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Challenge Response
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This story is a very belated response to a challenge issued by Tara, the Archivist of the P/T Collective Archive, following the Voyager episode "One": Just how claustrophobic is Tom Paris, and why?
An idea came to me almost right away, and I started working on it, but then had to put the story aside for some Real Life concerns. But after a few months I began to think about it again, and decided I had to finish it.
Thanks to Captain Chris for encouragement, Dr. Jan for sage advice, and Katie for the beta.
Note: This story contains names and places that do not coincide with the supposed "canon" of a recent book. Ask me if I care!
Rated: PG
Standard Disclaimer: Star Trek:Voyager and its characters belong to Paramount. I'm just following up on some inspiration they provided.
(c) October 3, 1998 -- P. L. Heyes
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After The Fall
P. L. Heyes ~~ DangerMom
******
"Tom!"
"Tommy! You better come out right now, or Mom's gonna have a fit!"
"Yeah, and Dad's not going to be happy, either!"
The voices of his sisters echoed through the woodland, and Tom Paris grinned in delight. He'd been gone a whole hour before they'd tracked him down, and it was the best hour of the whole vacation. Too bad it had to come at the end, though.
Spending two weeks "roughing it" on Telden Three wasn't much different from any other family trip to a remote, wild preserve on Earth or in Sol System. The planet was enough like Earth to be comfortable, but just alien enough to be new and exciting. But it was also far away from home, and Starfleet--one of the reasons Tom's mother had chosen this vacation spot; and for a change, Owen Paris didn't seem to mind that. Their cabin on the edge of the recently-established colony afforded little in the way of modern amenities. So there was a lot of "family time"--playing old games, taking long walks in the woods, visiting the few commercial establishments in the nearest settlement. And it was fun; relaxing--at fourteen and twelve, the girls dutifully enjoyed every minute of it.
But after three days, seven-year-old Tom was bored out of his mind.
Yes, he understood how important this time was for his father--his only chance to get away with the family before his first long-term space assignment as a newly-promoted Admiral. Tom also knew how long it had taken his mother to pick this location, check it out, and persuade her husband to make the trip. They were all having a good time...but not good enough, Tom decided early on. Not after he had seen the Tree.
It stood alone in the forest, in a clearing all by itself, as if other trees didn't dare grow near it. It was tall and thick and primitive, with branches that spread and intertwined in lush layers. The bark was dark grey and gnarly. Deep green leaves bigger than his father's hand shifted and rustled, even when there was no wind. The Tree called to Tom, begging to be climbed.
They'd found it the second day, on one of their first walks, but they hadn't gone hiking in that direction again. But Tom couldn't forget it. He kept seeing it in his mind, seeing himself scaling those branches, reaching for the top, climbing higher and higher till he lost himself in all that rich green darkness.
"Tom Paris, you little brat, I'm gonna get you for this!"
Uh-oh. They were getting closer, and more anxious. He hugged the branch a little tighter and smiled again. Aileen didn't really mean that, but she was the oldest, and thus responsible for him while their parents had gone off for one last social call on the colony's governor and his wife. They expected all three children to be packed and ready go on their return to the cabin.
"Oh, give it up, Ally," he heard Kristen say. "His stuff's all ready, and he'll show up right on time, like he always does."
His second sister knew him well. Tom had a well-developed sense of timing, and knew exactly when he would have to leave his sanctuary and follow his sisters' trail. But not just yet....
"I'm just going for walk," he'd said innocently that morning, "just down the path Mom likes." And they'd both nodded, engrossed in their packing, never dreaming their little brother would pull an exasperating stunt on their last day. There were no harmful lifeforms out there, and all the trails were well-marked. He'd be easy to find, playing at the edge of the forest, not far away.
But Tom had made tracks for the deep woods, more than ready to tackle the Tree, his campaign of conquest well-etched in his mind. The climb had been tough, but worth every sweaty, heart-stopping moment. The branch he'd chosen for his final resting place was as close to the top as he dared to get, just wide enough to lie on and gaze out at the forest all around him. Dim, green-washed sunlight filtered down, while the breeze carried alien scents and sounds to him. He let himself get lost in it, and loved it.
Aileen's grumbles grew more distant. "All right, but we looked for him, didn't we? And if he's late, it's his own fault, right?"
"Right."
"He just better not get himself hurt..."
As often as Tom got himself into mischief, he'd never deliberately do anything to get his sisters into trouble. He would give them ten minutes head start, then make his way down to the ground and follow them back. Mom and Dad weren't due back for another hour anyway, so he'd have plenty of time to mollify the girls and get cleaned up.
He rested his cheek against the cool, damp bark and sighed, knowing he'd never forget how good this felt. The Tree would always be his. Maybe someday, he could even come back here, and climb it again.
Lost in daydreams, the boy didn't notice how the breeze seemed to be picking up, cooler and more blustery. The leaves above him blocked any view of the dark clouds that were rolling in over the valley, hiding the sun. He didn't hear the first few rumbling sounds that eventually brought his attention back to reality, and it took him several more moments to recognize the noise for what it was.
Thunder. Loud and close. Louder and closer than anything he'd experienced witnessing programmed storms on climate-controlled Earth. More real than what he'd seen in historical recordings in science class, of natural, uncontrolled storms. That's when he remembered why they were leaving today--to avoid the colony's storm season. Rain, high winds, thunder and lightning.
He had to get out of the Tree!
Tom backed down the branch, fighting his panic, inching his way to the main trunk. He wasn't going to fall, he was going to make it...
"Thomas! Where are you?"
Dad! Close and sounding worried--they must have come home early and found them all missing. "Dad! I'm up here! Where's Ally and Kris?" Tom reached the center of the Tree and eased one foot down.
Owen's voice drew closer, but was muted by the wind. "They're all right, Tom--they're back at the cabin with your mother. Where are you?"
"I'm coming!" He slipped, but hit another branch, grabbing desperately for a handhold. He clung to the bark, and dared a look down, nearly sobbing in relief when the tall, solid figure of his father came into view.
Owen went pale when he saw his son's predicament. "Tom! Stay there, I'll get you." He reached for the lowest branch, but halted when Tom called out to him.
"No, I can get down myself!" he insisted, slithering and sliding as fast as he could, ignoring the bark digging painfully into his hands, trying not to listen to the ominous thunder overhead. Cold, hard drops of rain began to pelt down on him through the leaves.
It was all Owen could do to stand still and wait as the storm grew around them. The boy was stubborn and determined--his worst faults, but his best virtues. "Okay, Tom, you can do it," he called up to him, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "That's the way, Tommy--hurry up or your mother will skin us both."
The little joke encouraged Tom, and soothed his fears. There was only a little ways to go, then he would be safe. The Tree wasn't going to hurt him.
But the Tree was unable to protect him. The storm's fury broke out with a tremendous gust of wind that sent Owen reeling to the ground. Tom shrieked in panic when he saw his father fall, losing his grip on the wet bark as the wind buffeted him mercilessly. He was barely able to cling to a thin limb, calling for his father, unable to see him as the rain poured down in torrents.
Owen scrambled to his feet, searching frantically for his son. He looked up in time to see a searing bolt of light explode at the top of the tree. Thunder as loud as phaser cannon erupted at the same moment. The tree shuddered and the ground shook. Branches split and cracked, and Owen's heart froze as he saw Tom thrown into the air. "No!"
