C/P story part 2
7 February 2004 20:01![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mandragoraI'm having to make several posts as it's too big to fit in one.
Chapter Two
Captain's Log Stardate: 50156.2
We are now orbiting a system known as Akritiria. The Akritirian homeworld appears to be a civilised, beautiful place, where we can stop for a while and obtain supplies. I am glad to take advantage of the offer made by Ambassador Leery of shoreleave for the crew. I have, together with Lieutenant Paris, instituted a rota of shoreleave for the crew.
~~~~~
Extract from Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50156.2
To give him his credit, Paris volunteered to take leave last, but as he's been so touchy lately - and I have to admit that he's obviously been working hard - I've ordered that he be among the first of the crew to experience shoreleave. I made sure that Harry Kim was on the same shift, so that the two of them can go together. Maybe when they come back, Paris will be in a better frame of mind.
~~~~~~
Extract from First Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 50156.2
...volunteered to stay behind till last. I thought it might give me the chance to catch up on some of the never-ending admin. How the hell did Chakotay manage to stay on top of it all? Or maybe it's just me who has a problem with it. He probably did it a lot faster than I can manage. However, Chakotay ordered me to go on shoreleave first and, on reflection, I can't say that I'm sorry. I didn't think I was at all in the mood for it, the deaths of the Captain and Tuvok, also Batehart have really got to me, I guess, because I still find myself thinking about them a lot. I always knew that life is fragile, or at least I've known that since Caldik Prime, but, somehow, I always thought of Kathryn Janeway and Tuvok as kind of indestructible. I thought about me dying out here, but not them. I'm still kind of depressed, I guess, and will be really glad to get away from the ship, not to have to feel the eyes of Chakotay, and the crew, constantly on me, watching me, measuring me, just waiting for me to screw up. Shoreleave with Harry should help me relax a little, try to forget duty and responsibility. And maybe we'll actually manage to have some fun.
~~~~~~
Chakotay slid first down the chute, phaser rifle to the ready, accompanied by Rollins and five of his team. As he landed at the bottom, he was greeted by the sight of several ragged and desperate looking prisoners converging on him, together with the sour stench of unwashed flesh. He inhaled shallowly through his mouth, trying to get used to the overwhelming odour. As one prisoner, braver or more desperate than the rest reached for him, he fired the rifle, sending the man he hit spinning backward into the crowd, to drop, stunned, to the floor. He yelled, "Back off!" to the others.
They halted, even as a battered, bruised, but essentially whole, Harry Kim pushed forward, calling, "Captain!"
"Harry! Where's Tom?"
For a moment his fear that his First Officer hadn't made it after all choked him, closing his throat, but a heartbeat later, Harry, pushing back dirty black hair from where it had fallen into his eyes, was saying, "He's back here, but he needs help."
Chakotay followed Harry through the dirty, scratched surrounds to where Tom Paris lay on the floor, propped up by what looked like some sort of haphazard shelter. The Captain inhaled sharply at the sight. Paris looked like hell, worse than he'd ever seen him, with waxy pallor, blue-tinged lips and closed eye sockets, which were ringed in purple and sunken into his face. They, and the way his flesh clung to his skull, showing clearly all the fine bones of his face, were all clear indicators of his precarious existence. The normally unruly hair was plastered down, thick with sweat, and muck, while blood splattered the torso, which the clumsy makeshift bandage hadn't managed to completely cover.
Chakotay had surprised himself earlier by the fierce sense of anger he'd felt, when he'd found out what the Akritirians had done to two of *his* crew. The rage had jolted him, had got to him even through the grey miasma he'd been enveloped by since Kathryn's death. It was as if he was walking around in a thick, protective membrane, through which nothing could permeate. Everything around him felt muted, subdued, colours, tastes, sounds and emotions. The only thing that had got through to him was the times he'd been annoyed at his first officer, *those* he'd felt sharply, piercing the bubble. And now this. When had he developed this feeling of... possession maybe, the feeling that the ship and everything on it belonged to him? *My* ship and *my* crew. Maybe it was a natural extension of the responsibility he'd taken on as captain and maybe Kathryn Janeway, too, had experienced the same emotions.
But it wasn't just the fact that it was two of Voyager's crew who had been thrown into this prison by the Akritirians that had got to him, tied up with that was genuine concern, that he might never see Paris or Harry again. In Harry's case, he couldn't say that he was that close to the young man, the difference in their ages and ranks predicated against that. But he'd grown increasingly to respect Harry, liked him, would miss him if he weren't around.
As for Paris...No matter how much he loathed Paris, the man was one of *his* crew and no one would hurt any Voyager crewmember while he could prevent it.
He ordered Ensign Ramirez to assist him in carrying Paris and carefully picked up the lieutenant by his shoulders, ignoring the odour of old sweat and blood emanating from the wounded man, together with the indefinable smell of illness. Now, to get him out of this piece of hell.
~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50211.4
I was relieved to learn from the Doctor that he doesn't think there'll be any lasting after effects from the enforced imprisonment of Lieutenants Paris and Kim by the Akritirians. But I was disturbed to learn of the effects of the clamp, a device placed inside each inmate's head by the Akritirians, with what appears to be the intent of controlling the prison population, by stimulating the prisoners' aggression to the point where they would happily kill each other. The Doctor believes that he has successfully removed all traces of the devices and, when Paris and Harry left sickbay together, with Paris babbling about food, they appeared to be acting almost as normal.
However, Harry seems very withdrawn after his experiences in the prison, which he reported to Rollins and I while the Doctor was still operating on Paris. I think it likely that the experience, of finding that he is, in certain circumstances, capable of losing control to the point where he almost killed his best friend, must be very worrying to him. Harry was, after all, fresh out of the Academy when first posted to Voyager; it's unlikely he had any prior experience of the effects that deprivation, violence and fear can have. Effects that I, unfortunately, know rather too well. Knowing Harry, he'll spend a lot of time thinking about this, trying to come to terms with the terrible knowledge of the results of loss of the veneer of civilisation. I will have to keep a close eye on him over the next few weeks.
By contrast, Paris appears to be his normal self, fully restored to health and shrugging off the experience with his usual insouciance. I guess that not much ever gets to Paris, I sometimes wonder whether he's really capable of taking anything, or anyone, seriously. Probably not. Still, until he was injured, when Harry had to take over, it seems that Paris conducted himself creditably enough under extreme circumstances. And whatever either Paris or Kim are feeling now, it won't hurt to give them both a few days off duty and provide them with the chance to assimilate their prison stay.
End entry.
*******
"Well, Mr Paris, it appears that you're not suffering any after effects from the clamp. Thanks to my treatment." The Doctor's tone was the epitome of self-satisfaction. The hologram carefully placed the scanner to one side and reached for another, ominous looking instrument, one that Tom, even with his - short - stint as the Doctor's assistant, didn't recognise.
He held up a cautioning hand. "Whoa, Doc. What're you doing? I thought you said a couple of days ago that I'm okay."
"As indeed you are. But this is a fascinating opportunity to study the effects of accelerated acetylcolene on the Human psyche."
"Maybe. But you're not doing it with me," Tom snapped. "Unless you tell me there's something wrong with me, I'm leaving. Now!" He jumped off the examination table as he spoke, ignoring the Doctor's indignant protest.
"Really, Mr Paris. You don't realise what a leap forward in research this could be. Why, it could advance--"
"Tough!" Tom said bluntly, as he made his escape, disappearing rapidly from sickbay, leaving the Doctor to stare after him in disappointment, pondering how selfish biological beings could be on occasion.
Once in the corridor, Tom's purposeful tread slowed. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He wasn't yet cleared for duty, as Chakotay had ordered both he and Harry to take a few days off. He could go and hang out with Kim, of course, but, for the first time since they'd met, in that sleazy bar on Deep Space 9, he found that he wasn't at ease in Harry's company. The strain of their time together in the Akritirian prison still persisted, notwithstanding the brief conversation they'd had on immediately leaving sickbay, in which he'd admitted to Harry how much Harry's attempts to protect him had touched him. He felt such a depth of gratitude and, well, friendship, he supposed to the man who had, quite simply, been prepared to die for him. He'd never had such a friend before and doubted that he ever would again. Crazy though the kid undoubtedly was, risking his neck over *Tom Paris*.
Since then, they'd spent a fair amount of time together, but, except for that moment outside sickbay, Tom had deliberately kept any conversation on a superficial level, changing the subject every time Harry tried to steer it into serious terrain. He didn't know whether this was the right thing to do for Harry, but was certain that he couldn't cope with anything else, not just now. Later, when he felt more in control, less unbalanced, they could talk about it, if Harry by that time still wanted to. For himself, he wanted to remember the whole experience as little as possible. Trouble was, he was experiencing frequent nightmares, all jumbled together, as nightmares usually are, but still replaying, over and over, certain scenes from his time in the Akritirian prison, adding to and embellishing his memories of the prison in New Zealand, the time he'd been set up by Lydell. Tom Paris, convict of the galaxy.
