Chapter One
Relapse
by Pari
Tom awoke, gasping, to the sound of his own screams, echoing in his head from the realistic nightmare he had just experienced. For a moment he was almost taken aback to find himself back in his quarters aboard Voyager. Tom glanced about himself, at himself, as if he were waiting to see a Cardassian standing at his bedside, or restraints still fastened to his arms and legs. He even held his hands up to his face, examining then to see if they were still blood-stained as they were in his dreams. "Computer, increase illumination eighty percent." The computer complied, and as the room's darkness dissapated, so did the cloudy images of his dream. His hands were clean.
Tom stilled, his breathing returning to normal and his heartbeat calming. A dream, he thought to himself, just a damned dream, and after all these years. He rubbed a hand over his face, then through the disheveled blonde locks of his hair. He glanced at the chronometer at his bedside, seeing that he had awakened a good two hours earlier than usual. Damn. Tom frowned at the clock, but drug himself out of bed anyhow. He wasn't about to admit to himself how shaken the nightmare had left him, but he knew he would not be falling asleep again anytime soon. It was just so...real.
In the bathroom Tom splashed some water on his face, as if he still needed a reminder that he truly was awake. He dressed in his uniform, deciding he might as well catch an early breakfast before going on shift. That'll catch some eyes, he thought, me arriving early for one of Neelix's dreadful concoctions. He smiled to himself at that thought, then readied to leave. First, however, he threw himself one last glance in the mirror. Perhaps he should be catching breakfast early a little more often - he certainly was beginning to look like he could use it. Tom frowned. It was those damned dreams; tonight's being the last of several that had arisen of late, seemingly out of nowhere. Usually carrying himself in a casual manner, now his whole posture seemed tense, and he looked as though he'd lost weight. There were dark circles under his trademark Paris blue eyes. He was awakening earlier and earlier, falling asleep with more and more difficulty, and even his appetite seemed to be affected. Keep this up and you'll catch more than a few eyes, Tommy boy. The Captain's going to start noticing the change when you're on the bridge. Tht thought steeled him, and Tom left his cabin determined to regain his usual cool and composure - and if he had to start by forcing down one of poor Neelix's well-intentioned abhorrations, well he would. Even if it kills me.
****
Tom gazed skeptically down at the unappetizing bowl of leola root stew Neelix had placed in front of him and thought it indeed looked and smelled lethal. However, leola root was a long-established favorite of Mr. Neelix's and had yet to be proven as any threat to the Voyager crew. Unfortunately.
Maybe this was not the place to begin my new campaign for gaining a greater appetite, Tom thought glibly. He was determined to try and eat the stew, however, that so far he had only been stirring around in his bowl. Somehow, he couldn't seem to muster up enough motivation to do so. He was hungry. He knew he had to be hungry - he hadn't really eaten a full meal in probably a week, he realized to much dismay. But then why couldn't he stomach the thought of food? Tom finally forced a spoonful past his reluctant lips, but did not feel any relief at doing so. The food that slid down his throat achieved the same reaction as if he had been ingesting bile, and the recurring headache he had suffered often as of late, again returned full force. Tom closed his eyes on the startlingly sharp pain, wincing and dropping his spoon to message his throbbing temples.
Mr. Neelix, who had remained close by his only occupant in the mess hall at that time of the morning, watched all this with some distress. "Tom are you sure you're okay?" He watched Tom push the bowl away from himself as it it were a particularly unpleasant insect, whatever indignation he might have felt over the actin lost in his concern for his friend. "Would you like something else to eat, perhaps? Maybe some soup? If you're not hungry..."