A feeling of nothingness flashed through young Tom. For one endless, unreal moment, he thought he was flying, and it felt wonderful. But then terror lashed through him as the ground rushed up to meet him, and pain overtook his small, broken body. He heard his father's cry of anguish over the terrible wind, then everything else went away.
***
Telden may have been a Federation colony, but it was still young and ill-equipped compared to other worlds. The storm had brewed up without warning, taking everyone by surprise with its speed and strength. It had roared across the main port and most of the population centers, leaving heavy damage and power outages in its wake. Thus it took almost an hour for a rescue team to make it to the shattered forest clearing, responding to the call for help relayed by Cyndia Paris from her husband.
They found Owen huddled over his son, protecting him from the dying storm, knowing from past experience in battle not to move someone with traumatic injuries. It was a simple matter to treat the Starfleet officer for shock and bruises, but it took another thirty minutes to stabilize the child before he could be transported safely back to the cabin. There Cyndia and her daughters were also treated for shock, while they waited for a hover vehicle to take the patient to the port settlement and the planet's best medical facility--which was more of an infirmary than an actual hospital.
The storm had wreaked its greatest havoc here. The airfield was littered with debris, and the commcenter had taken a lightning strike. The infirmary had lost a good portion of its roof to the wind, and much of the medical equipment and treatment rooms had been damaged or destroyed. Emergency teams had been dispatched where needed, leaving one doctor, two nurses and a handful of volunteers with medical or science backgrounds behind. They were frantically relying on triage and basic first aid to treat scores of injured colonists. The arrival of an admiral's son with multiple fractures and lightning burns presented them with a fearful challenge.
In the infirmary's one intact office, Owen paced nervously, unmindful of his own aches, while Cyndia sat on a tiny sofa with the girls curled in her arms. It had taken her forever to convince them they weren't responsible for what had happened to their brother. The storm had been a complete surprise--and they weren't to blame for not finding him in time. Owen absently echoed her reassurances, all the while thinking he should have done more himself to help Tom.
A harried-looking young woman in a medical smock appeared in the doorway. "Doctor Foster's on his way," she blurted out to the family, then hurried off before they could ask her anything. Within a few seconds the doctor joined them, holding an old-fashioned status padd. They saw the weary, wary look on his face and braced themselves for the worst.
"I'm sorry this has taken so long," he said quietly, "and I'll get right to the point. We've got your son stabilized, but his condition is still quite serious--two broken legs, a fractured collarbone, multiple contusions, some spinal and neural trauma, and severe burns."
Cyndia's face went white and she tightened her hold on the girls. Aileen, always more sensitive than anyone else in the family, broke out in sobs. Kristen, her father's pragmatic daughter, simply bit her lip and clutched at the sofa arm. Owen went to them, sparing one quick pat on the head to each daughter before putting a hand on his wife's shoulder. He called upon years of Starfleet training to keep himself in control. He gave a stiff nod, signalling the doctor to continue.
He did so, reluctantly, gazing down at his report rather than look the family in the eye. "We've had to set the bones with surgery and casts--primitive, I know, but effective. Our one dermal regenerator gave out, but the burns should continue to heal, and we were able to complete the necessary fluid replacement. There's not much we can do for the back and head injuries at this point, except to monitor him and keep him immobilized as much as possible." He lifted his eyes to look at Owen. "We've finally managed to get a signal out and send for a disaster-relief team, but you know how far out we are here. It'll be at least ten days. Your transport ship survived the storm, but I'm afraid your son can't be moved for at least a week, maybe longer, till his condition is more stable."
Owen nodded grimly. "I understand." Cyndia stirred under his grasp and said, "Is he--can we see him?"
"Of course, but only for a few minutes. We've got him sedated for now--it's the best thing we can do for him."
As they stepped out into the dim hallway, the governor's wife appeared, worn out with her own relief work, but offering all the help and sympathy she could. She took the girls under her wing, leaving Owen and Cyndia the chance to see their son. The kindly woman also insisted on putting up the family in her own home for as long as necessary.
The tiny ward was crowded with the most severely injured victims on cots and a few biobeds. Tom was being kept in a screened-off corner, still on the emergency stretcher he'd been brought in on. He was swathed in bandages and burn dressings from head to toe, with only his face and left arm exposed. One leg was being held up by a strange device ("Traction," Foster explained briefly. "Another old technique, but it works."); while his head and neck were supported in a brace. The child was still and pale; his breathing barely discernible. One lone monitor beeped fitfully at his side.
Owen had seen far worse in his early days in the service, fighting Klingons on the frontier, but he felt his heart constrict at the sight of his son so small and helpless. Cyndia let out a horrified gasp, and she swayed against him. He put his arms around her, as much for his own sake as hers, and held her close till she stopped trembling. They watched as the doctor made a few careful adjustments to the neck brace, and checked the burn dressing on the boy's chest. He studied the monitor intently, then made a note on his padd.
"Everything's fine," he finally said to them. "His heart's strong, which is a good sign. I'll be back in few minutes." He left them to tend to his other patients.
Cyndia stepped forward and reached out to her son, tenderly smoothing a lock of golden hair that strayed out from under the bandage that covered his head. "Oh, my poor baby," she whispered, guilt-stricken. She never should have picked this place for their vacation.
"He'll be all right, Cyn," Owen said gruffly, knowing her tears would be his own undoing. "He's strong--he's a Paris. He'll be fine."
His wife turned to him with shining, tear-filled eyes. That was a litany she knew all too well. "Of course." She drew in a harsh breath, and fought down her fear, knowing her husband's emotional limits as well. "He'll be fine. He's always been a fighter."
Owen drew her back into his embrace. She slipped one arm around him and they stood together, drawing unspoken strength from each other as they kept vigil over their son. He was going to be all right.
***
Climb.
Gotta climb, Tommy.
Gonna get to the top, see everything there is to see.
Gotta climb higher...high as the sky!
But something was holding him back, holding him down, hurting him. He couldn't get free, couldn't move...he struggled, and fought and he still couldn't move. Panic filled him and knew he was going to start crying if he couldn't move.
Then there was cool, gentle touch on his forehead, and a soft voice right beside him. "It's all right, Tommy. I'm here, don't be afraid."
Mom. His Mom was there and she would help him.
"Wake up, Tommy, it's all right. You can wake up now."
He was dreaming, that was all, and when he woke up, Mom would be there and he would be able to move. He just had to wake up. But why was it so hard to open his eyes, why did it hurt so much? He forced them open and couldn't see his mother. A cold, bare ceiling glared down on him instead.
Tom tried to turn his head and couldn't. Something was still holding him down and everything still hurt, and now he was crying, like a baby, and he wanted his mother to make it all stop. "Mom! Mommy! Make it go away, it hurts, it hurts!"
She was finally there, bending over him, trying to hold him. "Don't cry, Tommy, it'll stop hurting soon. Don't try to move, baby, I'm right here, I've got you."
But he continued his futile struggle, oblivious to his mother's tear-streaked face and desperate voice. Another voice cut her off, and other hands replaced hers. "Please, Mrs. Paris, let me work. We'll have to sedate him again."
And then Mommy was gone, and someone touched the side of his neck with something cold. The pain went away, and he thought he was dreaming again, flying--but he still couldn't move.
***
It was the same each time the child became conscious. Panic overtook him, and no one, not even his parents, could make him understand why it was important for him to be still, to be held down with soft restraints while his body healed. Doctor Foster had no choice but to keep him mildly sedated for nearly a week, as it was his best chance for a good recovery.
