Rating: NC-13

A story written for the Protective!Chakotay Club Anniversary.

Archive: Cha-club and my site only.

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Crash And Burn 


"Lose the attitude, Tom," I snapped. "Stop taking every piece of constructive criticism as a personal attack."

Tom glowered at me, his blue eyes darkening into indigo fire, and he swung wildly at my face. I danced effortlessly out of harm's way and countered instinctively with a sharp jab into Tom's solar plexus that sent him crashing to his knees.

"I told you to guard your midriff," I reminded him, flinching at the sound of his knees impacting against the holodec floor.

"And…I told you…to…shut the..fuck…up and …fight," Tom gasped breathlessly, struggling back to his feet once more.

It was too much to deal with. I could feel my tight control beginning to slip in the face of his continued aggression, so I turned my back, stepped out of the ring and began unfastening the strings of my boxing gloves with my teeth.

"Where the hell are you going?" Tom demanded furiously.

"When I said there were no ranks in the ring, it was an invitation for you to exercise your body, not your foul mouth," I replied coldly. 

"You don't normally have a problem with my mouth, *lover*," Tom drawled insolently.

It was all I could do not to return to the ring and slap the smirk off his face. I couldn't understand why he was doing this to me, to *us*. Instead I forced my voice to emerge calm and controlled.

"I refuse to have this conversation with you, Tom. We've always agreed that our personal life begins and ends at the door to our quarters." 

"No. You decided. I agreed. Big difference."

I looked at him in disbelief. Until that point, despite the obvious havoc the last few days had played with our relationship, I hadn't truly believed Tom's anger was directed at me. I'd seen the dissolution of our relationship as the effect, rather than the cause. Now Tom's angry words made me doubt my interpretation of what had been happening.

"Is that what this is all about? Have the last few days been about *us*? Because if they have, it stops right now. We *both* agreed our relationship wouldn't affect our work and frankly the way you've been flying this week it's a surprise we're still alive to discuss it."

I regretted the bluntness of my words the moment that Tom's face turned from angry red to a deathly pale. I reached my hand out in apology, but Tom jerked away from me as though I was carrying a contagious disease.

"My mistake," Tom snarled. "I *thought* you finally wanted to spend some time with me out of bed. I thought we'd be equals here. I should have known you only invited me here so you could spend the evening criticising me the same way you do all day on the bridge. It seems the only time you don't have a problem with my behaviour is when I'm spreading my legs. Or do you have a few useful pointers to share with me about that *too*?"

He could have produced a phaser and shot me and it wouldn't have hurt anymore than his bitter words did. I'd forgotten how hateful Tom could be when he tried. I'd actually forgotten his face could twist into that particular expression of smirking satisfaction when he knew his barb had gone home with deadly accuracy.

I closed my eyes, counted to ten and then sighed deeply to allow my bubbling anger to dissipate harmlessly between us.

"I'm sorry you've seen tonight that way, Tom. All I've tried to do here is help you, just as all I've ever tried to do is help you. I can no more stand in that ring and just let you get hurt than you could stand next to a rookie pilot and let them crash a shuttle. I thought you wanted to learn something, not get yourself pounded to the floor. I don't know what your problem is but if you're trying to get yourself beaten up, you've picked the wrong guy."

"Yeah, that's right," Tom drawled sarcastically. "Chakotay the omnipotent strikes again. Just because I don't appreciate you treating me like a five-year old, I've got a death wish."

"Have you?" I asked pointedly.

"Fuck you, Commander," Tom replied. He tugged uselessly on his own gloves, gave up in disgust and marched towards the arch. "Don't wait up, *lover*," he snarled over his shoulder. " 'Cos I've had as much of you today as I can stomach."

I swallowed the ball of hurt that rose in my constricting throat and suddenly threatened to choke me. For the fourth night in a row, Tom had contrived an excuse not to come home.

It was all I could do not to race after him, take him by the shoulders and shake him until he had no choice except to admit what was *really* going on in his head. I wasn't sure, at that point, whether my hesitation was born of out of pride or out of fear that Tom would use any manhandling as an excuse to physically explode.

But I couldn't just stand totally silent as I let Tom leave.

"I'll see you in my office, 0930," I called after him, as he reached the arch.

Tom spun around in obvious shock.

"I'm off duty tomorrow." 

"You are," I agreed, "so you've got time to come see me."

"See you?" Tom demanded.