He was all too aware of the way he'd fallen apart, begged Harry not to leave him. He was so ashamed of himself for that. Yes, he'd been hurt, but he still should have had the guts to sacrifice himself for his friend, like Harry had proved himself willing to do for him. Oh well, he'd always known that Harry was a better man than him, so no surprise there. And he'd proved what a coward he was all that time ago, when he'd lied about the accident at Caldik Prime. He'd tried to change since then, but obviously hadn't been successful.
This further proof of his character wasn't likely to endear himself any more to his Captain, he thought, sardonically. Chakotay must've been really happy to hear about his conduct from Harry, yet more reasons to despise his exec. Not that he really needed more. Traitor, coward, cause of three deaths, that ought to about cover it.
He shook his head impatiently, dismissing the thought, determined not to indulge in a bout of self-pity. What to do next? He could always catch up on some of the administrative stuff that was no doubt piling up in his absence, but... Now that he had a chance to step back from it for a while, he wondered if he'd become a bit obsessive about it all. Put too much importance on it. Sure, it was necessary for the smooth running of the ship, but it wasn't the be all and all. Or at least so he'd always thought when he'd been Chief Pilot, and come to think of it, if he was a little late with reports back then, Chakotay had used to give him a little leeway. Funny how he seemed to be less willing to do that now that he was First Officer. Maybe it was because he was now doing the same job Chakotay had used to do. Whatever, he wasn't gonna let it take over his entire life again. If some reports were a couple of days late - so be it. And if Chakotay complained, he could stuff it. And anyway, if Chakotay agreed with the suggestion he was going to make, after he'd had a word with Chakotay about him coming to rescue him and Harry, he'd probably be busy with other, and in his opinion, more important, matters anyway.
On this happy thought, he returned to what to do next. Although tired, it was a little early for bed, and besides, he wasn't exactly sleeping well at the moment. The holodeck? Stop off at Sandrine's maybe? Not a bad idea, he'd spent rather too much time in his cabin lately and while it had been great to indulge in some reading that wasn't just ship's business, he felt a definite hunger for company. Just not, at this moment, solely with Harry. And he always felt relaxed in Sandrine's - it was *his* programme after all. Maybe after a visit there, he'd even be relaxed enough to have a dreamless night's sleep. Mind made up; he wasted no more time pondering and started to make his way to the holodeck.
As he strolled down the corridor, Chakotay appeared from round the corner. "Ah, Paris...Tom. How're you feeling?"
"Um, fine, Captain. Er, thanks for asking."
There was a moment's awkward silence.
"So, no ill effects from the prison, then?"
"The Doc says not. Says I should be back on duty soon."
Again silence.
"Well, carry on, Lieutenant." Chakotay favoured Paris with a nod and continued on his way.
Gazing after the retreating Captain, eyes lingering on his retreating form, Tom cursed inwardly. He'd meant to actually make an effort to talk to Chakotay, maybe invite him for a drink, as there were a few things he wanted to discuss with him about his rescue from the prison, but, somehow, he couldn't find the words. He shrugged. Oh well, there'd be other opportunities. And Sandrine's awaited him.
On entering the holodeck, Tom found that walking into Sandrine's felt a bit like coming home. Why had he left it so long before coming here? The place was moderately busy; there were few empty tables. He wandered over to sit with Hamilton, Rollins, Ayala and Lo. He'd seen Rollins and Hamilton eat together in the messhall a lot recently and here they were, spending more off duty hours together. He wondered if there was any romantic feelings involved, but didn't think so, the body language was wrong for that. And anyway, didn't Hamilton have something going with Rashida Bobat? Actually, he hadn't seen the two women together for a while, so they might have broken up. Well, that was one relationship he'd never had to worry about, as Bobat's duties in Engineering Maintenance didn't intersect with Hamilton's at all, so he hadn't needed to keep an eye on them, in case a judicious rearrangement of the duty roster was required. Still, it looked as if Hamilton and Rollins were just friends, but becoming pretty good friends from what he could tell. As for Ayala and Lo, they'd been an item for a while, if he wasn't mistaken, although they tried to keep it quiet. But the sparkle in Ai-Ling's pretty dark eyes when she looked at Ayala was impossible to miss, for those with eyes to see anyway, as was the sweet smile he gave her in return.
Conversation was relaxed, beyond Rollin's genial comment that he was looking a lot better than a couple of days ago, Tom's recent experiences were not mentioned. He was grateful for that. For the most part, he sipped at his synthale, enjoying the atmosphere, listening to the others gossip, until, when Ayala, Lo and Rollins were busy debating the finer points of parisee squares tactics, Margaret looked at him searchingly.
"It's been a while since we've seen you here, Tom."
He shrugged. "I've been a little busy, what with all my new duties and all. How about you, how's being Chief Pilot working out?"
"Why? Aren't you happy with my work? I mean--"
Tom held up a placating hand. "I'm just making conversation here Marge. So far as I can see you're doing a good job."
"Oh." Hamilton visibly relaxed. "Oh, well, I like it fine, I guess. But, I still wish that it was you who was Chief Pilot."
"Because you'd like Janeway and the others back," he said softly.
She nodded morosely. Aware that the earlier mood was slipping, Tom looked over at the pool table. It was empty. He nodded in its direction. "How about a game?"
She snorted. "So you can thrash me! No thanks."
"Ah, c'mon Marge," he wheedled, favouring her with his best little boy lost expression. "I haven't played in ages. If you can't beat me now..."
She frowned at him, wavering under the pressure of beseeching blue eyes. "Oh all right. On one condition."
"What?"
"Don't call me Marge!"
He laughed and got to his feet, gallantly indicating she should go first. The game was close; Tom knew that Hamilton was a much better pool player than she claimed to be. And he was rusty. It was while he was bent over the table, preparatory to making a shot, as Margaret was ordering them some more drinks at the bar that he heard the comments.
"...would you trust him?"
"With his record? Hardly."
"Him as First Officer. It's a joke!
Tom froze. Oh fuck. Not again. He shot - and missed. Then, very deliberately, he straightened and looked around, carefully making sure that his face was wiped clean of all expression. Several of the crew were grinning at him. Chang, Pollock, Jackson, Erheirt, M'debele. A mixture of Starfleet and Maquis with one thing in common; they were among those of the crew who'd given him a hard time when he'd first joined the ship. He stared at them, remembering the attitude of most of the crew when they'd initially been stranded out in the Delta Quadrant. Chakotay had put the word out that he wasn't to be touched. And he hadn't been, not physically. But, he'd been fully aware, couldn't help but be aware, as none of the crew had tried to conceal it from him, of the sneers, the mocking comments, and the taunts that erupted every time he walked into a room. No one would sit with him in the messhall, for example. Even if the room had been full, he'd always been left sitting at a table on his own, because if he sat down at an already occupied table, its inhabitants would conspicuously move elsewhere. He'd lost count of how many times his quarters had been trashed, until he'd almost given up trying to fix them up.
He'd been the most loathed person on Voyager, his actions on the Ocampan planet notwithstanding. If it hadn't been for Harry, and the faith Captain Janeway had shown in him, he might have left shortly afterwards, skipped the ship, tried to make a life for himself in the Delta Quadrant. But Harry had stood by him, and the Captain had backed him. And matters had improved, to the point where he seemed to be accepted by most of the crew, at least in his position as Chief Pilot. Of course, in time, everyone on Voyager had had to admit that he was more than qualified for that position.
Which was more than could be said for his current post as First Officer. About which it appeared that the crew wasn't happy. He'd been so busy since his promotion that he'd had little time to socialise, but had been aware at meals in the messhall that certain crewmembers were looking at him in a less than friendly fashion, muttering among themselves about his unsuitability as First Officer. However, preoccupied as he'd been with his new duties, it wasn't something he'd paid much attention to, figuring that they'd soon get tired and move onto something else. Which now looked like a mistake on his part.
He arched a haughty eyebrow in aristocratic disdain. "Did any of you have something to say?"
A chorus of "No's" was his response, accompanied with muffled sniggers and open smirks.
"Fine," he said tightly, chanting the old mantra to himself, 'Don't let them get to you, don't let them get to you.' Frustrated, and angry, he turned back to the table, seeing Hamilton looking at him, sympathy on her pretty face. He groaned. Just great, now she was feeling sorry for him. He looked quickly around. Good. It looked like Hamilton was the only person present who had heard anything. "Your shot," was all he said. She nodded wordlessly and bent to the table.