Then the first relief ship arrived, ahead of schedule, carrying food and medical supplies. They were finally able to release Tom from traction and the head brace, and place him in a supportive biobed. He was allowed to wake up and realize he could finally move his head, and lift one arm, but the bed projected a mild restraining field from its diagnostic clamshell. With the new equipment, they were able to complete the healing of the various fractures, but the neural damage was resisting regeneration. So they kept his legs immobile to avoid spinal stress, and he wasn't allowed to sit up. Tom hated it.
Owen watched as his son took in all that was happening to him. His blue eyes, nearly free of pain and panic, grew shadowed with frustration. Little lines of anger--ones that Owen recognized from many a look in the mirror after dealing with Starfleet red tape or Federation bureaucracy--etched into the boy's pale forehead and around his mouth. His left hand thumped weakly but incessantly against the shell.
"Please, Daddy, can't I get up?" Tom would beg every time Owen came to visit. "I just wanna sit up, please? I'll be good, I promise."
And all Owen could do was put his hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to still the frantic movements. "I'm sorry, Tom. Not yet. Not till the doctor says you're better, you know that."
They'd explained to him how he'd been hurt falling out of the tree--he didn't remember the storm or being struck by lightning, and Doctor Foster said that was all right, the memories would be easier to deal with when he was stronger. But Tom thought he was being punished for getting away from his sisters that day, and was trying to make up for the transgression.
"But I feel okay, it doesn't hurt any more, honest! And I'll be good if I can get out of bed." And the lines of anger would grow deeper, and Owen knew his son was lying, hiding his pain, being an obstinate Paris.
It took two days for Cyndia to get Tom to understand, to calm down enough so he'd continue to improve, so they could work on bringing him home. By the time they got back to Earth, and Starfleet's best could tend to him, he'd be ready for advanced treatment and physical therapy to complete his recovery.
For another two days, Tom accepted his situation. Ally and Kris were at last allowed to visit, and kept him happy and distracted with talk of home and all the fun they would have back in San Francisco. But their visits were short, and resources were still limited, so there was no other way to keep Tom entertained or diverted. He was by turns restless and listless; and Doctor Foster worried that the emotional stress would impede the healing process. However, the fighting Paris spirit prevailed, and the young patient continued improve.
Owen spent hours on the comm with Command, finally wrangling the services of a well-regarded, reserved young captain, Jean-Luc Picard, and his ship, the Stargazer, to get his family home as quickly as possible. Cyndia devoted herself to doing medical research, swearing she would oversee Tom's rehab therapy herself. Everything began to come together.
Until the day Doctor Foster called them to his office.
***
They stared at the scans in shocked disbelief. Owen found his voice first. "What do you mean, he's not getting better? You said all the injuries were healing. We promised him he'd be able to sit up soon, maybe even get out of bed."
Doctor Foster nodded in guilty agreement. "I know, Admiral, and I'm sorry. But this latest scan shows that there's scar tissue in his spine that we didn't detect before. And it's pressing against a nerve bundle, which is going to cause him a great deal of pain, and possibly some paralysis."
Cyndia closed her eyes for one second in anguish. She reached blindly for Owen's hand, then looked at the doctor. "There must be something you can do," she demanded.
"I wish there was," Foster admitted. "But we're just not equipped for that kind of delicate surgery. Your best hope is to get him back to Earth and Starfleet Medical as soon as possible."
"But if his condition is going to deteriorate, will he be able to travel?" Owen asked, wondering if things could get worse.
The doctor stared down at his folded hands. "If he's kept in the restraint field, yes," he said.
"No, that's not fair," Cyndia protested. "He's been through so much already, he won't able to stand it."
Owen leaned over the desk. "Even at high warp, it'll take the Stargazer over a week to return to Earth. Cyndia's right; Tom won't put up with it."
"You have one other option," Foster said quietly. "He can make the trip in stasis."
And in the end, it was the only thing they could do.
***
The hardest part was not telling Tom what was going to happen. If he knew, if he had time to think about it, they knew it would terrify him. They didn't even tell the girls, afraid they would let something slip to their brother. For the three days before the Stargazer's arrival, they put off the promised departure from bed with vague excuses about waiting for the Starfleet doctor to okay him for travel.
He accepted that, eager to be up and about, anticipating the added bonus of travelling on a real deep-space patrol ship. He was going to be all better once they got back home, nothing else mattered.
Rapid consultation with Starfleet Medical through high-priority comm channels secured approval for the plan. They worked it out with Doctor Foster, and with the Stargazer's captain and CMO--Tom would be given a sedative after he'd fallen asleep the last night on Telden, then placed in a stasis chamber there in the infirmary, which would then be transported directly to the ship's sickbay. He wouldn't know anything until he was safely back on Earth, after the surgery. Then his parents would explain to him why it was done that way, when he was well and strong and able to deal with it.
But stasis technology was a tricky thing, at best, and no one counted on young Tom's spirit or tenacity. Some part of his mind must have been aware of the wrongness of things: he almost fought his way out of sedation as he was being placed in the chamber. Twice on the journey to Earth he came out of stasis sleep, crying for help and struggling to reach the unit's interior latch. Fortunately, he didn't do himself any harm, although it terrified his mother, who witnessed the second such incident.
In their quarters afterwards, Owen did his best to comfort Cyndia, after the Starfleet doctor assured them Tom would be all right, and probably not remember his awakenings. "You said it yourself, Cyn. Tom's a fighter. This only proves he's going to come through all this one hundred percent."
Cyndia only nodded in response, not daring to voice any more of her fears for her son. She had long practice in keeping up a good front as a Starfleet wife--for Owen; for the girls, who were not fully aware of the seriousness of their brother's condition; and for herself. Finally, she met Owen's steady gaze and said, "Everything will be all right, once we get home."
He gave her a hug, accepting her words as a firm promise. She returned his embrace, knowing she had meant them as a desperate prayer. And somehow, they endured the rest of the trip back to Earth.
***
White clouds below him, blue sky above him, light all around him...
He flew on and on, free and happy, going higher and higher without any effort at all.
But why couldn't he see where he was going? Were his eyes open or closed?
Closed, he decided. So he had to open them. And when he did, he wasn't flying any more.
Tom found himself in a strange bed, looking out at a room he couldn't recognize. He bit back a small whimper of fear and tried to remember where he should be. This wasn't home. It wasn't--he searched his mind frantically and finally came up with an answer--the cabin on Telden Three. He tried to sit up, and although he could move, his body felt weak and heavy, and the effort made him feel sick. Then he became aware of strange sounds and odd scents, which only added to his confusion. Fear welled up in him, and he shut his eyes tight, trying to make it all go away, wanting to fly again. To forget...
Then there came a sound he knew--a door opening; and one he welcomed--his mother's voice. "The doctors keep saying he should wake up anytime now, Owen. But when?"
Tom's eyes flew open. "Mom!" She was there, and so was Dad. They saw him looking at them, his arms reaching out for them, and they ran to his side. Then they were holding him, kissing him, saying his name over and over, and Tom didn't care where he was, because now he knew he was safe.
***
The operation had been a complete success. It was discovered that the bones in his right leg hadn't knitted satisfactorily, and that was dealt with too. The Starfleet medical experts reported that Tom was making a rapid recovery, and would only require a short spell of physical therapy to regain full strength and mobility. But it was immediately obvious to Owen and Cyndia that something wasn't right.
