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Date: Thu, 15 Jul 2004 12:34:27 -0400
Subject: [ASCEM-S] New: Cold (ST:VOY, CP, R, Char death, but not either of the
  guys
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Author: Karen /s
Title: Cold
Fandom: Voyager
Pairing: C/P
Rating: R, for language
Summary: Tom doesn't want to be real any more.


Cold
by Karen /s


To those back on Earth, it's Sunday morning-early Sunday
morning...that time when everyone's still in bed, snoring or making
love or cringing at the sounds coming from the kitchen and knowing
the kids are making a breakfast surprise-early. On Voyager, however,
Sunday morning has taken on the rhythm of pretty much any other
day...it's the beginning of alpha shift and while quiet, everyone's
activities are pretty much the same as always-checking out what
happened the night before.

Tom is deep in the logs, looking for anything out of the norm-a near
miss, a computer glitch, readings that indicate that something other
than Voyager is in this shit hole of a system. He sighs, gathering
the momentary attention of his superiors, but seeing nothing out of
the ordinary, that attention is soon lost.

Of course, everything is okay; he knew that already, because they'd
just spent thirty minutes going over all of this in shift turnover.
Restraining the impulse to kick the base of the console, Tom
straightens and looks at the forward view screen.

...Which is a mistake. All it brings to sight and mind is the fact
that he is not actually looking at space, just a picture of it. It
isn't real.

Nothing's been real for a long time.

He can get close to real...sometimes... His best bet seems to be
going up to Nav Forward and looking out the main port. There he's as
near to being real again as he allows himself to get any more and if
he presses tightly against the port, the rest of the ship is no
longer visible. Just Tom, the cold and the vibrations of Voyager as
she flies towards home...

Just Tom and the cold.

Looking back down at the console, he thinks back to the look on the
Commander's face as he tried once to explain what Sunday was supposed
to be-a sentiment that was obviously lost on the other man. Sunday,
Monday, fucking Bastille Day, for all the reaction it caused.

"Paris, you're with me."

Bateheart taps him on the shoulder and with a half-hearted nod Tom
turns and follows Chakotay up the ramp and into the lift. He has no
idea where they're going and isn't sure that he cares. As they enter
the Commander's office, Tom begins to reconsider.

"Uh, Commander, am I on report?"

Chakotay looks up in surprise not having been privy to Tom's internal
dialogue. "No, Tom, I just thought you could use someone to talk to."

This is unexpected. Tom was sure that there would be further
consequences of his attempts to fly without the ship, as Harry called
it. He's explained several different times that the tether fucking
slipped, but the looks-- Tom sits at Chakotay's gesture and then
considers whether there is indeed anything to discuss.

It's Chakotay's turn to sigh. "Tom, you're beginning to worry your
friends. It's been six months since we lost B'Elanna and the baby,
and you're drifting farther away from us every day."

Drifting. Tom actually smiles at the other man's unintentional
reference to Tom's recent space walk, but grows cold at the other
man's expression. "You're taking me off the helm."

The Commander shakes his head. "No, actually that is the one place
you show any life. Your flying is as exact as ever." Chakotay runs
a hand through his hair. "It's when you step away from that console
that's scaring me, Tom."

The look on the older man's face comes as a bit of a shock. He's
used to annoyance, reluctant amusement, downright anger, but this is
new.

Chakotay is truly afraid.

Tom doesn't know what to feel. Feeling brings being real again
closer...too close, and that's somewhere he's not ready to be. He
startles them both by standing and moving silently towards the door.

"Tom...you're off for the rest of the shift." The words momentarily
halt Tom's movement-one pale hand reaches in agitation for the wall
next to the door. The hand clenches into a fist and it's the last
thing Chakotay sees as the blond slips out.

No one stops Tom, he thinks that perhaps no one even sees him as he
strides down the corridor. He has no destination in mind, but it's
not really a surprise as the door slides open and the cool, dark
quiet of Nav Forward surrounds him. His steps slow... falter... then
change into a sort of controlled fall that brings him to his knees
against the cool port.




Chakotay considers notifying Kathryn of Tom's flight, but knows that
it will take very little to have the woman ordering Paris to sickbay,
something the Commander thinks will do more harm than good. Instead
he monitors the other man's movement, already knowing where Tom is
headed.

The logs showed the progression, the time spent in Nav Forward
starting as occasional visits, recently turning to all night, every
night. Chakotay quietly set up the monitoring, including
intermittent bioscans. When questioned by the doctor, Chakotay
confided his actions, but requested that they not be entered into
ship's records for the time being. He was shocked at the doctor's
easy acquiescence. He gives Tom an hour, an hour that passes slowly
as he shuffles data padds of half read reports from one side of his
desk to the other.




The door opens and Tom either ignores his entrance or is truly
entranced by his thoughts. Chakotay slowly advances, coming to kneel
next to the blond. With hands and forehead pressed against the cool
surface, Tom reminds the Commander of a painting he once saw in the
window of a small San Francisco shop. The boy had been in profile
looking out to sea, and the yearning in the figure's entire body had
been almost palpable. Chakotay had always wondered if the painting
had come from real life, and if so, what the boy had been looking for.

Tom has that same look.

"They must be so cold... We just left them out there, Chakotay..."
Tom visibly shudders.

"Tom, gods-" Chakotay has no idea how to answer. The half assed
responses that come to mind are just that. Moving slowly, he eases
down behind the younger man and pulls him back into his arms. Tom
rolls back to sit on his haunches, and begins to warm for the first
time in months.

"They're not there, Tom...you know that." The blond's hair is soft
against Chakotay's cheek as he nods gently.

"Harry keeps telling me that they're here...in our hearts and our
memories, but it's not enough. I keep seeing that torpedo casing
sliding away from Voyager." Tom sighs. "I tracked it for almost two
days, the signature getting weaker until it disappeared."

"I wish by everything holy that I could change things for you, Tom."
Chakotay feels rather than hears Tom's sigh. Sitting down
completely, he feels Tom relax against his chest. "I know it doesn't
feel like it right now, but you're not alone."

"I thought she had accepted the fact that the baby was part Klingon.
She had me completely fooled. I never would have left that
morning...the doc said that my baby girl didn't suffer..."



I hold Tom, and it isn't until I feel the first hot drop on my hand
that I realize he's crying. I say nothing, just slowly rock the man
in my arms and pray to the spirits that he can finally begin to heal.


End













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