ANGEL
By Morticia
Part 15-18
Disclaimers see Part 1
KATHRYN
As I looked around my ready room I slowly absorbed the familiar expressions of grief and despair on the faces of all the Senior Staff. Over the last three months my ship had become an imitation of the Barge of the Dead. Even Tuvok and Seven had become distracted and inefficient. The problem of Tom Paris was like a visible burden on everyone’s shoulders and had become an albatross around my own neck.
"The bio-neural stimulators donated by the Alpeegi have had a limited but positive result" The Doctor stated solemnly "Tom has finally mastered his vocal chords and can speak words and sometimes small sentences…"
"Only he doesn’t!" Harry interrupted, "He won’t talk to anyone if he can help it. The only word he ever says is No!"
"’NO’ to what?" I queried
"Anything, everything, Captain, every idea we come up with to try to help him. He refuses. He says no."
"For instance?"
"I have designed a Borg implant using nanites from my own body" Seven replied "I believe that it will be able to replace a number of the functions of Tom’s spinal cord. He has, however, refused to even give the matter his consideration."
I shuddered a little myself at the thought. It was no wonder that Tom refused, although in his place I might have been willing to try anything by now.
"Go on." I encouraged the staff.
"Tom will not use the holo-matrix that the Doctor and I designed" B’Elanna said, "He says he can’t bear to experience the illusion of being well and then have to return to his own body. He says the price of the limited freedom is too high. He’d rather lie there and rot all day when I have the ability to let him spend his evenings on the holodec. He’s completely crazy." She spat with frustration.
Again, I could see it from Tom’s point of view. Using B’Elanna’s good-intentioned device would create an unbearable situation for him. It was better perhaps for him to accept his condition completely than be dangled false hope once a day. It would be like being shown a glance of freedom only to have the door slammed in his face every time.
Yet, I wondered whether he was right. Perhaps even a little joy was better than none, whatever the cost.
"So Harry and I have designed a floating chair for him. It means he can sit up and move around. There is a hidden compartment under the seat for his waste and nutrition tubes to feed into. An emergency oxygen supply. A defibrillator. A power pack for his artificial lungs and even a neural interface so that he can use basic controls just by thinking about them. It means he can finally get out of Sickbay and talk to people and see what’s going on."
"That’s a great idea. Well done." I enthused. We had talked on numerous occasions now about creating some form of updated wheelchair after we had scanned ancient databases for clues of how people had coped with situations like this before medical technology had improved.
Always we had been stymied by the problem of how Tom would move himself. We all knew how he would feel about being pushed around like an exhibit. The neural interface seemed a perfect solution.
"Will it work?" I queried the doctor.
"With the aid of a small operation which I have already performed, Tom should have no problem using the chair."
"Should have? Why hasn’t he tried it yet?"
"He said no!" Harry groaned despairingly.
"Is there nothing that he WILL agree to?" I demanded in exasperation.
"Euthanasia" Tuvok replied solemnly and the whole table gasped with horror at the very calmness of his words
"With his permission I have mind-melded with him and I am satisfied that the prevalent and indeed only wish in his mind is to die. He rejects all efforts to help him adapt to his condition because he has no wish to adapt. He wishes to die."
Very calmly I looked at my husband, trying to quell the outrage I felt.
"Are you suggesting that we allow Tom to die?"
"His life is intolerable to him. We have been unable to find even a remote possibility of a cure after three months. He does not wish to live on in this state in the vague hope of a future cure. His decision is logical given the situation that he is in."
"NO" Chakotay shouted, jumping to his feet as though he would strike Tuvok for his words.
"If you can’t control yourself, Commander, you may leave."
I snapped and he sheepishly sat down even as he continued to glower at my mate.
I could understand his anger. I shared it. Perhaps at the very beginning, when Tom was smashed beyond recognition, I could have considered it but now, after all these months of effort to save him; I was not prepared to admit defeat. My pride perhaps, but inescapably true.
"I disagree" I said firmly "We could concede to Tom’s demands today and find a cure tomorrow. I will not be an accomplice in his suicide."
"I recall that in a similar situation you reached a different conclusion" Tuvok stated and pushed an image of Q in my mind for emphasis
"The situation is not similar." I snapped back "I was sure of the reasoning then. To be honest I’m not sure Tom is truly sane at this point. I will not carry out a death sentence on someone who is too ill to make a rational decision. That’s my last word on the subject. Tom will not be allowed to end his life."
