Be Careful What You Wish For

by Barbara Watson

  Harry Kim had been his best friend--not only on Voyager, he realized, but since the Academy. Since before Tom stopped allowing himself to have friends when he had killed three of his closest in a shuttle accident so many years ago. He stood for a long moment at the door to Harry's quarters. He couldn't make himself move.

  But Tom was in command now--at least until the captain woke up--and he couldn't permit himself the luxury of dwelling on his loss. He hammered another support against his wall of grief and forced the door open.

  Almost instantly he thought he heard it. Harry's clarinet. Playing a tune he knew but hadn't thought of in years. Something classical and annoyingly upbeat. It bugged him as much today as it had six years ago. "Play something pessimistic," he heard himself asking. He shook his head until the music and the thought passed.

  Harry would freak out if he saw this mess, Tom thought. Always fastidious, never so much as a PADD left out of place, Kim was the kind of officer who made his bed to Starfleet specifications everyday--because he wanted to. Tom loved nothing more than to mess up the pillows on Harry's couch or rearrange the knickknacks on his tables, just to see his friend compulsively straighten them. Now, the place was almost unrecognizable.

  Tom took out his tricorder and began a survey of the damage. The relays that ran behind the bed had blown out and the entire wall was scorched and burned. The replicator was a melted mass of glass and metal, and there was a high-pitched squeal coming from the bathroom--probably something had triggered the damaged sonic shower when partial power was restored to this deck.

  Tom worked his way through the debris and across the room. He had to shut off that noise before it drove him crazy. When he finally reached the shower assembly, he saw the controls were fused. He tried hitting the manual 'off' button, but the whistle continued. He grabbed a piece of metal from the floor and gave the panel a hard whack. Nothing. Another. Nothing.

  Before he knew it, he was beating the panel with all of his strength, smashing it over and over, long after the noise had finally ended. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! " he kept repeating with each blow. The power coursing through the wall sent sparks flying, but he couldn't help himself. A week's worth of pent-up rage poured out of his hands and into the bulkhead before him. He would have his revenge, if only on this piece of machinery. His arms and hands ached with exhaustion before he could make himself stop.

  He threw his 'weapon' down to the deck and felt himself sinking to join it. He sat on the floor holding his throbbing head in his hands as he felt the fury leech out of him. This wouldn't fix anything, he knew intellectually. Yet he was still overwhelmed with anger.

  If only Harry hadn't gone to Astrometrics. That was ridiculous--then they'd all be dead. If only they'd stayed in the Delta Quadrant, settled on New Phoenix. Tom knew that wasn't an option for Harry either. His friend had been more than willing to risk his life to make it home. He would have been miserable stuck on that rock in the middle of nowhere. Still, Paris couldn't help but think of all the different decisions they might have made, choices that might have stopped this from happening.

  The Peter Pan part of Tom now kicked in. This is all a dream, he thought. A terrible nightmare. 'If I close my eyes and imagine hard enough, I'll wake up and we'll be back in the Delta Flyer, drag racing comets.' His reopened eyes revealed what he knew in his heart he would see. He'd have to do better than wishful thinking. 'I'll find a way to go back in time, stop us from ever trying this stupid stunt.' Bad idea. Everyone knew that the subtleties of temporal mechanics weren't Tom's forte, and there was no way to guarantee a better outcome--the next time they might all be killed. His mind began to race, trying to think of anything he could do to change what had happened. He would have made a deal with the Devil if he thought it would help--and if he hadn't already unloaded his soul years before only to reclaim it on this ship. Sooner or later he would have to face it. Neither Captain Proton nor Tom Paris would be coming to the rescue this time.

  He was in full contact with his powerlessness now, and it was all-consuming. He pulled himself to his feet and picked up his tricorder and PADD off the floor where he'd dropped them. He looked at these things, these toys--what had he been doing? Oh, right, playing captain. Pretending to command this Barge of the Dead. He began questioning why he had moved them all back here, why he had brought everyone--including himself--face to face with the scene of their most horrifying defeat. Because some bureaucrat had insulted him? Treated him like the criminal he used to be? It was time to face the truth: his fantasy life in the Delta Quadrant was over. Welcome to reality, Tom.

  He took a few steps toward the door only to hear a clang as his foot kicked something metal. He bent down to pick it up--Harry's saxophone. It was like a splash of cold water.

  Tom remembered the day he replicated it--for Harry's birthday. He'd told his friend that the clarinet was a girl's instrument. Men played the saxophone. Besides, all of his research of 20th century music--from jazz to rock and roll--said that women loved sax players. He laughed out loud at that thought now. While the instrument had made Harry's music more palatable to his friends, it hadn’t done a damn thing for the man's love life.

  "I'm sorry, Harry," he found himself saying out loud. "I'm sorry." He tucked the saxophone under his arm, took a final look around the room, and headed for the door. "Paris to Icheb," he found himself saying. "Let's call it a night."