~~~~
Tom sat in his first senior staff briefing since the Akritirian experience, trying to concentrate on what Jonathon Rollins was saying, something about revising security protocols for shoreleave. He felt like hell, the, by now, several nights of violent nightmares having taken their toll. He was left with certain inexorable images, which tore at him, battering against the fragile walls of his psyche; sometimes he was killing Harry, or watching while the inmates tore him to shreds. In others, it was Harry hitting him, striking him, over and over, with the pipe. And in yet others, it was Kathryn Janeway instead of Harry and he was watching, helpless to stop them, as the Akritirians tore at her, while she called out to him for help. Help that he couldn't give, because she was dead, dead, dead!
He shuddered. At least he and Harry were still friends, even if they weren't really at ease with one another. He could *see* how much Harry was trying to pretend nothing had changed between them and that was the trouble. That it took visible effort. He hoped that his own act was more convincing, although he reckoned that it probably was; he was, after all, a lot more practised at pretending everything was fine than Harry.
He caught Harry's eyes and smiled at him. The smile was returned, but Harry's dark eyes remained troubled none the less. Harry didn't look as tired as Tom was all too aware he looked; the shadows under Harry's eyes were less pronounced, but, knowing his friend's very active conscience as he did, Tom figured that Harry probably wasn't sleeping any better than he was.
"...so we're agreed then," Rollins concluded, glancing round the table to accompanying nods from everyone but Tom. "Mr Paris?"
"Huh?"
Tom tried not to look startled as Rollins repeated patiently. "You agree?"
"Uh, yes, of course," Tom replied, not 100% sure what he had agreed to, but having caught the gist of it, he thought.
"Nice to see you're alert, Lieutenant," Chakotay said dryly.
Tom favoured him with a wide smile; one that he knew usually annoyed Chakotay. "As always." Chakotay's eyes narrowed, but he chose not to make an issue of it.
"Before I conclude the meeting," the Captain said, "I'd just like to say that I'm glad both Mr Paris and Lieutenant Kim made it back to us all right, although I'm wondering whether, given Mr Paris' propensity for trouble, we shouldn't ban him from ever leaving the ship again."
There were chuckles round the table, Tom's ability to get himself hurt was well known on board Voyager, but Tom, overtired, suffering from the after effects of the clamp, and his own inadequacies to the fore of his mind, wasn't at all amused. "I don't think it's me we need to ban, but the Captain."
Chakotay stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You, as the commanding officer, left the ship when your exec was also not on board, leaving someone who isn't yet really qualified in command," Tom drawled, glancing at Torres as he spoke. "No offence B'Elanna." Torres shrugged, signalling that no offence had been taken. "Not only that, but you also took the Chief of Security with you. All of this, might I remind you, is contrary to Starfleet regulations." He faked one of his best smiles at Chakotay as he finished.
So far as the Captain was concerned that smirk was the final straw. "Who're *you* to talk about regulations," he began furiously. "You have more demerits for lack of adherence to protocol than practically anyone else on board. Not to mention that your gratitude for your rescue is overwhelming."
The other officers sat in frozen silence, watching with an impending sense of doom, as Chakotay continued his tirade. Paris sat there, a half smile seemingly frozen on his face.
"Of all people you're the last..." Chakotay was saying, as his commbadge beeped, Ensign Lo was calling the senior staff to the bridge, as a strange ship was rapidly approaching Voyager. The senior staff quickly exited to the bridge, most of them feeling a vast sense of relief. The Captain and First Officer, however, as they sat side by side, in the moments before they made contact with the alien ship, felt nothing but hostility toward the other.
~~~~
Later, Chakotay sat in his Ready Room, having a quick lunch with B'Elanna, as they both wanted to discuss some engineering modifications she was keen to make. Paris should really have also been in on the discussion, but following this morning's meeting, Chakotay didn't trust himself in the company of the lieutenant. He was still furious with him. Fortunately, the morning had been busy, they'd made contact with a new race, called the Palom, who, according to Neelix were a hospitable and welcoming race. Their home system lay ahead, about five days away travel at cruising speed, and, after the disastrous Akritirian experience, would hopefully give them opportunities to stock up further on supplies and, possibly, shoreleave. He'd therefore not had much time to think about Paris' attitude, his insolence, all of which he'd had to endure far too often since he'd first served with Paris in the Maquis. But now, his anger, which had been simmering away at the back of his mind, ignoring any attempts to banish it, rose back up again.
"Chakotay!" B'Elanna said, sharply. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes. Go on."
Her eyebrows rose. "So, you're in agreement with my suggestion that we should overhaul the plasma manifold?"
"Yes, of course."
"That's good, seeing as I haven't mentioned it yet."
He looked at her ruefully. "Busted."
"Busted," she agreed. "What it is?" He shrugged. He really shouldn't discuss his problems with Paris with her. But B'Elanna was no fool. "It's Paris, isn't it?"
He sighed. "I can't discuss this with you B'Elanna, you know that."
"Not the specifics maybe, but can I say something?"
"Of course."
"I think," she said carefully, "that you ought to consider just what made you so angry this morning. Because, you know, Tom was right."
Stung, Chakotay glared at her.
"Well, he was," she insisted. "I would have said something to you myself, before you went off to that prison, but you'd already left the ship before I had the chance. Now, I'll agree that Tom didn't exactly pick the right moment to speak to you about this, but you know him, he's never had any tact. If it'd been someone else, me for example, who'd spoken up in the meeting, would you have been anywhere near so angry?" She stood up, preparatory to leaving. "Maybe you ought to think about it," she suggested, then left, leaving a very thoughtful Captain to stare after her.
Chakotay spent most of the rest of the shift in his ready room, leaving Paris on the bridge. He was ostensibly working on various administrative matters, but was also considering what B'Elanna had said. Had he overreacted a little to Paris' comments? Was it possible that because he saw that much more of Paris now, he wasn't able to rationalise away the irritation the other man caused in him as he'd done in the past? Although, of course, Paris could irritate a saint! Maybe that was it; he doubted that he'd ever met anyone who could be so effortlessly annoying as Paris. However, he really ought to try and find a way not to let the man get to him. Although quite how he was supposed to do that, he didn't know.
In the middle of his reverie, someone beeped for admittance, at which he bade them enter. He stiffened, surprised to see that it was Paris. The lieutenant stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back, legs apart. His face was carefully expressionless.
"If I might have a word with you Captain?"
Chakotay nodded, curious as to what he was about to say. "Go ahead."
"I wish to apologise." Chakotay was wholly unable to prevent the look of astonishment that crossed his face. An apology. From Paris. "For my behaviour this morning, I mean," Paris continued. "I..." He hesitated and drew a breath. "Not for what I said, I stand by that. But for how and when I said it. I should have spoken to you privately, I know that. In fact that's what I intended this morning. But...you know me, open mouth, insert foot." He smiled, ruefully. Chakotay blinked, a little dazzled. Paris certainly could turn on the charm, he thought. The smile faded, as Paris went on," However, good intentions don't make up for what I did. I apologise, sir. I didn't mean to question your authority." A half smile. "At least not in front of other crewmembers."
There was silence for a moment, as Paris said nothing more. Then, "Sit down Lieutenant."
Tom pulled out a chair.
"Thank you for your apology," Chakotay began carefully. "I accept, and I think that I also owe you one of my own. You were right in what you said--"
At that, Tom opened his mouth to speak, but Chakotay held up a silencing hand.
"--but you were also right in that you picked the wrong time to tell me."
Paris nodded. "Yes sir." Then, as an afterthought, "Um, thank you."
"Can we agree that incidents like this morning will be avoided?" Chakotay asked. "That you will try to refrain from acting on impulse."
One corner of Tom's mouth quirked up. "I'll certainly try."
"Then we're agreed. In return, I'll try to not jump down your throat when you do open your mouth and put your foot in it!"
Tom grinned at him. "That's okay with me."
"Good. Well, if that's all..."
Tom hesitated.
Chakotay lifted an enquiring eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I've been thinking," Paris said, hurriedly. "About the senior staff and what happens when all command staff are not on board."
"And?" Chakotay asked, intrigued as to what Paris was going to say.
"I think we should resurrect the idea of a formal training programme, to cross train far more crew than we do at present, also put some of the more junior crew in for command training. I know that the senior staff discussed this in the past, and at the time Captain Janeway decided that we couldn't afford the time or resources for a full programme. But I had in mind increasing what's already been done, get everyone involved, rather than the few we have at present, put a lot more of the junior crew in charge of the bridge, on a rotation basis, that kind of thing." He halted and looked earnestly at the captain. "My point is that I know resources are limited, but I don't think we can afford *not* to implement a full programme. We've lost so many of the senior staff and command crew as it is, that if anything more were to happen...I think we need fully trained replacements if the worst comes to the worst."
"You're right," Chakotay said after a brief interval in which he mulled over what the lieutenant had just said. He grinned inwardly at Paris' look of surprise at his ready agreement. "But it's going to mean a lot more work for you, in arranging the schedules and shifts."
"I know that," Tom said impatiently, "but I think it'll be worth it, in the end. Don't you?"
