The BLTS Archive - Time's Orphans #1: A Time To Mourn by Kiff (Kiff47@yahoo.com) --- Disclaimer: Paramount is God. I am a lowly acolyte. Have mercy. Archiving: Permission granted to Sileya to archive at TSU. All others, please ask first. Constructive feedback accepted. Warning: Moderately high sap count here. No sex, though. Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for "Year of Hell" (well, kind of, anyway....) This is the first in my C/P "Time's Orphans" series and is a sequel (of sorts) to "Time Enough to Love." It was originally written for the first anniversary of the CPSG. Completed in July 1998. --- I pick the last tomato from the vine and put it in my basket. It is plump, red, and firm, just like the rest of them. I am pleased. My garden has been an unqualified success. This planet's soil is rich in nutrients, and the spirits have blessed my work with abundant rain and sunshine. I say a quiet prayer of thanks. The first sun is setting as I rise to my feet. A gentle breeze runs through my hair. I have let it grow over the past several months; it tickles my neck. I like the feeling. I hoist my basket and head back to the cabin. My stomach rumbles in anticipation of dinner; perhaps I will make a salad, or even try my hand at soup. He likes tomato soup. Maybe *that* will bring him out of the shell that he crawled into a couple of months ago. He won't talk about it -- whatever's bothering him, that is. It's not like he's shirking his duties. He does what needs to be done -- cutting wood, fetching water, weaving floor mats -- but it's as if he still feels like a prisoner on the Krenim timeship. He disappears for hours at a time, taking long walks through the forest. I worry for him. Not that he will meet any predatory animals -- there aren't any -- but that he will have an accident, and I won't be there to help him. I've asked him where he goes. He says, "No place special," but I know he's hiding something from me. I've thought about following him, but he's a grown man. And he always does make it back before the second sun goes down. So maybe I shouldn't worry so much. I reach the end of the garden and start climbing the hill towards our cabin. We have built it among the trees, giving ourselves an overlook of the stream that supplies us with water. To the left is our modular shelter, given to us by the Krenim when they stranded us here. About five months ago, we abandoned it for our cabin, which gave us more space, if not necessarily more comfort. But we're working on that. The porch comes into view. He is sitting there, just where I left him. He's in his favorite chair -- the first one I made after we came here. I was really proud of the work I did on that particular piece of furniture, and in some ways I don't think I've equaled its quality since. I halt and stare at him for a few moments. The evening light catches his blond hair. His beard stands out prominently against his face. He started growing it several weeks ago, and I have to admit it looks good on him. He keeps it trimmed neatly. He has kept his hair short, with a little assistance from me in the spots where it's hard for him to reach. I can tell it's hard for him to ask me for help. I am struck by how handsome he is - handsome and yet so sad. His blue eyes stare off into the distance. And now I see him reach up to his cheek as if wiping something away. He's crying. His shoulders shake ever so slightly, and both hands go to his face. I flush in embarrassment. I feel like I'm invading his privacy. Yet I can't turn away. I care. I care for him -- deeply -- and this realization surprises me. I used to despise the man, years ago, in a war I hardly remember now, a betrayal that is not worth living over again. It doesn't matter any more. We are all we have. And he needs me right now, whether he knows it or not. I finish my climb up the hill, keeping my eyes on him the whole way. He doesn't look up. He is sobbing uncontrollably. I set my basket down. "Tom." He jumps. "What!!" He is angry. Caught off guard. "Tom, what's wrong?" He stares at me. His breath comes in shuddering gasps. "Leave me alone." "No," I say firmly. He jumps out of his chair, grasps the porch railing. "Dammit, Chakotay...." But he's weakening. I can sense it. "Tom, listen. You can't go on like this. Something is eating you up. Let me help you." He bends over the railing. I step just a little closer, but I do not touch him. "Please, Tom." He turns to me, his lips pursed. His head nods slightly. "Okay. Let's