hit the deck.
The stabilizers were schitzing in and out causing more of a port list than Tom could compensate for. He was being jarred down to his kidneys. The rocking showed no sign of leveling off anytime soon. He heard Chakotay's grunts of pain, but couldn't spare him a moment's thought as he struggled to keep the flyer from being fried, crushed and/or split in two by the buffet of ions in flux.
Time stopped existing. Tom was getting knocked around pretty good. Inertial dampeners were not made to take this kind of abuse, but he thanks the gods that the Delta Flyer was. Chakotay must have managed to crawl back to his seat because now Tom was getting some operations back up. Flying was keeping him far too busy to think for one minute about annoying things like structural integrity.
"I might be wrong, but there looks like a Class L asteroid within range," Chakotay fed what Tom hoped were accurate records into navigation.
"Doesn't matter either way," Tom muttered. "We stay here much longer and we're history."
Chakotay made no response. He never responded to fatalism from Tom. The pilot pursed his lips, concentrating on getting it all together.
The landing was anything but smooth. The Flyer may have looked like a rock skimming, but it was nothing, not one iota, like it felt inside the ship. "Keep the nose up, keep the nose up," he muttered trying to keep steady pressure on the duraplast surface of the keyboard. He heard Chakotay's body hit the deck again, this time making no sound. He wasn't sure what happened next because the final contact with solid rock brought Tom's head into concussing contact with the console. He was out for the count.
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It was the leaking plasma smell that brought him around. It was acrid, and it was intense. "Chakotay?" he croaked. "Here, Tom."
The pilot twisted with effort, the pain in his head rocked him down to his stomach and he wanted to throw up. He tamped down the desire, as he fought to keep his head upright.
Through the rising mist of plasma discharge he saw Chakotay working with an isodide spanner in an effort to reduce the flow of charged air. But he felt a warm trickle. Raising his hand to his temple, he felt the warm stickiness of blood. Only now did he realize it was sliding down his face to drip off his jaw. The realization didn't make his stomach feel any better.
Stumbling past the commander, he headed for the medic locker. A much better stocked locker than any Class 2 shuttle, he had seen to that. He shoved an oxygenating hypospray into his neck and welcomed the clear headedness that unfuzzed his brain. He did a quick pass with a regenerator to cauterize the nick in his forehead. His vision still wasn't one hundred per cent clear, but he had to worry about that later.
He grabbed the med kit and stumbled back to Chakotay. "My leg is broken," Chakotay said, but didn't interrupt the work he was doing. Tom gave him a dose of oxygen and an analgesic. Then he set about setting Chakotay's leg. It was a clean break on his left thigh, and his hip had a nasty bruise. In the field you couldn't provide the amenities, like total pain relief, and Tom nearly bit his lip bloody as he listened to the commander's slightly stifled groans. Inflicting pain in the name of relieving pain was Tom's least favorite part of being a field medic. He concentrated on his efforts, easing the separated bone into place as Chakotay relentlessly worked on repairs.
"You're going to have to stop that a minute," he said. "And turn around so I can get these bones in line."
"In a minute." Chakotay still didn't turn to Tom. The plasma leak was nearly sealed. Tom rocked back on his heals and waited. The commander was right. They weren't in immediate danger from his broken leg. The plasma was another story. He waited.
The wait wasn't long. The hiss subsided and Chakotay turned to the Ensign. Ever stoic, the older man gritted his teeth and winced, yet uttered no sound as Tom aligned the bone and began the cursory regeneration. Nothing too pretty, the Doc would take care of that later. He hoped.
He was squinting in concentration. His ears were ringing and his vision had a fuzzy edge. It would only take a few more passes with the regenerator and he could run the tricorder over himself.
"You look like hell," Chakotay broke the silence. Tom didn't look up from his work, but smiled thinly. "I feel like hell."
^
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Voyager watched the storm grow with a quiet desperation. There was nothing they could do for the Delta Flyer, but watch at a safe distance and wait.
The last transmission from the Flyer had been distorted by the storm. When they tried to respond all they received was a reverberated feedback.
Though she said nothing, the captain manifested her fear by not sitting still. By moving up to operations to look over Harry's shoulder and back down to lurk at Baytart's shoulder. And back again.
This storm was massive, and as virulent as they'd recorded on this voyage. No one wanted to give voice to their concerns, although everyone was keenly aware of the direness of the situation.