"Look, Tom. It's obvious that something is bothering you, and you're not going to resolve it in a boxing ring. I suggest we sit down and discuss things rationally together and get to the bottom of things. I'd rather do it in our quarters." Although I emphasised the "our", his face didn't even flicker, so I continued, "but if you want to keep it separate from our relationship, I'm willing to do it professionally instead."

"You're offering to counsel me?" Tom asked in disbelief.

I shrugged self-depreciatingly.

"I'm a good listener, Tom."

"Really?" Tom replied with a sneer. "We must have different definitions of good then."

"By which you mean what, exactly?" I demanded. 

"That sitting in silence while someone speaks isn't listening if all you're doing is waiting for the chance to say what *you* think," Tom replied. "Firstly, I've had a stomach full of your opinions about how I've fucked up my life and secondly, I need counselling like I need a hole in the head. Forget it, Commander."

I had to bite my lip to stop myself reminding Tom that I had the authority to make my invitation an order. There was no point. I could force Tom to come to my office, but I couldn't make him talk to me. Still, I was worried sick. It wasn't just that Tom had shut himself out of my life (and our bed); it was that our separation didn't seem to be helping him.

For several days the tension had obviously been growing inside him. His eyes had been so over-bright that they had emphasised the growing darkness of the skin beneath them. His movements at the helm had become so ragged that he almost seemed nervous about his own ability. Twice earlier that day the Captain had been forced to repeat an order before Tom's hands had moved to perform the course change she had requested.

Most worrying of all, when I had announced a sudden staff rotation change that afternoon which had given Tom an unexpected day off, instead of arguing about being removed from the helm, Tom had actually seemed relieved.

I hadn't wanted to make a big issue of it. I'd racked my brains trying to remember any imagined slight that had caused the rift between us and had found nothing. So I was *almost* certain that Tom's problem wasn't about *us*. At the same time, I'd become glaringly aware that our relationship of nine months had apparently never deepened beyond sex.

I hadn't realised. I hadn't had time to realise. Between our jobs, the necessity to avoid PDA's, the relentless dangers of our journey through the DQ and the lack of any previous crisis in our personal lives, I'd just taken for granted that Tom felt the same level of affection for me as I felt for him.

I thought he *loved* me.

I was obviously wrong.

Now, when Tom was so distressed about something that he evidently couldn't even sleep, I finally realised that Tom didn't trust me at all. Instead of being invited to share his problem - whatever it was - Tom had not only shut me out but had moved back into his own old quarters without even attempting to explain why and, other than overriding Tom's door and dragging him back home, I had been powerless to stop him leaving me.

Tom had ignored all my messages, had refused to open his door, had cut me dead whenever we had met each other off the bridge and had been little short of insubordinate to me *on* the bridge. I had relied on meditation to get me through the last four days, deciding the best way to handle Tom was refuse to react. Tom was obviously spoiling for a fight and I had no intention of allowing one to happen between us.

But when Tuvok had taken me aside and pointed out that he'd noted 144 incidents of near-insubordination from Tom in the last four days, I'd realised I couldn't give Tom any more time to sort his own head out. It wasn't only that Tom was obviously getting worse rather than better, it was that I realised I was beginning to be guilty of letting our relationship affect our jobs myself.

I wouldn't have allowed any other crewmember to get away with talking to me in that sneering tone, so as much as I hated the idea of pulling rank on my own lover, I'd been left with no option. 

Tom had refused my initial invitation for a quiet drink and a chat, so I'd invited Tom to join me on the holodec. I knew Tom had always quietly resented my refusal to share the boxing program, not understanding that I *needed* the emotional release of using the program properly. Tom had never boxed before and my terror that I would accidentally hurt him meant that inviting him to join me essentially meant I was deprived of any pleasure in the program myself.

It had been selfish of me, in all honesty, and Tom had every right to feel resentful about it. So I used the offer as an olive branch and, sure enough, Tom had been too tempted by my unexpected capitulation to turn me down. I had hoped the setting (and the concession) would put him enough at ease to at least confide in me a little.

Instead, Tom had spent the whole evening trying to make me pound him into the floor.

