Angel

ANGEL

ANGEL

By
Morticia
 
59/60

Disclaimers:
Part 1
~~~

HARRY
I
hadn’t even waited for the Admiral’s scream of pain; I had turned away and run
to help the others to push against the crowd of Dorvanians. It was like trying
to move a wall of treacle. Even if we bodily grabbed someone and flung them
out of place, still the gap would be immediately closed by another figure. 

And,
all the time, my friend Tom Paris was hanging like meat on a hook, and slowly,
agonizingly, bleeding to death.
I
could feel the insidious drugged air sliding down my throat, cloying my lungs,
glazing my eyes, and the more I exerted myself against the immovable crowd,
the more dreamlike the whole place was becoming. 
It was a nightmare, and yet impossibly real, and all the more frightening
for that.
The
chanting of the crowd was rising in volume. I could vaguely hear a word, bak
something, Bakbakwalanooksiwae, Bakbakwalanooksiwae, over and over until it
maddened me and even then I felt my lips tremble to join in the crazy chant
against my conscious will.
Louder
and louder, all around me the chanting grew in passion and volume, 
“Bakbakwalanooksiwae,” and then the dying, smoking fire in the centre
of the room burst into a wide steady column of white flame, reminiscent of a
warp core, rea reached up to the pinnacle of the room between Tom and Angel’s
hanging bodies.
And
on the ground, in the midst of the column, in the almost blinding white light,
I also saw both Tom and Angel standing upright and circling each other warily.

Their
figures were incorporeal, they seemed to be made of the very substance of the
fire itself and yet they were distinct within its unwavering flame.

Tom
shone with a silvery purity.  Angel
was somehow ‘black’ light. I can’t explain it any better than that. Where Tom
seemed to be filled with light, Angel seemed to greedily drink the light around
him, darkening it, making it void. Like a black hole he was dragging the light
into himself, and as he absorbed it he was growing and expanding into a sinewy,
serpentine form.
It
WAS Tom, and yet it wasn’t. Even before his accident I had never seen such musculature
on his body. His chest and shoulders were laced with muscle. 
Then again, without it he could hardly have been able to carry his magnificent
wings.  Tom had become an angel,
and Angel was revealed to be the very devil himself.
I
saw them finally meet and grapple with each other in the flame. 
Tom’s wings were outstretched and they beat with a rhythm that sent rolls
of ear-splitting thunder through the room. His face was serene as he wrestled
the monstrous enraged figure of Angel. 
Angel hissed and writhed between Tom’s hands like an enraged cobra, as
Tom’s arms locked around him and squeezed with crushing power. 

Angel
was striking back in blind panic at Tom, unable to break the vice-like grip. 
Yet, each touch of Angel’s hands on Tom left black diseased marks on
Tom’s radiant skin.  There were
soon places, on his chest and wings, where I could see right through Tom’s opaque
figure.  He was literally disintegrating
under Angel’s assault. What chance did he have when Angel’s every blow ripped
more of Tom’s substance away and only served to make Angel stronger?

Yet,
still Tom fought, unbowed and unafraid. 
For an immeasurable time they writhed against each other and then Angel
managed to break free of Tom’s weakening grip. 
They paused, measuring each other up, frozen in their mutual hatred,
and then Tom threw himself at his adversary with such sudden fury that he pushed
Angel back, right out of the flame.  For
a moment, Angel’s black image flickered and above our heads his mortal body
screamed in agony.
He
desperately tried to re-enter the column but Tom fixed his feet firmly, his
vast wings spread for balance, and he pushed back, refusing Angel’s entrance. 
And Angel began to slowly dissipate. 
His spiritual form began to warp and collapse, the black light fading
into the grey of cold ash, and he turned his dull, dying eyes to a point behind
my back.
Tom
was winning, he had won, and then, just as his victory was assured, his ghostly,
silver eyes finally turned to follow Angel’s defeated gaze and Tom saw Chakotay.

Chakotay
was collapsed unmoving on the floor. I had done no more than untie him before
concentrating on beating Owen senseless. 
Chakotay’s unconscious form had simply slumped into a broken bloody pulp
onto the ground beneath the stake.  He
looked dead, even to me.
And
then I saw Tom shudder, and his shining light dimmed.
“NO,”
I screamed as realisation struck me.  “He’s
alive, Chakotay’s alive.”
But
it was too late.  His frozen despair
had allowed Angel to drag himself back into the column of fire.  The flames leapt into Angel’s ‘body’ until he rose restored,
in black, unstoppable fury.  As
though the agony of returning to his mortal form had honed his strength and
purpose, Angel battered Tom’s now unresisting form until it collapsed, and then,
one by one, he ripped Tom’s wings off his shoulders.
Instead
of blood, what poured out of Tom was the silver essence that had powered him.
His incorporeal shade began to dim and fade, leaving only a pale, wraith kneeling
in broken defeat.  With a loud cry
of triumph, Angel stepped back out of the column, ready to return now to his
body, leaving Tom’s spirit to perish in the cold white flames.
And
that was when Jacqueline ran.
She
burst through the crowd and dove headfirst into the flames. She gently gathered
Tom’s insubstantial spirit in her arms, kissed his gossamer forehead with tenderness
and then flung his shade out of the column. 
It fluttered in the air like a broken cobweb and then flowed back to
his waiting body.  She watched it
fly with a soft, sad smile and then stepped resolutely back into the middle
of the flames.
I
saw the edges of her golden hair crisping, as the Spirits accepted her sacrifice.

Jean-Luc
charged forwards, only to be caught and held by Riker.
“It’s
too late,” Will cried, at his Captain, but Jean-Luc broke free with the strength
of an enraged bull.
But
it was Angel who saved her.
Angel.
Whom I had called the very devil himself.
Angel,
the man who was prepared to let Tom die, but somehow couldn’t find it in himself
to let Tom’s mother take his chosen victim’s place.
At
the moment of his victory, he had waited to savour Tom’s death and was caught
by a conscience that probably even he didn’t know he possessed.

His
black spirit re-entered the flames, caught Jacqueline’s burning body and flung
it out into Jean-Luc’s arms.
And
then his shade changed, the darkness began to dissipate as though this last
selfless act had been payment enough for his infamy. His form began to glow
with golden fire, even as the flames leapt and bit into him.
He
collapsed to his knees as the hungry spirits began to devour his spirit.

And
then Will saved him.
By
this time, the whole crowd was so stunned by the happenings in the column, that
no-one even noticed Will Riker’s approach as, without hesitation, he flung himself
into the flame with a rugby tackle that simply knocked Angel’s spiout out of
it.
The
force of the extraction was such that Angel’s shade immediately faded and a
scream of pain from his mortal body confirmed that he had returned.

“WHY?”
Jean-Luc howled at him, as he saw the flames licking up Will’s body.

“I
made a promise, Sir,” Will replied, his voice surprisingly smooth considering
the blisters that were rapidly forming on his exposed skin.
And,
unable to release Jacqueline’s agonised body, Picard could only watch helplessly
as the flames took hold.
The
elders had already turned away to let Angel and Tom down. The spirits had their
sacrifice and Angel had won the conflict. There was nothing more for them to
do here.
And
I want to believe that if it had been Tom left to die in those flames that I
myself would have intervened. That I would have been able to make my shaky,
terrified legs move to offer myself in his place.
I
WANTED to do it. I WANTED to replace Riker’s agony with my own. But all I could
think about was Tom, the fact that he had lost, the fact that he had fought
a supernatural battle for his love and that, at the very moment of certain victory, 
it had been his love that had been his undoing. Tom needed me. There
was no doubt in my mind about that. I would have to live with my guiltth th
the sound of Will’s dying screams, because Tom needed me.
And
no one will ever know why HE saved Will, why he took his place. Perhaps it was
merely the logical choice of a superior officer to save the life of a subordinate.
Or perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps, like me, he realised that Tom WOULD have won
if he hadn’t given up because he thought Chakotay to be dead. Or perhaps, perhaps,
he was simply a good man, after all, despite everything.
But
none of us will ever know why Admiral Owen Paris stepped up and entered the
flames.
~~~