The very softness of Chakotay’s reply to my statement surprised me as much as the content
"So you have decided that Tom is incapable of rational decisions?" he queried mildly
"Yes, at this time, certainly."
"Then may I suggest that you revoke your standing order that prevents me from visiting sickbay, since it is only one of his irrational decisions that made you issue that order?"
For a moment I didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry at his presumption.
"And what are your intentions if I do?" I asked suspiciously
"For a start, I’m going to get him in that damned chair!" Chakotay replied with defiance
And suddenly I wondered whether that was the answer after all.
To let Chakotay have his way. To let the one person who really loved Tom force him back, kicking and screaming if necessary, into the land of the living.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Tom wallow in his misery. Only, at the time, it had seemed too cavalier to ignore Tom’s wishes in this matter when he had no control over anything else.
Perhaps Tom needed the shock and anger of being forced to interact with Chakotay to snap him out of his self-pity.
"Very well, I have reconsidered my order and you may proceed."
And to my surprise, but remarkably little annoyance, I saw Chakotay leap to his feet and run out the door without even waiting to be dismissed.
TOM
I didn’t believe it, Just fucking didn’t believe it when Chakotay’s smiling head suddenly floated in my line of vision.
For six weeks he had obeyed my demand, or rather the Captain’s orders, but suddenly there he was again like my worst nightmare brought to life.
"Piss off," I croaked, through a mouth which was hoarse with disuse.
To my complete bewilderment, he just laughed cheerfully at my words.
"That attitude won’t get us anywhere, Tom. So you may as well cheer up and get used to me because I’m not going away this time."
I could hear him moving and rattling things beside me and I was filled with anxiety. Oddly enough, after all my weeks of apathy it was almost a pleasant sensation to be worried about what he could possibly be doing.
I didn’t have to wonder what he was up to for long because I suddenly found myself raised to a sitting position and my suspicious eyes lighted on the floating chair that Harry and B’Elanna had created as a further instrument of my ongoing humiliation.
Chakotay was busily detaching all of the various tubes and wires that chained me to this life of torment and was attaching them to the chair.
"NO!" I screamed, only it came out like more of a pathetic yelp.
"Sorry, Tom. I know you don’t want to do this but I promise you will enjoy it despite yourself. The resort program is running on the holodec. Think how great it will feel to smell the sea and feel sunlight on your body." Chakotay said with a wide loving smile that made my blood curdle.
"Fuck off."
"I must say that your illness hasn’t improved your language at all" Chakotay replied mildly, as he continued his preparations to drag me out like a fucking circus trick and parade the indignity of my condition to the whole crew.
"I won’t go!" I hissed
"You don’t have any choice, Tom. The chair is fitted with a manual override. If you don’t come with me willingly, I will simply push you there!" Chakotay stated firmly in his best command voice.
Helpless I watched him pick my unfeeling body up off the bed and place it in the chair. He strapped me in tightly and connected the neural interface to the socket implanted behind my left ear.
He was really going to do it. The bastard was really going to make me go through with it. Tears of despair and humiliation flooded from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks in a torrent.
How could he do this to me? What had I ever done to him to deserve this treatment? Why couldn’t he just leave me to die in peace? That’s what I wanted to scream at him but despite the help of the neural repairs I struggled with more than two or three words at a time, so all I could manage to say was "WHY?"
"Because I love you, Tom," Chakotay replied, as he gently wiped away my furious tears.
"Liar," I spat at him, and he contemplated my face with a surprisingly convincing look of grief before he replied
"No, Tom. I’m not lying and I’m not just saying it because you are ill, although I am sure that is what you believe. I DO love you and even though I know you hate me for what I’ve done and probably hate me even more for what I am doing to you now, I will always love you."
"Don’t believe you," I rasped as new tears began to spill.
"I know you don’t Tom, but it’s true nevertheless." Chakotay replied firmly.
"Now you may as well stop putting it off and try using the chair because we’re going out."
"NO."
"Then I’ll simply push you," Chakotay answered, and to my horror I found myself floating towards the door of the Sickbay.
"No. Bastard. Fucking bastard!"