So, although it was difficult, I let Tom leave the holodec and decided to go have a quiet chat with Harry Kim. I decided that if *anyone* knew what was going on in Tom's head, it would be Tom's best friend.

~~~


I grabbed a quick shower, threw my t-shirt and loose pants back on and wrapped a towel around my shoulders to prevent my wet hair dripping onto my already sweat-drenched tee. I knew I should have gone home to change but I couldn't face Tom's absence in our quarters and I was saving my replicator credits for Tom's Christmas present. Admittedly, at that point it seemed unlikely that Tom would even appreciate a present from me but using the replicator would have been like admitting defeat.

For the same reason, I waited until I reached the mess hall before getting a much-needed drink. The smell of the food in the galley made me feel faintly nauseous. I'd lost my appetite four days previously when the man I loved had stormed out of my life without so much as a warning. So I just grabbed a glass of orange juice, crossed the mess to the table where Harry was sitting alone and, without announcing my presence, I sat down in the chair opposite him.

Harry jerked guiltily in his chair, stared at me with wild, unfocused eyes and then choked so violently on his lasagne that I had to lean forward and slap him on the back. Harry just continued to turn a deeper shade of scarlet but as I lurched to my feet, preparing to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre, Harry coughed and spluttered the obstruction back out of his mouth.

I stood there, feeling a strange combination of relief and irritation but, as I reached for Harry's napkin and wiped my face, all I said was: "I hope that *is* vegetarian lasagne."

Harry flushed and nodded frantically.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"I'm sorry I startled you so badly," I replied mildly, relieved I hadn't bothered to change my t-shirt after all.

His only answer was to shuffle nervously and avoid my puzzled gaze. 

My eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harry's inappropriate panic. The Ensign had never been entirely comfortable with more Senior Officers but his reaction to my arrival had been so dramatic that it practically sang guilt to me. I became convinced that Harry knew what Tom's problem was.

"I was just on the holodec…" I began.

"I can explain," Harry interrupted frantically.

"You can?" I queried hopefully.

"I didn't do it"

I blinked uncertainly. *What* hadn't he done?

"You didn't?" 

Harry looked around the mess cautiously and, although the room was practically deserted, he lowered his voice and dropped his gaze to his plate before replying.

"You can't prove it. Nobody saw me. The sheep are lying."

"Ah," was all I could think of to say in response, although my mind played a number of images that I really *didn't* want to contemplate. I mentally pencilled in Harry for his own counselling session, coughed to clear my throat (and my mind) and returned to the important issue. "Well, anyway, I was saying. I was just on the holodec with Tom and…"

"Tom knows about it too?" Harry whimpered, starting to slide under the table, his cheeks stained with embarrassment.

I decided I really couldn't go there. Not then. Not with my whole mind occupied with my worry for Tom. I decided to deal with the Harry issue later and allowed some of my irritation to spill over into my voice.

"I have no idea what Tom does or doesn't know about you, Ensign," I snapped. "He hasn't spoken to me for four days."

"Huh?" 

Harry's confusion seemed genuine and I was gratified to see the look of personal panic in his eyes turn to a less selfish expression of concern. It gave me the courage to continue.

"He's moved back to his old quarters," I admitted, although I was careful not to let my anguish show on my face.

"Did you two have a fight?" Harry asked, blinking in obvious confusion.

"No," I sighed. "Not that I'm aware of. He just started being a little quiet and moody about a week ago. Then he moved out. No explanation. No apology. Nothing."

Harry frowned thoughtfully.

"It's odd, isn't it?" he said.

"It's certainly beyond my comprehension," I agreed.

"No, the timing, I mean."

"The timing?"

"Well, I could be wrong, but I'm sure he broke up with B'Elanna just before Christmas too. Maybe it's some kind of reaction to Christmas itself."

"What?" I demanded..

"Well, Christmas always makes *me* feel lonely. I think about the parties and stuff that we always throw and I spend most of December desperately trying to fix myself up with a date so I won't have to face them alone. Maybe Christmas has the opposite effect on Tom."

I nodded thoughtfully. I'd felt the same way myself previous years - not that I'd been tempted to do anything about my loneliness until the day Tom Paris and I had spent ten days stuck together on a shuttle. We'd spent the first week fighting like a couple of petulant schoolkids and the final three days fucking like rabbits. Now, nine months later, it seemed our honeymoon was finally over.

I decided I needed to talk to B'Elanna.

"Thanks Harry," I said, rising and patting the ensign on the shoulder. "Oh, and I'll expect you in my office at 1400 tomorrow."

"Sir?" Harry asked fearfully.

"I think we need to discuss appropriate behaviour on the holodecs, don't you?" I replied calmly, and then ruined it by grinning wickedly and adding in a whisper; "You can't take a sheep to the Captain's Christmas Party, Ensign."