The last thing Tom remembered clearly was packing for the trip home. He had only blurred memories of wanting to climb the great Tree in the forest, but still could not recall the storm and his fall, which Doctor Foster had attributed to the effects of his being struck by lightning. But they also realized Tom had no memory of the time spent in the infirmary on Telden, or the way he had resisted his confinement to stasis.
The doctor in charge of his case tried to explain it to them. "Quite often patients can't recover the memories lost to the shock of a lightning bolt. And your son suffered head injuries and neural pathway damage in his fall. We must also consider the emotional stress Doctor Foster reported to us, plus the fact that memories don't form in stasis sleep. Long periods of sedation can also affect memory. But there's no reason he needs to be told all the details of these traumatic events, or have him remember them through therapy. Someday, the memories may return naturally, and that will be the time for him to deal with them."
Tom listened gravely to his parents when they finally explained what had happened to him--he had climbed his Tree, and been injured in a fall. They only mentioned the storm as being a complication in his initial treatment. He accepted the story that he had been unconscious or sedated for the weeks afterwards, which as close to the truth as they dared to tell him. The only thing that seemed to upset him was typically, normally Tom--that he had missed out on the thrill of the trip home on the Stargazer.
His physical therapy progressed well, and he was able to go home after two weeks, a slight limp the only evidence of his long ordeal. He was more than ready and eager to resume his regular life, which alternately thrilled and worried his parents.
Cyndia watched over him with the kind of gratitude and relief only a mother can know. She tried not to think about the accident, and tried not to blame herself for not planning the trip more carefully. The timing had been wrong--they had cut it too close to the storm season. She should have listened to Owen and picked a planet closer to home. Never again would they vacation so far from Earth.
Owen watched his son get well with the kind of relief and pride only a father can know. When he thought about the accident, he only saw how brave Tom had been to tackle the tree, and then want to leave it himself. Maybe if he had gotten there sooner, he might have saved Tom from the storm, but that was just second-guessing now. Tom had survived, and no one was to blame, really.
Starfleet had postponed Owen's mission, and in the first months after the accident, both he and Cyndia tended to extreme over-protectiveness of their son, limiting his after-school activities and playtime. When they realized he was chafing under the restrictions, they backed off and tried to give him as much freedom as they could stand and thought he could handle.
Aileen and Kristen were delighted to have their baby brother restored to them, but the residual fallout of the family's crisis had its effect on them. They still felt a small bit of responsibility for the accident. They had been cautioned, lectured and almost threatened by their mother and father not to ever tell Tom what had really happened. So they were not to be blamed for feeling some vague resentment, and alternately coddled or ignored their younger sibling, a condition that became more natural as they all grew older and further apart.
Tom put the accident behind him faster than anyone else in his family. There was too much to learn, too much fun to be had, to let anything hold him back. If he was ever aware of certain fears or anxieties, he did his best to ignore them, or avoid the situations that triggered them. And the Paris spirit that had saved his life developed into a streak of stubborn recklessness and rebelliousness that marked him for years to come.
***
Look at the stars...
Stars no one from Earth has ever seen...
They're yours, Tom.
Yours to fly through, yours to get lost in....
He reached out for them, longing to soar in that eternal glory. But he couldn't touch them...something was holding him down, soft but unyielding, and he couldn't break free. Tom fought and struggled against the unseen bonds, crying out desperately as he finally wrenched himself loose.
Then another cry echoed his own. "Tom! Stop it--wake up!"
He suddenly found himself sitting up in bed, gasping for air. His eyes focused in the dim illumination of the light-grid above the bed, and he saw B'Elanna kneeling beside him, her dark eyes wide with surprise. She had her arms crossed defensively before her, and was rubbing at her cheek with the back of one hand. "Tom?" she said warily, easing away when she saw him looking at her.
Oh, God--what had he done? Trapped in the throes of a nightmare, he couldn't have--hurt her? Hit her? He stared down at his hands, remembering how he had fought to break free of something...he looked back up at his lover, and was horrified to see the answer in her eyes. "B'Elanna, I'm sorry--I--I--" A chill swept over him and he started to shake with delayed shock.
B'Elanna saw his distress and reacted instantly, throwing her arms around him and holding him close. "Tom, it's all right," she said soothingly as he clung to her. "You were dreaming; you didn't know what you were doing." She stroked his back and shoulders, waiting patiently as he calmed down.
Tom let her warm him, comfort him, and finally was able to relax. He sagged back against the pillows, not letting go of B'Elanna, taking her with him till they were both settled, still entwined together. "I'm so sorry, B'Elanna," he said as she nestled her head on his shoulder. "Are--are you all right?"
"Am I--? You didn't hurt me, Tom; you just--surprised me, that's all." She stopped stroking his arm, and rubbed at her own for a second. "That must have been some nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?"
He wasn't sure if he did or not. Trying to buy time, he gently grasped her wrist and brought it to his lips for a make-it-better kiss. "You're sure you're all right?"
She turned her hand and caressed his face. "Yes. But you're not." The caress ended in a gentle-but-insistent slap on the cheek. "Talk to me, Paris."
Tom knew she wasn't going to let it go. He sighed, and tried to sort out the tangled images from his dream. "I--I wanted to fly, but I couldn't. I was...trapped."
"Trapped? How?"
"I don't know, I couldn't move and I felt--helpless." A shudder ran through him as he thought about it.
"Like--when you were in stasis?" B'Elanna ventured.
"Yeah, I guess so."
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, Tom, you never struck me as the claustrophobic type. I don't see how you could have gotten through Starfleet training if it had been a real problem. I mean, it doesn't seem to bother you when you're in a shuttle."
"But in a shuttle, I'm flying," he pointed out.
"What about--" she paused and swallowed hard--"environmental suits?"
He gave her a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "You can move in a suit, B'Elanna, and control it...well, most of the time," he clarified with a rueful smile.
"Hmm. Anyway, it's been two weeks since we were in stasis, and you wouldn't talk about it then. Maybe that's why it's bothering you now."
"Yeah, maybe," he murmured.
A sudden look of horror passed over her face. "Tom--Harry wasn't right, was he? You weren't...locked in a closet or anything when you were little?"
"No, I wasn't!" he answered sharply, hearing the unspoken part of her question. "My father was strict, and overbearing, but he wasn't cruel. Not like that."
She gave him a quick kiss of apology, then untangled herself from his embrace. "All right, then we need to get to the bottom of this." She left the bed and went to the replicator, coming back with two cups of fragrant herbal tea. Tom sat up and took the one she offered him, while she settled on the edge of the bed. "You're not really claustrophobic," she started right in.
"No, I guess not."
"Had you ever been in stasis before we had to do it here on Voyager?"
"No. At least, I don't think so," he said hesitantly.
"But you knew you didn't like it," B'Elanna pointed out.
"I hated it--I mean, just the idea of it made me feel sick." Even talking about it made him feel unsettled, and he took a deep sip of the tea.
B'Elanna did the same, watching him over the rim of the cup. "But you weren't in stasis in your dream tonight?"
Tom shook his head. "No, I told you--I was dreaming about flying."
She chuckled softly. "Right. What a surprise."
He smiled back for a just a moment. "Yeah, but I couldn't fly, and that's what scared me. I couldn't move. Something was holding me down."
A frown creased her face. "Tom--I was holding you. And--and you were frantic, trying to push me away."
