New2ASC: "In the Space of Seven Days": VOY: Part 3a/7: PG-13--NC-17: P, P/T, K/T, Nicoletti, Crew
Jennifer Lynn Rider
Author: Jenn
E-mail: je...@igg-tx.net
Series: Voyager
Rating: PG-13, R for language
Codes: P, P/T, T, K/T, Sue, Doc, J, C, J/C, K, Crew (in order of appearance,
mostly)
Archiving: PTF, ASC, ASCEM, and BLTS. All others, ask permission first
Summary: The crew learns the art of ethical compromise.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, pretend to own them, or want to own them
(usually, too much trademark hassle, more fun to borrow). Just took them
out for a spin and a sail, so to speak, don't sue unless you really want my
cat, the only thing I truly own I think, in which case I will hand him over,
he has been acting oddly anyway. Will return all characters in the same
condition I found them, though I hope they had fun. (They told me they
did.) The story, however, is mine.
Credits: Thanks to Sorcha, Sara, Annie M., SY, and Khameleon for all the
help, definitely the most demanding team of beta-writers in fanfic history.
If this story works, it's only because of them.
Author's Note: Thoughts use { }. Emphasis uses *. Please enjoy. Feedback
appreciated.
Part III: The Slow Slide Down
{Day 3 1400 hours}
{Filthy, crawling through her mind, leaving tendrils of cold thought like
slime, heavy and clammy, dampening her own thoughts, her own being,
violating her mind, sifting through her memories, mocking them--}
B'Elanna watched Tom walk into her quarters, glancing around the dark living
room. She could see over Harry's back, between the moans and sighs, the
movement of his body. Her eyes were open, had to see it all.
He paused at the door, not quite letting it close behind him, hesitating to
invade her privacy, even with the suspicions, the *knowledge* her parasite
knew he had. B'Elanna knew this had been planned, for him to see this. She
had come back up to the ship when Harry called--*ordered*--her up.
One last chance to get the only remaining senior officer to go down
voluntarily. Though the parasite knew why, B'Elanna herself had no idea
what this would accomplish. {Keep away from that planet, Tom.} She could
only hope it would keep him from the planet, the shock of what he would see
now. For that reason alone she did not go insane with what her body was
forced to do. {Stay here. Be safe. Get away, Tom. Please.}
Slowly, he walked into her living area, and she heard herself moan louder,
catching his attention. His head turned sharply towards the sound, and she
saw the disbelief, the *incredulity* in his face, as he came slowly to the
door, not wanting to see what he knew he would see, what he would *know*,
once he walked to her door. She couldn't keep the next scream from coming,
louder, more obvious, driving the knife in deeper.
Harry rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and she braced her hands on
his shoulders--{my hands? Kahless, make this stop}--no privacy, no way to
fight, no place to hide, she experienced it all as her body rode him, as her
body responded, as the thing within her laughed and enjoyed both the
pleasure Harry gave her and her own horror at what she was forced to do.
She could still see him. It *wanted* her to see him and to suffer; it
*liked* her pain. Harry had turned them both so she faced the door, had to
watch his approach. her eyes refused to look away and her body refused to
curl up in shame. She watched him come to the door, the blue eyes look into
hers--
.and *felt* the smile curving her lips, brown eyes locked with blue.
Watched the way his face did not move, yet changed, as she moaned again, and
Harry levered himself to sit up, one hand roughly in her hair, pulling her
down for a kiss--
--her eyes locked with Tom's until Harry blocked her sight--
*--and it liked how she felt.*
When she lifted her head, he was gone. Her climax hit and Harry was rolling
her onto her back, covering her, forcing her deeper into the mattress. She
screamed his name.
Not Harry's name.
Tom's.
* * * * *
{Day 5 0800 hours}
Present Time
"You're crazy." Sue's voice was utterly flat. Tom, under other
circumstances, would have agreed. But his mind was already running with the
idea, desperate, perhaps, to believe. To have found a way.
"You know we can't risk one of the senior staff up here. Hell, even Captain
Janeway would be safer than B'Elanna! She's an engineer, she knows
everything about this ship. Damnit, Tom, she wrote the virus that we used
to take control! Okay, she didn't write the whole thing, but I saw it, and
her fingerprints are all over it."
"Yeah, she taught me well." Tom could be very patient when he was certain
he would win. He sat back on the couch, studying Sue, looking for a weak
spot, the place he could put the lever in and push, to make her agree. A
smile played around his mouth, placed there by his knowledge that he would
win.
She recognized that smile.
Sue knew her approach wasn't working and jumped to logistics.
"How will we separate her from the others?"