~~~

My entrance into Engineering was met by such a united look of relief by all the crewmembers present that I immediately guessed B'Elanna was on the rampage. A moment later, her strident voice proved me correct.

"Do you know how many red alerts we've had since we arrived in the Delta Quadrant? 844, that's how many. 844 and you still don't know the route from your quarters to your station?"

"I'm sorry. I was baby-sitting Naomi Wildman. I couldn't bring her with me and I couldn't just leave her alone. I had to take her somewhere safe first."

The reasonableness of the Crewman's reply evidently went right over B'Elanna's head. 

"You're an Engineer, not a baby-sitter," she spat. "While your post was deserted the whole ship was in danger."

"But it wasn't deserted. Lieutenant Carrey was here."

"But you didn't know that, did you?" B'Elanna replied triumphantly.

"Lieutenant," I interrupted.

She spun around, obviously annoyed at the interruption of her diatribe. I hid an amused smile. Although my sympathies were for the Crewman, I had too much respect for the Chief Engineer to interfere with her handling of her own staff. In public, at least. So I just made a mental note to pencil B'Elanna in for a long over-due counselling session too.

"Commander?" B'Elanna spat.

"If I could have a word…in private?"

She glowered, then nodded reluctantly and followed me outside to the relative privacy of the corridor.

"If it's about what just happened in there," she began heatedly.

I raised my hands placatingly.

"It's personal, B'El. I wanted to ask you something about Tom."

"Tom?" B'Elanna demanded suspiciously.

I knew that although she'd long since forgiven me for dating her ex-boyfriend (since I was so discrete about it) she still hadn't forgiven Tom for finishing with her.

"He's…" 

I hesitated, not finding it as easy to admit to B'Elanna that Tom had moved out, as it had been to tell Harry. It wasn't that I felt embarrassed so much as the fact that I was worried about betraying Tom's privacy. Harry would take Tom's side in any situation, but B'Elanna would see Tom's behaviour as proof of her own opinion that Tom was incapable of committing to any relationship. 

The fact that I was beginning to wonder whether she was right only made me more determined to protect Tom from her scorn. 

"He's having a difficult time at the moment, but I'm not sure why. He won't talk to me about it. Feel free to tell me it's none of my business, but someone pointed out that you and he broke up at this time last year. I'm wondering whether there's something particularly significant about the date."

"Why not just check his personnel file, Chakotay?" B'Elanna snapped.

"Because it would be an invasion of his privacy."

"And this isn't?" she demanded.

I flushed. "He's hurting, B'Elanna."

"And I care, why?"

I looked at her stony face and black flashing eyes and knew I was wasting my time. Privacy or not, it was time for me to look in the Computer for an answer.

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "This was a mistake. Forget I asked."

She let me turn and walk almost to the turbolift before speaking. .

"He IS going to get himself hurt, Chakotay," B'Elanna called out.

I swivelled around and stared at her in disbelief.

"What do you mean?" I demanded, not sure whether her words were a threat or a warning.