"Captain, I'm receiving a faint distress beacon from the Delta Flyer. "
No sooner had Harry said it, than she was there. "Can you shape it up, Harry?"
"Yes, ma'am." He didn't really know if he could, but he wasn't going to admit that out loud. He worked on cleaning up the signal while Janeway stared holes into his console.
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There was so little left to do. Chakotay was repaired as well as he could repair him and sleeping with the aid of a hypospray. Tom had sent a distress beacon with a fifteen second message. He tried to sound as cheerful as he could, but he knew he didn't pull it off. It was hard to sound cheerful with a head full of rocks. Loud rocks that made you want to throw up when you talked.
This ion storm was off the scale. Visual inspection of the terrain showed desolate rock formations hewn from wind and ion bombardment. This was a rough place on a good day. Today wasn't a good day. The warp engines were fried. The nacelles would need a major overhaul. A tractor beam was the only thing that was going to get the Delta Flyer back into the shuttle bay.
If Voyager got there in time, maybe he and the commander would be alive to celebrate. But Tom wasn't so sure.
He was sure that if it weren't for the Flyer, they'd be dead right now. This ion storm would have crushed the hull of a standard shuttle like a peanut shell in a fist. When he designed a shuttle craft, he did it right. It helped to be able to use Borg technology. Otherwise, he wouldn't be alive right now.
Making preparations to die.
Well, he thought as he rerouted all life support to the main compartment, if he had to die anywhere, he was glad it was in his baby. If there was anything for him to be remembered for it was this ship. And Warp 10. But, that accomplishment didn't seem exactly real to him since he didn't exactly remember any of it. Judging by the logs of the event, it was better left unremembered. Except for the part about conking the captain on the head and dragging her away with him to mate. He kinda wished he hadn't missed that.
Okay. They had exactly enough breathable air for an hour and a half. He sent a new distress beacon out with that information and the last triangulated coordinates. Triangulated, that was a laugh. His last, best guess for where this asteroid was located was more like it. He had no idea if the signal shot through the ion storm or if it were bouncing off the resonant radiation. He sighed and hoped for the best.
Time to wake Chakotay up to get him in the chair to make a last log. The broken leg had been the least of the commander's worries. After he set the leg, then he ran the tricorder over the commander. Two ribs had punctured a lung, and there was massive bruising on his kidneys. The DF might have more med equipment than a standard Class Two, but it didn't have anything to reinflate a lung. And Tom wasn't doctor enough to mess around with kidneys. Triage he could do. The fancy stuff he gladly left to the Doc. Too darn much responsibility for a pilot.
The spray hissed into the commander's neck. His head lulled as he winced a little. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning, "How long have I been out?"
"Twenty minutes," Tom said. He helped Chakotay into a sitting position knowing how it had to hurt. "Thought you might want to pay your last respects."
Chakotay stilled a moment and frowned into Tom's worried face. Tom couldn't meet the scrutiny. He continued to help Chakotay stand up. "How bad is it?"
"Can't get any worse."
Slumping into the pilot's seat, Chakotay stared up at Tom, who stared back at him. Tom wasn't about to hide any of the truth from Chakotay. After all their years together, the man deserved his honesty in this. It was all over his face. "We have maybe an hour--if we don't breath too heavily." Always a joke. Always trying to take the edge off a tough situation.
It worked. A small smile dimpled Chakotay's face. It was a sad smile, but it was a smile.
"I'll give you a few minutes," Tom said and moved to the rear of the compartment to make preparations for when the air ran out.
Chakotay didn't take long. A man of few words. Concise, sarcastic, slicing words sometimes. So, it was probably good that he didn't talk much. Tom thought his hide was tough, but it couldn't stand up to the laceration when the commander set at it. He was glad that he hadn't been the victim of his razor 'wit' in the last few years.
Ironic that the man who hated him most in the last six years would be the one that he died with. Ironic that the man who hated him the most in the last six years would be the one he admired most in the end. Tom knew that Chakotay gave him grudging respect, and Tom knew that grudging respect was the most he'd ever get from Chakotay. He could live with that. And die with it.
Tom would have shook his head like a dog to get rid of the morbidity, but he was afraid he'd shake something loose. The tricorder told him that he'd knocked something loose when his hard head hit the console. There was axon sheering and a big fat headache due to swelling inside his cranium. His head wasn’t nearly as hard as he thought. He was lucky he remembered who he was.
He didn't feel so lucky when he remembered where he was. Done with his busy work, now back up to see how Chakotay was doing.