"Yes. I do. Good thought, Tom." Chakotay smiled at him and it was Paris' turn to blink, amazed at the warm, welcoming expression on Chakotay's face. It was not an expression he'd ever seen directed at him before. But he found that he rather liked it.
He smiled back. "Great. I'll get right on it."
"Fine. But, if you need some help, seeing as I've got some prior experience in re-arranging the schedules, at least in theory, let me know. Okay?"
At that, Tom's smile broadened. "I will. Thanks."
As he left the room, Chakotay sat back wondering whether he and Paris were at long last beginning to work together as a captain and executive officer should. Also, he had to admit that Paris looked sexy as hell when he smiled like that.
~~~~~~
First Officer's Personal Log. Stardate: 50214.7
Today started off pretty disastrously, but actually ended up okay. I'd been meaning to speak to Chakotay about his leaving the ship and coming to rescue Harry and I from that prison. I mean, I'm grateful of course, but he was in breach of protocol and as First Officer it's up to me to call him on it. It's funny, me having to talk to him about protocol. It's not like I agree with all of that stuff anyway, some yes, I can see the need for, like the one that says all command officers shouldn't be off the ship at the same time. Although, I can think of situations when that one should be ignored. But others, after practically being brought up in Starfleet, strike me as a load of crap. I think I have a pretty good feel for which ones to obey and which to ignore. And is it just me who's prepared to ignore protocol completely if I think that the situation warrants it? I suspect not. Captain Janeway was much the same I think, although I think she thought she should usually obey more protocols than I do. Maybe we thought alike because we were both Fleet brats.
But instead of waiting to talk to Chakotay privately, I spoke about it at the staff meeting. Even as I said it, I knew that it was totally the wrong place to say it. I wish I could just make myself shut up at times. It's like I have this sort of compulsion to make things as bad for myself as I can. Even Janeway would have been annoyed, if I'd been her First Officer and had said what I did in front of other crewmembers. And, knowing her, I probably would've had to say the same thing to her as well.
I later want to see Chakotay, to apologise and he was pretty gracious about it. He actually agreed with my idea about cross training and command training the crew. So, I guess I've got myself a bucket load more work, but at least we cleared the air. Maybe we'll be able to get along better from now on.
End entry.
*******
Rollins paused at the entrance to the First Officer's office and then beeped for admittance. At Paris' voice bidding him enter, he stepped inside. He grinned at the sight that met his eyes. Tom was sprawled in his chair, feet up on the desk. His hair was sticking up in little tufts, giving him the look of a young, mischievous devil. Rollins let his eyes wander around the room, noting that Paris seemed to have added some personal touches to the room, in the form of lithographs of various airborne vehicles. Hmm, what was that, an aeroplane of some sort, he thought, and that looked like an early spacecraft and...
"Jon, hi. What can I do for you?" Paris smiled at him, slightly surprised to see the security chief in his office, particularly at this late hour; Alpha shift had finished several hours ago.
Rollins redirected his brown-eyed gaze towards Paris. "It's these cross training rotas."
"Ye-es?" Tom's voice rose interrogatively. Rollins hesitated. "Would you like to sit down?" Tom asked.
The security lieutenant nodded and pulled out the chair in front of the desk. "It's in respect of one assignment in particular," he said, as he sat down.
"Which one?"
Rollins sighed. "Neelix."
Paris' expression became more wary, as he took his feet off the desk and sat up straight in his chair. "Go on."
"I'm not certain that he's really suited to security."
"Uh huh," Tom said slowly. "Mind telling me why not?"
"Because he's well, he's *Neelix*!"
"Come on Jon, you should know better than that, judging him before you've even given him a chance."
Rollins had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself. "I'm not," he protested. At Paris' sceptical expression, he clarified, "Or at least I'm trying not to. It's just that I know that Tuvok--"
"Tuvok didn't exactly appreciate Neelix," Paris interrupted. "You were his deputy, you know that. If he wasn't a Vulcan, I'd say Neelix irritated him, hell, I'll say it anyway!" There was silence from Rollins. Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, in a quieter tone, "just give him a chance, huh, Jon. I know Neelix, he's tough, he's wily and there's a lot more to him than people, including Tuvok, give him credit for. I know he wants to have security experience, that's why I put him on your rota."
"And if I say no, that I won't have him."
Paris' expression hardened and his eyes lost their warmth, becoming chips of frigid ice. Rollins was surprised to find that he actually felt a bit intimidated by this Tom Paris. "Then I'll make it an order." His tone was still pleasant, but Rollins knew that Paris wouldn't be at all pleased at having to make a note on Neelix' record that he was being assigned to security only over the objections of the security chief. As for Neelix, well, Rollins liked the little Talaxian and knew that this knowledge would hurt him deeply.
"I see," Rollins said quietly. "In that case, I withdraw my objection. But, if he proves to be unsuitable..."
"He'll be reassigned."
Rollins nodded. "Okay."
"Anything else?"
"No, that was it, thanks."
Rollins got up to go, but as he reached the door, Paris spoke, "Jon."
Rollins turned and looked at him enquiringly.
"You won't boot him out for the first mistake will you? Everyone should be allowed one mistake, don't you think?"
Rollins, knowing the chequered history of Tom Paris, looked at him intently. "One, maybe. So long as it isn't too bad," he said and saw Paris wince, which he regretted, as it hadn't been his intention to get at the other man. But, he'd had a point to make.
As the doors shut behind Rollins, Tom leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes wearily. Another objection. Couldn't *anyone* agree with his recommendations as to cross training, which had only been reached after careful perusal of each crewmember's record and in consultation with the department heads and their deputies. This whole idea was proving to be one gigantic pain in the butt. He'd known that he was making more work for himself, but not quite just how much extra he'd have to do. But he really believed that in the long run, this would benefit the ship and that was what was important, after all. The fact that Harry hadn't stopped complaining that he had enough to do without all the extra engineering assignments, or that B'Elanna had been less than enthralled with her astrometrics training, was just tough. His mouth twitched as he remembered B'Elanna's indignation at having to take instruction from the Delaney sisters, of all people.
However, he'd had to order more people than he liked to accept their cross training assignments, or, in some cases, although thankfully not in Rollin's case, order an officer to accept someone as a cross training subordinate. It didn't make it easier that he was certain that if it'd been Chakotay making the suggestions and arranging the assignments, there would have been little or no protestations. Also, a few crewmembers had been almost openly insubordinate, luckily only in front of him, but still... He knew that he shouldn't have let them get away with their behaviour, but he didn't want to put them on report, otherwise Chakotay couldn't help but notice. And then he'd have to admit that some of the crew was reluctant to accept his authority. This was something he had to deal with himself. If only he could figure out how.
He sighed, but then his eyes snapped open, as he thought with determination that he didn't care how much whining he received, or how unpopular it made him with the crew. Not that he was exactly Mr Popular to start off with, so there was no loss there. This was for the good of the ship and all that. They would all learn to accept it, like to or not. Tom would have been surprised, and dismayed, if he'd been able to see how much like his father he looked at that moment.
******
Captain's Log. Stardate: 50217.8
Acting on the recommendation of Lieutenant Paris a cross training programme has been initiated on Voyager. All of the crew are required to participate, with the exception of Captain and First Officer, although Mr Paris has suggested that, time permitting, he should spend more time in obtaining all experiences required of a command officer. His attitude is commendable, but, unfortunately at this time it is not practicable to allow him to spend the time required. I have hopes that the training programme will benefit all of the ship in the long term, although there may be some short term disruption to established routines.
~~~~~
Extract from Captain's Personal Log. Stardate: 50217.8
I must admit that Paris has surprised me of late. His attitude towards me still leaves much to be desired, but he seems to have been taking his duties seriously. In addition, he has made a valuable suggestion re the cross training programme, and has also volunteered to rearrange the schedules. I know from prior experience that this can be a painstaking task and was surprised when Paris volunteered his services. I wondered about any ulterior motives, but haven't been able to come up with any.
I'm hopeful that we may eventually work well enough together, although I cannot see a time when we could progress beyond an amicable working relationship and develop the kind of friendship I had with Kathryn. I find myself thinking of her often, at least several times a day. So many things remind me of her, not just the obvious, like the smell of coffee, but sometimes, when I'm working in the ready room, I think I hear her voice saying 'Chakotay' in that half laughing, half disapproving manner she had when I made a suggestion that I knew she wouldn't approve of, just to make her laugh. And my new quarters...I can't forget that they used to be hers, just being in them reminds me of her, I think I can still smell her fragrance, even though the air's been recycled many times since then. I'm thankful that B'Elanna cleared her quarters out before I moved in. I didn't feel up to it myself and I somehow thought a female crewmember would be more appropriate.
I've kept her lucky teacup. It didn't seem to bring her luck, but it reminds me of her. Not that I need the reminder. I'll never forget her.