TOM
I
am in a strange sickbay.  It’s apparently
located in the Heran Modality ship.  I
have been told that it’s because of the superior medical facilities that they
can offer over Starfleet.  But,
obviously, the truth is that if I had been transported to a ‘fleet ship, I wouldn’t
just be lying here with tubes in my arms, I’d be wearing the latest fashion
in leg irons too, or maybe simply a straightjacket.
My
father already knew that Tuvok had certified me insane.  God only knows what he thinks now, having found me mid-Wkangana. 
I don’t know.  No one has
told me why he let them transport me here. I have no idea of what is going on
in the Admiral’s head.
Except
that this further proof of my ability to be a complete and utter asshole, has
probably given him a stroke or something. 
He’s probably burning my birth certificate in some ritual of absolution. 
Maybe I should point out to him that I’ve had so many blood transfusions
now, that it’s unlikely that any of the hallowed Paris blood is still running
through my oh-so-undeserving veins.
I
would if he ever bothered to come see me. 
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually WANT to see him.  I still have our last conveion ion recorded for the millennium. 
I have replayed it over and over in my head so many times that you’d
think the pain would have finally dulled.  But
it hasn’t, and I really don’t need any MORE shitty memories to cope with.  Then again, at least he’d actually take pleasure in telling
me what the hell is going on outside this sickbay.
I
haven’t even got any other patients to gripe to. 
The Herans have fitted their ship to luxurious perfection. 
Everything that I have always hated about sickbays, and let’s face it
– I am more intimately acquainted with them than most, have been completely
eradicated from this vessel.  No
big, humiliating room where your ills and woes are on public display. 
Oh nothing so mundane for a Heran.
Instead,
this sickbay has little cosy private rooms, with personal bathrooms and personal
vid players and aesthetically pleasing décor.
Shit. 
I hate it.
I
even miss the Doctor.  I asked if
he could come and see me.  They
just smiled and refused with infinite politeness and absolutely no explanation. 
Maybe his matrix can’t work with their technology or something. 
I don’t know.  I don’t know
ANYTHING.  That’s the problem.

No
one is telling me anything.  Other
than reassuring me that Chakotay is alive after all, they have told me nothing,
and any attempts by me to demand information have been met with kind smiles
and silence.  They are simply treating
me like a petulant child, or a mad man.
And
yes, I suppose I must be mad because I remember things that can’t possibly have
happened, remember ‘becoming’ something other than myself. 
My shoulders still ache in grief for wings that were never even really
there.  The doctors say the pain
is because of the way my muscles were so badly ripped and mangled by the hooks. 
Despite the regeneration I have received, it will apparently take days
for my nerve endings to recover from the insult. 
Perhaps that’s why I can’t feel my legs.
And
yet, inside, I still howl in desolation for the cruel theft of my wings.