"See you managed four words then, I told you this would do you good," Chakotay murmured softly, as he pushed me out into the corridor.
My uncontrollable rage at his callous disregard for my feelings was only inflamed by the horror of the journey.
As he pushed me through the corridors we met dozens of crewmembers who all gazed at me in obvious repugnance even as they plastered false smiles on their faces and cheery hellos into their mouths.
Before long I had closed my eyes tightly to hide from their glances but I had no way to cover my ears from their voices.
Sobbing in mortification at this ultimate humiliation, I was unaware of reaching our destination until the holo-doors opened and I was assaulted by the smell of brine.
Almost against my will I breathed deeply to eradicate three months of stale, sterile medical smells and I squinted against the painful glare of the artificial sunlight.
Seemingly from nowhere, Chakotay produced dark glasses and a baseball cap for me and put them in place. I felt oddly safe behind the glasses; their small barrier between my soul and prying eyes was enough to finally stop my tears.
I don’t know how long we stayed, maybe a couple of hours. Long enough for dozens of people to come up to us and say how pleased they were to see me.
I skulked behind the glasses and refused to answer any of them at first but every time I snubbed someone’s approaches, I would hear Chakotay softly making excuses for my rude behavior.
It incensed me. He had no fucking right to talk for me. He had no fucking rights over me at all.
So I began to respond to people with a small nod at first and then slowly I made an effort to whisper "Hi".
And oddly enough I began to feel a bit better than I had in months. The change of view, the sights, the sounds and even the people woke a part of me that I thought had died in the accident.
Don’t get me wrong. I was still sure that I wanted to die rather than exist in the prison that was my own body, but suddenly the prospect of being forced to live was not as bleak and terrifying as before.
Then exhaustion hit me and although my body was incapable of demonstrating the fact, Chakotay seemed to know instantly and stood up to leave.
"Do you want to try moving the chair by yourself or shall I push you?" He asked gently.
"Push me," I whispered back, I couldn’t even keep my eyes open now let alone try to control this device I was strapped to.
I don’t remember getting back to sickbay. I think I fell asleep on the way. I only remember Chakotay gently laying me back on the bio-bed and carefully re-placing my life support controls.
When he had finished he leant over and kissed me on the end of my nose and I began to cry again as old memories besieged me.
"Shush, Tom. Go to sleep now. I’m proud of you," he whispered.
I heard his footsteps receding as he walked to the door. I waited until I heard the door whoosh open and then called out "Chakotay," and heard him stop in surprise
"Yes, Tom?"
"Thank you."
CHAKOTAY
That first trip to the resort became the pattern of my days with Tom. With stupid optimism I had clutched his whispered "thank you" to my heart like a precious jewel and had nursed it all night in happiness, sure that he would now be willing to let me help him.
I was wrong.
No matter how well our trips turned out in the end. No matter how tired but grateful he would finally seem by the end of an enforced night in the Resort, or Sandrines or Fairhaven, the next evening would always begin with the same arguments and tears.
He made me feel like a monster, like a cruel unfeeling bully. And although I couldn't even begin to imagine the hell he was experiencing, though I cried inside for the terrible distress of his condition, sometimes I struggled to stay calm and understanding in the face of his constant hostility towards me.
To my shame, I sometimes had to stop myself from screaming in frustration at his constant self-pity. Some days it took a real effort to respond to his abuse with mild laughter when his words were ripping my very heart apart.
The truth was that there was nothing more I could do for him. I had a job to do. I couldn't be with him constantly. At some point I always had to return him to sickbay and by the time I returned he would have had too many long hours of lonely misery in which to contemplate his appalling existence. So all my previous endeavors were undone and daily we had to start from scratch again.
With Harry's help, B'Elanna built a new bio-bed for Tom. It used the same neural interface as his chair and enabled him to move positions from lying to sitting at will and thereby see the vid and comm. screens that we installed for him. Voice-activated the comm. screens allowed him to see around the ship and in a small way experience the life that was going on around him. I think it was a form of torture, in a way, but at least he utilised the facility with a small pretence of enthusiasm.
The neural interface also controlled a drinking machine, so that he was freed from the indignity of having to ask for water for his parched throat. Unfortunately, our efforts to produce a similar mechanism for feeding him ended in a number of very messy disasters and he point blank refused to be spoon-fed like a baby.