  ~*~*~*~*~

  It was the hardest decision she would have to make: to turn around, find a safe place for her crew to settle down, or push forward, despite what she knew to be insurmountable odds and incredible danger. She'd searched the database for the advice of her peers, but none of them could know the situation she and her crew faced out here in the middle of nowhere. She needed the counsel of someone who'd been there, at her side the entire time, to help her sort it all out. She gazed out at the starfield as she spoke to him.

  "This day was inevitable. We all knew it. And we've all tried to prepare ourselves for the challenge ahead. But at what point is the risk too great? At what point do we come about and retreat to friendly territory? Could the crew come to accept living out the rest of their lives in the Delta Quadrant? I keep looking to all these captains, my comrades in arms, but the truth is I'm alone."

  After all this time, she still didn't understand. He moved to stand with her. "If that moment comes, we'll face it together. And we'll make the right decision. You're not alone, Kathryn."

  She saw the sincerity in his expression and couldn't help but smile. "Three years ago, I didn't even know your name," she said gently. "Today, I can't imagine a day without you." She reached out and placed her palm over his heart. They were connected now, a lonely former-Maquis and a lonely Starfleet captain. Yet it was more than their isolation that brought them together. Somehow, all these light years away from both their homes, the bitter and angry soldier and the disciplined, distant scientist had found the matching pieces to their incomplete souls.

  "You don't ever have to be," he said with equal tenderness, "...without me."

  The walls of her ready room melted around them, but the stars were still there. She could smell the salt air and what sounded like waves crashing on the shore.

  "I've been in love with you for six years. I've gotten used to waiting for you, Kathryn. Just don't make me wait my whole life." She leaned over to kiss him, but before their lips could meet, she was back on the bridge. The ship was being tossed violently. Harry was yelling something.

  "We're losing power!" No, it wasn't Harry's voice. Why was Chakotay at ops?

  She turned back as Tom shouted, "The helm is sluggish! I can't hold her...!"

  Seven's voice now, from somewhere else on the ship. "The wedge is collapsing! Attempting to compensate!" She could hear B'Elanna frantically shouting orders.

  "Hull stresses are increasing!" Chakotay warned. "Whatever you're going to do Seven, do it now!"

  She could hear Tom muttering under his breath. "Come on, Seven. Give me the signal."
/>   It must have arrived, for she heard Chakotay begin the countdown, "Exiting the singularity in five. Four. Three..."

  Once again Kathryn awoke from her dream sitting straight up in bed, her heart pounding so hard it threatened to push through her chest. Only this time, she knew where she was. She knew what had happened. She remembered it all.

  The sickbay was quiet. The doctor was either deactivated or out of the room, and the lights were dimmed, probably to help her sleep, she guessed. She swung her legs slowly over the edge of the bed, and tested her equilibrium before sliding onto her feet. She walked the three or so meters to the surgical bay and checked the readings on the main console. Something was different.

  She didn't hear the doctor come up behind her. "He's going to be fine. His condition began to stabilize a few hours ago, and I was able to treat the commander with the modified nanoprobes. He was conscious for a few minutes, but I sedated him to let his body rest. He should be fine in a few days." Thank God, she thought.

  The doctor reached for a medical tricorder and began to scan her. "Looks like you're feeling better, as well." He knew as soon as she turned to face him that her soul was in much worse shape than her rapidly-healing body. "You remember...?" he asked softly.

  "Everything," it was all she could do to squeak out the word. She turned to put her hand on his arm. "I need to see the casualty reports."

  He realized that there was only so long she could be protected from the brutal truth of it all. Besides, she could order him to give her the information. He wouldn't make it worse by fighting her.

  They walked to his office and the doctor offered her a chair. The main computers were still down, so he handed her the datapad from his desk. Then he left her to read the names in private.

  Each one hit her like a dagger to the heart: Allen. Ayala. Baytart. Culhane. Each name flashed a personal, specific memory. Each name brought the full weight of it home to her. Delaney-J. Delaney-M. Hopkins. J'Amond. Kim...

  She sat the PADD on the desk and stood quickly, staring blankly at the wall. Her impulse was to run, as fast as possible. Yet there was no place to go. She couldn't hide from this. She dried the tears from the corners of her eyes and returned to the chair. By the time she finished the list she realized she wasn't alone.

  He was sure there was something official he should do or say. His first impulse was surely not the way Starfleet envisioned the orderly transfer of power. But when did he ever stand on protocol? Tom walked up behind his captain, put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed tightly. More than anyone else probably could, Paris imagined what she was feeling. This crew had been his responsibility for just a few days. To have carried that burden for so many years only to face this kind of loss. He wasn't sure if he could have withstood it. She dropped her face into her hands at his touch, but there were no tears. The magnitude of her grief was overwhelming her, he could tell.

  "Will you be okay?" he asked softly. She could only nod. He moved to kneel beside her chair. "I guess you want your job back," he said gently, unable to fight the impulse to distract her from her pain.