Harry
says it was the drugs that affected us all. 
He says that the air of the sweat lodge was so thick with narcotic smoke
that it wouldn’t be surprising if we all remembered Klingons in pink tutus doing
a chorus line.
He
is allowed to visit me all the time.  The
Herans are very kind.  They monitor
me constantly of course.  My first
suicide attempt caught them by surprise. 
They weren’t expecting a body as damaged as mine to be capable of further
self-harm.  At that time, I thought
Chakotay was dead.  So after they
patched me up, they actually let him visit me.
We
didn’t even manage to speak to each other. 
He just sat on the edge of my bed, his face still too purple and swollen
for speech despite the regeneration of his cheek and jawbones. And I simply
couldn’t find any words to say.  There
was nothing left WORTH saying.  So
he merely held my hand and we both cried. 
Eventually they took him away and sedated me again.
So,
I guess my second suicide attempt shocked them even more than my first. 
I merely waited until he had left the room and, before the sedative could
fully take hold, I managed to unhook the intravenous drip from my left arm and
proceeded to create an air bubble in the tube. I was methodically replacing
the needle in my arm when they caught me.
They
don’t leave me alone any more, and Chakotay has not returned.
He’s
probably disgusted with me.  I know
he was unciousious all through my battle with Angel, but obviously Angel has
already gleefully told him that I lost and that now he has to pay the price. 
It probably appals him that I am still looking for an easy way out of
the mess I have gotten us all into.  I
haven’t even mentioned him to Harry and to be honest, the way Harry’s eyes dart
in panic whenever I ask ANY question, it’s probably just as well.

They
say I will be well enough to move soon. 
No doubt the Admiral is waiting, rubbing his hands in glee.  My long-stay room at the sanatorium has probably already got
a brass-nameplate already in place: “Tom Paris – Fuck-up of the universe.” 
They’ll probably keep me there forever like an animal in a zoo. Hell,
maybe they’ll sell tickets.
I
don’t care.
I
don’t care about anything anymore.
I
tried.  I bought a dream and like
every other damned thing in my life it became a nightmare.
What
more could I have done?
I
reached inside myself and threw everything I was, everything I was ever capable
of being, in one last desperate gamble, and it hadn’t been enough.