"Not you, B'Elanna!" he protested. "It wasn't you, in the dream...you know I'd never try to get away from you like that." He reached out and she grasped his hand, smiling in relief. "No," he went on, "in the dream, it was something else, only, I don't know what, for sure." He put the cup on the nightstand and ran his hands over his face. "I just don't know!" he repeated in dismay.
B'Elanna nearly spilled her tea in her haste to put the cup down and comfort him again. "It's all right, Tom," she said, hugging him tightly. "We just have to think and figure this out."
"You make it sound like an engineering problem," he murmured against her soft skin, almost smiling.
"And we're going to find the solution," she told him firmly. She eased back and looked him in the eye. "Do remember anything about being in stasis here on the ship?"
He shook his head. "Just not wanting to get into that damned tube, and then waking up when Doc finally let us all out."
"So you don't remember all those times you managed to get out, and the Doctor and Seven had to put you back?"
"No...though I must have really wanted out to do it four times."
B'Elanna pursed her lips, deep in thought. "Doc said people don't remember the time spent in stasis. So it could have happened to you before, only you don't recall it."
"But, I'd remember about it, wouldn't I?" he countered. "People aren't put in stasis without a good reason."
She nodded slowly. "For protection, like we did in the nebula."
"Or unusual space-travel conditions," Tom added, remembering certain events in Starfleet history.
"And for medical purposes, of course," B'Elanna went on, "like that time the captain and Chakotay were stricken by that virus. That's the most common use, Tom."
He shrugged and shook his head. "I was never that sick in my life..." But even as he said it, a hazy memory surfaced deep in his mind, of being small and helpless, trapped in a world of pain that he couldn't escape--then words long forgotten came back to him: his mother saying, "You had a bad accident, Tommy, but you'll be all better soon. I promise."
Not sick--but hurt, injured badly enough that he'd been in a coma, or under heavy sedation, wasn't that what his parents had told him? Not in stasis...his memories of the accident so long ago had never been clear, although it had never bothered him before, not like this. Tom felt his blood go cold as he tried to remember more, but the details eluded him, as they always had.
"Tom!" B'Elanna was staring at him, her eyes filled with fresh alarm, shaking his arm as she tried to bring him back from wherever he had lost himself. "What is it? What's wrong?"
For one second he stared back, wondering the same thing. Whatever the nightmare had set off was too troubling to ignore. "We're going to find out," he finally answered, as he jumped off the bed, searching for his robe. He found it, and hers, then grabbed her hand and pulled her up. "Come on."
"But--where are we going?" she asked, struggling to get her robe on and catch up to him as he raced for the door.
"Sickbay."
***
He hurried them through the dim, quiet corridors of Deck 5. "Tom, what are we doing?" B'Elanna asked worriedly as they approached the medical facilities.
"Looking for a solution, like you said," he answered briefly.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him to a sharp halt just short of Sickbay's entrance. "You remembered something, didn't you?" She stared searchingly into his eyes. "Something that frightened you as much as the nightmare did."
Tom looked away from her intense gaze and stared down the corridor, trying to see into the past, to sort out the dim memories that still evaded his comprehension. "I'm not sure, but there's only one way to find out." He looked back at her pleadingly. "Come on, B'Elanna, please!"
She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "All right," she replied, letting him lead her into Sickbay.
Tom spared only a quick glance around the empty bay before hurrying to the main computer terminal. B'Elanna peered over his shoulder with a puzzled frown as he began calling up data. "You're accessing your medical records?"
"Yeah."
"Don't you think you should ask Doc to do that for you?"
"What's the good of being a physician's assistant if you can't put your authorization codes to good use? Anyway, he's not on duty tonight. He's either offline or in the Holodeck."
At that moment, the orderly who was on duty popped in through the door of the lab. "Lieutenant Paris!" Ensign Murphy said in mild surprise. "Can I help you, sir?"
Tom looked up and smiled disarmingly. "That's okay, Paul. I just remembered something I had to add to my duty log, and I wanted to do it before morning."
The ensign regarded the two officers before him curiously. If Mr. Paris wanted to drag the chief engineer down here in the middle of the night, it was none of his business. Certainly stranger things had been known to happen on this ship. "Whatever you say, sir. Good-night, Lieutenant," he added, with a polite smile at B'Elanna, shaking his head as he headed back for the lab.
B'Elanna blew out an impatient breath. "Tom, what are you trying to find?" she asked.
"People get put into stasis for medical reasons, you said." Tom watched the details of his medical history scroll across the screen: Voyager; Auckland; years when there were no files. He skimmed past that, aware that B'Elanna was trying to read over his shoulder. "Something happened to me, when I was about seven years old..." Caldik Prime came up, and the Exeter--he stabbed angrily at the controls, sending the data search further back. "I had...some kind of accident."
"Where?" B'Elanna asked, running her hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. "At home? In school?"
He tried to relax under her ministrations, but he could only feel himself getting more wound up. "No, we were on a vacation--the whole family--on this colony world," he said, as the shattered pieces of memory began fitting together. "I...fell out of a tree." He had never given it much thought over the years. His parents had told him it had happened; he had accepted it and moved on, gradually letting it be forgotten along with any number of childhood incidents that hadn't had a major impact on his life. The only thing he recalled clearly were the few weeks he had spent undergoing physical therapy for a weak leg, and how eager he had been to get back to school, to having fun, to being free...please let me get up, I'll be good....
"How badly were you hurt?"
B'Elanna's anxious question called him only partway back to the present. "What?" He was still staring at the screen, not seeing the files as they appeared. Please, Daddy, I promise.
She took his hands away from the controls and held them tightly between hers, forcing him to focus on her. "Were you hurt badly enough to be put in stasis?" she asked bluntly.
He felt trapped again--by her insistent, loving concern; by the tangled memories that were filling him with impotent rage and fear. "I don't know!" he uttered through clenched teeth, wrenching his hands out of her grasp. "That's what I can't remember." He turned away and concentrated on the screen again, pushing blindly at the controls.
B'Elanna swore under her breath, then shouldered him aside. "You're so upset you can't even do a data search right!" Her fingers danced over the console, slowing the data flow as she punched in new commands. "Just try to calm down," she growled, giving him a sideways look of exasperation as he stared at her, momentarily stunned by her fierce actions.
He forced himself to take a deep steadying breath, embarrassed but slightly bemused as his angry desperation receded in the face of her own prodigious temper. "Yes, ma'am," he said with mild sarcasm, letting her know he was more or less under control.
She flashed him a quick grin of acknowledgement. "All right--you were seven. That would make the year...?"
"2348," Tom supplied. "I think the planet was called Telden...Telden Three."
"Got it." B'Elanna pulled him back to her side and they studied the information together. "You were hurt during a storm," she noted.
Tom shrugged diffidently. "I don't remember much about that, but it caused a lot of damage to the colony, my parents said." He read a few more lines, puzzled at how short the file was. "There's not much here, B'Elanna," he said in disappointment.
She nodded in agreement. "Only that it was necessary to keep you sedated so your injuries would heal, and that they had to take you back to Earth for final treatment. It's very vague about what those injuries were, and there's absolutely nothing about stasis."
Tom thought hard about what little he recalled. "I broke both legs, and something else, and I think I must have had some neural damage too, because they gave me some weird tests before I went back to school."
B'Elanna accessed more data. "Says here you underwent treatment and some sort of surgery at Starfleet Medical. All kinds of experts were called in on your case."