*******
End Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Captain's Log Stardate: 50156.2
We are now orbiting a system known as Akritiria. The Akritirian homeworld appears to be a civilised, beautiful place, where we can stop for a while and obtain supplies. I am glad to take advantage of the offer made by Ambassador Leery of shoreleave for the crew. I have, together with Lieutenant Paris, instituted a rota of shoreleave for the crew.
~~~~~
Extract from Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50156.2
To give him his credit, Paris volunteered to take leave last, but as he's been so touchy lately - and I have to admit that he's obviously been working hard - I've ordered that he be among the first of the crew to experience shoreleave. I made sure that Harry Kim was on the same shift, so that the two of them can go together. Maybe when they come back, Paris will be in a better frame of mind.
~~~~~~
Extract from First Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 50156.2
...volunteered to stay behind till last. I thought it might give me the chance to catch up on some of the never-ending admin. How the hell did Chakotay manage to stay on top of it all? Or maybe it's just me who has a problem with it. He probably did it a lot faster than I can manage. However, Chakotay ordered me to go on shoreleave first and, on reflection, I can't say that I'm sorry. I didn't think I was at all in the mood for it, the deaths of the Captain and Tuvok, also Batehart have really got to me, I guess, because I still find myself thinking about them a lot. I always knew that life is fragile, or at least I've known that since Caldik Prime, but, somehow, I always thought of Kathryn Janeway and Tuvok as kind of indestructible. I thought about me dying out here, but not them. I'm still kind of depressed, I guess, and will be really glad to get away from the ship, not to have to feel the eyes of Chakotay, and the crew, constantly on me, watching me, measuring me, just waiting for me to screw up. Shoreleave with Harry should help me relax a little, try to forget duty and responsibility. And maybe we'll actually manage to have some fun.
~~~~~~
Chakotay slid first down the chute, phaser rifle to the ready, accompanied by Rollins and five of his team. As he landed at the bottom, he was greeted by the sight of several ragged and desperate looking prisoners converging on him, together with the sour stench of unwashed flesh. He inhaled shallowly through his mouth, trying to get used to the overwhelming odour. As one prisoner, braver or more desperate than the rest reached for him, he fired the rifle, sending the man he hit spinning backward into the crowd, to drop, stunned, to the floor. He yelled, "Back off!" to the others.
They halted, even as a battered, bruised, but essentially whole, Harry Kim pushed forward, calling, "Captain!"
"Harry! Where's Tom?"
For a moment his fear that his First Officer hadn't made it after all choked him, closing his throat, but a heartbeat later, Harry, pushing back dirty black hair from where it had fallen into his eyes, was saying, "He's back here, but he needs help."
Chakotay followed Harry through the dirty, scratched surrounds to where Tom Paris lay on the floor, propped up by what looked like some sort of haphazard shelter. The Captain inhaled sharply at the sight. Paris looked like hell, worse than he'd ever seen him, with waxy pallor, blue-tinged lips and closed eye sockets, which were ringed in purple and sunken into his face. They, and the way his flesh clung to his skull, showing clearly all the fine bones of his face, were all clear indicators of his precarious existence. The normally unruly hair was plastered down, thick with sweat, and muck, while blood splattered the torso, which the clumsy makeshift bandage hadn't managed to completely cover.
Chakotay had surprised himself earlier by the fierce sense of anger he'd felt, when he'd found out what the Akritirians had done to two of *his* crew. The rage had jolted him, had got to him even through the grey miasma he'd been enveloped by since Kathryn's death. It was as if he was walking around in a thick, protective membrane, through which nothing could permeate. Everything around him felt muted, subdued, colours, tastes, sounds and emotions. The only thing that had got through to him was the times he'd been annoyed at his first officer, *those* he'd felt sharply, piercing the bubble. And now this. When had he developed this feeling of... possession maybe, the feeling that the ship and everything on it belonged to him? *My* ship and *my* crew. Maybe it was a natural extension of the responsibility he'd taken on as captain and maybe Kathryn Janeway, too, had experienced the same emotions.
But it wasn't just the fact that it was two of Voyager's crew who had been thrown into this prison by the Akritirians that had got to him, tied up with that was genuine concern, that he might never see Paris or Harry again. In Harry's case, he couldn't say that he was that close to the young man, the difference in their ages and ranks predicated against that. But he'd grown increasingly to respect Harry, liked him, would miss him if he weren't around.
As for Paris...No matter how much he loathed Paris, the man was one of *his* crew and no one would hurt any Voyager crewmember while he could prevent it.
He ordered Ensign Ramirez to assist him in carrying Paris and carefully picked up the lieutenant by his shoulders, ignoring the odour of old sweat and blood emanating from the wounded man, together with the indefinable smell of illness. Now, to get him out of this piece of hell.
~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50211.4
I was relieved to learn from the Doctor that he doesn't think there'll be any lasting after effects from the enforced imprisonment of Lieutenants Paris and Kim by the Akritirians. But I was disturbed to learn of the effects of the clamp, a device placed inside each inmate's head by the Akritirians, with what appears to be the intent of controlling the prison population, by stimulating the prisoners' aggression to the point where they would happily kill each other. The Doctor believes that he has successfully removed all traces of the devices and, when Paris and Harry left sickbay together, with Paris babbling about food, they appeared to be acting almost as normal.
However, Harry seems very withdrawn after his experiences in the prison, which he reported to Rollins and I while the Doctor was still operating on Paris. I think it likely that the experience, of finding that he is, in certain circumstances, capable of losing control to the point where he almost killed his best friend, must be very worrying to him. Harry was, after all, fresh out of the Academy when first posted to Voyager; it's unlikely he had any prior experience of the effects that deprivation, violence and fear can have. Effects that I, unfortunately, know rather too well. Knowing Harry, he'll spend a lot of time thinking about this, trying to come to terms with the terrible knowledge of the results of loss of the veneer of civilisation. I will have to keep a close eye on him over the next few weeks.
By contrast, Paris appears to be his normal self, fully restored to health and shrugging off the experience with his usual insouciance. I guess that not much ever gets to Paris, I sometimes wonder whether he's really capable of taking anything, or anyone, seriously. Probably not. Still, until he was injured, when Harry had to take over, it seems that Paris conducted himself creditably enough under extreme circumstances. And whatever either Paris or Kim are feeling now, it won't hurt to give them both a few days off duty and provide them with the chance to assimilate their prison stay.
End entry.
*******
"Well, Mr Paris, it appears that you're not suffering any after effects from the clamp. Thanks to my treatment." The Doctor's tone was the epitome of self-satisfaction. The hologram carefully placed the scanner to one side and reached for another, ominous looking instrument, one that Tom, even with his - short - stint as the Doctor's assistant, didn't recognise.
He held up a cautioning hand. "Whoa, Doc. What're you doing? I thought you said a couple of days ago that I'm okay."
"As indeed you are. But this is a fascinating opportunity to study the effects of accelerated acetylcolene on the Human psyche."
"Maybe. But you're not doing it with me," Tom snapped. "Unless you tell me there's something wrong with me, I'm leaving. Now!" He jumped off the examination table as he spoke, ignoring the Doctor's indignant protest.
"Really, Mr Paris. You don't realise what a leap forward in research this could be. Why, it could advance--"
"Tough!" Tom said bluntly, as he made his escape, disappearing rapidly from sickbay, leaving the Doctor to stare after him in disappointment, pondering how selfish biological beings could be on occasion.
Once in the corridor, Tom's purposeful tread slowed. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He wasn't yet cleared for duty, as Chakotay had ordered both he and Harry to take a few days off. He could go and hang out with Kim, of course, but, for the first time since they'd met, in that sleazy bar on Deep Space 9, he found that he wasn't at ease in Harry's company. The strain of their time together in the Akritirian prison still persisted, notwithstanding the brief conversation they'd had on immediately leaving sickbay, in which he'd admitted to Harry how much Harry's attempts to protect him had touched him. He felt such a depth of gratitude and, well, friendship, he supposed to the man who had, quite simply, been prepared to die for him. He'd never had such a friend before and doubted that he ever would again. Crazy though the kid undoubtedly was, risking his neck over *Tom Paris*.
Since then, they'd spent a fair amount of time together, but, except for that moment outside sickbay, Tom had deliberately kept any conversation on a superficial level, changing the subject every time Harry tried to steer it into serious terrain. He didn't know whether this was the right thing to do for Harry, but was certain that he couldn't cope with anything else, not just now. Later, when he felt more in control, less unbalanced, they could talk about it, if Harry by that time still wanted to. For himself, he wanted to remember the whole experience as little as possible. Trouble was, he was experiencing frequent nightmares, all jumbled together, as nightmares usually are, but still replaying, over and over, certain scenes from his time in the Akritirian prison, adding to and embellishing his memories of the prison in New Zealand, the time he'd been set up by Lydell. Tom Paris, convict of the galaxy.