Chakotay was done. He was slumped at the helm staring out into the storm. Tom moved beside him to see how he was, never expecting to see the anguish in his eyes. "All the times we've been close to death," he said, "I never felt it to be as final as this."
Tom swallowed, but couldn't look away. "Maybe there was a depressant in the hypospray." No, it wasn't funny to him either. He put an arm under Chakotay's to help lift the commander to his feet. Tom jaw hardened when he heard the hiss of pain from Chakotay. "I have something stronger for the pain."
The commander didn't say anything to object. Oh, man. This was bad. Tom steered him to the cot he had used for the last several days and helped him onto it. When the man was still, he looked deeply into Tom's eyes. "I'm sorry I talked myself out of bringing my medicine bundle." Tom nodded. He knew that Chakotay might not rest in peace without talking to his spirit guide.
He didn't understand the spiritual needs of the commander, but he understood the state of unrest a soul could experience. He'd spent a good deal of time in unrest himself, never quite settled. These last years had been as close as he'd come, yet still he wasn't at peace.
Brushing hair from Chakotay's forehead, he said, "I know some lullabies, if you want me to sing."
Chakotay smirked, but closed his eyes. "The painkiller you mentioned will be fine."
"I don't have that bad a voice." Tom wasn't offended. "Not as good as the Doc."
"But who is?" Chakotay finished. "Thanks, anyway."
Quietly Tom explained to Chakotay that they would both stand a better chance of making it if they climbed into vacuum suits and utilized the oxygen modules in the suit. That oxygen was purer and could grab them an extra twenty minutes to a half an hour. Chakotay listened in silence, expressing no objection to Tom's plan whatsoever. Together they worked him into his suit. Brown eyes watched in silence as Tom climbed into his own suit.
Tom applied the hypospray to Chakotay's neck. He'd be asleep in a few minutes, then his heart rate would lower. "I guess I'm not the one you wanted to spend your last minutes with."
Chakotay's eyes opened to find Tom's face. They were soft, and held the smile of a private joke. "I've never thought about it. But if I had, I would have chosen Risan pleasure girls."
Now Tom smiled. "Right. And what good would they have done with your broken leg?"
"I don't know, but I imagine they would have taken my mind off the pain."
They were sober again, Chakotay was feeling the effects of the drug. "It's been an honor to serve with you, Tom."
Tom swallowed. He opened his mouth. This emotion was just too tense. So, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Chakotay's forehead. It was the only way his addled brain had to convey what he was feeling. Words failed him. Chakotay's hand came up to rub the back of Tom's bent head. But the hand fell away and the older man was unconscious.
Now Tom was alone.
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They had set down on an asteroid. Seven was in astrometrics trying to calculate possible asteroids that could support a Flyer landing. Janeway now sat in her chair staring blankly at the view screen watching the ion storm continue to swirl before them. It was lessening in intensity, but it would have to dissipate a great deal more before Voyager could venture in. Without the Borg enhanced hull plating, Voyager was no match for this storm.
They were injured. That weighed heavily on Captain Janeway's mind. Tom had sent a short message outlining what he hoped was their position, the state of the craft and their physical conditions. Chakotay had a broken leg and internal injuries. Tom himself had head injuries. Of course, he'd made it all into a joke. It wasn't very funny. Janeway had sunk into her chair, her mouth a grim line, seething with the determination that she would get the last laugh.
Barking out orders was a comfort she easily sought in times of internal strife. It was her mantle of objectivity when all she wanted to do was rail against the forces in the universe.
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Tom was in his space suit, head still throbbing. He put the helmet on the deck beside the helm chair. For a minute he thought about the final words he was about to record. Most of his life his priorities had been screwed up. Hadn't been one single solitary soul he hadn't disappointed somewhere along the line. But in his own way, he had tried to make a difference these last couple of years. Tried to make his actions count for the right in the universe. Sometimes he succeeded, sometime he failed. But usually, he succeeded.
"Computer, open video log."
"Log open."
Tom smirked. "Direct this transmission to the personal console of Captain Kathryn Janeway." He waited for the answering chirp, then began. "Well, Captain, looks like I couldn't cheat it this time. Believe me I tried. I know I must look like hell. I feel worse. The commander is sedated and resting comfortably. I'm going to give myself a shot here in a minute."
"Breathable air will be exhausted in four minutes."