Tom grinned, and her stomach sank, knowing he had this planned out. Hell,
he probably had the whole thing already meticulously detailed in his mind,
perfectly coordinated so nothing would go wrong. He was a *good* planner.
It was the one place she couldn't fight him on, the Plan. Tom had one, very
possibly a fool-proof one, and there was nothing in it she would be able to
pick apart. Damn it.
"Just beam her up, directly to the holodeck. Pick up her genetic code, and
we're done." {Does he sound smug?}
"We don't have a sample of her." She was grasping at straws and knew it.
Worse, so did he. But he humored her
"We don't need one. She has an original on file in Sickbay. The parasite
didn't change her entire genome, it couldn't have. And there is only one
half-Klingon on the planet, you know."
Sue shook her head slowly, not exactly negating, not agreeing, just needing
something to do so she could think. {Maybe stall.}
It was only an hour ago that she had gotten the story from Carey about what
B'Elanna had done to him in Engineering. {Black eye my ass.} And though a
part of her *knew* that it wasn't B'Elanna that had done those terrible
things, it was still hard to believe it. Hard because of the nature of the
parasite, that could use their memories, their experience. Their lives
against them.
Tom, as always, could follow the track of her thoughts on her face. That
may have been one of the reasons she had never wanted more than a casual
relationship with him; that uncanny ability disturbed her. It had made him
a good pilot, a good friend, and an incredible lover, but it left little in
the way of secrets.
"Sue, you know it's not them, not really." His voice was incredibly gentle.
He took her hand, patting it gently.
"I know." A thready whisper.
He stood up and walked to the large window, a habit she'd observed in
Captain Janeway and apparently, either consciously or unconsciously, had
been adopted by Tom.
"When we get them back--and *we will*--do you think you can still obey the
Captain?"
"Of course."
"Talk to Harry? Eat lunch with your friends? Stay with your lover?"
She flushed and looked away. Tom understood instantly, and was annoyed he
hadn't sooner.
"Did you see him with someone else? The K'eya chose--well, some of them
were, for lack of a better term, bonded to each other, and that's what
caused the random pairings." He shrugged slightly. "Random to us, anyway.
You have to know he would never betray you."
Sue glanced up, quickly, then out to the nebula outside.
"Do *you*?" she whispered softly.
For a brief moment, something crossed his face, something she had not seen
before, and she shivered.
"Yes." It was definite, certain. Sue nodded with him.
"And Harry?"
Every muscle in Tom's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, then relaxed as
he asserted control.
"I hope so." An admission she had not thought he would make. He sat down.
"This is *not* what I want to talk about."
"But is it something you've thought about, Tom? Seriously, when we get them
back--I have faith we can do this, I have faith in you--how will the rest of
the crew respond to them? Zephyr, Megan, me, you, Carey."
"Carey?" Sharply. She cursed herself and pushed on, ignoring the implicit
question.
"Tom, what will happen?" She clasped her hands in her lap to still the
shaking, meeting his eyes. "How will we go back? I saw the Captain hit
Zephyr, Megan saw Gerron with her sister.and you saw Harry and B'Elanna in
the conference room. For you, perhaps, it wasn't quite as bad."
She stopped speaking. Two feet from her, and he was as good as gone,
expression carefully blank, the hands clasped behind him tightening visibly.
{He knew. He walked into that room knowing what he would see there. How
the hell did he do that?}
"Yeah." A whisper. She stopped herself from asking the question. What he
had seen.
"What about them, when they get back?" she asked, wanting him to come back,
wanting to distract him from whatever demons haunted his lone hours.glad, so
glad, for once, that she had never been in love, so she didn't have to feel
what he felt.
It worked, the blue eyes returning to her as if they had never left.
"To be honest, I'm trying not to worry about that yet," he answered. "If
it's true, that they are unconscious, then perhaps they won't remember." he
trailed off, aware that they didn't know. They just didn't have enough
information to be sure what the crew would remember about their experiences
controlled by the K'eya.
"How will we trust them?" she whispered, and Tom gave her a sharp look.
"How did you trust me, Sue, when you met me? How did you trust me when we
took the ship?"
She flushed.
"That was different." She couldn't meet his eyes then.
"Was it?" Softly. Tom had never discussed with her, or anyone, their
semi-relationship after it had ended--well, maybe with B'Elanna, but Sue
couldn't be sure. She didn't particularly want to, either. "How
different?"
"In the beginning, Captain Janeway trusted you enough to give you a
commission, make you a senior officer." she trailed off, knowing she was
explaining this badly. Couldn't find the words; the only ones, the truth,
would do no good now.
But Tom understood instantly. A small grin appeared, a bitter grin,
instantly becoming her commanding officer, not her friend.