Despite the intravenous drips and the constant electrical stimulation of his muscles, Tom was wasting away into a skeleton. Every day as I picked his frail body up to place it in the chair, I was more terrifyingly aware of the way his bones were beginning to strain against his parchment-thin skin.
Finally I had no choice but to bring the situation to a head and thus sparked our first truly dramatic fight which was also, oddly enough, the beginning of the breakthrough for Tom and I.
I had been delayed on the bridge and so instead of returning to my quarters to shower and change as usual, I went straight to Sickbay and therefore arrived early enough to catch, for the first time, Tom and the Doctor's dinner time performance.
I skidded to a halt in horror as I watched the Doctor trying to force a spoon between Tom's lips while Tom screwed his face up in refusal, clenching his teeth desperately against the pressure. Tom's chin and lap were covered with the thin food supplement and as the Doctor looked at me with a helpless shrug, I knew without doubt that absolutely none of the food had descended Tom's throat.
It was then that I realised, with blinding clarity, that Tom had finally found a way to kill himself after all. He was obviously determined to simply starve to death. I am not sure what emotion was most prevalent in me at that moment of comprehension, but grief and anger were both putting up a damn good fight.
"Perhaps you would like to leave it to me!" I snapped and the Doctor practically sagged in relief even as Tom's eyes flew open and he stared at me in apprehension. Ignoring him I went to the replicator and ordered a bowl of Tom's favourite tomato soup.
I took a small mouthful myself to check the temperature and then walked over to sit on the edge of Tom's bed.
Tom's beautiful eyes stared hugely out of his emaciated face, the intense blue swirling with anger and panic as he saw me load the spoon.
"No, Chakotay. I won't," he gasped. "Fuck off."
I merely raised the spoon to his lips in response. Tom was unable to move his head to escape me but the end of the spoon collided violently with his teeth and the warm liquid spilled down his chin to mingle with the earlier debris.
"Open your damned mouth, Tom," I snarled in frustration and his eyes flashed in amazement at the anger I had never revealed to him before.
"Fuck off and die," he hissed.
I grabbed his nostrils tightly with my left hand and closed his air supply. For a moment he struggled desperately for breath before his instincts took over and his mouth gaped wide. I took the opportunity to pour a spoonful of soup down his throat.
I think a little of it went down the wrong way because he gasped and choked for a moment before regarding me with outraged eyes.
"You fucking bastard," he snarled, in complete disbelief of my cruel actions.
In response I merely loaded the spoon again and raised it to his lips once more. For a moment our eyes held a battle of wits and then he slowly opened his mouth. As I removed the empty spoon I was filled with relief at his prompt capitulation only to be stunned as Tom spat the mouthful out, right into my face.
As the soup dripped down my face onto my uniform, my natural reaction of fury was instantly quashed by the look of absolute terror in Tom's eyes at what he had done, but I was determined to resolve this once and for all.
"Okay, Tom. Here's your choice. You can eat this soup here without the childish performance or we will take this to the mess hall. I'm sure all of Alpha Shift would enjoy watching you spit soup over my face!"
"You...you wouldn't..." he gasped in horror
"Just try me, Tom," I answered in a tone that left no room for doubt.
The sight of his defeated tears made me want to throw my arms around him and beg for forgiveness but I was fighting for his life and I had to be strong, so I just kept raising the spoon as he sobbed and swallowed until it was all gone.
When he had finally hiccuped down the last mouthful I rose and fetched a cloth and warm water and began to gently wipe away the tears and mess from his quivering chin.
"See," I whispered softly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
He stared at me for a long time with his confused miserable eyes and then whimpered "Why?"
I tenderly cupped his face with my hands as I peered deeply into his distraught features
"Because if you don't eat you are going to die, my love, and I can't let you do that. Because if you die I think I might die too!"
I saw the furrow deepen in his brow at my words but he did not respond.
"Don't you understand yet that I love you, Tom Paris? That I can't live without you? That this isn't pity but real love?" I begged desperately.
"No... You don't... You're feeling...guilty... That's all," he retaliated angrily, gulping desperately for breath between each couple of words
"You're right, Tom. I do feel guilty, but that's NOT all. I feel guilty for not talking to you before your accident. For misjudging you. For abusing you."