  Kathryn smiled sadly. "Right now, I'm not sure that I do." And for that moment, she really meant it. "But I guess I don't have a choice." She looked him in the eye. "Thanks."

  He smiled gently, "Any time."

  Perhaps focusing her on some better news might help. "I guess it was inevitable. It was just a question of whether you or Chakotay would kick me out of the chair first. The Doc says he's gonna be fine in a day or two, so I guess I better not get too comfortable as your first officer."

  His diversion worked. She had almost regained her composure, and the captain allowed herself the first optimistic thought since she awoke. 'Maybe not, Mr. Paris,' she thought silently. They were almost home; Chakotay's days in Starfleet were numbered.

  Tom stood up, and helped her to her feet. "How about if I make one last command decision before you take the reigns?" he asked a bit mischievously. He motioned for her to follow him into the surgical bay. "Doc, get this lady a uniform. I'm springing her. That's an order."

  The doctor raised his eyebrow, but played along with Paris's power play. "Aye-aye, sir." Ten minutes later, they were on their way.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  On the ride down in the turbolift, Tom gave her an update on their status. “I submitted a formal report on our survivors and casualties to Starfleet yesterday. Admiral Paris told me he’d make sure the families were notified right away.”

  “Admiral Paris? Tom, you spoke with your father?”

  He nodded. “Twice. It was kind of funny; he didn’t know if I was dead or alive, and called in asking for Voyager’s senior officer. I don’t think he ever imagined it would be me. He’s on his way to meet us at Starbase 32.”

  She couldn’t tell yet how it had gone between her former captain and his son. “I guess it was strange, seeing each other that way after so many years.”

  Tom chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, it was pretty bizarre.” He didn’t offer any more details and she didn’t want to pry.

  She had wanted to go to the bridge, but the lift couldn’t take them higher than Deck 2. She agreed instead to head for engineering, the closest thing Voyager had to a command center at this point. Based on what little she had seen on their walk through Deck 5, Janeway realized the damage to her ship was extensive. “I can’t figure out—with the ship in this condition—why the crew wasn’t evacuated.”

  Tom knew he’d have to tell her about the reception they had received from Captain Wheaton, and why he had felt the need to take matters into his own hands. He hoped she would understand his reasoning. “We were evacuated. We spent the first five days on the Resnick. Everyone thought Voyager was uninhabitable.”

  Janeway was confused now. “How did we end up back here?”

  “The Resnick’s captain had some...issues...with some of our crew. He wouldn’t let us install the Borg alcoves so Seven and Icheb could regenerate. He wasn’t going to bring the bodies of the dead back with us. And, let’s just say he was pretty familiar with my record, and seemed to have some issues with the Maquis.

  “I had to do something. So, Seven and I got our crew together and started fixing what we could. When we had the basic systems restored, I ordered everyone back onboard.”

  Kathryn was stunned and disappointed at what she was hearing, but she supposed that the Starfleet officers in this part of space—who probably hadn’t even known about the rescue plan—were probably unprepared to see a long-lost Federation ship with a part-Maquis/Borg/alien crew show up in such a diplomatically-sensitive region. The Resnick’s captain probably thought he was doing the right thing. Still, it sounded like Paris had really risen to the occasion during his brief time as Voyager’s commanding officer.

  “I’m glad you brought everyone home, Tom. I don’t want you to worry about this, though. I know Starfleet’s going to do the right thing by this crew.”

  Tom had never been convinced of that. “I hope you’re right,” was all he could say.

  Tom hadn’t called to say they were coming. He didn’t want B’Elanna and her staff worrying about what the captain would think of their efforts, and he thought the surprise might lift all of their spirits. When the doors to engineering swished open, it was Carey who noticed them first. He snapped to attention, “Captain on the deck.” He called out to his startled crewmates. They turned to see what he was talking about and were stunned for a moment to find Janeway in front of them. It only took them a second to start a spontaneous smattering of applause.

  “As you were,” she called out. She was genuinely moved. Their display of affection was sweet, but she felt a little uncomfortable enjoying it in light of all they had been through.

  B’Elanna was on her feet and walking toward them. “Captain. Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

  Kathryn had two instantaneous thoughts: she was happy to see B’Elanna looking so well, and she was also embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to ask Tom about his wife a
nd their baby. “I’m fine. Unfortunately, I had to bump your husband down to first officer. I understand he did quite a job while I was gone.”

  B’Elanna was proud of Tom. “He was a benevolent dictator, that’s true.”

  This was as much personal conversation as Janeway could allow herself at the moment. “What’s our status?”

  “Considering the extent of the damage, I think we’re doing pretty well. We’ve stabilized the structural integrity field, we’ve gotten the radiation levels almost back to normal in the mid-decks, and we now have five functioning replicators. We’ll be fine until we can get to a starbase. The crews at McKinley Station are going to be busy for a long while, though, if Voyager’s ever going to fly again.”

  Janeway nodded. “Then they’ll have to get busy. Voyager and this crew have come a long way together. I’m not about to let them retire her just yet.”