He was all too aware of the way he'd fallen apart, begged Harry not to leave him. He was so ashamed of himself for that. Yes, he'd been hurt, but he still should have had the guts to sacrifice himself for his friend, like Harry had proved himself willing to do for him. Oh well, he'd always known that Harry was a better man than him, so no surprise there. And he'd proved what a coward he was all that time ago, when he'd lied about the accident at Caldik Prime. He'd tried to change since then, but obviously hadn't been successful.
This further proof of his character wasn't likely to endear himself any more to his Captain, he thought, sardonically. Chakotay must've been really happy to hear about his conduct from Harry, yet more reasons to despise his exec. Not that he really needed more. Traitor, coward, cause of three deaths, that ought to about cover it.
He shook his head impatiently, dismissing the thought, determined not to indulge in a bout of self-pity. What to do next? He could always catch up on some of the administrative stuff that was no doubt piling up in his absence, but... Now that he had a chance to step back from it for a while, he wondered if he'd become a bit obsessive about it all. Put too much importance on it. Sure, it was necessary for the smooth running of the ship, but it wasn't the be all and all. Or at least so he'd always thought when he'd been Chief Pilot, and come to think of it, if he was a little late with reports back then, Chakotay had used to give him a little leeway. Funny how he seemed to be less willing to do that now that he was First Officer. Maybe it was because he was now doing the same job Chakotay had used to do. Whatever, he wasn't gonna let it take over his entire life again. If some reports were a couple of days late - so be it. And if Chakotay complained, he could stuff it. And anyway, if Chakotay agreed with the suggestion he was going to make, after he'd had a word with Chakotay about him coming to rescue him and Harry, he'd probably be busy with other, and in his opinion, more important, matters anyway.
On this happy thought, he returned to what to do next. Although tired, it was a little early for bed, and besides, he wasn't exactly sleeping well at the moment. The holodeck? Stop off at Sandrine's maybe? Not a bad idea, he'd spent rather too much time in his cabin lately and while it had been great to indulge in some reading that wasn't just ship's business, he felt a definite hunger for company. Just not, at this moment, solely with Harry. And he always felt relaxed in Sandrine's - it was *his* programme after all. Maybe after a visit there, he'd even be relaxed enough to have a dreamless night's sleep. Mind made up; he wasted no more time pondering and started to make his way to the holodeck.
As he strolled down the corridor, Chakotay appeared from round the corner. "Ah, Paris...Tom. How're you feeling?"
"Um, fine, Captain. Er, thanks for asking."
There was a moment's awkward silence.
"So, no ill effects from the prison, then?"
"The Doc says not. Says I should be back on duty soon."
Again silence.
"Well, carry on, Lieutenant." Chakotay favoured Paris with a nod and continued on his way.
Gazing after the retreating Captain, eyes lingering on his retreating form, Tom cursed inwardly. He'd meant to actually make an effort to talk to Chakotay, maybe invite him for a drink, as there were a few things he wanted to discuss with him about his rescue from the prison, but, somehow, he couldn't find the words. He shrugged. Oh well, there'd be other opportunities. And Sandrine's awaited him.
On entering the holodeck, Tom found that walking into Sandrine's felt a bit like coming home. Why had he left it so long before coming here? The place was moderately busy; there were few empty tables. He wandered over to sit with Hamilton, Rollins, Ayala and Lo. He'd seen Rollins and Hamilton eat together in the messhall a lot recently and here they were, spending more off duty hours together. He wondered if there was any romantic feelings involved, but didn't think so, the body language was wrong for that. And anyway, didn't Hamilton have something going with Rashida Bobat? Actually, he hadn't seen the two women together for a while, so they might have broken up. Well, that was one relationship he'd never had to worry about, as Bobat's duties in Engineering Maintenance didn't intersect with Hamilton's at all, so he hadn't needed to keep an eye on them, in case a judicious rearrangement of the duty roster was required. Still, it looked as if Hamilton and Rollins were just friends, but becoming pretty good friends from what he could tell. As for Ayala and Lo, they'd been an item for a while, if he wasn't mistaken, although they tried to keep it quiet. But the sparkle in Ai-Ling's pretty dark eyes when she looked at Ayala was impossible to miss, for those with eyes to see anyway, as was the sweet smile he gave her in return.
Conversation was relaxed, beyond Rollin's genial comment that he was looking a lot better than a couple of days ago, Tom's recent experiences were not mentioned. He was grateful for that. For the most part, he sipped at his synthale, enjoying the atmosphere, listening to the others gossip, until, when Ayala, Lo and Rollins were busy debating the finer points of parisee squares tactics, Margaret looked at him searchingly.
"It's been a while since we've seen you here, Tom."
He shrugged. "I've been a little busy, what with all my new duties and all. How about you, how's being Chief Pilot working out?"
"Why? Aren't you happy with my work? I mean--"
Tom held up a placating hand. "I'm just making conversation here Marge. So far as I can see you're doing a good job."
"Oh." Hamilton visibly relaxed. "Oh, well, I like it fine, I guess. But, I still wish that it was you who was Chief Pilot."
"Because you'd like Janeway and the others back," he said softly.
She nodded morosely. Aware that the earlier mood was slipping, Tom looked over at the pool table. It was empty. He nodded in its direction. "How about a game?"
She snorted. "So you can thrash me! No thanks."
"Ah, c'mon Marge," he wheedled, favouring her with his best little boy lost expression. "I haven't played in ages. If you can't beat me now..."
She frowned at him, wavering under the pressure of beseeching blue eyes. "Oh all right. On one condition."
"What?"
"Don't call me Marge!"
He laughed and got to his feet, gallantly indicating she should go first. The game was close; Tom knew that Hamilton was a much better pool player than she claimed to be. And he was rusty. It was while he was bent over the table, preparatory to making a shot, as Margaret was ordering them some more drinks at the bar that he heard the comments.
"...would you trust him?"
"With his record? Hardly."
"Him as First Officer. It's a joke!
Tom froze. Oh fuck. Not again. He shot - and missed. Then, very deliberately, he straightened and looked around, carefully making sure that his face was wiped clean of all expression. Several of the crew were grinning at him. Chang, Pollock, Jackson, Erheirt, M'debele. A mixture of Starfleet and Maquis with one thing in common; they were among those of the crew who'd given him a hard time when he'd first joined the ship. He stared at them, remembering the attitude of most of the crew when they'd initially been stranded out in the Delta Quadrant. Chakotay had put the word out that he wasn't to be touched. And he hadn't been, not physically. But, he'd been fully aware, couldn't help but be aware, as none of the crew had tried to conceal it from him, of the sneers, the mocking comments, and the taunts that erupted every time he walked into a room. No one would sit with him in the messhall, for example. Even if the room had been full, he'd always been left sitting at a table on his own, because if he sat down at an already occupied table, its inhabitants would conspicuously move elsewhere. He'd lost count of how many times his quarters had been trashed, until he'd almost given up trying to fix them up.
He'd been the most loathed person on Voyager, his actions on the Ocampan planet notwithstanding. If it hadn't been for Harry, and the faith Captain Janeway had shown in him, he might have left shortly afterwards, skipped the ship, tried to make a life for himself in the Delta Quadrant. But Harry had stood by him, and the Captain had backed him. And matters had improved, to the point where he seemed to be accepted by most of the crew, at least in his position as Chief Pilot. Of course, in time, everyone on Voyager had had to admit that he was more than qualified for that position.
Which was more than could be said for his current post as First Officer. About which it appeared that the crew wasn't happy. He'd been so busy since his promotion that he'd had little time to socialise, but had been aware at meals in the messhall that certain crewmembers were looking at him in a less than friendly fashion, muttering among themselves about his unsuitability as First Officer. However, preoccupied as he'd been with his new duties, it wasn't something he'd paid much attention to, figuring that they'd soon get tired and move onto something else. Which now looked like a mistake on his part.
He arched a haughty eyebrow in aristocratic disdain. "Did any of you have something to say?"
A chorus of "No's" was his response, accompanied with muffled sniggers and open smirks.
"Fine," he said tightly, chanting the old mantra to himself, 'Don't let them get to you, don't let them get to you.' Frustrated, and angry, he turned back to the table, seeing Hamilton looking at him, sympathy on her pretty face. He groaned. Just great, now she was feeling sorry for him. He looked quickly around. Good. It looked like Hamilton was the only person present who had heard anything. "Your shot," was all he said. She nodded wordlessly and bent to the table.