"Abusing me?"
"That last night. When I hurt you."
"You ...you threw me...out" he choked "Like used...garbage"
"Let me try to explain, Tom. All of that week you were with me was wonderful. I felt like you completed a part of me that I didn't even know was missing until you were there. But I accidentally hurt you whenever we made love and I began to worry that you were frightened of me touching you. I never bothered to ask your opinion, I just made my mind up and that was that. Then when you kept hiding your things out of sight and never suggested we went out I thought you regretted being with me."
"But..."
"Shush, baby, let me finish. When you asked me to f...make-love to you that night I was so overwhelmed with passion that I lost control and when I looked down and saw your tears I thought I had really hurt you. I felt like a rapist. I was so horrified that I didn't give you a chance to talk to me, I just wanted to let you get away from me. And then when you said about not wanting your things to be conspicuous I really thought you had never wanted to stay with me at all."
"I... I... just wanted...to fit in..." Tom gasped "I... just wanted...to please you."
"I know that Tom. I realised it when you were away on the Delta Flyer. B'Elanna made me realise how stupid I'd been. She also said that I didn't hurt you when we made love, that you weren't crying in pain."
My statement was more of a question really and Tom responded, his ragged voice full of loss and grief
"It was...it was the...best moment of...my life"
"I'm so sorry, Tom. So very sorry," I moaned guiltily. "But can you at least understand? At least believe that I never stopped loving you? That I was just a stupid fool and I have done nothing since than try to show you how sorry I am? Do you believe how much I truly love you?"
Tom closed his eyes in pain for a long time before finally whispering "Maybe"
It wasn't what I was hoping to hear but I knew it was more than I deserved. Renewed hope grabbed my heart and in excitement I begged
"Then you will stop fighting me? Stop trying to kill yourself?"
"No," Tom replied flatly "because it doesn't...matter anymore."
"What the hell do you mean 'it doesn't matter'?"
"It's too late..."
"No, Tom. You're wrong. It's not too late. I love you."
"If you...love me...let me die!" Tom pleaded in a soft whisper that broke my heart.
"No, Tom. I won't let you die. I won't ever give up on you. I will never stop fighting you on this. You may as well give in to me because I will never let you go."
"I know," Tom replied sadly, but for a moment, in the depths of his tortured eyes, I swear I saw a reluctant flicker of returning love.
TOM
I'm back on the bridge. Actually sitting on the bridge watching the passing stars slide past the viewscreen. Okay, so of course I'm only sat in my float chair like a passenger, watching other people work, but still it's great to be back. I never thought I'd see this sight again.
Well it's not strictly true, about seeing the sight I mean. I have done little else for the last few months but sit in sickbay and watch the bridge activity on my comm. screen. I guess that's what gave Chakotay the idea.
Apparently the Captain was reluctant, she didn't think I'd be safe on the Bridge. It took two days of welding and electrical wizardry to move the command chairs before she was finally satisfied that I could be safely tethered between Chakotay and herself.
I admit that I argued with Chakotay when he told me his idea. Big surprise, huh?
I thought it would shatter my newfound composure to be so very close to what I have lost. To be so near the helm, knowing that I would never be able to run my fingers over it again. To be forced to accept that I would never fly again.
But as usual he knew me better than I knew myself.
For the first time in months I actually feel at home. This is where I belong, on the bridge, surrounded by my true family. I can even recognise now that the frequent anxious looks from Harry and the Captain are due to concern not pity.
The thought of spending my days here, involved in the day to day running of the ship, rather than rotting in Sickbay, doesn't make me happy exactly but certainly less discontent.
To be honest, just the thought of spending another eight hours a day in Chakotay's company is enough to compensate for the humiliation of publicly displaying my continued helplessness.
That's a surprise isn't it? The fact that I have finally allowed myself to fall in love with him again. To trust him again. That whenever I'm alone I find myself endlessly longing for the sound of his soothing voice and the gentle caress of his hands. He has become the only bearable part of this whole sorry mess.
Don't misunderstand me. I am still sure that the major part of his concern for me stems from pity. I am not suggesting that he is intentionally misleading me with his protestations of love, just that he is the kind of man whose sense of obligation and honour overwhelm him until he THINKS it is love.