"Hey, nothing but the best for an admiral's son," Tom joked uncomfortably. "Once I was out of the hospital, I just put it all behind me. I remembered so little about it, and that didn't bother me then. But it must have been a lot worse than my parents told me..." He wondered if they had been afraid to tell him more, to tell him the truth, whatever that was.
Suddenly, B'Elanna seized his hand in a death grip. "Tom! Look at this." She was pointing to a tiny block of text at the end of the report. "It looks like a link to another file," she said, "but it won't give me access."
"Let me try." He tapped in a command, but nothing happened. He tried a medical code he had learned from the Doctor, but that didn't work either. Before he could make another attempt, the line of text started flashing and Voyager's computer interrupted the search.
"Access denied," it spoke in its dispassionate voice. "Data retrieval prohibited. Please consult with a senior member of the medical staff for further information."
Tom rapped the side of the terminal furiously. "Dammit, I am medical staff!" he protested. B'Elanna intercepted the blow before he could hit the machine again, and he turned on her. "It's encrypted!" he complained. "Why the hell can't I see my own files?"
B'Elanna grabbed his chin and pulled his face down to hers. "Be quiet!" she hissed. "Do you want to get Murphy in here again?" She gave his head a shake for emphasis, then released him. "Let me try one more thing," she offered, studying the screen before carefully tapping in a decryption code of her own.
Once again, Tom stood back, fighting down his anger, which was now laced with uneasy fear. What had really happened to him back then? What was so awful that it wasn't part of his records? He was almost ready to tell her to give up, that he didn't really want to know..."B'Elanna--"
"Shhh." The tip of her tongue showed briefly between her lips, a sign of her intense concentration. "I think I've got it..."
"Is there some problem here, Lieutenants?"
They whirled around, caught in the act, hearts beating wildly in surprise. The Doctor had materialized unnoticed behind them, wearing his most intimidating look of disapproval. "May I ask just what you think you're doing?"
B'Elanna moved quickly to block the EMH's view of the screen. Tom stepped forward, searching for something to say. "I...uh, thought you had the night off, Doc," was all he could come up with.
The Doctor folded his arms, making his stance look even more formidable. "My program is set for automatic retrieval if medical protocols are compromised," he informed them coolly. "Why are you trying to access classified files, Mr. Paris?"
Tom threw his shoulders back and stared evenly at the physician. "They're my files," he said as calmly as he could.
"And he has a right to see them," B'Elanna spoke up in quiet defiance, moving to stand beside Tom and slipping her arm through his. "Something's wrong, and he needs to find an answer."
Faced with their unyielding unity, the Doctor made a little sound of impatience, but his expression softened slightly. "All right," he acquiesced, "tell me what's going on."
Tom let out a sigh of relief, and B'Elanna smiled at the EMH. "We're trying to find out why Tom reacted so badly to being in stasis," she began. Then, as quickly and coherently as they could, they explained to the Doctor about Tom's nightmare, the fragmented memories it had triggered, and the information they had and hadn't found in his medical records. As they talked in turn, the Doctor brusquely shooed them aside so he could read the files in question himself.
"--and now I'm remembering more and more of it, Doc," Tom finished the story, "but only in bits and pieces, and that's not enough!" His voice rose in frustration. "I don't know what's more frightening, either not knowing what really happened to me, or not wanting to know." The nightmarish feeling of being trapped by something he couldn't control had surfaced again, leaving him cold and shaky.
The Doctor had already embarked on his own decoding process and didn't respond immediately. B'Elanna couldn't stand to see Tom so upset, and left his side long enough to fetch a lab stool. She quickly got him settled on it and stood behind him so she could wrap him in her embrace. "It's all right, Tom. Doc will help us figure it out...won't you, Doc?" she finished loudly, with a pointed look in his direction.
He finally glanced up from the screen, acknowledging the request with a small nod, then his version of a kindly smile as he took in the way B'Elanna was managing Tom's emotional state. "Recalling suppressed memories in such a traumatic fashion can be quite upsetting, Mr. Paris, and it's only natural that you're uncertain how to deal with this," he said soothingly. "Nevertheless, you should have consulted with me first, rather than put yourself through more emotional distress," he added in a sterner tone.
"Sorry," Tom muttered, not feeling very apologetic. Enduring this sort of lecture was exactly why he had chosen to bypass the Doctor's assistance in the first place. But now it seemed he had no choice but to accept his help.
B'Elanna detected the lack of sincerity in his voice, and gently slapped his wrist. "Behave yourself," she murmured softly.
He shifted restlessly in her arms, trying to relax. "Okay," he admitted, "so I didn't follow procedures. But I thought my level of medical authorization would let me see my complete medical history. Why is that one part of it encrypted?"
"That's what I'm trying to determine," the Doctor replied. "And as far as I can tell from what I've decrypted so far, it was done at the suggestion of the Starfleet doctor who was in charge of your case, with the approval of your parents."
"But...why?" Tom asked in frustrated disbelief. "I knew about the accident, that I had been hurt badly. I--I was unconscious a lot, they told me that, so I figured that was why I never remembered much else about it. But what--what was so bad that they didn't want me to know?"
The Doctor's attention had been riveted on the screen. When he glanced up, his lips were compressed in a tight line. He avoided Tom's anxious gaze to look at B'Elanna, almost seeking her approval before he said anything. She stared back at him, biting her lower lip in apprehension, before giving a tiny nod in response.
The moment of silent consultation did not go unnoticed by Tom. "Don't treat me like I'm not here," he seethed. "I want to know what's going on inside my head. Is this like what happened to Seven?"
"No!" the EMH answered sharply, his eyes narrowed in dismay. "That was different, and we'll never be certain what really happened in that incident. I sorely over-estimated my own abilities and mishandled the case badly. But here--" he gestured at the computer screen--"we have absolute proof of what happened to you, documentation of the events that took place when you were a child. However, we're dealing with two sets of imperfect memories--what you actually remember, and what you remember being told. That is causing the conflict in your mind."
"Then why can't you just tell me what happened?" Tom pleaded, rubbing his forehead wearily.
"I could do that," the Doctor said, raising one hand placatingly. "But you've already made some progress, and it would be more therapeutic if you could recall as much as possible on your own. Are you willing to try?"
It didn't seem like much progress to Tom, considering how badly this was affecting him. But he realized Doc was probably right. He twisted his head to look up at B'Elanna. She gave him a warm smile and quick nod of encouragement, which made him feel a little better. He turned back to the EMH with a firm nod of his own. "All right--let's give it a shot," he agreed.
"Very good," the Doctor replied. "Now I want you to take a deep breath, and try to relax, then tell me what you remember the most clearly about Telden Three."
Tom closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to bring the long-ago events into focus. "There was this tree--a huge beautiful thing in the forest, near where we were staying. On the last day of our vacation, I snuck away from my sisters so I could climb it."
"Yes, that sounds like typical behavior from you," the Doctor interjected. "But is that what you remember, or what you were told?"
"I--I'm not sure. I know I wanted to climb the tree, but I don't really remember doing it, or how I fell..." But thinking about it stirred something in his mind--the image of the great Tree, so tall and exciting. He felt B'Elanna's arms securely around him, just as he had held on to a thick limb, his cheek pressed against the cool bark. How perfectly still he had lain, hidden by the green leaves from searching eyes...
"Tom?"
It wasn't B'Elanna he heard, but his sisters, calling for him anxiously. He looked up at the Doctor in mild shock as he recalled how he had tricked them. "They must have been so mad at me," he said softly.