~~~~
Tom sat in his first senior staff briefing since the Akritirian experience, trying to concentrate on what Jonathon Rollins was saying, something about revising security protocols for shoreleave. He felt like hell, the, by now, several nights of violent nightmares having taken their toll. He was left with certain inexorable images, which tore at him, battering against the fragile walls of his psyche; sometimes he was killing Harry, or watching while the inmates tore him to shreds. In others, it was Harry hitting him, striking him, over and over, with the pipe. And in yet others, it was Kathryn Janeway instead of Harry and he was watching, helpless to stop them, as the Akritirians tore at her, while she called out to him for help. Help that he couldn't give, because she was dead, dead, dead!
He shuddered. At least he and Harry were still friends, even if they weren't really at ease with one another. He could *see* how much Harry was trying to pretend nothing had changed between them and that was the trouble. That it took visible effort. He hoped that his own act was more convincing, although he reckoned that it probably was; he was, after all, a lot more practised at pretending everything was fine than Harry.
He caught Harry's eyes and smiled at him. The smile was returned, but Harry's dark eyes remained troubled none the less. Harry didn't look as tired as Tom was all too aware he looked; the shadows under Harry's eyes were less pronounced, but, knowing his friend's very active conscience as he did, Tom figured that Harry probably wasn't sleeping any better than he was.
"...so we're agreed then," Rollins concluded, glancing round the table to accompanying nods from everyone but Tom. "Mr Paris?"
"Huh?"
Tom tried not to look startled as Rollins repeated patiently. "You agree?"
"Uh, yes, of course," Tom replied, not 100% sure what he had agreed to, but having caught the gist of it, he thought.
"Nice to see you're alert, Lieutenant," Chakotay said dryly.
Tom favoured him with a wide smile; one that he knew usually annoyed Chakotay. "As always." Chakotay's eyes narrowed, but he chose not to make an issue of it.
"Before I conclude the meeting," the Captain said, "I'd just like to say that I'm glad both Mr Paris and Lieutenant Kim made it back to us all right, although I'm wondering whether, given Mr Paris' propensity for trouble, we shouldn't ban him from ever leaving the ship again."
There were chuckles round the table, Tom's ability to get himself hurt was well known on board Voyager, but Tom, overtired, suffering from the after effects of the clamp, and his own inadequacies to the fore of his mind, wasn't at all amused. "I don't think it's me we need to ban, but the Captain."
Chakotay stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You, as the commanding officer, left the ship when your exec was also not on board, leaving someone who isn't yet really qualified in command," Tom drawled, glancing at Torres as he spoke. "No offence B'Elanna." Torres shrugged, signalling that no offence had been taken. "Not only that, but you also took the Chief of Security with you. All of this, might I remind you, is contrary to Starfleet regulations." He faked one of his best smiles at Chakotay as he finished.
So far as the Captain was concerned that smirk was the final straw. "Who're *you* to talk about regulations," he began furiously. "You have more demerits for lack of adherence to protocol than practically anyone else on board. Not to mention that your gratitude for your rescue is overwhelming."
The other officers sat in frozen silence, watching with an impending sense of doom, as Chakotay continued his tirade. Paris sat there, a half smile seemingly frozen on his face.
"Of all people you're the last..." Chakotay was saying, as his commbadge beeped, Ensign Lo was calling the senior staff to the bridge, as a strange ship was rapidly approaching Voyager. The senior staff quickly exited to the bridge, most of them feeling a vast sense of relief. The Captain and First Officer, however, as they sat side by side, in the moments before they made contact with the alien ship, felt nothing but hostility toward the other.
~~~~
Later, Chakotay sat in his Ready Room, having a quick lunch with B'Elanna, as they both wanted to discuss some engineering modifications she was keen to make. Paris should really have also been in on the discussion, but following this morning's meeting, Chakotay didn't trust himself in the company of the lieutenant. He was still furious with him. Fortunately, the morning had been busy, they'd made contact with a new race, called the Palom, who, according to Neelix were a hospitable and welcoming race. Their home system lay ahead, about five days away travel at cruising speed, and, after the disastrous Akritirian experience, would hopefully give them opportunities to stock up further on supplies and, possibly, shoreleave. He'd therefore not had much time to think about Paris' attitude, his insolence, all of which he'd had to endure far too often since he'd first served with Paris in the Maquis. But now, his anger, which had been simmering away at the back of his mind, ignoring any attempts to banish it, rose back up again.
"Chakotay!" B'Elanna said, sharply. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes. Go on."
Her eyebrows rose. "So, you're in agreement with my suggestion that we should overhaul the plasma manifold?"
"Yes, of course."
"That's good, seeing as I haven't mentioned it yet."
He looked at her ruefully. "Busted."
"Busted," she agreed. "What it is?" He shrugged. He really shouldn't discuss his problems with Paris with her. But B'Elanna was no fool. "It's Paris, isn't it?"
He sighed. "I can't discuss this with you B'Elanna, you know that."
"Not the specifics maybe, but can I say something?"
"Of course."
"I think," she said carefully, "that you ought to consider just what made you so angry this morning. Because, you know, Tom was right."
Stung, Chakotay glared at her.
"Well, he was," she insisted. "I would have said something to you myself, before you went off to that prison, but you'd already left the ship before I had the chance. Now, I'll agree that Tom didn't exactly pick the right moment to speak to you about this, but you know him, he's never had any tact. If it'd been someone else, me for example, who'd spoken up in the meeting, would you have been anywhere near so angry?" She stood up, preparatory to leaving. "Maybe you ought to think about it," she suggested, then left, leaving a very thoughtful Captain to stare after her.
Chakotay spent most of the rest of the shift in his ready room, leaving Paris on the bridge. He was ostensibly working on various administrative matters, but was also considering what B'Elanna had said. Had he overreacted a little to Paris' comments? Was it possible that because he saw that much more of Paris now, he wasn't able to rationalise away the irritation the other man caused in him as he'd done in the past? Although, of course, Paris could irritate a saint! Maybe that was it; he doubted that he'd ever met anyone who could be so effortlessly annoying as Paris. However, he really ought to try and find a way not to let the man get to him. Although quite how he was supposed to do that, he didn't know.
In the middle of his reverie, someone beeped for admittance, at which he bade them enter. He stiffened, surprised to see that it was Paris. The lieutenant stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back, legs apart. His face was carefully expressionless.
"If I might have a word with you Captain?"
Chakotay nodded, curious as to what he was about to say. "Go ahead."
"I wish to apologise." Chakotay was wholly unable to prevent the look of astonishment that crossed his face. An apology. From Paris. "For my behaviour this morning, I mean," Paris continued. "I..." He hesitated and drew a breath. "Not for what I said, I stand by that. But for how and when I said it. I should have spoken to you privately, I know that. In fact that's what I intended this morning. But...you know me, open mouth, insert foot." He smiled, ruefully. Chakotay blinked, a little dazzled. Paris certainly could turn on the charm, he thought. The smile faded, as Paris went on," However, good intentions don't make up for what I did. I apologise, sir. I didn't mean to question your authority." A half smile. "At least not in front of other crewmembers."
There was silence for a moment, as Paris said nothing more. Then, "Sit down Lieutenant."
Tom pulled out a chair.
"Thank you for your apology," Chakotay began carefully. "I accept, and I think that I also owe you one of my own. You were right in what you said--"
At that, Tom opened his mouth to speak, but Chakotay held up a silencing hand.
"--but you were also right in that you picked the wrong time to tell me."
Paris nodded. "Yes sir." Then, as an afterthought, "Um, thank you."
"Can we agree that incidents like this morning will be avoided?" Chakotay asked. "That you will try to refrain from acting on impulse."
One corner of Tom's mouth quirked up. "I'll certainly try."
"Then we're agreed. In return, I'll try to not jump down your throat when you do open your mouth and put your foot in it!"
Tom grinned at him. "That's okay with me."
"Good. Well, if that's all..."
Tom hesitated.
Chakotay lifted an enquiring eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I've been thinking," Paris said, hurriedly. "About the senior staff and what happens when all command staff are not on board."
"And?" Chakotay asked, intrigued as to what Paris was going to say.
"I think we should resurrect the idea of a formal training programme, to cross train far more crew than we do at present, also put some of the more junior crew in for command training. I know that the senior staff discussed this in the past, and at the time Captain Janeway decided that we couldn't afford the time or resources for a full programme. But I had in mind increasing what's already been done, get everyone involved, rather than the few we have at present, put a lot more of the junior crew in charge of the bridge, on a rotation basis, that kind of thing." He halted and looked earnestly at the captain. "My point is that I know resources are limited, but I don't think we can afford *not* to implement a full programme. We've lost so many of the senior staff and command crew as it is, that if anything more were to happen...I think we need fully trained replacements if the worst comes to the worst."
"You're right," Chakotay said after a brief interval in which he mulled over what the lieutenant had just said. He grinned inwardly at Paris' look of surprise at his ready agreement. "But it's going to mean a lot more work for you, in arranging the schedules and shifts."
"I know that," Tom said impatiently, "but I think it'll be worth it, in the end. Don't you?"