Tom nearly cut the transmission to erase the droning voice, but that would waste precious time. He looked directly into the recorder instead. "I don't have time to tell you everything I want to say. If I started now, I wouldn't get done for hours. I don't have hours. I can't tell you what your trust in me has done for me. How working for you and with you has helped me grow. How losing your trust was harder than prison." Funny how he usually lost the capability to speak when life turned too serious. Funny how now he couldn't shut up now that he had no time left for anything but seriousness. "I wish--" he swallowed, "I wish this had turned out differently. I wish I'd stepped over the line in your direction just once, so I could tell you that I--" Okay, it was getting harder. He studied the console a minute before the countdown sounded again. Raising his head, he breathed, "That I love you. Please make sure everyone gets home. And tell my mother and dad that I love them. Paris out."
He keyed the logs to a final distress beacon, coding his message and Chakotay's to be directed to the intended recipients. He had a good guess as to where the commander's message was going. So, she'd get two messages. His would be the bigger surprise. That was a sure thing. He picked up the hypospray and placed it under his chin. The hiss would be among the last sounds he heard. Soon his heart would be slowing and he succumb the sedative's power, not feeling the air squeeze out of his lungs.
Rigging the four oxygen modules from the four vacuum suits to successively piggy back off of each other to supply Chakotay with as much oxygen as possible had been his finest effort in spinning straw into gold. He just hoped it would work. Too bad he wouldn't be around to see.
Gods, if Chakotay knew what Tom had done, he'd blow a gasket. Whatever a gasket was. Tom wasn't such a bad liar after all, convinced Chakotay that they'd both have equal chances of Voyager finding them alive if they just used the space suits. The guy trusted him to give them both an equal chance. No way. Chakotay was worth ten of Tom. Janeway needed him, if only to do the work schedule.
Tom's smirk was tired as he bent slowly to pick up his helmet to set it on his lap. Leaning back in the pilot seat of the vessel he very nearly gave birth to, he was ready to die in its arms. His eyes closed, his breath sighed through his lips.
He felt at peace.
^
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Kathryn Janeway stood hovering between the biobeds. This one had been far too close. Chakotay was resting from his internal repairs. He would be fine.
Tom Paris, on the other hand, was in a little more serious condition. He had been nearly blue when Voyager finally was able to retrieve the Delta Flyer. It had taken the skill of the sum total of the doctor's program to keep him alive and give him a good prognosis. The prognosis **was** good. Tom would recover eventually. Be as good as new.
Then she could kill him. She had been so relieved that they'd got to the Delta Flyer to recover both men before they were dead. A part of her would have died if Tom and Chakotay had died. But when she had been informed of Tom's unspeakable heroism, she wanted to scream. The force of her anger at his intended sacrifice made her temporarily incapable of any sound at all. She stared at Tuvok dumbly until he said, "The doctor will notify you when the commander and ensign are stabilized."
With a nod, she left the bridge for her quarters. Her quarters offered no comfort, just the blinking light indicating messages on her unit.
And boy, what messages. Chakotay's was a surprise. Telling her of love, respect and camaraderie. That he was sorry he couldn't be with her when they finally returned to the Alpha Quadrant. At one point he stopped speaking and looked back toward Tom, who was out of focus in the background. Turning back to the screen, his voice lowered. "Please tell Admiral Paris that Tom was a credit to the 'Fleet, and that I couldn't have served with a finer officer." Kathryn frowned down at the view screen. High compliments from Chakotay. Actually, she'd characterize it as gushing. "I wish," Chakotay continued, "that if we have to die it wouldn't be so far from the ones we love." Another pause. "May the spirits guide you home." That was it.
There was another message that originated from the Delta Flyer. She stood staring down at the message stalling for time. Did she really want to open it in the state of mind she was in.
Her anger at Tom's willful sacrifice of his own life was unaccountable. It was irrational and totally unfounded. Tom had been willing to make one of the most noble gestures a human could make for another--lay down his life for a friend. Yet, it brought to her a need to wake the man from his coma to throttle him. He had no right to disregard his value in such a noble way. It brought back the rush of emotion she had felt when he had disregarded her orders to save the Moneans.
The order that sent him to the brig and left her with his dark pip in her jewelry box. She had been so angry then. Yes, his intentions were good. The best. She honestly admired him for them. But he had gone against her orders. Willfully disobeyed her in his effort to challenge a worthy cause.