"I didn't figure it out myself at first. I was too pissed off with the way he just called our relationship off and pushed me away like I'd never meant anything to him. It was only when Tom got into that fight with Dalby a couple of days after we broke up that I realised it was the fifth year in a row that Tom had spent Christmas on restricted rations. He does it every year. Gets himself beaten up and thrown into the brig."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Because I was hurt. Because I thought he loved me, but when it came down to it he found it easier to throw me away than tell me what was going on in his head. He didn't trust me. So he didn't love me. If you love someone you share your problems with them, you don't push them away."

~~~

All the way to my office, B'Elanna's words were tumbling around my head. If it was true - although it seemed unbelievable that Tuvok wouldn't have picked up the fact that there was a definite pattern to Tom's behaviour - then not only was Tom in danger of doing something stupid, but her comment about love being impossible without mutual trust struck an unpleasant chord with my own feelings.

So it was a combination of worry and hurt that allowed me to overcome my reluctance to burrow through Tom's personnel records for a clue to his behaviour. I told myself that I was only doing my duty as First Officer, but I knew the truth was that I was abusing my position simply to check up on my own lover. I should have felt guilty, looking over Tom's files like that. Instead I just ended up more confused.

Every year of our journey home, Tom had spent the 6th of December in the brig on charges of brawling with another crewmember. It had always been a different crewmember, the other party had always *appeared* to start the fight although witnesses had always claimed Tom had provoked his attacker to violence, and since no one had ever gotten *really* hurt, none of the incidents had warranted deep investigation. 

But the oddest thing was the date.

I scoured Tom's file for the significance and came up empty handed. I could have understood if it had been the anniversary of Caldik Prime, or of his capture, or of his imprisonment. I *thought* I'd figured it out when I noted that he'd been dishonourably discharged from Starfleet in December, but when I checked the date his discharge had been on the 1st. I supposed that could account for the fact that he'd been having nightmares for the last few days and his break-up with B'Elanna had been on the 30th November last year, just as he had moved out of our quarters on the 2nd of December this year.

Only, when I looked back further, he'd done the same to Sue Nicolleti the year *before* B'Elanna and their break-up had been on the 22nd of November. Going back still further, he'd split up with Ayala on the 15th of November. Each year, he'd destroyed whatever relationship he'd been in, had steadily (if quietly) fallen apart and then his fall had culminated on the 6th of December with a drunken brawl that had put him in the brig.

So it wasn't about his discharge. It wasn't about Christmas. It was something significant about the 6th of December.

Today.

The day he had come to the holodec and attempted to make me beat him up.

That's when it hit me. Tom hadn't got what he wanted from me, so he would have gone looking for it somewhere else. I jumped to my feet in agitation and slapped my comm. badge frantically.

"Chakotay to Tuvok."

"Commander," Tuvok replied immediately. 

Before I could begin to explain my fear for Tom, he continued.

"I was just about to call to advise you that Lieutenant Paris has been involved in an altercation."

"Is he hurt?" I barked.

"Superficial cuts and bruises," the Vulcan replied emotionlessly. "As soon as the Doctor has finished treating him, he will be transferred to the Brig. It's a minor security matter. I would not have advised you except for your personal interest in Mr. Paris," he finished, sounding as uncomfortable as a Vulcan could be.

"Have you told the Captain?" I asked.

"It's not normal procedure when dealing with minor brawls," Tuvok replied.

"It should be," I snapped.

There was a pause, while he undoubtedly wondered whether to protest, and then he gave a barely audible sigh.

"Yes, Commander."


~~~

The disappointment on Kathryn's face when I told her was completely expected. What I didn't anticipate was the look of sorrowful understanding that filled her eyes when I laid out the evidence of the pattern of Tom's behaviour.

"Poor Tom," she said. "I had no idea."

Poor Tom? It was the last thing I'd expected to hear her say. 

"Why didn't you know?" I demanded. "Why hasn't Tuvok reported this to us?"

"Because when it was clear that we were going to be stuck in the Delta Quadrant for a long time, I made the decision that I couldn't treat every minor breach of discipline as an offence. Tempers fray, Chakotay. It's only to be expected. I told Tuvok that as long as he judged the incident to be a minor brawl, it should be dealt with by thirty days loss of credits for both parties and a night in the brig to cool off."

I had to agree that her judgement had been right. It was impossible to believe that people could live on such a tiny ship for so long, under constant danger, and *not* occasionally snap. But at the same time, it had allowed Tom's problem to go undetected for years.

"Why?" I asked. "Why the 6th of December?"

Kathryn motioned me to sit down and offered me a drink. I recognised her subtle hint that she knew the answer, and my knees gave way with relief. I sagged into the chair and nodded at her offer of coffee.

She placed a cup in front of me and then sat down, taking a rapturous sniff of her own drink.

"Coffee," she sighed. "Thank God for coffee. Some days I think it's the only thing that gets me through the day."

I gave her a tight, reluctant smile and attempted not to scream at her to get to the damned point.

"You won't find it in any records. The public announcement was a few days later. The 6th of December was the day Tom's father disowned him."

For a couple of seconds I was too shocked to even speak, and then I exploded.

"You mean Tom's been throwing his life away at this time every damned year because of that…that bastard?" I yelled.

Kathryn took a long sip of her coffee and waited for me to calm down before she replied.

"Admiral Paris is many things, Chakotay. He's career-driven, proud, he has the kind of standards that few people can live up to. He's undemonstrative, too unemotional perhaps, but he's not and never has been a bastard. Tom adores him."