"Yes. I do. Good thought, Tom." Chakotay smiled at him and it was Paris' turn to blink, amazed at the warm, welcoming expression on Chakotay's face. It was not an expression he'd ever seen directed at him before. But he found that he rather liked it.
He smiled back. "Great. I'll get right on it."
"Fine. But, if you need some help, seeing as I've got some prior experience in re-arranging the schedules, at least in theory, let me know. Okay?"
At that, Tom's smile broadened. "I will. Thanks."
As he left the room, Chakotay sat back wondering whether he and Paris were at long last beginning to work together as a captain and executive officer should. Also, he had to admit that Paris looked sexy as hell when he smiled like that.
~~~~~~
First Officer's Personal Log. Stardate: 50214.7
Today started off pretty disastrously, but actually ended up okay. I'd been meaning to speak to Chakotay about his leaving the ship and coming to rescue Harry and I from that prison. I mean, I'm grateful of course, but he was in breach of protocol and as First Officer it's up to me to call him on it. It's funny, me having to talk to him about protocol. It's not like I agree with all of that stuff anyway, some yes, I can see the need for, like the one that says all command officers shouldn't be off the ship at the same time. Although, I can think of situations when that one should be ignored. But others, after practically being brought up in Starfleet, strike me as a load of crap. I think I have a pretty good feel for which ones to obey and which to ignore. And is it just me who's prepared to ignore protocol completely if I think that the situation warrants it? I suspect not. Captain Janeway was much the same I think, although I think she thought she should usually obey more protocols than I do. Maybe we thought alike because we were both Fleet brats.
But instead of waiting to talk to Chakotay privately, I spoke about it at the staff meeting. Even as I said it, I knew that it was totally the wrong place to say it. I wish I could just make myself shut up at times. It's like I have this sort of compulsion to make things as bad for myself as I can. Even Janeway would have been annoyed, if I'd been her First Officer and had said what I did in front of other crewmembers. And, knowing her, I probably would've had to say the same thing to her as well.
I later want to see Chakotay, to apologise and he was pretty gracious about it. He actually agreed with my idea about cross training and command training the crew. So, I guess I've got myself a bucket load more work, but at least we cleared the air. Maybe we'll be able to get along better from now on.
End entry.
*******
Rollins paused at the entrance to the First Officer's office and then beeped for admittance. At Paris' voice bidding him enter, he stepped inside. He grinned at the sight that met his eyes. Tom was sprawled in his chair, feet up on the desk. His hair was sticking up in little tufts, giving him the look of a young, mischievous devil. Rollins let his eyes wander around the room, noting that Paris seemed to have added some personal touches to the room, in the form of lithographs of various airborne vehicles. Hmm, what was that, an aeroplane of some sort, he thought, and that looked like an early spacecraft and...
"Jon, hi. What can I do for you?" Paris smiled at him, slightly surprised to see the security chief in his office, particularly at this late hour; Alpha shift had finished several hours ago.
Rollins redirected his brown-eyed gaze towards Paris. "It's these cross training rotas."
"Ye-es?" Tom's voice rose interrogatively. Rollins hesitated. "Would you like to sit down?" Tom asked.
The security lieutenant nodded and pulled out the chair in front of the desk. "It's in respect of one assignment in particular," he said, as he sat down.
"Which one?"
Rollins sighed. "Neelix."
Paris' expression became more wary, as he took his feet off the desk and sat up straight in his chair. "Go on."
"I'm not certain that he's really suited to security."
"Uh huh," Tom said slowly. "Mind telling me why not?"
"Because he's well, he's *Neelix*!"
"Come on Jon, you should know better than that, judging him before you've even given him a chance."
Rollins had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself. "I'm not," he protested. At Paris' sceptical expression, he clarified, "Or at least I'm trying not to. It's just that I know that Tuvok--"
"Tuvok didn't exactly appreciate Neelix," Paris interrupted. "You were his deputy, you know that. If he wasn't a Vulcan, I'd say Neelix irritated him, hell, I'll say it anyway!" There was silence from Rollins. Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, in a quieter tone, "just give him a chance, huh, Jon. I know Neelix, he's tough, he's wily and there's a lot more to him than people, including Tuvok, give him credit for. I know he wants to have security experience, that's why I put him on your rota."
"And if I say no, that I won't have him."
Paris' expression hardened and his eyes lost their warmth, becoming chips of frigid ice. Rollins was surprised to find that he actually felt a bit intimidated by this Tom Paris. "Then I'll make it an order." His tone was still pleasant, but Rollins knew that Paris wouldn't be at all pleased at having to make a note on Neelix' record that he was being assigned to security only over the objections of the security chief. As for Neelix, well, Rollins liked the little Talaxian and knew that this knowledge would hurt him deeply.
"I see," Rollins said quietly. "In that case, I withdraw my objection. But, if he proves to be unsuitable..."
"He'll be reassigned."
Rollins nodded. "Okay."
"Anything else?"
"No, that was it, thanks."
Rollins got up to go, but as he reached the door, Paris spoke, "Jon."
Rollins turned and looked at him enquiringly.
"You won't boot him out for the first mistake will you? Everyone should be allowed one mistake, don't you think?"
Rollins, knowing the chequered history of Tom Paris, looked at him intently. "One, maybe. So long as it isn't too bad," he said and saw Paris wince, which he regretted, as it hadn't been his intention to get at the other man. But, he'd had a point to make.
As the doors shut behind Rollins, Tom leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes wearily. Another objection. Couldn't *anyone* agree with his recommendations as to cross training, which had only been reached after careful perusal of each crewmember's record and in consultation with the department heads and their deputies. This whole idea was proving to be one gigantic pain in the butt. He'd known that he was making more work for himself, but not quite just how much extra he'd have to do. But he really believed that in the long run, this would benefit the ship and that was what was important, after all. The fact that Harry hadn't stopped complaining that he had enough to do without all the extra engineering assignments, or that B'Elanna had been less than enthralled with her astrometrics training, was just tough. His mouth twitched as he remembered B'Elanna's indignation at having to take instruction from the Delaney sisters, of all people.
However, he'd had to order more people than he liked to accept their cross training assignments, or, in some cases, although thankfully not in Rollin's case, order an officer to accept someone as a cross training subordinate. It didn't make it easier that he was certain that if it'd been Chakotay making the suggestions and arranging the assignments, there would have been little or no protestations. Also, a few crewmembers had been almost openly insubordinate, luckily only in front of him, but still... He knew that he shouldn't have let them get away with their behaviour, but he didn't want to put them on report, otherwise Chakotay couldn't help but notice. And then he'd have to admit that some of the crew was reluctant to accept his authority. This was something he had to deal with himself. If only he could figure out how.
He sighed, but then his eyes snapped open, as he thought with determination that he didn't care how much whining he received, or how unpopular it made him with the crew. Not that he was exactly Mr Popular to start off with, so there was no loss there. This was for the good of the ship and all that. They would all learn to accept it, like to or not. Tom would have been surprised, and dismayed, if he'd been able to see how much like his father he looked at that moment.
******
Captain's Log. Stardate: 50217.8
Acting on the recommendation of Lieutenant Paris a cross training programme has been initiated on Voyager. All of the crew are required to participate, with the exception of Captain and First Officer, although Mr Paris has suggested that, time permitting, he should spend more time in obtaining all experiences required of a command officer. His attitude is commendable, but, unfortunately at this time it is not practicable to allow him to spend the time required. I have hopes that the training programme will benefit all of the ship in the long term, although there may be some short term disruption to established routines.
~~~~~
Extract from Captain's Personal Log. Stardate: 50217.8
I must admit that Paris has surprised me of late. His attitude towards me still leaves much to be desired, but he seems to have been taking his duties seriously. In addition, he has made a valuable suggestion re the cross training programme, and has also volunteered to rearrange the schedules. I know from prior experience that this can be a painstaking task and was surprised when Paris volunteered his services. I wondered about any ulterior motives, but haven't been able to come up with any.
I'm hopeful that we may eventually work well enough together, although I cannot see a time when we could progress beyond an amicable working relationship and develop the kind of friendship I had with Kathryn. I find myself thinking of her often, at least several times a day. So many things remind me of her, not just the obvious, like the smell of coffee, but sometimes, when I'm working in the ready room, I think I hear her voice saying 'Chakotay' in that half laughing, half disapproving manner she had when I made a suggestion that I knew she wouldn't approve of, just to make her laugh. And my new quarters...I can't forget that they used to be hers, just being in them reminds me of her, I think I can still smell her fragrance, even though the air's been recycled many times since then. I'm thankful that B'Elanna cleared her quarters out before I moved in. I didn't feel up to it myself and I somehow thought a female crewmember would be more appropriate.
I've kept her lucky teacup. It didn't seem to bring her luck, but it reminds me of her. Not that I need the reminder. I'll never forget her.
*******
End Chapter Two