He had been willing to die for it. He had been willing to let her kill him in order to save the ecology of a planet they had no emotional ties to. She hid behind her mask of impassivity as long as she could that day, but he'd hurt her deeply, publicly. Broke the Prime Directive. Left Voyager in an untenable position with a people that had only heard of them days before.
Her overreaction had plagued her long afterwards. Her anger and embarrassment overrode any good sense. She'd sought neither Tuvok's nor Chakotay's counsel, meting out a punishment that was unprecedented as much as it was excessive. Why hadn't she just waited till she cooled off? Why had she never apologized to Tom?
She didn't want to dig too deeply for the answers. She rubbed the small of her back, arching to relieve the stress that rested there. Well, she already broke Chakotay's confidence by opening his transmission. She keyed Tom's message open.
His condition was obvious when the screen came to life. His forehead was black and blue, a bump knotting at his temple. The remnants of dried blood clung to his face in a trail from the wound to his jaw. His eyes were blood shot, his pupils dilated.
Then he began to speak. With a few words chosen at what he thought was the end of his life, Tom had proceeded to knock her off her feet. She found herself in her desk chair staring at the Federation seal on her screen. "Computer, replay from the last pause in speech."
"Complying."
"That I love you--"
"Pause."
The screen stilled and the look on his face hit her in the gut. The earnest pleading, the embarrassed admission. The stupendous complexness of his simplicity. Everything that made him beautiful shone like a light in the darkness. "I love you." Ye, gods. The words he never said aloud rang in her ears now as she stared at the brave man who took stupid risks with his life. Did he really not know how important he was to this effort to get home? She refused to even think of how many times over every one on the ship owed their life to Tom. That would take too much time and would lead to her brooding. She already brooded far too much.
"Computer, resume."
"Please make sure everyone gets home. And tell my mother and dad that I love them. Paris out."
Short and sweet. Bittersweet. The seal once again covered the screen. Leaning back in the chair, she pondered Tom's disclosure. She rubbed her forehead. She rubbed her jaw. She stared at her monitor.
Son-of-a-bitch.
Now she stood and stared at him, wondering what the hell she would say to him when he woke up.
^
^
His head still shouldn't hurt. If he was dead, he should be pain free. He wasn't pain free. And his fingers tingled. His toes, too. Nope. Not dead.
Must be guardian angels. He'd heard about them somewhere. Maybe read about them. That's the only reason he could think of for being alive. Couldn't be because he was living right. Well, yeah he was living right.
Cripes, his head hurt and he wasn't keeping a coherent thought. Yep, he was alive. He felt the light on his eyes, but not the desire to open his eyes to it. His mouth felt like a dry rag. "A drink would be nice," he croaked. His throat was really scratchy.
His head was gently lifted and a cool metal cup was placed at his lips. The water, too, was cool. Tasted like ambrosia as it slid easily down his throat. Too soon the cup was withdrawn, but his head still remained elevated.
"Thanks." His voice was still Missing In Action.
"You're welcome."
Oh, no. The husky voice invaded his psyche. Not heaven, hell. He opened one eye to look at the water bearer. What he could see of her face felt grim to him. He closed the eye again, allowing her to ease his head back onto the biobed. He tried to swallow, but it felt like rocks.
"Welcome back to the living," she said. But her voice didn't exactly sound welcoming. "You really messed yourself up this time."
Tom took a deep breath, and let the air assault his lungs. His nose flared. Now would come the lecture. He'd heard versions of it for years. From dad, at the Academy--he smirked--from Chakotay in the Maquis, and from Kathryn Janeway.
Now, she was going to do it again. He was captive and he knew it. He couldn't talk, could barely see, flat on his back on a biobed. He was dead meat ready to be grilled. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"You should be," she said in a voice just as low, close to his ear. "You were unnecessarily heroic."
That oxymoron brought another smirk. Yep, that's just what he would have expected: criticism for the ultimate sacrifice. But, he'd expected death.
So, a lecture wasn't so bad after all.
He didn't expect the small, smooth back of a hand on his face, rubbing along the sandpaper stubble of his cheek. He didn't expect his ear lobe to be gently capture between forefinger and thumb. He was sure it wasn't him moving his head with a ginger stiffness to nuzzle at the hand. It took a few tries before he could fully open his eyes, then it was difficult to focus.
"I'm not in good shape, am I?"
He could see the hair move as she shook her head. He wished she didn't feel so angry to him. Nothing he did was to make her intentionally angry. It just seemed to be a byproduct.