But I don't care. I have decided that I will take whatever bone he throws me. Without his constant pressure and gentle bullying I would quickly descend back into the spiral of apathetic depression that I suffered for the first six months after my accident.
Over the last three months I have learned to accept his ministrations and become grateful for them. I have begun to enjoy our nightly outings. I have even started to let go my desire for oblivion and face up to the fact that I might never get better but will have to live like this for the rest of my life.
To tell the truth I'm reluctant to try any more 'miracle cures' anyway. Eight weeks ago we met a friendly humanoid race called the Breegren. Whilst the rest of the crew enjoyed a week of unexpected shoreleave, I was endlessly poked and prodded by the alien Medics while they tortured my body with their efforts to help.
They managed to restore 80% of my nerve endings, so that for the first time in months the sensation in my body has returned. As I sit here I can actually feel the straps that embrace my torso, waist and legs. I am aware of the hollow cold that constantly pervades my thin body. Cold that no clothing or raised room temperature manages to circumvent.
I am constantly shaken by the sensation of thousands of insects crawling and biting my body as the nerves come alive in Mexican waves. The pain is indescribable and pointless.
None of my motor functions were restored. I still have absolutely no ability to even twitch, let alone move. All I have gained is enough pain in my body to balance the pain in my head.
Except that is not strictly true. At least I can now feel Chakotay's hand when he grasps my shoulder in support. I can feel his fingers dance with mine as we sit together through the long evenings in the holodec. I can shiver mentally with bliss as he caresses my lifeless legs when he is changing me to go out. But this is a torture of its own.
With the return of feelings so has come the return of my desire for him. The inability of my crippled body to respond to his touch is a subtle torture for my unfettered imagination. He has no idea what effect his platonic touches have on me. I cannot bear to tell him and see the pain of horrified understanding in his eyes.
You see, although part of me still hates him for his insistence on making me continue to live like this, I am also aware of his guilt at being unable to let me go. Every complaint I make is another arrow into his soul. Each time I am shaken with pain he shudders with me. How can I tell him that in an unimaginable way my pain has grown?
I am beginning to accept that there will never be anything more to my life than this. And although the thought is terrible, it's not quite as terrifying as it was before.
The Doctor has informed me that the longer it takes us to get home, if we ever do get home, the less chance there is of anyone being able to cure me.
So I guess you'd think that I'm sitting here praying for a wormhole?
Guess again.
You see, in the tortured twisted alleys of my mind, I've finally figured it out. As long as I am like this. As long as I am so totally dependant on him. Chakotay will never, ever leave me again.
It won't matter if we get home and that bastard Angel is waiting...as long as it's too late for a cure, Chakotay will stay with me. It's a thought that I cling onto desperately when all other hope has gone.
Pathetic isn't it?
CHAKOTAY
It was exactly one year after Tom's accident when I decided to implement the plan that had been germinating slowly in my head for months.
Nobody had mentioned the date, not even Tom, but I could see the weight of the terrible knowledge in everybody's faces. A whole year had passed and we were still no nearer either a short-cut home or a cure.
Tom had finally stopped fighting me. He no longer asked to be allowed to die. But he accepted my loving friendship with the dull helpless eyes of a wounded animal and each night when I abandoned him in Sickbay he would mentally curl up to lick his wounds.
By then he would even tell me frequently that he loved me but I recognised that his words were largely inspired by his need to please me. He was simply trying to keep me happy, because of his terrible dread of ultimately being abandoned by me.
Every morning when I collected him from Sickbay, to dress him and put him in his chair ready for Alpha shift, I would see a flash of relief in his eyes. It was as though he believed that one-day I simply would not bother to turn up. I could only think of one way to finally prove how much I cared.
It was time to cement my commitment to him, to us. To reward the unbelievable trust he had shown in me simply by his act of surviving for so long. I knew that we could never have a real relationship under the circumstances. I knew that I could only offer him my love and support by simply being there for him, but I hoped that if nothing else came out of my idea, I would at least put to rest his fear that I would ever tire of looking after him.
I spent the whole morning consulting with Kathryn and the Doctor over the viability of the surprise that I had planned for Tom. Once his condition had finally stabilized and he was eating properly, the main concern had been his continued inability to breathe without assistance.