"No!" Tom's reaction was adamant, almost desperate. Then he looked rather sheepishly at Neelix's shocked expression. "I'm sorry, Neelix. I am hungry, I need to eat. Really, the stew is fine. I'm just not feeling very well that's all." Neelix sat down in the chair next to Paris and studied the young man a moment. He hadn't noticed it beofre, but Tom did have a strained expression on his face. He looked weary, fatigues, and his eyes looked just the slighest bit bloodshot. Inwardly, Neelix chided himself for not noticing the pilot's sorry state earlier. He was the morale officer, after all. How was he supposed to improve morale if he wasn't keeping track of when it desperately needed improving? Neelix smiled warmly and patted Tom's hand. "That's alright. I hadn't realized before but you do look a little ill. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, no I'll be fine, thank you, Neelix. I just didn't get a very good night's sleep, but I'll be better after I've eaten." Neelix wasn't so sure. He'd noticed how Tom had off-handedly picked up one of the datapads he had brought in with him. Consciously or not, he probably planned to spend the next hour ignoring his food and pretending to be too caught up in his work to notice. Tom had become increasingly finicky when it came to eating in the past few weeks, that at least had not escaped Neelix's notice. Neelix knew Tom to be a very troubled young man. He'd considered himself priveleged to come to know him as a friend over the past years of their service aboard Voyager. Tom had even confided in him at times about some of those insecurities and doubts that plagued him. Neelix also knew that Tom often had nightmares. It wasn't something they spoke of, but after Tom's incarceration following the incident with the Moneans, seeing how the helsman's sleep in the brig was disturbed, it was clear he didn't nearly have the handle on his inner demons that he'd like people to believe. Tom's lighthearted attitude and teasing manner was often a sort of defense, and Neelix inwardly grieved over how much his brave friend must have had to endure in his life.
There was so much about Tom he still did not know, but Neelix knew there would be nothing gained from trying to force him into talking about his problems. Tom was as stoic and secretive as they came - so Neelix silently hoped that everything would truly be okay, or if not, that Tom would eventually go to someone. "If you're sure..."
"Yes, yes of course," Tom threw Neelix one of his 1,000 watt smiles, "But you'd better get back to your kitchen. This place oughtta be piling up just about now." Neelix glanced at his wall chronometer and gave a little yelp of surprise. "Oh my, you're right! The Alpha shift from Stellar Cartography always comes in about...five minutes from now. Oh dear, I'd better start whipping up that next pot of stew. <He didn't notice Lt. Paris' grimace at that> But, Tom, you promise me, if there's anything wrong - anything at all - I want you to know I am always here to talk to." Tom smiled at the Talaxian's concern and eagerness to help. "I know that Neelix; you always have been." Neelix flashed him a returning, comforting smile, then dashed off to his stew pots. leaving Tom to contemplate his now cooling breakfast and the redundant datapads he had carried in with him as backup.
What was wrong with him? One bite of stew - some rather unappetizing stew, granted, but that wasn't the point - and he was spent. What was worse - he had, deep down, almost expected this - bringing the datapads he was using in designing a new holonovel - knowing he hadn't really any intention of doing any actual work with them. Damn it! Tom pushed the padd away, as well, letting it join his bowl in isolation, and slumping in his seat. Dreams, silly dreams. Tom had dealt with the nightmares of his past, both awake and sleeping, for almost his entire life, and while they occasionally made living all the more difficult they didn't usually effect him like this. They didn't exhaust him in a way he wasn't used to hidig from the people around him. They didn't steal his appetite, or - he reminded himself - cause him to have the sort of headaches he was now so used to having he almost forgot about them. At least until the pain increased to the point where he had to remember. Remembering, that's my problem. If only I didn't remember. It wasn't the fact that he was having nightmares, he knew, that was doing this to him - it was the cotnent of those nightmares. Images he'd thought he'd drowned too many times in alcohol to ever return. But boy, did they ever return - and with a vengeance.
Tom pondered the meaning of all this to himself. The Cardassians. He'd never told anyone - anyone - about his experiences with the Cardassians. Not Harry. Not B'Elanna. Noone. Not the Captain, either. A part of him wondered if he could even claim the experiences were real anymore, he had tried so hard ever since to treat them as just some bad dream induced by too much synthehol. But, of course, that part of him was a minority, because he knew it was real - the past couple of weeks proved it. He had all the scars and memories to help.