Tom sat in the corner of the messhall. It was dark and quiet, late enough to ensure that nobody was around, not even Neelix. In one hand he held a glass, almost empty of its contents, that was being gently swung by careful fingers. Propped up in a chair, his back against the wall, his legs were pulled up in front of him resting on the opposite chair. On the table next to him was a bottle. In the dim light that was reflected from the kitchen you could see it was only half full.
Bringing the glass to his lips, Tom took a sip, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he felt the burn of the liquid trail down his throat. He could feel the warmth spread through him. It comforted him, expelled for just the tiniest moment the cold feeling that had settled in him; around him.
There was darkness all around, nothing out there for his eyes to rest on but black. It was now that his mind could think. He really didn’t want it to, he’d spent a long time convincing his mind not to focus on certain things, but here, now, with nothing to do but pilot Voyager through this.....emptiness, there was nothing to *but* think.
It brought it all to the forefront of everyone’s mind, their situation, their predictament, all this time and......isolation.
Tom had never liked isolation, being alone. He hated small spaces and he hated the dark. Here in the messhall he didn’t mind, the nightlight Neelix left on for some reason glowed comfortingly at him from nearby. But it was all that nothingness out there that unnerved him. Made him feel both claustrophobic and exposed.
Alone. That pretty much summed him up as well really. I mean sure he had Harry and B’Elana, he still had to pinch himself to remind himself he had friends like them. So lucky. What they saw in him to make them stick around he wasn’t sure, but they had and he was grateful to them.
Neelix? He’d surprised everyone, the little Talaxian. Worming his way into everyone’s hearts. He’d miss Neelix.
Captain Janeway? He was very grateful to Janeway for getting him out of New Zealand, but she’d been acting on orders, it hadn’t been her own choice. He’d been someone convient, useful at the time. Story of his life really.
When he thought back, people had only ever come to him because he’s been useful or convient. All the people at the academy, a step closer, a step up in the right direction towards the mightly and famous Admiral Paris. Nobody had ever really wanted to get to know him, not really, he’d heard it in their voices, seen it in their eyes.
The Maquis had only come looking for him because they could use his skills. A convient pilot they had picked up one day in a bar. That *he’d* picked in a bar.
Chakotay.
He’d been mesmerised when he’d seen that face, seen those dark eyes. Captured by the intensity of them. The strength and power that seemed to eminate from them and their owner.
Chakotay had been his salvation. Whether or not he was being used again, he didn’t care. He’d have done anything for the man that had sat down opposite him. That quiet, gentle yet strong voice that had taken the time to explain with such emotion and feeling, all the troubles that were happening. Tom had never taken much notice of the situation in the demilitarised zone, but Chakotay had stirred in him such emotion, such feeling in him, that Tom had thought was gone, that he would have followed him to the ends of the Universe and back again, if he’d asked.
But as usually he’d screwed it up. His attitude had gotten in the way. The walls had gone up between them, Tom frightened by the overwhelming feeling of need the other man sparked in him, had fought back by pushing the man as far as he could.
The man hated him. Thought that he was untrustworthy, a mercenary....a loser. He saw Tom as someone who’d had it all, the family, the connections, the best start in life and thrown it all away in a tantrum, without a second thought. *Oh Chakotay, if you only knew...* Tom lifted his glass to his lips again, draining it. He rubbed his hand across his face and reached for the bottle.
What did he have left? He had no family, his father had taken care of that, when he had disowned him at the trial. *Nothing like being thorough, eh Dad?* He raised his glass in a silent toast.
His family here on Voyager? Well, he’d screwed that up as well hadn’t he. Let everyone down *yet* again. Caused yet more problems, disappointed everyone who’d been misguiden enough to trust him. But they’d learned, in the end, the hard way, just like all those in the past. The ones who’d eventually realised and walked away. Hell his own mother had started that trend when he was four. This time though people couldn’t walk away, there was nowhere for them to walk to, no way for them to escape him. Well, maybe there was something he could do about that.
Strange really, the thought of his abandoment by his mother didn’t hurt half as much as the look on Chakotay’s face. The one of disappointment, realisation, resignation and then finally disgust. Disgust when he finally realised you couldn’t trust Tom Paris, you couldn’t rely Tom Paris. Nothing had changed - they’d all been right all along.
He couldn’t bear it, the thought of Chakotay thinking like that. Couldn’t bear that all the ground he’d worked on in the last five years had gone, all the chances to prove that he was worthy of respect, trust, friendship - love.
Now that was gone.
Forever.
He could have proved it to them - to *him*. If he could have draw upon some of that strength that he had used in the past. Those reserves that he had used so much, for so long, but he knew there wasn't anything left.
He knew he could have shown Chakotay, shown him love and passion. Given him all that he was and could be. It could have been better than it was now, better than all this tension and animosity. Yeah they’d come a long way in the last five years, but still below the surface it was there. The barbed wire ready to surface and scar. For both of them, individually and separately, together and apart.
But he knew that it would never happen, they’d passed the no return point, the line had been crossed from which he could never go back.
He wouldn’t have Chakotay think of him the way he had back then. The view he *knew* Chakotay had had of him. The look in his eyes, the one he’d seen just recently and couldn’t face. After all they had said to each other back in the Maquis, after all the hurt that they had thrown at each other, misnderstandings and truth alike. He couldn’t face that again. Not now.
Tom reached for the bottle again and poured out the last of the contents. Turning he stared out of the window. Swallowing, his eyes flicked towards the floor before raising his glass to the blackness beyond.
Saluting all that could have been and all that had, Tom downed the glass in one swift motion. He clutched the glass tightly before slowly placing it carefully back onto the table next the bottle. From beside him on the seat he picked up a Padd and placed it next to the glass, just as carefully. Staring at them for a moment, a single tear slipped past his lashes and unnoticed slid down his pale cheek.
Slowly he leaned back against the wall and close his eyes, waiting. It wouldn’t take long, not with alcohol. As his breathing started to even out, his last coherant thoughts were...*its better this way....*
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