"You're in remarkable shape--"
"For the shape I'm in." He knew the joke. He and the Doc had played it once or twice themselves.
"Tom--"
Uh-oh, here it comes.
"I was never so scared in all my life. They brought you back dead for all intents and purposes."
He tried to pull away, to shrink from her tone, but she had his earlobe. "Ow." His voice was stronger. He stayed put.
"I hated the feeling of helplessness, Tom. I hate being out of control."
Didn't he know it. But, Captain, you can't control everything. The universe is in control. He waited. These revelations were, well, a revelation.
"I played your message."
She let him go when he turned away this time, her hand traveling to rest on his chest.
"I know, I had no business to when I knew you would both live. I guess I'm weak."
That was not a word he would ever use to describe her. Smirking was the only muscle movement he seemed capable of.
"When I thought of how close we came to losing you because of your damned altruism, I nearly lost control. I went to my quarters to try to get it back, and your message was there with Chakotay's."
"Chakotay's okay?"
"You saw to that. He's resting in his quarters."
Tom made a small nod, but he knew she wouldn't be dropping this subject. Nothing wrong with his circulation above his shoulders since he felt the flush rising to his head. "I meant it, you know." Let's get it over with.
"I figured you did." Her hand was cool on his brow as he felt the flush heat up a little. "I don't know what to say."
"I don't either." Not anymore. He was expecting a lecture, not a--whatever this was.
"You did pretty well on the log."
"I had a head injury."
"So, you didn't mean what you said?"
The voice was so close to his ear it tickled. He rolled his head toward the sound. "Oh, I meant it, but I want you to have a way out. I don't want to embarrass you. Protocol and all." He'd said too much, and talked too much. His throat felt raw, but he didn't know if it was the residual of whatever was keeping him in the biobed or the huge emotion he was wrestling.
"I'm glad you stepped over the line, Tom. I hope you do it again every once in a while."
"Only every once in awhile?" This lecture was turning out better than he hoped. Better than he dreamed. Much better.
"Tom," she began. He recognized the tone, and stiffened. Here it comes. The fingers moved through his hair and it stood straight up. "I am what I am. For good or bad. I'm the captain, first and foremost. At least until we get home."
He wanted to pull away. If he could, he would have walked away. This was the moment for the brush off. The 'it would be nice, but' time.
"I'm not an easy person to get along with," she continued. He knew that. He was no prize himself. "I'm in charge and don't want an argument."
"Then you should probably live your life in a vacuum."
He felt her pull away. "Watch it, mister," she said from above him. "This isn't a democracy."
Tom opened his eyes again, forcing himself to focus. Her image was a little sharper now. "It's a dictatorship." She couldn't hit when he was down.
"I'd like to think it is a benevolent dictatorship," she said, her voice soft.
Tom felt himself relax. She was much more vulnerable than she let on. They had that much in common. "Even benevolent dictators take advice."
She was quiet a few minutes, content to stroke his forehead in an easy rhythm. "The doctor says you won't bounce back from this little exercise in heroism. You're going to have to take physical therapy for a few weeks."
"Guess I won't be taking the Flyer out for a spin anything soon."
"The Flyer will be in 'therapy', too."
That sobered him. "I tried to keep her together--"
"I don't want to hear it, Tom," she cut him off. "You're the only reason the ship is in one piece. She's salvagable and that's a tribute to her designer **and** her pilot." Her hand now ran down the side of his face to grasp his chin. She looked long and deeply into his eyes. They were focusing much better, leaving him no doubt as to her fierceness. "Don't misunderstand me, Tom. When I am angry at you, it's because I can't control you, not because I don't admire you. That I don't more than admire you. I just fear for you. I live in dread that you won't come back to Voyager. That you won't come back to me. You're not the only one that doesn't regret crossing that line--towards you."
He was dumbfounded. He felt his mouth gape again and didn’t have the presence of mind to shut it even when her mouth descended to his in a soft promise of a kiss. "You mean more to me than I can say," she whispered as she stood back up.
They stared at each other for long minutes, their expressions gradually softening to relief. "Well," she said at last. "I have duty."
Tom nodded, aware he'd have to wait to see her. "Will you come back?" He felt pathetic for having to ask, but right now he was pretty pathetic.
Her brows knit together. "Don't you want me to?"
He closed his eyes, and felt his body relax. He could tell it would be okay. Not perfect, but okay. "Oh, yeah. I want you to."
The small hand once again caressed his face. "Then I'll be back soon."
The end.