"Who, Tom?" B'Elanna asked, relinquishing her hold to come around and stand in front of him. "Your parents?" she continued nervously. The Doctor shushed her, and she pressed her lips together in mild indignation.
"No," Tom said, with a rueful chuckle. "My sisters, Ally and Kris. I didn't come out when they were looking for me."
The Doctor regarded him thoughtfully. "It's coming back to you, then?"
"Yeah..." More fragments of memory merged, slowly forming a picture in his mind. "I stayed up in the Tree until they went away. But I was going to climb down and follow them--I didn't really want them to get into trouble for not keeping track of me." He saw B'Elanna smile indulgently at that, while the Doctor was shaking his head. "I wasn't a rotten kid, you know," he defended himself. "I was just--adventurous."
"We'll discuss your character traits another time," said the physician, with an admonishing frown. "Let's continue--you're doing very well. Tell me what happened next."
Tom searched his mind for the next piece of the puzzle. "I--I knew I had to go after them, but I didn't want to leave the Tree. I was up so high, it was almost like flying..." It was the solitude and peace he had craved, he realized with a start, as much as the challenge of climbing as far as he could. And he had wanted to savor the triumph, the freedom, for as long as he could, surrounded by the soft breeze and the gently rustling leaves. "I just wanted to stay up there forever..." he whispered, more to himself than his listeners. He was hardly aware of their presence now, as the memories grew sharper and pulled him more deeply into the past.
When he stayed so still and withdrawn for several long seconds, B'Elanna felt a surge of fear rush through her. She started to reach out for him, but the Doctor caught her hand and shook his head, mouthing a firm "No" at her. B'Elanna shook him off impatiently, but took a step back in reluctant compliance. "Now what?" she hissed at him.
"He has to resolve this in his own time," the EMH whispered back. Then he turned and looked at Tom. "But you had to get down out of the tree, didn't you?" he prompted in a soft voice.
Tom nodded, scarcely hearing the question over other sounds that had captured his attention. The leaves were snapping angrily as the Tree shook in the fitful wind and the air vibrated with each volley of thunder that was coming closer...
The storm! Something burst in Tom's mind and the memories poured over him, like the driving wind and drenching rain that had erupted from the sky that day. "I had to get down--the storm was coming and it wasn't safe--" The words rushed out and he couldn't stop them. "I could hear the thunder, getting closer and closer, and then my father was there, calling for me. He--he wanted to help me climb down, but I wouldn't let him. I was going to make it, I was almost there--"
He went pale, shaking with remembered fear, and B'Elanna lunged for him once more, but the Doctor held her back and they listened in fascinated horror as the litany went on...
"The wind got stronger, and my father fell, and I couldn't hold on!" Daddy, Daddy! Tom heard the cries of the frightened child he had been, and felt the same terrible fear that had overwhelmed him then. "He--he couldn't reach me and the thunder was louder and stronger, exploding all around us, and then--the light--oh, God, the lightning hit the tree and I was falling...falling...No!"
The cry was torn from his throat and he thrust his arms out, flailing for some purchase. His whole body shook, struck by an unseen blow as he pitched forward off the stool. But strong arms--two real, two holographic--were there to save him, hold him. He was shaking and gasping for air as the Doctor and B'Elanna quickly got him seated on a biobed. The tremors gradually subsided as she wrapped him in a blanket, then her arms again, supporting him as the Doctor administered a mild sedative.
"You'll be all right," he said, quickly checking Tom's vital signs. "It's a devastating shock to relive such a traumatic experience."
Tom took in deep breaths and tried to relax in B'Elanna's comforting embrace. "Traumatic," he echoed with a feeble laugh. "They--they never told me I was caught in the storm--that I fell because the Tree was struck by lightning!" he went on, gesturing with resentful anger at the terminal across the room. "And--and there's still too much I can't remember! What's this got to do with my fear of stasis? Why did my parents hide things from me?"
B'Elanna tried to calm him down. "Tom, you were just a little boy! They were only doing what--what they thought was best for you," she averred, her own experience with parental duplicity painfully evident in her tone.
He jerked out of her arms and glared at her. "By lying to me?"
"No, Tom." The Doctor leaned forward and grasped his shoulder firmly. "They were trying to protect you. Your memories of the accident and its aftermath were affected by many different factors--first and foremost, the fact that the same bolt of lightning that struck the tree also hit you."
"What?" Tom shrugged off his grip and stared at him in disbelief.
"Or more correctly," the physician clarified, "the lightning travelled through the tree's limbs to you, although it still delivered a massive electrical charge to your body."
Tom could only remember flying, falling...the pain must have come afterwards, when he hit the ground...a shudder ran through him, and he felt more lost and confused than ever. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. When B'Elanna tried to hold him again, he pulled away and sat up straight, leveling a determined look at the Doctor. "Tell me the rest of it," he demanded.
The EMH hesitated. "Tom..."
"And the hell with it being 'therapeutic' for me to remember on my own, Doc! I just want to know the truth of what happened to me--all of it."
"Very well," the Doctor agreed, with a sigh of resignation. "But I want you to realize that whatever your parents did or did not tell you, they did it on the advice of the doctors who had you in their care, both on Telden and Earth. As B'Elanna pointed out, they were only doing what they thought was best for you."
"Fine, I understand that," Tom replied grudgingly, casting a quick, apologetic glance at his lover. She acknowledged it with a stiff nod, her lips set in a thin line that could have been either a smile or a frown. Tom looked back at the Doctor, trying to sort out his feelings, drawing on his medical training for some sort of detachment. "You said my memory was affected by different things--like what? I know my mother told me I was unconscious for long periods of time. But was I sedated, or did they actually put me in stasis? Were my injuries that severe?"
"One thing at a time," the Doctor replied, "and let's take it from the beginning. Yes, your injuries were quite serious. The lightning strike resulted in severe burns, shock which caused memory loss, and neural damage, which was compounded by the injuries you sustained in the fall from the tree. Both legs were broken, as was your right clavicle, and there was spinal trauma as well."
Tom nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. The fractures he had known about, but the rest...a chill settled on him, and he had to swallow down a knot of sickness that rose in his throat. B'Elanna stepped close to him again, placing her hand tentatively on his shoulder. This time he didn't reject her attempt to offer some comfort. "Go on," he said hoarsely, letting his hand drift up to cover hers as they listened to the rest.
"There were only limited medical facilities on Telden Three," the Doctor continued, "and they were compromised by damage from the storm. It was difficult to treat you properly, so you were kept sedated in order to facilitate faster healing, and to avoid...emotional distress."
"It hurt," Tom whispered, his hand tightening involuntarily on B'Elanna's. He'd remembered that much in the wake of his nightmare. "Everything hurt, and the pain wouldn't go away..."
The Doctor gave an uneasy nod. "There was another complication. They had to keep you immobilized, Tom; at first because of the fractures, and then because the neural damage wasn't healing. It would have been extremely frightening for a child to be restrained like that, and apparently you fought against it with what little strength you had."
I'll be good if I can get out of bed.... Another piece fell into place, and he could remember it now--the soft restraints around his head and hands, preventing him from reaching his mother; the forbidding shell looming over the bed, the unseen field holding his legs still, keeping his body trapped...his heart began to pound wildly, despite the sedative, as the helpless panic he'd felt so long ago filled him again. "I--I could hardly move; they wouldn't even let me sit up. I was angry, and scared, and my parents kept telling me I'd get better, that it would be over soon, but it just went on and on--" Tom railed, as the memories and the emotions they evoked overwhelmed him.