I
lost.
I
remember watching a vid once, “The Flashing Blade,” and the title song had said,
“It’s better to have fought and lost, than not have fought at all.” 
The Admiral had scoffed at the words. 
He told me thf yof you couldn’t win you should get out of the arena and
let the REAL men get on with it.
And
finally, I understand him.  He’s
right.  I had the arrogance to pretend
that I was worthy of Chakotay, but in the end, when the chips were down, I fucked
up.  I lost.
It’s
time to get out of the arena.
~~~

JEAN-LUC
Beverly
says that Jacqueline will be out of stasis shortly. 
Her third-degree burns have finally been sufficiently regenerated that
it will be possible to wake her.  Beverly
has even restored her golden hair and eyebrows so that there is no physical
mark of her trauma.
It
is the one point of hope in this whole sorry mess.
Tom,
Chakotay, Angel and Will are all being treated by the Herans: Tom and Chakotay
because they are relatively safe there, Angel for obvious reasons and Will because
Plano insisted.p; Gp; Given the number
of minor injuries to the away team and the problem of Jacqueline, I agreed to
his ‘request.’
I
am still not certain of what really happened down there. 
Apparently, there was so much narcotic in all of our bodies that we can’t
trust ANY of our memories to be real. 
Beverly and Deanna both maintain that we were subject to a mass hallucination. 
They say that the injuries, and Owen’s death, were just the terrible
consequences of drug-induced hysteria.
The
fact that the anomalous electrical storm ceased and completely disappeared at
the precise moment of Owen’s death can simply be put down to coincidence.

Only
the Wkangana ceremony itself can be proven. 
The amount of damage that both Tom and Angel’s bodies suffered cannot
be discounted.  The Herans say that
Angel will make a full recovery.  Already
his enhanced genetic structure has compensated for the injuries and he is walking
around reasonably comfortably now.  As
for Tom, well, physically he could be better.
The
trauma and blood-loss, on top of his already weakened physique, has somehow
undone a large part of his alien cure. 
The cure had been holistic.  It
didn’t matter that the hooks had only pierced his chest; the permanent effects
of their damage went straight to the weakest point of his body.  The hours of dangling, bleeding, suffering the ripping of muscles
and the tearing of sinew was more than even Heran medicine could heal. 
He will never walk again.
It’s
not all bad, the Herans say.  He
does have full use of his body other than his legs. Even his ‘personal’ functions
are in his control.  It is simply
the motor functions necessary to move his legs that have gone.
The
Herans and Beverly have discussed replacing his legs with advanced prosthetics. 
It is POSSIBLE that they might help. 
Yet, the idea is too obscene for me to contemplate yet. 
The idea of my son being butchered and rebuilt as a cyborg is beyond
my capacity to face at the moment.
More
to the point, it is beyond Tom’s.
He
has attempted suicide twice in the last 24-hours. 
I used to think that suicide was a coward’s way out. 
That it was a way of running away from pain because you were too weak
to face it.  I was wrong. 
No one could possibly be any braver than my son has proved himself to
be.  So his wish to die is merely
a genuine representation of how vigorously he wishes not to live without his
husband.
He
lost, apparently.  It turns out
that the Wkangana was a battle between Angel and himself for Chakotay, and he
lost.
And
as much as his pain rips at my heart, still I also envy him a little for having
found that mad blissful state of love where survival without your loved one
becomes impossible.
Except
that he’s completely wrong.
Chakotay
will NEVER leave him.  Angel has
won NOTHING.
Unfortunately,
there is no way to tell him.  The
Herans are now monitoring him 24/7 and so no one dares tell him what is going
on.  Instead, we have told him nothing. 
Hesn’tsn’t know Owen is dead.  He
doesn’t even know Jacqueline is here, and he certainly hasn’t been told who
I am.  Perhaps he never will be
told that last thing, after all.
His
adoptive father, Admiral Owen Paris, finally died as a hero.  Who am I to steal whatever comfort Tom may gain from that fact
when he is finally strong enough to be told? 
I will talk to Jacqueline and together we will decide what, if anything,
Tom can be told now.
Why
haven’t we told him ANYTHING?  Several
reasons.  Firstly, we still don’t
know what Starfleet is planning to do. 
I DID finally receive my answer, but it told me nothing.  It turned out that the long delay in receiving a reply was
because Admiral Necheyev had already set off for Dorvan before my message arrived
at headquarters.  It took nearly
a day before some clerk finally noticed the ‘priority’ code and forwarded it
on to her.
And
her answer was simply, “Wait.  I
am on my way.”  Six words, just
six damned words and my son’s life is at stake!
Plano
graciously agreed to wait in orbit until the Admiral’s ship arrived. 
He was remarkably good-humoured about it until the other ‘fleet vessels
moved in to cordon us off.  It didn’t
matter that we were not planning to move anyway. 
The very fact that they dared to prevent the eventuality incensed the
Heran Senior.  He immediately called
for back up.
So
now there are eight Federatvessvessels and six Heran ships in orbit over the
tiny planet of Dorvan, all sitting with itchy trigger fingers and waiting for
the Admiral’s arrival, and I have no idea of what the outcome is going to be.

I
gave my word to Plano that, should the Federation refuse to pardon Chakotay,
I would not stop the Herans from taking him. 
I will not break my word.  On
the other hand, I did not say I would actually help them, nor did I say that
I would prevent anyone else’s intervention.
When
you have lived in the diplomatic world as long as I have, you learn to be extremely
careful of exactly what promises you make.
You
also learn to be a pretty shrewd judge of character, too, which is why I haven’t
said anything to Harry Kim.  I have
seen the way his eyes slide nervously whenever I look at him and have noticed
his conspiring huddles with his ‘maquis’ colleagues.
I
have said nothing, but I HAVE sent Data and Geordie over to the HPTS to do some
‘maintenance’ on the yacht’s engines. 
By tomorrow the little ship will be capable of Warp 9, her shields will
have been modified with the Heran cloaking technology, and the Helm will have
been raised 13 centimeters to allow a wheelchair to slide underneath.

~~~

WILL
RIKER
I
awoke from a dream of pain to blissful numbness. 
I raised my hands to my face in wonder. 
The blackened, charred stumps of my nightmare were gone, replaced by
the smooth, slightly pink gleam of regenerated skin.
I
was alive.  I could barely believe
it.  I had accepted my death and
suffered a torment I cannot begin to describe. 
Believe me, whatever anyone ever says, there is no pain so intense, no
death as horrendous, as burning alive.
Yet
I lived.
I
felt a cup pressed against my lips and I drank deeply and gratefully, my body
greedily grasping for liquid to replenish my seared flesh.  Perhaps my burns were gone, but my body’s instinctive needs
were not.  I drank to quench a fire
that no longer raged anywhere except in my memory.
When
the cup was finally drained, I turned my head and instead drank in the vision
of perfection that had offered me such sweet relief.
It
was an angel, I decided.  I was
dead after all and I had gone to some afterlife in which there was no pain,
no fear, and beings of such perfection that my breath caught in my throat.

“Angel?” 
I whispered in query.
“Yes,
I am Angel,” the being replied, “You are on my father’s ship. 
We brought you here to heal your wounds.”
Realisation
struck me.  This wasn’t a heavenly
being.  This was Angel himself,
the man who had tried to kill Tom Paris. 
Yet, I could not equate the black sinister demon of my memory with this
chastened, beautiful figure whose golden eyes dipped in nervous humiliation
from my gaze.
“I’m
sorry,” he muttered, and there was so much pain in those two words that I knew
he wasn’t only talking about my own injuries.
“Why?” 
I asked him, and although it was a single word, it demanded so much of
an answer that I saw him visibly crumbling under the weight of my demand.