A couple of weeks previously the Doctor had finally replaced the external artificial lungs with biomechanical transplants. We all held our own breath for days while we waited to see whether Tom's body would reject the invaders but a whole fortnight had now passed without incident and Tom was finally breathing on his own.
I was surprised by Kathryn's initial vehement denial of my request but since the Doctor had no objection, she finally agreed as long as it was what Tom said he wanted. So I hurried from Sickbay to find Tom and break my surprise to him.
Tom was in observation lounge 2 with Harry. Even as I entered the room I was assailed by memories of that fantastic first night Tom and I shared. It had been in that very room, over a year previously. I could feel my throat constricting in pain at the loss of the life we could have shared if only I had not driven him away into the path of his destruction.
As he heard me enter, Tom swung his chair around so that he could face me and the tears that were streaming down his face confirmed that he was sharing my remembrance.
As we looked at each other through the bleakness of mutual regret, Harry coughed nervously.
"I'll go then, shall I, Tom?" he asked, flashing a quick embarrassed glance at my face which confirmed that my night of passion with Tom had been the topic of discussion before my entrance.
"Yeah, sure Haz. See you tomorrow," Tom's voice was low but smooth. The implants had finally allowed him to speak complete sentences without gulping for air.
"Commander," Harry nodded politely and then he scuttled out.
Laughing gently at the fact that six years out in this wilderness might have given Harry Kim the maturity and experience of someone twice his age but had never quelled his nervousness of Senior Officers, I turned to my beloved.
"Did I interrupt something good, babe?" I asked mischievously, letting him know from my wry smile that I had a good idea of exactly what he and Harry had been talking about.
"Naw, I was just giving Harry a few seduction pointers," Tom laughed, only the tiniest hitch in his voice betraying his distress.
"Well, despite our own delightful actions, Tom, I don't think that here is really the best place for fraternization of that nature." I laughed gently and was relieved that he took my comment at its face value
"Harry Kim? Screwing in here? You've got to be kidding, Chak, I'd be surprised if he could do it in his own quarters!" Tom joked back.
"Talking of quarters, Tom. I think it's time that you left the Sickbay, don't you?"
I was surprised by the immediate dismay that flooded Tom's face.
"No..." he whispered in sudden terror "I can't be alone, I can't be alone like this. What if, what if something happened and no-one was there......What if I fell out of bed...... what if no-one came and got me up in the morning......" his voice was rising hysterically as his eyes darted in panic
I rushed forwards to stop his words with a firm kiss and I ran my hands soothingly down his useless but sensitive arms.
"Shush, babe, I didn't mean to frighten you. Of course, I don't mean you'll be alone. I'm asking you to move back in with me so we can be together. So I don't have to leave you alone in Sickbay every night. I want you to come and live with me again, Tom."
Tom's eyes were huge and dilated above his gaping mouth as he absorbed what I was saying. Then just as his lips began to form into a blinding smile, I saw his face drop in renewed dejection
"I can't," he whispered "I need my bio-bed, my emergency machines, my medicines and anyway, no-one will let us do it."
"I've thought it all through, Tom. I wouldn't have mentioned it if it weren't possible. I can replace my double bed with a single and we can put them together so that you can still move your own side as you need to.
"There's room for some emergency equipment but now you have your implants you can breathe without assistance. We can keep a life-sign monitor on you at all times and the Doctor will immediately transport you back to Sickbay if you experience any difficulties.
"As for your last point, I have already spoken to the Doctor and the Captain and they both agree that it's okay as long as you want to try it."
"As long as I want to try it?" Tom gasped with laughter. "Why wouldn't I say yes?"
Then just as suddenly his laughter was cut off by a sob, as he realised exactly why he wouldn't.
"No, Chakotay. I can't let you do it. I can't let you throw your life away looking after me 24 hours a day."
"I don't consider it 'throwing my life away' Tom, it's what I want, it's all I've dreamt about for months. Every time I've had to leave you in that bloody Sickbay it's only the thought of you eventually coming home that's kept me going."
"Coming home," Tom repeated to himself quietly, as though trying it on for size.
It was all I could do to wait silently for his answer as he mulled the possibilities over in his mind.
Then he smiled.
For the first time in over a year, that true, huge, sunny Tom Paris smile lit the whole room and ignited my heart.
"Yes," he said firmly. "Yes, I want to come home."