The quiet certainty of her tone was hard to deny. Yet I couldn't believe she was right. I *knew* Tom hated his father. I *knew* Admiral Owen Paris was an unfeeling bastard who had pushed Tom so relentlessly to be his mirror image that Tom had finally cracked. The Caldik Prime fiasco had been the Admiral's fault. If Tom hadn't been so frightened of admitting his mistake to his father, he never would have lied. 

Besides, although Tom refused to speak about his family, he had let enough things slip to convince me that he'd had the typical upbringing of an unwanted child of two people too in love with their own careers to spend any time with him. 

"I know," Kathryn said, as though she could read my mind. "You can't comprehend why Tom loves him, can you? All you see is that Owen never spent any time with his son, so you see him as a bad person. He's not really. I've worked under Owen, I know the kind of loyalty he inspires. You see the way he drives himself and you instinctively want to be as good as him. You want to make him notice you, make him proud of you.

"Owen never *deliberately* pressurised Tom to succeed. He didn't mean to hold his love out like dangling bait to force Tom to follow in his footsteps. It's just that Owen didn't know how to be a good father. He knew how to be a good soldier, a good scientist and a good Captain so he concentrated on those things, thinking the most precious thing he could give his son was a name to be proud of.

"Poor Tom convinced himself that the reason Owen was always away was because he was being a 'bad son'. It never occurred to him that Owen was simply ill-equipped to be a father. Tom blamed himself for Owen's disinterest. He convinced himself that it was his fault. And, in the meantime, Owen was gallivanting round the galaxy trying to be the kind of father Tom could be proud of."

Oddly, I could see it. It was impossible to believe that Tom's flesh and blood could be completely dissimilar to him. I'd always struggled to understand how Tom could have emerged from the loins of a man so devoid of feelings that he'd disowned his own son. Yet, no matter how many excuses Kathryn made for her mentor, that was what he had done.

"He disowned Tom," I blurted out. "That's hardly the act of a loving father, is it? I can accept that Owen Paris had a problem expressing affection, but there's little doubt that he managed to convey disgust adequately enough."

"Forgive me for being personal, Chakotay, but you didn't have the best relationship with your own father, did you? When you joined Starfleet, he virtually disowned you, didn't he?"

"That was different," I snarled. "He was hurt, confused that I turned my back on my tribe's way of life. Besides, he didn't disown me. We just parted on bad terms in the heat of an argument. I always knew I could go home. I just left it too long. My greatest regret is that we didn't make peace before his death."

"I know Kolopak was a good father, Chakotay. I only mentioned him to show how even the best fathers can react badly in a crisis. I hope that Owen bitterly regrets the way he treated Tom. I'd like to believe that when we get home, Owen is going to be waiting for Tom with open arms and an open heart. But, ultimately, whether Owen regrets his decision or not, the last thing Tom wants to hear is anyone criticizing his father for what he did.

"I think Tom does this to punish himself. He drives people away from him because whenever this date reminds him of his father's anger, the only way he can deal with it is to believe he deserved it. By being alone, by proving himself unlovable, he can remember Owen's rejection without hatred."

"You mean he'd rather hate himself than hate his father?" I asked.

Kathryn nodded.

"And you can still sit there and defend Owen, knowing how badly scarred Tom is emotionally by his loveless upbringing?"

"I'm not defending Owen. I'm defending Tom's decision to adore him," Kathryn replied quietly. "Tom's real problem is that he can't explain his feelings of hurt to you or anyone else who loves him without you jumping to Tom's defence and calling his father a bastard. Tom can't handle that. He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to believe it. He can't cope with believing it. He's spent his whole life putting his father on a pedestal, and whether Owen deserves it or not, the only person who will get hurt if you prove Owen's feet are made of clay is Tom himself."

I thought about her words. I, perhaps more than anyone else on the ship, understood the need for a father's approval. 

Kathryn was right. It didn't matter whether Owen deserved Tom's love. All that was important was that Tom *believed* he deserved it. 

If Tom had told me why he was so upset, I would have sat down and told him exactly what I thought of Admiral Owen Paris. As would B'Elanna, Sue, Greg, and definitely Harry.

But that wasn't what Tom needed. Tom had to make his own decisions. Nobody could tell him who or how to love. Tom's problem wasn't that he loved his father. It was that he didn't really understand what love was. He'd never experienced unconditional love, so it was hardly surprising that he was incapable of seeing Owen's flaws.

The only way Tom would learn perspective on his relationship with his father was if someone took the time to show him what real love was.