Why
did you do what you did to Tom?  Why
did you do what you did to Chakotay?  Why
did you let Chakotay suffer that way? 
Why did you let Janeway’s lie bee believed? 
Why did you try to kill Tom?  But
most of all, for some reason the only question that I really wanted an answer
to was: Why did you save Jacqueline Paris?
“I
didn’t understand.  I thought I
loved him,” he finally whispered.
“You
THOUGHT you loved Chakotay?”
“I
didn’t understand.  He tried to
tell me, TOM tried to tell me.  The
moment I arrived on Voyager Tom showed me what love was, but I didn’t want to
see it, didn’t WANT to understand.”
“What
happened?”  I asked gently. 
I had expected to find a monster in Angel, yet all I found was guilt
and pain.
“As
soon as I arrived, Tom saw Chakotay and I together and assumed that he had lost. 
He simply walked away and then slit his wrists. 
Then, when Chakotay nearly died and he woke screaming for Tom, I still
didn’t see it.  I let Tom believe that yet again Chakotay had chosen me. 
Again, he walked away.  Then
he tried to sacrifice himself to let us all escape the wormhole. 
I didn’t stop him for the right reasons. 
I tried to take his place just to prove I was a better man than him. 
And that in itself proved that I wasn’t, didn’t it? Over and over, he
did what he thought would make Chakotay happy. 
It destroyed him, but still all he could see was Chakotay’s needs.

“But
I was blind to all of it.  When
Tom and Chakotay left DS9 together, all I could think of was how to get Chakotay
back.  I was insane with jealousy. 
I actually preferred the idea of Chakotay’s death than that he should
leave me.  I can’t fight, as you
know.  I couldn’t actually raise
my fists against either of them, so I used my brain instead and deliberately
manipulathe the Dorvanians into supporting my claim. 
Then Tom interfered again.  He
used my own weapons against me and demanded the ritual of Wkangana.

“He
thought the idea would terrify me.  He
knew I had no ability to physically defend myself. 
But he made a huge mistake.  The
very gene that prevents Herans from fighting, also blocks pain. 
When the Wkangana pierced my chest, after the initial agony, my mind
immediately shut down the pain, distanced me from it. 
I decided it was merely a matter of time. 
I was slowly bleeding to death but so was he, and he was so much smaller,
so much weaker, and his body thrashed and writhed with the agony he felt, which
only served to speed his blood loss.  I,
on the other hand, was in only minor discomfort and knew that I had won.

