The BLTS Archive- Revisions
#3: If We Make It Through This
by Ellen Milholland (pretyclose@aol.com)

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Standard disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes:  This is part three of a series (I know, I'm writing
a series Am I crazy?) called "Revisions."  Enjoy!

**For Sass, because we're on the same wavelength.**

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"Is it any wonder that I shine when I'm around you?
Bend the light that only you can see
Come to me in the night
Walk me into the silent water
Cast away all your fright
Sanctify the place so deep inside your darkness and be free."

-'Bend the Light,' Fighting Gravity
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DAY 97
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It's been days since I last saw her, and I miss her. There's so much
ship and so few people, it's easy to go for a week or more without
seeing one of the handful of us that are still aboard. But still . . .
it seems to hurt more with her. It's different with her. I wonder if
she's feeling it, too.

I've been spending lots of time in Engineering, using my meager
knowledge to do some repairing and refitting. I've learned more in the
past few months than I ever learned in all my time at the Academy.
This is definitely a learning experience, for all of us, in all sorts
of ways.

Without B'Elanna here, we've all got to try our hand at Engineering.
It's been hard to go on without her, but we're making do. After
months, I think I might be coming to terms with her death. My heart
still aches because of it, but I think I may be moving on. I guess the
situation requires it. Move on, or die with her. And I've chosen life.

The captain made Lt. Noreff the new Chief, after B'Elanna's death, and
so he's coordinating the efforts, teaching those of us who have a
great deal to learn, and trying to get everything working again. He
was a relatively obscure officer before, but if we ever make it
through this, he's secured his spot in the history books forever.
Chief Engineer through Voyager's Year of Hell.

*If* we make it through this. "If" is always the key word. "If" we do
this, and "if" we do that. But this only forces us to look again and
again at the fact that in this day, nothing is certain. Not life, not
death, not Voyager. Not me, and not her.

We're trying hard, though. *She's* trying hard. To do what? Create an
illusion of hope and then force herself to believe it. But I've been
near her while her walls were down, crumbled around her ankles, and
I've seen her vulnerable. She's trying hard to believe it, but she's
not succeeding, and this thing is killing her from the inside out.

Up until a few weeks ago, I don't think I ever thought that I would
have this kind of relationship with the captain. I didn't think it
would ever be okay to call her simply, "Kathryn." I never thought I'd
see her in her pajamas, or hold her hand. I never thought I'd be the
one to say, "Hey, everything's gonna be all right." I never thought I
would be reassuring *her*.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, though, so now, it seems
so normal, and so. . . *right*, that I feel lonely after just a few
days without her. I know she's been lurking in the bowels of the ship,
like the rest of us, but I wish she could come out to visit me and see
the light of day.

This is a little bit frightening, sometimes . . . how much I've come
to depend on her. I never intended for this to happen. But one day
. . . she was looking upset when I was helping her with repairs to the
propulsion system. So I just took the liberty of asking her what was
wrong. And she told me, with that steely "captain" voice, "I'm fine."
But of course, I didn't believe her, and I called her on it. And after
several moments of silent deliberation where she just stared at me,
she told me to meet her in her quarters after hours.

That was the first step in the creation of one of the most unique
relationships I've ever been a part of. It's not physical, of course.
Despite what people have always thought about me, I'm not about
womanizing, I'm not friends with women for a quick lay. Sure, I've
done some pretty wrong stuff, but then again, hasn't everyone? I've
cleaned up my act. This is the new and improved Tom Paris.

And of course, all of this personal renovation had to come in the
midst of a bloody war. Yeah, that sounds about right, for me. Timing
was perfectly incorrect, and I think that pretty much sums up my whole
life. Perfectly incorrect.

We're supposed to meet this evening, but I don't know if today's
system-wide malfunction will allow that. We're falling apart at the
seams, again, and I'm not just talking about the ship. This is bitter
isolation, lonely and too quiet. Even stoic Tuvok and delicate Seven
seem affected for the worse by this. Not that I think they shouldn't
be, but being able to tell . . . makes it worse.

But she told me, days ago, that today we would meet, and somehow, I
know she'll uphold the promise. I think she needs it as much as I do.
At least, I hope she does, because I'd feel like a jackass if I was
making a fool out of myself. But somehow. . . I can tell, this isn't
all just in my head. She's getting something out of this, too.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it? That a screw up like me could give a
sort of comfort to the captain of a starship. That *I* could comfort
*her*.

Sometimes, I think I do it all for selfish reasons, among which are: I
love her smile, she listens to me like no one else, and she's arguably
the most amazing woman I've ever met. Yeah, that about sums it up. The
smiles these days are achingly rare, but when there is one, oh God,
her whole face lights up, and I think maybe she's the most beautiful
woman in the universe. But that's not the kind of relationship I want
with her, necessarily. Her friendship is a light in my dark world,
now, and she's keeping me alive, I think.

If tonight doesn't come through, I don't know what I'll do. Probably
brood over some broken circuitry somewhere on the ship by the light of
a blinking panel, and nurse a dry ration bar, remembering the dead.
Sounds like fun. Sounds like too many recent nights for me.

But I guess that I should be happy that I live to see so many evenings
alone. God only knows, we've been close enough to death plenty of
times before, only to force the faulty ship's systems to work with us,
not against us. That's easier said than done, an internal battle to
match the one going on outside. And with the few crew members that are
here, each day is a challenge.

I don't know if the captain ever stopped to think about what the
repercussions of having such a small crew would be. It's not that I'm
faulting her, because I couldn't do that. She made the choice she had
to make, and that's that. She's the captain, and she can do that.
That's her job. But I don't know if she got a chance to think the
whole thing through. I think we all feel very alone here, very cut off
from everyone else. It's a desperate, painful sort of loneliness, the
kind you can't just shrug off or fix by hitting your commbadge and
talking to someone's disembodied voice. It's the kind of loneliness
that just rips out your heart and leaves you bleeding. It's merciless.

Maybe that's why I miss her so much. She's my escape from the
loneliness, the only one who understands even a little piece of who
Tom Paris is. Maybe that's why I need her so much.

I'd like to think that I understand a little bit of Kathryn Janeway,
and I'd like to think that I could take away a little bit of her
loneliness.

If we make it through this, I want to be able to tell her what she
means to me. I want to make sure that I'll always be there for her, if
she needs me.

And if we make it through this, I might never leave her side.

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The End