And that's when I *really* understood what was going on in Tom's head.

I smiled.

"You're *almost* right," I told Kathryn.

"How so?"

"This isn't just about Tom's father. This is about Tom's perception of himself. The 6th of December is the day when the only person he truly loved turned his back on him and walked away."

"Yes?" Kathryn prompted.

"So I think that every year, Tom forces a confrontation with whoever he is currently in a relationship with. He behaves badly. Starts arguments. Walks out on the relationship. He fights. Gets himself thrown in the brig. Then he waits."

"Waits for what?"

"To see whether the person he wants to let himself love is going to come after him or walk away. It's a test, Kathryn. He's testing me to see whether I really love him or I'm just a fair-weather friend."

"What are you going to do?" Kathryn asked me.

"I'm going to not only prove I'm not another Owen, I'm going to change the significance of the 6th of December forever," I replied, rising to my feet.

"I'll talk to Tuvok and get Tom released so you can talk to him," Kathryn replied.

I contemplated the offer, then shook my head.

"I'd rather collect him from the brig myself, if I may."

"Of course," she replied. "Good luck. To both of you."

And although I was nervous about the confrontation to come, my smile of gratitude to her was genuine.

~~~~

Instead of racing to the brig, I returned to our quarters and spent a little time with my spirit guide. I knew how fragile the situation was and needed to find a safe path to navigate Tom's emotional minefield. It was impossible to wave a magic spell that would erase the low self-esteem that Tom had carried for over thirty years, and since I knew Tom's defence of choice was sarcasm, I needed to be sure that I was armoured against the hateful words he would hurl as missiles against me.

Love can conquer anything. I believe that wholeheartedly. But it still benefits from the occasional helping hand.

When I was reassured that the instinctive decision that I had made in the Captain's quarters wasn't going to prove a grave mistake, I went to the replicator , relieved that I'd saved so many credits over the last few months. I'd always intended to give Tom the gift on Christmas Eve but now, although it was awkward to offer it in view of the last few days, it seemed the perfect way to break the pattern of Tom's self-destructive behaviour forever.

By the time I reached the brig, Tom had had more than a little time to start feeling sorry for himself. He seemed surprised to see me, but not particularly pleased judging by his first words.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled, his eyes flashing with the same indigo fire that I had seen earlier that evening, His face was still a little swollen although the bruises were already faded to a pale yellowish-green, so I knew the Doctor had treated him for his injuries.

"Nice way to greet your boyfriend," I replied mildly.

He just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, I get it," he spat. "You're pissed that Tuvok called you. Don't worry. I told him we were finished so you don't have to worry about your reputation."

"My reputation?" I asked, as though I didn't understand *exactly* what he was trying to say.

"Look, I know how it is. You're the First Officer. My behaviour reflects on your reputation. I've fucked up. It's over. I understand. You can piss off now...Commander."

"Don't I get a say in this?" I asked.

Tom sighed and looked away, but not before I saw the suspicious glistening in his eyes that he was trying to hide from me.

"There's nothing you want to say that I haven't heard a thousand times before. You made a mistake, Chakotay. Now you know better. Get over it."

"You're right, " I replied, and he flinched minutely before visibly stiffening as though to brace himself against a verbal onslaught. "I made a mistake. I should have had this conversation with you four days ago when you went back to your quarters. I'm sorry."

"Look, I know it's over. You don't have to say the words. Why not save us both a load of grief and just leave?"

"No," I replied. "It's not over and I'm not leaving. Not without you, anyway. Come on, Tom. We can finish this conversation in our quarters."

Tom looked at me in disbelief. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. A slightly wistful expression danced over his features, was chased by hesitant hope and then was drowned by a dark frown of suspicion.

"I moved out," he reminded me.

"I moved you back in," I replied, "and I reassigned your old quarters. You're not going to be needing them anymore and it's time Henderson got Lieutenant's quarters."

"You had no right," Tom spat, jumping to his feet and pacing in agitation up and down the cell. 

"Of course I did," I replied easily. "Leaving your old quarters empty was an oversight, that's all. When you moved in with me six months ago I should have reassigned them then. I don't know why I didn't."

Tom flashed me a suspicious glance as though he suspected me of mocking him. My stomach churned as I realised he'd probably always thought it was a deliberate oversight on my part, so that it would make it easier for me if the relationship didn't work out.