“And
then suddenly I wasn’t in my body anymore. 
I was pure energy and I could FIGHT! 
All I wanted to do was kill him. 
I wanted to eradicate him as though he had never existed.  But he was stronger than me. 
I couldn’t believe it.  He
pushed me out of the flames and the shock of returning to my body was agony. 
So I fought to return, but I couldn’t, he was winning, he was killing
ME, and I couldn’t stop him.”
“So
what happened?”  I asked. 
Of course, I had been there, but my perspective and his were so different. 
I was both horrified by his words and simultaneously impressed by his
honest admittance of his shameful deeds.
“I
was dying.  I turned for a last
look at Chakotay.  I wanted him
to SEE my death and grieve for me, perhaps even save me. Only it was too late,
he was already dead himself or at least that is what I believed.  Then Tom followed my gaze and saw what I saw. 
He suddenly froze and the fire went out of him and I managed to get back
into the flames.  I went crazy.
Somehow, I blamed Tom for Chakotay’s death. 
I beat him to his knees and I tore his wings from his body because I
knew that nothing I could do to him could hurt him more. 
He didn’t even TRY to stop me. 
And then I stepped back to gloat, to watch him die.
“You
see, even then.  Even THEN, I still
didn’t understand.  It wasn’t until
his mother threw herself into the flames to save him that suddenly everything
became clear.”
“What
became clear?”  I asked with surprising
pity.
“That
if you love someone, you don’t kill for them, you die for them.”

~~~

CHAKOTAY
“What
about Neelix?  Will he be coming
with us?”  I asked Harry.

“I’m
not sure.  I don’t think so. 
He’s still on Dorvan organizing the search parties. 
He refuses to give up hope,” he replied sadly.
“If
the holo-emitter was still intact, the Enterprise’s sensors would have found
it.  It must have been smashed to
pieces in the storm.”
“I
know, but Neelix says he won’t believe it until he finds those pieces.”

“Good
for him,” I replied, pleased that Neelix had no more intention of giving up
on the Doctor than I had of giving up on Tom. 
Sometimes it simply didn’t matter how slim the odds were, you still took
them.
“Besides,
I think he wants to stay.  He seems
happy now your family has invited him to stay with them, Chakotay.”

“I’m
not surprised.  Now there’s another
group of unsuspecting victims to suffer his culinary ‘skills’.  At least he doesn’t have any Leola root. 
They’d never forgive me.”
“More
to the point, do YOU forgive THEM?”  Harry
asked gently.
“I
don’t know,” I answered honestly.  “I
know WHY they did it, and I love them for it, but still. 
Even if things had turned out differently and Tom had won, the ends still
wouldn’t have justified the means.  My
mother saw Tom’s heart, she saw his soul, and she foolishly trusted that it
would be enough.  On the other hand,
she didn’t know the details about Tom’s paralysis. 
She had no way of knowing that the alien cure would be reversed by the
Wkangana.”
“He
STILL hasn’t asked why he’s bed bound or why he has no feeling in his legs,”
Harry interrupted.
“No?” 
I asked in surprise.
“He
hasn’t even mentioned them.  I think
he knows somehow, in his subconscious at least, and is deliberately refusing
to face it.  The Herans think that
is one of the reasons for his suicide attempts.”
“They’re
wrong,” I replied.  As arrogant
as it might sound, I knew EXACTLY why Tom didn’t want to live anymore. 
I knew without the slightest doubt that even were he completely returned
to his former quadriplegia then still Tom would want to live, but only if I
were with him.
“How
are the preparations coming along?”  I
asked briskly to change the subject.  The
enforced separation from Tom, especially since I had no way of assuring him
that my heart was still his, was hard enough without discussing him, even with
Harry.
“You
won’t believe what Geordie has done in engineering. 
He can practically make the warp engine sit up and beg. 
He’s more intuitive than scientific, I think. 
He really understands what makes a ship tick. 
Like –“ his voice trailed off.
“Like
B’Elanna,” I finished for him gently. 
“Don’t be afraid to speak her name, Harry. 
It is living in our memories that makes her immortal.”
He
returned my smile and continued.  “We
now have a Heran cloaking device.  I
SWEAR Captain Picard knows exactly what we are up to.”
“I’m
sure he does, but let’s not mention it, hey.” 

Harry
nodded his understanding.  He had
told me everything, up to and including the amazing revelation that Picard was
Tom’s real father.  I hadn’t spoken
to the man myself.  I wasn’t sure
I was capable of the necessary civility yet, if indeed I ever would be.

I
appreciated his help on Dorvan and I agreed with Harry that Picard was surreptitiou

helping our planned escape.  Even
so, I couldn’t forgive him.
I
understood WHY he had let Tom’s mother marry Owen. 
I even understood why he had never revealed himself to Tom. 
I accepted it all.  Everyone made mistakes. 
Everyone had regrets.  The
thing I couldn’t forgive him for, however, was the fact that had Wabashaw known
that Tom was the son of Picard, rather than Paris, then the Wkangana would never
have taken place.
“Have
you spoken to your mother?”  Harry
suddenly asked.
“Yes,
this morning,” I replied.  “She
told me that the Dorvan Government was prepared to support me against the Federation,
that they would vigorously oppose any attempts to arrest me, and asked me to
give her love to Tom since she wouldn’t be able to see him again before we leave.”

“So
the Elders haven’t changed their minds?”
“The
spirits have spoken, Harry,” I spat in disgust. 
“The Elders agree that Tom has a warrior’s heart, they accept that his
blood is free from the Paris taint, that he is a strong and noble man, and that
he is now of the tribe.  They also
have declared my marriage to him void. 
They will not act against the decision of Bakbakwalanooksiwae. 
Simply put, Tom is welcome on Dorvan, I am welcome on Dorvan, but we
are not welcome as a married couple.”
“I’m
so sorry, Chakotay,” Harry said and squeezed my arm in sympathy.

For
a moment, I allowed the hurt to remain like a dark cloud and then I shrugged
it away.  I had no time now for
grief.
“It
doesn’t matter anyway, Harry.  Dorvan
is technologically backwards.  Tom
can’t live there now.  He’d be an
invalid on Dorvan.  On a Starship
or in a more advanced society, he can still live an almost normal life. 
If we get through this, and Picard can make Starfleet see sense, then
I will be free to visit my family whenever I like.”
“As
long as you don’t take Tom with you,” Harry griped.
I
couldn’t blame him for being angry with my people. 
I was angry with my people.  I
was no shaman, but still I was sure that they had read Bakbakwalanooksiwae’s
decision incorrectly.  Perhaps the
whole Wkangana had never really been about Tom and Iall.all.
Perhaps
all the Great Spirit had ever wanted was for Owen Paris to be forced to finally
pay his blood debt to my people.  His
signature on the Cardassian Treaty had signed the death warrants of countless
innocent Dorvanians and Bakbakwalanooksiwae was not known for his forgiveness
of such deeds.
Perhaps
everything that had happened had been orchestrated to that single end. 
The casting of the Crazy Horse and Voyager into the Delta Quadrant, Tom’s
accident, Tom’s and my love for each other, even Angel’s obsession. 
Had all these things simply been planned in the spirit plain? 
Had we all just been pawns on a chessboard played by vengeful spirits?

And
if so, now that it was over, were we simply being forgotten?  Our purposes served, had we simply been abandoned alone to
try to rebuild our lives again from the scattered ashes?
I
didn’t know, but I was damned well going to talk to my spirit guide and find
out.
~~~

TOM
My
mother came to see me this afternoon. 
I don’t even know how to begin to describe how I feel about that.  It DID answer one question that had been plaguing me. 
I clearly remembered her throwing me out of the fire, but I had put it
down to some Freudian hallucination, given the narcotic smoke.
I
mean, as far as I knew she was back on Earth flower-arranging or baking cookies
or whatever it was she filled her days with.
And,
to be brutally honest, even if I HAD known she was in the room, she was just
about the last person I could imagine throwing herself in a fire for anyone. 
Not because she didn’t love me or I her. 
I adore my mother.  She’s gorgeous, as perfect as a porcelain doll, and frankly
about as useful.
How
such a beautiful woman could be so ‘mousy’ had always bewildered me. 
When I was growing up she wafted around the house like a beautiful wraith,
gracing me with gentle smiles and distant waves and the occassional cool peck
on my cheek.
That’s
not strictly fair.  When I was very
small, I clearly remember that she was the one who wiped my runny nose and cleaned
my scabby knees.  I even had a couple
of clear memories of family holidays WITHOUT my busy father, where far away
from the constraints of his presence, his house and his servants, she would
literally let down her hair and then run and play with me on the sandy beach
as though she was a carefree girl.
But
those memories were few and too shadowed by the years of her apparent indifference
as she towed the party line.  She
had learnt that sneaking me supper after I had been sent, unfed, to my room
after whatever ‘crime’ I had committed against the Admiral only caused more
suffering for both of us.
The
only time I saw her try and make a stand against my father was on the day that
my Grandmother died.  The Admiral
had been bundling me into the ground car and my mother had fought and scratched
like a tigress to prevent him from taking me to view her remains. 
It was the only time I actually SAW him hit her, although there were
many occasions when ‘migraines’ would keep her to her room and I always suspected
that she simply didn’t want the servants to see yet another bruise.

