Chapter One continued
Relapse
by Pari
But, why? Why would all of those images come back to haunt him now? Nothing of consequence had happened recently to cause such a ... relapse into reliving those old memories. B'Elanna...but that had nothing to do with the things he saw in his nightmares. Tom had tried, in vain, after the first few nights the dreams came to him, to find some sense in their source. However, there simply wasn't anything he could think of to trigger them, and after wracking his brain so unsuccessfully, he admitted he probably wouldn't ever think of anything. Also, such thouhgts only increased the ache in his temples. This was horribly disturbing to Tom when the headaches first started, mostly because of the way they mimicked the nature of his nightmares. It was like something out of one of the horror stories he sometimes liked to read - the mightmare that doesn't go away even when you wake up; the pain that follows you out of your dreams. The concept usually fascinated him. Now seeming to experience something akin to that situation himself, Tom realized how chilling the idea really was.
The Cardassians. God, how long had it been since he had thought of them? Correction: how long has it been since you've allowed yourself to think of them? Things like that never leave your thoughts, but over the years Tom had worked so hard to do so he had at least succeeded in repressing them. Is that what this is all about? Maybe I've been repressing those memories a little too well, and now they're resurfacing and I can't handle it. Tom didn't like that idea. He'd alwways handled his ghosts well enough. After all, who had more ghosts to handle than Tom Paris? But something was definitely happening and ignoring it wasn't going to help him, he knew. But what to do? In Marseilles, after the court-martial and the Cardassians, Tom had done anything but ignore his nightmares...or stand up to them. Rather he had gone about handling the terrifying images of his past by creating dismal present ones to try and eclipse them. Still reeling with his failure at Caldik Prime - and with his family - Tom was in a mindset that allowed him to concentrate on those failures to the exclusivity of all else. As painful, as destructive as it was, Tom could almost live wiht being Tom Paris the failure. He knew he couldn't survive as whatever it was the Cardassians had made him. And so that's what he did - he became Tom Paris the failure. While some small part of him raged inside to turn back, the rest of him went full warp speed ahead - just as he had always done (there was no impulse power for Tom Paris). He became the man he had to be to survive - the drunk, the coward, and then, the mercenary. The criminal. Tom did everything he could to immerse himself into his role - unti he was too far-gone to pull himself back out again. And all the meanwhile he obliterated whatever thought or memory that remained the only way he knew how - by trying to obliterate himself. He drank like mad; he experimented with whatever other intoxicants he could obtain and afford (and sometimes some he couldn't). And supplemented that regimen with whatever other distractions he could: sex, gambling, fighting. he took suicidal risks, but somehow almost managed to come out on top - or as close to the top as he could in his sorry state.
Looking back on it now, Tom marveled that he had survived any of it. He had to admit to himself, surviving all that had been done to him was impressive, perhaps - but surviving all that he had done to himself - that was miraculous. And still there was more - images and memories so ghastly from his past that they couldn't even manifest themselves into nightmares like the ones he had begun experiencing. Images of desperation and fear; of blood on his hands and on his conscience. Images that even now caused him to wince and want to draw back from this line of thinking. But Tom couldn't shake the restlessness beginning to grow inside him. He had to do something soon, to forget about why the nightmares began and concentrate on how to get rid of them. Like you got rid of them before, huh, Tommy boy? Take them on all alone and end up destroying them and you along with them? No, even as Tom entertained the thought he knew it was just some of his residual insecurities speaking. Tom could handle this, and he no longer dealt with his problems that way; he had survived his past and found a present that made a future possible. A pleasant future, if not a perfect one. He would never be the man his elders had meant for him to be, back there in the Alpha, but maybe he was becoming something almost better. Somehting of his own. He was stronger now. Strong enough to face up to this and handle it the same way? Maybe. Tom didn't want to be dishonest with himself. A part of him was frightened - what was happening to him? And could he truly deal with it? He had run from this part of himself for so long he'd forgotten that resolving it was actually a possibility. It might still not be. But he would try.
That's what it is, you know. It's the trying that matters - you didn't know if you could and now your mind's decided to find out. It all made sense from that perspective - Tom was constantly testing himself, whether he was conscious of it at the time or not. The miraculous second chance at making a life for himself that was Voyager had seemed too good to be true for the cynical, self-deprecating young old man that Captain Janeway had pulled out of that penitentiary in New Zealand. And for a long time Tom spent his time on Voyager just waiting to wake up and find out that he was right. Even while he was there, on the bridge, on away missions, doing his damnedest to prove himself to the crew, and to the captain, he reeled with the doubts that he might never succeed in doing so - at least not in his own eyes. An amazingly tolerant man, Tom tried to never be too hard on anyone - knowing from personal experience what that could do to a person. However, when it came to himself, Tom was an entirely different man - a man who could barely forgive, and never forget. It took battle after battle in the six years he'd spent as Voyager's Chief Pilot - battles with the Delta Quadrant and with himself - for Tom to realize that about himself and try to change it. He'd progressed remarkably over time, making friends, reconciling with himself. After all that had happened since he'd come to this quadrant - with the Kazon, with Michael Jonas, and with the Warp 10 experiment just to name a few - he no longer felt quite as much like the outsider he once convinced himself he was meant to be. Tom knew he would probably never let all the gaurds down, but at least he was learning to lighten up on the emotional artillery he used to protect himself. He had healed during his time on Voyager, and grown.
Was this his conscience's way of testing just how much he'd grown? Deep down, Tom knew he would have to come to terms with this part of his past - like any other - to truly consider himself at a new level of himself. Perhaps this'll be better for you than you know, Paris. Imagine how it'd feel to have that many more skeletons out of your closet - It's been cramped in there for too long as it is. You're just progressing so don't worry. Maybe it'll all work itself out in your dreams, and you'll feel relieved afterwards. That, Tom didn't know about - he didn't feel very relieved. He still felt awful. But this line of thinking reassured Tom somehow. If it was all just in his head maybe it wouldn't last all that longer - maybe he wouldn't have to take it up with someone else, like the doctor. Tom grimaced and knew he would not do that unless he absolutely had to. To talk about the effects of his nightmares, he'd have to talk about the nightmares themselves - and he wasn't sure how willing he could make himself over that.
Finally tearing himself out of his reverie, Paris glanced at Neelix's wall chronometer - surprised to see the time, and, equally, to see the number of people that now filled the mess hall. Had he been staring in to space all this time? Tom quickly got up, clearing his table and slipping the datapadds into his pocket. Harry and B'Elanna would be walking in at any moment for breakfast, which they usually all had together. However, Tom knew he wasn't up to it. He still had a lot to think about, and his headache was persisting. He also knew he could no longer hide his agitated state of mind or degenerating state of health. He was pale and losing weight; quiet and listless. So far his friends had limited their inquiris to being polite, almost off-handed and deliberately light-hearted. Normally, he could expect a more intense reaction from B'Elanna, but considering their current difficulties, he knew he could easily sidestep her concerns, though he felt guilty for using that to his advantage. He didn't know how much longer he could spend in their presence, however, before their concern became more direct, and quite frankly, he wasn't sure how often he could tell everyone that he was fine when it was obvious that he was fooling noone. Least of all himself.