"Vorik and I will consult on the best method of keeping Lieutenant Torres
incarcerated. You have the Bridge. If I'm needed, I'll be in Holodeck 2."
At her weak nod, he turned smartly on his heel and was gone.
{Stupid, stupid, stupid!} She leaned against the table for a moment. He'd
never asked why she had invited him to her bed. Never wanted to know,
perhaps never cared. Back then, when he was so new and a little lonely, and
she was too, and just wanted someone who could keep it casual. {And he
certainly did that. Very casual. But always fun, always enthusiastic,
always very, very good.}
She pushed those thoughts aside, aware that their friendship had suffered a
blow. Maybe not a mortal one, but definitely a blow that would take time to
recover from. Now was not the time to try to fix her blunder, her own tacit
admittance that she *hadn't* trusted him that time they were together. She
had used him, just as then she had thought he used her--until she knew him
better, knew him as more than the former Maquis pilot, the convict.
As a man she liked. As a friend.
Then, it had been too late to have him as a lover too. She'd never realized
just how much she'd regretted that, until now.
She straightened, turning her face to the door, carrying herself as the
officer she was, and went out to the Bridge.
* * * * *
{Day 5 0900 hours}
Present Time
Tom had tried not to think about what had happened in B'Elanna's quarters
those long two days ago. Now it was back, no way to fight it, ignore it.
Just remember it, every hellish second.
{Thanks, Sue.}
That was unfair, but he wasn't feeling particularly fair. Now that it was
lodged in his mind, he couldn't escape it, the memory. The feeling.
The implacable, cold anger that kept him able to torture fellow crewmembers
without a second thought. When he looked in the mirror now, he saw
something disturbingly familiar, something he'd thought he'd left behind in
a Federation prison--{rehab colony, Tommy-boy}--along with an anklet they'd
used to monitor him there. Shed like an old skin, to be something better.
Perhaps he'd always known, somehow, that it would come back. That coldness
that let him do *anything* that had to be done, no matter how filthy, no
matter how low. {I never thought I'd agree with you on something, Dad. But
irredeemable definitely applies here.} He kept his face expressionless, his
step light and firm. No one could have guessed his thoughts. If they
had--{Well, that would be inconvenient for them, I am in charge of this
ship. Dad, you'd have an apoplexy if you could see what I am doing in the
name of Starfleet.}
B'Elanna. Dear God, B'Elanna. He locked his jaw, fighting the intense
desire to hit the wall with one closed fist, just to get rid of some of the
anger. He would channel that anger later, watching with uncomfortable glee
as the imprisoned crew writhed under IS117's influence while he asked the
endless questions, holding the antidote in one perfectly still hand. Where
they could see it, know that relief was within their grasp, if only they
told him what he wanted to know.
He wondered what Ayala thought when he watched Tom performing the
interrogations. Wondered if he even wanted to know. Then wondered why he
cared.
B'Elanna.
{That smile.}
Yet, for some reason, his feet took him back to her room, and he punched in
the sequence quickly, before he changed his mind. He walked in, not caring
what kind of etiquette or regulations he was violating; he had certainly
performed enough crimes that a simple invasion of privacy seemed rather
tame. Kind of nice, actually. He walked into the bedroom.
Her bed was still unmade.
He could remember it all, especially the smile, that vicious smile that had
stopped him cold, had frozen him. For what had seemed an eternity, he had
wanted to kill Harry Kim, his best friend, once his only friend. Kill him,
watch him die, and stomp over the remains with fierce satisfaction, with
*pleasure*. Tom didn't like that part of himself, had kept it well occupied
for the last five years by engaging it in less homicidal pursuits.
Piloting. Rock-climbing. Martial arts. Any sport that would exhaust his
body, his mind, and purge the aggressive instincts for the moment, control
them as he controlled every other aspect of his life. Impulsive he was, but
never, since setting foot on Voyager, in circumstances where impulsiveness
was unwise.
B'Elanna had been the first impulse of his new life that he hadn't tamped
down, killed on contact, locked away until he could forget it. The first
time he had willingly lost control of his life, unable to help it, stop it,
finally stopped *wanting* control over it, glad to give it up, hand over
everything he felt, everything he was, to the control of someone else.
Become vulnerable. {And where has that gotten me? Breaking into her
quarters. Yeah, you've changed *so* much, Tommy boy.}
On Voyager, he had learned the finest points of self-discipline, never
wanting to return to being the man he had been those years after Caldik
Prime, before prison, before the Maquis even. One who had done things he
still couldn't think of without a shudder, who had forgotten everything he
had ever known about honor, about morality. A man who sold the skills he
had to the highest bidder, then had learned new, less savory skills to sell
for even more. {And how ironic I have to use them here. For Starfleet.