Anyway,
she grew distant from me, and the migraines miraculously stopped. 
I quickly put two and two together and began to avoid her as much as
possible.  Her love for me was harming
her, I was harming her, so I stayed away, and she became this distant beautiful
stranger who merely happened to share my house.
The
day my father threw me out of the house, she didn’t even come to the door.

So
yes, I was surprised to see her and shocked that she had done this thing for
me.  Her hair had the unnatural
perfection of accelerated growth; her beautiful features were covered with skin
so smooth and perfect that it could only have come from regeneration. 
I was left in no doubt as to what she had suffered for me.

I
was torn between guilt, horror, and a selfish, childish glee that she had finally
found me worthy of hern.&nn.  Did
she really think that this one act was enough to make up for all the years that
she had turned away from me?  Could
one act of love negate years of neglect?
Yes,
I realised.  It could.

She
must have sensed my acceptance, my forgiveness, because she finally relaxed
enough to tell me everything.
She
told me that the Admiral was dead.  That
he had only been my adoptive father; that Captain Jean-Luc Picard was my REAL
father; that Tuvok was dead; that T’Pel had mind-melded with Janeway and discovered
her deception; that Admiral Necheyev was on the way, and that Picard was going
to try to negotiate some compromise with Starfleet.
And
finally, she admitted to me that I would never walk again.
I
cried.  I just broke down and sobbed,
and she held me and comforted me, and for a moment, I was that tiny boy with
skinned knees and she was the magical person that could kiss me and make it
all better.
I
cried for what I had lost and for what I had never had. 
I didn’t cry for my legs.  They
simply didn’t matter anymore.  Nothing
really mattered anymore without Chakotay.
“Did
you see me, maman?”  I whispered. 
“I had wings!”
~~~

CHAKOTAY
With a ste
e
feeling of deja-vu, I wandered fruitlessly through the forest in search of my
spirit guide, so I was not surprised when I finally stumbled into the clearing
where once before I had found my father, and again found him sitting on a rock
beneath an overhanging branch. Kolopak was still playing with the bright red-gold
eagle tail-feather.
“I’ve been expecting
you,” he said by way of greeting and gestured to the lush grass at his feet.

Obediently I sank
to the floor and crossed my legs, but there was no trace of obedient, dutiful
son in my voice when I addressed him.
“You used us,”
I accused bitterly. “You used Tom, and you used me.”
Kolopak lifted
his hand so that the sun glinted off the feather. 
Colors like blazing fire rippled through its length.
“He’s so strong,
your Passamaquoddy,” he said, ”Like this feather. Such a delicate, fragile,
beautiful thing and yet it has the strength to give an eagle flight.”

A small hiss of
anger escaped my lips.  I didn’t
want to hear this, not from HIM. I wanted an explanation. 
As though he read my thoughts, as he probably did, he finally lay down
the feather with a sad sigh and turned to look down as me.
“Yes, we did,”
he admitted, but there was nothing of apology in his tone.
“This was never
about us at all, was it?”
“Not about you,
certainly,” my father confessed with a sad shrug. “It was always about Tom,
though.”
“I don’t understand.”

“Earth is a barren
planet, Chakotay.  It may look a
green, lush, pleasant land once more, but it’s just a pretty corpse. 
Its heart stopped, beat by beat, as each forest was ripped out; each
stream was poisoned; each species was driven to extinction and pollution laid
waste the great oceans.  The earth magic died. 

“Kishelemukong,
the creator of all things, turned his head away in despair and just as our people
were cast out of their ancestral homes by the white man, so one by one the Spirits
fled from the sterile, poisoned wasteland, where once had breathed beauty and
life. Even Bakbakwalanooksiwae himself cannot manifest himself in a place with
no earth magic.”
“What does this
have to do with Tom?” I demanded.
“The treaty with
the Cardassians was signed by six people. Five of them died on the first day
that a Cardassian set foot upon our holy ground. Five people, on five planets,
in five separate accidents and still no one even made the connection.”

“And the sixth
was Owen Paris.”
My father nodded. 
“He NEVER left Earth, so the spirits could never claim his blood debt.”
“So
you used Tom to get to him?”
“The
Spirits arranged for Owen’s only son to die in an accident in a far off world
called Caldik Prime.  Yet, somehow,
the boy survived and Owen didn’t even leave Earth to visit him in hospital. 
Tom was cashiered from Starfleet and STILL his father did not come after
him.  Tom returned home and was
spurned.  The spirits abandoned
their efforts to use Owen’s son, finally realising that the boy meant nothing
to him.
“Then
Tom joined the Maquis, joined YOU.  Again,
they saw an opportunity and it was decided that Tom would die as a Maquis. 
The shame would force Paris to come and collect his son’s body. 
Yet, once again, Tom did not die. 
He was captured alive and retuned to Earth in chains. 