A few hours ago, the depth of his distrust would have hurt me. With my new insight into him, all I felt was shame at my own thoughtless cruelty. As Kathryn had said, you didn't have to be a bad person to do bad things and by inadvertently reinforcing Tom's insecurities I had harmed him. It didn't matter that I hadn't meant to do it. Owen Fucking Paris hadn't *intended* to make his son's life a living misery either.

"What about…" Tom waved vaguely around the cell.

"What about it? I'm your lover not your keeper, Tom. You fucked up, but you were off-duty. This is between you and Tuvok. It's got nothing to do with us, has it? If you want to tell me what happened tonight, I'd like to listen, but if you don't then we won't discuss it again."

Tom sank back down onto the narrow cot, looking so pale and shocked by my reaction that I wasn't sure whether I'd said the right thing after all.

Then a tentative smile curled the corner of his mouth and, when he finally looked up at me, his eyes were wide with hesitant hope.

"You want me to..to come home?" he asked cautiously, wincing slightly just in case.

If I hadn't meant it before, his use of the word 'home' would have broken down any remaining defences.

"Of course I do. I love you," I said, and reached out my hand towards him.

"But…but what about the last few days," he asked, pretending not to see my hand although I could see his fingers twitching as though they were trying to drag his hand upwards.

"I hate that you shut me out, Tom. If I upset you in any way again, I'd like you to tell me so I can do something about it."

Tom's face crumpled and his innate honesty forced him to refuse the 'out' I was offering him.

"You didn't," he whispered. "It wasn't you. It was me."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I asked.

He shook his head emphatically and a tear escaped and trickled down his cheek.

"Then let's just put it behind us." I replied briskly. "It's almost midnight already and I really don't want to do it here."

"Do what in here?" Tom asked, and my heart sang when I saw that his expression was full of curiosity rather than fear.

I just grinned, grabbed him by the hand and hauled him to the door. He seemed a little stunned that the guards didn't object to me removing him from the brig, but then he'd been stunned since I'd told him I loved him, so it's hard to tell for sure.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as I towed him down the corridor.

"The holodec," I replied. "You can't believe how many favors I had to pull in to get it twice in one night."

"We're not boxing again, are we?" he asked me worriedly.

I just laughed and pushed him into the turbolift. 

He was passive for the rest of the journey and although he avoided physical contact, he cast me numerous glances from the corner of his eye as though he needed to keep checking my presence at his side wasn't a figment of his imagination.

We reached holodec two at 2350, so I didn't have time to stand on ceremony. I tapped my code into the *other* program I had never shared with him before that day, and led him into the Dorvan dawn.

"This is the place I was born," I told him, "and it's the place I want to grow old in."

"It's beautiful," he agreed, looking around us at the rolling hillsides.

"I dream of this place, of returning here. It's the only thing that keeps me strong during this Voyage."

"It's nice to have somewhere to go home to," Tom muttered sadly.

"Yes," I agreed. "We'll be happy on Dorvan, Tom."

It took a moment for it to sink in, then he spun in shock, his eyes huge.

"We?"

"Would you rather we lived somewhere else?" I asked, pretending to misunderstand him.

"I don't understand," he admitted, looking a little frightened and confused.

"I was planning to give you this at Christmas," I told him, pulling the gift out of my pocket. "But I think tonight's the right time."

He looked in disbelief at the plain gold band that seemed so small in my hand that it was scarcely credible that our futures hung within its tiny frame.

"Will you marry me Tom Paris?" I asked, sinking to one knee and offering the ring in my outstretched palm.

"I don't understand," he repeated in a whisper, although his fingers inched slowly towards my offering as though they would take the decision from him.

"I love you, Tom," I told him.

His fingers began to close around the ring, I gave a huge sigh of relief, and then he froze.

"Why now?" he demanded, snatching his hand back. "Why today?"

I couldn't lie. Not in that most precious moment. I couldn't stain our marriage by starting it with a lie.

"Because for the rest of your life, I want you to always remember the 6th of December as being the anniversary of our engagement and the day that I pledged to love you for all eternity."

"You know?" he asked me, his eyes fearful.

"I know I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you," I told him. "The only other thing that I need to know is that you feel the same way."

The smile that broke across his face was so beautiful that I was glad we weren't really on Dorvan. Because if the sun had seen the radiance of Tom's face in that moment, it would have been too shamed to ever rise again.

And then Tom said the two most wonderful words in the universe.

"I do"


The End