Fate, God, Q--whatever force decided this has a decidedly unpleasant sense
of humor.}
He couldn't erase the past. He'd always known that. He'd confessed to the
Caldik Prime incident for that reason. He'd accepted the early derision of
the crew for that reason.
Hell, he had accepted a lot of things for that reason. You couldn't change
some things. Memories. Actions. Words spoken.
Maybe you couldn't change who you are, either. Beneath the uniform he wore,
he hadn't changed, not really. The same Tom Paris who'd lied at Caldik
Prime to save his career. The same Tom Paris who'd sold himself for
alcohol. Nothing changed, not really.
Staring at the bed, taking in the rumpled sheets, he allowed himself to
relive the entire sequence of events, the smile, the way she moved, the way
Harry had touched her.
He wanted to kill them again. Enjoy watching it slow and easy. *That*
would be closure.
Unfortunately for him, non-corporeal lifeforms were exceedingly hard to
kill. So far. {Not for much longer, little K'eya. Your time is running
out.}
He wanted them dead, all of them. But not for what they had done to him.
Not even for what they had done to the crew, though he hated them for that.
What they had done to B'Elanna, forced her do, feel, *experience*. Smear
her with that kind of filth, making her live that long nightmare. For that
alone, they were forfeit. Fuck the Prime Directive and fuck Starfleet, he
didn't care what it took, what he had to do, he would do it. Get her free.
{Even if it turns out that everything I said during our fight is true, it
doesn't matter. I love her. I don't care if she was using me, I don't care
if she doesn't love me, or if she did and doesn't anymore. I love *her*.
I'll get her out of this, and every damned one of them will pay. Whatever
she chooses to do about us afterward, if there even *is* an us, that doesn't
matter. She matters.}
He looked at the sheets for another long moment, then stripped them off the
bed, tossing them into the recycler with a great deal of satisfaction. When
she came back here, when she walked in this room, it should be ready for
her. No reminders of what she couldn't control. {For that matter, no
visible reminders for me, either. Kind of cathartic, actually. Closure on
a less grand scale.}
Turning to the replicator, he ordered new sheets, then carefully made her
bed, pulling up the bedspread, fluffing the pillows. He did it
automatically, having done it many times before. Slowly, he went through
her quarters, straightening the mess that the parasite had made of them,
picking her clothes back up. Somehow the activity calmed him, such a normal
thing for him to do, cleaning her room.
Before he left, he noticed her console was on, and went over to touch it
off. Then he realized what it was, and ducked down, sitting in her small
chair, shifting to get comfortable. He checked the time index. {It's been
on since the first time she went to the planet. Damn, she must have been
distracted, to forget to turn it off.} An idea came to him, and he tapped
in a few commands, listening for her voice, wondering if the parasite had
said something, *anything* he could use, in an unguarded moment.
After ten minutes, he heard it, and for another ten minutes he sat there,
mind slightly blank. Slowly, he shut down the log and got up, going to her
bathroom to look in the mirror, bracing himself for what he was about to do.
Wondering, rather inanely, whether she would ever look at him again, whether
the chocolate brown eyes would ever light up when they rested on him,
whether.he stopped himself. It didn't matter. Not in the big picture, so
to speak. He turned the faucet on and splashed some water on his face,
rubbing it dry with a towel.
When he was done, he let himself out, and walked to his own room. As
quickly as he could, he took a shower, and changed his uniform, preparing
himself for what he was about to do.
Then, very slowly, he took out the hypospray from below the sink. Stared at
it for a few minutes, studying the color. {You know this isn't a good idea,
right?}
{Yeah. I know. When have I been famous for my good sense, hmm?}
The stimulant was already loaded in, an alternate version of the one the
Doctor had given him. He was a medic, he knew the long-term effects of
stimulants. He was also a programmer, and knew how to get the replicator to
give him what he wanted, since he knew the Doctor wouldn't. Vorik's
program, of course, helped with that. He tapped the hypospray lightly into
his palm for a moment, then set it against his neck, feeling the cool rush
of air as he released it into his bloodstream. He could judge to a hair
exactly how much was safe to take, knew he was treading that edge now.
He hadn't always been so careful. Since those days, he had learned.
In the hall, he paused. Stared down the hall, body reacting fast to the
stimulant, giving him energy, removing the lethargy that led to his more
introspective mood swings. A side effect of prolonged use, he reminded
himself, mood swings. As he thought of B'Elanna, however, he shuddered
slightly. He straightened his back, raising his head, ignoring the sudden
tension in the pit of his stomach.
Whatever it took.
* * * * *