Still Paris stayed beyond their reach.”
“So
the Caretaker, the Delta Quadrant, all of that WAS deliberate?”

“Oh,
no.  As I explained, it wasn’t Tom
the spirits wanted to destroy.  It
was his father, at least up until THAT point. 
It wasn’t until YOU recognised Tom Paris on the bridge of Voyager that
the spirits even became aware of where you both were. 
They are not omnipotent, you know.”
“It
was YOU, wasn’t it? YOU told them where he was,” I accused bitterly.

My
father shrugged.  “You HATED him,
if you remember, Chakotay.  He was
your enemy.  Of course, I told the
spirits where he was.  But then,
before they could act, he saved your life and your acknowledgement of your own
life-debt saved him from their retribution. 
The spirits decided to leave both of you alone.”
“So
what happened?  What changed?”

“You
did, you fell in love with him, the son of Owen Paris himself.  The spirits were outraged.”
“He
ISN’T Owen’s son,” I shouted.
“I
TOLD you the spirits weren’t omnipotent,” Kolopak replied defensively.

“So
Tom’s shuttle accident – “
“Was
no accident,” my father confirmed.
“But
he didn’t die,” I replied
“Didn’t
he?”  My father replied enigmatically
and picked up the feather once more.  “He
was CRUSHED, Chakotay,” and he closed his hands on the feather. 
I watched it splinter and collapse in his fist. 
Then he turned his face towards me again.
“He
DIED, Chakotay.  His spirit was
thrown out of his mangled body so far that it couldn’t return.  At least, not without the Spirits’ help. 
That’s when Tom became the thunderbird.”
“So
you are saying the Spirits then HELPED him? 
Brought him back to life?”
Kolopak
nodded.
“Why?”

“Because
they suddenly realised his potential.”
“To
destroy his own father?”  I snarled
bitterly.
“Exactly.”

“And
what about me?  Where did I fit
in to all of this?”
“You
were just the means to the end.”  Kolopak
admitted quietly.
“And
you just stood by and let them do it, helped them do it?”
“Yes.”

“I
THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!”  I screamed
at my father, so hurt by his confession that I was reduced to almost child-like
rage.
Kolopak
reached out towards me and his face cracked with grief when I flinched from
his touch, as though it were poison.
“Don’t
you realise that I did it because I DO love you? 
The spirits promised me you would not be harmed, Chakotay. 
In return for my cooperation they guaranteed both your life and Tom’s. 
Don’t you see?  You are alive,
Tom is alive, and the blood debt has finally been paid. 
The Spirits are satisfied now, they have returned to the Spirit plain. 
There is nothing more to be done now.”
“Except
the small matter of Angel, the Herans, Starfleet and the fact that Tom is paralyzed!”

Kolopak
sighed.  “Chakotay, I know the Spirits
are capricious and cruel sometimes but, believe me, they are VERY fond of both
you AND Tom.  Tom was NEVER meant
to win the Wkangana.  To be honest,
the Spirits were completely surprised by his strength. 
That’s the only reason they allowed Paris trt yrt you. 
They realised that the only thing that would break Tom’s spirit was the
belief that you were dead.”

“So
they cheated.”  I hissed.

“They
cheated,” Kolopak agreed, “and because of that Tom APPEARED to lose, but the
very fact that they were forced to cheat meant he won.”
“Except
the Dorvanianhe Hhe Herans and Tom don’t see it that way, so what does it matter?”

“It
matters because Tom is now favored by the Spirits. 
Why do you think his suicide attempts have been so easily thwarted? 
The spirits ARE protecting him. 
You will soon discover that all of your problems HAVE been resolved,
one way or another.”
“Including
Tom’s paralysis?”  I demanded.

Kolopak
finally shriveled a little under my glare. 
“No,” he confessed, “not that.”
“WHY? 
It was only the damned Wkangana that reversed his cure,” I roared.

“No,
my son, it wasn’t.  There never
was a COMPLETE cure.  I told you,
Tom died.  His body was crushed.”

“But
the spirits brought him back to life!”
“Barely,
and it wasn’t enough.  The alien
‘cure’ only partially restored his body. 
It was Passamaquoddy who did the rest, who gave him the power to walk
so he could do what needed to be done. 
When Angel removed Tom’s wings, Passamaquoddy left him. 
THAT is why Tom cannot walk.”
“But
the spirits caused the crash.  Why
won’t they heal him?”
“Sometimes
things simply cannot be undone.  They
sorrow for the harm they have caused, but they cannot put EVERYTHING right.”

“Damn
them.  Damn YOU!” 
I spat and the forest began to disintegrate around me.
“Come
back, I haven’t finished, I need to know what’s going to happen!” I screamed,
but the words bounced hollowly in the small confines of my quarters on the “Milton.”

My
father, and the spirit realm had disappeared and I was alone.
Did
I believe it, any of it?  Was it
real or had my mind simply conjured up a fantasy to try and make sense of the
whole convoluted mess?  Was the
spirit world truly real, or did it only exist in my head?
I
didn’t know.
Perhaps
I’d never know.
And
yet, still my meditation had left me with hope. 
Kolopak said that all of our problems had already been solved, one-way
or the other.  I sincerely hoped
that he was right.
 
Go
to Part Sixty