go inside." I open the door and lead him into our living area. He settles into our half-finished sofa. I pull up a chair opposite him. He blows his nose. "Chakotay, do you know what date this is?" Date? It has been a long time since I had thought about dates. It doesn't seem relevant, somehow. Not anymore. "I suppose it would be the year 2374 back on Earth." "November 12, 2374," snaps Tom. "Exactly one year since the Krenim destroyed Voyager. Exactly one year since Harry and B'Elanna were killed. Exactly one year since all of our friends were destroyed by those Krenim butchers." "I didn't realize..." "Not a day goes by," Tom goes on, as if he hasn't heard me, "that I don't think about what those bastards did. They stole the two most important people in my life away from me. And for no damn good reason!" He slams his fist into a cushion. Dust flies into the air. "I tried to block it out at first - the anger. But it won't go away. I have dreams. Dreams about Earth. Dreams about B'Elanna and Harry. My father. My sisters. Nightmares. Voyager exploding. Harry being torn apart. B'Elanna -- floating away from me. I can't reach her. I wake up, and that's the worst part. It's all true. They're gone. All gone..." and the sobs start again, wracking his body. I lean toward him, but all I can say is, "Tom..." "And there's *you*!" he screams furiously. "How do you do it? You run around here, building things, acting like you're goddam Robinson Crusoe or something. You're so damned *calm* all the time. Don't you miss them? Don't you miss our *friends*? Jesus, Chakotay!" My mouth feels dry. "I do," I say weakly. "I -- don't think about it that often. It hurts too much." I turn away from him, feeling the pain shoot through my soul again. I thought I had buried it, but it's never really gone away. Kathryn. My dearest friend, destroyed in Voyager's final battle. I miss her quick laugh, her sparkling blue eyes, the gentle touch of her hand. I have not forgotten. But I must live in the present and hope for the future. Yet... I feel my own eyes watering. "Dear God, Tom, you're not alone here." I can't stop my voice from shaking, but I turn back to him. Our gazes meet. I blink, and a tear runs down my left cheek. Tom's blue eyes fix on me. I see him soften, visibly relax. Understanding crosses his face. "I'm sorry, Chakotay. For what I said. That wasn't fair. The Robinson Crusoe bit, I mean. You *have* done a lot to make our lives more bearable here." "That's okay, Tom." "No. It's not." Tom stands up and begins to pace. "You're right. I *have* been shutting you out. I wasn't sure I could trust you. I wasn't sure you'd understand. But, who else is there for me to turn to?" He laughs ironically. "No offense." "None taken." I smile in spite of myself. He approaches me. "We're very different people, you and I. But we learned to work with each other on Voyager when we had to. And I think we've done okay here." "More than okay." "I'm not such a bad guy, you know." "I never said you were." "Not recently, anyway." "Hell," I say, "you haven't given me a chance. This is probably the longest conversation we've had since we've been here." "You're probably right." I stand up. "You know -- I've never said this to you, but it's true -- you actually turned out to be a damn good officer, and there's no questioning you're the finest pilot I've ever met." He smiles. It's a beautiful sight. "For whatever that's worth now. But thanks. That means a lot." "And you haven't exactly been a slouch here, either. Half of this work is yours." I spread my arms to indicate the cabin. "Give yourself a break, Tom. Accept what you cannot change. And remember -- you are never alone. Not as long as I'm here." He stares at me for a long moment. "I'm glad you're here," he says quietly. Then the tears come again, and he sinks back onto the couch. I move next to him, raise my hand tentatively to his shoulder. He does not shake me off. I pull him into my arms. He grasps me, sobbing into my chest. Oh, it has been so long since I felt the warmth of another person -- a living, breathing being with loves and fears I can share. I listen to his breathing and feel his muscles move beneath mine as he hugs me even more tightly. I stroke his back and allow my own tears to come. In this moment I feel as close to Tom Paris as I have to anyone in my life. This is my brother, and I thank the spirits that he is with me, here, on this planet, sixty thousand light-years from any other like us. --- The End