Anger sent the blood pounding through his veins, a sickening rage against his parents for the lies and half-truths they had fed him, the promises made and broken. His fists clenched and unclenched as he remembered the fear, that awful helplessness that had kept him trapped, and he wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all.
But something intervened, breaking through the pain and resentment, easing the old hurts. Not B'Elanna backing away, even as she kept one hand stretched out to him, torn between the need to comfort him and the fear he would rebuff the attempt. Not the Doctor, frowning and muttering in agitation as he prepared another hypospray. Once again, the past superimposed itself over the present.
Tom saw his mother, bending over him with a tender smile, soothing away his distress with soft words and a gentle touch. But there had been more--the fear hidden in her eyes, red and swollen from crying; the tremor in her voice and hands, the signs of terrified love he hadn't recognized as a child. Then he felt the strong presence of his father by his side, and heard that firm command voice, repeating the doctor's orders, urging him to get well...yet the same fear had been lurking in the admiral's steadfast gaze; the same love softening his words and his touch. And Tom knew--as he must have sensed, however imperfectly then--that his parents had suffered every inch of the way with him, feeling as helpless and trapped by his ordeal as he had.
He let out a long shuddering gasp as the revelation swept over him, washing away the worst of the pain and fear, allowing the memories to recede into a tolerable perspective. The rage was fading as his heart slowed, although he was trembling slightly with each breath he took. As he blinked away unshed tears, he finally became aware of what had been happening around him during the long seconds he had been lost in the past.
"No!" he protested weakly, lifting his arm to block the Doctor's advance with the hypospray. "I--I don't want that. I'll be okay." He turned to B'Elanna with those words, offering his other hand to her across the distance she had put between them.
The Doctor took a reluctant step backwards. "I hardly think self-diagnosis can be relied on in these circumstances, Lieutenant," he chided. B'Elanna hesitated for one brief second, then slowly closed the gap, lacing her fingers with Tom's, then drawing his hand to her lips. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, unable to keep a tremor of fear out of her voice.
Tom nodded, and pulled her closer, desperate to feel her warmth and strength. She slipped an arm around him, and settled beside him with a sigh of relief. He hugged her tightly, feeling some small measure of peace flow through him. "I'll be fine," he said, both to her and the Doctor, who was hovering over them anxiously.
"I wish you'd let me be the judge of that," the EMH sniped, gently pushing B'Elanna away from his patient so he could take some quick readings. "Hmm...cardiac and respiratory rates are a bit high; adrenaline levels falling; synaptic patterns highly stimulated...you'll live." His tone was sharp, but it was belied by the concerned look on his face as he lowered the tricorder wand. "I didn't realize it would come back to you so forcefully, Tom, and I'm sorry it was such painful experience," he said.
"That's okay, Doc," Tom replied. "It was...kind of therapeutic in a way," he tried to explain. At their incredulous looks, he shook his head and went on. "But--there are still some gaps. Did--did they put me in stasis to get me safely back to Earth?"
"Yes, it was necessary," the Doctor told him. "Your parents knew you would be unable to tolerate being immobile for the duration of the trip. Stasis was a viable alternative to further long-term sedation, and it also prevented further deterioration of your condition--the spinal injuries they were unable to treat on Telden." He paused, glancing back over his shoulder at the computer screen. "Yet somehow, you fought against that, too; luckily without causing yourself any harm."
"Somewhere in my mind, I must have mixed them up," Tom mused. "Stasis and the restraints--that feeling of being trapped, unable to move. The fear was always there, buried in my mind with the lost memories. I was afraid of stasis without knowing why--but experiencing it here on the ship finally brought it back."
The Doctor nodded. "But you came through the whole ordeal remarkably well, and obviously learned to overcome most of the subconscious fears you were left with. In a way, you probably benefitted from not knowing all the details then--you said yourself that you put it behind you. The experience made you stronger--it certainly didn't quench your adventurous spirit," he noted wryly. Then his expression sobered. "That was most likely the main reason your parents chose not to reveal the rest of it to as you got older."
In his heart, Tom had already forgiven them for that. Whatever had passed between them and himself later in his life was another matter. However, there were still so many unanswered questions. "Yeah, but--"
"But," the physician interrupted firmly, "I think you've undergone enough emotional upheaval for one night." He waved the diagnostic wand over Tom once again, and gave a stiff nod. "Yes, we can take the time on your next shift here to allow you to review the full medical record for yourself, and we'll talk it over as needed. The best thing I can prescribe for you now, however, is a good night's sleep--or what's left of it. Is that understood, Mr. Paris?"
Tom opened his mouth to protest, but B'Elanna spoke up first, squeezing his arm in reassurance. "Doc's right, Tom. You need some time to think and rest before you find out any more."
Reluctantly, but seeing their point, Tom acceded with a sigh. He did have more than enough to sort out in his mind right now. "Okay." He let B'Elanna take the blanket from his shoulders, then stood up to stretch some of the tension from his muscles. B'Elanna folded the blanket and handed it to the Doctor.
"Go tuck him in," he said to her quietly, "and call me if he's troubled by any more nightmares."
Tom bit back another protest and pretended not to hear, then meekly let B'Elanna take him by the hand and lead him out of Sickbay.
***
"Drink this."
Tom came out of the bathroom, trying to tell himself he felt a little better, and found B'Elanna waiting for him by the bed. In her hands was the mug she had fetched from the replicator the instant they had gotten back to his quarters. He took a sniff and looked at her in surprise. "That's not herbal tea."
Her mouth quirked upwards. "No, it's warm milk. Harry swears by it if you can't sleep."
His nose wrinkled in distaste and he quickly backed away. "No thanks!"
B'Elanna advanced on him, holding the mug out like a sacrificial offering. "Warm milk laced with whiskey. That's what the captain swears by if you can't sleep."
"Oh..." He accepted the mug gingerly, and took a cautious sip. Then he downed the rest before he could think about B'Elanna and Janeway sharing recipes for insomnia. When he gave her back the empty mug, she smiled with satisfaction. "It'll help, Tom, really," she said gently.
"I hope so..." All the jumbled memories and emotions were still lingering, but he had long practice at putting such disturbances out of his mind. He just didn't know how successfully he could do it this time. "I'm not sure I can sleep now..."
She guided him into bed, smoothing the rumpled covers around him. "You will. I'll sit here and be sure you do."
Tom smiled up at her. "I remember that now."
"What?" she asked.
"My mother, and my father, taking turns by my bed there on Telden. Whenever I was awake, one of them was always there, watching over me." A feeling of peace stole over him, and he relaxed against the pillows.
B'Elanna bent down and lightly kissed his forehead. "You'll probably remember more in bits and pieces," she said, "and Doc will help you with the rest. But don't think about it now, Tom. Just sleep." She settled down beside him, clasping one hand in hers.
"I'll try." He concentrated on her nearness, the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her hand...he squeezed it gently, to let her know he was all right.
And someone who loved him answered, "I'm right here, Tom," as he drifted off to sleep.
***
There it is...what do you think?
It's beautiful!
Come with me, B'Elanna.
Where?
We're going to climb it.
But Tom...it's so tall. How will we get up there?
We'll help each other.
And how far will we go?
As high as we can.
And when we get to the top?
Then...we'll fly.
******
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